#do wanna add some thing to her gloves/ shoes. not entirely happy with them

[triple-starsss]

concepting wough. THIS IS. THE GENERAL IDEA SO FAR THOUGH

really wanna mix elegance n cutesy stuff with her idol outfits!!

[paperficwriter]

A Deer Dance (Charlastor, Hazbin Hotel)

Alastor is a deer demon, and while he's never been lonely, he's not going to say no to a little doe that seems as interested in him as he with her.

Dirty Paper warning!

---

Living or dead, Alastor always did like to believe that he was one of a kind. The best of the best, and a step above the rest. And, in many ways, he was right; when he compared himself to other radio personalities, or home chefs, or, now, demon lords, that knowledge that he was better would add a skip in his step and the huge smile on his face.

He wondered if that gap that remained open between him and everyone else was the reason why his appearance was so different here. He’d never seen another deer demon before. All of the other shapes of demonic beasts were represented, certainly. Wolves. Bears. Goats. God, so many goats, it had ruined any dish with meat or milk that he might come across.

There were rumors of others, but perhaps his presence, his power, had sent them all into hiding.

That would make sense. Alastor didn’t particularly appreciate being shown up (and most denizens across the Nine Circles were more than aware of that). Just his average appearance - his dashing suit, the cloven prints of his shoes, the long fluffy tufts of his hair and his sharp-toothed grin - parted many a crowd, but in his true demonic form with its rack of horns and dead-eyed, sharp-toothed leer, most hoped to just survive the encounter.

But it was in his fairly casual shape that he went to Mimzy’s Club for a colorful event that she was hosting that particular evening. The Burlesque Revue had been all the talk across the city for several weeks before, something that was supposed to combine the lurid fantasies that were commonplace in this corner of Hell with something a little more artistic.

“Listen, if there’s gonna be stripping, ain’t nobody gonna say no to that,” he had heard one demon say as they looked at the poster of one particularly long-legged dame with a boa around her shoulders. “If they wanna make it fancy, s’alright by me, just so long as they take it all off at the end, yeah?”

There certainly wasn’t any proof that Alastor had set the unbearable dolt on fire. People combust all the time in Hell!

After all, the concept alone sounded entertaining enough for Alastor, that was for certain, but what really intrigued him the most was the rumor that the whole thing was being hosted to bring attention to some hospitality project being taken on by the Princess of Hell herself, Charlotte Magne. And if she was anything like the classical piece of art her mother Lilith was on stage, he did not want to miss this for anything.

Mimzy clearly had tried to doll up the place. There were fairy lights everywhere, and thick drapes of black and red velvet scooped down from each pillar along the edge of the club floor. An entire area had been elevated into a stage and that was littered with props and poles and bars.

“Al!” Mimzy gushed as soon as he came in, rushing over to take both of his hands. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you. These people are annoying the shit out of me. I forgot how the artsy crowd could be such a bunch of divas.”

“Mim, Mim, Mim,” he tutted, “I think you just described the entire population of the here-after. The artists just happen to have practice, don’t you know?”

They laughed about that, and then someone spoke up behind him, a young, sweet voice that was so different from the raucous roar he was used to that it was almost startling. “Hey, Mimzy, I’m so sorry to bother you. Can we get a little more light on stage left?”

“What do I look like, an electrician?”

“No, but the electrician snuck into one of the dancer’s dressing rooms, and I’m pretty sure he won’t be waking up anytime soon.”

Mimzy sighed as Alastor turned to the source of the voice. “I’ll get right on it, Princess,” she groused before disappearing.

And there she was. The Heir to the Throne of Hell. What had Alastor been expecting? Someone dressed like Lucifer, probably, a mess of over-the-top vaudevillian aesthetic and an extremely untrustworthy face. And yet somehow, that horrible cretin had helped to birth the most beautiful creature Alastor had ever laid his eyes on. Even if it had just been the classy black dress, the diamonds in a cascading pattern down her neck, the silver apple tiara atop her blond hair styled in a gorgeous updo...all that would have been more than enough to catch Alastor’s attention, but then...

“Charlie. Please.” She said it like it was one of a thousand times she had insisted. And although Mimzy was already gone, her ears perked at Alastor.

Her slightly furry, tear-drop shaped ears, and a tail turned up behind her where the dress had been perfectly cut to let it out.

Another demon just like him. No, not just like him. A doe.

“Well,” he greeted with a low bow. “I’m glad I won’t be making that mistake. I will never call you by a name that is not your preference, my dear.”

She giggled into her hand, covered by a long opera glove that matched the black of her dress. “I appreciate it. And you must be Alastor. Unless you prefer ‘the Radio Demon’?”

Oh, she was a quick one. Not that Alastor was ever good at flying under the radar. “I would prefer ‘yours,’ actually.”

That got an even darker blush from her already-rosy cheeks. Her tail twitched a little bit. “That’s a title that comes with many responsibilities, Alastor,” she said through a little smile, clearly trying to keep up with him.

“Where do I send my resume, darling, because I’m always looking for a job with better benefits.”

“Well, you certainly know how to dress to impress.” Charlie bit her lip as she glanced at him up and down. Alastor knew when he was being sized up, and he let her take him in, knowing already that she was having the same response to him as he had to her. You’re someone like me, her eyes said. After so long.  

“Maybe in this case,” he said quietly, stepping in close to her. “I should have left the suit at home. After all, you should dress for the job you want, shouldn’t you?”

Charlie leaned in. This close, he could see all the soft strands of fur on her ears, the pink inside. He wanted so, so much to touch them, but...not yet. There would be time and privacy for that yet. “I’d really like to continue this interview,” she whispered, “but as you can see I have a revue to oversee.”

“After, then,” he said, slipping her hand into his and cradling it. So small. Delicate. “I have a tower with an extremely quaint office overlooking the city. It’s quite comfortable, you’ll find.”

She nodded, voice breathless. “After.”

---

Charlie let Alastor take her home. If anything, Alastor thought he noticed her speed up a bit through her acknowledgements and post-show credits, now and then glancing his way. Nobody else would notice, but he could see the way her tail was flashing, how she wanted to run.

Run to him, no less.

And she did, in the huge fluffy stole that she had worn on stage after her act when her dress had been taken off and then pulled back on only as a skirt, her pale skin just showing though her breasts were hidden. He had never driven himself faster back to his Radio Tower.

The only person down in the “lobby” was Husk, and he was playing a computerized slot machine that he had won in a game with Alastor (though to be fair, Alastor let him win, because otherwise he threatened to leave altogether, and one piece of infernal technology was payment enough for service he could count on).

“Don’t wait up, Husker-chum,” he said, Charlie on his arm.

“Why the fuck would I literally ever care what you are do...do...” He trailed off in that moment. Husk had looked up momentarily from the game, catching a glance at Charlie, and his mouth just stayed in that same ‘o’ until they were in the elevator. Then, as though realizing that the moment Charlie went upstairs with Alastor it would all be over, he fell over himself running toward the quickly-closing doors. “Hey, what’s the rush?!” he asked hastily. “Let’s hang out! The night’s young! We can get some drinks or hit a bar or--” Alastor snapped his fingers, and the doors refused to open, even as he hit the button. “I’m not always great with sharing,” he said as Charlie was quietly laughing into the fur around her neck.

“Good,” she said, dropping the wrap to the red floor. She stood before him now with nothing but diamonds from the waist up, blinking at him bashfully despite the fact that she was the one who had made this quite-forward, more-than-brazen move. In the mirrored wall of the elevator, he could see her tail, soft and twitching just so. Now, now he did reach out to caress it, to run his long fingers through it. She shivered and instinctively huddled close to him. “So what were you saying about your qualifications before?”

As much as he had planned to continue their little tete-a-tete, it was hard to manage at the sight of her so natural. He pulled her out of the elevator when they reached the top floor and made quick work of getting her out of the rest of the dress. He dragged his mouth across her thigh, the little freckles there looking like the same pattern on young does.

At some point, his antlers sprang from his head, creaking slightly like branches over them, and when she sprang to his boudoir, he didn’t know how she would respond to his coming up from behind her, grabbing her waist and pressing in tight and close where she could feel the bulge in his pants.

He didn’t think she would moan and raise her tail to him, inviting him inside.

It wasn’t the only way they would have one another that night, but it was the most intense. The most instinctive, the best and only way he could imagine fucking in this form of his that he had gained. They didn’t speak, not even each other’s names, and yet he felt like he had known her for eternity before that, and that she wasn’t some mysterious woman that had just happened to fall into his life.

They didn’t even kiss until that first round was over, when she was gasping and clutching at the covers of his four-post bed, and he had nuzzled her face until it met his.

“I think,” she said softly, sometime quite a while later, her head on his chest, gold hair now free and messy all over his sheets, “we might have a position available for you.”

“Only one?” he teased as he rolled her onto her back and came back down to kissing her neck.

[splendidlyimperfect]

Sting’s entire life changed when he was eleven years old and his best friend Rogue told a secret that he’d promised to keep. Taken away from the father who abused him and the best friend who’d tried to save him, Sting tried to start a new life with his uncle. But the trauma wasn’t easy to escape, and eventually Sting turned to drinking to forget the things that hurt.

Now he’s an adult, and he hasn’t been sober in years. But when drinking nearly kills him and a near-stranger saves his life, Sting has a chance to turn his life around, and maybe become the man that Rogue deserves to love.

Chapter Summary: Sting is graduating from the police academy but is scared he can't handle the responsibility. Rogue's there to help him through it.

Chapters (16/?): 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Rogue Cheney/Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Natsu Dragneel & Sting Eucliffe, Sting Eucliffe & Weisslogia  Additional Tags: modern au, childhood friends, angst, emotional hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, child abuse, alcoholism, drug use, recovery

-----

re·​com·​mence | \ (ˌ)rē-kə-ˈmen(t)s verb : to undergo a new beginning

.

xvi spring age twenty-two

.

“I think I’m gonna throw up.”

Sting picks at a stray thread in his white gloves, swallowing hard to keep the nausea at bay. Rogue takes them from him gently, tugging at the string until it breaks and then holding them out to slip them onto Sting’s hands.

“You’re not going to throw up,” he reassures Sting. “You’re going to be fine.”

Sting chews his lip, staring down at where Rogue is now gripping his gloved hands. “I don’t…” He sighs.

“Don’t what?”

“Feel like I… fit,” Sting admits quietly, looking up at the twelve other people from his class who are also graduating the academy today. They’re about to cross the stage, and Sting’s anxiety is hitting him in a way that it hasn’t since the first time he stood up in an AA meeting and admitted he was an alcoholic.  

Continue reading on AO3

“Why don’t you fit?” Rogue asks, touching Sting’s cheek and pulling his gaze back to soft, brown eyes.

Sting sighs, tipping his head into Rogue’s touch. “They’re all good,” he says, then shakes his head because that’s not what he means. “I mean—they’re not like me. They’re good people, they’ve always been, and I’m… I am now, but I wasn’t always, and I just—”

“Sting.” Rogue leans in and kisses his forehead. “You’ve always been a good person. Nothing could change that.”

Sting swallows hard and wraps his arms around Rogue’s waist, pressing his forehead to Rogue’s shoulder and holding him close. He wants to agree with Rogue, but it’s hard. Some days he knows it’s true, and other days all he can think about is how he’s done so many awful things.

“You’re my favorite person,” Rogue says, voice muffled as he presses his face into Sting’s unruly curls. “You always have been.” Then he pulls back and squeezes Sting’s arms. “Go on,” he says, nodding toward the edge of the stage where everyone else is lined up. “You can do it.”

~

Sting doesn’t remember most of the ceremony – it’s a blur of people talking and clapping and lights flashing as pictures are taken. By the time he finally finds Natsu, Rogue and Uncle Wes afterward, he’s exhausted, but it doesn’t feel overwhelming.  

“I’m so proud of you,” Uncle Wes says, hugging Sting tight. “You’ve come so far.”

Sting laughs wetly, rubbing his face with a gloved hand. “Thank you,” he says, and the smile Uncle Wes gives him makes him feel so, so loved.

“You did great,” Natsu says, holding out his arms and pulling Sting into a tight embrace. His voice goes softer as he adds, “I knew you could do it.”

They go out for dinner afterward, and it takes Sting a second to realize that it’s the same restaurant that Uncle Wes took him to on his twelfth birthday. For some reason it makes him want to cry. Then Uncle Wes tells the waitress why they’re celebrating, and the tears turn to embarrassment as Sting’s face goes red and he tries to hide in Rogue’s shoulder.

“Uncle Wes,” he groans when the waitress slips him a piece of cake after dinner – the same kind they give for free on kid’s birthdays. “I don’t need—”

“Sting,” Natsu says, kicking his ankle under the table. “You deserve this. Now shut up and eat your cake.”

~

Natsu stays with them for a few days after the ceremony. The first time Natsu and Rogue had met, Sting had been so nervous that he’d nearly thrown up. But Natsu had hugged Rogue without a second thought, and now they’re all friends, sitting on the couch and laughing and throwing popcorn at each other like they’ve known each other forever.  

“I’m so happy for you,” Natsu says when he finally has to leave. He squeezes Sting’s hands, then pulls him into a hug. They stand like that for a while, and when Sting finally pulls back, he realizes Natsu is crying.

“What’s wrong?” Sting asks quickly, but Natsu shakes his head.

“No, ‘s fine,” he insists, wiping his face with his sleeve. “’m just all…” He trails off and Sting’s hit with a realization.

“You haven’t found him,” he says gently. In all the excitement of graduating, he’d forgotten about Natsu’s search for Ellie. Natsu sighs, tipping his head up and trying to catch his breath.

“No,” he says eventually. “I haven’t.”

“I’m sorry.” Sting sighs. “Maybe…. When I start working, maybe I can help.”

Natsu nods, but Sting can see the defeat in his eyes, and he wishes desperately that there was something he could do.

~

Sting starts work at his dad’s old precinct a week later, and when it finally comes time to head out the door for his first shift, the anxiety and doubt he’s been working so hard to avoid hit him like a punch to the chest. He sits down hard on the couch, leaning forward on his arms and staring at the police cap he’s holding in both hands. All he can think about is how one just like this used to hang on the hook by the front door when he was little.

“What if I’m just like him?”

“Sting.” Rogue crouches down in front of him, tipping his chin up until they’re looking at each other. “You can do this.”

“But what if I can’t?” Sting says, shaking his head and gripping the cap tighter. “What if something bad happens and I wanna drink again?”

“You’ve been sober for three years,” Rogue says, running his thumb across Sting’s cheek. “I can’t promise that you won’t want to, but if you do… you know how to handle it. You’ll call your sponsor, you’ll go to a meeting, you’ll see your therapist.”

Sting nods uncertainly, bouncing his knee. “I don’t want to be like him,” he says, rubbing his face. “I never wanted to be him and then I was, I fucked up so badly and did so much stupid shit, and now—how can I be a cop?”

“Because you’ve learned from those mistakes,” Rogue replies. He moves up onto the couch next to Sting, running his fingers through Sting’s hair. “You’re a good person, love. You have so much compassion and such a big heart. You are nothing like your father.”

Sting tries to take deep breaths, but they get stuck in his chest, so he focuses on the crease of his pants and the shine of the shoes that peek out from under the hem.

“I’m scared,” he says, turning to look at Rogue.

“I know,” Rogue says, “and that’s what makes you different. You want to be better.” He kisses Sting’s forehead. “You can be scared and still go on.”

Sting exhales, nudging Rogue’s nose and kissing him. He lets the press of their lips pull the tension from him and ground him to the present.

“You’re going to do so much good,” Rogue says, wiping tears from Sting’s cheeks as he pulls back. “The world needs more people like you.”

Sting laughs through the tears. “More people like you,” he replies, but Rogue shakes his head.  

“It’s easy to make good choices when you’ve never been forced into bad ones,” Rogue says. “It’s much harder to choose the right thing when everything in your life has hurt you. You’ve been through so much. The world has hurt you over and over, but every day you choose to be brave, and I’m so, so proud of you.”

Rogue wraps his arms around Sting, pulling him close and stroking his hair as he cries. The tears start off quiet, but quickly turn to loud, choking sobs that shake Sting’s entire body. Sting knows that it used to scare Rogue how hard he cried, but Rogue knows now that he needs it.

There’s a loud mrowl and a dip on the couch as Lector hops up next to Sting, headbutting him and crawling onto his lap. Sting laughs, wiping at his face and scratching behind Lector’s ears.

“Thank you,” Sting says to Rogue as Lector arches into the touch, flicking his tail against Sting’s chest. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Rogue says, kissing Sting’s nose and straightening his jacket. “And I know you’re going to be great.”

~

The precinct is exactly like Sting remembers it. There’s lots of new faces, but some that used to come around on weekends and play poker with his dad. He’s pretty sure they haven’t bought a new coffee machine over the past ten years, and the desks are still arranged in the same order.

Sting scans the nameplates as he walks through the room. He’s not supposed to meet the captain in a couple of hours, but he has something to do before he officially starts to work here.

Kelly’s desk is in the exact same place as it was before. Stacks of paper and file folders are piled haphazardly around the computer, and three cups of cold coffee sit next to the phone. Kelly is sitting in her chair, squinting at her computer and grumbling under her breath.

“Sergeant now, huh?” Sting says, reaching out and tapping the nameplate on her desk. “Congrats.”

Kelly looks up at him, a frown creasing her face. Her hair is gray around the temples now, but she still has the same eyes.

“Are you the new officer?” she asks, pushing back from the desk and standing up. “You’re here a bit early.” She offers her hand and he shakes it, trying to keep himself from trembling.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “I, um…”

He’s overwhelmed with emotion, suddenly – it’s like he’s eleven again, curled up against her in his bedroom closet, wishing he were anywhere else.

“You look familiar,” Kelly says, tipping her head to the side as she studies him. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

Sting nods, swallowing down the anxiety. “Yeah,” he says. “I, uh… I used to be Abbey.”

Kelly’s eyes widen as she searches his face, a mix of hope and disbelief in her eyes. “Abbey?” she whispers. “Abbey Eucliffe?”

Sting nods, rubbing his sweaty hands on his pants. “It’s Sting, now,” he says. His tongue feels thick in his mouth and he tries not to stutter. Everything he was going to say has disappeared, and all he can think about is sitting on Kelly’s lap in the hospital, crying while she told him that everything was going to be all right. “I know it’s been a long time, but I wanted to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” she asks. The expression on her face is still a mix of amazement and disbelief, and she looks like she wants to hug him.

“That I’m here because of you,” Sting says, forcing himself to keep looking at her. His cheeks are burning but he needs to do this. “I wanted to be…” He blinks, trying not to cry. “You saved my life.”

“Oh, honey,” Kelly says, and this time she does hug him. He can’t help the tears now, and a small part of him realizes that crying on his superior officer’s shoulder on his first day of work probably isn’t the best first impression. A bigger part of him doesn’t care, because he’s finally saying thank you to the person who helped him, even when he didn’t want to be helped.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” she says quietly.

Sting lets out a wet, shaky sigh and pulls back, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “I almost wasn’t,” he admits. He thinks of the tears and anger, the drunken fights and the scars on his arms, then pushes it all away and focuses on his new life instead.

“I’m here now,” he says softly, and lets himself feel proud. “I did it.”

[gripefroot]

When Life Gives You Melons

The dull fluorescents and the tinny radio station over the speakers make the grocery store a hotbed of discomfort. Keeps him glancing over his shoulder, waiting for someone with a gun to pop out between boxes and rows of pasta, cackling madly against the liminal backdrop. So, Bucky isn’t exactly in the habit of ‘grocery shopping’ - but he does it for you. 

Or, should he say - with you.  

His knuckles are white on the handle of the shopping cart, and the metal beneath his glove creaks slightly. He tries to ignore the crackling music. The other people standing around - barely moving, barely aware - so slow at ten a.m. on a Tuesday. It’s easiest to keep his eyes on you.  

Whether you’re aware that he’s watching or not - and he fancies you do - there’s no shiver of discomfort, no hesitancy. Fingers curling around bright, plump lemons; weighing them in your palm with a bitten lip in concentration. It’s all very domestic, but that doesn’t make it less sexy. Bucky swallows thickly as your tongue hovers on the cusp of your top lip - still thinking? - and then with a breathy sigh that reminds him of dark nights in the bedroom, you put that particular lemon back.  

Testing his patience? He wouldn’t wonder.  

“You’re pretty,” he blurts, but keeps his voice lazy. Make sure you remember that two can play at this game - this cat and mouse dance where he isn’t sure who’s the cat and who’s the mouse - except that both parties seem to end enormously satisfied. His lips curl into a smug smile as you glance over, eyes dancing.  

“Lemons turn you on?” A suggestive wiggle of the brows, and he barely manages to suppress a laugh into a snort - draw less attention, that way. “Do we need to look at the bananas, next?” you add, and Bucky nearly chokes.  

“You tryna kill me, babe?” 

“You’re cute when you’re flustered.” Another lemon weighed, while your gaze, all hot and heady, stays on him - he swallows again, and your smile is all satisfaction. “What’s next on the list?” you ask, twisting the bag of lemons closed.  

“Um - it just says ‘fruit’.” 

“Let’s go see what looks good, then.” 

Nectarines and plums are out of season, looking small and sad. Pineapple is overpriced. Bucky pauses to sniff some peaches, dragging a scarlet-and-orange globe to his nose to catch any hint of ripeness.  

“Hey. What do you think?” 

He glances ahead - facing him square on, wicked smile on your face - a honeydew in each hand, held chest-high. He blinks. And then he laughs.  

“Nice melons,” Bucky jokes.  

“Thanks. I thought you might like them.” 

“So, you’re saying - we don’t need any because you already got some?” He quirks a brow.  

“Well,” your brows pinch in serious thought. “We can’t eat mine for supper, now can we?” 

“I could.” 

“Won’t fill you up.”  

He shrugs. “Overrated.” 

“If you’re really not interested in food,” a glint in your eyes now, that prickles heat across his skin, “I can offer alternative...eating options.” 

“I’ll take them,” he says promptly. 

“Perfect.” A sly smile - but a honeydew goes into the cart anyway, and he smiles back a sloppy, lovesick grin that makes his bones vibrate with joy, and he forgets how much he hates grocery stores as he follows you towards the misty display of fresh herbs. 

This rare day off together makes Bucky wish for more. His last mission in Neuquén, yours in Kuala Lumpur - still half-jet lagged, but every moment special. Even in the mundane ones, like opening a plastic bag so that you can slide some basil in as you slant a smirk up at him.  

“What?” he asks.  

“Oh, nothing.” 

“Uh, huh. What is it?” 

“Can’t I enjoy shopping with my boyfriend?” A blithe question, almost accusatory - but really, it’s a challenge. He’d be able to hear it in your voice from a mile away.  

“Without ulterior motives?” Bucky teases. “Fat chance, babe.”  

A tiny gasp, breaking off into a laugh.  

“I know you just want a piece of this,” he adds in a low voice, and by that glint in your eyes - he knows he’s right. Makes his belly flame hot, and he smiles as he drives the cart behind you, watching how you sway just so… 

It’s a shame there’s no thigh holster, today. But it’s a grocery store. And your knife is beneath your shirt, anyway. 

Maybe he can disarm you, later.  

“You know what we haven’t done yet?” you ask absently, as the checkouts beep. Putting goods on the runway, as Bucky surreptitiously tosses in about three packs of gum. 

“Hmm?” 

“We haven’t gotten anything for the baby.” 

Oh. Right. The baby. His lips press together in his usual contradiction of emotions when he considers this - happiness for 41 and her glowing smiles, annoyance at Clint for desecrating her, and maybe a little jealousy. Not that he’s brave enough to bring that topic up to you - he’s not even sure if such a future is possible for him - but with a sigh he shakes off these feelings for later. 

“We can go later,” he suggests. Gets a flash of a smile for that as you glance over.  

“After lunch?” 

“Sure.”  

Carrying bags of groceries back to your apartment should be tedious. But it’s not. Not with your elbow linked through his, making an obnoxious plastic bags-assassin-plastic bags-secret agent-plastic bags train, plowing through the Manhattan sidewalks as New Yorkers cast scowls for the inconvenience. Bucky doesn’t care. And he knows you don’t, either.  

Over sandwiches, a quick search into baby stores. He doesn’t know any, and you admit to only being familiar with baby stores in your hometown. He chuckles to himself, resting his chin on your shoulder as he gazes over at the screen of your phone, too.  

“A mall?” he says suddenly, good feelings gone. “Babe - no.”

“We won’t find anything anywhere else,” you point out. “Not unless you want to travel an hour.” 

“I don’t like malls.”

“I know, Buck.” A twist of your head, the lightest peck to his pouting lips. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there.” 

Bucky wrinkles his nose. Pretends to think. “Well, gee,” he drawls at last. “A pretty girl to hold my hand?” 

“And pinch your behind,” you interrupt. 

“And that? Well - how can a fellow say no?” A grin - which you return with a laugh, and he presses a noisy kiss to your cheek. “But if you drag me into a candle store, I’m rioting,” he promises, and you wriggle in his embrace.  

“I like a good riot every now and then,” you say lightly. “Don’t tempt me.” 

A groan, a roll of the eyes, a laugh - teasing all the way out the door, a casual pair in sneakers and jackets with fewer weapons than usual, still stowed away… 

As much as Bucky detests busy places, it’s not so bad with you. Your whispered comments on the subway and into the mall, teasing about this or that, murmuring quips at a hundred miles an hour as he tries to keep from drawing attention by laughing the entire time. But he’s grinning, his face hurts, and your smirk is the prettiest, most lethal thing he’s seen.  

The baby store, a sign lit up bright blue with little bunny and fox decals filling up the massive windows in the front. Bucky squeezes your hand more tightly, seeing families milling around and hearing the high-pitched whine of babies -  

It’s okay. Of course it’s okay. He’d rather listen to a baby cry than gunfire, any day.  

“I’m gonna text 41 and see what she needs,” you decide. Pause you pull out your phone, and Bucky lets his eyes rove. Bright displays - tiny baby shoes in every color and pattern and style, lined up on a rack. Headbands and hair clips and hats and bow ties and neckties...Bucky wanders over, curious in the oddest way. They made stuff this little? For babies? 

Without thinking, his lips draw down in a concentrated frown: hesitating only for a moment, before picking up with one hand - suddenly looking very large - a pair of black Converse shoes, which look like each one might fit one of his fingers. He looks at them one way, and then another. 

Maybe it’s just been too long since he’s seen a baby. Bucky doesn’t remember his sisters or kid cousins ever being this tiny.  

“Do we - ” he starts, wondering if baby Barton needs little shoes. Glances over at you, wanting an answer - but you’re staring, and he starts. Hadn’t noticed how intently you’re looking at him - phone limp in your hand, blinking fast, and if he tilts his head, listening to the rapid pitter-patter of your heart rate, suddenly elevated. “Are you okay, babe?” Bucky asks, concerned with a pinch of his brow - puts the shoes carefully back on the rack.  

“Ye - yeah.” A squeak. High-pitched and thin. He frowns now - this is unlike you. Keeping his eyes fixed firmly on your face, searching for any hint of illness or otherwise, he strides back to your side, clasping your elbow with the fingers of his flesh hand.  

“Did 41 text you back already?” Bucky asks. Watches the widening of your pupils, the sudden catch in your breath. 

“Oh - um, yes. They need…socks.” 

“Socks?” 

“And, um, bibs.”  

“Perfect. You wanna…” He lifts a brow. “Divide and conquer? Or…?” 

“Let’s…” You swallow. “Let’s stick together.” 

“Fine by me.” Bucky smiles - a reassuring, bracing smile, to you in the midst of the baby store chaos, and he reaches down to squeeze your hand lightly. Your flesh is hot and damp. “They’re having a girl, right?” he prompts, as you lick your lips. Almost hungrily. Hmm.  

“Uh - yeah.” A flicker of a smile, a shake of your head. “Maybe they’ll name her after me,” you joke, and he laughs as he tugs you towards the sock display.  

“What? 28? Or Agent?” 

“Ha, ha.” A dark, mischievous look. Bucky snorts with a shake of his head. Turns his head to study the rack of socks. Frowns some more.  

“How about these?” he asks dubiously. Pokes a pack of striped socks. 

“No,” you say. “Bucky - those are 6-9 month size. The baby comes out a newborn. See?” And with a tap of the fingers, you point towards the sizing, printed clearly at the top of the package. Eyes twinkling, as Bucky shakes his head. 

“This store is complicated.” 

“Just look for a pair labelled ‘NB’.”  

He does. Looks past the printed airplanes, the animals, the solid colors. You bench slightly to examine the lower racks, all lace frills and bows. Cars, alligators, unicorns.  

“Oh. This one.” Bucky reaches out - picks up an appropriately sized pack. Six pairs - doughnuts, lollipops, hard candy, cake, and pie. You laugh.  

“Perfect.” 

“Gosh, they’re so tiny.” With some effort he wiggles a finger into one of the doughnut socks - terribly soft and stretchy, but teeny - chortles to himself as he glances down at you, still crouched - and sees, again, that funny expression on your face as you stare. You let out a long, low breath. Are your hands shaking? “Babe?” Bucky asks, baffled. 

“It’s just - it’s getting hot in here.” A taut smile as you rise to your feet again. A meaningful look in your eyes. Oh, is that - oh. Bucky swallows, hard, and your fingers reach to unzip your jacket. “Really hot,” you add, with some exertion in your voice. Jacket pulled off. He swallows again.  

“Oh - er, ok.” His finger is still inside the sock. He pulls it off, groaning softly.  

“Maybe it’s best if we split up,” you suggest. “I’ll - I’ll go find...something. You’re on bibs.”  

“Okay, babe.” 

He watches the top of your head out of the corner of his eye - picking out jammies that look about the size to hold a banana, he thinks wryly. And he rifles through bibs. Finds a set to match the socks amongst the seeming hundreds of options, and feels immensely proud.  

Oh. Oh boy - Bucky catches sight, on top of the bib rack, of a basket full of stuffed animals. Bunnies, elephants, monkeys. Pink and purple and blue. At one end, a crowning jewel: a pale-tan alpaca llama, decorated colorfully with bangles and a saddle and reins.  

He has to get it.  

“Babe,” he hisses, arms full of merchandise - wandering over to the jammies, where you have at least four pairs slung over your arm as you hold up a purple-and-pink striped pair for view. “Babe, we have to get this.” Wriggles the llama for your inspection, and you lift a brow.  

“Of course we can,” you say with a smile. “It’ll look great next to your bed.” 

“Not for me,” Bucky says, affronted. “For the baby.” 

“Sure.” The striped jammies go over your arm, too.  

“You ready to go?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think we got enough.” A smile, gazing over the merchandise in his arms. Bucky offers a hopeful smile. Your bottom lip catches between your teeth - another once over, this one slower. He hears, yet again, the pickup in your heart beat. Glazed eyes, shifting your weight slightly… 

“You sure you’re alright?” he asks doubtfully. “Your heart is going really fast.”  

“Oh, yeah,” you say. Breathless and soft. “Um - can we...we should stop somewhere before heading home.” 

“You sure?” Absently Bucky’s flesh fingers run down the alpaca - freakishly smooth and fluffy alpaca - whatever it’s made out of. He’s sure he’s never touched anything so soft… “What’s so important?” he asks, as your lashes flutter so slightly, your burning eyes still on his face.  

“Umm…” Darting tongue, wet lips. Skin radiating more heat than usual. “Having my way with you in the nearest bathroom.” 

“Let’s go,” he suggests. “Sooner the better.” 

“Yes,” you agree. “Let’s.” 

Nervous energy at the checkout - fumbling with cash, grabbing the bag too fast to be polite. Shared, secret laughs as the baby store is left behind, bag swinging, and you jerk your head towards a family bathroom. Unlocked.  

“This is nasty,” Bucky announces, as you lock the door behind him - creepy lights, a ripe smell. But then your hands are on him, pawing at his belt as he groans aloud - bag drops to the floor, and he doesn’t hesitate to lift you by your hips, pressing your back to a wall.  

“You,” you pant. Teeth gnash against his neck as he tugs down your jeans with some difficulty - underwear pushed aside. “Are so sexy. Bucky, you’re so sexy.” 

“Huh?” Not that he’s complaining - especially when his brain and senses are so doped up on you.  

“Ugh - holding those baby socks. You’re lucky I didn’t pull off your pants and suck you off right then and there.”  

Bucky shudders head to toe, eyes fuzzy - and with some magic because he ain’t thinking right now - sinks right into; hot and wet and moaning so pretty in his ear, and he’s so warm still mostly-clothed, but he doesn’t care - thrusting up and in as you melt around him. Barely staying on his shaking legs, ignoring the distant sound of mall-goers walking by - no, this is more important.  

He buries his face into your neck, losing himself in the husky vibrations of your moans - clenches up when you do, choking out a grunt as you bear down on him.  

Like, two minutes. Efficient. His head is still rushing, though.  

“Oh, oh, Bucky - look.” A twist of your head, and blearily, Bucky follows your gaze. 

The bag on the floor, discarded in aroused haste - above just peeking out of the top, the beady black eyes of the softest-ever alpaca. Staring right at him. Sewn-on smile frozen.  

“Do you...do you think he saw?” Bucky asks hoarsely.  

“Definitely.” A little kiss pressed to his temple, but he barely feels it.  

“Babe...we can’t give the baby that alpaca.”  

“No?” you ask with some amusement. Hold around his neck tightening. “We can adopt him, then. It’s a he? Have you named him yet, Buck?”  

“Robert.” 

A tinkling laugh in his ear. “Robert? That’s such a grown-up name! Not even Robbie or Bobby?” 

“He’s an adult,” Bucky says firmly. “After what he just saw? No llama has ever grown up so fast in the history of llamakind.”  

“Bobby,” you counter. “Now let me down. I can feel the germs crawling on me.”  

There’s a softer light in your eyes after that - heat still lingering in the back, but it makes Bucky feel cozy and warm as he zips his pants back up. Hands washed. Bag picked up. Awkwardly he pushes Bobby’s head further down in the bag with a wince, as you laugh again.  

“Melon for dinner?” you chirp, as he wrenches open the door.  

“Uh - sure. Melon for dinner.”  

[justjoeyyy-blog-blog]

Day 38-46

6-22-17 Day 38: the wedding got approved so I'll be leaving July 27! Only 1 week after rain which is nice. 6-23-17 Day 39: I have been super busy recently. I've been trying to get off the boat when I can and if I don't then I'm sleeping. Our supervisor leaves in 6 days 🙌🏾 sometimes she's actually okay and I feel bad for talking badly but then again she's terrible. I'm so sick of her ending every single sentence with "heh?" Rain and I say it all the time now as a joke because it's so ridiculous how much she does it. Last night new kids came on. We only had 2 girls come in for registration...so I was stuck with boys the entire night. I think 2 of them are gay though and they're both fun to talk to. I like having girls in the club though that I can talk to and stuff. We have a boy with autism in my club this cruise. He's high functioning but does many awkward things like sing out loud in full blast and his body movements. He was also getting upset at the wii and the wii remote so he started hitting it. He has a brother in there but he doesn't always see him getting mad. These people in the crew mess put gloves on and eat their food it's so weird. They like squish it all together and shove it in their mouths it's absolutely disgusting. I've never seen anything like it. Today me Rain and Britny went out in Ensenada to the shops. I bought tons of souvenirs. The people working there a re so annoying. If you don't bug me then I would love to go in your store. They just nag at you and cat call. Rain got some piercings too which was kinda sketchy but it's all good. Had to go to work for 2 hours and not a single kid showed up so I went to my room shhhhh. It's elegant night so I have to look nice. I'll be seeing the new cast perform divas as well which I'm excited for. Hopefully it's better than the rock show. 6-24-17 Day 40: the diva show last night was actually really good. Some of it even sounded better than the last cast. But still doesn't compare. Woke up this morning to the worst Charlie horse I've ever had. I was screaming so loud I'm surprised no one heard me. I wore wedges last night so maybe that's why I got it but that never happens to me. I barely have any kids this cruise. Finally we had a girl join us yesterday and another one today. So 2 girls and tons of boys. The boys are so funny though and always bring me stuff. One of them is really into himself though and the money he has. He gave me a fidget spinner though so that was nice! I asked him if I could have it though lol. He has like 10...and he also has numerous pairs of Yeezys (shoes) that are hundreds of dollars and some are even thousands. We have our new supervisor coming tomorrow. And then Carolina will leave after the next 4 day cruise I believe. I'm excited to meet the new supervisor and see how she changes things and how the vibe of work is. 6-25-17 Day 41: this week I'm in camp ocean. I asked my supervisor to schedule me earlier in the day because there's tons of trainings I have to do for Circle c and the training center isn't open when I'm off work. I just tried to go and do my training and the videos will not load. The lady said you have to give it time and patience and I did try but the stupid thing doesn't work. She said the internet sometimes works and sometimes doesn't and I just have to test my luck. But I got mad and left. And she's not a nice person either and I didn't feel like dealing with her. I got off at 7pm tonight which was amazing. I haven't had a single day where I could just relax and not have to set an alarm for the next thing I have to do. The new supervisor came today and it's her bday. I think we might all go to crew bar for it tonight. I had to do embarkation this morning and hand out flyers. These people are so stupid. The questions they ask are mind boggling. And the rudeness is taken to a whole new level. Workers have actually been getting better with the rudeness. Crew still sucks but certain staff members are very sweet and polite. 6-28-17 Day 44: I've been super busy and haven't had much time to write in here. There's been a lot going on and not that much sleep. I met a boy a little over a week ago and we've hung out everyday since. He says I'm his gf but not really sure what his definition of gf is. He's from Ukraine and speaks Russian. He's a very nice guy, it just makes me nervous getting to know someone and having to possibly say goodbye and never see each other again. But for now I'm having fun and we'll see. He tells me a lot about Ukraine. There's war going on there. He was in the army before he got this job. He said Ukraine is very expensive. He said a police officer makes $1000 a year and a teacher makes $100 a month. So technically he's considered rich because of all of the money he is making here in America. He thinks America is very cheap. He's taught me a little Russian but it's not going so well lol. His English has definitely improved since we met though. We use a translator if he doesn't understand. I've never noticed how much we use slang until I met him. I have to really think about what I'm saying before I say it. I got off at 7 tonight which was really nice. Some of these kids we have are so bad it's mind boggling. We had one kid going around hitting people, throwing stuff at them, and snatching toys from everyone. His dad did not care one bit. It's hard for me to comprehend how these children act so terrible and their parents don't do a damn thing about it. We've had lots of drama this cruise. One family in particular have filed over 10 complaints to carnival. Ranging from the music played in the night club, to someone making fun of her handwriting, and even that her daughter is being bullied. A lot of extra drama that causes many issues at camp because there's always someone to blame. I've been thinking a lot about what I wanna do with my next contract. If I do circle c I'll be on my own. I'll plan my own activities, play my own music, and be around teens that I can talk with. But I have the same schedule every week and get off at 1 every night. If I did camp I'd have a different schedule every week and I'd be working with other people. But that means changing diapers and having to deal with annoying screaming children. Getting off early is really great though and makes me feel like I actually have a life. I have a lot to think about. 6-29-17 Day 45: 28 days left. I jinxed myself by talking about my bf. Last night he came in my room to tell me they were sending him home early. As in today. I was a hysterical mess all night it was so sad. He assured me everything will be fine. But it's hard to believe when he's across the world and we can only communicate through an app. He said he wants to FaceTime and keep talking. He said I should ask my supervisor to send me to his next boat which he goes on august 29. He also said he would look into getting a travel visa to America and vise versa. I'm so heart broken. I haven't felt like this in so long. Everyone would say the way he treated me and the way he looked at me they could just tell how much he liked me. Always calling and wanting to see me. We would stay up and just talk for hours (well try to through the language barrier). It feels so weird being in my room alone without him. I don't know when he'll be able to talk next. He left cali today at 6. His flight is 10 hours to Europe and then a few to Ukraine. There's also a time change and he didn't sleep last night so I know that'll take a toll too. When he gets wifi he said he would add me on viber so we can talk but I just don't know when that will be. I'm honestly ready to come home now. He made this so much fun for me and made me so happy. I'm gonna have anxiety until we finally talk. And even then I'll still be freaking out. Wifi on the boat is terrible. It just makes me nervous. Now I have even more to think about when it comes to my next contract. Relationships on these boats are real, it just depends how much you actually want it to work or not. I haven't been able to think much of anything else. He kept telling me not to worry and be happy but it's hard. I'm happy he gets to go home to his family and dog though. 6-30-17 Day 46: Today was a better day than yesterday. Still waiting for him to message me on viber but I know it'll take some time. Work was good today. Had some trainings and got off at 6 which is so nice. I really think I'll do camp next contract rather than circle c. But we'll see on what options I have.