#but then I look at how I rendered the shading in Sam's hair and I feel better

[declaredmissing]

teeen superhero dynamics

Been thinking about a favorite photograph that I’ve fallen in love with lately. She is a woman, draped in all black, her hair and entire body covered except for her face and hands. She is beautiful, and the expression on her face is defiant, confident, and confrontational, but also holding a shade of vulnerability and melancholy. I wonder how she got there, standing in the crash of the waves with her back fearlessly to the sea. Rather than fall from the force of the water, she stands strong and unaffected. She is alone in the image, like a mythic figure. I wonder what she survived; it is as if she was walking out of the ocean, born again somehow. An array of experiences inform our own gaze. I wonder how my own life/readings have led me to perceive this photograph in the way that I did. The fuller context of this photograph is a socio-political-economic tragedy. The photograph is part of a photo series named *[Listen: Giving Voice to Iranian Women](<http://magnumphotos.com/arts-culture/newsha-tavakolian-listen/>)*, by Newsha Tavakolian. Photographed in Mahmudabad, Iran in 2011, and envisioned as an imaginary CD cover for Sahar in the Caspian Sea. In the series, Tavakolian photographed six professional Iranian women singers and created fictional album covers. In postrevolutionary Iran, many talented artists are rendered voiceless as women are banned from solo performances in public. But somehow, I connected to it, and related to the figures; the feeling of being rendered ineffective and voiceless, reduced to the margins. There is no political restriction–my timidity and self-doubt is an internal struggle. But the photographs make me feel more empowered in my own life, to imagine myself standing in the same spot as these women. I see myself reflected in the woman; I see myself standing there in the water, looking back at the camera with that same sharp and defiant expression. When I think of what it means for us to look at ourselves, to photograph and image ourselves, I recall Ayesha saying it was narcissicistic. But I see it as visual agency, a question of authorship and who gets to determine how we represent ourselves. There is another image, a young woman standing in the middle of an empty road with bright-red boxing gloves. I think of the power I feel when I put on my handwraps, gloves, shin guards, muay thai shorts. I remember Coach Reese telling me, Sam and Ayesha how boxing saved her life when she was in a dark place. Tania telling me, on the first day I met her, that MMA/jiu-jitsu saved her life when she was struggling through depression and anxiety, and that coach had been through it too–to ask him. What is it about combat sports, that saves our lives?

“There is something so special about teen superhero team dynamics, from Power Rangers to magical girls and everything in between. / I help you fight evil. I let you sleep on my lap when we get back home. I know everything about you, things your parents never will. We've almost died together. We study for tests together. We are discovering ourselves. I hope I still know you in ten years. You turned evil once. I still got you a birthday present.”

“The truth is that the heroism of your childhood entertainments was not true valor. It was theater. The grand gesture, the moment of choice, the mortal danger, the external foe, the climactic battle whose outcome resolves all – all designed to appear heroic, to excite and gratify and audience. Gentlemen, welcome to the world of reality – there is no audience. No one to applaud, to admire. No one to see you. Do you understand? Here is the truth – actual heroism receives no ovation, entertains no one. No one queues up to see it. No one is interested.” — David Foster Wallace, The Pale King

Myths are stories about people who become too big for their lives temporarily, so that they crash into other lives or brush against the gods. In crisis, their souls are visible. – Anne Carson, “Tragedy: A Curious Art Form”

between rescue and recovery / 04.09.22

On earning to struggle with my own fear that paralyzed me. Fear has been the pattern driving my instincts in life.

Hands in my lap, between my 18 and 23 year old self, having to ask permission to leave the house late at night. Growing up means reconciling the child in my adult self, and the adult in my childhood self. The part of me that pleads to be protected, to be made to feel safe, that wants to be worthy of empathy, kindness and protection. To reconcile that with the part of me that believes I can only depend on myself for protection and safety, that others are not to be trusted, that the way to survive in this world is to be self-reliant.

A long time ago, when I first started combat sports, I confess I had this image of myself in my head that this would be the way I could be invulnerable. It was a metaphor for being superhuman; able to protect others, and myself, with the ego of a hero instinct. Much of this idea led to my starry eyed idealization with a police officer I met. For years, I wasn’t able to stop thinking of him. His ability to self-mythologize was magnetic; his story overcoming the odds to become a superhero in the police force, a hero able to rescue others. It collided, I suppose, with my own self-mythos. Which is why I was so enamored with the idea of him.

When I was a little girl, and even a teenage girl, I wanted to save the world. I crafted a destiny for myself. I wanted to be a scientist that studied snow leopards, because I read in a National Geographic magazine that they were vanishing. I tore out the article and pinned it to my wall and told myself, I wouldn’t let them disappear. I think this moment captures the energy and direction of my ambition; the good intent, but also the misdirection. Wanting to save the world, but from an attraction to a glamorized image of what I thought was worthy of saving.

I wanted the yes energy of my heroines, their will and energy and appetite, their ability to not be sunk by disappointments. But it collided with the parts of me that were ruthless and ambitious, and afraid and insecure, all at the same time. One of the biggest changes from my past self is the egoistic hero instinct in myself. I can’t say I’m selfless, or that I’m convinced I’ve changed, but I’m aware of it and I’m wanting to change. Throughout the years, I wrestled with my relationship to ambition. Now, I just want to live from joy and wonder; to run towards, not from.

There was a night I fell asleep crying and heard my sister’s voice in my head, “it’ll be okay, little moon.” I realized how much I missed the best friend I used to have in my sister. That relationship is lost, and I don’t know how to recover it or where to go from there. When I find myself missing ‘my sister’, I wonder if I’m really longing for an older figure to reassure me that everything would be alright. I don’t know how to be that person for myself. There’s a person I’m afraid of becoming, and I don’t know why.

I dreamed last summer of a human rights lawyer walking into the house with the broken refugee family, taking the little girl away and saving her when the girl was about to jump. How explicitly my subconscious was telling me I long for a mother, for a hero, for some magic person to provide me unconditional love and protection and kindness. A dream showing me how I wanted to rescue others before myself. I wanted someone else to rescue me, because I didn’t trust myself to be there for me.

There’s a little girl, standing at the edge of a window, about to jump in the pool, and she wants someone older and wiser and kind to sweep in and save her. She’s my daughter, and she’s me, and she’s the little girl inside my mother too, inside probably every woman I’ve ever known.

Self-destruction used to be the only language I knew when I needed help. In times I felt the most rage, I felt driven to prove I was more willing to destroy myself and go further than anyone else would. Dumping my journals and writing in the trash can, letter opener to my skin, to my paintings. Ending friendships, cutting my ties to the world. Erasing myself was the only way I felt I could exert control in a life where I otherwise felt helpless. It was my attempt to speak, to beg people to see that I wasn’t okay, to ask them to care, but in a manifested in a cry for help that didn’t speak at all. I wanted someone to stop me. To tell me I was too valuable to be lost. But there’s no wiser or older figure who’s going to sweep in and reassure me of my value. Realizing that left me with a deep and aching loneliness, but instead of turning others, I decided to contain the pain, and this reduced me to being isolated and weaker. I searched for security by deciding to enter a ‘men’s world’; safety in self control and self restraint.

In response to my own fear, I decided to develop a tough skin to protect myself. I found myself looking up to fictional figures with traditional masculine traits – self control, determination, cool, emotional discipline, and mastery. Self-sufficient, independent women, who are fucked over in many ways but refused to be helpless. Alienated with no support system, but plenty of rage to fuel them. Aimee, Lisbeth Salander, Aomame, Lara Croft. They had a voice, and they had power, even if it was in a sense dressing over deeper wounds, to protect the softer parts of their underbelly. I thought rescuing myself meant being untouchable. Being able to defend myself. To not be scared anymore. I wanted to be both weapon and armor itself. The kind of girl who could walk home alone at night and have nothing to be afraid of.

Emma Berquist in her article True Crime Is Rotting Our Brains observed, “So many true crime shows advise women to trust their instincts, but how can we trust instincts that have been hijacked by induced anxiety?” She worried that being primed to read danger in innocent situations “are not sensible reactions, they are the thoughts of someone who has been deeply traumatized.” I wonder how much of my instincts for survival are led by misreading the world. Defaulting to believing this world is a dangerous place, and in my body, I am not safe here. I often think of the police officer I dated, who was alert and guarded and could sense in every gesture or open space, the potential for danger. I related to him. I understood him. I wanted to become what he did in his response to fear.

Much of the criticism against women’s self-defense are objecting to how women must prime themselves to signals of danger. How we must be the ones to train and protect ourselves, instead of questioning society and demanding that society as a whole must become a safer place. It skews our perception of danger.

We are primed with our hands holding our keys in the the way that alert, vulnerable women do walking alone at night.

Many of my heroines are driven by anger, of experiencing women in their lives being abducted or murdered. Who they become is from the effect of these stories on their psyche.

Our very culture skews crime and violence to embed fear within us. I’ve been thinking of other insiduous ways it does this, encouraging us to mistrust each other, read danger into each other, in the name of encouraging safety, being alert. As a smokescreen to distract us from the deeper causes of violence. Heightened fear became the underlying landscape driving me to muay thai, combat sports, self defense. When I walk alone at night, every stranger could potentially whip out a knife. They warn of this in kali, demonstrating how casually one could stab you, as if it were a normal thing to expect. If, according to Berquist, “crime stories are a fundamentally conservative way of looking at the world,” what would a radical way of looking be? What would be the opposite of ‘fear-stoking propaganda’? What would it mean to practice self-defense as a way of truly finding power in oneself, rather than it being a reactive way of seeking power, like a man buying a gun?

I’ve been thinking about it what it means to take agency for my own life. There are days I feel like I’m just barely threading myself together; that I’m only just holding on to the strands that bind me. I think of how I’ve grown, since I first commuted to Brooklyn to learn Muay Thai, wrapping my hands on the train. Looking for courage. Looking for armor. Combat sports has become my lifeline when I don’t know what else to do with myself. It’s hard earned confidence. Focusing on the bag is a way of channeling my anxiety to a certain outcome–I know how to practice. I know that this isn’t wasted effort. The concentration and energy feel productive. There’s no confusion. Each strike is its own reward.

I found some kind of fulfillment and reward through the repetition of kicking a bag. Driven to perfect my roundhouse kick, fueled by the thrill of a perfectly executed kick. I learned to build habits and structure through long term persistence and self-forgiveness. It was the best thing I did for myself at that time in my life where I was going through a personal crisis.

I found survival in the drive to keep working, with a laser-like intensity, on something even after I’ve lost immediate interest. Learning what rules I do want to form for myself. Reward in my tenacity in itself; not to be recognized or to feel safer, but in the sheer joy of seeing myself improve. Survival in discovering my ability to stick with something even when it was hard.

Turning to martial arts and starting to fully grasp just how powerful I can be – how overwhelming it is to lean into something new, to be bad, to persist–and then to be truly whole-heartedly empowered by the results. Training myself to not be disappointed so easily by my failure or clumsiness, at how my body simply did not know yet. To not feel frustrated that I was getting it wrong, or that it wasn’t coming together or feeling easy yet. Enduring hardships and learning the grace to bear them well.

Finding agency through martial arts hasn’t solved my life problems, and it doesn’t make the world objectively less dangerous.

focus on the evolution in my perception of/relationship to martial arts.

The moment I decided to box was when I watched Tomb Raider, and Vikander, the underdog, was hurling herself at her opponent and refusing to give up. And I thought, maybe I could have it in me too. Croft, or the way Vikander played her – was vulnerable but also tough. She was someone who chose the hard path. Scrappy and resourceful and uncertain. And I identified with her. There is something triumphant and hopeful to be found in a character who, at the end, discovers just how truly powerful she is after emerging through crisis.

on psychological domination: I wonder what the difference is between rescue, and recovery. It seems obvious that self-preservation, the instinct to survive, means to walk away from situations that felt unbearable. But it’s not so obvious when you don’t know how to recognize what a cruel situation is. When it doesn’t occur to you that it’s possible to ask for more – and that you are deserving of more.

In that moment I left him, walking away was the rescue. Not just rescue from a relationship where I was exhausting myself, but also from a version of myself I knew deep down was just a shadow of who I could be. But it left me at point zero, alone and lost and not knowing what I’m made of or what I want to be. So now I begin the process of recovery–to fully allow myself to grieve and repair my wounds, when before I would just hide them and limp on. Like an animal who gnaws her paw off in a fox trap and goes on, determined but blinded with pain. Recovery is what comes after the escape. It’s the drawn out limping with no promises, searching for rest and hoping that along the way with time–against mortal limits–the limbs grow back. The fox molding the missing paw with clay and earth, learning to create and not just sever.

With tenderness and infinite patience. I’ve learned, along the way, that no one else is going to do it for me. It’s a hard lesson to accept. I grew armor as a kid, learning to rely on myself, but at heart, hoping someday someone would care for me. I held on to that fantasy, and my anger came from the injustice of feeling that was withheld from me. I struggle to accept that no one else is going to tell me the words that I want to hear, but it’s hard for me to feel like it’s okay to say those things to myself. But I hope to let go, to accept with grace that my belief in myself should not be dependent on others believing in me. There will be people who love me, who treat me kindly, generously, but if I’m able to unfailingly protect myself–be sacred to myself, treat myself like I would be my own daughter–then I’ll never be breakable.

[lixenn]

Thank you so much Ein! 💜💜✨ I'm glad you like Chief with his hair down, I wanted to try something different for a bit and I'm happy with how it turned out 👉👈 And yes! The shading! Actually this piece started out with me experimenting with rendering after watching some tutorials. I still don't really get colour theory either but I tried my best with the skin. In the end I scrapped my original hair rendering completely because it just kinda looked off and went back to my old ways of doing hair OTL

Also Sam is fine btw she finished the report on time and got a rare good job from Chief which was a relief because she really thought she would get fired for a moment. (Chief used positive reinforcement! It was super effective!)

OCtober 2024 day 1: fav OC

To no ones surprise my favourite is my main guy Daniele Costa aka Chief because let's be real here I can talk about him for ages. I love Dave to bits but Chief was my first proper OC for a fanfic and I'm most familiar with him. He accompanied me through tough times (aka thesis hell) and through him I was able to meet you guys! And I love you all to bits! So Chief is my dude! My tired bean that is in desperate need of a vacation and a nap (I think he might also be my fav because I relate to him so much lmao).

I made the drawing but I've also written a snippet where I used @zoroara's OCtober prompt day 1: foamy as a writing prompt (just so people are aware: I'm sticking to the #bweirdoctober prompts for this year but I had this snippet pre-written for ages and I don't wanna just let it let it rot in my documents. So I hope it's alright that I add this here 👉👈)

@myrmyrtheorca have Sam :)

The washroom looked like a bomb exploded in it. Foam everywhere, floor just one big puddle of water, one wall absolutely riddled with suspicious cracks and the washing machine was smoking like chimney in a frosty winter. At this point Dan feared stepping into the room just in case the ceiling would fall on his head.

He pinched his nose, once again regretting well … every single choice that brought him to this moment.

“Why?”

His question resembled more of a plea for divine intervention than an actual inquiry.

Why indeed.

Why is he awake at - he checked his watch - way-too-fucking-early o’clock? Why is he dealing with this? Why did he ever decide to work for the Varia? Once again, why is he awake right now?

“Ummm…”

He turned to his subordinates who had grouped themselves together in a trembling pile, which probably functioned as some form of moral support.

Dan narrowed his eyes at the pile not bothering to find out who actually spoke up.

“Well,” he said, tapping his foot. “Why am I here?”

A panicked and telepathic exchange of looks followed to determine which poor schmuck would need to answer his question. In the end Sam - four months, cleaning crew, allergic against bees - was shoved to the front like a sacrificial lamb. She was certainly shaking like one.

Honestly, it’s not like he will eat them. Unlike Vlasta he had standards for what entered his mouth.

Dan raised his eyebrow at the woman who clearly wished for the ground to swallow her whole.

“I am waiting.”

Her eyes skittered around the room steadily avoiding his gaze until they eventually focus on the broken washing machine. Resigned, she slumped into herself.

“The washing machine blew up.”

“Clearly,” Dan said, his tone the only dry thing in the entire room. “This doesn’t answer my question.” He stepped closer to his subordinate, placed a finger under her chin and lifted her face until she was caught directly in his piercing stare.

“Tell me, Sam, why has Varia’s Chief of Staff been dragged out of bed to deal with one. Singular. Destroyed. Room?”

To her credit Sam did neither break eye contact nor did she start crying. However, her skin took a rather ashen parlour and if she bit her lip any harder there would be blood dropping down her chin.

“I- we- ummm…” she stuttered, trying to come up with some excuse that would save this situation.

Dan simply waited. And waited. And waited some more. In the end the silence dragged on for too long and Sam looked one second away from a panic attack, so he came to the conclusion that his last lecture of being kept in the loop had backfired on him. Apparently, his employees took the subject matter so much to heart and are now running to him in a panic for the most trivial of matters.

Time to correct that misconception.

He let go of Sam and addressed the hoard in its entirety.

“I was told it was emergency. Do you know what I qualify as an emergency?” He didn’t give them an opportunity to answer and started counting off incidents on his fingers. “Any of the assassin's going on a rampage. The castle actively burning down. PoisonChem messing with the water supply again. Or God forbid, my coffee supply mysteriously vanishing. You know what isn’t included on that list? Property destruction so minor it doesn't even make a dent into our repair budget.”

He crossed his arms, his whole being screaming displeasure and disappointed in all of their decision making skills. “Now, you are going to clean up this mess.” One of the newbies in the hoard furrowed his eyebrows, rebellion clear on his face.

Well, we can’t have that.

Dan clicked his tongue. “I will hear no argument. Apparently you weren’t able to deal with this yourself, since you deemed my presence a necessity. Well, here I am, giving you the orders you needed. Sort this out, get the Reps for the wall and ask Logistics if they have a spare washing machine on hand.” His words were met with frozen bodies and blank stares. “Did I fucking stutter? Move it!”

What followed could only be described as productive chaos which was an accurate summary of day to day happenings of Varia Housekeeping. It involved a lot of swearing, whacking people with brooms and the occasional breakdown about the horror of the week. How any cleaning gets done in this process was a mystery to Dan, but he will not argue with the results (unless the results are sloppy in which case he will make arrangements).

He turned to leave, fully intending to crawl under his blanket again. But before fully exiting the room, he looked back once more.

“And Sam?”

“Y-yes?”

“I want a full report on the culprits of this mess. Have it on my desk on Tuesday.”

“Tuesday!” she squeaked. “But Chief, it’s Monday!”

His smile was neither kind nor particularly nice. “Better hurry then.”

[emile-hides]

“Payton’s face was so open, so apologetic, Sam felt like they were at the water tower again, Payton standing with her sisters, Sam slipping his jacket onto Miel. They had all been children then, so he’d never considered just how young Payton was, the smallest of four sisters. A girl offering to share her favorite thing with a girl she did not know.”

I don’t know what it is about the books I’m reading and making me want to try digital painting, but here I am.

[aftqrglow]

A Blessing, Beautiful And True

pairing: bucky x fem!reader

word count: 3.2k

warnings: use of she/her pronouns; swearing if you squint; mentions of death; mentions of food

a/n: this is a rewrite of one of my old fics that i absolutely hated with my entire being. i hate this a little bit less djaksjsjs also pls ignore how i literally cannot write a good ending to save my life.

dedicated to @xsamsharons for lending me her name. i hope i did it justice mi amor ily <3

Bucky learnt to value things.

Not the great, terribly material things people around him seemed to rush after. Not money, not even when he was barely getting by.

No, for Bucky, it was the small, seemingly insignificant things.

The tiny toy WWII soldier figurine he found at a yard sale one Tuesday afternoon, the one with the missing arm. The near-exact model of the car his father used to drive—rusted around the tiny steel axel, the rubber wheels worn from use. That yellow screwdriver set that sat at the very back of the tool cabinet in the garage, unusable because of the cracked plastic handles and rusted steel, that looked exactly like the kit he had once used to fix up the plumbing in his first apartment.

Bucky was used to valuing the broken little things.

He never truly understood what loving something whole, something complete felt like—not until he met you.

You, in your white sweater and blue jeans, hair tossed up in a braid. You, your eyes that dancing with unbroken light, like the rays of the sun on the ocean on a bright summer’s day. You, with the sort of kindness he never truly thought he would ever be worthy of, not until you showed him that he was.

You, the girl he fell in love with before he could ever truly know what love was.

Steve might’ve been the first to notice. He was with him that day, the day he first saw you. They had been hunting for a Christmas present for Tony, and even though Bucky wasn’t exactly thrilled to have to attend, he wasn’t about to show up empty handed.  

Steve didn’t even realize that the sly-footed assassin wasn’t by his side until he had walked the two blocks from the mall to his car. Hands ghosting over the gun tucked into the holster hooked into his waistband, Steve retraced his steps, his heart thundering in his throat.

Until he heard Bucky’s laugh.

Not the obviously fake chuckles he used to placate those around him. No, this was the laugh he remembered, the laugh he thought Bucky had lost.

This was Bucky’s laugh—his Bucky’s laugh, before the world stole him away. Pure and innocent.

Happy—so undeniably, inexplicably happy.

The tension eased from his shoulders when he saw you. Steve knew who you were, of course. Everyone did—or at least, everyone who had been around after the Battle of New York. Everyone who had seen you walk among the rubble, bleeding through your jeans, helping dig survivors out of the rubble, guiding them to shelters. Everyone who had seen you do everything you could help those who needed it more than you did, until your legs finally gave way and the only reason you didn’t collapse to the floor was because Steve caught you.

But Steve also happened to know why you’d done it. Because you were kind. Because you were selfless. Because you knew what it was like to lose everyone you loved, and to garner the strength to build yourself up anyway.

You’d lost people too—everyone you loved, killed during the Battle. Your family. Your friends. It might’ve seemed cruel to be spared. Might’ve seemed like a cold, dark twist of fate—and for a time, it did.

Steve had never known anyone to be resilient the way you were.

And maybe, just maybe, he thought to himself, as he watched his friend from through the glass, maybe you would teach him to hold on to the tiniest sliver of hope too.

—

Bucky didn’t even like books.

The only book he’d read—aside from the coursework assigned to him in his school days—was The Hobbit. And even that had taken him an ungodly amount of time to finish.

So yeah, Bucky didn’t exactly like books.

But he still visited the tiny bookstore on the corner every day.

He didn’t even buy anything. He just looked around, running his fingertips over the spines of the books that jutted out of the wooden shelves, the sunlight turning his eyes into uncharted waters of the oceans, swimming with undiscovered secrets and untold lies.

You would talk to him. All the time, and with no trace of the usual pity or sympathy that he heard when he spoke to people. You talked to him in a way that made him feel like himself, in a way that made him feel like he just might rediscover the man he used to be.

That first time he’d seen you was burned into the back of his brain, the image of you standing there with a hip braced against a bookshelf, dressed in a white sweater and jeans, your hair pulled into a braid over your shoulder. He had watched as a strand escaped, falling into your face.

And him—he'd stood there, watching you talk to another woman he couldn't recall because really, how could he look at anything else but you? Bucky was certain he looked like a gaping idiot, both wanting your attention to turn to him, and dreading the fact that he would surely make a fool of himself if you so much as looked at him.

Back in the 40s, things would've been so much easier. He would already have said something witty to make you laugh, he would already have been telling you about the carnival down at the beach and asking if you wanted to go with him.

But when your friend left, and you asked him if there was anything you could help him with, his voice sounded strange to his own ears as he croaked, "Books?"

You had laughed—and he found himself laughing along. A true laugh—for the first time in a long time, the sound didn’t sound fake to his own ears. For the first time in a long time, he felt like himself.

Bucky had taught himself to value that which wasn’t whole—because he wasn’t, either. Love was give and take. Love was equal.

If he was to deserve your love, he would have to be whole again. If he was to deserve your love, he would make himself whole again.

—

There was a sudden shift in the way Bucky viewed the world.

It had been three days since he last saw you, but he walked in through those doors anyway. He had no cause, no reason—he just couldn’t go any longer without seeing you.

You were sitting by the bay window at the very back, reading a book. He took a second just to take you in, to get used to the fact that you weren’t just a figment of his imagination.

The second you looked up, your face split into a grin, like you were truly, genuinely happy to see him. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had smiled at him that way. “Hey, you’re back! It’s Bucky, right?”

He nodded. He couldn't trust himself to speak, not when he was sure he would stumble over his words, not when he couldn't bring himself to string together a coherent sentence in your presence. 

"What can I help you with today?" you asked, snapping your book shut and placing it on the table. 

"Uh... What're you reading?"

You glanced down at your book before looking up to meet his eyes again. Blue, you thought, supressing a smile. Icy blue, but warm nonetheless—familiar in the way most things aren’t. "Wuthering Heights. You've never read it?"

He shook his head no. "Never been much of a reader, no. Is it any good?"

"It's one of my favourites," was your answer, watching as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The light caught the steel of the chain around his neck—the chain of one of those military-issue dog tags.

And maybe that was how it started—on that dreary cold Wednesday, when you'd stood next to the bookshelf by the window, telling him about your favourite book, but really all he could focus on was the late afternoon sun rendering the hue of your eyes several shades lighter, the soft slope of your nose, the fullness of your mouth. Every little detail about you was etched permanently into his mind—and he wanted to learn more.

He wanted to know everything there was to know about you. 

It was about closing time when he decided he had to go. Not because he wanted to, but because he had promised he would have dinner with Sam and Steve. And as much as Bucky wanted to stay, he was a man of his word.

Which is why when he promised you he would come see you as soon as he finished reading the book, you knew he meant it.

—

And you were right.

Two days later, he was back. 

It was raining that day, early in the morning when you were just about to open up. And there, standing under the awning in the freezing rain, was Bucky, the collar of his coat turned up against the wind, drenched to the bone.

"What're you doing here?" you asked, eyes wide.

"I just... I don't know," he said. Because he didn't. Bucky didn't even like books—but he did like being around you. There was a strange sort of calm about you, a sense of peace he'd only known in Wakanda. Around you, he was just Bucky—not Sargent Barnes, not the Winter Soldier—just Bucky. 

He liked being just Bucky.

You shook your head, but he could've sworn he saw the corner of your mouth tilt upwards as you fished your keys out of your pocket and unlocked the door. "Well, come on inside. I'll turn up the heat and get you something warm to drink. Christ, Buck, you could get pneumonia or something.”

He only nodded once. It didn't matter that he wouldn't get sick—not when the serum in his veins healed his body faster than normal. It didn’t matter that even if he could sick, he wouldn’t have cared, not when you were looking at him like that, with concern in your eyes for something other than your own safety.

You had a coffee machine in the back room, you told him. He followed you, lingering in the doorway as you bustled about, humming a tune under your breath. He recognized it as a song from that one Marvin Gaye album Sam couldn’t stop talking about. He recognized it as a song he wanted to listen to for the rest of his life, if only you were the one singing it.

He recognized that, for better or for worse, you would be his undoing.

—

After that, he came to see you every day.

When the weather got colder still, he brought you steaming cups of hot chocolate from your friend Bella’s café down the street. And on the days when he didn’t, he would head into the back room and make you coffee. You’d never had to tell him how you took it—after that in the rain, he’d somehow remembered what you liked.

You weren’t about to tell him, but you remembered what he liked too.

It started out simple—plum cider that you found on your weekly trip to the farmer’s market. An old vintage copy of The Hobbit from the forties. Rubber silencers for his dog tags that he never used but carried around in his pocket anyway—until eventually, you had something new for him every week, some insignificant thing that he looked at with the kind of childlike awe that made your heart twist into knots in your chest.

He walked you home too. Every evening, with his hands stuffed in his pockets, slowing his stride so that he could walk alongside you. He would stand outside, across the street, hands in his pockets, waiting for you to walk into the apartment you shared with Bella. Only leaving when the lights came on and he knew you were safe.

Bucky wasn’t much of a talker—you learnt that about him. He would spend all day sitting quietly in a corner of your store, reading one of the books he found on the shelf of used copies you kept in the back of the room.

He seemed to love those used books more than the new ones—books someone had already read, books that had already been loved.

He felt a little that way sometimes, too. A little too used for love, not loved enough for use.

But never when he was with you.

And you—you were falling for Bucky Barnes. A little by little, day by day, without even realizing it—not until it all came rushing to you one afternoon, like a dam breaking, like the ocean of his eyes pulling you under, especially when you felt his gaze on you from time to time, watching you as you worked.

That afternoon, a new shipment of books came in. You didn’t even have to ask him for help—he was already on his feet, snapping his copy of Anna Karenina shut, mumbling a soft, “I’ve got it,” as you signed for the order. Hefted the two cartons of books like they weighed nothing at all, and carried them inside.

There was a strange tightness in your stomach as you watched him, standing in the middle of your store—the only thing the Battle of New York hadn’t taken away from you—and you wondered just how it took so damn long to realize that the feeling of familiarity didn’t lie among these books, but rather, in Bucky himself.

—

It was a slow day, so the two of you spent the rest of the afternoon restocking the shelves. He asked you about each of the books, watching your eyes light up as you talked about your favourite ones, until conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence, the two of you basking in each other’s company as you worked.

You didn't even realize how much time had passed until you heard the door open and your friend Bella breezed in. She'd been here the first day Bucky had walked in, had noticed the way your eyes shifted to him mid-conversation like you couldn’t focus on much else when he was around. “Ready for lunch, y/n?”

You looked at Bucky, opening your mouth to ask if he wanted to come along. Not because you didn’t trust him to be alone at the store, but because you wanted his company. Because being around him felt like coming home.

He only waved you off. "Go ahead. I've got plans with Stevie. I'll be here when you're back though."

You believed him. You believed that he would always be around, for as long as you wanted. And you wanted forever.

"Was that the guy from before?" Bella asked, looping an arm through yours as you left the store, walking down the street. She brushed her fiery hair out of her eyes, turning her head slightly to look at you, yellow-green eyes filled with curiosity. “What’s his name?”

"Bucky. He... He's a friend," you said. 

"Well," Bella said. "He sure doesn't feel the same way."

"What do you mean?" you asked, confused.

"Y/n, he looks at you like you put the stars in his sky. Are you sure he's just a friend?"

"I... I don't know, Bella."

Because you didn't know what else to call him. Because you and him weren't friends in the way people usually are—you had always been more.

Bucky was always more.

—

"I've barely seen you," Steve said, picking up his can of Diet Pepsi and taking a sip. "Where have you been?"

"Around," Bucky mumbled. Because how could he explain why he was spending so much time at the bookstore with someone he'd only just met? How could he explain the magnetic pull he felt toward you, the inexplicable desire to just be around you?

How could he explain the way you made him feel like himself again?

But Steve knew. Steve always knew. He saw the growing stack of novels on his friend's bedside table, saw him reading at the kitchen table, book propped up against the jug of milk.

He also knew that all this was because of y/n. Because Bucky mumbled that name when he was too exhausted to even know what he was saying. Because Bucky talked in his sleep—and Steve could hear him calling that name through the thin walls that separated their rooms. "You've been at the bookstore?"

Bucky set his drink down. There was so use denying it—his friend would see right through him. Steve had known him for too damn long to believe in his lies. "She's so... I can't even put it into words. She makes me believe that there's good in this world. That all the things I did wrong don't even matter—not when I'm with her. It’s the way she looks at things, the way she’s capable of finding a little bit of good in everything. Like she found something good in me, Steve."

Steve knew it was true. Because he hadn’t seen Bucky this way for a very long time. Because he hadn’t seen that light in his friend’s eyes in a very long time, and ever since he met you, it hadn’t gone away.

—

Bucky had to leave for a couple of days.

He didn't tell you why—just that it was a work thing. How long would he be gone? He didn't know.

"I'll be back soon," he said. "I promise."

And he was. Five days later.

But Bucky was quiet—quieter than usual. 

It was a Sunday, and you’d somehow managed to drag him along to the farmer’s market with you. He walked alongside you, hands in his pockets, like he was aching to reach out and touch you but desperately holding himself back.

He’d almost gotten himself killed on that mission.

You took up too many thoughts in his head, too much space in his heart. And when the bullet narrowly missed him, grazing his ribs, his only thought was whether or not you’d miss him if he was gone.

You deserved better than someone who’s life was tied to the death of others. Someone who didn’t have so much blood on his hands.

A few paces ahead of you, Bella walked hand-in-hand with Bucky’s friend Sam. You were glad that Bucky had introduced them, glad that Sam made Bella happy in ways you’d never really known or understood before.

“Look at them,” you said, watching with a smile on your face as Sam quietly slipped a couple of oranges into Bella’s bag. “They look real happy.”

Then, turning to look at him, you smiled, and he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. Because you might deserve better, but he was selfish and stubborn, and the only thing he had wanted in so goddamn long was you you you.

“Go out with me,” he blurted, every thread of self-control he had so carefully cultivated to keep his head in your presence snapping. He felt like he was taken back to that December evening he saw you for the first time, when the words refused to leave his mouth, when you’d rendered him tongue-tied and helpless. Only this time, he couldn’t stop the words from coming out, not as he said, “One date, y/n. One date, and if you don’t have a good time, we can just forget it ever happened and move on.”

His heart shuttered when he saw the small frown creasing your brow, your voice soft as you asked, “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything. I want to do this for the rest of my life with you, y/n,” he said quietly. “But for now, I’ll take that date.”

“Okay,” you said, nodding slowly. “Okay, Bucky, I’ll go out with you.”

He couldn’t help it. Bucky wrapped his arms around your waist, drawing you to him, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around until you were both laughing, childlike and breathless, blissfully unconscious of the knowing look on Sam and Bella’s faces.

Because really, how could he see anything but you? You had been it from the first day he saw, and you were it now—a blessing, beautiful and true.

tags:

@goldengoddess @wherearethesantreys @ughlantsov @for-bebbanburg @mriddlemethis @xleiaorgana @xsamsharons

if you would like to be added to or removed from my taglist, just send me a message or an ask off anon!

[cow-smells]

Owe you one: Demetri x Reader

Summary: Y/n is on a mission to get that good geek D OR, Demetri tutors the reader. Reader sees it fit to pay him back.

A/n: Definitely not my finest piece of work but I had to let it out of me (: its my first smut. can you tell?

also please don’t repost this anywhere  :)

Words: 1678

Warnings: smut

Standing in the crowded hallway, Y/n scanned the crowd of students until her eyes set on her target.

    “Demetri!!!!”

Demetri was visibly startled, not used to having his name screamed out like that, surely not by a girl – most definitely not by Y/n. Y/n was one of the most popular girls in school and having her call for him, so publicly no less, made Demetri's cheeks flush.

They had been hanging out almost daily lately after a teacher suggested Y/n ask Demetri to tutor her in algebra, a subject she hated until the memory of it started tying itself with the lanky black haired boy.

At first they would study in the library but after quickly becoming friendly, the study sessions moved to either ones house. As time progressed Y/n began finding that she would find excuses in the guise of studying to seek Demetri out during the day, just to talk to him about anything at all.

Although she did use their study sessions to... well, study, Y/n couldn't help when her mind would wander elsewhere occasionally. When they'd both be perched on her bed, house empty but them, nothing but books between them... Y/n would lay a hand on Demetri's thigh, or sit a bit closer than necessary, waiting for Demetri to pick up on the hint; he never did.

    It was time to take matters in to hands.

    “Hey!” Y/n called as she caught up to Demetri. “Look!”

Y/n held up her latest algebra test, showing off a big B+ circled in red.

Demetri's eyes widened in surprise, his smile genuine. “That's amazing! I told you you'll do great!” he lay a shy hand on Y/n's bicep. It wasn't enough. Unashamed, Y/n held up her arms for a hug he couldn't deny.

Standing on her tippy toes, she held Demetri tight to her for a moment. “Seriously, thank you.”

She could swear it wasn't her imagination when Demetri was reluctant to let go.

Y/n slid her arms from around his neck to hold his shoulders. “Are you free today?”

Demetri thought; he was supposed to help Sam and Mr LaRusso fix up some stuff at the dojo but seeing as it was Y/n asking, looking up at him with her big e/c eyes and perfectly painted lips, he figured he could clear his schedule. “Uh, yeah.”

“Great. Could I come over? I wanna go over my mistakes, if that's okay with you.”

Of course it was okay. Demetri was crushingly disappointed once Y/n took the test and stopped meeting him every day, any excuse to spend time with her was more than welcome.

    Even if he was still too cowardly to make a move.

    “Yeah, sure. My parents should be working late today so, come by any time.”

“Okay,” Y/n bit her lip and brushed her hands off his shoulders. “I'll see you in a bit.”

Hours later, Y/n found herself in Demetri's painfully on-brand room. Closing the door after her she clicked the door to lock, even though it was just them in the meantime. She unhooked her bag from her shoulder, leaving it by the door.

Looking from the bag to her, Demetri asked, “What did you get wrong, anyway?”

“Oh, about that,” Y/n replied bashfully, slowly making her way closer to the boy, her hips swaying purposefully with each step. “I don't really care about the mistakes. I mean, sure, it's important and all, but...” Y/n reached Demetri, standing toe to toe with him. She reached her hand to grab the hem of his t-shirt, watching her fingers as she played with it – Demetri watching her. “I just wanted to get you alone. I never actually got to repay the favour, or say thank you.”

Suddenly looking up, Demetri found the girls face achingly close to his. If only he would lean down and close the gap... his mouth went dry.

“So,” Y/n eyes met Demetri's. Getting on to her toes, hands propping herself up on his abdomen, Demetri felt her breath on his lips as she next spoke. “Thank you.” With that, she closed the gap.

    Demetri felt fireworks go off within him. The one girl he had been pining over for so long was finally his. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her waist pulling her closer.

Y/n let her hands climb around his neck, one holding on to his hair as she kissed him deeper. Demetri briefly wondered if this might really just be her way of saying thank you, as unconventional as it may be – but once he felt Y/n's soft tongue searching for his, he decided to take what she was willing to give.

Demetri bent down in attempt to somehow be even closer, relieving Y/n from her position on her tip toes. He didn't even notice than his dominance on her pushed her back a couple of steps until her knees hit the bed, toppling her over with him above her.

    This was a very new situation for Demetri.

He had only just experienced his first kiss and here he was already, holding himself over the girl of his dreams. Looking down at Y/n's perfect smile and rosy cheeks (notably avoiding creating eye contact with her cleavage), every cell in Demetri's body urged him to surge forward, to kiss, to touch – so he rightened himself back up, knees still caging hers between his.

    “I'm sorry,” he apologized, despite it being nearly the last thing he wanted to do – the real last thing he wanted to do being pressure Y/n in to something.

He certainly didn't expect it when Y/n took back the reins and nudged Demetri with her knee to a sitting position on the bed, hooking the same knee around him until she was straddling him.

Demetri looked at Y/n from where she sat comfortably on his lap up to her eyes, his lips parted with questions he couldn't word; his own eyes hungry.

“Don't be.” Y/n leaned forward – Demetri leaned in instinctively in hopes to meet her lips, only to be left hanging when Y/n swayed her attentions to the skin under his ear, kissing and biting her way down the curve of his neck. Demetri closed his eyes, his attention completely devoted to the feeling of her lips on his skin, a feeling he had fantasized over for so long.

Fingers threaded between the bed sheets, Demetri couldn't contain his satisfied groan when she bit at just the right spot – and then again when she scooted her hips closer to his, forcing him to notice what she had.

Sudden panic rushing through him, Demetri lay his hands on Y/n thighs as though to push her back – she chose to stay put. “Shit, I'm sorry.” Demetri turned an unbelievable shade of red, causing the girl to laugh. If it were possible, he might have turned even brighter. He searched her eyes for disapproval, but found no such thing.

Looking down at the provocation that bothered Demetri so, Y/n met his eyes again. “Don't worry about it.” she captured Demetri's lips one more time, rocking her hips before they parted. Demetri gasped. “Besides,” she returned to her assault on his neck where red bruises were already forming. Her hands found his belt, undoing it. “I still owe you one.”

    It was with great effort that Demetri managed to ask “Y/n, what are you -” before her fingers were wrapped around him, rendering him silent – with the exception of a breath taken gasp.

Demetri could feel Y/n's lips contort to a smile against his skin as she began working him, his head tilted back in euphoria.

He bit his lip in attempt to drown out a moan without success. One arm came to wrap around the girl, holding her tightly in place. Demetri was pulled out of his content state when she slipped out of his grasp.

Y/n sat on the floor between his knees. Demetri's heart dropped, afraid he might have indulged himself too much, scared her away or maybe had done something wrong. “Y/n, what-”

Relief washed over the boy once her hand was once again wrapped around him, this time accompanied by her tongue, licking base to tip.

Demetri could feel every nerve in his body set on fire, never having felt anything remotely like this before.

It took every good ounce in him to say what he said next.

    “Stop.”

Clearly caught unprepared, Y/n let go of her touch on him (Demetri had to hold in his objection). Her brows furrowed – she was worried. “What's wrong?”

It felt ridiculous, talking like this in such an exposed state when all he wanted to do was go on, but it needed to be done. “Y/n, you know you don't actually have to do this, right?”

Noticing the drop in his voice, Y/n smiled. “I know.”

    “Like, seriously. You don't owe me anything.”

“I know,” Y/n smiled mischievously. “It's just an excuse to do this.”

There was no holding back the moan the escaped Demetri's lips when she next took him in her mouth.

Demetri wasn't sure what to do with himself. He had felt so good he wasn't sure how to contain it all; his hands were gripping the sheets, his head went from tilted back in extasy to forward, watching Y/n.

Releasing one hand of its grasp, Demetri brushed back some of Y/n's hair, creating eye contact.

    “I need to know this isn't just a thank-you.”

Y/n stopped, righting herself. “It isn't. Think of this as an... I'm in love with you.”

“I'm in love with you too.” Demetri replied eagerly, his heart pounding. He groaned as Y/n returned to her work on him. “Have been, since, like... fourth grade.”

Soon enough, Demetri's moans and groans grew in volume and frequency, finally finding his release.

Y/n climbed back on to Demetri's lap, kissing him again. Demetri smiled, resting his forehead against hers. “I think I owe you one now.”

[ofthehighestower]

hi I wrote something this morning for everyone’s favorite birthday boy... 😇🎊😇🎊 this is just a little canon-divergent moment that takes place ~season 12 but it doesn’t really matter LOL. thanks to @thenightwemetnatural for hosting!! 🐝

💫 💫

Cas hears shuffling paper as he wakes up, he didn’t notice when he’d dozed off on the camping cot set up in front of the RV, still warm in the shade. The pullout mattress inside was getting harder to sleep on as they reached two months of being tucked away into the forest. Through his bleary eyes, he could see Dean quickly flipping the notebook over as he sat up in the picnic bench across from him. He was really bad at pretending to do something else. “Afternoon! You hungry?” Dean says with an edge of forced energy. He looks like he was deep in thought, eyes scanning Cas up and down. “Yes…” His stomach kicks into gear as he says it. Cas sits up and feels the sweater that was draped over him fall off his shoulders, his book laying open on his sternum.

They’d taken the day off from their latest job: fixing up an old hunter’s cabin in Iowa that was damaged in a storm. It was little more than a shack in the woods, but they were going to make it the safest place in the state by the time they were done. He enjoyed it more than he expected. Light duty, despite the fact that it was hard labor, urged on by Sam in the most diplomatic way he could. "Were you drawing?" Cas asks, maneuvering the green knit sweater around his stiff shoulders, zipping it up halfway to guard against the spring wind. He could hear tree branches tapping against the wall of the RV. "You usually write with a pen, and you're using a pencil." "Don't worry about it. You know, we've got that chili in the freezer--" Dean stands up at the same time as Cas, who reaches over towards the notebook and flips it over. It was him. The drawing barely took up a quarter of the page, but this instant recognition was something Cas never had with the few photos of himself as he appeared to them. Usually he could only see Jimmy peering into the lens like a ghost until he remembered all at once with a pang of desperate guilt. Most days he still felt like this form was just a proxy. But the more ritual care this body clambered to require that only he could provide, and how much nearer he could feel it cradling him every day in return, was starting to set in on Cas. And on this blue lined page, he was looking at his hair that was sketched in with dark, broad lines, a few strands curling in front of closed eyes. Looking closer he sees eraser marks around his mouth and eyebrows, suddenly the pressure of Dean's discerning gaze feels like the brush of his fingertips. The face he was looking down at was so, so precious to Dean in these careful lines, and it was him. He wonders how it felt when Dean laid that sweater over his body, when Dean decided he wanted to render the collar tucked up near his jaw. All of the drowsy haze is lit up out of his body and an incandescent blush takes over.   "This makes me look like a creep, I wasn't watching you nap for that long, ok?" Dean mumbles, turning away from Cas. "Shut up. I'm keeping it." He starts to tear out the page as carefully as if it were an invaluable, earth saving spell. He traces along the edges of the portrait for a long moment. "Is this... really how you see me?" Cas turns to Dean and can see that his hands are clenched tightly at his sides. His expression eases from one shade of confusion to another. The long days of work in the sun have made Dean's freckles stand out more, and Cas is hyper-aware of wanting to touch every single one, as if he were painting them in. "I guess, yeah." Dean says with an embarrassed, defensive smile. He idly rubs his knuckles across the short hair on his temple. "Of course." "Dean..." A deep sigh escapes from Cas and he leans in to press his face against his shoulder, into the soft grey flannel Cas had washed and dried on the line days prior. His arms wrap around his middle and he can hear Dean inhale shakily, covering it up with a chuckle. Dean turns closer to Cas, so his cheek rests against his forehead and all the sounds of the forest slip away. They've never hugged like this, in silence, long enough for Dean to hesitate twice over to thread his fingers through Cas's dark hair. Cas wants to say something about being seen and taken in, about how he wants time to slow down for them, but he just holds on tighter instead. "I want to keep doing this, with the safe houses." He whispers it into Dean's neck, like he's telling a secret. "We could play for keeps on one next time. If you want." Dean says in a single breath, with the same hushed urgency. "I don't know!" He laughs, realizing what he's just said, and gently squeezes Cas before leaning back. "Let's have lunch first." Cas laughs and nods, bubbling over completely. He turns around to fold the drawing up and put it in his pocket. He takes one last look at his sketched face, the only one his family may ever know, disbelieving and bittersweet. When he looks up towards the RV he can see their two reflections in the tinted windows. Dean spots him looking and with a goofy smile, reaches over to press a wet kiss to his cheek, one arm still around his shoulders, the other hand tracing along Cas's jaw. Dean points to the window and says, "See? How could I resist." Cas sees himself roll his eyes, before closing them to lean into the touch. The wind picks up, and they don't eat lunch for another hour.

------------

thanks for reading if you got this far hahaha i feel like a rando even participating but i want to share how happy this fandom has made me!

i’ve never posted writing in the spn fandom before & i had something different planned based in my own personal spn canon slow cooker, but it got crazy and didn’t suit the mood. so this is what i came up with :^)

ok thanks happy birthday cas we love you!!

[nalivaa]

!!! i love doing these thank you for tagging me @ckneal!!! 💜

favorite color: purple!! any shade, im in love with it!

currently reading: the greatest estate developer! 335 chapters in and 73 to go! would've finished it already if it weren't for that goddamn issue about not being from Korea but what can you do. it's sooo good you guys i would totally recommend reading it if only it weren't in korean with no official translation :') (that being said the webcomic is right there so 👀)

last song: 안예은 - 줄항 by 짐대점령!!

last series: the untamed! i watched a few episodes with ck and that's the last time i was able to sit down and watch a series. im really bad about watching series i do not have the attention span for it, i need someone to hold my hand the entire time so i can pay attention akdkskdlad

last movies: luck (2022), it was fun, very cute animation for the cats, would've loved for it to explore a bit more of sam's feelings but it was nice enough

currently working on: OH! oh im really excited about this actually! i have several wips that im actively working on right now, two especially are permanently open in my computer. one is for tged and the other is a mermaid midam au chibi drawing that im actually reallyyyy liking rn ajdkaksk, i don't want to spoil too much in case it doesn't work out but im trying something a little different for it so im excited!!! im also working on a fic for tged but that's going,,,, well, it's going lol. i also have about three sketches that i want to polish a bit more before committing to them plus i have like two or three ideas on the back of my head rattling all over the place. AND ALSO im still looking for a way to fully render the anime midam project i started but im pulling my hair out trying to think of how to do it akdnakdk (god next time i complain about having no ideas someone just slap me on the face i deserve it)

but yeah! that's about it akdkskdk

thanks for tagging me!! and uuuhhh im tagging @vermicular2000 @archangelraphael @jumptheshark @fandom-space-princess and @magdaclaire, sorry if you guys got tagged already and no pressure of course!!!

[yourelivingwrong]

Distract me, please.

⋟─────────────────────────────

Dean Winchester x Reader

Fluff, Smut, Friends to lovers

Warnings: graphic injury description, near death experience, swearing,  sex as a coping mechanism? AU where Supernatural characters deal with emotions in a healthier way.

Word count: 4198

Hello, welcome back! Thanks so much again for the reaction to my first fluffy fic (which you can read here), here’s the next:

──────────────────────────────⋞

“CAS!” you yell as your swing open the door to the bunker. You desperately glance around the map room, and scream louder with desperation in your voice “CAS WE NEED YOU NOW!”

You turn to run back to the Impala but Dean’s already here, staggering up to the doorway with Sam slung over one of his shoulders, blood everywhere, body slack in unconsciousness.

“CAS!” Dean yells in a deep, panicked baritone, but the angel has already entered the room. 

Shock flits across Cas’s face as he takes in the scene before him, and he asks “What happened?” before running up the stairs to help the two of you bring the younger Winchester in safely. 

“Ghoul took a knife to him” you pant as you struggle to manoeuvre Sam down, “We couldn’t shoot it -”

Dean interrupts you, “Can you fix him?” he barks aggressively.

Cas presses his palm to Sam’s forehead “There’s still time,” he confirms “I can heal him”.

Dean takes the brunt of the weight and gets his brother onto the table. Red pools from Sam’s abdomen through the shirt of yours that’s tied tautly across the wound - there’s too much blood, and the only thing keeping you from losing it is the adrenaline, and Dean taking your hand, squeezing it tight, eyes not moving from Sam’s limp body.

Closing his eyes, Cas presses two fingers to Sam’s forehead and a warm light envelops him, seeping through his body. Dean winches as Sam’s body tenses, visibly rising from the table as Cas works his grace. After a moment, it fades, and Sam’s body slowly relaxes. Removing his hand from his forehead, Cas peels the shirt off Sam’s stomach to check the wound: the skin is smooth, untouched. 

“He’s healed” Cas says, looking back at you and Dean. “He’s sleeping, but he’s healed”.

You exhale a loud breathe you hadn’t realised you were holding, letting your head fall back as a wave of relief floods through you. 

“Thank you Cas. Thank you”. you say sincerely, placing a palm on Sam’s shoulder and squeezing it. You can’t bring yourself to think of a life without him in it.

You turn back to face Dean, and see he still hasn’t broken his gaze with his brother’s now sleeping form. His face is somber, stony even, and you know him well enough by now to guess at what he’s feeling: guilt. Your heart breaks for him - you’re all too familiar with Dean’s ever consistent self-blame, and right there in that moment, you commit yourself to an evening of caring for him, now his brother has been taken care of. He needs it. 

“I’ll get Sam to his room,” Cas says with understanding, reading Dean’s face in the same way you are. You smile back at the angel appreciatively, then pinch Dean’s crimson stained sleeve and tug it carefully to get his attention.

“Come on,” you nudge him gently, “Let’s go patch you up”.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈․° ☣ °․┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

The two of you sit in silence in Dean’s room, him on the edge of the bed and you knelt in front of him.

Dean remains still as you ease the flannel off his shoulders and begin to clean the blood from his arms and neck with a wash cloth. It colours the water a dirty shade of red when your rinse it in the bowl at your knees, and once you’re done you move onto taking care of Dean’s own wounds.

He flinches slightly when you run an antiseptic wipe across the graze that runs above his left eyebrow. “Just a little more” you assure him quietly, trying to soothe him. Dean says nothing in response - you know that in some twisted way, he thinks he deserves this pain for failing to protect Sam. Pulling apart a packet from the first aid kit, you delicately smooth a wound closure strip across the mark, using another to secure it. 

“All done,” you announce, balling the empty packaging in your hands and standing to drop it in the basket resting by the door, “I’m just gonna go wash my hands and grab you some tylenol. I'll be right back, okay?”. He nods, but still can’t bring himself to engage with you any more than that.

You smile sadly at him, then duck out his room.

For the first time this evening, you take a minute for yourself. You kick your boots off and leave them by the door, then peel your own over shirt off you and throw it straight in the trash before washing your hands in the bunker’s kitchen until the pink stained water runs clear down the drains, then you scrub your hands hard for an extra few moments to really rid Sam’s blood from your body.

Pulling a cloth from a hook and leaning back on the counter, you process the day and make sure your head is in the right place for the rest of the evening. Almost losing Sam was.. a lot, and you’re glad to have the purpose of caring for Dean for the night. Oh, Dean…

God, being infatuated with Dean Winchester sucked at the best of times, knowing that he could never feel the same way; but it was worse when he was in pain and there was almost nothing you could do to take it away from him. After years of friendship you knew how his self-loathing worked, and you’d slowly been coaxing him out of his toxic-masculinity to feel more comfortable sharing how he was feeling. He was still resistant: you don’t think he’ll ever truly change his ways, but him just allowing you to be with him when he feels at his lowest is huge progress. It made you care for him even more.

You take a deep sigh, shake it off and grab a bottle of painkillers from a cabinet and a bottle of water from the fridge, then head back down the Men of Letters corridor to Dean’s bedroom.

You let yourself in, closing the door behind you and crossing the short distance to the bed. Dean accepts the pills with a shaky hand as you sit next to him. His shock is fading, but he swallows them down, and placing a hand on his arm you tentatively ask, “How are you doing?”.

Face still forlorn, Dean shakes his head to himself “I always screw things up”.

“Dean.” you say softly, making sure he meets your eyes. “It wasn’t your fault”.

One tear drops from his eye to run down his cheek, ““If I’d just been there a second earlier…”, he all but whispers, and he crumbles, ducking his head down to hide his face in his chest.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” You murmur as you take him in your arms, one hand cradling his head and the other wrapping around his broad shoulders. “I’ve got you”. 

Despite the progress Dean’s made in opening up, he’s never let you see him like this, gently crying in your arms. You’d think all of you would be used to the near death (or full death) experiences by now, but the fear of seeing those closest to you come that near to never returning is unparalleled each and every time. You hold Dean back tightly, and you realise that you’re needing the comfort almost as much as he is: tonight was a close scare. A really close fucking scare. Dean breathes raggedly into your shoulder as you stroke his back softly, and after a few minutes you can feel him calm down in your arms: he’s stopped shaking, and his breathe is getting steadier.

Moving to run a hand down his face quickly, Dean changes his position to wrap his arms around your waist in return, holding you firm in his arms. From this angle your face is buried in the crook of his neck, and you can feel his heart beat against your own chest - you inhale his familiar scent, all aftershave and gunpowder, and the warmth of his body makes your beat race to match his. 

Dean moves his head slightly as if to face towards yours, then seems to change his mind and stay holding you tight. You tenderly turn your head to his to reassure him, assuming he’s holding himself back from saying something, and are taken aback when suddenly you’re face to face with him, only an inch apart.

His nose brushes against yours, and after a second’s pause, Dean softly presses his lips to yours. 

The kiss takes you totally by surprise. To have his gorgeous, pink lips on yours almost renders you stunned - it plants butterflies in your stomach immediately, and for a moment you lose all brain power, able only to relish in the sensation. As soon as you’re compos mentis enough to start kissing back, a little voice in your brain tells you to stop.

“Dean-“ you whisper against his lips, reluctantly pulling away. 

Focused on your lips, he murmurs “I just need to be with you,” before ducking back in for another kiss.

You’re really not sure what’s happening, and dumbly sputter out a question, “Are you sure?” 

His green eyes meet yours, “Distract me Y/N,” he breathes in his husky voice, looking up at you, pleading “Please.”

You resist again, “Dean, honey,” you whisper, gently, “Not that I haven’t wanted this for.. ever, but I feel like I’d be taking advantage-“ he silences you by putting a finger to your lips.

“Please Y/N,” he looks dead into your eyes, “We can talk about it later, I swear. Right now I just need to bury myself in you and forget about it, ok?” he’s being open, and honest - as you gaze back into his eyes, it’s almost as if you can see how much he means it.

You try to process that for a moment before ultimately whispering “Okay”.

Dean responds immediately, threading his fingers into your hair and crushing his lips against yours.

He’s kissing passionately, and almost immediately everything fades away: the room, the evening, the emotions. All that’s left is Dean’s mouth on yours, your body held tight against his and the taste of him on your tongue. A tiny voice in your head recognises this is finally happening, and before you can think it through you’re climbing into his lap, resting a knee either side of his hips and hearing him groan low in his throat at the closer contact. 

His tongue slips in your mouth and even after all your years of imagining, this is more divine than you ever could have fantasied. You mould together, a perfect fit, and when Dean’s hardening cock experimentally rolls up into you a choked sound escapes you that would ordinarily have embarrassed you, if you didn’t see how much it turns Dean on.

“Goddamn Y/N, I’ve wanted you for so fucking long” he moans into your mouth, punctuating the last two words with an another, firmer thrust. Heat is flooding to your lower stomach, and you can feel your panties getting wetter with every moment - you’re desperate for him to be closer, to make you moan under his touch until you can’t take it anymore.

You catch his eye through fluttered lashes, and boldness takes over, “I need to feel you Dean,” you say in breathy pants. He sucks your lower lip beneath his teeth and it bites it gently, growling in response when you moan.

Dean holds your head firmly as he rolls the two of you backwards onto the bed, leaving you now laying side by side, never pausing his needy kisses. He toes his boots off before he moves to hover on top of you, swinging one leg in between yours so that his thigh is pressed right against against your cunt and god, you’ve never been so aware of how frustrating clothes are.

Luckily, he’s reading your thoughts, and he steadily unbuttons your jeans and pulls them down your thighs. He barely breaks the kiss, and when they bunch around your ankles you help him out by kicking them off, leaving you in just your thin, black panties.

Dean runs a warm, rough hand down your side and pulls back just enough to watch you tremble at the touch. He trails his fingers across your thighs, touching everywhere except where you need him most and you whine in frustration.

“I’ve been wondering how sweet you taste for a while now darlin’,” he confesses into your lips, taking two fingers to run a delicate trail up the centre of your panties and making you buck up and gasp, “And I’m not about to hold back any longer”. 

He presses a quick kiss to your lips and moves down your body, trailing more kisses down your torso as he goes. When he reaches your panties, he hooks a thumb under the fabric either side and pulls them from under your ass, leaving you bare to him, your wetness already pooling.

“God you are so beautiful” he says under his breathe, sounding like he’s saying it more to himself than he is to you. Your heart swells, then he leans in almost all the way - his warm breathe dances over your pussy and the anticipation of him finally touching you is almost too much. 

He licks one stripe up your clit, unable to hold himself back and you inhale sharply, fire spiking through your body. Dean settles himself comfy on his chest, then snakes his arms up around your hips to pull you to his waiting mouth.

His mouth at your pussy is… unreal.  He’s attentive, literally feeling you out and observing your reactions to assess what really gives you as much pleasure as possible and it’s making you lightheaded. When he presses his mouth fully to you, giving your clit a sloppy kiss and dragging his tongue slowly up from your dripping cunt your back keens off the bed and you make a high pitched whine unlike any sound you’ve ever made before, feeling as if you’ve died and gone to heaven. Dean smirks into you, repeating the action to bring you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

You desperately raise a head to look down your body at Dean eating your pussy, and the sight you’re met with is without doubt the sexiest thing you’ve ever witnessed: his eyes are closed, eyebrows tight and raised at the centre in pleasure as he devours your pussy. His chin is glistening in your wetness, and he’s softly rutting his cock against the mattress, genuinely loving every minute of eating you out.

“Damn sweetheart, you taste so good” he mumbles into your centre, curling his tongue inside you in a way you didn’t think was possible. You collapse back on the bed, reaching down to desperately hold his head while your eyes flutter shut, your orgasm already fast approaching.

You stutter “Dean, fuck - I’m c-lose already"

His hands grip your thighs ever tighter at your words, and he becomes frantic, “Give it to me princess,” he growls, voice muffled as his mouth works desperately at bringing you over the edge.

You’re not usually one for terms of endearment but there’s something about how the pet name drips off Dean’s tongue that, combined with his tongue at your pussy and his lips suckling on your clit, sends you spinning over the edge and coming hard with a ungodly moan. You see stars behind your eyelids as your orgasm floods your body, your hands twisting into Dean’s dirty blonde hair and riding it all out on his face.

Dean watches you with dark eyes as you fall apart, soaking in every inch of you and licking you through it as your writhe on his tongue until your legs are shaking and your thighs are closing, forcing him away from you. You shudder in the wake of your orgasm, struggling to catch your breath as he kisses your thighs and up your body until he’s face to face with you once more.

“Fuck me Y/N, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Dean groans, lunging forward for a hard kiss. You taste yourself on his him, and reel at how sensual it is as his body presses back firm against yours. Your hands reach blindly to pull take his shirt off, and once he’s thrown it from the bed you wrap your arms around him and roll him onto his back. You kiss,

then begin to slowly move down his body.

“Woah sweetheart,” he says sincerely, beginning to raise himself up on his elbows, “I’m really not expecting you to do that for me,”

“You really think you’re the only one who’s been dreaming of how you taste?” you quip with a small smirk, pressing one hand flat against his chest to lower him back down. You struggle with his belt buckle and he quickly intervenes to undo it and his fly, so eager for you, and you can tug his pants down to reveal his muscular thighs, perfectly framing the thick cock straining against his boxers.

You’re a little taken aback - he’s bigger, and thicker than you were expecting. You almost tentatively reach out to free him from his underwear, and swallow when you see him bare in front of you. Dean’s cock is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, and even after your orgasm you feel your pussy ache with need for it. Wrapping a hand around the base, you hold him as you lick one slow, teasing stroke up his length, barely even making contact with his warm, throbbing skin. 

Dean throws his head back in response, biting his lip as you smirk and repeat the action, looking up at him with hooded eyes, “Son of a bitch Y/N, you’re driving me crazy” he moans, looking back. You smirk at his reaction, then in one fluid motion take him into your mouth and swallow him down until he’s hitting the back of your throat.

It knock’s the wind out of him and he gasps, one hand reaching out to grab at your arm as you begin bobbing your head up and down, focusing hard on keeping your throat as open for him as possible. It takes him a moment to be able to react, and by the time you’re coming up for air panting he’s desperately gathering your hair in his fist to hold back before you sink back down his length.

His cock is heavy against your tongue, and you swirl it as far round his length as your can, hollowing your cheeks, so desperate to make him feel so damn good. You sink lower again, eyes watering as you concentrate on taking him as deep as you can but suddenly Dean pulls you off his cock with a satisfying pop, leaving you whining in protest. 

“God Y/N I want so bad to fuck your throat until my cum is spilling from your pretty lips, but I gotta be inside that warm pussy of yours, and that’s not gonna happen if you keep going like that” he grunts, pulling you up the bed roughly and pushing you onto your back.

Your head falls at the foot of the bed and he leans to fumble through his bedside drawer for a condom, and you take the opportunity to rid yourself of your vest and bra. His eyes rake over you in lust as he spreads your legs open to hug his hips, pumping his cock and shifting up on his knees to line himself up to your pussy. The strength he used to move your body has made you that much wetter, your desire for him to fuck you almost desperate.

Cock firm in his hand, Dean moves in and brushes his tip against your wet folds making your breath hitch in your throat at the sensation. You’re definitely desperate now, and you rock your hips up so that his head drags along your pussy, melting at how exquisite it feels.

“Gonna make you feel so good Y/N..” he mutters just before he slowly enters you.

Your jaw falls open as Dean’s cock fills you up inch by delicious inch, his pace devilishly slow as you stretch to accommodate him. He feels impossibly bigger inside you than he did in your mouth, all your senses are alive and everything is Dean, Dean, Dean. Once he’s full seated inside you, he whistles a breath out through pursed lips and whispers “god fucking damn”.

Already he’s slowly pulling himself out, and when just his tip is inside you he drops his torso down to lean over you, then looks you in the eye. Your lips meet for one desperate needy kiss, then he snaps his hips back up into you and buries his cock home in one thrust making you scream out in pure pleasure.

Dean sets an unforgiving pace immediately, gripping your hips as your legs drape over his thighs and you’re vaguely aware that you’re chanting a series of please, yes, fuck, Dean, more, so fucking good…. Your words spur him on, and his cock swells at seeing you so undone under his touch, all his, moaning and panting just for him. He runs his palms up your sides to cup your tits, bouncing with his thrusts and he bites his lip, cursing loudly.

Your bodies aren’t close enough, and Dean pulls you up abruptly, bringing you flush against his body as he moves with you. He’s is all hands, clutching onto you and grabbing at your head as he thrusts up into your sweet pussy like it’s the best thing he’s ever felt, his cock dragging over that sweet spot inside you with a relentless intensity. You claw at his back, definitely leaving scratch marks and suddenly it’s all becoming too much - you can feel another orgasm looming.

“God Dean don’t s-stop, fuck I’m gonna come” you whine, voice stammering as he fucks up into you.

“Come with me baby- fuck, come with me” he grunts, his brow screwed up as he tries to hold on to let you finish first, “Come around my fucking cock,” he begs.

The band snaps and you fall apart, your pussy fluttering around Dean as you call his name out in what sounds like a sob.

“Jesus fuck Y/N, goddamn” he all but growls, his hips staggering as he shoots his load inside you. You have never, ever come this hard, and he pulses his cock inside you even while he’s coming to drag your high out for as long as possible.

You cling onto each other as you ride your orgasms out, half out of fear of passing out at the intensity of it all. You collapse back on each other, sweat slick skin on sweat slick skin and for a moment, all you can do is just stay on Dean’s chest, panting and regathering yourself as the two of you lie there, entangled in each other.

Dean breaks the silence after a couple of moments: “Holy fucking shit” he says, with a small laugh, hand resting on the small of your back.

“That’s what I was about to say” you chuckle back between pants, breath still stabilising.

Dean kisses the top of your head, gently pulls himself out of you and discreetly discards his condom, immediately leaning back to tuck you into his arms. Your pussy is still pulsing, and you bask in the aftershocks of your orgasms as Dean presses kisses to your head.

“Let’s get some sleep” he murmurs, shifting you so that your back is flush against his warm chest. He envelopes you, and you feel contentment radiating off of you. There’s silence, and you almost think Dean has fallen asleep until he clears his throat softly.

“Thank you, Y/N” he says sincerely.

His words hang in the air for a moment before you respond. “Always” you whisper.

Dean hesitates for a moment, uncertainty wavering, then whispers low, almost under his own breath:“I love you”.

It’s confessed so quietly, so fearfully, that you almost don’t catch it. Your heart is pounding, and you gently turn onto your back, moving to look him in the eye. The fluttering in your stomach feel like it’s going to explode out of you as you whisper back, “I love you too Dean.”

You move together in synchronicity to kiss - a new kiss, delicate, almost chaste and full of deeper meaning. Dean cups your jaw lightly in one hand, and the tenderness of it makes your heart surge with love. You’re so excited to wake up and have this night be real come the morning.

“Rest now”, you say against his lips, taking a hand to stroke his hair. He nestles into you, arms wrapped around your waist and holding you tight. 

You hold Dean, running your fingers softly through his scalp until he drifts into a peaceful sleep. A small smile is fixed on your face as you watch him, and it’s not long until you succumb to a deep sleep as well.

⋟─────────────────────────────

This one just kept on adding to itself - phew. I’m gonna need a minute.

Thanks to my gorgeous Supernatural tag list: @deandreamernp​ @eunomiasloane​

Let me know if you’d like to be added!

──────────────────────────────⋞

[agreeablesenseofthemacabre]

Lifting the Sea

“Where’s Cas?” 

Dean does a full comedic rotation before spotting the Angel— his husband— whatever, scowling at his phone near a landmark. 

He shrugs, “Catching those little monster dudes probably. Apparently they’re all over the place here.”

Sam’s brow furls, he looks over at Eileen who shrugs. 

“What?”

“You know that fuckin’ app that everybody was obsessed with like... 5 years ago? Pocket something something”

Sam frowns for a split second then it hits him.

“Pokémon go?”

“Yeah that shit.” Dean shrugs again, his green eyes still fixed on the man in question. “I knew it was a mistake getting a smartphone” but he doesn’t sound nearly as bothered as he claims. He glares upward. “It’s fucking hot” 

Sam’s also dart up. “I mean. It’s the beach Dean.” He stares pointedly at his brother’s attire. “Would it kill you to buy some shorts maybe a tshirt?” 

Dean pulls a face, but doesn’t argue, Cas is waving happily- just now noticing how far they’ve walked away from him. He points excitedly to his phone and says something. 

“Can’t hear—” Dean sighs, “CAN’T HEAR YA CAS, you’re too far” he yells, smiling softly. “Asshole.” 

Dean points at the nearby shop, waving to get Sam’s attention, a couple kids are clustered around Cas chattering to him animatedly. 

“Sam. Can you keep an eye on him? I’ll be right back” 

~~~

When Dean walks back out into the sunshine Cas has finally decided to join them. He’s signing to Eileen and going intensely through the alphabet. Probably more about that damn Pokémon game. 

Sam whistles, “I’m blind” he laughs. “Your legs, they’re reflecting the sun”

Dean flips him off.

“No, but for real Dean, have your thighs ever been exposed to light? Are you sure it’s safe?”

“HA, HA, fuck you”

Cas turns at his voice, eyes glowing happily, and how in the hell did Dean Winchester get so lucky. 

“I caught a Charizard in the wild Dean, none of the other players were able to capture him” He informs proudly, phone still out, finger flipping with precision, “You have very nice legs” he adds. “The sunlight will cause you to have more freckles, plus the added health benefits of vitamin D”

Dean winks, “Any nude beaches out here? I could benefit from your vitamin d”

Sam retches, seizing the umbrella from Dean and heading toward the beach. “You two are disgusting” 

Dean waves cheerily before turning back to his boyfriend— husband. 

“So What’s a charred—“

“Charizard.” Cas corrects, “dragon fire type”

“Uh-huh” Dean reaches for Cas’ hand, it takes him a second to get used to flicking with his thumb, but he manages, Dean lets Cas lead. “Did you bully those kids out of their dragon? Dragons suck dude.”

“It is very rare to catch in the wild, Edwin told me, he is one of the top players in this region, he is 12, and though he is Team Valor, and I am team Instinct, I decided to trust him.”

“Whatever you say babe.”

“I think you might enjoy this game Dean, it combines hunting and tracking with less bloodshed and all of the monsters seem kind.” Cas squints suddenly, yanking them out of the flow of traffic and down onto the beach. “I see combees.”

~~

“Handsome and artistic, you’ve gotta be a serial killer right?”

Dean raises his head, shielding his eyes in the sun. She’s tall, and curvy with sparkling eyes and a near perfect smile. 

“I don’t know about artistic, but I never murder and tell”

She throws out a hand. 

“I’m Clarice” 

“Dean.”

She notices the lift of his expression and rolls her eyes good naturally, “Yeah like Silence of the Lambs”

“Put the lotion in the basket” he intones with a mock accent. 

“Yeah that never gets old” 

He laughs and she smiles and takes a seat on the beach chair beside him.

“What brings you out here into the sunshine?” 

“Celebratin’.” His eyes turn back to his sketchbook, thumb smudging a carefully drawn mop of black hair.

“Oh, that’s fun, how old are you?” She doesn’t seem bothered by his in attention, sips her drink and watches him sketch. 

“Ah um” He shifts and does the mental math. “Forty-three I think...”

“Looking good” she says appreciatively. He’s too focused on the lines, eyes occasionally darting to the ocean, quite obviously only half listening. She’s not put off yet- no ring on his finger, only a necklace with two silver circles and that could mean anything.

“So uh, a couple of my friends are headed down into the—“

“DEAN!” 

His attention is immediately diverted, a man waist-deep in the frigid surf is pointing excitedly at something, he’s still wearing his snorkel mask. He pulls something free of the water- revealing a long, lean wriggling shape.  

“Is that a fucking shark?” Dean mutters in disbelief, then much louder “CAS is that a fucking shark?”

A giant man with longer hair stops splashing the woman with him, turns and starts cackling. The shark handler pulls his mask off, beaming. “Jack would love this!”

Clarice shades her eyes and takes a good look at the man with the shark and then at the drawing Dean’s been working on. 

“Who’s that?” She asks, his distraction giving her a better chance seeing what’s in his sketchbook. 

A lovingly rendered drawing of what looks like the man with the shark. But in the sketch it’s in a much different position, hair ruffled in detail over his brow. Blankets pooled around his barely covered hipbones. His eyes burn with inner heat despite the fact that they’re merely pencil on paper. His subject had clearly been in love with whomever he’d been looking at. 

“That is my boyfriend, he’s gonna get his nipple bit off if he’s not careful.” Dean’s smiling cause Sam is trying to talk Cas into releasing the shark and is clearly failing. “Oh hell, I guess husband now.”

She stands, “I am so sorry, I didn’t realize. I gotta—“

“Nice to meet you Clarice” he says, honestly surprised by her quick exit. “Yo STEVE IRWIN. put the shark down and come up here— time to reapply sunblock”

~~

“Who was that woman?” Cas asks, shaking like a dog and stirring a loud swearing session out of Dean as he shields his sketchbook from the saltwater.

“What woman?”

“The one speaking to you earlier? When I caught the shark?”

Dean looks completely vacant before remembering. “Oh shit, yeah! Clarice or something. Nice lady.”

Cas nods, waiting patiently while Dean starts applying sunscreen to his back. 

“Did she need something?”

Dean shrugs, “just being friendly I guess, lean close. I gotta get your nose”

Cas hums and obliges, he grins suddenly and rips open a Velcro pocket in his trunks revealing his prize to Dean. 

“Is that a goddamn crab Castiel?”

The angel nods happily. “We should find out if Claire can FaceTime. She would love to see.”

~~

Claire and Kaia lean close, Dean’s got the camera aimed so that it’s mostly sky and their foreheads. Cas is smushed against his cheek waving. 

“Jesus.” Claire hisses. “Hold the damn camera still. Dean— look, YOU’RE the square in the corner.”

Kaia hasn’t stopped giggling since they connected.

“How is Kansas?” Cas asks. “Are you well?”

Claire rolls her eyes. “You’ve been gone two days. It’s the same Cas— house burned down and a ghoul attack—“

The camera reels, two deep gruff voices start speaking rapidly. 

“She’s joking!” Kaia intervenes. “Castiel, Dean. She’s joking. We’re fine and safe, worst thing that happened is we ran out of coffee.”

He nods seriously— the left side of Dean’s face is unamused.

“Tell them not to put damn Walmart coffee in my coffee machine—“

Cas lifts a blurry item into view. “I caught a crab today,”

She freezes only for a moment, crabs had been her thing in 1st grade. Her dad had shared some of his favorite memories with Cas; she was realizing that he did it because he trusted the angel. The crab thing was a new one— he seems proud though, pleased that he remembered. 

“He also caught a fucking shark with his bare hands.” Dean adds, taking the phone back, view now up his nostrils. They’re both sunburned and nearly glowing with happiness. “Almost lost a nipple”

“I did not.” It’s Cas’ turn to roll his eyes. “I will send you photographs via messaging after the call.”

“When are you guys headed back?” Claire asks, cause she’s pleased about the pictures and doesn’t know how to admit it. 

Dean turns the camera again. This time slightly more centered. 

“Sam and Eileen are heading home tomorrow, but Cas says he has more surprises for me and “undomesticated equine could not drag the secrets from him’”

Dean and Claire snort simultaneously. 

“I was being funny.” Cas interjects, Dean laughs at something off camera and grabs his face, kissing Cas’ cheek. “I know the saying.”

“Gotta go.” Dean says, with a wink. “Gotta get our vitamin D for the day, right Sunshine?”

The camera tips; Cas is frowning in confusion and they can barely see the top of Dean’s now suggestively wagging eyebrows.

“Oh. Uh. Yes.” Cas looks guiltily at the phone and shakes his head at Dean. “Vitamins.”

Kaia starts wheezing with laughter. It dawns on Claire moments later.

“That’s fucking gross.”

Cas shrugs apologetically, Dean’s laughter fills the background.

“We appear to be having connection issues.” Cas mutters, They watch Cas fumble with the phone as he frantically tries to hang up before Dean does anything scandalous.

“See you in a week!” Dean shouts. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Bye...” the screen goes dark and Claire is left with her and Kaia’s amused reflections. “Dads.”

~~ 

If you liked this it’s connected to my ao3 vibesandwonders. Come say hey here and see the rest of the series

[kyber-kisses]

Out Cold

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: sick!reader, some cursing, Dean being a big softie

Summary: after a particularly harsh hunt, the reader returns to the bunker worse than when she left. Dean goes into mother hen mode.

A/n: I know there are about a million fics like this already, but I’m a sucker for em, so I wrote one myself. I hope y’all enjoy! (Gif credit goes to owner.)

“Dean, would you please keep your eyes on the road?” Sam sighed, shifting once more in the backseat as he glanced between You and Dean. The younger brother having been generous enough to let you take his normal seat on the way back from the hunt.

“I’m sorry, but don’t you think this whole thing is weird?” Dean motioned with his freehand at the figure next to him.

“That she’s sitting up front?”

“No!” He quickly shook his head, “She’s asleep. Y/n never sleeps in the car. Ever.”

Sam sunk back in his seat, rolling his eyes, “We just finished up a massive hunt. She’s probably tired, Dean.”

“But I’m telling you, she never sleeps during drives. Even when she is tired.” Taking his eyes away from the road once more, he looked back over at you, your head resting against the window. Even in your unconscious state, your eyebrows were furrowed almost like you were in pain, and your skin looked a shade paler than normal. You mumbled in your sleep, shifting to try and find a more comfortable position.

Yes, something was not right.

“When she wakes up, I’ll ask her.” Dean sighed, eyes going back to the road, his concern clear on his face, allowing Sam to see it in the rear view mirror.

Dean was always worrying about you though. There was nothing new about that.

*. *. *. *. *.

You were out cold for the remainder of the drive, which only allowed Deans worry to grow. Sam passed out eventually, leaving Dean in total silence as he drove the final stretch back to the bunker, the clock on the dashboard telling him it was close to one in the morning. The almost orange glow of the passing street lamps illuminating your face as he drove down the empty streets of Lebanon. The only noise coming from the engine and the soft drone of the radio turned down low.

You always said this was your favorite time. The world was quiet and peaceful. It was one of the reasons you always stayed up during drives. You liked watching the chaotic world fizzle out and get replaced with this dark serenity. But for once, you were unconscious and missing it.

Eventually the wheels of the impala rolled into the bunkers garage and the vehicle was put into park and turned off, the normal hum of the engine now gone and replaced with total silence. The change being enough to shake Sam awake.

“She still out?” He yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he sat upright.

“Yeah,” Dean sighed, pocketing his keys as he turned to look at you. In proper lighting, he could now see how pale you really looked, along with the thin layer of sweat coating your skin. “Just go to bed. I’ll take care of her.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

There was a moment of silence before the familiar click of the door opening, Sam sliding out of the backseat with his duffel and lazily making his way into the depths of the bunker. It wasn’t long after that Dean climbed out of his seat, walking around the hood of the car to open your door.

At the sound, you shifted again, slightly opening your eyes to quickly see where you were. The only thing catching your hazy thoughts was the set of green eyes looking at you with worry.

“Are we home?” You mumbled, still trying to chase the sleep that was settled heavy over you.

“Yeah, we’re home.” Dean smiled, squatting down to your level, “how you feeling?”

“tired.”

The hunter shifted on the balls of his feet, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead, “Jeez, y/n. You’re burning up.”

You let out a yawn, eyes closing as you leaned into his touch, his skin so much cooler than your own. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, try again.” Dean huffed, bringing his hand back down to his side, “you’re sick.”

“Mmm no I’m not.”

Dean let out another sigh. It was like talking to a brick wall. “Yes you are. Luckily, you have me though.” He smiled, standing up slightly so he could tuck his arm underneath you, hoisting you out of the vehicle and into his arms, earning a groan of protest from you.

He took his time carrying you down the hallway , trying not to jostle you around too much as you did tend to let out a whine every time he did. He could feel the heat from your skin through his shirt, your head resting in the crook of his neck. You felt so fragile in his arms, like one false move would make you crumble.

Pushing his back against your slightly ajar door, he stepped into the dark of your room, using one of his elbows to flip the switch. Luckily the heat had been turned off while you were all away from the bunker, leaving your room much cooler than normal. Hopefully that would somewhat help cool you down.

“You just had to go and get sick, didn’t you?” He sighed, being as gentle as possible as he laid you down on the bed.

“Don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad. It just hurts me to see you like this.” He smiled, brushing a strand of hair away from your eyes, feeling the heat radiating off your skin as he did.

“You should go to bed. You’ve been driving for hours and it’s past one in the morning.” You mumbled.

“Yeah, that’s not happening. We need to get that fever down. Plus, I’m not tired. I’ll get my four hours eventually.”

“If I wasn’t so weak, I would hit you.” You sighed, shifting your head on the pillow as you closed your eyes.

“Oh, I know you would.” Dean chuckled, squeezing your hand, “I’ll be right back.”

With that, he gave you one last look and departed from your room, disappearing down the dimly lit hallway.

Dean Winchester never ceased to amaze you. He usually gives off a tough exterior, but deep down he was just a big softie. You loved that about him. You never asked him to take care of you, but he always did. There weren’t proper words for how thankful you were for him.

It was only a few minutes later that he returned, a bottle of water and container of ibuprofen gripped in his hands, along with a neatly folded washcloth.

“Alright, sit up.” He sighed, the bed dipping under his weight as he sat down, passing over the water before unscrewing the lid and fishing out a couple pills. You gave him a small thank you, swallowing them down with a generous gulp of water. Another wave of dizziness worked over you, making you lean back with a groan.

“I’m dying aren't I?”

“You’re not dying. Now stop being dramatic.” Dean sighed, leaning forward to press the cool cloth to your head.

“You must like being a mother hen a lot.” You groaned, hand going to rest atop Deans, which still held the cloth to your forehead.

“I do not!” He exclaimed, only to pause, shoulders dropping, “fine, it’s like crack to me.”

“I knew it.” You smiled, sending him a small wink.

“Alright, shut it.” Taking the bottle back off your nightstand he handed it over once more, “You need to keep drinking. We gotta keep you hydrated.”

“I don’t wanna.”

Deans head fell back as he let out a groan, “You're a damn child, you know that?”

“Yes.” You smiled, taking the water bottle from his hand and taking a few more sips. Even if Dean had just sent you a small smile, you could see the worry on his features. Lowering the bottle from your lips, you set it back down. “You don’t need to worry, Dean. I’m just a little sick. Happens to the best of us.”

“I can’t help it. I’m always worrying about you.” He admitted slowly, taking your hand and pressing a firm kiss to it.

You felt your heart skip in your chest at his action, and then the added heat growing to your face. He was so gentle. So caring. And no matter how long you had known him, it still amazed you.

When Dean saw the redness creeping up your cheeks, his worry continued to grow. “Woah, are you getting worse?” He questioned, peeling the cloth from you forehead and replacing it with the back of his hand.

You quickly slapped his hand away, instantly regretting it once you saw the hurt expression he was wearing. “I’m sorry. I -“

“No. Don’t apologize. I’ve been bothering you since we got back. Hell, I woke you up.” Dean shook his head, hands falling to his side in defeat. “I was just trying to help.”

“I know, but let me just apologize. I didn’t mean to smack your hand away like that. I just freaked out when I realized you made me blush.”

You watched his expression change, his eyebrows knitting together, “what did I do exactly to make you blush?” He mused, giving you a small grin.

Damn him. Damn him and his big green eyes and childish grin. He was going to be the death of you.

“I’ve said too much already.” You groaned, taking the extra pillow besides you and pressing it over your face, hiding your new found embarrassment. Your plan didn’t last long, because you heard him let out a light chuckle, his fingers wrapping around the pillow and prying it from your face.

“Oh, don’t go hiding from me now. I still gotta take care of my patient.” He smiled, giving you that soft gaze that always made you feel like a pile of goo.

And then the bastard had the audacity to lean down and press a firm yet gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment before he pulled away, his calloused hand resting on the side of your face making you shiver.

“You cold?”

All you could do was nod, still rendered speechless and scarlet from his gentleness. He pushed off from his seat on the bed, picking up your legs so he could pull your comforter over your now shivering body. You couldn’t help the whine that escaped you as he did. Your muscles still ached and every little bit of movement had you feeling nauseous.

“I know, I know. Just bear with me Sweetheart.” Dean sighed, sitting back down once the comforter was tucked snugly around you.

“You’re a fucking great human being, you know that?” You yawned, nestling deeper into you comforter in hopes of getting warmer.

“I try.” Dean smiled, kicking off his boots and discarding his jacket as you laid down next to you, gently wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close.

“Dean, you’re gonna get sick if you stay.” You mumbled, finding it impossible to not curl into the warmth he was giving you. You didn’t want him to get sick.

But he was so warm. . . And he smelled so good.

“I don’t care. You’re stuck with me.” He sighed, closing his eyes once he was comfortable, “now go to sleep. You need rest.”

“Okay, but if you get sick, both Sam and I are gonna beat your ass.” You yawned again, tucking your head against his chest as sleep quickly found you once more.

*. *. *. *. *.

Sam has to do a double take the next morning as he walked past your open door, which was usually always closed. Shifting the books that were in his hand, he backtracked, tilting his head in confusion as looked into your room.

The lights were still on, but both you and Dean were out cold. His brother was wrapped tightly in your comforter, shivering even in his unconscious state while you were sprawled out next to him, having kicked off the sheets in the middle of the night.

In simple words: you both looked like crap.

The younger Winchester let out a sigh, rubbing his face, “So it looks like I’m gonna have to take care of both of you now, huh?”

He should have known this would happen. When it came down to you and him, Dean couldn’t help but go into full mother hen mode. . . and unfortunately that sometimes resulted in the idiot going and getting himself in the same exact mess.

The End.

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[pinknerdpanda]

Sunset

Word Count: 2,649

Characters: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Language, feelings of abandonment and hopelessness (but it gets better!!)

SSB Square Filled: “The man on the bridge, who Was he?” (bolded and italicized below)

A/N: This was written for my beautiful Name Twin - @amanda-teaches​ Writer + Reader Challenge (prompt bolded below) and also @captain-rogers-beard​ Flex Your Writing Muscles Challenge (photo prompt in the title graphic is from 6/4). It also fulfills a square on my @star-spangled-bingo​ card. This began as something rather therapeutic for me, and it became a whole lot fuffier than I expected. So...yay?

Beta’d by: @shy-violet-soul​ who always encourages me and showers me with love, and @princessmisery666​ who has helped me with this fic in more ways than I can even describe. Everytime I hit a wall, she was there with help, support, love and ideas and I am so thankful for her. 

It felt wrong.

The sunset was spectacular - fiery hues of crimson and amber evening kissing the brilliant blue of the fading day; ashen shades of violet and lavender the only evidence of their embrace. The last remnants of sunlight danced across the rippling surface of the water, painting the gentle waves in warmth as they lapped against the shoreline.

Salt hung heavy in the air as it whipped loose strands of hair around your face. The taste lingered on your tongue like a lovers’ kiss as you tried in vain to brush the wayward locks from your eyes. 

So wrong.

Soft laughter punctuated every dull crash of the tide upon the sand. You watched the dwindling groups of people hold onto what little remained of their peaceful beach day. Though as the warmth of the day vanished, so did the people.

Being here was supposed to be a homecoming; a celebration of the person you were and the life you’d lived. It should have been a gasp of oxygen after surfacing from a deep dive; sustaining, energizing and life-giving.

Instead, the tranquility of the scene before you only seemed to underscore the pain boiling deep behind your ribs. Even as the sky turned to ink and the stars blinked down at their reflection in the water, the anguish seared your lungs and stole your breath.

It was unsettlingly unexpected. 

A fresh wave of tears prickled the corners of your eyes and you clenched them shut in an attempt to keep them at bay. It might have worked, if you hadn't been immediately met with the vision of him behind your eyelids.

It wasn't his fault. Not really. But that didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell. Seeing him today - even from a distance - was like pouring salt on a wound. The elation on his face as he'd grinned up at the little girl perched on his shoulders felt like a dagger straight to the chest. 

The soft sound of bare feet on sand caught your attention. You sniffed, shifting to pull your knees up to your chest as the footsteps stopped beside you. 

"You want some company?"

The gruff voice was soft and despite wanting to hate your new companion for lacing his words with such obvious pity, you couldn't. Your pain had been dealt by hands less sure than his, so you shrugged instead. There was something warm and comforting in his presence and your soul cried out for more. The feeling multiplied exponentially as he dropped to the ground beside you, his knee grazing your thigh as he folded his legs underneath him. 

"'S'pretty here."

You nodded once, weakly. Even a broken heart couldn't make you think otherwise. Once upon a time this spot had been your own, personal oasis. Well, as much of one as a public beach could provide. But you didn't need much. Life had been simple, then. Now? Now, 'simple' sounded like a fairytale. Another on a long list of things you dreamt about, but didn't dare hope for.

“The man on the bridge,” Bucky began, his voice gentle. “Who was he?”

Brass tacks. It was one of the things you admired most about him; his ability to cut straight to the heart of the matter without poetry or pretense. It wasn’t a question borne out of irritation or obligation; instead patience and comfort reigned in his words. He could read body language and facial expressions better than 99% of the planet, but you knew even the other 1% could have plainly seen the pain in the heart so cruelly branded onto your sleeve. 

“This was,” you cleared your throat as best you could with your heart taking up space there. “I used to live here. I always wanted to live by the ocean, so when I lost my job due to budget cuts, I decided ‘what the hell?’. Packed up, cashed out my savings and started driving. As soon as I hit the city limits, it felt like home. Had a hell of a time finding a job, but I did eventually. I met him there.”

You sniffed, stretching out your legs and leaning back with your palms in the sand behind you. Without having to look you knew he was watching you; waiting until you were ready to continue. 

“I never believed in love at first sight; still don’t, because that’s not what it was. He was sweet, funny,” you smiled despite yourself. “Kind to a fault. The type of kindness that infuriates you because it makes you realize how selfish you actually are. But he loved me. I don’t know why, but he did. He loved me fiercely; even when I couldn’t return it and sure as hell didn’t deserve it.”

Bucky’s breaths matched the roll of the tide; calm and gentle and unwavering. You felt him shift, his shoulder grazing yours as he matched your position.

“What happened?”

The air between you vibrated with the low timbre of his words. Not that you noticed - not really. Remembering was always the worst part; remembering just how easily you’d been forgotten. 

“The blip.” Your voice was so faint it barely registered in your own ears, but you knew he heard it. You knew from the way he inhaled deeply as he shifted; from the feel of vibranium fingers sliding gracefully across your own.

“I don’t blame him. He couldn’t know we’d all come back. I couldn’t expect him to live out the rest of his days mourning my ashes.”

The tightening in your throat and the tingling at the corners of your eyes cut off any other words you might have said. If the roles had been reversed, you wouldn’t have known what to say to yourself. But true to form, Bucky did. Brass tacks and all.

“Still hurts.” Not a question, because he knew. His words were meant every bit for himself as they were for you. 

A humorless chuckle broke from your lungs and you nodded. 

“It still fuckin’ hurts,” you agreed.

"So that's why you wanted to come here." Not a question, but an acknowledgement.

Biting your lip, you narrowed your gaze at the calm waves. "I guess I just wanted closure. I missed this place. Missed the memories I made here. I knew seeing him was a possibility, but I'd hoped.." you trailed off. 

Bucky hummed in understanding of words you couldn't find. 

You looked at him then, the sliver of moonlight above casting him in a sort of macabre splendor. Chestnut waves rendered a dozen shades of grey and gaze focused on the heavens. Trying to ease some of your burden while still obviously saddled with plenty of his own, he looked peaceful; tranquil in a way that felt contagious.

You sucked in a breath, hoping to provide him the same respite he offered you, willingly or otherwise.

“Coming back from that place - that state of nothingness - was jarring enough. But then having to face the five years worth of reality you left behind? It’s a wonder any of us are still alive today to mourn it.” Shifting again, you crossed your legs and turned to face him, his hand enveloped in both of yours. “But we are. You, me, Sam...all of us. Finding the love of my life had become a husband and father without me; it was the hardest thing I’ve ever faced. But I did - face it, I mean. And in some fucked up way, it led me to you.”

Bucky tilted his head toward you, his gaze narrowed and his eyebrow raised.

“You’ve been watching too many Lifetime movies, sweetheart,” he deadpanned, though his eyes sparkled with affection.

You shrugged. “S’true.”

Even if you’d had a second to process the mischief in his expression, you still would have been startled by the quick tug of your hands as Bucky pulled you into him. You squeaked, landing with a muted thud beside him. He caught your hands just as you tried to flick sand at him, and held you close instead. 

“You’re getting sappy, ya know that?” He sighed, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

You rose enough to see his face, blinking sweetly down at him.

"I’m sorry, what were you saying?” You purred, in feigned innocence. “I keep getting lost in your eyes.”

Bucky grumbled, his grip on you tightening as he lifted you both off the ground. “You’ve done it now.”

You giggled as you twisted away from the ticklish prodding of his fingers, though it was no use.

“Put me down, you neanderthal.” You shouted in mock protest, trying and failing to wriggle free.

“Oh you don’t have to worry about that, doll,” Bucky crooned seconds before tossing you - rather ungracefully - into the shallow water. 

Scrambling to your feet, you couldn't help the giggle that escaped your lips. You kicked at the water, aiming for Bucky's face, but he anticipated it. Of course he did. He dodged deftly out of the way before grabbing your waist and pulling you both into the waves.

Coughing and sputtering, you shoved half-heartedly at his shoulder as a genuine smile bloomed on your lips. Neither of you seemed bothered by the water that lapped over your still entangled bodies.

"Thank you, Bucky."

"For what?" He scoffed, an incredulous but warm look moulding his features. 

"For this," you waved a hand in the air. "You didn't even ask why I wanted to be here, you just offered to come with me. Never asked for details or tried to pry. You could be off saving the world...again." Bucky rolled his eyes. "But you're here saving me, instead."

Bucky's eyes dipped to your lips as the air began to crackle with unspent energy.

"You say that like it's two different things, doll."

The heat you felt under his careful gaze only intensified as the weight of his words settled on you.

Bucky stood before you could respond, holding his hand out to help you to your feet. He didn't let go as you strolled away from the water, instead he laced vibranium fingers with your flesh ones. Just as you reached the boardwalk that would take you back to the hotel you’d rented, Bucky glanced sideways at you before redirecting his steps. Smiling, you allowed him to lead you further down the beach, unwilling to let go of the bubble of peace you’d found just yet.

“Ya know,” Bucky murmured, his thumb stroking your knuckles gently. “It took a long time for me to reconcile my past with my expectation of the future.” He paused, noticing your questioning look before continuing. “What I mean is, my past is so…” Bucky shook his head and stopped walking. 

You wrapped your free hand around his bicep reassuringly, encouraging him to continue but you waited patiently until he was ready to go on. 

Bucky cleared his throat. “For a long time, I believed my past dictated my future. It’s full of so much pain and regret and things I can never undo. I always figured my future would be more of the same; a kind of comeuppance for everything I’d done.”

“Bucky…”

His lips curled into a half smile as he squeezed your hand gently. “I know. It’s taken a lot of therapy and literal reprogramming, but I know. It wasn’t me. Not really. Even accepting that though, I still always wondered how it would frame my life going forward.”

“Your past is just that, Bucky. It’s in the past,” you cocked your head to one side. “Your future is what you make of it.”

Bucky’s smile grew and he reached out to brush the damp hair from your face. “Yours is too, ya know.”

There he was, cutting straight to the heart of the matter, with as few words as possible. Again.

As your steps resumed, you kept your grip on his arm, snuggling in close as the temperature dipped slightly without the sun to warm the air.

“When I first met you, I had no idea what to make of you,” Bucky chuckled. “Honestly, you were a little intimidating.”

You scoffed. “You were intimidated by me?”

“Well, yeah,” Bucky sighed. “I was so irritated that Sam signed me up to be part of that support group - without telling me, mind you - but then you were there. You were funny, gorgeous and kind. You were so quiet, but there was this fire behind your eyes, and I wanted to know why you kept it locked up.”

The memory of that first meeting made your stomach twist. The plan had been to bide your time in silence so you could at least tell your therapist you’d gone. You’d wanted to be anywhere but there, until he walked in. The whole room had recognized him - if the quiet gasps and whispers were anything to go by - and it had been painfully obvious how uncomfortable that had made him. 

Bucky laughed. “I’ll never forget the way you plopped down in the seat beside me, threw a bottle of water at me and glared at Frank and Donna until they stopped staring.”

“They were being rude.” You shrugged.

“They’re nice.” Bucky countered.

You shrugged again. “They are, but that night they were being rude. Nothing screams ‘Welcome to our blip support group’ like oogling the new guy.”

“Alright, well my point is,” Bucky stopped again, this time turning to face you, his hands gripping your shoulders gently. “I knew from the moment you shot icy death glares at them, that whatever my future held, I wanted you to be a part of it.”

Blinking, you opened and closed your mouth a few times before frowning. 

“Remind me again who’s been watching too many Lifetime movies, Buck?”

“I’m serious,” Bucky chuckled lightly. “But, I get it. The wounds are still fresh, and I don’t expect anything, but I just want you to know that I’m here. And I’ll continue to be - in whatever way you’ll let me - until you send me away. This place?” Bucky waved a hand. “This is your past. But just remember that it doesn’t get to decide your future. You do.”

You bit your lip, allowing his words to envelop you with peace and warmth and - for the first time in a long time - hope.

“I think,” you paused, furrowing your brow, “Sometimes our wounds stay fresh because we keep picking at them. I think I’m ready to leave the past where it belongs.”

Bucky hummed, thumbs rubbing circles against the balls of your shoulder.

“And for the record, Barnes? I don’t plan on sending you away any time soon. So it looks like you’re stuck with me.”

Throwing his head back, Bucky barked a laugh before sliding his arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. You felt him press his lips to the top of your head as you snaked your arm around his waist, relishing his warmth.

“Well, lucky for both of us, doll. There’s no place I’d rather be.”

As you continued walking down the beach you’d once considered home, wrapped in the arms of the man who wanted to be your future, it struck you. The beauty of the setting sun had felt wrong because you’d been looking at it through the warped lens of your pain. The resplendence of the day drawing to a close wasn’t a mockery of the life you’d lost, it was a crimson and amber colored reminder that every day draws to a close and there will always be beauty to be found in the ending.

But the hope of the morning - when the sun will begin it’s reign once again, overpowering the darkness with it’s warmth and light - is where the true splendor is found. 

You glanced up at Bucky - the man offering you the same promise of the rising sun, and for the first time in a long time everything felt right.

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[tevanavernus]

Saudade - Chapter 2

|| Prologue || ||Chapter 1 ||

Summary: "Saudade" - A nostalgic longing for a person or thing that was loved once, but is now lost.

Helmut Zemo's life was forever changed when the Avengers picked his country as a personal playground to fight their own creations. He would never regain the pieces of his life where he was a husband and a father of two. But the existence of new Super Soldiers might just bring him closer to that life he once had than he ever thought was possible. Madripoor holds secrets that even Baron Zemo does not know about.

Word Count: 10k

Helmut followed in some sort of a daze, not focusing on the turns that they took as they made their way to Selby's office, barely seeing the money that was piled up on the tables and the armed men that stood guard on seemingly every corner. No, his mind was miles away, trying to comprehend what he heard mere minutes ago.

"What the hell, man?" Sam hissed right by his ear as he overtook James. "You almost blew us."

"Apologies." Was all that he could muster up to say, looking straight ahead. What else could he really say? That for the briefest moment he thought he heard Nic's voice? That if he shut down the logical side of his brain even for a second, he would admit that's how he'd imagine she would sound like now? That he, not even seeing a woman's face fully, picked her as an example of how his girl would look like? Maybe being locked up for few years with nothing but books and solidarity brought him closer to insanity than he liked to admit.

Helmut barely heard Le Petit Homme by Edith Piaf playing over the speakers as they finally approached Selby's office. The woman in front of them turned back. Her brown eyes landed on him for the briefest second and knocked the air out of his lungs once again. Was this a trick of some sort? Power Broker trying to get under his skin, render him useless? Helmut doubted that he would care enough to go to such lengths, but there had to be an explanation. Sure, he knew that theoretically there were around seven people in the world who could look similar to Nic, but his gut instinct was sending him red signals. That this was too much of a coincidence for him to cross paths with a lookalike, in Madripoor of all places, the one time that he was looking for information himself. No, something was wrong here. He couldn't get distracted, couldn't let some lowlife distract him with the face of the dead. He spent most of his life trusting his instinct. The one time that he didn't, he spent days digging through the rocks of a collapsed building.

The woman took a couple of steps behind him, attacking his nose with a sharp, earthy scent that had just a tiniest floral undertone, and stopped in front of Sam. She invaded his space, leaving no distance between them. Helmut followed her actions with his eyes, noticing that James straightened up and he shook his head lightly in a warning. There were too many eyes watching them. She reached for Sam's neck and Helmut was nearly certain that James would lash out. He could tell by the way that he was clenching the prosthetic arm, that the man was considering it. Whatever they thought she'd do, they didn't expect for her to simply unbutton the top button and straighten his collar.

"Are you really going to make me wait for my own guests, Nic?" Selby's sweet voice almost made him jump up in surprise. He clenched his hands in the pockets of the coat, wrapping his fingers around the hard handle of the ka-bar knife he still had in his possession from the army days. A coincidence. Nicoletta, or any similar version of it, was simply a popular name. It wasn't his Nic. Definitely not the girl he buried years ago. Just one big, fat coincidence. He was even prepared to entertain the idea of it being a futile attempt by someone to distract him. In his mind, he knew that. He only needed to convince his heart that hadn't stopped racing from the moment she spoke.

"Of course not." Her voice rang out, making him inhale sharply. She ran her fingers through the suit jacket and with a smirk moved in front again. Right. There was no time for mistakes.

Nic moved out of the way, allowing Helmut to cast his eyes on Selby. She had her back turned to them, sitting comfortably on one of the couches. A power move. She was not threatened by their presence. Not that he could blame her, there were four security guards in the room alone, all holding assault rifles. No doubt more were ready to barge in at a second's notice.

"You should know, Baron. People don't just come into my bar and make demands." Selby said as she tapped her fingers against the couch. Helmut gave her a tight-lipped smile and a small nod as he moved to sit down in front of her. Two of the men stood by the wall beside them while James and Sam moved in to stand on either end of the couches.

"Not a demand. An offer." He elaborated, getting comfortable on the couch. He crossed his legs, his foot landing on the edge of the short table that was in front of him. He noticed a couple of bags lying on the table with a clear powder and a Grand Power K100 semi-automatic pistol within a hand's reach, positioned in a way that she could easily grab it. It was a cat and mouse game. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Nic walked over to the table behind Selby's couch and turned her back on them.

"A lot has changed since you were here last." She took a glance at James before turning back to him. "By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison. How did you escape?"

A lot of things might have changed during the years, but he could tell that she did not. All sweet and smiles, hoping that he would fall into the false sense of security that she loved to provide. That he'd spill his secrets or slip up and give a reason for her to doubt his intentions for the visit.

"People like us always find a way, don't we?" Helmut dodged her question raising his hands in a shrug. The more that he could get away with leading her in circles, the better. "I'm sure you've already figured out what I'm here for."

His smile faltered ever so slightly as Nic came back in the view, moving past James to sit down on the couch. She had taken off her mask. He blinked twice to make sure his mind wasn't playing tricks with him. Sure he had moments during his imprisonment, in the dead of night where he had nothing but his own mind to keep him company. Moments where he could almost imagine Ivana's soft touch against his face and see his children in a flash between one moment and the next. If he concentrated enough, he could've heard their voices. But this was different. This was too real to be a figment of his imagination, no matter how vivid it could be. Whoever she was, she looked identical to his Nic.

He bit inside his cheek, irritating his mouth even more as Nic planted herself beside Selby and mimicked her pose. It was so much harder to keep his composure when she was right in front of him, watching his every move with those same shade of brown eyes that Ivana had.

With her sitting opposite of him, he had a chance to take a closer look at her. The chopped off blonde hair barely reached her shoulders. Unlike the majority of the people in the bar, she did not wear makeup or attire suitable for such a place. Instead, she wore a pair of jeans, a high collared crop top, and a rust-colored leather jacket with a hood.

Swallowing he looked back at Selby, determined to keep his attention to her. He was after the information that she had, he needed to concentrate on that. Not on the hypotheticals.

"So many people with offers and deals these days." She grinned, moving her hand to rest on Nic's shoulder. "Like this one. Promised to look over the bar for a good sum and yet did nothing but drink while your friend had fun trashing it. I feel cheated really."

"The agreement was for me to look over the bar. Not to fight for it. There's a difference…I think." Nic deadpanned but didn't move to get the hand off her. Helmut could feel her gaze burning holes in his skin. He readjusted his pose ever so slightly, hoping to get rid of the feeling entirely if he moved a couple of muscles. It didn't work.

"Funny thing aren't you." Selby chuckled and leaned to grab one of the small packets off the table. "Be a dear and make yourself useful. Our friends in Azimut are offering a share for B163.9. I think they're blowing smoke up my eyes but I was in a good mood that day. Tell me what you think."

Helmut clenched his jaw and shared a glance with James. The longer they stayed, the more difficult it would become to maintain their cover. The opening snap of the bag brought everyone's attention back to Nic. She shifted in her seat, pulling a key out of her pocket.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what she would do next. Helmut cleared his throat and picked different points of interest to look at around the office. He resisted the urge to shift more in his seat or start tapping his fingers. Whatever the young woman was, his stomach rebelled at the thought of watching her snort the powder. Her appearance alone was too close for him to clearly draw the line and separate the two girls. It didn't matter that his Nic would never reach the age this woman in front of him was, would never end up in a sleazy office in Madripoor, snorting God knows what. It didn't stop his blood from freezing in place and a massive pit forming in his stomach.

Helmut settled on looking at Selby instead. He had to concentrate on her or else he wasn't sure if he could keep the content of his stomach in place. It was too similar, too close to home for his mind not to start messing with him with the 'what if' scenarios.

The ride home was dead silent. Helmut was sure that if he clenched the wheel any harder, the leather surrounding it would rip and break. The bright beam-lights of Ivana 's Range Rover Evoque lit up the road in front of him as he sped through the empty streets. He was grateful that there was no other cars around as he wasn't completely sure that he wouldn't murder someone on the spot given the chance.

"Daddy?" Nic pulled his attention from the countless racing thoughts in his head.

"Hmm?" He frowned and tilted his head towards her, not taking his eyes off the road. He needed to concentrate on something else.

"Are you mad?"

"No." Sometimes you had to lie to your children to protect them. He was quite familiar with that concept. Certain matters were best kept hidden. Truths of what his job really entailed, the rumors of human experimentation in outside city facilities, reasons why their country was always on a brink of war or governmental collapse. So what was a small lie about how he felt compared to the never-ending list of half-truths and outright lies he told?

"Are you sure?"

"Don't close your eyes. You'll only make yourself dizzy." He changed the subject instead. He cast a glance at her curled up on the seat and with a sigh, placed his hand on her shoulder. He squeezed it in a warning. The last thing he needed was her freaking out if she started to feel sick.

Helmut had only needed to take one glance at her and instinctively know that it wasn 't just alcohol running through her system. He didn't need proper lighting to know her pupils were still blown out of proportion or look at the way she grounded her jaw to confirm his suspicion.

"I feel sick."

"I bet you do," He muttered under his breath, too low for her to hear. Nonetheless, he pressed down gently on the brakes bringing the car to a smooth stop. "Let's get you some air."

Nic clumsily reached for the door handle and pulled it hard enough that it slipped from her grip and made a loud noise sliding back in place. It took her few tries to actually pry the doors open.

Hearing the door shut, he closed his eyes and leaned further into his seat. Dragging his hand over his face did very little to help him relax the tension that slipped into his bones ever since he answered her call. He could already feel the beginning of a migraine forming.

Helmut sighed deeply and unclipped his seatbelt. He couldn 't let her leave his eyesight for too long. Who the hell knew what she could think of doing in the drug-induced mind. Clearly, there wasn't much thinking involved that got her in this state in the first place. He had to swallow the urge to demand for answers that she most likely would not be able to think of. 'Later', he had to remind himself. They needed to get home first.

Helmut walked around the car from the back and found her sitting on the gravel with knees pulled to her chest. Even with his jacket over whatever it was that she was wearing, she was barely covered. He had no doubt that the gravel that dug into her skin would be painful tomorrow. God, that was never how he wanted to see her.

Slowly crouching down, he put his hand on her shoulder again, feeling it shake under his touch. He brought his other hand into her hair, and stroked it lightly, in an attempt to calm her down. Of course, she ended up freaking herself out. That was what tended to happen when you didn 't think your actions through. Hearing her breath hitch, he forced any emotion he might have felt to leave his voice and moved in closer, dropping down to one of his knees. The gravel was a bitch.

"You're fine. Look at me," He moved his hands to cup her face, tapping her cheek lightly to keep her attention on him for long enough to calm down. "You're okay. Don't work yourself up. It will pass."

She gripped his shirt and lurched herself into his chest, almost knocking him backward. Grunting lightly, he wrapped his arms around her shaking form and let her destroy his shirt with makeup, tears, and snot.

"Come on, mom is waiting for us at home." He encouraged her softly and kissed the side of her head. "I'm sure she has some tea ready for us. That sound good?"

He felt her nod against him and waited a couple of moments before pulling away.

Getting her inside and not waking the entire house was another feat. It seemed that she was hellbent on being as loud as humanly possible. Even with him supporting most of her weight, she found ways to almost trip or knock something off.

"Hey," Ivana greeted them as she stepped from the kitchen into the hall. Her eyes widened at the sight of them. "Whoa."

"Mom!" Nic half screamed into his ear, making him wince in pain.

"Nic!" He hissed in warning. He was this close to snapping entirely. "Carl is asleep, don't be loud."

She turned and looked at him with a wobbly lip and eyes sparkling with tears. Helmut swallowed, feeling the pang of guilt pass him. No, he had no reason to feel guilty. But just because he knew something logically didn 't mean that her expression didn't pierce through his heart.

"Here, I'll put her to bed," Ivana interrupted approaching them and wrapping one of Nic's arms around her shoulder, taking some of the weight off him. "You take a breath."

"I'm fine." He bit out harsher than he meant. Taking a breath in, he glanced at them. "Give a shout if you need help."

It took him longer than a moment to actually let go fully and let Ivana take over. Rubbing his neck, he walked up the stairs to their shared bedroom and dug through the drawers of his bedside table until he found a half-full packet of cigarette carton with a lighter shoved inside.

He took it and walked out into the balcony, leaving the door half-open behind him. He closed his eyes as he brought the bud to his lips and inhaled the smoke deeply into his lungs. Only then could he feel his shoulders releasing some of the tension that he carried. He eventually reopened his eyes, not really looking at anything.

"You're smoking." Helmut eventually heard Ivana behind him but didn't turn to her. At least she didn't sound annoyed.

"Yeah," He mumbled as she joined him and leaned against the railing. "I'll take a shower before I come back to bed."

"I'll let it pass for tonight." She looked him up and down and slightly arched her eyebrow. "Although, do make sure you throw that shirt into a wash. I don't even want to know what's on it."

Helmut could tell she was trying to lighten up his mood but he wasn't sure it was possible at that minute. There were too many emotions swirling under the surface. He wasn't a stranger to saying something in a heat of a moment and then regretting it as soon as it came out of his mouth. Half of their early arguments as a new couple consisted of that. So he kept his mouth shut until he got himself under control. Ivana understood his needs, sometimes more than he did himself, and let him brood in his own misery until he finished his first cigarette and tossed it away.

He sighed deeply and finally turned his head to look at her. She stood beside him in a rich blue, silk dressing gown and some fluffy slippers. For a moment he wondered if it wasn't too cold to stand on a balcony in the middle of the night. A twinge of guilt passed through him. He didn't want his own restlessness to make her cold.

"Am I away from home that often? Going through abandoned bunkers, this. Is this some sort of cry for help or attention? What else don't I know? She secretly dating a fifty-year-old man too?" He pondered, the words rolling off his tongue the moment he opened his mouth. Perhaps he opened his mouth too soon. He stretched out his arm, going for the carton that he threw to the side but she blocked it and took his hand in her own instead.

"She messed up." Ivana agreed quietly, rubbing her fingers against his knuckles.

"She's fifteen, lied where she was, drank and got high off her rockets. I think it constitutes more than just a mess up." He barked out. Fuck. He needed another cigarette.

Untangling his hand free of her hold, this time she didn't stop him as he reached for the carton and pulled out another cigarette before lighting it up again. After a couple of moments of silence, he swapped hands and extended his left for her to hold again. He needed something to ground him.

"I'm not disagreeing with you, love." She reminded him, lacing their fingers together. "But she did call you when she felt unsafe. That counts for something."

"So what? We should congratulate her on making a single sane decision in the mess that she created herself?"

"No one is saying that, Helmut. But maybe you are being a bit too harsh," Ivana said softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. He leaned further against the turning in their balcony, exhaling harshly the smoke out of his chest, causing his throat to burn. "She is a teenager after all. They are not exactly known for making the best choices."

"I'm not too hard on her. If anything, I'm clearly not hard enough on her. Hell if I called my father after pulling these kinds of stunts he would have skinned me alive for disrespecting the family name."

"I'd rather have our daughter mess up and know she can call us than her hiding out god knows where out of fear." She chastised him, her tone hardening. It snapped him out of his tirade long enough to realize the implications of what he said.

"My apologies," He lowered his head in shame at even the notion of it. "It wasn't what I intended to say."

"I have been by your side long enough to know what you mean and don't mean. I know you're angry."

"Of course I'm angry. You didn't see her in that dingy bathroom with skimpy clothes, eyes blown wide. It wasn't just some weed she smoked, that's for sure. Besides where did she even pick up such clothes?" Even talking about it made his skin crawl with dread. He brought the cigarette to his mouth yet again, needing the calm. Chain-smoking was a habit that he picked up years ago all the way back when he was just a private, and needed nicotine in stressful situations. This definitely constituted a stressful situation.

Ivana didn't respond, just kept rubbing his shoulder. Her lack of anger was starting to get under his skin. Almost made him feel like he was in the wrong. He wasn't, not this time.

"Why aren't you angry?" He finally asked.

"Of course I'm angry Helmut, I'm furious. But right now, Nic is in bed and you need me more."

Her words, spoken with such gentleness, forced him to turn to her and really look at her. Here she was, in the middle of the night, listening to his ramblings and quietening down all his inner turmoils. What would he ever do without her? There was no way in hell he ever deserved her.

He clenched his jaw a couple of times as he tried to find the words to somehow justify his behavior. To justify the tornado of rage and absolute fear that swirled inside him. In the end, he settled on:

"A girl died a week ago, overdosing on shit like this."

"I know."

"All I can imagine is that being her," He sighed, rubbing his eyes until he saw stars. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't get it out of his head. It was like the idea itself tried to choke the life out of him. "Of getting a call like that in the middle of the night. Instead of the one we got tonight. I can't. I really can't."

Ivana sighed and wrapped her arms around him, stepping on her tippy toes to land her chin on his shoulder. "We won't. You know we won't. She made a mistake and she is sorry about it. We'll make sure it doesn't happen again. Together."

Helmut felt her fingers slowly run through his hair, easing some pressure off his chest. Not enough to let it go entirely, but just enough for him to feel like he could go back inside.

"Well, she's a sad drunk just like you. That's for sure." His attempt to finally lighten the mood felt flat even to his own ears. Nevertheless, she chuckled and slapped his chest lightly in a warning.

"Watch yourself. One more comment and I'll have you sleeping on the couch." She smiled and turned to go back inside but he tugged her back into his hold before she had a chance.

"I love you." He told her, meaning every word. He loved her, truly. He doubted that he would ever find enough words to express just how much he adored her.

"And I love you. Now come on, let's go back to bed. You can be mad at her tomorrow." She took his hand and pulled him back inside their room.

"You go ahead, I'll be back in a couple of minutes."

"You better." She pointed a finger at him. "And seriously, lose the shirt. Preferably into the trash. It's disgusting."

For once he didn't disagree with her opinion on clothes. He doubted he would ever be able to get the stains and the stench out of the material.

"Nothing special for the price. I'd go for the Stironium that Joy offers. Basically the same thing but cheaper. " Nic's voice snapped him back to reality. Swallowing, he spared a glance at her, half expecting her to look drugged up. He didn't delude himself, knowing where he was. Narcotics in Madripoor hit a completely different level. It was more like a ticking Russian Roulette. You were considered lucky if you were alive by the morning.

To his surprise, the woman didn't even look dazed let alone under the influence. That was…an interesting piece of information to know.

"I knew it," Selby sighed and nodded to one of the men who promptly left the office. Her attention returned to him. "What was your offer again?"

"Tell us what you know about the Super-Soldier serum." Helmut proposed and stood up. He circled behind James, touching him just enough to show that he was the one in control. As expected, James did not move or wince as he trailed his hands down his face. "And I give you him, along with the code words to control him, of course. He will do anything you want."

"Now that's the Zemo I remember." Selby gleamed at the prospect of his offer. Helmut nodded, pleased. "I'm glad I decided not to kill you immediately. Yeah, you were right to come to me. Arrogant, but right."

With his job of selling the bait complete, he returned to his seat. He nodded in thanks as Nic moved her legs out of his way.

"The Super-Soldier Serum is here in Madripoor. You're looking at one example right in front of you." Selby confirmed his speculation and pointed at Nic lazily.

Helmut struggled briefly to keep his face straight. The woman in front of him did not look like a Super Soldier, if anything she looked very much like a regular person. Well, as normal as a person could be when they looked older version of someone else. But human. Nothing like the ones that he killed in Siberia.

Besides, Selby looked eager when he offered up James. Why would she want him if she already had a Super Soldier working for her? He supposed James was pretty handsome for a man but he doubted that she would be interested in him that way. The Selby he knew was always interested in finding use out of a situation or a person, not to take a personal interest.

Too many things weren't adding up.

"Doctor Nigel is the man you want to thank or condemn," Selby released a dramatic sigh, cocking her head to the side. "Depending on what side of this you're on."

"She's your pet?" Helmut asked curiously. He had so many questions about this Nic, but couldn't ask any of them without giving himself away.

"In a way. Power Broker's toy. Such a pretty thing, lethal too if you can afford her." The way she said, with such glee, made a shiver go down his back. She cast her eyes at Sam. "you know all about that don't you, Smiling Tiger?"

"Don't need to tell me." Sam mustered up all could in sounding confident for which Helmut was thankful. But Selby didn't seem to want to let up.

"You're taller than I'd heard."

"It's the shoes." Nic intervened and loosely crossed her arms, kicking up her foot against his couch. If he didn't know better he would say that it was a subtle attempt to lock him in his place. Was she playing something? He couldn't figure out her angle. Not yet, anyway.

"You had plenty of business with him didn't you?" Selby raised her eyebrow at Nic who merely nodded. "Can you confirm it's him?"

Helmut stiffened up, slowly moving his hand closer to his pockets, ready for a fight. He wondered if he would be able to grab the gun off the table quicker than Selby. Any moment now, their cover would be blown. He doubted the security would hesitate in shooting them. Nic stood up and slowly walked over from the couch to Sam. She circled around him like a cheetah ready to play with her food before devouring it.

She walked right up to Sam until there was almost no space between them and looked up. Helmut was ready to pray to the God he had long abandoned if it kept Sam from blowing their cover by stepping back. They were so close to knowing what they needed, it would be nice if they could leave this place without being shoved inside a body bag. He watched with a bated breath as she tilted her head and clicked her tongue.

"Oh, it's him."

Helmut was not expecting that. He looked up to James who also wore a similar expression of surprise. She was covering for them? Why? He doubted she really believed Sam to be Conrad Mack, she gave them more than enough indication that she suspected at least something.

"Good." Selby flashed her teeth as she turned to Helmut. "Had to ask. Too many fakes running around ever since the Blip."

Yeah, like the one sitting right in front of him who just lied about the identity of the Smiling Tiger.

"The Power Broker had him working on the serum, but… things didn't go as planned."

"Is Nagel still in Madripoor?"

"Oh. The bread crumbs you can have for free, but the bakery is gonna cost you." Selby teased him, raising up. "And before you get all cute, don't think you can find Nagel without me."

Helmut pursed his lips. She was right, people like him loved to hide out in the dark, work off-grid in their own little dungeons. He despised the Frankenstein wannabes, too deluded in their own ideals to see the lines that shouldn't be crossed.

Selby just about passed by Sam when a sudden buzzing noise brought the office to a standstill. It appeared that everyone held in their breath as the vibration rang out again. All eyes turned to Sam who dug into his jacket to retrieve his phone.

Fuck. Fuck. Did he seriously not turn off his phone? Helmut looked away exasperated and his eyes landed on Nic just in time to see her stiffened in her seat and clench her jaw. If Sam blew their cover and Selby realized that she covered for them, for whatever reason, she'd be just in as much hot water as they would.

In conclusion, this was very bad for all of them.

"Answer it. On speaker." Selby ordered as the phone continued to vibrate in Sam's hand. James moved behind Selby as the guards stepped up closer to Sam. Helmut glanced around the place, looking for any possible exit routes or what they could use to defend themselves. If they were ever going to get out of here alive, he was going to feed him nothing but expired food, that was for sure. Did he really need to spell it out for them every little precaution when going into a bad place? What kind of moron didn't turn off his ring tone when going undercover?

"Hello?" Sam answered.

"Hey, um, we need to talk about this situation. It's been drivin' me nuts."

"What situation exactly are you talkin' about?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nic move to the center of the couch as she watched the interaction.

"Are you high? You know what situation, it's the only situation me and you have."

Their eyes met as Nic reached for the gun on the table while everyone's attention was focused on Sam and put it in the inside pocket of her jacket before leaning back. She continued to watch him with a cold gaze as she ran her hand through the right side of her face and settled her fingers over her mouth.

He barely heard it. Perhaps he even imagined it happening at all. Maybe she simply coughed. But at that moment, he was certain that she uttered 'grasshopper' in Sokovian.

The call, Sam, Selby; they all became muted. Mere background noise as his whole body froze up on the spot. There was ringing in his ears. Or was it his own heartbeat that was banging against his eardrums? He wasn't sure. A sudden chill swept through him as if a cold wind cut through his skin. The word was not meant for him. He most likely was not even meant to hear it in the first place.

His brain screamed at him to snap out of it. To get himself back in order before he was riddled with bullets. But even blinking felt like an impossible feat. How was he meant to pay attention to what was going on around him? A fleeting, treasonous, thought crossed his mind. Did it even matter if he ended up with a bullet in his head before he had a chance to fight back? No. He still had a job to do. He needed to finish it before he gave in any temptation.

"If that was the case, then why'd they dog you out, Big Time?"

It felt like forever when he finally zoned back into his surroundings. Right. Sam was about to blow their cover. This woman in front of him was or at least knew Sokovian while looking like his daughter. James did what he did best, and stared at Sam.

Wait. Who was she talking to? Was she wired? Who the hell was on the other end?

Helmut tilted his head ever so slightly as Selby walked behind him. From experience, he did not enjoy someone standing behind when he was not in control of the room. Even now, it made his skin crawl with dread. She was circling them like they were the prey.

"Yeah, you damn right I'm Big Time. You'll see when I have that banker killed."

"Cass! What'd I tell you about the Cheerios?" Helmut inhaled sharply. They were done. "I don't have time for this! Sam, I'm sorry. I'll call you back."

The pressure in the air dropped. Selby raised her eyebrow, surprised.

"Sam? Who's Sam?"

"Now." Nic hissed out at the same time as Selby shouted "Kill them!"

Nic ripped the pistol out of her jacket and jumped up. She aimed and pulled the trigger. The sound of that first bullet leaving the chamber pierced through his eardrums. Multiple shots followed, as well as a window shattering into millions of shards. A man in the very back of the office dropped with dead weight.

The second's hesitation, the shock of surprise that passed through the guards, gave just enough time for Sam and James to overpower them. Helmut leaped from his seat as they fought for the weapons, there was no moment to waste.

Nic jumped over the corner of the couch to the table. Slapping the mask over her face she pulled the table apart. By the time that everyone was either knocked out or dead, she had thrown a backpack over her shoulders and secured it over her chest.

James pointed the gun as the doors to the office opened.

"Whoa." A woman with glasses entered the office. It took her one look inside to raise her hands up in surrender. "Wait I-"

"Nothing personal, it's just business." Nic responded and pulled the trigger before James could.

"They're gonna pin this on us," Sam informed them as he looked at Helmut. As if he didn't know that himself.

"We have a real problem now," He sighed thinking of what they could do. Maybe if they managed to sneak out unnoticed, they'd have just enough time to hide out and eventually get out of Low Town. It was their best chance. "so leave your weapons and follow my lead."

"We have roughly two minutes before every single mercenary gets an alert for a bounty. She was on the no kill list." Nic briefed them as she walked over to them with a phone in hand.

"Two minutes?" Helmut couldn't help but smirk. "A lot can be done in two minutes."

=====

By the time they made it to the streets and turned a corner, Nic's phone chimed up.

"We are about to have a lot of company," Nic called out and held up her phone. It had two notifications:

Messenger | now.

'Selby dead. B1k BOUNTY for her killers.'

Veron | now.

'58324 Ridge Tow. 7 minutes.'

Helmut would have loved to ask about the second message if they weren't about to become biggest practice targets to about every single lowlife in the city.

"What's the plan now?" James bit out as they marched down the street. More and more phones chimed up. Eyes followed their every move.

"Follow me and you might stand a chance," Nic replied, pulling a hood over her head.

"How do we know you're not just going to shoot us? You just said Selby was on the no-kill list and you shot her."

"Oh, you don't. But I am your only hope of staying alive."

"This is not good," Helmut warned, he could see the bystanders arming themselves. They had no choice but to place their trust in her.

The street light went out underneath them and a man pointed a gun at them. Shots rang out behind them.

"Through here," Nic shouted, ducking from the fire. She took a sharp turn behind a parked van that Helmut barely managed not to miss. They sprinted through a small alleyway in between the buildings.

"Why are you helping us?" He called out as they passed yet another turn, barely keeping up with her.

"An interested party is paying a lot of money to keep you alive." She responded and slowed down ever so slightly. As if she noticed that he couldn't keep up with a Super-Soldier speed. She frowned looking behind him. "Are your friends able to follow any basic instructions?"

Helmut looked back as well. Sam and James were nowhere to be seen.

"Not particularly." He sighed, shrugging. "Who is this interested party?"

She did not reply to him. Instead, she tapped her right ear as she held the pistol and slowly walked over to the end of the alleyway.

"We have a problem." She snapped into what he assumed was an earpiece.

"Oh?"

"Forty seconds."

Wordlessly she passed her gun to him and pulled out a blade that he could not recognize in the dim light. She moved out of the alleyway into the open. He followed suit with the gun raised but had no time to see where she ran off to.

Helmut aimed at whoever stood in front of him just as Sam and James cut the corner and appeared into the view. The goon dropped dead before he could pull the trigger. Startled, he squinted to see where the shot came from.

He turned at the sound of motorbikes approaching them. Another shot rang out, right as Nic popped out and dragged the goon off the bike to the floor. He did not rise again.

"You seem to have a guardian angel." Helmut broke the silence, surprised, as he walked up to them.

"Well, this is too perfect. Drop it, Zemo." A voice behind him made him jump and turn around. With the gun in his face, he had no choice but to bend down and slowly put the gun on the floor.

"Sharon?" James faltered, recognizing her. He knew her. A friend?

"You cost me everything." The woman, Sharon, growled at him with the gun still pointed to him. Helmut cocked his eyebrow. Did he? He could not recall ever meeting her before. He raised his hands in surrender and took a step back.

"Sharon, wait." Sam interjected, stepping closer to him. "Someone recreated the Super-Soldier serum and Zemo had a lead."

He was defending him? How sweet. Helmut would have made a witty comment if his life wasn't hanging by a thread. He turned his head to see Nic walking up to them from behind. The knife that she carried had spots of blood on it.

Helmut swallowed nervously. The woman in front of him clearly held a grudge against him and the woman behind him, well he had not the slightest idea what she wanted. Who was to say that they weren't about to end his existence at a moment's notice.

"That explains why you guys are here. And Selby's dead." She gave a pointed look at Nic who just shrugged.

"In my defense, this one did not think to turn off his phone."

"So what are you doing here?" Sam asked, changing the attention away from himself. Helmut wondered if he was embarrassed that he forgot to do such a basic task. He hoped that he was.

"I stole Steve's shield, remember? I also took the wings for your ass, so that you could save him from him. I didn't have the Avengers to back me up. So I'm off the grid in Madripoor." Oh. So that's why she didn't like him. Even though it was hardly his fault.

"Don't blow smoke. I was on the run, too."

"Was. Is. Big difference. I don't speak to my family anymore. I can't. My own father doesn't know where I am."

Helmut looked around uncomfortably. He didn't particularly care about their reunion. Especially when they were still out on the open and could be spotted at any moment.

"Listen… Sharon, we need your help." James said, causing the woman to chuckle.

"Please." He added for the good measure.

Sharon sighed and looked behind them where Nic stood around.

"You alright?"

"Never been better," Nic called out. Even with his back turned to her, he could tell she was smirking.

"This isn't over. I have a place in High Town. You'll be safe there for a while."

Helmut shared a look with Sam and James and nodded. Getting a ride to High Town would be safer for them than navigating their way back to the safe house themselves. The bounty on their heads would not go away anytime soon.

"I'll follow by." Nic nodded to them and walked over to the motorbikes that sat empty. Kicking one of the bodies out of her way, she turned on the engine.

Helmut intended to trail behind them but Sam grabbed his shoulder and roughly moved him to the front, preventing him from seeing Nic take off. He still had so many questions and about zero answers when it came to her. Not knowing something was not his style.

The ride from Low Town was just as quiet but more relaxing than their last one. He imagined that having company that did not try to kill them at any chance they got helped.

Glancing at the side mirror, he saw that a single motorbike was close, trailing behind them.

"Your friend," Helmut opened his mouth, hoping to get even a grain of information. "Nic. Who-"

"Shut up, Zemo." Sam snarled from the back as he leaned into the seat's headrest and closed his eyes.

Helmut raised an eyebrow watching him through the rear mirror. At first, he assumed that the hostility was from the adrenaline of having a whole town trying to feed them bullets. But enough time passed for them to settle down and take a breath in. So there had to be another reason for the snappiness.

Helmut racked his brain through the day's events that would result in such behavior. He had to admit a lot did occur in the space of the twenty-four hours.

Oh?

Perhaps his intuition was correct and there was something going on between these two men. It would definitely explain the constant staring at each other. If he was right, he could imagine that Sam did not take lightly at the prospect of him trying to sell off James. Not that he actually wanted or planned to do it. He had hoped it would not come to that point anyway. James was much more useful to have around than not.

====

Their car pulled in front of a gated building that was surrounded by guards. Helmut had to admit, he was impressed. Not many people would be able to afford such a place, especially in High Town. He followed closely behind Sharon as they walked inside.

The inside was as over the top and sleek as he imagined it would be. They passed through numerous paintings that he had no doubt were the real copies and other artifacts. So she was a hustler then.

"Looks like breaking all those laws is treating you well." Sam chuckled looking around.

"I thought if I had to hustle, might as well enjoy the life of a real hustler. You know how much I'll get for a real Monet?" Sharon explained, leading them further in.

"Also it helps that a lot of high-paying idiots do not realize the real value of art and are willing to overpay," Nic added passing them all.

"Deactivate your hustle mode. You sell fake Monets."

"No. She means real." Helmut interjected, having some experience with places like these. Ivana had picked Nude Descending a Staircase, No. 2 by Marcel Duchamp to hang in their living room by the fireplace. "This gallery is specialized in stolen artwork. Monet. Van Gogh. Classics."

"It's true. You know, half the artwork in museums like the Louvre is fake. Real stuff sits in places like this." Even James reaffirmed their point.

"Okay, guys, I see what you're doing. You're more worldly than good old Sam." Sam rolled his eyes and proceeded to Google it.

"Yeah. What's Google say?" James asked sarcastically.

"No shit."

Helmut glanced at them. They fell behind, referring to bicker with each other than to follow them. Definitely had to be fucking.

"Come on. You guys need to change. I'm hosting clients in an hour." Sharon sighed exasperated.

====

Helmut helped himself to the open bar while James and Sam tried to pick what to wear for the evening. There was no way he would exchange the comfort of his own clothes to whatever Sharon had in stock. He already looked the part anyway. It was one of the many advantages of having a good taste in fashion.

Nic apparently had a similar idea as she threw the backpack by James and joined him at the bar. Wordlessly, Helmut passed her a glass and proceeded to pour himself a good amount of scotch. He would need a lot of it if he even wanted to begin to untangle the mess. Ignoring her existence seemed to be the easier option at the moment.

"Much better." Sharon made a comment as she passed Sam who kept changing his mind on what shirt to wear. His indecisiveness started to grate on Helmut's nerves. Even he didn't take this long to choose a shirt and he was called a fashion diva on numerous occasions.

Sharon sat down beside James and took the bag on her lap. She unzipped it and looked up at Nic with a grin.

"You think you can push it?"

"I know I can." Nic replied smugly and rose the glass to her mouth.

"Hold up," Sam interrupted turning to them with a simple turtle neck in his arms. Helmut crinkled his nose. Really? All this time for a plain turtleneck? "What exactly do you do? Cause you are sending mixed messages with the killing and saving our asses."

"I do whatever you can afford me to do." Nic grinned and looked him up and down as if to make a point. Helmut cringed at the suggestive tone of her voice. It made him uncomfortable to even think of what it could entail. Whether she did look like his daughter or not, it felt wrong. He doubted she was much older than twenty. Practically a kid.

Sam cleared his throat uncomfortably, getting a similar image as he did.

"So what?" He asked Sharon, putting the shirt over his head. "You have a lot of people that need to be murdered on your list?"

"Oh, no." Sharon chuckled. "We're friends. I just buy her out whenever I can to mostly chill. Her being able to sell crap to others on the side are just an added bonus."

"Who is the Power Broker now?" Helmut asked as he held the glass in his hands. He doubted it was the same person from when he dealt with him. People in places like Madripoor usually did not reach pension age.

"Depend on which division you want to talk to." Sharon shrugged. "It's not a single entity anymore but more like a big umbrella organization. Even then, you don't really know who you speak to. Suppose it's easier to hold on to power that way."

"You seem like you know a lot about how this place operates. What's going on, Sharon? You don't ever wanna come back home?" Sam frowned, sitting down on the couch opposite of her.

"They'll lock me up if I step foot back in the States. Madripoor doesn't allow extradition." Sharon sighed, standing up and walking over to another table to pick something up. Helmut watched her, noticing that she did not sit in one place for too long. Interesting. He wondered for a second if perhaps she had some form of ADHD or if it was just her body language betraying discomfort.

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't call, but after The Blip and the chaos, I just…"

"Look, you know the whole hero thing is a joke, right? The way you gave up that shield, deep down, you must know it's all hypocrisy."

"He knows. And not so deep down." Helmut commented, bringing everyone's attention to him. He raised his glass in fake salute.

"By the way, how is the new Cap?"

"He sounds annoying." Nic interjected. She raised her eyebrow as he looked up at her. "What? It's Madripoor, not a cave. We do keep up with international news."

"Don't get me started." James grumbled, turning his head away.

"Please." Sharon scoffed, settling down beside James again. "You buy into all that stars and stripes bullshit. Before you were his pet psychopath, you were Mr. America! Cap's best friend."

Well, that was offensive. To both him and James.

"Wow. She's kind of awful now." James bit out dryly.

"You get used to it." Nic retorted as she poured herself another drink.

"Karli Morgenthau and at least seven others have taken the serum." Sam spoke, playing with his collar. Either the scotch was really good or the day was getting to him, but if Sam kept messing with his attire one more time he wasn't sure he will be able to control himself enough not to strangle him.

Perhaps he was still annoyed at Sam for not turning off his phone.

"You guys really should steer clear of all of this for your own safety."

"We know it's a risk, but we won't leave until we find the one who cracked the code."

"We got a name. Wilfred Nagel." James added.

Sharon shared a look with Nic before rising once again.

"Nagel works for the Power Broker."

Helmut moved out of her way the moment he saw her walk in his direction. He glanced at the empty seat by a glass table and chose to sit there. It was close enough that he could still see them. The only downside was that Nic was directly in his sight now. With no imminent danger to his life, it was harder to concentrate on other matters and not let his mind run miles away. The longer he looked at her, the more exhausted he felt. Weariness seeped into his bones. He focused on the glass in his hands, running his fingertips through the golden strip.

"We need your help, Sharon. I can get your name cleared."

"You haggling with my life?"

"Not like that."

Helmut frowned. He didn't particularly care for their conversation. Or whether Sharon cleared her name. He was itching to get out, preferably as far away from Nic as possible. Maybe he could drink himself stupid until he forgot ever meeting her. Or until he started to believe that it was just his mind playing tricks on him and he simply slapped Nic's face over someone who shared her name.

That was going to take a lot of alcohol. It had been years since the last time that he got so drunk he passed out. Ironically, alcohol never made him forget, if anything it made the noise in his head so much louder.

He stopped paying attention to their conversation. It became a background noise as he zoned out. Even the glass that he kept staring at blurred away.

"I don't buy that. You pretending like you can clear my name."

"Okay, maybe it is hypocrisy. Maybe you're right. What happened to you. But I'm willing to try if you are. They cleared the bionic staring machine, and he killed almost everybody he's met."

"I heard that."

"I don't trust charity."

A pair of boots in his vision snapped him back. He blinked and looked up to see Nic standing in front of him.

"Sorry. Kind of need that." She pointed at the chest that was on the table.

"Of course." He gave her a polite smile and moved his chair to the side so she could grab it.

He gulped as the perfume hit his senses again. It felt weird. Wrong. His Nic always stole Ivana's perfumes that had some sweet combination of coconut, vanilla and touch of floral notes. She had a habit of spraying just a touch too much.

This was too harsh of a scent on her.

Not her. A stranger. Nic was dead. He should not compare how this woman smelled to how she used to. He had no business judging.

His eyes followed her as she walked off with the chest in her arm as if it weighed nothing and stopped by the stairs.

Sharon put her drink down with thud and straightened up.

"Well, I sell to some pretty connected people. Lay low, blend in, enjoy the party. Try to stay outta trouble. I'll see what I can find."

"Trouble." Helmut blurted out sarcastically and shrugged. He watched as the two women climbed up the stairs and left his sight.

"She means you." Sam gave him a pointed look.

"Why is she mad at me again?" Helmut asked as he got up and moved back to the yellow couches. Sam sat down beside James with a drink in hand. They had some time to kill before the party began.

"You don't remember?" Sam scoffed into his drink.

"Sam, if I tried to remember every single person that I may or may not have inconvenienced directly or indirectly, it would be a very long list and we'd spend a long time sitting around."

"Can't believe I'm saying this again. But it's not the time for arguments." James groaned out and let his head fall onto the back of the couch, almost like the idea itself was paining him.

"Alright. But I swear to God if you even move out of our sight for one second. I will send your ass right back to jail before you can make some stupid remark."

"I have no intention of inconveniencing you that much." Helmut smirked. "But be my guest and enjoy the party, I'm simply going to observe some individuals. No tricks."

"No. See, if we are doing this," Sam protested pointing to the three of them. "We need to know that you are not going to stab us in the back the first chance you get. So you gotta be honest with us, and tell us what the hell you're playing at."

"I told you before, I'm here to end the Super Soldiers serum. Nothing more, nothing less." Seeing the doubt on their faces, Helmut sighed in defeat. "And also figure out who the hell the woman your friend hanging out with is."

"You suspect she isn't just Sharon's friend." James guessed, crossing his arms as he stared at him.

Helmut threw back the glass, swallowing the last of it's contents. With the familiar burn that went down his throat, he pulled out his phone from the inside of his jacket and unlocked it. It didn't take long to search up his personal ICloud storage and enter the password. His phone lit up with multiple folders of pictures and documents that he had on his old phone. He clicked on the 'Pictures' folder, somewhat grateful that the contents of it were grouped by dates and had random strings of letters for its names instead of the actual pictures itself. It wasn't something he could deal with today.'Or ever' his mind supplied ever so helpfully.

He didn't need to scroll far to find the pictures dated back to February 2015. Mainly because he stopped taking pictures past May 2015.

In that February, he managed to pull enough strings with his Lieutenant General to get a couple of weeks off at the same time that Nic and Carl had holidays off school. Ivana wanted to go to Switzerland for the ski season while he wanted to go somewhere warm. After a few days of deliberation, they settled on and ended up flying out to Barbados for couple of days.

Helmut hesitated. It had been years since he saw their faces. Dread settled in his gut as he pressed to open the pictures. He did not give himself enough time to look at the pictures. Just tiniest of flashes as he scrolled through the few landscape shots before he found a picture where Nic was in it.

"This was my daughter, Nic," He told them, raising his phone away from himself and for them to see. "Looks familiar?"

Ivana had her arms wrapped around Nic's shoulders while Nic made a face at the camera. In the picture, Nic was with a mess of brown, wet curls that dropped down her back. She was younger, scrawnier, still with some baby fat in her cheeks but it was impossible not to see the similarities between the girl in the picture and the woman that they just met today. Apart from the haircut and the years, they were identical.

"Oh shit." Sam swore, zooming into the picture.

"Any chance it is her?" James asked looking up from the phone to him.

"I buried what was left of her years ago James. Collapsed buildings and flying ruble do not leave much behind." Helmut clenched his jaw. "But I am pretty certain that it is impossible."

"So either it's the biggest coincidence in the world that we met someone with exactly the same looks and name or either someone is behind this." Sam concluded passing the phone back to him.

"My thoughts exactly." He pocketed the phone back. "I simply wish to find whoever thought this was a funny joke and have a chat with them."

James and Sam shared a look. They did not believe a word of that.

"Alright," James sighed. "We'll see what we can find out before we leave this place."

====

Thank you so much for all the notes. I'm so glad you liked the previous chapters and hope you'll enjoy this too :) xx

[tomthesoftie]

can u do a imagine where it describes tom and y/ns romantic valentines day from morning to night and then towards almost midnight tom proposes her to be his wife and she is overjoyed btw y/ns sister is dating harry.

cheesy spoilers pt.2

a/n: this was so long... it took me like 3 hours to finish it, so hopefully it’s up to standards... enjoy my lovelies xx

warnings: minimal sexual innuendos, swearing, nervous tom

masterlist                     prompt list

pt.1 | p1.2

You awoke to the aroma of delectable foods coming through the cracks of the door. Your eyes fluttered open only to shut after meeting the beam of light peeking through the curtains. You groaned, shuffling under the covers, not wanting to get up.

You heard the door creaking as your brunette boy stuck his head into the open space between the door frame and the door. His eyes focused on you, he saw your figure under the large white blanket. Quietly, he tip-toed over to you and hopped onto your body, eliciting a moan of pain from you.

“Tom,” you moaned.

“Fuck, darling, do that again,” he sighed.

“Stop,” you blushed, “Get off of me. You’re heavy.”

“How rude,” he scoffed, standing back up.

You giggled and took his hand before he hoisted you out of the bed. He dragged you to the dining table, plates neatly displayed at two seats across of each other.

“For you, m’lady,” he pulled out a chair for you.

“Thank you,” you said softly, “Did you do all of this? Just for me?”

“Well, I had some help from Sam, but I did most of the work. Besides, why wouldn’t I do this for you?” He smiled proudly.

“I love you so much,” you gushed, “But we’ve been together for years now. There’s no need to be extra.”

“Anything for my love. Now, less talking and more eating,” he declared as he dug into his plate of food.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence while eating your brunch, only sounds of chewing or the knife cutting your meal occasionally filling the air. You would look across at Tom from time to time. He looked quite nervous about something as you could hear his leg bouncing under the table.

“Anything wrong, Tommy?” You asked, concerned.

He seemed shocked but answered, “No, nothing wrong at all.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, don’t worry about me. Just enjoy yourself,” he smiled before getting lost in his train of thought once more.

You couldn’t seem to put your finger on what he was so worried about. You tried to think back to the night before, but your memory was foggy. You couldn’t remember much from last night.

“Falling in love with you was the second best thing that happened to me,” he whispered.

“Second? Excuse you?” You tipped your head up to look at the brunette.

“But meeting you was the first,” he finished.

“Ew, you’re so cheesy,” your hand reached up to squish his cheek.

“You love me, though,” he turned his head in attempt to bite your hand.

“Ay! I do love you, but you’re such a div most of the time.”

“Who’s the one who does the dishes, washes the dirty laundry, and cleans the house?”

“Me,” you replied, eyebrows furrowed.

You felt like you were missing something crucial from the conversation. You focused on the conversation, hoping it would help you put the pieces together, but to your dismay, you could only remember getting tired and falling asleep in Tom’s arms. You shrugged it off and finished your meal.

Tom stood from his seat, plates and utensils in his arms, walking towards you.

“Finished?”

“Yes, thank you,” you grabbed your own dishes before he stopped you.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll do it. You go and get ready. I’m taking you out for a stroll somewhere you’ll love and then to dinner,” he took your plates and piled it into his arms.

You watched his back as he left to do the dishes. As much as you loved the boy, he annoyed you by always pushing you away when you offered to help. Rolling your eyes, you did as he instructed.

You walked out of your room, hair neatly curled and wearing a floral square neck sundress. Your white Chelsea boots clicked as you made your way to the kitchen.

“I’m ready, Tommy,” you announced, stepping into the room.

“Perfect, I just finished,” he said, wiping his hands on the washcloth.

He turned around to face you and was rendered speechless. His eyes were wide and tinted with admiration. He blinked, scanning his eyes over your form.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” you teased.

“Let’s get going,” he chuckled, finally moving from his state of awe. “You look gorgeous, by the way,” he whispered in your ear as he wrapped an arm around your waist.

You giggled, blushing as you gently slapped his chest. As you reached the door to your home, you grabbed your round, straw shoulder bag and placed your phone and wallet into it. Tom grabbed the keys to his Audi, starting it up after leaving the house. You sat beside him in the passenger seat, staring at the neighboring homes as you drove by. Soon those homes became cars then trees. 

“Where are we?” You asked.

“The Hill Garden and Pergola. You’ll love it.”

He parked the car and the two of you got out of the vehicle. He grasped your hand, leading you to the vast green land. When you entered, you did love it. There were beautiful shades of greens and occasional pops of colors from the flowers. You walked through the structures and into a large space. Pillars surrounded an empty center and supported to gridded roof. Past this area was a round structure with a teal dome ceiling.

“C’mon, Tommy,” you took your boyfriend’s hand, rushing him towards it.

A bright smile lit up your face while Tom looked nervous and frustrated. His eyebrows were furrowed, and his left hand remained in his pocket, grasping an object. In the confined, isolated space, he found this as a perfect opportunity.

“Y/N,” you turned to face him, “We’ve known each other for more than a decade, and we’ve been together for 6 years now.” He got down on one knee, revealing a red leather box with the word Cartier in gold on it. He opened the box, “I can’t imagine my life without you. You’ve been the love of my life ever since we were only teenagers. I want to have children and grow old with you. If you’ll do me the honor, that is.”

Tears filled your eyes, hands cupping your mouth. Your words came out as strange slurs and sobs. You resorted to nodding and stuck your hand out for him to slip on the ring. He stood for his stance and pulled you into a tight hug, spinning you in the air before connecting his lips with yours.

“Thank you so much, love. You’ve no idea how blessed I am to get a girl like you,” he spoke, your foreheads resting against each other.

“No, thank you, Tommy,” you sputtered.

Lost in the moment, you hadn’t noticed the small crowd that filled the area. They had started clapping and whistling, catching your attention. You laughed and smiled, waving at them. As the two of you exited the structure, many people congratulated you. A group of girls hid on the side, crying and whining in jealousy. They glared at you as you walked by, but you weren’t fazed by it, too consumed in the proposal.

Tom drove back to town, valeting the car as you arrived at the building. He led you into the it and up an elevator to 31st floor. The metallic doors opened, displaying the restaurant Aqua Shard. Remembering the familiarity of the restaurant, you realized it was rather expensive, in your opinion.

“No, I couldn’t,” you tugged on your fiancé’s arm.

“Yes, you can. Besides, I already have a reservation,” he objected.

“Fine but you can’t make me waste your money,” you snapped.

“You’re not wasting any of my money. You’re worth it, all of it,” he leaned down, gently kissing you.

The waitress behind the pedestal brought you to your seats. You had a perfect view of River Thames and Tower Bridge. You were also able to watch the the burst of pink and orange fill the sky as the sun set. 

You ordered the most affordable dishes they had. You’d gotten pearl barley risotto, which surprisingly was able to fill your stomach. Tom offered to get dessert but you denied. Obviously, he thought you were acting obnoxiously and bought it anyway.

“Ugh, I’m so full but it looks so good,” you groaned.

“It’s for you, darling. Dig in,” he pushed the dish towards you.

“You’re trying to stuff me,” you argued but tasted the chocolate and toffee tart. “Fuck, it’s good,” you moaned as you took another bite of it.

“I told you,” he smirked, receiving a roll of your eyes.

Tom drove back home with an overstuffed you. You felt sick from all the food that was contained in your stomach. You complained to him multiple times on your ride back. He only laughed at you and ignored your complaints.

You stepped out of the car, stretching with a sigh. You were able to digest most of the food on the long drive. Tom unlocked the door, and you rushed in to the warmth. On the counter, there were a dozen of roses with a small note attached to it: Happy Valentine’s Day! Love, Tom

Then, the events from the night before came rushing back into your mind.

“That’s true, but who works their arse off to impress you and make you feel loved? Who bought you a dozen of roses and a promise ring to show their dedication?” He teased, poking at your sides. 

“Oh my god! How did I forget?” You groaned.

Tom looked at you, confused, “What?”

“You told me about your gifts last night, but this morning, I forgot about it completely,” you face-palmed.

“Really? I thought you remembered, that’s why I was so stressed,” he explained.

“Well, I didn’t so it was a nice surprise,” you walked over to him and wrapped your arms around him.

“I’m glad you liked it,” he pulled you into a passionate kiss.

He pushed you against the wall, hips rubbing against each other. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, and your hands were combing through his curls. His hands reached down to grab your ass. He squeezed it, gaining a moan from you.

He pulled away and breathlessly said, “Let’s take this to the bedroom.”

You didn’t need to reply, he was already making his way to your shared room. He slammed the door locked behind him.

Surely the next morning, you would be sore, but that’s to care for later. For now, you’d enjoy it. The night was restless. There was no silence in the house all night

[hans-writes-things]

Fairy Dust - Chapter 7

I waited until I was down to the parking lot before fishing the sunglasses out of my pocket. I hadn't wanted to put them on in Barbara's office, stubbornly holding onto the foolish idea that I wouldn't need his help. I didn't want to need his help. I didn't like needing anyone's help, not really. I stood and mulled over his words. The schedule, sent down from on high, ordering me see him daily for a minimum of 30 minutes at a time, until such a time as Barbara decided he could do no more for me. "If you had nothing to say, nothing at all, you wouldn't have said anything." He had reasoned, and I had been unable to refute the logic, so I had been forced to agree to the schedule, both because it was captain's orders, and because, despite my feelings to the contrary, I apparently still needed to talk.

I unfolded the arms of the sunglasses and slipped them on, thinking to myself of the irony of how they were shaped, that they would probably make me look like a blind man. Every last muscle in my face and along my scalp immediately relaxed and the wave of relief that washed over me almost knocked me off my feet. I hadn't realized how much tension I was holding, how much squinting I must have been doing, but the moment that my new eyes were sheilded from the brightness of the world, all that washed away. The sunglasses dimmed the light of the world, and muddled the bright colours, rendering everything a little darker and a little grayer. I closed my eyes behind the shade and basked the comfort. When I opened them again, Sam was there, the car running in front of me, waiting for me to get in.

"I looked into your sister's tips" she started, but suddenly stopped, I could see her clenching and unclenching her jaw. It took a few moments before she continued "as far as I can tell, Bakder's is a small time shipping company, servicing but a handful of coastal towns. It looks all above board and clean and simple and I hate it. It's too simple." "How so?" I prompted. She clenched and unclenched her jaw a couple times more before she answered. "It's a clean surface." It was a gnomish phrase that I had heard her use several times. Gnomes were not so fond of clean surfaces. Anything alive and substantial, anything that truly existed and did anything, generated some mess or another. A clean surface could suggest something so new it's value and purpose was not even known yet, but more often than not, a clean surface was simply a falsehood. When a gnome called something a clean surface they were in fact calling it a lie. "And Ork Door?" I eventually asked. "Worse!" She exclaimed. "They own a little bit of bloody everything as far as I can tell. Apartment buildings, shares in several different companies, a couple of shops, none of which sell any of the same things, even a gym!" She gestured at the air around her as she spoke, taking her left hand off the wheel. "In my neighbourhood no less!" I blinked at that. "Really?" "Yeah tall boy. I don't like it. I don't like it at all."

I leaned back a little further in my seat as she went on about the two companies, taking in the information. Bakder's Shipping had offices down in the harbor district, to no surprise to anyone, but Ork Door apparently had it's offices over in dust town, three buildings away from the scene of murder we had been called to investigate the other night. The place where we had fought a creature no one thought anyone would ever see again. The place where the duster died at the hands of one of the few remaining trolls in existence. The place where tortured wild fairies had clawed my eyes out, something which should have rendered me permanently blind, with nothing but a pair of gaping holes where my eyes used to be. My stomach turned at the mention and I felt the bile rising in my throat. I clenched my fists so hard my fingers ached and I tried to bite back on the terror that the mere mention of the place had sent runing through me. It hadn't been my first brush with death, we had had our close calls before, but this time it was different and it had changed me, in more ways than one.

We sat in silence then, Sam in her gnomish booster, driving a car big enough to hold a pair of half orcs with ease, and me pressing my fingertips into the palms of my hands, a cold sweat running down my spine, every hair raised on the back of my neck, teetering on panic. I don't know how long that moment lasted, but after I while I started to realize we weren't headed in the direction of dust town. We weren't heading for the docks either. We had driven in a meandering manner, taking what could be considered the longest route possible to somewhere that was only three blocks away from the castle. I licked my lips and cleared my throat, coming more fully to my senses, and with more than a little effort I unclenced my hands and jaw. "So, where are we heading?" I finally asked, my voice coming out raw. Sam sighed and gave me an apologetic glance. "PAR"

______________________________________________

Another short chapter. 

Mind you, you’re all just getting the RAW first draft here... some day I’ll go over, adjust, rewrite, fix, adjust more, clean up, add stuff, remove stuff, go over it again, and then... put it out there, all finished and pretty.... 

....yeah.... some day.... 

IF I make it that far! Wanna buy me some writer fuel?

[eyesfixedonthesun22]

Y.M.C.A

Summary: Hoping to bust a sex trafficking case at The Bop House: Roller Club, you and your best friends need to go undercover. In the process, you and Bucky decide to push Steve’s buttons.  Pairing: None romantically, Platonic Stucky x Reader Warning(s): Cursing. Mentions of sex trafficking but nothing descriptive. Pretty G rated. Friend fluff.  Word Count: 1,850 Beta Reader: Thanks to my darling honeybuns, @supersoldiersruined-me and @bumbercrotch for beta rendering.  Notes: This is my entry to @thatfanficstuff​‘s 1.5K writing challenge. My prompt was “Why is everyone singing?”. Congrats Kat on hosting! So happy for your milestone!

“Alright gang, new lead on that sex trafficking case.” Tony’s standing at the head of a conference room, plowing through a mountain of various briefing slides.

“Why are you talking like we’re in an episode of Scooby Doo? Alright gang,” you mock. “Next you’ll be saying jinkies.”

You and the rest of the team have been stuck in the conference room long past your lunch time. Needless to say, patience for Tony’s lecturing is wearing thin. He squints at you before returning back to the slides.

“As I was saying… intel has informed us Markus Livingston is planning to attend some big event at one of their satellite hideouts. We’ve been after this guy for months, but he never seems to show his face.”

“Probably afraid you’ll lecture him for hours.” You high five Bucky for the quip.

“Does anyone wanna take this seriously?” Tony asks.

Nat continues analyzing her split ends. Sam is playing a game on his phone. You swear Steve is asleep with his eyes open. Your suspicions are confirmed with Bucky knocks his knee into Steve startling him awake.

“Seriously, Cap!?” Tony pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I was listening Tony. I swear!”

“Tony, next time please schedule the mission briefing before all the boring housekeeping tasks. An email would have sufficed for the first three hours of this meeting,” Nat chimes in.

“None of you read your damn emails!”

“Exactly!” Bucky whispers to you. Tony either doesn’t hear him or chooses to continue regardless.

“Markus Livingston, who kidnaps and traffics children into sex slavery, which apparently is not important to you all…” Everyone shuffles and sits at attention, reminded of the seriousness of the crime. “Thank you. He’s planning to attend some big event at one of their satellite hideouts; a place by the name of The Bop House: Roller Club.”

“A roller rink? How retro,” Sam tuts; no longer engrossed in his phone game.

“Who’s assigned?” Nat asks.

“Yourself, Agent Y/N, Sam, and the Centurions. Wanda, Clint, Bruce and Vision are still wrapping up that job in Cambodia and it’s my day off with Pepper.” He finishes with the most fake smile you’ve seen on him.

Steve’s posture shifts, deciding it's time to play Captain. “Covers?”

“Provided.” Tony slides packets across the table. You skim the mission briefing but are interrupted by a snort from Sam. Flipping a couple pages to the assigned covers you see why. The theme of the event is “Skating Through the Ages.”

“What the ever-living hell is Skating Through the Ages?”

“Roller Skating. Dressed as various historical clichés.” You all stare up at Tony in disbelief. “Ya know, hippies, poodle skirts, 80’s glam, 90’s grunge?”

You no longer have any curiosity why Tony chose to sit out this particular mission. Anything that didn’t allow him to be himself or Iron Man was a hard pass in his book.

“It’s another couples cover,” Sam groans. You continue to read. Looks like Sam and Natasha are posing as a couple along with you and… the space is left blank. You raise your eyebrows a bit in surprise.

“Tony, who’s my partner?”

“Me.” Steve and Bucky answer in unison. You raise a single eyebrow and swivel your chair back to Tony hoping for some help.

“Don’t look at me, Y/N. Let those two figure it out.” You swivel back to your two best friends who are now engaged in a heated whisper argument.

“Buck, come on. You vowed never to do couple covers. In fact, you threw a massive hissy fit the last time Stark tried to assign you one”

“That’s not true, Steven. I have no qualms with the couples cover.”

“I’m the Captain.”

“Now he pulls the Captain Card!”

You look back and forth at the boys. “If you both wanna be a couple so bad, you can always go together?”

They both look at you reclining back in your chair coolly; faces both a vibrant shade of pink. You had no idea what had gotten into the both of them.

“I flipped a coin in my head-” both men stare at Tony waiting for the verdict. “-and realized I don't care.” With that, Tony closes the presentation and exits the conference room.

“Looks like we got a throuple!” Sam cracks.

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Arriving at the rink you’re an excited ball of energy next to a glum accompanying crowd.

“Am I the only one excited about this?”

Sam huffs before responding, “I look like a knock-off Hendrix with my ginger Janis Joplin. So, forgive me I’m not jumping for joy.”

“Excuse me! I did not spend three hours doing my hair for that comparison.” You had to give Nat credit. Despite Sam’s comparison she looked nothing like Joplin; more like a sultry redhead Farrah Fawcett.

Bucky and Steve flank each of your sides pouting. They’re dressed like fifties greasers complete with slicked back hair, white t-shirts, and black leather jackets. You had to admit, it was a good look for the both of them.

“I get Sam and Nat being huffy, but I can’t deal with you guys moping too.”

“Sorry Y/N/N, I feel naked without my suit.”

“Poor golden boy doesn’t like being on the other side?” Bucky taunts. He was reveling Steve’s discomfort.

“Hush you two. If we’re gonna be a successful throuple we need to be madly in love and not bickering assholes.” You feel the eyerolls before you see them but promptly smack both of them in the temple. “I’m serious.”

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A handful of hours have passed at the roller rink. Nat and Sam have cozied up to some of the henchman near Livingston trying to figure out if he was gonna show tonight. You and the boys were on recon around the rink hoping to find out more about where they were hiding the children.

The three of you had already scoped out the arcade area and bar. You now skate leisurely around the rink, hand-in-hand with Bucky and Steve. You’d been friends with them long enough the couple act was comfortable. To any onlooker, you would look like a blissful throuple; but you knew better. The boy’s eyes were in mission mode; constantly on a swivel observing the comings and goings, checking patterns, looking for abnormalities.

They had both surprised you with their natural ability skating. Perhaps you shouldn’t have been shocked; it seemed the serum added an unnatural grace and a quickness to learn new tasks you’ve grown fond of. You approach the curve of the rink, preparing to make the turn with your chain of three. Right skate crosses gracefully over left. It’s a sudden mix of limbs and skates. Somehow the three of you manage not to topple into a heap as Steve skids to a halt dragging both you and Bucky along.

“Livingston in the building. Our two. Nat. Sam. Nine o’clock,” he whispers into the communication device.

“Move you, star spangled ass!” Steve’s eyebrows raise at your blatant insubordination once you detangle your skates. Best friends or not, Steve demands a certain level of respect on missions.

“If we’re the only people on the rink not skating, glaring at a mob boss, it may draw some unnecessary attention.” Your voice is firm and annoyed, but your body language says nothing but caring partner. Bucky catches on.

“Yeah, darling Steven. Tripped over your skate there and almost took us down.” Steve is not amused, but knows your both right.

“Okay, sweethearts.” His voice still clearly displaying his desire to tackle Livingston. “Let’s finish this lap and go sit down. I think I twisted my ankle.”

The three of you remake your hand holding chain, Steve now in the middle feigning a hurt ankle, and skate towards the exit on the far side of the rink. Under his breath, Steve is whispering orders to Nat and Sam hopefully directing the capture of Livingston.

Your progress off the rink is slowed by Steve’s fake injury. The three of you make it halfway when the song changes.

Young man, there’s no need to feel down

I said, young man, pick yourself off the ground

I said, young man, ‘cause you’re in a new town

There’s no need to be unhappy

Nearly everyone on the rink has stopped to dance in place, further slowing your passage. You drag your right skate behind you to slow your pace. Bucky does the same.

“Why are we slowing down!” Steve grumbles.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Captain, everyone else has stopped. I don’t feel like crushing small civilians under my super soldier body while we’re under cover.”

Young man, there’s a place you can go

I said, young man, where you’re short and your dough

You can stay there, and I’m sure you will find

Many ways to have a good time

“Sam! Nat!” Steve’s whisper yelling into the com as best he can over the music. “Move on Livingston. We’re stuck on the rink… Sam!? Nat?!”

It’s fun to stay at the Y.M.C.A.

It’s fun to stay at the Y.M.C.A.

Steve looks around the rink in frustrated horror. Bucky is insanely calm, basking in the destruction of Steve’s type A, leadership. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a flash of red. It’s Nat bringing down Markus Livingston while Sam stealthy covers his mouth with duct tape as to not make a scene. With the mission at completion you decide to enjoy the roller rink while you can.

They have everything for young men to enjoy

You can hang out with all the boys

You shimmy your shoulders, rolling your hips to the beat intentionally knocking into both Bucky and Steve. Bucky seems to have also noticed Nat’s takedown despite the radio silence. He joins you in dancing around Steve. Clearly, he’s never heard the song before as all his moves are off beat.

It’s fun to stay at the Y.M.C.A.

“Why is everyone singing!?” Steve yells. He’s livid with the two of you. You throw your arms up to form the letters; singing in his face.

It’s fun to stay at the Y.M.C.A.

“Would you two focus!” he bellows. His face is tomato red; eyebrows firmly knitted together. You can tell he’s either preparing a massive lecture or he’s gonna blow cover and storm over to handle Livingston himself.

“Captain, sir. Permission to speak?” Bucky’s still dancing to the song in front of Steve. You wonder if perhaps the two of you have gone too far in taunting him. Steve looks ready to land a punch right to the brunette’s face; cover or not. Steve ignores him.

“Permission to continue dancing as Natasha and Sam detained Livingston about sixty seconds ago?” Steve’s features settle into befuddlement.

“Yeah… good catch, Cap.” You bump your hip against his playfully, hoping he’ll let loose and drop his stoic Captain mask. His brows unknit and a smirk curls onto his lips.  

“Sometimes I hate you two.” His words are harsh but his tone indicates otherwise. “Now teach me this god forsaken dance.”

[kenzieam]

It’s Time - Chapter Three

Rating: M (language, eventual smut, angst)

Genre: Drama/Angst

@captstefanbrandt @iammarylastar @kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995 @notimetoblog @captain-ariel-barnes @jaamesbbarnes @lancefvcker @bitsandbobsandstuff @softlybarnes @lovelybbarnes @buckitybarnes @bucky-plums-barnes  @moonbeambucky @badassbaker @citylights221 @empress-of-boujee @tbetz0341chook007 @shynara51 @diinofayce @casestudy-mw  @jewels2876 @damnaged-princess @everythingisoverrated @allmyfanficfaves @melgoodwin @clarabella960 @curvybihufflepuff  @angryschnauzer @wowspideyholland @sergeantwhitewolf @smilexcaptainx @plaidcat4815

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Potential Triggers, please read with caution

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Bucky finally gets the chance to explain what happened five years ago.

The angst is strong with this one......

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As I'm staring, thinking these forbidden thoughts, Bucky looks up, his eyes locking with mine.

I duck out of sight with a curse. Shit. That half-second of contact is sending shivers down my spine, and not the bad kind. The raw sorrow in his gaze, the immediate hopeful light that glowed in it when our eyes locked. I don't dare look again, wait... maybe he's coming into the house to see me. No. I can't right now.

Faint snores from the nursery tell me both Nat and Lou are down for the count, and I scurry as quietly down the stairs as I can, ducking out the front door. I make it back to Mom's, my house now, I remember with a jolt and stop short.

Not everyone went to Clint and Nat's, there's a healthy stack of casseroles left on my front step too. A few scuttling trips takes care of that, then I shut and lock the door behind me with a sigh of relief.

Bucky doesn't follow, and while a big part of me is relieved, and even bigger part is disappointed.

***************************************************************************************************************************************************** The funeral is quiet, understated and tasteful, like Mom herself. Light, sombre classical plays in the background, and her urn is a simple polished metal. A few pictures of healthier times are surrounded by white and pale purple lilies, and one picture gives me pause, the largest one. I wonder if Clint disobeyed orders and snuck it in himself.

It's Mom and Dad together, not long before Dad's surprise fatal heart attack. It's a candid shot, taken at one of the many dinner parties Mom loved to host. She's seated at the table, fingers delicately clasping an even more delicate wine glass, and her head is thrown back in laughter. Dad has left his spot at the head of the table and is leaning over her from behind, and he's the reason she's laughing. He's laughing with her, face buried in her hair and they look so goddamn happy together it brings instant tears to my eyes. But I can't cry now, they're together again, like in the picture and that's good. I reach up to wipe at my eyes and hear a soft familiar voice.

"Levi."

My body doesn't jolt, like it's been expecting this. I turn to see Bucky standing a few feet away. He looks almost criminally handsome in a black suit, a thin tie and grey shirt. His hair is neatly combed and he's shaved, the exposed skin baby-soft.

"You look beautiful." He murmurs quietly.

"Thank you."

His skin is pale, eyes red-rimmed and he looks like the last few days have absolutely kicked the shit out of him emotionally. Maybe it's the surroundings, but I feel the beginnings of sympathy for him.

He takes a deep breath, opens his mouth and closes it again. I'm about to turn away when he tries again. "Lev, can we talk?.... Please baby?"

The rush of rage that flows through me as he uses that forbidden pet name is matched only by the wave of comforting warmth. I've been called 'baby' by other men, other boyfriends, but the word never excites my heart like when Bucky says it.

Clint's words float back to me and I know I can't push this away anymore.

I close my eyes and drop my head, steeling myself for what is about to come. Slowly I raise it and look back over where Bucky anxiously waits for my answer.

"Okay." I turn and begin to walk somewhere more private, sense Bucky falling into step near me. I catch his hand move out of the corner of my eye. We always, always held hands when we walked, when we were near each other, and his hand moved reflexively to grab mine, before pulling back as he remembered he had no right to anymore. Part of me wishes he'd done it anyway.

As we step out of the building I pause, not sure where to go for what has the potential to grow into a screaming match like last time.

Bucky hesitates at my side before asking quietly. “Can we go somewhere else?”

Now it’s my turn to hesitate. While I trust Bucky to not become violent and, unless he’s changed in the last five years, he’s never hurt even a fly, regardless of his size; what worries me is that if our conversation goes south, where that leaves me, literally. The last place I’ll want to be located is either in Bucky’s truck, in close quarters with him, awkward, or left how far away from home and needing to either walk back or call for a ride. But I also don’t want to become a spectacle right outside Mom’s funeral either. It’s ended, and everyone is enjoying the catered hors d’oeuvres and should be starting to trickle out soon.

“Alright.”

Bucky sighs in relief beside me and walks quickly towards the parking lot. I recognize the same battered pick-up, but it’s clean this time. He holds the passenger door open for me, gives me a nervous smile as he closes it behind me.

He doesn’t ask me where I’d like to go, but I already know where he’s heading. Our old high school has a green space far enough away from the main buildings that if we were energetic enough to make it out there, we were usually assured to be left alone. Most of our lunch hours and a good portion of our free periods during good weather were spent out there; all of us, Steve, Sam, Wanda, Nat, Bucky, Clint and I sprawled across the various picnic tables or up in the large shady trees.  

As he shifts into neutral and lets the clutch out, Bucky hesitates again, staring out at the space where we spent so many happy times. Our first kiss was out here, in eighth grade. We’d played hooky from gym and stayed out here the whole afternoon, holding hands and talking before Buck finally got up the nerve to make the first move. We’d been such close friends for so long that spending hours together talking or holding hands wasn’t unusual for us, but when Bucky turned towards me and pressed his lips to mine I’d been floored, rendered absolutely speechless. He’d just pulled back, face going adorably red thinking he’d just fucked up major when I’d finally come back down to earth and kissed him back, crawling into his lap in my eagerness. We’d necked until we’d heard the others approaching, pulling away and straightening ourselves out just in time to avoid either endless teasing or Clint’s older-brother wrath.

Bucky must be remembering that as well, for I see him smile and bite his bottom lip a moment before reality crashes back down and his face falls, glancing quickly at me before pushing open his door that squeals in protest, rattling as he slams it shut. He opens my door, something he always did for me before as well and I feel a twinge; Bucky always treated me like his princess, always opened doors for me, pulled out chairs for me to sit in. Even if I was already wearing a coat, if I shivered even once Bucky would always shrug off his jacket and drape it over my shoulders, foregoing his own comfort for mine.

He’s always taken care of me, I realize with a flicker of sadness.

I walk over to a picnic table under one of the shading trees. I climb up and sit on the table-top, feet on the seat and slip out of my shoes, curling my toes in relief as they're released from that stiletto hell. I've always been a Chucks kind of girl, forcing my feet into uncomfortable heels only when attending the firm's events. Bucky stands a few feet away, his hands jammed in his pockets. I look down, see that others have added their own carvings to the table top, run my fingers over the faded JBB + LVB dug into the wood and have to bite back a moan of grief. I pull my hand back before the tears start to fall.

"What did you want to say?" I twist the ring on my finger nervously. I found it this morning in Mom's jewellery box, recognized it as a simple trinket Dad brought back from one of his business trips, a plain hammered band, a basic design carved in the band. Mom wore it often as I remember, choosing it as her everyday adornment, bringing out the big carats only for parties.

"You're right, it doesn't begin to cover what I did, but... I'm sorry." He's tentative, his voice hoarse and nervous, wondering if I'm going to go all desperate housewife on him again and maybe scratch his eyes out this time.

I nod, looking straight ahead, focused far away. I want to say it, but the words burn anyway.

"I'm sorry too."

Bucky exhales, a ragged, broken sound like all he's been holding onto for the last five years is the chance to hear me say that.

"Why?" I hate the way my voice breaks, even after all this time.

Bucky groans, a tortured sound. "You'd.... just broken my heart, I was drunk out of my mind and just wanted to feel..... something besides pain."

"So you fucked another girl."

"I was mad, we'd just had a huge fight and you tell me the words I never ever wanted to hear from you, 'it's over, Buck'. I was going crazy, nothing mattered anymore and here’s this girl sitting on my lap and running her fingers through my hair and for a few-" his voice breaks, "-goddamn minutes nothing hurt anymore, I could breathe again." He runs his hand roughly through his hair, messing it up and looks up at me, the raw pain in his face is staggering. "And I've spent every single fucking minute since wishing I could take it back. But I can't."

"Clint says you're not together anymore, I figured you'd be married right now; two and a half kids, the dog, you know, the American Dream." God knows he held me enough times after we’d made love, limbs tangled together, my head on Buck’s chest and his fingers idly tracing up and down my spine and talked about that, talked about the house we'd buy together, the tree-house he'd build, the playhouse he'd sit in with his daughters and drink imaginary tea with.

Bucky looks quickly away, blinking hard, swallowing even harder. "No." He manages to choke out. He turns away and gives me his back, head hanging, hands on hips for a moment before turning back and moving towards me. He sits on the seat, a few feet away from me, facing away and leans, more like collapses forward, holding his head in his hands.

"The baby wasn't mine." His voice is broken, exhausted, it seems to take all his strength to say it.

I'm so stunned for a moment I can only gape at his back before I collect my senses enough to murmur. "What? How did you know?"

Bucky raises his head with a long, weary inhale, staring straight ahead as he answers. "When he was born, the nurse.... she put him on Alicia's chest and I looked down at him, ready to tell him I was his daddy and I would always love and protect him and.... he had black hair."

I shift uneasily, there has to be more to this, for Bucky to be so sure this wasn't his son.

"And almond-shaped eyes."

I frown now, confused. That could mean a multitude of things, and aren’t babies all scrunched up and funny-looking when they're born anyway-

"Alicia's ex was Tommy Yeung, remember him? Moved from Hong Kong back in grade two? One year ahead of us? When I asked why the baby she claimed was mine looked exactly like him she realized she couldn’t lie anymore."

My stomach feels like it’s dropped right out of the bottoms of my feet; and the chaotic mess of emotions that rush over me steal my breath and make my head spin.

“They broke up right before her and I.... She was still pissed at him when she found out she was pregnant so she said it was mine and waited to see if she was right. And I was so fucking drunk that night I couldn’t even remember if I’d used a condom or not.”

Finally I manage to reply. “God, Bucky.... I’m so sorry.”

“And the worst part?” There’s an almost hysterical edge to his mirthless laugh. “She only slept with me because she was mad at Tommy, she used me; she sat in my lap at that party and played with my hair and murmured bullshit in my ear not because she’d always liked me and saw that I was hurting and wanted to take away my pain like she said but to make him jealous. We didn’t even like each other, I just stayed to take care of my responsibilities.” He wipes almost angrily at his tears and continues. “And you completely cut me out of your life, you wouldn’t take my calls or read my texts and,” he exhaled hard, tremulously, “then you transfer your degree across the fucking country and move to Seattle. It took months but I tried to make the best of Alicia and I, make a family with her even though it was you I wanted, and then it all fell apart in the delivery room. I never even held the baby I’d spent months believing was mine.”

“What happened, where is she now?” I can hardly force the words out around the painful lump in my throat, my heart is absolutely breaking for Bucky right now, and I’m feeling like a thousand different kinds of shit.

Another mirthless snort. “They’re back together. Happily married in Miami with three kids, number four on the way. I heard he showed up that same night.”

I drop my head, shame so thick on my tongue I can taste it. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner? Why didn’t Clint, or Steve tell me?”

Bucky shook his head. “Would you have listened? You completely shut me out. You were my first kiss, my first everything, we gave our virginity to each other and now you acted like I didn’t even exist..... so I told them not to. I’m the one who fucked-up, I was the one that needed to fix it. I flew out to Seattle... four times to try and see you, but I lost my nerve every time and came home. The last time I sat on a bench across the street from your condo all day, waiting for you. They were tearing the sidewalk up half a block down, the jackhammers nearly drove me crazy.”

I remember that time, it had been close to three years ago. The city was replacing sidewalks and I’d stayed late at the office every night because the sound had driven me crazy too. I hadn’t come home any time before 10 o’clock that whole week.  

Buck’s got his head in his hands again and I can hear him starting to cry as he continues. “And... after that I just gave up, told myself I’d wrecked the best thing I’d ever had and now I was just going to have to pay for it forever too. I just... hoped I could get you to listen to me long enough one day to tell you that I never, never meant to hurt you, baby; and I would always love you, and I’m sorry. So goddamn sorry.”

He breaks down completely now, bowing in on himself in anguish and the raw agony that’s radiating off him in waves completely bowls me over, causes a sharp pain to shoot through my chest.

I can’t stand to see his pain anymore, it’s finally overcome my own childish stubbornness, my dogged need to ensure that Bucky felt the same level of grief that I had for years, that I still felt. I push off the table top and sit back down beside him. He startles slightly, so accustomed to my punishment and aloofness that he honestly didn’t expect me to be affected like this and lifts his surprised gaze to me. His cheeks are wet, skin pale and eyes bloodshot and I, tentatively, because I’m so shit scared that even though Bucky’s baring his broken soul to me right now, he’s not in the next breath going to be screaming at me in a rage for being the one to cause this agony, touch his leg.

His grip is almost painful as he takes my hand in his, presses desperate kisses to it, his breath ragged and hitching. I reach with my other hand and touch his back, feel him trembling beneath my hand and it breaks him completely. Leaning his forehead on my shoulder he shudders, his grief a palpable shadow choking the air around us.

“Please baby.... Please give me... another chance?”