#he needed to endearingly call sam more

[shadystranger]

the time dean called sam 'that's my boy!' that hit sam worse than a dog told it's a good boy. he stood there thrilled. tail wagging ecstatically if it ever existed. when dean says 'that's my brother' though it's the same as him saying 'that's my man' and it ends sam

[wander-over-the-words]

for the ship ask game: sam/tommy for who falls asleep mid conversation, AND/OR ethan/benny for who cuddles :]

Send me a ship and I will tell you: (Sleeping!) Think I'm supposed to do the whole thing and I'm gonna!! cause I like talking a lot!! >:D And I shall do so with Tommy/Sam, since I already did Benny/Ethan!

Who is a night owl:

Tom, if only slightly, and unintentionally. Sam’s mastered the art of Don��t Think About It, Tom…has not.

Who is a morning person:

Tom is. Sam is like…half a morning person.

Tom’s more or less raring to go in the mornings; his life as a cabbie made sure he was awake as soon as he opened his eyes (cause obviously can’t go sleeping at the wheel and all that). 

Once he’s part of the Family, he tends to take his mornings a little slower (granted that he can). He’s awake, but he’s taking the time to have a coffee, skim the paper, catch the morning news on the radio, make sure he’s got his appearance in order. Like that blissful little smile he gives when he’s sipping his coffee before Dino and Lou assault him in Running Man, he’s just..chillin. 

Sam…is not grumpy in the mornings, per se, he’s just quiet. He’s one of those guys that just doesn’t wanna talk to people at length cause he’s slow to wake up (plus he’s not used to people being in his apartment when he wakes up so Tom kinda stops existing to him for a minute lmao). He’s like a car that needs to warm up in the winter mornings: technically functioning but just needs a minute until 100% good to go. His morning routine involves staring into space for like ten minutes, thinking his thoughts and going over a mental checklist for today, before he ‘comes alive’ as it were and can contribute properly to conversation. You can talk to him, but you’ll just get “Mm-hm,” or short answers in response, and he won’t look at you when he does it. Not in a bad mood, just not focusing on you. He’s focusing on his own thoughts rn, he’ll get to you later. Wait your turn.

Everyone at the bar doesn’t rly know that about him cause by the time he gets there (hell, by the time he’s left his apartment), he’s 100% functioning and awake and whatnot; it’s rly only for a few minutes that he’s Like That and then he’s back to normal, so you’d only see it if you spend the morning at his apartment. 

Tommy finds it endearingly funny. He’s sittin there sipping his coffee and skimming the morning paper while Sam is sitting next to him, all stony faced and quiet, and then Tom sees him shift out of the corner of his eye and just smiles like “Mornin’ Sam.” In the extremely unlikely event that someone else stays around Sam’s place, Tom would become the “he’s fine, just give him a minute” guy

Obviously if they get called in, there ain’t no time for chillin nor staring into space, but without any urgency, Tom is just very “life is good c:” while Trapani.exe Is Not Responding.

Are they cuddlers:

Tommy more so than Sam; he’s the kind of cuddler who will gravitate toward Sam in their sleep. Fall asleep separately, wake up to find himself spooning Sam or with his head on Sam’s chest or something. Just happy to share a bed with him :3

Initially, Sam’s not one to cuddle during sleep; he likes his space and he’s not hugely used to having someone beside him while he slumbers. But the first time he woke up to find Tom spooning him made him stop and think “hold on this rules” so he’s become more open to it. While he still prefers falling asleep separated, it means he looks forward to waking up to Tom even more when he opens his eyes and either he’s in Tom’s arms or Tom’s in his 

Who is the big spoon and who is the little spoon:

Tommy’s the big spoon, Sam is little spoon c;

What is their favourite sleeping position:

(I think all mobsters adopt the habit of sleeping on their backs, no?)

Despite having a whole, big bed to himself, Sam favours sleeping on the edge of the mattress. When Tom ain’t around, Sam sleeps primarily on his back; when Tom is around, Sam tends to fall asleep on his side, with his back to Tom, which looks cold on the outside, but tbh it’s actually more a sign of comfort/trust cause. hey. he’s showing Tom his back. he knows Tom’s got it c: 

Tom’s always favoured sleeping in the middle of the bed. Before he joined the Family, Tom slept on his stomach a lot. After he joined the Family, that boy turned into a starfish sleeper - just arms and legs spread out - and does not show his back to the room, though he more often than not wakes up on his side anyways. In bed with Sam, he does the same thing Sam does and shows him his back (for the same reason ;3c), but God knows he inevitably ends up rolling over and moving toward Sam in his sleep, so it’s not guaranteed how he wakes up

Who steals all the blankets:

Sammy, but that’s cool cause Tom’s one of those blokes who is like. a walking heater.

What they wear to bed:

Well, we know what Tommy wears

Sammy wears PJs that are very similar. His are like a seafoam green tho

Who likes seeing the other wearing their t-shirt:

I don’t think they would intentionally swap clothes, especially not to sleep. They got their jammies for a reason. If they ever did wear each other’s clothes, they’d probably do it accidentally, and it’d be during the day time - such as if they’re in a hurry - and don’t realise until Paulie looks at Tom weird and just “You start shoppin’ at the same place Sam does, Tom?” and Tom suddenly realises why his shirt and/or coat felt like it didn’t fit right

I do like the thought that they swap the smaller details of their outfits, though. Subtle ways to show they’re together. Like wearing each other’s cufflinks or having the other’s pocket square thingy. Swapping ties that they don’t usually wear around the Family cause hey Sam why you wearing Tom’s bright fuckin red tie?? I imagine Tom would like to see Sam wearing his coat if he gave it to him for whatever reason. Like that big trench coat he wears during A Trip to the Country, just. Wrap it around Sam’s shoulders

Who falls asleep mid-conversation:

Tom would. Sam’s more likely to straight up admit he’s not awake enough for this conversation rn, while Tom will try and listen/engage, but his eyelids are drooping and he’s yawning

and then Sam’ll say something and not get a response, and he’ll look over to see Tom’s drifted off

Who wakes up in the middle of the night with nightmares:

Oh, both of em. Tom takes longer to go back to sleep, and he’s more likely to get out of bed to take a walk around the apartment or wash his face to try and chill out. Sam will turn on the light but he tends to just sit there and ground himself than move around.

Both will come for the other when they wake up and realise something’s wrong; Tom will fetch Sam some water and hold him until he’s okay, Sam will go and get Tom from wherever he’s gone and bring him back to bed and hold him as they go back to sleep. Sam doesn’t wanna talk about it, so they sit in silence in his case, while Tom’s more open to hearing “it’s okay” or “it wasn’t your fault” or “there was nothing you coulda done, Tom”. Both will also play the “no no I’m fine go back to sleep” card (Sam a little more aggressively than Tom) but the other ain’t having it.

Over time, Sam stops having so many nightmares, while Tommy just has more

Who accidentally punched the other in their sleep:

I imagine both have had moments where they’ve accidentally lashed out at the other, if only due to not being used to sleeping next to someone or because they were having a bad dream and didn’t wake up quick enough. For a split second, they forget and their brains go “DANGER” before quickly realising that’s just their man laying beside them. 

Sam’s succeeded at punching Tom in the face though. Just. straight up decked Tom before, just the once, when Tom’s tried to wake him from a bad dream.

Next day, Paulie was all “Jesus Tom what happened to your face??” and Tom just “...I fell, Paulie. Down the stairs.” 

“What’d ya do, hit every step with your face?”

“...Yeah, Paulie. That’s what I did.”

And Sam just stayed silent like

Who can’t keep their hands to themself:

I mean when he’s in the Mood, Sam will get handsy. Tom’s too much of a gent, he communicates his Moods with looks rather than touches, but Sam Trapani Doesn’t Fuck Around.

[ladylilithprime]

All Is Fair In Love And Paintball

Series: Fluff Is My Jamstiel

Fandom: Supernatural: 

Pairing: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Proto-Sastimmy/Jamstiel (Jimmy Novak/Sam Winchester/Castiel)

Rating: General

Tags/Warnings: Witch Sam Winchester, Hunter Novak Brothers, Jimmy and Castiel Are Twins, Brief Allusions to Canon-Typical Violence, Protective Dean Winchester, Paintball

Summary: Contrary to Sam's assumption that he wouldn't be seeing the Novak brothers at all often, if he even saw them again at all, Palo Alto has seen a surprising uptick in visits from the hunter twins. Dean is suspicious, and determined to conduct his own testing of their mettle if they think they can just come courting his baby brother.

For: @fluffyfebruary challenge!

Prompt: Day 8: Callous (This was NOT easy to write fluff for!)

Read on AO3

SIX MONTHS. IT had been six months since the Novak brothers had first shown up in Palo Alto like a couple of bad pennies on the non-existent case of Tyson Brady's death and stayed for a week to put not only Brady to rest but also any attendant rumors vomited up by his overly religious harpy of a mother. They had come back two months later, contrary to what Sammy had believed about the likelihood of their return at all, because one of the twins had caught the flu and the other was symptomatic, and since they had known that Sam had a cure that was proven effective so long as you weren't allergic to any of the ingredients it just made sense for them to stop by in hopes of cutting down their recovery time. They had only stayed overnight that time, needing to get back on the road to a case further south in New Mexico that sounded like a chupacabra, but since then John Castiel and James Constantine Novak had been showing up more and more frequently with flimsier and flimsier excuses.

Dean Winchester was not impressed.

Unfortunately, Dean Smith could only do so much to head off potential heartbreakers when it came to Sam Wesson, at least without drawing even more irritating conclusions from the locals that he and Sam were more than just friends and neighbors. While a perfectly valid tactic for keeping away inconvenient or unwanted attention back in the days when he and Sam had been the migrant hunters hauled all around the country by their father, such a tactic had awkward long-term consequences when you actually had a couple of permanent addresses and didn't plan on skipping town at the end of the month. If Dean had ever planned on finding a local romance of his own, well, he'd rather thoroughly shot himself in the foot between the people who thought he was dating his brother and the people who thought he was dating his brother's familiar. Which, no on both counts, if for different reasons. Even without that, having a set address - being settled - carried some awkward connotations of being ready and willing to settle down, and that wasn't something Dean felt he could do anytime soon even if he was no longer taking off on the road for weeks to months at a time with only furtive phone calls in between to let Sam know that he was still alive.

That was probably the thing that bothered Dean the most about the Novak brothers, when you got right down to it. They were hunters, migrant ones at that, just like he and Sammy had been once upon a time, and they showed no signs of actually wanting to stop and get out of the life... but there they were, coming around and making excuses to chat up Dean's little brother, bringing him lunch or breakfast, and his brother remained almost painfully if somewhat endearingly oblivious to the fact that two annoyingly attractive young men clearly had the hots for him. It was both exasperating and hilarious, and Dean was pretty sure he wasn't going to know how to react when the shit inevitably met the slowly spinning fan blades.

But even he couldn't have predicted this.

"You what?"

"Gave my key to Jimmy and Cas so they could take Bones back to the house," Sam repeated impatiently, like he hadn't just admitted to handing over his house key and his familiar into the care of a couple of drifter hunters. "She needed to get home and I couldn't leave the store and you were still on shift for another two hours, so--"

"So you gave the key to your house to a couple of hunters you barely know to go off alone with your familiar?" Dean demanded, silently willing for Sam to grasp just why what he was saying was such a problem. From the bewildered look on his brother's face, it wasn't getting through.

"It's Jimmy and Cas," Sam said after a moment, as if that was supposed to explain everything. Sadly, when it came to Sam, it did. "And it's not like I'm going to just tell them to keep the key and move themselves into my spare room or anything!"

"It's exactly like that, because otherwise you wouldn't be asking me to make a copy of the key I have to your place to put back on your keyring instead of just getting your key back from them when you get home," Dean groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Assuming they're even still there and haven't incapacitated Bones to keep her from warning you--"

"That they're currently stripped down to their shorts and are giving her a bath in the master bathroom?" Sam interrupted with a raised eyebrow. He tapped his temple lightly. "Calm the catastrophizing, Dean, Bones is keeping me vividly updated, don't worry."

"It's my job to worry," Dean grumbled. He sighed. "Fine, I'll make the key copy on one condition."

"And that is?" Sam asked, finally showing what Dean thought was an appropriate level of wariness for the situation.

"Paintball, Saturday," Dean answered. "You and me, versus the Novaks. We'll get Andy to finesse our way onto the range, you know he's been wanting to get his own crack at interrogating those two after they showed up while you were having your bi-monthly 'not an official coven' meeting."

"It's not--" Sam started, then sighed as he apparently realized that arguing about Andy Gallagher's intentions when his primary power was literally a mind whammy he used to make people tell the truth was not the road he wanted to go down again this time. "Saturday is still four days away, Dean. What if a hunt comes up between now and then, huh?"

"Then you get your key back from them and don't hand it out again until paintballing happens," Dean said, arms folded across his chest. "You wanna start handing out easy access to your home to a couple of rootless drifters like that, you'll just have to make it clear that they gotta pass the test first."

"Yeah, not doing that," Sam shook his head. "You don't tell someone you're testing them if you want an honest response from it."

Well, at least Sam wasn't slipping that much.

Andy came through beautifully with securing the paintball course for the day, something about a favor owed that was being cashed in and "the chance to see you two in action for once" that Dean wasn't sure how to feel about. Andy was one of the "rescue projects" who'd known him as a hunter first and had gotten a lot of secrets out of Dean before he realized mind-whammying his new teacher's brother was probably a bad idea. Dean didn't hold it against the kid - much - but it was just as well they didn't hang out that often.

The Novaks looked a little uneasy as they geared up, though from what Dean could tell it wasn't any sort of concern over their own safety. To Dean's amusement, while they seemed to be regarding Dean himself as a potential formidable (if perhaps rusty) opponent, they seemed to be discounting Sam as a threat, especially after Dean made the ruling of "no powers" and Bones slunk off to sit with Andy.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" one of them - Dean thought it might be Jimmy - asked Sam hesitantly.

"Paintballs hurt a lot less to get hit with than actual bullets," was Sam's nonchalant response, making Dean snort in agreement. The answer did not appear to reassure the twins if the look they exchanged was anything to go by, but they gamely headed into the course to take their positions. Sam and Dean, following behind them, exchanged a sly smirk and a covert fist-bump, much to Dean's pleasure. He could already feel his blood starting to sing with the promise of a hunt with his brother at his side, and from the anticipation in Sam's eyes he wasn't the only one looking forward to this.

The next fist-bumps they exchanged were not so covert, looking over the tally of their respective "kills" displayed in full brilliant color splotches all over the rather rumpled and dismayed Novak twins. The Winchesters, in contrast, had barely two marks between them, each one a shot taken for the other. So much for being rusty.

"So," Sam said as he turned a slightly sheepish smile on the still stunned active hunters who had just been thoroughly trounced by a retiree and a pacifist witch, "I guess now would be as good a time as any to admit that our surnames aren't actually Smith and Wesson."

[hoes4dylanobrien]

Don’t Make It Weird

The Birthday Girl

It wasn’t like you had planned it that way. 

To sleep with your best friend. 

It just...well, sort of happened. 

The crowd cheered on Dylan who shotgun’ed an entire beer can along with his friends: you, Sam, Matt, and Danny. Olivia sat this one out, instead dancing with a guy you hadn’t seen before but one she’d been vibing with all night. 

Dylan won, the rest of you finishing at later stages. You felt queasy but then burped, really loudly, drawing laughter. Dylan cupped your waist. “You doing OK?” 

You raised your hand, doing the ‘A-OK’ sign. He chuckled, boozy breath and spicy aftershave hitting your face. “Good. Going to hit the John and then we’re doing another round.”

“Of what?” 

“Whatever the fuck you want. It’s your birthday, baby.” The deep octave whispered in your ear sent pleasant shivers down your spine. 

Afterwards, you grabbed him afterwards in the hallway.

“Dylan,” you said, completely drunk out of your mind. “Yeah?” He responded, not as wasted, but getting there. 

“There’s something I need to tell you.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Something I’ve wanted to say for a long time, but thought it would be weird.” 

He laughed, starting to sway. “Who gives a shit?” 

“Okay, but you can’t tell anyone.” 

He shrugged. 

“Promise me!” You shook his broad shoulders. 

“Okay, okay. I promise. Jesus,” he giggled. Yes, giggle. It was your kryptonite. Such a weird little sound, but attractive nonetheless. 

You leaned in to whisper: 

“I want you to fuck me.” 

He laughed at you. Just laughed. 

When you didn’t react, he sobered up. “What? You’re serious? What the fuck, y/n?” 

“Why not? You’re hot, I’m obviously hot — I mean, look at me.” You gestured to your tight minidress, which very little to the imagination. “I’m also horny. Why the fuck not?” 

“Because,” he said, fumbling for words, eyes narrowed in concentration. “I think you’d be pissed at me tomorrow, and I’d definitely be pissed at myself. You’re also way younger than me. Shouldn’t you save it for someone who matters to you?”  “You matter to me.” You pointed out. 

“Not like that. You know what I mean. A boyfriend, a lover. . .” 

“You did not just say the word ‘lover’,” you finally cracked a grin, laughing. 

He stared at you seriously. 

“You’re just fucked up right now. You won’t want this tomorrow. Trust me.” 

You sidled up to him, running a hand down his chest, over the small chest hair peeking out of his black tee. It was manly. Sexy. God, you wanted your best friend. 

“I hear a whole lot of what I won’t want and less what you want.” You looked up to stare deeply into his brown orbs. “What do you want, Dylan?” His Adam’s apple bowed, cupid’s bow mouth parting. 

Sam, Matt, and Danny were calling you. It was time for you to blow out your birthday candles. 

“Think about it,” you said, leaving. 

As everyone called out to you to make a wish, you closed your eyes and blew out the candles. When you opened them, Dylan stood before you. Unreadable, hypnotizing. You had to physically drag your gaze from his when someone engaged you in conversation. 

Dancing came next. 

Old R&B songs played alongside newer pop and a combination folksie/indie music. Everyone made the best of the living room space. You were a terrible dancer, and you were in good company, but you all had a lot of fun. 

Some guy who’s eye you caught more than once that night finally had the courage to walk up to you. You chatted a little, but mostly stuck to your bodies speaking for you. It was kind of nice until he pressed his front to your back and started trying to grind on you. There was only one person you wanted to feel against your ass and he wasn’t it. 

“See you can handle yourself,” Dylan said, joining you. “Did you ever doubt it?” He smiled endearingly, shaking his head. “Nah. Know you’re capable. Jersey girl after my own heart.” 

You returned his smile. 

“Thought more about what I said?” You raised a brow. 

“I don’t know, you tell me.” You felt it then. A hardness over your tailbone in a telltale outline of his designer shorts. Heat blossomed in your pelvic region. 

“Sounds like a ‘yes’ to me,” you flirted back, grinding against the package to his pained delight. 

“What if you change your mind?” 

“I won’t.” 

“What if things. . . get weird? Between us?” 

“Easy. Just don’t make it weird.” You winked. And then you kissed him for the first time.

[unwrittenlibrary]

magnetic force of a man

summary // loving him in the summer is warmth and radiance.

or; three summers showcasing the growth of your relationship with bucky. [bucky barnes x fem!reader]

words // 4.5k

warnings // post-endgame bucky & softness & kind of corny

notes // inspired by taylor swift’s lover. somehow this just came out, i’m not sure how i feel about it.

my writing is free and it will stay free, but if you enjoy it and you have the resources, consider donating to my ko-fi!

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

| Summer of 2025 |

You meet Bucky at the Farmer’s Market in June when you both reach for a red delicious apple. It’s awkward laughs and friendly introductions.

You’ve heard of him before; Janet who runs the apple stand talks about him and how perfect of a match you would be. Unbeknownst to you, Eugene who runs the plum stand, says the same thing to him.

“You’re the man Janet won’t shut up about.” You smile sweetly. Your eyes scan his small basket of fruits and vegetables. He’s got a lot of different things. He must cook, you think. “I’ve been told I would like you.”

Bucky laughs. His eyes scan your basket too, you wonder what he thinks of all your choices. “You must be the woman Eugene won’t stop talking about.” He leans towards you and in a mischievous tone whispers, “I think they’ve been trying to set us up.”

It makes you laugh. “You’ve got a beautiful laugh.” Bucky compliments. His smile is genuine and he’s got blue eyes that are filled with kindness. You can see why Janet had been trying for so long to get you to meet him.

“Thank you.” You step towards him when another man rushes past you. “I have to ask, what have you heard?”

Bucky shrugs. “Just that you’re beautiful and you make the best apple pie Eugene’s ever tasted.” Bucky leans towards you again. “So far, he’s spot on.” The implication makes heat rise to your cheeks and you smile down at your basket.

“Guess I’ll have to make you some pie so you can see if he’s two for two.” You look back up with a teasing smile. Bucky’s eyes light up in excitement.

He shakes his head in amusement. “I hope I’m not being too forward, can I have you number?” You’re already pulling your phone out of your pocket to hand over.

That’s the beginning of your story.

˚《

Your first date is the last week of June. After weeks of texting and even some phone calls, Bucky had finally asked you out.

He takes you to a drive in up in Warwick and you park in the middle row of the second screen to watch Grease. The sun is still out when you arrive, so there’s some time to get snacks and settle in.

“Did you know it was throwbacks weekend?” You ask as Bucky flips through his radio stations in search of the correct one.

He shakes his head. You can see his fingers shaking a little nervously as he looks up at you. “Is Grease okay? I’ve uh, I’ve never seen it. It looked cute.” He grimaces and it makes you smile.

“I love Grease.” You say softly, reaching your hand out for his. “Are you nervous?”

Bucky laughs awkwardly. “Am I that obvious?” Your eyes trail over his gloved hands, his left hand resting on his thigh as you hold his right.

“I think it’s sweet.” You reassure him. “You must be hot in these. It’s June.” You flip his hand so it’s palm up and trace your finger over it.

“I haven’t done this in awhile.” He admits. There’s a red tint to his cheeks, one that’s not from the summer heat, and it makes you giggle. He eyes meet yours and he smiles tensely. “I’m uh- I-“

“You don’t have to say it.” You pull the glove off hastily so his flesh hand is revealed to you. “I know who you are. You can keep them on if you want, but you don’t need to.” You place the glove back in his palm and wrap his fingers around it.

Bucky watches you for a moment. “You know who I am and still want to go one a date with me?” You frown at his self-depreciating tone.

“I know who you used to be. I don’t know you though. The real Bucky Barnes. That’s why I want to go on this date with you.” The radio begins reciting rules of the drive-in and you look at the screen. The sun is setting behind it quickly.

When you turn to look at Bucky again, he has a grin on his face as he watches you. “Come on! Let’s get snacks before the movie starts.” You turn to push open the car door and Bucky follows after you easily.

You don’t know it yet, but that’s the beginning of your pull over him. Bucky thinks he would follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked him to.

˚《

Your first kiss is two weeks later after watching a movie in central park. It was Dirty Dancing this time. You’ve been on five dates.

You’ve learned that Bucky likes going to these throwback playings and experiencing the movies he missed while under Hydra’s control. You’re happy to indulge him, truly.

You just wish he would do more than hold you hand. Which, okay, maybe that isn’t fair. Sometimes he’ll wrap an arm around your shoulder and you’ll lean your head against his chest. He’ll even give you a kiss on the cheek goodnight, but he still won’t kiss you on the lips and you’re starting to think he just doesn’t want to.

One date? Okay, he wants to be respectful and not move too fast. Two dates? A little weird, but he was from a different time. Three? Did they just not kiss back then? You can’t imagine a charming Bucky Barnes who didn’t steal a kiss from a pretty girl. Four had you on the edge of your seat waiting for the kiss that didn’t happen.

Now, as Bucky walks you home, you think of all the ways you can bring it up. You even think of just kissing him yourself, it was the twenty-first century and women can make the first move.

Except, you can’t help but think, what if he doesn’t want to kiss me?

“You alright?” Bucky’s hand gripping your elbow gently forces you out of your head. You look up at him with wide eyes and nod a little too hastily. “You sure? You’ve been silent for like, fifteen minutes.”

His eyes are concerned pools of blue as he stares down at you. The words just come tumbling out of your mouth, “Why don’t you want to kiss me?”

Bucky just stares at you in shock. You feel heat on the back of your neck and shift in uncomfortable embarrassment at your outburst. “I’m sorry!” You blurt out. “I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable. I just want you to kiss me and if you don’t want to that’s fine!” You suck in a deep breath. Bucky is still watching you silently, so you continue on. “I would just rather know now if you don’t want to kiss me instead of finding out later.”

You finish quietly with Bucky still watching you. If you weren’t so panicked, you would probably recognize his look as him digesting the words. But the panicked feeling mixes with the sting of rejection and you begin to back away. “Well this was great. Hope to never-“

Bucky’s hand wraps your waist and he hauls you back into him. His lips meet yours harshly, but it’s not painful in any way. It’s somehow gentle and his lips are soft against yours. Your eyes close and one of your hands comes up to rest on his cheek while his hands hold steady onto your waist.

When you pull away it’s with a gasp of air. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since that day in the Farmer’s Market.” Bucky admits breathlessly.

“So why’d you never kiss me?” You ask curiously. Cars speed past you on the street and there’s a group of teenagers who all gag as they pass you, but none of it matters with Bucky in your arms like this.

Bucky smiles. “I told you. I haven’t done this in a long time.”

˚《

By August, you and Bucky are going steady. You go to the market together most weekends and Bucky calls you his girl to the people you’ve both become regulars of.

He’s even talked about introducing you to his friends and going out together one night when they’re all free.

It makes your heart race and your fingers twitch with excited nerves. You think you love him, which seems crazy when you think of how you’ve only been seeing each other since June, but you do.

Thinking of him makes your heart beat faster and your face warm. You want to spend as much time as can with him and hang onto every word he says.

It seems like he feels the same way too, but you’re just not sure. Fall is right around the corner though. That means schedules pick up again and the weather gets colder, so you’d like to know if Bucky feels the same way or if this was just a way to pass the time in the summer.

You just don’t know how to say it though. Every time you think of saying the words your nerves get the best of you and you blurt out something he finds endearingly awkward and doesn’t think anything of.

“I still can’t believe a show like this exists.” Bucky murmurs in awe from beside you on his couch. You’re not really pay attention to the random reality show you’ve put on though. You’re focused on the way his eyes shine curiously and how he smiles whenever the host makes a shitty joke.

Your feet are settled in his lap and he pinches your shin when he turns to look at you. “You’re not even watching the show.”

“I love you.” You blurt. That’s one way to do it, you think. You were afraid you would regret the words when you said them or even feel embarrassed, but you don’t. All you feel is lighter, like you’ve created a better world by letting Bucky know somebody loves him, even if he doesn’t feel the same. “I don’t know if you wanted this to be summer fling or-“

“Summer fling?” Bucky laughs. His hand moves up your leg. “I’m not going around calling you my girl to everyone who’ll listen because you’re some fling.”

The words make you laugh. “I love that laugh.” Bucky admits quietly. When your eyes meet his again, he smiles sweetly. “I love you too.”

When he leans towards you for a kiss, you meet him halfway happily.

| Summer 2026 |

Being with Bucky has made you far more confident in yourself. His reassurance and constant support pushed you to be better and you knew he felt the same, so you figured moving in with him was the next step.

You had the perfect plan on how to ask him too. You had recruited Sam, who had taken a liking to you immediately, and gotten an extra key to your apartment cut with the word home engraved onto it.

While you spent the day getting the key cut and making room for Bucky’s things in your space, Sam spent the day distracting him. By the time you hear Bucky knock on your door, you’re about to burst with excitement.

You smooth down the front of you skirt and suck in a deep breath. “Hey!” Bucky’s eyes trail over you in surprise.

“Hey. Did I forget a date?” He looks up nervously, but his shoulders relax when you shake your head with a bright smile. “What’s this then? Not that I don’t love you in this skirt.” His hands find your hips and trail up your sides.

You pull his hands off and pull him inside the apartment. “I have a surprise for you!” He follows you into the kitchen easily and you pull out the small box containing the key.

You rock back and forth on your heels excitedly as Bucky begins to slowly unwrap the box. He watches, completely bemused by your excitement, and moves even slower to tease you.

“Stop!” You laugh and he shakes his head before tearing the rest of the paper off. He inspects the box slowly before opening it.

When his eyes land on the key, he doesn’t say anything and your smile drops. You watch as he stares and your excitement diminishes by the millisecond.

“Do you… Do you not like it?” You ask, unable to handle the silence. Bucky swallows thickly before looking up at you. Your heart drops as the burn of his rejection settles beneath your skin. “You don’t.” It’s not a question.

He reaches for you, but you step out of his grasp. “It’s not that I don’t like it, I just… I’m…” He doesn’t know what to say or how to actually say no to you. It’s obvious.

“You mentioned your lease was up soon and that you didn’t want to resign. I thought…” You trail off. You feel like you can’t breathe. You and Bucky were so good together, this seemed like the logical next step.

Had you read everything wrong? “I meant… I was looking at places closer to you.” Bucky says like it’s supposed to make you feel better.

“But you don’t want to live with me?” Your back hits the counter and you flinch at the harsh feeling. Bucky raises a hand, as if to comfort you, but drops it at the last second. “I don’t… Understand? I guess?”

Bucky runs a hand over his face. “I’m just not ready to live together yet, sweets.” He says softly. His face is grimaced as if the words pain him.

Join the club, you think. “Can I ask why? It seems like the next step, you know? We’ve been together for a year. I figured we’d move in together, start talking about marriage. Our future.”

Bucky’s eyes flash to yours. You hadn’t even thought it was possible, but it feels like your heart drops even further. “Do you not want to get married?” You ask slowly.

“I don’t know.” Bucky answers hesitantly. “I never planned a life. I never thought I’d get all this.”

You know he’s trying to make you feel better about the situation, but his words only hurt you more. “So being with me hasn’t made you think about your future at all?” You question. You think those words are what breaks you. The tears come rushing to your eyes and your face is hot with a mixture of anger and hurt.

“That’s not what I meant.” Bucky’s getting upset too. He’s clenching and unclenching his fists, something you’ve learned he does when he’s stressed. “I just meant I’m not sure what I want.” A beat of silence. “Shit. I mean-“ He groans in frustration and you sigh.

“I know I want you. A future with you.” You say quietly. You move to the close the box, key still inside, before shoving it into one of your kitchen drawers. “So, I think you should figure it out. What you want. So I know whether or not I should move on.”

Bucky watches you with tears brimming his own eyes. “Sweets-“

“I think you should go home, Buck.” You cut him off in a gentle tone. “Think for a few days.” You begin to move towards your hallway, ready to fall into your bed.

“Like… Like a break?” He asks tightly making you pause. You look at him over your shoulder and shrug.

“If that’s what you want to call it. I think you just need some time to figure out what you want for yourself. If it’s not me, that’s okay, but you should know.” You look back down your hallway. “I deserve to know too.”

You wait until you hear your front door slam shut to fall into your bed. When you notice Bucky’s shirt draped over your vanity chair, the tears come.

Not how you imagined your summer starting.

˚《

The month of June goes by, blossoming into July and Bucky doesn’t reach out. You’re heartbroken over it. Though that doesn’t sound like the right term because it really feels like your heart has been torn from your chest, but there wasn’t really a word for that.

You know you were the one who had suggested the break, but you figured he would have cared for you enough to give you a formal break up. Had you really ever known Bucky? What had gone wrong?

“You weren’t with Bucky yesterday!” Janet gushes when you stop in front of her booth. Your heart cracks at his name. “He always has such sweet things to say about you! Why don’t you two come together anymore? Your work schedules mess you up?”

Your eyes flash to her in confusion. Had Bucky not told her? “Janet… We broke up.” You say quietly. You’ve mastered the art of sounding cold when explaining to your friends and neighbors Bucky wouldn’t be coming around anymore.

She shakes her head like you’re not telling her the truth. “He was just talking about how he was trying to learn his mama’s famous peach cobbler recipe to make for you.”

“Must be another girl.” You say in a heated tone. “I haven’t spoken to him in weeks.”

She frowns. “He said your name, darling. That I’m sure of. Called you his girl and everything, just like he always does.” She explains softly.

“He’s delusional then.” You hiss. You stomp away from her cart. You’ll apologize to her next week, but for now, Bucky has somehow managed to ruin your day.

˚《

There’s a knock on your door that night. Your heart almost stops when you recognize the pattern that Bucky always led with.

When you check the peephole and confirm it’s him you almost don’t open the door, until you notice the tin-foiled dish in his hands.

“What are you doing here?” You ask harshly before he can say a word to you. You lean against your door jam, effectively blocking him from setting foot into your apartment. “And what is that?”

“A poor attempt at peach cobbler.” Your pulse quickens. “And I’m here to apologize.” When you look up and see the sincerity in his eyes, you sigh.

“Come in.” You step aside and he smiles gratefully as he steps past you. He places the dish on your counter and turns to face you nervously.

You stand still across from him. You had never thought you would feel this awkward around Bucky. “I’m sorry for… for hurting you that night.” He starts off quietly. “And for not reaching out, but you were right, I did need to figure my shit out.”

“You could have told me that.” You say softly. “Hey, you’re right! Let’s take a break and figure stuff out. Going ghost on me? That broke my heart, Buck.” You cross your arms over your chest like they’re a shield.

“I know.” Bucky says in the same apologetic tone. “I just… I was embarrassed because I made a fool of myself. Because I wanted to say yes. You have no idea how badly I wanted to say yes, but I was too scared to.”

You shake your head. “Scared of what? It’s me, Buck. I love you. You know I love you.” You hadn’t imagined having this conversation with him and you can’t keep the emotion out of you voice.

“What if you see parts of me living together that you don’t see now that make you not want me?” His tone is resembling that of a broken man, one you’ve only heard stories of.

The Bucky Barnes you know is healing. He’s charming, soft and intimidating but full of life and happiness. Not this. It breaks your heart and against your better judgement, you reach out to cup his cheeks in your hands. “There isn’t a part of you I won’t love, Bucky.”

“I still get nightmares. So bad I wake up screaming and unable to breathe.” He says softly. “It takes forever to get out of them.”

“I’ll hold your hand and help you through them.” You say without hesitation. “Bucky. The point of a relationship is to grow together. I want to do that with you, do you want to do that with me?”

His hands reach up to grip yours. You almost sigh in relief at the feeling of his hands in yours after weeks without it. “I do.” He says steadily. “Can we… Can we not be on a break anymore? I miss you.” He admits quietly.

A part of you thinks you should pull back. He had hurt you and you were still upset. But another, larger part of you, missed him more than he had hurt you.

“Yeah.” You say after a moment. “No more break.” You pull him towards you. He meets you readily in a kiss.

˚《

By the end of August, Bucky’s got a drawer full of things in your bedroom and his books have started to overcrowd your coffee table.

You communicate better. He shares more about his nightmares with you. He talks about the future he sees with you, one with a family and dogs in the backyard of the house he hopes to build.

You’re still nervous to bring up moving in together again. In the end it doesn’t matter though, because Bucky is the one who brings it up.

“Can we…” He starts nervously one night as the two of you eat dinner. “Would you want to talk about moving in together again?”

You look up at him a little shocked by the question. “What do you mean?” You shake your head. You know what he means. “Do you?” You ask quickly.

He nods slowly. You can see his nervousness in his tense jaw and clenching and unclenching fists. “I would like to move in together.” He’s talking kind of robotically, like he’s been practicing the words so they came out perfectly.

It’s sweet, you think. The gesture makes you laugh softly. “I would like to move in together too.” You reach across the table and wrap a hand around Bucky’s wrist.

His shoulders drop and you move to unclench his fist. “Yeah? You would?” He asks, less robotic in tone and more excited.

“Yeah.” You nod in confirmation. Bucky gives you a bright smile that’s impossible to not return.

Come fall, Bucky’s given up his apartment and has got an entire bookshelf taking up room in yours.

| Summer 2027 |

It’s July again and Bucky wants to propose.

Over two years together and the Farmer’s Market feels like the perfect place to do it. It’s where you had met and had become a daily part of your guy’s routine.

The only issue is, he’s pretty sure you’re thinking the same thing. Not that you’re onto him, that you want to propose too.

And, okay, Bucky is all for what women have accomplished in the almost century he’s been alive, truly. But proposing is his thing, it just is.

You had been the first person the say I love you. You had been the one to originally ask him to move in together. He wanted nothing more than to be the one down on one knee with his mother’s ring that he had begged and begged some museum curator to give up.

Which ultimately means, he has to beat you to it. So his plans are a little rushed. He had originally wanted to do it at the end of summer, when fall was rounding the corner and leaves were turning brown, but July would work.

July was when you had gone on some of your first dates and was when you had shared your first kiss. July was meaningful and July would work.

“Are you okay?” You ask as you absentmindedly run your fingers over the apples in front of you. Bucky’s eyes shoot up to look at Janet behind the stand, who smiles at him knowingly. You turn to look at Bucky with raised eyebrows. “You’ve been fidgety all day.”

Bucky lets out a fake cough. “I just feel a little off.” He lies. It’s a poor lie and it makes your lips quark up at the corner.

“Want to go home?” You ask, already stepping away from the apple stand. “We ca-“

“No!” Bucky’s hands grip your shoulders and he forces your to stop. You smile at him in question and Bucky quickly drops his hands back to his side. “I mean, no. Probably just allergies.”

“Uh-huh.” You say in obvious disbelief. “The super soldier suddenly has allergies.”

Bucky sighs in defeat. “You know, don’t you?” He asks and you laugh softly. Your hand finds his and you interlock your fingers together.

“Only because you left the ring on the counter last night and I saw it when I went to get water.” You say apologetically. Bucky drops his head so his forehead rests against your shoulder and lets out a groan.

You press a kiss to his temple before nudging him away. “Ask me.” You urge softly. Bucky wants to say no, that he wants to do it right, but this seems almost fitting.

You were what pushed him to be better, so maybe it made sense for you to be the one who pushed him in this too. He wasn’t sure he would even be able to without it, honestly.

He sucks in a deep breath before dropping to one knee in front of you. There are gasps of people passing by, but Bucky keeps his eyes on you as he pulls out the ring. Resized and cleaned, ready for your finger.

“I have a speech so just, bear with me. Okay?” A smile spreads across your face as you nod. “This is the third summer I’ve spent completely in love with you. I didn’t know I could feel this way about someone. Sometimes I’m still shocked that you wake up everyday and choose to be with me. But I promise I don’t take it for granted. Not for one second because I love you so much and I wake up every morning ready to show you forever. And I… I um.” Bucky swallows. “I had more planned, but I’m so nervous and I just want to ask you already.”

“Ask me.” You whisper with a bright smile. A group has gathered around you two by now, everyone murmuring in excitement but you and Bucky can only stare at each other.

“Will you marry me?” Bucky asks softly. He can see his hand shaking as he holds out the ring to you even though there’s no doubt in his mind that you’ll say yes. “Please?” He tacks on for good measure.

You nod quickly, holding your left hand out to him. “Yes. Yes. Of course!” You cheer. Once he has slipped the the ring onto your finger, you pull him up by the collar of his shirt.

You kiss him without a care in the world. Bucky’s hand comes up to rest on the back of your neck as excited cheers resound from all around you two.

When you pull away you’re smiling brighter than he’s ever seen. Bucky can’t do anything but return it.

His eyes move around the crowd and find Eugene, the man who runs the plum stand. He smiles kindly at Bucky and mouths I told you so. Bucky laughs to himself before pressing a kiss to your head.

This Farmer’s Market was probably the best decision Bucky had ever made.

It had brought him you.

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

notes // what did i say about soft!bucky? that he was all i knew how to write!!

reblogs and replies are always appreciated, especially if you read and enjoyed this piece!

[sj-ficrecs]

1,000+ followers fic rec!

Recently noticed at some point a little while ago I passed 1,000 followers on this page! In honor of that here’s another fic rec of some good ones I’ve been reading lately. As usual, no specific order. 

PREVIOUS FIC RECS HERE!

(Hopefully this shows up in tags bc my last one didn’t & tumblr wouldn’t fix it) 

Thanks to @whimsicalrogers for this divider I’m using below :)

Bucky x reader:

3B by @softlybarnes Bucky x reader

“Bucky is used to being alone, so is the girl living in apartment 3B. He keeps to his routine, to crossing off amends. But mutual loneliness forges an unlikely friendship. Alone and reclusive, sweet and incredibly strange, with deep secrets and regrets, 3B has more to reveal than meets the eye.”

(un)cool by @belowva rockstar!Bucky x reader

“in the summer of 1973, after covering the howling commandos’ concert for a night, you - a young and inexperienced music journalist - accidentally end up following the up and coming band from new york city across the country. between shows, parties, backstage nonsense, interviews and failed attempts at writing a cover story for rolling stone magazine, you end up developing a love/hate relationship with their brooding, but devilishly handsome, guitarist james “call me bucky” barnes. (based on “almost famous”)”

Your Song by @summergrls​  Rockstar!Bucky x reader

“it’s not summer without you. or, that’s what your favorite rockstar always says. it’s all happening.”

Last Love by @wicked-mind Modern!Bucky x reader

“Based on the quote “He may be your first love but I intend to be your last” by Klaus Mikaelson.”

Remember Me by @wicked-mind​ Modern!Bucky x reader

“Y/N and Bucky were the unlikely match when it came to love, but they were inseparable since they met. After a fight, Y/N left to be a trauma surgeon in the military and returns without her memories. How will Bucky remind Y/N how she is the fire in his bones?”

Cake by @tellmealovestory (Part of the Something More universe) Modern!Bucky x reader

“The wedding plans continue as you and Bucky try to decide on a cake flavor.”

My Eyes by @invisibleanonymousmonsters Bucky x reader, past Steve x reader

“Steve is a good man, America’s golden boy, a hero. He’s Captain America for christ’s sake! So it’s normal to want what he has… right? Bucky knows he doesn’t deserve her. He doesn’t even deserve the second chance at life he’s been given. But Bucky can never let him know. Steve can never find out that his friend is in love with his best girl.”

The Mess by @sanguineterrain​ Bucky x Avenger!reader

“A wild night in Vegas changes everything between you and Bucky. Suddenly, all eyes are on you and you’re left wondering just how much can change between you and a man whose guts you hate (and who also hates yours).”

The Devil Has Lilith by @write-orflight Bucky x reader, soulmate AU

“They say your soulmate is supposed to be the one person you love unconditionally. So why did they make yours so insufferable?”

College!Bucky series / Couldn’t Be Me by @drunken-imagines College!Bucky x reader

Bucky is a known fuck boy trying to win over reader

Best of Friends by @anna-phora Modern!Bucky x reader

“When your best friend steals marries Bucky’s best friend, the two of you are left with only one solution: to become best friends yourselves.”

Back to You by @celestialbarnes Modern!ex-Bucky x reader

“desperate to find a place to stay after your boyfriend cheated on you, you end up crashing at bucky’s apartment, the problem is he’s the ex that you never really got over and he’s got a new girl who doesn’t like you very much.”

It’s Been a Long, Long Time by @luminnara Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader

“When HYDRA had their prized asset, the Winter Soldier, they did something no one ever thought was possible: they gave super soldier serum to an omega. With the sole purpose of tending to him during his ruts, she spends decades living in HYDRA facilities, denied her humanity and her life. Now, years later, Bucky Barnes has his mind and his own life back…and the last thing he ever expects is to see a familiar omega again. Bucky/OC, a little angsty but mostly smutty/fluffy/romantic!“

Friends Don’t by @watchtowerindistress Bucky x reader

“Reader is in a friends-with-benefits relationship with Bucky Barnes. Rule #1: no feelings - so don’t get attached (written by Bucky). Rule #2: don’t ever stay over (written by (Y/N)). After a fateful mission, one of them is going to break all the rules.”

Just a Touch by @buckychrist Bucky x reader

“Your powers? Controlling any feeling a human can have, from emotions to pain, with a simple brush of your fingertips. Your mission? The traumatized soldier with sad stricken eyes and scream filled nightmares.”

Under Pastel Skies by @redgillan Modern!Bucky x Artist!reader

“Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.”

A Long Ways Away by @ai-unknown Bucky x reader

“Connection, reconnection, and a small miscommunication. Bucky will travel however far, if it means making you smile.”

No Rest for the Wicked by @abovethesmokestacks Trucker!Bucky x reader

Based upon this ask: “i have the absolute weirdest urge today to get railed by trucker!bucky in a motel in like southern florida🤨 and it’s late too, maybe 3-4 am. the place is kinda seedy & it’s rlly humid and hot outside & the ac barely works so we’d both be sweating a lot but it makes it hotter”

Meanwhile in Louisiana by @multifandomwriter Bucky x reader

“You are Sam’s best friend and you meet Bucky when Sam organizes a party down at the docks.”

A Tender Heart by @river-soul Alpha!Bucky x Omega!reader

“You’ve been sweet on Bucky since you started working at the compound six months ago. Normally quiet and mild mannered, an unexpected fight with a coworker brings Bucky into your orbit.”

Steve x reader:

Jane Doe by @justkending Modern!Steve x reader

“They weren’t next door neighbors, but they did live in the same apartment complex. However, they were on completely different sides of the complex. Steve always sees her across the way doing her daily routines and way about life on her balcony from his own. Something about her has him checking in on her from across the way when he can… She’s intriguing and has a way about her life that he finds calming and captivating. He wants to know more about who she is, but there’s no non-creepy way of approaching a neighbor that doesn’t know you exist. Is there?”

[the-obelisk]

Source - Fae Collection

Loki x Reader

Summary: The one where he helps you to channel your powers with patience, while pissing off Tony Stark in the process 

You felt utterly useless. 

Here you were, standing in front of Earth’s mightiest heroes unable to conjure up your magic like many of your cousins had with ease as children. 

Magic, for you, never came easy.

When you had left your realm that floated right above earth’s visible plane, you fell in love with the mundane and the ordinary. You found beauty in the ease of things and small bursts of excitement because humans only remained on their plane for a short lived while, while you would age among various generations of humankind slowly. 

When Thor had found you seated in a SHIELD interrogation room, eyes closed simply breathing deeply, he looked to Coulson-- a high ranking agent at the time. “How long has she been indoors?” 

The man shrugged his shoulders, “About a month or so. She refused at first and then they stopped asking.” 

“She is of Fae. Her people are connected to nature. She has lost her energy.”

Thor was cleared to bring you to the Avengers compound where you met the rest of the team. They welcomed you but you had seemed to lose the small amount of practice you had accumulated before your time of confinement. 

Your powers were bounded at birth in protection from the dark elves that reigned terror on Alfheim now, it was why you were sent to the invisible plane above Midgard. Outcasts, refugees, and runaways— your history was erased. With that, hope was lost and the understanding of why your power were bounded remained unknown. 

“Wanda, I don’t think I can do it.” 

The redheaded was enlisted by Tony to help mentor you. It had seemed Wanda and you shared one common trait, the ability to tap into others minds. It was something that came of ease for you, however, they already had a mind reader, a witch with the ability of telepathy, they wouldn’t need you. 

“Yes, you can. Feel your energy. Where is the source?” Her voice was calm but you were growing increasingly frustrated. 

Tony, Steve, Natasha, Thor and Loki stood watching as Sam and Bucky waited for Rhodey to return with their snacks. Clearly it had been forever, and they were growing impatient. Thor every so often would give you an encouraging nod. He believed in you. 

In a way they all did, but in that moment you didn’t feel it. Or specifically, hear that. 

“How long is she going to take? I should start my training.” 

“I have dinner with Pepper at 5. She’s gonna kick my ass if I hold her up.”

You closed your eyes again but knew you had no idea what source she was even talking about. All you felt was annoyed, tired of standing, and hungry.

Sensing this, Loki rolled his eyes and glided over to you, passing Wanda who stood off to the side of you. Tony and Steve immediately tensed up at the quick movement, while Rhodey entered at the moment already suspicious of why Steve’s fist was clenched. Thor looked over and spoke in a low voice, “Trust him. I think he may have an idea.” 

Natasha rolled her eyes and offered him a pointed look, “Let’s hope it isn’t anything harmful.” 

Loki smiled softly at you, “You feel no source, do you?” 

You bit your lip and looked down, “No.” You looked at Wanda and shrugged, “I’m sorry. Maybe I just don’t have anything else to offer other than telepathy.” 

The raven-haired man bowed his head catching your eyes, “But you do. I can feel it.” You looked up at him with questioning eyes only to see he had turned around and stared at Tony and Steve, “If you had let me help her originally, you would know that unlike the witch, her power isn’t sourced in her, it is in nature.” 

“Well, how do you expect us to trust you, Reindeer Games? You are here because Thor gave us his word that you meant no harm.”

Loki rolled his eyes. He never cared what Tony Stark’s perceptions were of him. He turned back to look at you and caught your eye, “Do you trust me?” 

You looked into his eyes and nodded. Of course you did.

While you both never spent time together in front of the other members on account that Loki always hid in the library. So when you weren’t buzzing around the building, and walked in to see him sitting in his usual chair— you would smile and begin talking.

Many times for extended hours, and with the exception of a few nights, your conversation often remained light.

But there were nights when vulnerability would seep in. And so, a blossoming interest in one another and a friendship developed in the quietness of late night conversations in your library.

“Very well.” He smirked and looked back at the group, “Being surrounded by this Midgardian garbage of concrete and rubber mats will do nothing for her. We shall take this outside.” 

Tony glared daggers into Loki’s head as the group followed Loki and you to the courtyard. “Midgardian trash? This cost me a fortune. What the hell is he talking ab--” 

You pushed his thoughts out as he projected them loudly. You giggled softly, Loki had looked down at you while holding the door. “You heard it too. Glad you find his anger equally as comical as I do.” 

“I don’t think he will let that one go.” 

“Good, I hope not.”

Loki smirked at you as you walked on the grass. He stopped soon after, and you followed. The rest of the group stopped at a distance. Wanda joined the spot next to Natasha and Thor, they all watched intently. 

You looked at all of them until you heard Loki call your name softly. “Y/N, focus on me.” You met his eyes and inhaled deeply before nodding. “Sorry, I can’t focus with all of their eyes on me.” 

He blew out a short breath in acknowledgement.  “The redhead witch keeps trying to enter my barriers. Quiet annoying, I will say.”  You smiled as you peeped a quick look at Wanda who seemed extremely focused on the man standing in front of you. 

You heard him speak again, “May I?” Hands held out, he waited for your answer. You looked down and slid your gloves off. Your eyes drew back up to his and you slid your hands into his, feeling his cool hand wrap around your warm ones. 

Normally, you hated touching but once you held his hands it felt as though the world slipped away. All you felt was energy, all that surrounded you. You basked in its soft hum.

He continued, “Now, I want you close your eyes and take a deep breath in with me, little one, and clear your mind.” 

You closed you eyes in response, and smiled sweetly at the pet name subconsciously. To which Loki caught and smiled in return, knowing you couldn’t see. 

“You are one with the world around you. Feel the warmth of the sun on this brisk day. You are at peace— the very center of the world around you. Everything here has energy. Nature holds memory of the past and present. You are here, darling. You are safe.” His voice was soft and smooth.

It would be a lie if you didn’t feel yourself melting into his words. They were slick and entrancing. “What do you hear, Y/N?” He asked in his soft lulls.

“The trees. The wind is blowing...” You spoke to him in a quiet voice. 

Loki nodded, “Tell me, dove. How does the wind on your skin make you feel?” 

“It’s soft and slightly warm after the initial cold.” You stated once again causing him to observe you curiously. He turned your hands to face each other slowly in hopes he wouldn’t sever the connection you found. 

His hand cupped against the back of yours as if you were holding an invisible ball. “Gods, she is intoxicating.” Immediately you were pulled out of his thoughts at the sound of his voice, “You aren’t supposed to be intruding in my mind, little one.” 

You smiled tightly embarrassed of getting caught, you heard him chuckle. “Do you feel all the tethers connecting through you? They flow in and out of you. Concentrate them between our hands. 

“I don’t know how.”

“Just feel and trust. Visualize it.”

Slowly you felt warmth gathering closer and closer to your hands. It was forming and growing, you projected a thought to him fearing you would break concentration if you spoke. “It feels like the sun.”

He smiled, “Open your eyes slowly and take a look.”

You opened your eyes to his eyes staring at you. He smiled at you endearingly.

Holding his gaze for a bit, you then followed his eyes down to the ball of light in between both of your hands. Inside it was white with several revolving colors that interchanged. Hues of purples, red, green, and blue shone with gold shimmering around the outside. 

“We did that?” She looked at him with surprise. 

“You did.” He spoke softly. “You are harnessing the world around you. Its energy.”

A smile grew on your lips out of excitement. He moved around you stopping behind you shoulder. You felt his hands slide down your arm, resting them on your elbow and back. “Now throw it.”

You gave a little push it forward and was greeted with a cloud of smoke and Tony yelling. “Not the tree! Come on.” He threw up his hands as Sam, Bucky, and Rhodey laughed throwing popcorn at one another. 

“That was awesome.” You looked at Loki in pure amusement. You couldn’t explain the feeling that coursed through your body. 

He smiled at you and nodded, “I told you that you held power. Come, I have a few books to show you.” 

You nodded eagerly and followed him as Tony yelled at Thor. The blonde smirked at his brother knowing he found joy in pissing Tony off even more. However, he was even more amused at the the scene they had all watched. He noted Loki’s softness, one that the team didn’t get to see. It was shocking to them, but to Thor, it was an emotion he know Loki rarely let others know of. 

It was the quality of a small effort towards redemption. 

“Thank you, Loki. Really.” You said walking alongside him.

The raven-haired man smiled, “No need to thank me, little one. Now, let us go before he combusts out of anger.” 

“You got it, Trickster.” You said acknowledging that he full well enjoyed getting to Tony once more. 

[starshipsofstarlord]

Jim and Jody - Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary; it was one of the biggest decisions of your life, but will you change your mind before your future is sealed?

Warnings; angst, mentions of abortion (everyone is permitted to do what they want with their body, in this imagine the reader wants to keep the baby, but pro choice, as everyone deserves control over their bodies and all 🤍), brief mention of sex and threats

Masterlist Link

To see him so relaxed, so completely and utterly himself was a paradise all on its own. There was a heaviness aboard your shoulders, but as you watched him goof tirelessly about, you had no other concerns, not even as you subconsciously raised your hand over your stomach. You shook your head at the sentiment, the two of you had already made the decision to abort this child, it was unknown how the poor fellow would turn out to be; with the combination of your powers and his super everything, it was sure to be quite the complication, and not one that you supposed was to be an easy course.

A smile pried at your face, simply from viewing him with the pack of children, the wind from the docks swept your hair into your face, and in turn, you swept the locks out and away from your vision, so that you had further access to watch the man that you loved in his absolute element. Through the years, past and recent, he had lost so much, and this child was just to be another mantle on the wall of memorial in his mind, it was sad really. If the two of you were normal, with average and lives that had perceptions with no regards of being heroic, there’d be no query about it, you’d keep the baby.

That life though, to your grave misfortune, did not exist, it was merely a fantasy living painfully inside of your mind, haunting you whenever you closed your eyes, with the flashing images of a resolution and end to the errors in your lifestyle. There’d be a big house, yet nothing to prissy, just enough room for the pair of you and few children of your own, a grand garden with a swing set and sand pit, where the infants could grow up and play in once they were older. Then there’d also be a shed for Bucky to work on small projects, such as attaining some love and care to his motor bike, as well as storing the supplies that he’d need to do so.

All that is a universe away, muffled from possibility by the stars expediting through the gorgeous veil of the galaxy, corrupting the possibilities of ever gaining access to such... peace. That was the one thing that the pair of you wanted, however catching a break was rather rare within your predicament. A stifled laugh reeled from the conjunction of your lips as you simply and endearingly surveyed how the boys, specifically Sam’s nephews hung from the vibranium branch of his arm. It was all your attention was focused on, until an extra person took a seat on the picnic table beside you, his sweet yet musky scent detailing whom it was. “If your not going to eat that, I’m sure Barnes Junior might want an opinion on that.”

The underlining of the words caused an abstract grimace to forlorn your features, as you stared not at the speaker of whom you were close with, but instead the slather of cake that was planted on a paper plate before you, the icing beginning to become slightly sick from the beating of the viable son. “You’re glowing, you know? Motherhood is a good look on you y/n/n, I wouldn’t be so soon to let that go.” Your fingers pried at the dismantled crumbs off your section of desert as you looked to your new captain, a resonating conformation fo bridled suffering and hopelessness clouding your view of his attempt at making you atone before you made a sin that you’d forever regret.

He, like many others, knew that the family life was what you wanted; you wanted to be your child’s hero, tending to their each necessary (and unnecessary) need, them being your main focus and project and life. Instead, you had been handed your options on a short stick, and thus, your decision, albeit somewhat of a sensible one, didn’t make it hurt any less. “Sam.” You spoke his name, observing from the corner of your eye how Bucky paraded around the dock with Jim and Jody. It’d be nice to give him a slice of this kinda life, he was thriving as an adult around children, you could only imagine him in the case of this one being birthed into the world. “It’s not that easy.”

“No one said it was going to be easy.” Sam responded quickly, affirming your fears to your nerve wrecked face. “I get it, I do. People will be after this kid, and that is no way to live, but you two aren’t alone in any of this, nor will you be in that. You have me, along with many other old friends of ours, hell even the Wakandan’s. Do you really want to sacrifice this one life so you can continue living this one? You and Bucky have both lost so much, you don’t have to force yourself to willingly give away something else. The decision can be changed the last minute, it’s a lot to take in, I get that, but I see the way Buck is with my nephews, and how you watch them when you think nobody’s looking over at you. With your state pardon, you two can retire, and go far away, and abandon everything for this one little guy or gal, because I know that if you do, no matter what, they’ll be worth it.”

Bucky wailed a warrior’s shout as Jim and Jody playfully struck him down, his unsheathed metal hand grasping at the cloth that was tightly aboard his addictive chest. He rolled on the ground as the children ran to retrieve their toy lightsabers, leaving him to be expendable against their weapons. There was a giddy and fitting smile smouldering his usual stoic expression. It was no wander why he found calm in visiting Sam and his sister’s small, and accepting family. The kids brought out another side of him, which he had been tortured to refrain from showing, but you had seen, and were contemplating many things within your mind. You were lapping up the image, as though you were dehydrated and the sight of him appeased by the company of young ones was a source of water.

Sam was right, he always was and had been. “The decision was on both of our parts, you don’t think Buck’ll change his mind, or do you?” You were invested in getting a responsive answer, yet the man spluttered a laugh at your confused expense. He heaved for a moment, bracing his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. There was nothing stopping him from gaining it back, unlike Bucky whom had grabbed a saber of his own and lightly began to paddle against the one that was directed against him, other than another round of hysterics that abandoned him. A reasonable smile resonated a comfortable position upon the former falcon’s face, as he tentatively patted your knee, watching as you broke off a small rupture of cake and popped it in your mouth, feeding not only yourself but the inmate within your womb.

“There isn’t really much for me to say, it’s easy, look at him. He will be fine with whatever decision that the pair of you succumb to, after all, it’s your body, but it will pain him like nothing else ever has if you go through with the abortion, and if not, then trust me, we’ve both seen how hard he fights; think of that but ten times the mass in consideration of this baby, because I am certain that he’d do anything for them. He lost his entire family when he awoke from his mode of hydra assassin, this could be him getting it back. Different members, but a family all the same.” He stole a little of your cake, making you lightly elbow him as a smirk rendered a beauty upon his face.

“What’s that going to make you, the patriotic uncle who just can’t keep himself from flashing his shield?” Now it was his turn to retaliate, he lightly scuffed your ankle with a feather light tap of the toe of his shoe, causing you to promiscuously roll your eyes. “I’m joking, that was Steve’s aesthetic, this new version of cap is your baby, I have great faith in you to make this world a better and safer place. The funny thing is, when you finally accepted that shield was yours, that’s when my mind shifted to the possibility of keeping this kid. It was and has always been a sign of hope and protection to Bucky, maybe it could be the same for our little one. It was just a thought, I’m not meaning to put pressure on your or anything bu-“

“I get it, and I’m honoured. And if that is how it seems, then I want you to know that I’ll be there to protect them too. The main bump in the road for now is for you to talk to that grumpy ass boyfriend of yours and figure this sperm plus egg equation out, send Jim and Jody over here, I got somethin’ to show those two anyway.” With a nod and a grateful pat upon your friend’s head, you slowly plodded over to where Bucky was being cornered against the side of the truck by the boys. His blue orbs danced around their small and imaginative beings, until they landed on you, it was as though his pupils were calling out for help, begging for you to spare some mercy upon him.

“Jim, Jody, your uncle Sammy has something for you two to see.” They groaned lightly, having been pulled away from the narrative of their play time, but nevertheless their faces were clean slates as they expressed hyper smiles, and bolted their route towards their mother’s sibling, carrying their lightsaber replicas along with them. “Two kids beat an infamous, deadly badass with a metal arm. I think you might be getting too old for these kinda battles Buck, you were losing, and quite terribly if I say so myself.” Crossing your arms, as he came to an upright stand, hoisting himself off the ground, so that he could be more level with you.

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in. Thought you were supposed to be supportive of me and all that, as you said to Zemo, you’d quite happily cut his dick off if he compared me to the shadow that I used to be.” His brow raised, as he reminisced on the thought of you threatening Zemo; it was hot, and certainly had gotten him going, which had shortly left you in this predicament, trying to save the world and execute the one last thing that exhumed hope to either one of you. The baby. It was almost a certain and solid fact that the little one inside of you had been procreated on the Baron’s private jet, more specifically, the small and clean bathroom that had became dirty with your primal sins.

“And I still regret not doing that, he’d have had much less leverage in any sense of the word of phallic if he had it sectioned off.” Silence emitted between the two of you, although a humoured smirk tantalised upon Bucky’s graceful face. For a change, he was not prompting the expression of a grumpy cat that was refused its nip, no, instead he could be compared to a future - actually, he already was a father to the bean held in the shield of your body, having been an ample ingredient in bringing the small person into being. “So, you having fun with Sarah’s kids, sure looks like you were quite in your element before I cut in.”

“I’m always in my element when you’re around doll.” He smiled, wrapping his uncoordinated hands around the oval of your waist, and tugging you sentimentally closer, your hips bumped with his, as your eyes ogled infatuatedly up at him. “They’re great kids, makes me realise exactly what we’re gonna be missing out on.” Bucky gulped, sparks of emotion taunted the behind of his eyes, like saucers of resentful fire. “You’d be the perfect mother, you know that right? After all you’ve done for me, you’ve nurtured me close to the man that I once was, the only difference is that I want to settle, but I don’t know how to go about dropping everything. This kid is killing me, he’s making me question everything.”

“That’s what kids are supposed to do, unborn, or very much avidly attacking grown men with false lightsabers.” Bucky deeply into your frustrated and corresponding eyes, your hands reaching up to play defiantly with the smooth dip in his chin that could be seen through the shading of his light stubble. “What if we did have a Jim and Jody of our own some day? We could keep him or her, they’d be our greatest concern, we don’t have to go down this painful and longing, rusted road. We could bring something good into this world, protect them against all forces that threaten to disrupt their life, I want this with you Bucky. We could move far far away, or go somewhere close to home.”

“Brooklyn.” He stated, causing a line to crease gently in the plain of his forehead. “I want to call them Brooklyn, if I am to fight the rest of my life for something, I want it to be my home. Last time I had to leave there, but it’s my amends to never leave this child of ours, if we’re going to do this, we need to put them in front of everything, and I mean everything.” He spoke, in reference to the other avengers and other aliases that you had stood by for so long. Bleakly you nodded, grasping his jaw down for an amorous kiss, humming against the palette of his lips, as your hands entwined behind his neck, pulling his face closer to your own, prompting his tongue to travel deeper within the realm of your mouth.

“Brooklyn is a nice name. How about Brooklyn Margaret Barnes? I think that has quite the ring to it.” You offered, and he hardly reacted, instead quickly appraising a pleasant smile onto the canvas of his work of art face, as he ducked his head down, conjoining the pair of you into a passionate and meaningful collide of your lips. Sam smiled as he watched the pair of you, pointing at you two from afar, as his nephews from afar. He was giving them a man to men talk, offering them advice that they would have valuable usage of in the future.

“Now that is love. You don’t give up for the one thing that connects you, and those two, well Bucky and y/n have been through a hell of a lot. They deserve this, and when you meet a woman when you’re older, and your mum is watching on towards the two of you, I want you to make her proud by treating your girl like a princess, willing to sacrifice everything simply to create the future that she wishes for you.” He emotionally wiped his eyes, rushing to stand before he grasped a lightsaber, leaving the other to spare for one of them. “Now Jim and Jody, which one of you will be my padawan?”

[tvitr]

uwu I don’t make the ruwules

(Okay fine, reasons/opinions below the cut but be warned! I won’t be holding back on game or book spoilers. Or rambling. This got longer than I anticipated lol)

BETTER IN THE BOOK

Eis “Fireman Sam” Glover: I don’t know what the game was trying to do with this one. I guess he gets overwhelmed by the fire and loses his composure or gets scared or... something?  Also why did he not bring a hose. Or a mask.  This is why so many reviewers thought Wonderworld was a metaphor for purgatory and all the inhabitants are dead I swear. Who cares, the book handled it a lot better. I wouldn’t say it’s perfect, but there’s definitely a good idea here with some interesting themes. The gist is that he feels ashamed following his captain’s orders to retreat during a serious blaze, which his colleagues disobeyed, and his colleagues are later hailed as heroes by the press.  Is Balan the Book trying to take on toxic masculinity...? How brave. Tl;dr, the book conveyed the story a Hell of lot better than the game. Honestly I’m surprised this is the only one.

BETTER IN THE GAME

Haoyu “Airplane Boi” Chang: So the book tried waaaay too hard to draw a parallel between Haoyu and Fiona (aka, Dolphin Girl) to the point that they both share a similar backstory, in that they had a hobby which led to a near-fatal accident and now they’re too traumatised to resume said hobby. And that’s not a bad thing per se but... “near fatal accident” was already Fiona’s backstory. We didn’t need a duplicate. And this is more personal preference, but I kinda liked Haoyu’s story in the game anyway. His failure at building a functioning aeroplane out of crap he found in his garage is endearingly funny in the game, and the resolution of him taking time out to sit down and study before building anything is a nice spin on the whole “if at first you don’t succeed” theme the chapter wanted. 

Sana “Bird Lady” Hudson: So the book decided they didn’t want to make Cal an angry sore loser so guess what? They made Sana an angry misanthrope. Wonderful. Okay maybe that’s harsh, but she definitely came off as very bitter and unsympathetic in the book. Like there’s a scene at the end where she harasses a firefighter and tries to steal a fire engine because they’re working on a building fire and not supervising her park. That’s not a character you wanna root for. That’s a Karen. The game had a better plot thread and resolution to her story rather than a boring cookie-cutter “humans vs. nature grrrr humans are so evil” story, like the game story here had a bit more depth to it and approached the topic more maturely than the book did. Which is ironic considering how hilariously edgy the book gets sometimes, but I guess throwing a few smashed eggs and frozen bird skeletons into your story doesn’t mean anything if you’re still going to paint such a black-and-white narrative.

Iben “Frozen Elsa” Bia: This story didn’t need dialogue. Like... we don’t need her to justify why she’s upset her parents are dead because we’d already assume that. They’re her parents! Of course we’d assume she���d be upset! They died! Simultaneously! That’s horrible! WE DON’T NEED HER TO EXPLAIN THIS! Also her dialogue in the book was... pretty terrible, not gonna lie. Like if you’re gonna insist on dialogue at least make it gOOD. I’m actually planning on just reviewing her book scene so I can fully articulate just how bad it is anyway, so stay tuned for that mess lol.

FINE IN BOTH

I mean there’s not really too much to say here but anyways:

Jose/”The Farmer” having a family in the book gives him a bit more depth, even if we never hear from them again after his backstory dump.

Fiona/”Dolphin Girl” almost drowns in a slightly different way, with a dolphin straight up pulling her mask off rather than knocking it out of her mouth, and the book also goes more into detail about her love for diving and dolphins. Also the book ships her and Haoyu like. So hard. Like they never shut up about how similar they are or what they other’s doing or if the other’s okay or not. By the end of it I was expecting them to just start making out in front of everyone, they’re that obsessed with each other. And it would be funny if they didn’t use this to wreck Haoyu’s backstory like I mentioned earlier.

Yuri/”Bug Kid”/”Is that a Pokémon reference?” is now being kinda bullied for liking bugs, which yeah gives her more depth and reason to be upset but I also kinda related to her just being that One Kid with interests that nobody else had. But it’s not as bad as some of the other changes, so I can let it slide.

Atillio/Clown and Bruce/Old Man are the same, nothing to say here.

Lucy/”The Artist” is a total drama queen but then again so are Art People so I can let it slide. I did like them changing her problem from “artist’s block” (seriously?) to her feeling too under pressure to create masterpieces, unless that’s what the game was aiming for? Oh who cares.

JUST A BIG MESS

Cass “Dead Cat Girl” Milligan: This is a weird one because the story is the same between the game and book (though the book mentions she witnessed a more severe car accident rather than a speeding car which she assumes kills the cat, and the cat isn’t even her cat, it’s a stray) but the story itself is... flawed. According to the book, they wanted to convey the idea that running away from the accident was irresponsible, and she just needed to look back and she’d see her cat is okay, but the game kind of makes it look more like Balan turned back time to save her cat, and the book mentions a serious car crash which I don’t think anyone would willingly return to. I feel there’s a better way to convey this idea of being responsible for your pets, like say her cat escapes from the house and gets lost, and her resolution is going out and properly looking for it. That’s a more effective (and natural) way to relay that message, especially as they weren’t going to commit to the idea of grieving a lost pet.

I’M CONFLICTED

Cal “Chess Daddy” Suresh: God this was a tough call. On one hand Cal’s game backstory is one of the ones most YouTube players single out as the weakest backstory in the game. He’s just “that guy who lost one game of chess”. Being right before Iben’s level certainly doesn’t help. I could honestly write a separate post about how bad the story placements are in this game but that’s too long for here.  On the other hand, I still... kinda like it? Like I like this idea of him being a sore loser with a bad temper who needs to learn some humility, sure it’s not as serious as “I almost drowned” or “my parents are dead” but one of the few good things about the game is that it balanced “serious” stories with “benign” ones, if that makes sense. HOWEVER His book scene is... probably one of the best written in the whole book. Which isn’t saying much, but it felt like it hit the intended degree of darkness that the rest of the book was trying to hit. One of my main issues with the book is how much it edged up everyone’s backstory, which doesn’t sound bad but when you have 12 characters with edgy backstories to sit through, it starts to feel like a 14 year old's first attempt at writing an angsty fanfiction very quickly. And yes, Cal’s story is dark and angsty but it felt like the perfect balance of dark and angsty. Or as perfect as the book can get. Like even Balan’s annoying rhyming dialogue sounded good for the tone of the scene. Man maybe I should just do a review of both his backstories in a bigger post.  Obviously I could be biased because I’m a sucker for chess aesthetics and dark skinned men with long permed hair so I’m just putting more thought into him but still.

[txemrn]

Cute Without the "E"

Happy 100 weeks of fluffy, angsty and smutty prompts,@wackydrabbles! Thank you so much for all you do to create such a fun environment here on tumblr! I am participating this week with prompt #100: "This is huge--we need to celebrate!" (The prompt will be in bold)

Book: The Nanny Affair

Warning: language; brief allusions of promiscuity and sensuality

Word count: 1267 (+/-)

A/N: What happens when you message your amazingly talented TNA sister and friend in the wee hours of the morning about Sam and Robin being in an emo band? I think it's obvious...@sfb123 I. Can. Not. The pic is absolutely AMAZING! Thank you so much for donating your time and creativity to make me laugh! You NEVER cease to amaze me. Love you, dearly! Big thanks to @chemist-ana and @shannonwrote for pre-reading! These characters belong to Pixelberry.

Title of the Fic/Lyrics in Fic: "Cute Without the 'E' (Cut from the Team)" by Taking Back Sunday (undeniably the BEST emo band to have ever existed)

***

“Okay, I’ll be right there.”

Ending his phone call with a hushed tone, Sam quietly pulls the door shut to his bedroom. He tiptoes carefully across the hardwood floors, carrying a large duffle bag. He turns the corner to the foyer; now, all he has to do is make it down the elevator, and his secret rendezvous remains just that: a secret.

“Sam?” He freezes mid-stride. “Where are you going?”

“Brynn!” Sam startles, turning on his heel. “Hi, baby!” His voice cracks in the midst of his unnatural peppy tone. He casually drops his bag behind his back before reaching out to hug his girlfriend. “Is, uh--” he kisses her as she raises an eyebrow, “--is the conference call with Tokyo over?”

“Dr. Matsuo is having technical difficulties,” Brynn’s eyes dart to the large duffle bag on the floor before glaring at Sam. “--so we’re taking a break for him to grab another computer”

“Oh, well, in that case--” Sam bounds to the kitchen, “--let’s grab you some coffee. You want some dessert?” He turns around, discovering that Brynn didn’t follow him. “Brynn?” He panics, jogging out of the room. “Brynn?”

“Whoa!” They collide in the hallway, but Sam tries to play it off by tangling his hands in her hair, forcing her into more sweet kisses. She puts her hands up in surrender, pushing his body off of hers. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not acting weird.” His words are quick, almost mumbled as he shoves his hands into his pockets.

“See?” She scoffs into a snicker. “That was weird.”

“N--No it wasn’t.”

Brynn’s eyelids lower, glaring at her boyfriend. Her eyes quickly shift to the duffle bag, then back to Sam. “What are you hiding?” She subtly turns towards the foyer.

“Hiding--?”

“What’s in the duffle bag?” Brynn and Sam slowly look at the duffle bag before glaring back at each other. An eerie silence hangs in the air as if a challenge has been issued. In an instant, they both sprint to the bag. They crash painfully into each other before falling to the floor. “C’mon--Sam--” she grunts as she pulls on the handles. “Let! Go!”

“There’s--nothing--to--OW!” He suddenly screeches, letting go of the bag. “Fucking Succubus! What are those? Talons?” Sam massages his hand as a satisfied Brynn sits cross-legged in victory, locking eyes with him. She puts her fingers on the zipper, taunting him. She slides her hand inside a front pocket.

She gasps. "What is this--?"

“Okay, wait--" he warns.

Brynn pulls out an ornate invitation with silver filigree that says, 'Class of 2002'.

"I can--I can explain."

She continues to read until she abruptly smiles at Sam. "Sam! It's an invite to your twenty-year high school reunion!"

"Yeah, well--" Sam rubs the back of his neck timidly.

"We're going, right? I mean, this is huge--we need to celebrate!"

"Yeah, I mean, of course. I mean--" his face drops as he sighs. "I kinda, sorta have to."

"Why? Is everyone just dying to see what became of the homecoming king?" She jests, booping him on the nose.

"Nominated. I was nominated for homecoming king.”

“Of course, you were,” she rolls her eyes before giggling. She turns her attention back to the bag when Sam interrupts her again.

“Okay, Brynn, look--" he searches for the right words. "--there's a lot about my past--about me in high school you don't know about yet--"

"Sam," she chuckles with a knowing smile. "I already know about the girls from the cheerleading squad--"

He sighs with irritation. "Fucking Robin--!"

"-- and the girls from the JV squad and the captain and co-captain of the pep squad--"

"Fuckin' A--!"

"--at the same time!" Brynn bites her bottom lip to stifle a laughter. "And then he mentioned some girl named Delaney--?"

"-- Jesus Christ! Robin went on one date with her! One--!" He drags his fingers down his face in frustration.

Brynn grabs his hands in amusement. "My point, Mr. Dalton, is I know full-well that you were a bit wild in your youth. You even told me that. Let's see," she starts to count on her fingers, "you vandalized the opposing school's basketball gym; you totaled your dad's Bentley--"

"Okay, you can stop now--"

"--and then you let Robin take the blame!"

Sam snickers under his breath. "Dad was so pissed, had Robin packing his things to kick him out--"

"Sam!" Brynn playfully pushes his shoulder. "You’re such an asshole!"

Sam playfully grabs Brynn’s arm. Pulling her into his lap, he gives her bottom a swift spank, making her yelp with glee. "Am I still an asshole?" He presses his lips into her supple pout.

"Mmmm,” Brynn licks her lips, lowering her voice. “One that needs to be punished--"

"Ooooo--" Sam crashes his lips into her mouth again, nibbling on her lips. "--Daddy likes."

As their kissing becomes deeper, enthralled with passion, Brynn finally pulls away from his tongue. "But wait a minute," she grabs the duffle bag, "what's with you being so shady? What's even in this bag?"

“Um,” he swallows thickly, “well--”

“And why do you ‘kinda, sorta have to go’?” she air-quotes, mimicking his deep voice.

“Okay, fine.” Sam sighs, rubbing the stubble of his chin. “You really want to know?”

“What gave you that impression, Sam?” Brynn sasses, pinching Sam’s arms.

“Okay, smartass,” Sam chuckles before becoming serious. “In high school, I was in a band.”

“That’s it?” She punches out a cheeky laugh. “Sam, I’ve know that since, gosh--” she puts her hand on her forehead,”--shoot, I know it was before your engagement party.”

“Really?”

“Yes, because when we were dancing, I was shocked you had such terrible rhythm--” She widens her eyes, watching for his reaction.

“Hey! I’ve got rhythm,” he says defensively.

“Uh-huh. Sure, you do,” Brynn nods sardonically. Sam begins to tickle Brynn, causing her to jump, straddling his lap.

“Want me to prove it to you?,” he bucks his hips into Brynn, bearing an impish grin. Brynn lets out a hearty laugh, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Okay, now that?” she seals his lips with hers as she rocks her hips into his. “You do have impeccable rhythm.” She combs her fingers through his hair as he grips tightly to her ass. She teases him, licking his top lip. “So, the band is why you have to go?” Her eyes widen with joy. “Oh my God, are you playing at your reunion?”

Sam leans back on his hands, chuckling. “You guessed it, and I have practice tonight.”

“Sam! That’s incredible!” she endearingly strokes his cheek. “So, tell me: what kind of music did you play?”

Suddenly the elevator dings of someone’s arrival to the penthouse, forcing Brynn to dismount from Sam. As the doors shuffle open to reveal it’s passenger, Sam and Brynn are greeted with the gravelly growl of a singing baritone.

“... and will you tell all your friends

You've got your gun to my head

This all was only wishful thinking…”

Brynn stands up in disbelief. Wearing an old black Ramones t-shirt is Robin, complete with skinny jeans, a studded belt, and a pair of Chuck Taylors. His long, chestnut locks are spiked out. “Robin?” Brynn curiously approaches the sight. “Are you wearing guy-liner?”

Abruptly, it hit Brynn like a lightening bolt as she zips open Sam’s duffle bag. “No. Fucking. Way.” She dumps out the contents of the bag: a black shirt with a skull on it, black skinny jeans, a black pair of Vans, and Brynn’s favorite Urban Decay eyeliner.

“Oh my God, Sam!” She stares at him in shock, trying to hide her smile. “Were you in an emo band?”

***

TNA tags (please let me know if you would like to be added or removed): @ao719 @charlotteg234 @chemist-ana @choiceskatie @forallthatitsworth @jessiembruno @kat-tia801 @khoicesbyk @lovelyladyk88 @lucy-268 @neotericthemis @nestledonthaveone @sfb123 @shannonwrote @shewillreadyou @somersetmummy @thefrenchiemama

[redgillan]

Under Pastel Skies - 5

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.

Word Count: 4,569

Warnings: none

A/N: Let me just thank you for your support, it’s so heartwarming and I love you so much. I’m sorry this chapter is so long, I have no idea how that happened. I hope you enjoy this :’)

Wannabe sugar daddies, don’t interact with this post.

After you agreed to move in with Bucky and become a full time artist, everything started to move incredibly fast. The dinner went well, you worked out the details of your contract with Sam and Nat who didn’t seem surprised that this was happening.

You left your job almost overnight, only giving them two weeks’ notice. They easily found a new breakfast attendant and you even trained your replacement. You emptied your locker, returned your name tag and your master key, and went on your merry way.

Now you were on your way to Bucky’s apartment, a suitcase full of clothes between your legs and another full of administrative papers, beauty products and whatnot between Natasha’s legs. She had insisted on coming with you to help you get settled. You didn’t own furniture or anything that required her help so you figured she just wanted to make sure Bucky was treating you right.

He had already transferred your monthly allowance to your bank account, which prompted your bank to call you. They wanted to know where the 5 thousand dollars came from and you told them it was a gift. “If your friend’s looking for new friends give them my number, yeah?” the man on the phone told you.

The rocking motion of the train had a soothing effect on you, almost lulling you to sleep. You let your head fall against the window and played one of your favourite game –people watching.

There was a man reading a newspaper, standing with his feet apart as if the cart was one giant skateboard. A woman was putting on makeup, another was playing a game on her phone. The woman sitting next to you was wrestling with her toddler who wanted to snatch your scarf. It was a quiet day.

“Are we going to talk about it?” Natasha asked, her face as cold as stone.

“’Bout what?” you replied in a sleepy voice.

“About your crush on James.”

“I don’t have a crush on Bucky.”

As soon as the words passed your lips, a tiny, sticky hand landed on your jaw, making a wet slapping sound. You blinked hard, your eyes trained on Natasha who was now openly smiling at the toddler next to you.

“See? Even the baby knows you’re a liar,” she said, singing the last word.

You turned your head to look at the baby and saw him put his fist in his mouth, his eyes bright and wide. With a happy squeal he launched himself at you again, smacking you in the face. The mother apologized and held her child against her chest, softly admonishing him to stop throwing himself at strangers. You felt that. He spent the rest of the ride looking at you.

“So, really, you’re going to move in with a man you have a massive crush on, and we’re not even going to talk about it,” she pressed on.

You huffed, wiping baby goo from your cheek with your sleeve. “You’re like a dog with a bone.”

“And you’re the bone.”

You got off the train and walked to Bucky’s apartment, your suitcase rolling behind you. Natasha was silent next to you, something that almost never happened. You counted your steps in your head, waiting for her to speak.

“You didn’t have to move out of my apartment.”

22 steps. That’s how long Natasha managed to stay quiet for. “Of course, I had to. I’m not going to do Brooklyn-Chelsea every day.”

When Bucky had offered his guest bedroom, your first reaction had been to politely refuse. Bucky seemed like a nice guy, but what if he had a glass cage in his basement? What if he trapped you there and commissioned paintings to you? Psycho killer, qu'est ce que c'est.

Then he opened up about his past, his insecurities, and it made you long to hold him. There was a vulnerability in his eyes, the kind that only come from an unprotected heart. You realized there was more chance of you hurting him than the opposite.

“You’re the one who organized this whole thing,” you reminded Natasha.

“Yeah, but I didn’t know you had a crush on him. And if someone tells Okoye this was my idea, she’ll kill me.”

You turned to her with a not-sorry smile. “Yup.”

Your big sister was like most big sisters: extremely protective. When your mother had to work late, she was in charge and she took her role very seriously. You were nine when she finally got her driver’s licence, and that day she graduated from sister to mother. Eat your vegetables. Did you do your homework? I know you didn’t brush your teeth.

Okoye was loyal, protective, intimidating, and never afraid to speak her mind. When she decided to join the Dora Milaje, you thought the job was perfect for her –the king’s bodyguard, now that’s something you’d like to put on your resume.

“Do you want me to stay tonight?” Natasha asked as you got inside the elevator.

“Why are you so worried?”

“I don’t know.” She pressed her back against the wall and shrugged. “It’s always been you and me. Since first grade.”

You returned her sad smile with one of your own. “Heckle and Jeckle.”

She barked out a laugh at the memory. It was the nickname her father had for the two of you. It used to be a popular animated cartoon in the 50s. It was the story of two talking magpies who were always getting into some kind of trouble.

You stepped out of the elevator, still arguing about which one of you got to be Jeckle, the less problematic of the two, when you noticed that Bucky was patiently waiting for you by the front door. He didn’t say anything but there was an amused smile on his face.

He let you put your suitcases in the guest room near the kitchen and told you that he had to run a few errands, giving you a little privacy. Natasha hung up your clothes in the wardrobe while you unpacked your other stuff and put them away in the drawers of your dresser.

It didn’t take you long to unpack. When you were done, you threw yourself onto the bed, watching Natasha. You were excited to sleep in a real bed, you couldn’t stop running your hands up and down the comforter.

“Jeckle,” Natasha said, looking at the mostly empty wardrobe. “You need new clothes.”

“Ugh, yes,” you groaned from the bed.

When you were a teenager, you used to spend every weekend at the mall with your sisters and Natasha. Your wardrobe wasn’t big enough to fit all your clothes and your mother often asked you to get rid of the things you didn’t wear anymore. You never did.

Then life happened, and you didn’t have the energy or money to go shopping anymore.

You went to the kitchen to grab something to drink. Bucky’s fridge was even bigger than the one you had at work, and it was full of food in neatly labelled rows of Tupperware containers. The one in front of you was labelled ‘baby carrots’.

“Neat freak alert,” Natasha commented, peering over your shoulder into the refrigerator.

“Stop it.”

You took a bottle of water and sat at the kitchen island while Natasha continued investigating his kitchen. Bucky had several gadgets that few people had in their kitchen like a cutting board with suction cups on the bottom and nails on top to hold the food in place while slicing.

It was obvious that he liked to cook, and for some reason it made you smile. You pictured him cooking for one and your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. It was a sad mental image and you shook your head to get rid of it.

The front door opened and you lifted your head to see what Natasha was doing. She was holding Bucky’s meal plan, perusing it intensely. Bucky entered the room and greeted you with a smile before he made his way over to the fridge.

“Can I help you with anything?” he asked.

Natasha waved the meal plan in your direction mouthing ‘it’s laminated’ while Bucky retrieved a bottle of water for himself. You gestured wildly at her to put it back down.

“No, I’m good,” you replied with a slightly crazed smile. He looked between you and Natasha with a frown. “Natasha was about to leave.”

“Was I?” she replied, tilting her head.

“Yeah, you have stuff to do, remember?” You gave her a pointed stare.

“No.”

You widened your eyes at her and moved your head in the direction of the hallway that led to the front door. You tried to be discreet but you knew you weren’t fooling anyone. She watched you, unfazed.

Luckily, Bucky came to your rescue.

“Thank you for coming all the way out here, Natasha. Do you want me to call you a cab?” His tone left no room for discussion. You hid your grin behind your glass.

“That won’t be necessary,” she replied without looking at him.

You walked Natasha back to the front door and opened it. She glared at something over your shoulder and you turned to see if Bucky was there. He wasn’t.

“Wait, I forgot to tell him that if he hurts you I’ll kill him.”

You grabbed her by the shoulders when she tried to move past you. “I think he got the message. Thanks for coming with me. I’ll call you tonight.”

“You’d better,” she warned with a slow nod.

When you returned to the kitchen, it really dawned on you that you were alone with Bucky. He glanced up at you while he was going through his mail. You took your seat and nervously looked around the room. It was too quiet, you didn’t like it.

“I like your friend,” he said, grinning. “She seems very protective of you.”

“She is,” you sighed.

An uncomfortable and strangely melancholic silence hung between you. You were both afraid to say or do the wrong thing. You felt like you didn’t belong there; like a patch sewed on a worn out pair of jeans, mending holes.

“You ok?”

You looked up at him. “Yeah, I just feel a little awkward. I’m... not sure what you want me to do now.”

“Nothing,” he said, rounding the kitchen island to sit on the stool next to you. His eyebrows were pulled together in concern. “This is your home. You can do whatever you want.”

“It doesn’t really feel like my home.” You shrugged one shoulder. “It kinda feels like I just unloaded my crap in your guest room, which is exactly what happened.”

He observed you a moment. “Well, make it your home. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable here.”

“So,” you glanced at him sideways. “If I bought a few things to make this place more... homey, you wouldn’t be mad?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled up as his smile grew. “I’m begging you to make this place more homey. It’s really boring, isn’t it?” he said, looking around the kitchen with a comical frown.

You chuckled. “No, it’s not. Well, maybe a little.”

“Thank you for your honesty,” he said with a laugh.

Bucky watched you with his cheek in the palm of his hand. Your eyes were moving around the room, making mental notes of the things you wanted to add. He smiled, the sparkle was back in your eyes.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he said, straightening up.

He left the room for a second and came back with his hand hidden behind his back. You looked at him with a playfully suspicious frown as he approached you. You followed his movements closely, your frown deepening when he placed a little white box on the kitchen counter.

“Open it.”

You removed the lid and pulled out a set of keys, undoubtedly the keys to his apartment. The keychain was gleaming the light; a small silver angel that fit snugly in the palm of your hand.

You barely managed to croak out a thank you before you threw yourself at him, hugging him tight. His body tensed instantly and you were about to apologize when you felt his arm wrap around you.

You felt pressure build in your throat, a tingling sensation in your nose, and tried to hide your face in the crook of his neck. The last thing you wanted was for him to catch you crying over a set of keys. Though deep down it wasn’t about the keys, it was the accumulation of pent-up emotions and the realization that you were now completely free to follow your dreams.

You released him but he was still hanging on to you. Tight. His heart was beating fast against your chest. He was a lonely man craving human interaction. So you closed your eyes and rubbed your hands up and down his back –gently and out of sync. After a few long minutes, he untangled himself from you.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, avoiding your eyes. “C’mon, there’s something else I want to show you.”

“Another gift?” You sighed his name when you noted the guilty expression on his face. “It’s too much.”

“It’s a practical gift, hardly a gift at all.”

He took you upstairs to the room that was now your studio. The room hadn’t changed since your last visit, except for the easel placed in the centre. You entered slowly as if you were approaching a frightened mythological creature. You ran your fingers along the wood, your chest tight with the heft of your emotions.

You hadn’t seen one in a while, and now it was right in front of you, beckoning. “Show me how you feel,” the easel said. “Show the world what you’re made of.”

“Thank you so much,” you said, your voice soft.

“I thought it was the perfect housewarming gift for you.”

You turned to him and smiled. “It is. I already bought everything I need. Paint, knives, brushes, canvases... an easel. Sorry, I didn’t know you were going to buy me one. It’s good to have more than one though. Online shops are a bit impersonal.” You walked toward the door where he was waiting. “I miss the smell of art supply stores. It’s so intoxicating, it really gets the creative juices flowing.”

“What does it smell like?”

You closed your eyes and tried to concentrate. “It’s a mix of paint and paper, a woody pencil-sharpening smell mixed with chemicals and ash.”

“Sounds relaxing.”

“It’s heaven,” you said with a dreamy sigh.

Bucky gave you a fond smile and glanced at the keychain still in your hand. “So that’s where angels come from, uh?”

You laughed and pushed his good shoulder playfully. Ever since that fateful day when Bucky asked you out for coffee and you mistook his business date for a romantic date, you learned not to take the things he said too seriously. Bucky was a nice guy, a bit of a flirt sometimes, but his intentions were clear. He wanted a companion, not a girlfriend.

The rest of the afternoon went by in a flash, you went to your room and rearranged a few things while Bucky stayed in his office. At dinnertime you set the table while he finished cooking. You sat in front of a bowl of homemade soup and a grilled cheese sandwich.

After you had practically licked your bowl clean, Bucky leaned back in his chair and watched you with a grin. You felt a little embarrassed. You wiped your mouth with your napkin, trying to look a bit more well-mannered.

“It was really good,” you said.

“Thank you. I gotta say, I was tired of cooking for one. It’s not fun.” He put your empty bowl in his and carried them to the sink. You gathered up plates and utensils and followed him. “You’ll have to tell me what you don’t like.”

“As long as you don’t make me eat broccoli ice cream, I’m good.”

He laughed, remembering your conversation from a couple of week ago. “I don’t think I can stomach it either.” He handed you two small plates and two forks. “I bought a cake. I thought we could celebrate our first day together. Is it creepy? I can’t tell.”

“No, that’s a great idea!” you laughed. “You’re making me feel like it’s my birthday.”

You carried everything to the table while he opened the fridge and retrieved a large pink cardboard box. He balanced the box in his hand, a sharp knife sitting on top. “I’m surprised you didn’t bake it yourself,” you said, picking up the knife.

“Dessert isn’t my forte.” He opened the cardboard box, revealing a three-layer red velvet cake. “I’m too much of a perfectionist. I can make pretty decent pies but sponge cakes are hard to control when you only have one hand.”

“We can bake cakes together if you want. I’m clumsy as hell but I’m willing to learn.”

“That’d be nice,” he replied with a smile.

It was, without a doubt, the best cake you’d ever had in your life. It was incredibly light. The chocolate and vanilla burst in your mouth, mixing perfectly with the bitterness of the buttermilk.

“Red velvet is my favorite,” Bucky said, licking his fork. “Blueberry cheesecakes are good too. And Blackout cakes, umm, so good. Except fruitcakes,” he said, his mouth twisted into a downturned grimace. “Fruitcakes are the devil.”

“You’ve got quite the sweet tooth.”

“You have no idea,” he said, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe it himself.

After a minute of silence, you said, “The last time I ate red velvet cake, my sister had put too much white vinegar. It was disgusting but we didn’t want to hurt her feelings so we ate all of it.”

Bucky chuckled. “How many siblings do you have?”

It was a standard get-to-know-you question and you knew he would ask it at some point. Yet, it made your guts twist in pain. It was a question you always dreaded because you didn’t have a clear answer to it. Should you leave Pietro out? He was gone but he was still your brother.

“I, uh,” you mumbled, staring down at your half-eaten slice of cake. “I’m not sure what the answer is.” He frowned at you, confused. “Do you... do you count the ones you lost?”

Understanding flashed in his eyes and he gave you a patient smile. “Yes, I do.”

You met his eyes and tried to smile, though you were pretty sure it looked more like a grimace. “I have four siblings then.” You took a forkful of cake and chewed slowly, allowing yourself a few seconds to clear your thoughts. Without success.

“I was adopted,” you revealed. His eyebrows rose in surprise but he let you continue. “We were all adopted. My mom lost her husband when she was young. They wanted to have a big family but they were too busy working. They both had very demanding jobs.”

“What did they do?”

“He was in the military, and she was the co-founder of an extra-governmental military counter-terrorism and intelligence agency.”

“That’s a mouthful,” Bucky chuckled.

“You should hear their name.” He gave you a ‘go ahead’ look. “It’s the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division.”

You watched Bucky process the name, waiting for the moment realization would dawn on him. Then his eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“S.H.I.E.L.D.? Your mom’s the co-founder of S.H.I.E.L.D.” He stared at you, his mouth wide open. “Your mom’s Peggy Carter!? Jesus Christ,” he sighed, shaking himself out of his stupor. “When we were kids, me, Stevie and a couple of other kids pretended to be secret agents working for S.H.I.E.L.D. We even had a name: the Howling Commandos.”

You screwed your eyes shut, a smile breaking across your face. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, embarrassment colouring his face. “I dunno why I’m telling you this. Please, don’t tell your mom.”

Your laughter died down, and you continued smiling at him. He was cute when he was flustered. You smothered that thought as soon as it materialized.

“I didn’t know she had adopted five kids.”

“Yeah, I guess her job as the co-founder of one the most important secret agency gave her the freedom to adopt without having to wait.”

“Do you get along with your siblings?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I mean, kinda. Scott, my older brother, is a few years younger than you. He’s really smart but he’s a big goof. He left for San Francisco when I was a kid. My sister, Okoye, left when I was 19. She’s King T’Chaka’s bodyguard.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah,” you chucked. “The twins are only three years older than me. We were really close, but then Pietro,” you took a small pause, “he, um, he died and, Wanda, she couldn’t stay anymore. It was too much, y’know. She went to Sokovia -where they were born- and she never came home. Last I heard, she was backpacking through Europe.”

“You still have your mom though,” Bucky said with a warm smile.

“She’s in London,” you said, smiling even though you had to dig your nails into your palm to keep yourself from crying. “She’s in a nursing home. She was diagnosed with a form of dementia, something similar to Alzheimer. She has no idea who I am.”

You tried to speak in a normal, detached tone but your voice wavered and you fought not to cry. Bucky reached for your hand, your nails had left half-moon indentations in your palm. Wordlessly, he smoothed his thumb over your palm, inspecting the damage.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice soft.

Until now it had never occurred to you that you had never said those things out loud before. Natasha knew because she’d been with you through all of it. She was your best friend, the only person who hadn’t abandoned you yet.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d met someone new, someone you felt comfortable enough to talk to about your family.

You didn’t want to end the day on a sad note, so you pulled yourself together. You straightened up, wiped your eyes and sniffed back the tingling feeling in your nose. Bucky seemed to notice that you wanted to change the subject because he let go of your hand and picked up his fork again.

“So,” you said after clearing your throat. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“It’s a serious question and it’s important that you tell me the truth.”

Bucky flinched, his throat working as he swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I promise.”

You took a deep breath and rotated your head left and right, working the kinks out of your neck and back. Then you levelled him with a direct stare.

“What’s your favourite colour?”

Bucky recoiled as if he had misheard you. He looked momentarily startled by your question before he burst into laughter. When your face remained stoic, he realized you weren’t joking. “Oh? Umm, I don’t know.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He seemed lost in thought for a second. “I like blue.”

“Which blue? Navy? Tiffany blue? Sapphire? Baby blue? Teal? Duck-egg? Turquoise?” you enumerated them quickly.

“Just...blue?” he replied carefully. You took a deep breath and released it slowly, shaking your head. “No, wait,” he added in a hurry. His eyebrows pinched together in concentration while he was trying to come up with a better answer. “The color of the sky when a storm is brewing. That’s my favorite color.”

You smirked. “Poetic.”

“Well, I’m a writer,” he replied with a lopsided grin. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Oh no, you can’t ask me that. I’m a painter, it’s like asking a parent who their favourite child is.”

“Fair enough,” he conceded, waving his hand to dismiss the question. “Let me ask you an equally important question.”

“Oh, boy,” you laughed.

The warmth of his laughter was reassuring. It made you feel at ease, calm. What you hadn’t realized yet was that you weren’t trying to change your personality to please him. You were yourself, flaws and all.

“When you read a book, how do you keep track of your reading?” he asked. “Do you use a bookmark? Receipts? Candy wrappers? Book ribbon? Do you fold the corner of the page? Do you leave the book face down or memorize the page number? I need to know.”

You didn’t have to think about it. “Dog ears.”

“Oh, God, you’re a folder.” He stared up at the ceiling and sighed heavily. “I think I got you all wrong. You’re not an angel, you’re a little demon.” He pressed his lips together in a thin line to hide a smile.

He quickly gathered up the dirty plates and carried them to the sink while you remained seated at the table, laughing. You turned in your chair and saw him fill the sink with hot water and suds. What kind of millionaire doesn’t own a dishwasher?

“I bet you also write in ‘em,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a hint of a smirk.

“No, I would never,” you said, joining him at the sink. “I like books that look old though. Cracked spines, folded corners, tea or coffee stains.”

“Please, stop I’m going to hyperventilate,” he joked.

You chuckled. “Do you a have a towel?” you asked, giving him a little tap with your hip so he would scoot sideways.

He let go of the knife he was washing and pulled out a towel from the cabinet under the sink. You were a bit in awe of the way he cleaned everything with only one hand but you didn’t want to sound condescending so you kept it to yourself.

“What’s the point of having books if they look like nobody’s ever opened them?” you said. “I want to know my books had a good life before I bought them. I want to know they were loved. Sometimes when you love something, you mess it up a little.” He rinsed a plate and handed it to you. “I bet you have one of those sentence pointer bookmarks.”

He stayed quiet for a moment and you cursed yourself, thinking you might have hurt his feelings with your little teasing. His meal plan was fucking laminated, of course he had a sentence pointer bookmark. When he spoke, you felt like you could breathe again.

“I do have a bookmark. My niece made it for me at school. It’s pink and it has a braided pink and purple ribbon. No sentence pointer.”

His rueful smile and slightly red cheeks made your chest warm. You had to remind yourself that Bucky wasn’t flirting with you. He was just being nice.

“I’m jealous,” you said. “I wish I had one.”

“That can be arranged,” he nodded, his bottom lip jutting out in a pensive pout.

You wondered what this would look like if someone were to enter the room right now. They’d see you and Bucky, standing side by side at the sink as though you were the protagonists of a Norman Rockwell painting called ‘Domestic Bliss’. You wanted more days like this one.

“Yeah?” you breathed out. “You sure?”

“Anything for you, angel.”

Part 6

[spencers-renaissance]

Rain is a Chance to be Touched Ch.2

hell is empty, and all the devils are here

Chapter One

This is the second chapter in my new ongoing hotchreid fic! Please click here for the fic summary, full tags, trigger warnings, more information etc.

Last Chapter: Spencer's disordered and depressed thoughts were introduced, he was shot, Foyet stabbed Hotch, and Spencer ended up alone in his apartment :(

In This Chapter: we get to see Hotch's view of the events of early season five.

TW: aftermath of violence, recovery, spousal death, grief/mourning

Word Count: 3.4k

RCT Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Read on AO3

AARON

All but mariners plunged in the foaming brine and quit the vessel, then all afire with me: [he] cried, 'Hell is empty and all the devils are here.' — William Shakespeare, The Tempest

The team is working on the case.

Aaron tries desperately to remember this when the fear starts to rise in his chest again, squashing his lungs and pressing violently against his already groaning heart. The team is working on the case, they always solve the case, and he trusts them with his life because, at the end of the day, that’s what’s at stake here, isn’t it? Haley and Jack are all he has in this world; he absolutely cannot lose them.

The team is working on the case.

Frustration builds as he lays in a hospital bed, completely incapacitated during the most important case of his life, and it’s only made worse by the knowledge that Spencer is hurt, too. He was absolutely furious when he eventually found out after asking his whereabouts on his third day of hospitalisation, having realised he hadn’t seen him once at the hospital.

Rossi had deliberately omitted Spencer being shot from his account of the case. Why, he had no idea. Did he not think it important that one of their own was seriously injured? Aaron hopes not. Did he think he was unable to handle the information at that point? Certainly more probable, but still infuriating.

It was all exacerbated by the guilty expression on JJ’s face when he asked who’d been visiting him. She’d told him that there hadn’t been time, that they were working on the case 24/7, that Penelope had heard from him and he was fine, but it wasn't enough to satiate his rising anger. Aaron doesn’t quite understand the blistering fury he still feels when he thinks about Spencer injured and alone, abandoned by his team, but he expects it’s because he still feels protective over the youngest member of the team.

That’s almost definitely it.

He takes a month off from work, but he has no idea what to do with himself, especially once he's discharged from hospital and returns to a lonely apartment in which he was brutally attacked by the FBI’s Most Wanted Serial Killer. He’s miserable without seeing Jack regularly and fearful of the length of time he’ll have to wait until he can see him and Haley again as he tries desperately not to think of the possibility that he may never see them again.

A lot of time is spent touring his DVD and box set collections and passing the time by cooking and exercising as much as his healing body will allow him. Every functional moment, every spare shred of brain power he has to spend, though, is directed at the Foyet case.

Finding Nemo is playing on the TV when there’s a knock at the door a week into his stay at home — admittedly, his collection is not all that large and he’d exhausted the more age-appropriate films far too quickly — so he turns it off and peels his exhausted bones off the couch. Most of the team have dropped by at various points, bringing food and gifts and comfort in the worst time of his life, so he’s expecting Emily or Rossi or JJ, but instead, it’s Spencer standing on his doorstep.

He doesn’t have the time to school his expression so his surprise is written all over his face, and Spencer must see it because he immediately cringes and deflates, as though suddenly doubting whether showing up out of the blue was a good idea after all.

“Hi.” Aaron smiles welcomingly to try and counter the negative thoughts that are almost certainly worming their way into Spencer’s mind. “Come in.” He steps aside and allows him to hobble awkwardly into the living room, his crutches dragging slightly along the carpet, the telltale sign of someone not quite accustomed to them yet.

“I hope it’s alright I came,” Spencer says shyly, almost apologetic. “I should have texted but I dropped my phone under the sofa and I can’t get down on the floor to retrieve it.” He blushes at his admission but gratefully accepts Aaron’s invitation to sit down.

Aaron smiles as warmly as he can manage, joining him on the couch. “You're fine, don't worry; it’s not like I’m up to much. I’m just happy to have some company.” He almost confesses that he was watching a children’s film before Spencer showed up, but decides that’s perhaps revealing just a little too much. “How have you been doing? I did message you, but I suppose your phone gathering dust under a couch explains the lack of a response.”

“You did?” Spencer’s eyes meet his and he looks utterly bewildered for some reason, seemingly surprised that Aaron would do such a thing. “Sorry, I— yes, that would be why, uh.” He looks down, clearly trying to gather himself as he plays with his fingers. “I’m fine, though. Obviously, the leg is a little sore, but. I’ll be back to work on Monday.”

“Good,” he replies, though he knows a gunshot wound will still be more than a little sore only two weeks after the initial injury. “How long do you have that?” He gestures vaguely to the brace around Spencer’s left leg.

“Not really sure,” Spencer says, looking sort of bemused by the contraption. “It’s pretty inconvenient, so I hope it isn’t too long.”

Aaron can’t help but smile at the small grin on Spencer’s face as he looks down at the brace. It looks… genuine. He doesn’t have the wherewithal to contemplate why that’s so endearingly surprising. “Are you looking forward to going back?” he asks, settling back into the couch cushions as he feels his muscles protest against his strained position.

Spencer seems to struggle for a response, unsure how to answer him. If he wasn’t so damn exhausted he might try and figure this slightly odd behaviour out, but the inherently complicated puzzle that is Spencer Reid feels like one too many right now. “I’m looking forward to not being quite so bored,” he eventually replies with a short, self-deprecating laugh. Aaron almost flinches at the sound, so foreign for Spencer’s gentle soul.

He’s fiddling with his crutches and the profiler in Aaron is screaming at him to decode what’s going on, but he forces himself to push it to the side. Spencer is a capable man. He’ll be fine. Aaron, on the other hand, needs to try and save his energy for his family.

“I can understand that,” Aaron says diplomatically, careful to not reply too emphatically one way or another. “The boredom’s crippling sometimes. Thankfully, the team coming round has been saving me from having to watch too many movies.”

Spencer seems to sort of shutter down as the words leave his mouth for reasons he doesn’t know or comprehend, but he does know that the resulting silence is awkward and he feels like he’s stuck his foot in his mouth by saying something totally innocuous. Has he had a falling out with someone or something? Is it something to do with not having many visitors in the hospital? He wouldn't blame him at all if that's still a sore spot.

“I’m going to have a coffee, I think,” he says, getting up carefully from the sofa and heading towards the kitchen despite the pain in his torso begging him to sit down. “Do you need anything?”

Spencer’s head snaps up, suddenly back and engaged. “Uh, no, I’m alright,” he says, and he sounds almost… choked up? “I should probably get going, anyway.”

“Oh, uh, okay,” Aaron says, a little surprised. His mind is too foggy with pain and grief to process the microexpressions and endlessly odd behaviours Spencer is exhibiting. He knows how much Spencer appreciates his company usually, so his leaving so soon is just wrong.

He doesn’t want him to go, he loves spending time with the younger man, and even if he is acting a little strangely, he’d much rather Spencer be with him than away from him, especially when the world seems so much more personally dangerous than it was before. At least if Spencer is close to him then he knows he’s safe, and that’s all he deserves, really. To be safe.

“Say hello to the team from me,” he says, fumbling with the door handle and awkwardly making his way out. He briefly turns back, “bye, Hotch,” before he’s closing the door behind him. Aaron can hear the plastic click of the crutches on the linoleum of the corridor as he hurries away from the apartment.

Before he can think much of it, though, he’s drawn to the couch, exhaustion overtaking his body. He’s asleep in seconds.

Eventually, he goes back to work and for a small amount of time, things seem like they’re going to be okay. Emily picks him up and takes him in, Penelope gives him homemade cookies — not that he didn’t already have an ample supply of the fruits of her kitchen waiting to be eaten in his fridge — and sure, he’s a little stressed and abrasive throughout the first case, but no-one holds it against him. It’s a little tricky when he doesn’t manage to stop Darin Call from shooting his father, but he’s calmed down by the time Emily walks him back to his apartment.

“He’s not alone,” she says as they stand in his small living room, talking about Call but looking rather pointedly in his direction. They both know what she means.

Penelope and Sam, the marshall looking after his family, help him see Jack again on his 4th birthday — granted, over one of her many computer screens — and he has to swallow down a sob at the sight of him swinging in the park, looking happy as ever. He tries to be furious at Haley for uprooting Jack again, causing them to move to a halfway house because of a few phone calls to her mother, but there’s nothing left in him. Anger at the inevitable takes energy he simply doesn’t have. It’s why he simply accepted it when the money for the counter-surveillance against Foyet ran out. Fighting seems pointless.

He does manage to get angry, though, when he finds out Spencer lied to him by telling him he was cleared to travel when he wasn’t. He’d put himself at risk for deep vein thrombosis or other complications, so he calls him out as soon as the initial debrief ends. He looks sort of relieved to be staying behind with Penelope, which is a little strange since he’s always so eager to be in the thick of the action, but he brushes it off and they get on with yet another case.

Of course, it’s significantly harder to deal with when the Bureau questions him as Unit Chief of his beloved team. He takes a step back for the sake of the team, and he’s glad he does, but things don’t feel quite so good, quite so positive. He’s suddenly following Morgan’s directions instead of giving them, no longer a leader, and it’s… humiliating.

Still, he trusts Morgan. He trusts the team in general, and they still solve cases, and they still gel together like a well-oiled machine. Things are okay. There’s still hope.

But then.

Then Karl Arnold sends him a message.

Then he agonises, fights, wrestles, swims against the current to try and save his family in time.

Then Haley dies.

🌧

Aaron thanks every god he doesn’t believe in that Jack is too little to really understand what’s happened. He knows Mommy isn’t around anymore, he knows something bad happened, that Daddy is sad, but beyond that, he has no real comprehension of the situation.

In the first days after Haley’s death, he spends a lot of time cuddled up in bed, holding Jack as close to him as he can, hugging close all he has left of his ex-wife, desperately gripping onto the one person he loves more than anything else in this world.

Once he’s cleared by the Bureau, he can at least breathe a little easier in knowing his job is safe; he can provide for his baby boy. What follows, however, is less pleasant than job security.

Watching his team cry at her funeral and seeing Haley’s family in pieces almost does him in. He’s not usually the kind of man to show emotion, but he can’t help swallowing a choked sob as he tells everyone gathered just how incredible Haley was, how lucky he and Jack and everyone who knew her were, and just how much he loved her.

“If Haley were with us today, she would ask us not to mourn her death but to celebrate her life. She would tell us… she would tell us to love our families unconditionally, and to hold them close because, in the end, they’re all that matter.”

As he reads his speech, he can’t help but think of his team. For years, they've been his second family — arguably, as much as it pains him to admit it, the family he prioritised the most — and now, they're all he and Jack have. All of them have reminded him of that over the past few days, between helping with funeral arrangements and making food for them both, constant check-ups and distractions and messages of love and support. Having his back in the moment that mattered most.

“Okay, you can go ahead,” he murmurs to Jack as he lifts him up onto his hip, the last two standing at her coffin. He watches as his son places his white rose on his mother’s coffin before following suit, stomach constricting with grief as he does so. “Blow Mommy a kiss.”

And he walks, his son clutched desperately in his arms, towards the wake.

(The team leaves the funeral, called to a case that — despite everything that’s happened — he can’t help but long to be a part of even if he knows he’d be no use right now, lost in the haze of grief and the massive life change that is suddenly being a single parent, the sole carer for his son.

He uses the time off to pack Jack’s things and move them into his own flat, trying as hard as he can to keep life as normal as possible for a little boy who just lost his mom. Actually having time to be with Jack feels like the only possible good thing to come out of this situation, and he tries to be present in the moment as much as humanly possible, grateful for every second he spends chattering away with him about the dramas and dilemmas of being four-years-old, or playing dinosaurs with him, or stroking his hair while he falls asleep.

Strauss visits, says hello to Jack, and then offers him early retirement. With a heavy heart, he promises he’ll think about it.

Jessica offers to stay with Jack while he’s away. He calls Strauss, and he declines.)

Almost as soon as the team gets back from their case in Tennessee, Spencer shows up again. This time he’s only leaning heavily on a cane instead of awkwardly wrestling against two crutches, and his brace is gone.

“Hi,” he breathes, smiling hesitantly at Hotch. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sorry to show up unannounced again. This time I don’t have a dusty phone to use as an excuse, I just wanted to come as soon as possible and see how you and Jack were doing.”

“It’s fine, Spencer, don’t worry,” he says reassuringly, opening the door wide enough to allow him into the sitting room. Truthfully, he’s glad he’s turned up. Spencer’s a soothing presence; innocent, almost, in his openness and honesty, how trusting he is of everyone around him despite how hurt he’s been in the past. And while the others always scoff and groan at his academic and overly factual rambles, he’s rather fond of them.

“I don’t know if you heard,” he says as he takes a seat on Aaron’s sofa again, “but we solved the case.” His leg is clearly bothering him still: he’s subconsciously rubbing it through the fabric of his trousers and his facial expressions are showing subtle indicators of pain.

“I never doubted it,” Aaron says, face soft and open, happy to have Spencer here. He joins him on the couch. “How is it, working cases with the injury?” He wonders whether asking about work will have the same response as before, but he seems slightly calmer this time around. He hadn’t noticed anything amiss when he’d gone back, though he had, of course, been a little preoccupied; there's plenty he could have missed.

Spencer considers for a moment, looking marginally more subdued than the last time he’d sat on his sofa. “It’s… not easy, but I’m sort of used to it now. I don’t mind sitting out the fieldwork too much; besides, I get to talk to Penelope more.” He looks like he’s not saying something, averting his eyes as he talks but Aaron doesn’t push. He doesn’t want Spencer to bolt, but he makes a mental note to keep an eye on him when he eventually gets back to work again. “I heard through the grapevine that Strauss offered you retirement.”

He looks up at Aaron with wide, hesitant eyes and for a moment, his heart clenches tightly, a rush of some emotion he can’t quite place flooding his chest and squeezing the breath out of him. It’s only for a second: the moment’s over before he can actually process it, but it leaves him floundering for a response.

“I— ah, yes. She did,” he affirms, nodding his head, “but I declined.”

“You did?” Spencer asks, suddenly looking far brighter and another flash of that feeling flares in his chest.

As such, he can’t help the fond, private smile that spreads across his face. “I did.”

Spencer looks like he’s about to say something else but he’s interrupted by Jack dashing into the room, flying his toy plane around the room. As soon as he spots Spencer on the sofa, he dashes over, eager to show off his toy.

“Wow, that’s amazing, buddy,” Spencer says, looking as interested in a wooden replica of an aeroplane as an extremely well-educated adult possibly could. That’s probably because, Aaron thinks with a smile, he actually is.

Before Aaron knows it, he’s watching him be dragged towards his son’s new bedroom to inspect all his other toys. Jack has always loved Spencer and Spencer has always loved Jack, sharing a bond over an interest in all things scientific and mechanical, albeit at vastly different levels.

He hadn’t noticed how dull Spencer’s been looking until he brightens so considerably as soon as Jack is engaging with him, and his brows furrow. Trusting Jack to keep Spencer well entertained for the next few minutes, he fills a glass with water and leans against the counter of the kitchen, sipping it quietly as he thinks it over.

Now that he considers it properly, Spencer has seemed rather downcast and far quieter than usual recently. Not that he’d had the energy to address it, or even really clock it, the last time Spencer had turned up at his apartment, but his weird, abrupt departure was clearly triggered by discussion of the team. He starts to get some food out for lunch as he resolves to keep a much closer eye on things when he gets back to work.

He only thinks it over for a few more minutes before Spencer emerges into the kitchen, one hand clutching his cane and another gently holding Jack’s. He’s still bombarding him with questions about planes and trains and cars, but Spencer fields them expertly, managing to actually get an answer in before another question takes its place, a skill Aaron has yet to master. His chest clenches for the third time in the small period Spencer’s been in his flat as he watches the two together.

“Would you like to stay for lunch?” he offers, taking in Spencer’s small frame and dark eye bags; he can’t help the protective desire to feed him and make sure he’s happy and healthy.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Spencer says, looking pleased with the offer, mouth twisting into a little smile. Aaron probably shouldn’t feel quite so delighted at his acceptance, but he brushes it aside and turns to face his son, who is watching them curiously.

“Hey Jack,” he says, crouching down to face him, “how about we get you some lunch, yeah? You can continue asking Spencer some questions while we eat. How does that sound?”

Watching Jack’s face light up as he nods happily and looking up to see Spencer’s small smile still firmly pasted on his face makes him feel, for the first time since Haley died, like there’s a future for him. A good one.

Chapter Three

If this chapter brought anything up for you, hotlines are in the endnotes of the AO3 version of this fic. Bigger countries are listed and a link is included if you live somewhere else in the world. I love you all, see you next Saturday! <3

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @marvel-ous-m @oliverbrnch @sbeno22 @aaron-hotchner187 (taglist form)

[its-sixxers]

A Night to Remember, I

A night drinking at the New Gnisis Cornerclub leaves Tandreth awaking somewhere far away, raising questions not only about his newfound predicament, but his feelings toward his traveling companion.

(Writing prompt given by @radbeetle and @ineed-to-sleep, based on the quest of the same name. Gonna be a multi parter as I get a chance to write. :3)

Tandreth woke to the sound of rushing water. 

It was enough to get his eyes to snap open. There was no rushing water in Windhelm, and Windhelm was where he last remembered being conscious. Opening his eyes too quickly fast proved to be a mistake, however, for the sun was in precisely the right position in the sky to nearly blind him. 

“Fetcher.” he swore, throwing his arm over his eyes and feeling a headache fast approaching. He was hungover - but he wasn’t bound. That was good. He’d woken up worse from nights of heavy drinking (so much worse he didn’t want to remember). The next time he opened his eyes he barely cracked them open, squinting out at the world around him.

To his disbelief, he was in Markarth. 

Markarth was across Skyrim from Windhelm.

Tandreth dragged himself upright, his body sore from sleeping on stone. He’d passed out in one of Markarth’s many alleyways, and by some miracle hadn’t been robbed or worse. A small waterfall cascaded down the rocks next to him, spraying mist onto his face now that he sat upright.

What had happened?

The last thing he could recall was drinking in the New Gnisis Cornerclub - he was short on coin, so when a stranger offered an enchanted staff as the wager to a friendly drinking contest he was all too happy to oblige. The man wanted no wager from Tandreth besides Idunn’s participation, and -

“Idunn.” Tandreth choked out, scrambling to his feet. Idunn was nowhere to be seen, and dread pooled in his gut - doing no favors for his nausea. The world moved beneath him like the deck of a ship in stormy seas, and he nearly stumbled off the stone path and down the cliff beside him. Markarth was a bad place to be in any state of inebriation, and Tandreth was beginning to wonder if he wasn’t still a little bit drunk.

He stumbled down the path, unsure of where to even go - he made it six steps before he was forced to bend over and vomit, aiming for a hardy patch of bush next to the path.

“Ugh.” Came a female voice from nearby, and after wiping his mouth Tandreth looked up to see a young priestess of Dibella emptying a pot of dirty water over the path’s edge. When her eyes settled on his face an expression of sudden nervousness crossed over her features, and she started to hurry back up the steps to the temple.

She’d recognized him. “Wait!” Tandreth shouted after the priestess, stumbling after her in a manner that was far too graceless for his liking. Even so, he was still able to climb the steps faster than she, and managed to catch up to her at the temple door.

The priestess whirled around with the vase raised, clearly ready to smash it into his head if the need arose. “Don’t! You didn’t get in last night, and you won’t get in today.”

“Last night?” Tandreth slurred in confusion. While he’d made use of the services of Dibella’s acolytes more than once, for the first time he’d found himself at a point in his life where he didn’t desire them. But if he’d drunkenly lost track of the Dragonborn, or worse, driven her away…

“Divines, you’re still drunk, aren’t you?” The priestess said, her nose wrinkling in a mix of displeasure and pity. “Yes. Last night. You were chasing a crying woman - drunk as you were - and she sought sanctuary from us. You didn’t like that.”

“Idunn.” he breathed. “Was she tall - hair like fire, cow-eyed, great big warhammer?”

The priestess looked like she regretted saying anything. “I’ll call the guard. She has sanctuary.”

“That’s fine.” Tandreth replied, shoulders sagging. “Listen, if it’s her - tell her I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did, but…” She was crying. Running from him. He’d no idea what he’d done, but the consequences made him feel even sicker to his stomach. At least he knew where she was - at least the hundred worst case scenarios that ran through his mind on waking proved to be untrue.

“Oh.” The priestess lowered her jug. While she still looked at him with suspicion, much of the venom faded from her gaze. “I’ll tell her if she asks, but it’s best you-”

Suddenly the door to the temple flew open, and a large red-headed woman nearly ran over the priestess in her haste to escape. An older priestess followed the woman, who’d just shouted “TANDRETH?” loud enough to make him want to cover his ears.

Idunn.

“I’m here!” he shouted back, trying to hide his smile at seeing how perplexed both of the priestesses were. 

Idunn spun around to face him, relief clear on her features. It was contagious, prompting the same in him. She didn’t hate him, whatever had passed by. The motion made her wince, and she placed a hand to her temple.

“You’re hungover too, then.” Tandreth observed, watching her approach him with a greater degree of clumsiness than usual.

“I don’t care about that.” she replied. “How in Oblivion did we get to Markarth? What day is it?”

“The fifth of Second Seed, if you’d only listen.” The older priestess scolded, catching her breath. “Dibella’s grace, you two are a handful. Calm yourself, Daphne - last night was emotion run high by drink. This woman has no need of our protection.”

“I can see that.” The young priestess - Daphne - huffed. 

The fifth of Second Seed. It was the night of the fourth when they were drinking in Windhelm. Which meant either a night had passed - or a year.

“What year?” Tandreth added, causing the older priestess’ eyes to widen.

“202, of the Fourth Era.” she answered neatly. “You didn’t bump your head, did you, dear?”

Only a night. They’d crossed Skyrim in only a night. It was much better than a year passing, but it suggested powerful magic on someone’s part. Selfishly, he had a more important question to ask. “What did I do last night?” He wasn’t quite certain if he wanted to hear the answer - but the older priestess’ remark had him hopeful it wasn’t anything terrible.

“You said my horse had a stupid name.” Idunn replied, flushing at the confession. “I suppose I was drunk enough to try and defend her honor, and we both know you can’t let a jape lie.”

Tandreth had to give his drunk self some credit, for he wasn’t wrong. Cabbage was a stupid name for a horse - but endearingly so. He guessed he didn’t phrase it quite so gracefully the night previous. “Oh. Well, my apologies, madam.” With a great and theatrical bow, he flourished his hand and held it aloft to her. 

With a grumble, she placed her hand in his, and in an over the top display of chivalry he kissed her fingers like he would a king’s. To Tandreth’s surprise, Idunn had a ring worthy of one on her finger.

Her ring finger.

The thing was gold and diamond, and Tandreth knew his valuables well enough to know it was genuine at a glance. Idunn realized it was there the moment he did, and snatched her hand back to investigate as he snapped upright.

“You mentioned something about being newlywed.” The older priestess piped up, while Daphne took her chance to slip into the temple and escape the nonsense.

Immediately Tandreth looked down at his own hands - and found his fingers bare. Somehow that was less encouraging than finding a matching ring. Somehow, between Windhelm and Markarth, Idunn had gotten married. 

She didn’t seem as bothered about it as he expected, staring down at the magnificent creation on her finger. The diamond caught the light in such a way that it was reflected in a rainbow within, the gold pale like winter sunlight. “It’s beautiful. Too beautiful for me.” she murmured. “Especially drunk me. Who do you think gave it?”

“Let me think.” Tandreth replied. It was difficult, with the ringing in his head. The last thing he could remember was a drinking contest with a man who wanted only Idunn’s participation as a wager.

Fury ignited within him, and it must have shown on his face for Idunn’s dazed smile faded immediately. “What?”

“Sam Guevenne.” Tandreth answered. “I’ll kill him - he must have wanted us inebriated, maybe he wanted me dead. My head feels like it. He wanted you involved. It must have been him.”

Idunn scrunched her face up with the effort of trying to dredge through her own memory, but soon understanding dawned on her face. Her mouth settled into a stony line of grim resignation. “We have to find him.”

“How?” he asked in exasperation. “I can’t remember a thing.”

The older priestess was listening to the two of them with growing concern. “Well, you did an awful lot of talking about Rorikstead.” She pointed at Tandreth. “Something about you stealing a goat. She wasn’t happy about it.”

Idunn levelled a look his way that suggested she still wasn’t happy about it, now that she was reminded.

“Rorikstead’s days away.” Tandreth sighed - his nervousness growing knowing that they’d made stops on their nightlong journey across Skyrim. That meant that whoever had put them in their predicament had been with them the entire time - and that retracing their tracks was the best idea.

“Then it’s a good thing it’s early.” Idunn replied, shifting her pack on her shoulders. “Thank you, priestess. We have somewhere to start.”

The priestess bowed her head. “You were quite polite, given the circumstances. I’m glad to help. Him, not so much. Dibella’s grace upon you.”

Tandreth’s eyes settled on the ring on Idunn’s finger. She’d said it was too beautiful for her. 

He didn’t think it was beautiful enough.

[devotionthatcorrupts]

incredibly weird ask but do you have any sam and jess weed headcanons

I loaded a bowl to answer this and then, predictably, did a stoned move and clicked on my notes without drafting what I had written. 

1) The first time Sam smokes he’s fifteen. John’s on a hunt and they’re living out of an abandoned cabin they found a few years back and use whenever they’re on a job in that area. Dean shakes him awake and tells him to grab shoes. It’s late, the full moon is bright enough that they don’t bring flashlights just follow the dirt path down a few miles to the lake. They sprawl out by the shoreline and Dean grabs a crushed joint from his jacket pocket and flicks it into the air before snatching it between his fingers. Sam wrinkles his nose as he tells him that a girl he had hooked up with a few cities back had offered it to him and he had been saving it for a night like this. “I don’t want you to embarrass yourself hacking your lungs up the first time a pretty girl asks you to shotgun her.” Dean smirks, takes a confident inhale and makes the smoke blow out pretty in the blue night. Sam hates the smell right away, but he likes the way the smoke looks circling around Dean’s smile. He takes a few more inhales before passing it to Sam. He pinches it between his fingers for a few moments, he’s never smoked anything stronger then the couple cigarettes he’s stolen out of the dented packs he finds at the bottom of Dean’s hunting bag on particularly bad jobs. Dean, uncharacteristically doesn’t rib him, just hums in contentment listening to the cicadas and kicking partially submerged stones further into the lake. 

It tastes worse than it smells, the smoke burns the back of his throat and he drops the joint as he’s sent barreling forward with his cough. He’s on his hands and knees hacking, his eyes burn and his chest hurts. Dean is laughing so loudly that it makes a pair of birds dart out of the tree next to them. Sam glares up but suddenly the world is tilted at a new angle. The moon is so big and he thinks that if he wanted to, he could look at it forever. His body feels liquid, he leans back and lets his head thump against the earth. Dean lays down next to him and stretches out an arm for Sam to use as a pillow. “Not bad right?” his voice is fond. Sam always feels like he’s caged into his head but tonight everything around him seems so solid and for once his mind feels empty. It’s nice, he didn’t think it would be nice. He wonders how long they’ll stay out here, if they’ll fall asleep like this. They hadn’t grabbed anything for it but it feels like the earth is hugging him in a way that he won’t be able to get up from. “I think the joint is gone.” Sam says after what feels like an eternity. “Oh for sure idiot, you kicked it into the fucking lake.” 

2) Jess is incredible at rolling and loves watching Sam be absolutely terrible about it. Sam takes it very personally, but he’s spent his whole life being taken care of by people so there’s something in him that glows when Jess rolls one up especially for him or loads the bowl before passing it his way. He won’t ever admit it, but he stops offering to learn after the first few times. 

3) Jess lives in off campus housing and has a few plants of her own. She doesn’t grow enough to be a proper dealer, but it’s the time of side income she uses whenever she needs a little extra money. Sam is very impressed by this and does research on plant care so he help her harvest them because he finds the process fascinating and he loves being able to help her. They name all of the plants and Sam is very endearingly excited about being able to smoke “something that they grew together” which makes Jess call him a dork but also is one of those moments that makes her want them to last. 

4) Sam and Jess have 100% gone to class stoned together and spent the whole time trying to avoid making eye contact and laughing into their hands while the whole class suffers through their abysmal eight am shenanigans. The moment it’s over they raid the campus store and binge out on munchies while stretched out on the blanket jess keeps in the back of her car and cuddle until they both fall into a lazy, afternoon nap. They are frequently featured in many people’s campus life snap stories as they are universally annoying, but endearing. 

5) The first time they shotgun a kiss Sam thinks about Dean and has to pull away because it brings back memories that he hasn’t thought about in years and it’s the first night that he opens up a little about the brother that Jess doesn’t have a name for and the person that Sam that Jess rarely gets to see. They don’t smoke for a long time after that. 

[softbiker]

Steve Rogers Oneshot

Warnings: language, attempted sexual assault and harassment, mentions of past sexual assault and harassment - do not read if these situations are triggering for you.

Word count: 6.1k - am I capable of writing anything short anymore???

A/N: HI I’M FINALLY BACK AND POSTING SOMETHING FOR THE FIRST TIME IN ALMOST 3 MONTHS WOW. This story continues the Agent 14 series (so definitely check that out in my masterlist if you’re not familiar!) and...it’s something I’ve had on my mind for a while. I just needed to get it out. I hope that you like it and please share what you think! Feedback is appreciated!

When her phone starts buzzing, she’s mid-swing at the faded sandbag hanging from the ceiling. 

She’s glad to have the place to herself - the dusty air and stale silence more of a comfort. A bead of sweat slides down her temple, itching past her ear, and her finger scratches at the spot absently, coming away salty wet. There’s sweat slicking her scalp, too; she feels it under the tight twist of her braids, heat trapped beneath the strands. Her dirty little basement gym - faded posters lining the walls, advertising fights long finished, flickering bulbs hanging from the ceiling, stained linoleum - is quiet in the mornings. A kind of quiet that is all too rare in the city, in her life. 

Sure, it was nice of Sam to continue inviting her on their morning runs - she has every intention of taking him up on his offer, when she finally gets off the opening shift at work. She sees his 4 a.m. offers a couple times a week, shooting back a quick response that she’s already up, heading in to open the cafe. He finds it all so funny; calls her “Agent Barista”, and endearingly teases her about her rigorous coffee training at the SHIELD Academy. 

Okay but real talk, 14 - what’s your top secret mission down at Starbucks? Pinged her phone as she brushed her teeth and concealed undereye circles with strategic swipes of makeup. 

Key word in your question is “top secret”, Wilson. As in, tell you but I’d have to kill you. You know the drill. 

Another ping. Yeah, yeah. Y’all agents talk a good game, but I know for a fact 41 can be bought with a box of See’s candies. Just gotta figure out your weakness. 

Good luck. 

No luck needed. I’ll bring a couple sweaty super soldiers your way around 8:30, you’re welcome. 

With a wrapped hand, she flicks one swinging braid back over her shoulder, turning to her duffel bag for her phone. It’s buried under a spare pair of socks and a sports bra she forgot to wash, still buzzing as she grasps it and flips the screen upwards in her hand. 

Unknown caller. 

She’d bet every cent to her name that she could guess who was on the other end of the line. Tongue pressed against her teeth, she dismisses the call and drops her phone back in her bag. Fury can wait. 

Turning back to the sandbag, she sucks a quick breath through her nose, curling power in her lean shoulders, and then unleashes a furious combination of jabs and kicks on the beaten plastic. Grunts and harsh pants slip past her lips, fists slinging blow after punishing blow, her weight held bouncing on the balls of her feet. The sandbag is a stoic opponent, taking her fists and feet without so much as a groan of protest, swinging back only a few inches on the chain even as she whips around high for a roundhouse kick. Growling, she rocks her weight back on her heels, before leaping forward off one leg to drive her knee into the bag with bruising force. More to herself than the bag, she thinks, glancing down at the tender skin on her bare knee, stinging from the impact. She leans an elbow against the bag and drops her head, swiping at the baby hairs along her forehead. 

The phone buzzes again, insistent and muffled, and she lets her head drop back with a heavy sigh, eyes closed. 

“Shut up,” she mutters, eyes narrowing in a nasty glare at the offending noise. 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

She whirls at the sound, fists raised - she hadn’t even heard him enter. 

Steve has the good grace to look sheepish as he approaches from a shadowed staircase in the corner of the room, his hands raised in surrender. Not many people have had the sheer dumb luck - and misfortune - of sneaking up on her, and the part of her brain not whiplashed by adrenaline grudgingly admires him for it. 

“Morning, Captain,” 14 sighs, her hands falling to her hips, rolling her neck against the tension in her shoulders. 

“Morning,” he smiles. He’s trimmed back the beard, she notices, closer to the sharp line of his jaw. Dust motes swirl around his golden head like fairy dust as he passes through the puddles of light cast from the weak overhead bulbs. It strikes her then, the unassuming slope of his shoulders, a little shuffle in his gait, not quite lifting his feet from the ground. Not a strut, no stalking or preening like the SHIELD boys she came up at the Academy with, eager to throw their weight around. Somehow, despite his height, he manages to duck his head, to look up at her under a fringe of enviable dark lashes. Disarming and soft, a wayward blond strand falling over his forehead, he tucks his hands into his pockets, standing just a few feet away from her. He nods at the hanging sandbag behind her. 

“Gave that thing quite a beating,” he says, tilting a dark eyebrow. She shrugs one shoulder. 

“Looked at me funny,” she quips back, still catching her breath from the last bout. Her tongue swipes at a drop of sweat on her upper lip. Sniffing, she turns her gaze down to the wrapping on her hands. “I don’t recall inviting you, Rogers - I thought this was a private session.” 

“Sorry for intruding,” he says, scrunching his nose and swiping at the errant lock of hair hanging before his eyes. With a jerk of his chin, he gestures towards her gym bag, where her phone has gone blessedly silent. “Fury had a feeling you would, um, how does Sam say it…’shady button’ him?” 

She snorts in spite of herself, just managing to slap a hand over her mouth before her laugh becomes obnoxious. Even in the dim light of the fluorescents, she can see the high flush creeping up those scruffy cheeks. Steve rubs the back of his neck, a familiar embarrassment curling in his belly; it’s a joke the team plays sometimes, and he gets it, he really does. Gotta laugh at your CO sometimes - it brings the team together; so he drops little phrases here and there, incongruous slang with his pleated slacks and old-fashioned manners. Even things that Sam says - the word “fam”, or adding “ass” as a suffix to virtually any word - from Steve’s mouth, they’re suddenly enough to have the team rolling with laughter, Tony red-faced, Wanda close to tears. The tips of his ears burn, and he always acts put out, lowers his stern father brows, but if there’s one thing he learned as a Brooklyn-born punk, it’s how to take his punches.

“Oh, I’m sorry - I’m sorry,” 14 says, hand still half-covering the silly grin tugging at her mouth. “It just sounded so funny coming from you. It was like-”

“Kinda like if your dad were saying it?” Steve purses his lips, tilts his head to the side.

“Oh god…yes, that’s exactly it.” It ignites a fresh burst of giggles, though she scrunches her nose and shakes her head at the image. “Uh, just do us both a favor and don’t say that again.” 

“I don’t think you can restrict Captain America’s freedom of speech.” He lifts his eyebrows, playful, considering. The slope of his nose casts a long shadow across his cheek, skin like Irish cream. She rolls her eyes, turning away to her duffel bag, using her teeth to tug at the wrappings on her hands. 

“So. You’re Nick’s new personal assistant or something?” Dropping to the bench, she rummages through her gym bag and takes a long gulp from her water bottle. She swipes at her phone screen - 3 missed calls now. 

Steve shrugs. 

“I volunteered,” he says simply, large knuckles still visible where they stay curled in his pockets. “Thought…hoped I might have better luck.”

She licks her lower lip, chasing a coveted drop of water. It’s not as though she’s tired of the job - it varies so much, from one day to the next, that it makes boredom impossible. No, it’s not the job, she’s just…tired. Of what, or why, she can’t really say. Steve is patient. He doesn’t say anymore, just waits, standing a few feet away and shifting his weight from one leg to the other, his soft eyes watchful. Her fingers go to her shoulders, massaging the oncoming ache in her muscles. 

“What’s the mission?” 

  **********                                                                                      

“You need some help there, punk?” Bucky leans a hip against the doorframe, arms crossed over his beloved NASA hoodie, an amused twitch tugging at the corner of his mouth. Across the room, Steve frowns at him in the mirror. 

“Never really got the hang of these damned things,” Steve huffs, fingers losing the knot on his bowtie and sighing again as the cloth falls loose from the crisp collar of his shirt. Hands falling to his narrow hips, he turns to Bucky, wearing a look of defeat rarely seen on Steve Rogers. 

Wordlessly, Bucky shuffles across the carpet and begins to knot the offending fabric, fingers of metal and flesh looping one strand over the other and back again. Chin lifted, brows furrowed, a marble bust of martyrdom, Steve is ever stoic while he works. 

“Thought you were gonna shave for this,” Bucky comments, his voice quiet, not lifting his eyes from the tie. Steve makes a dissenting noise from his throat. 

“Yeah, well, the beard makes it easier to keep a low profile,” he says, a hand reaching up to rub his whiskers absentmindedly. “And besides, I’m sort of attached to it now.” 

Bucky chuckles, a smile dimpling his own scruffy cheeks. 

“Know what you mean - God, but nobody looked like this when we were kids, ya know?” He steps back, finished with the tie, and gives Steve an appraising nod, pursing his lips. “Not too bad, Rogers, not too bad.” 

Raising a dubious brow, Steve turns back to the mirror, tugging at the sleeves and adjusting his shoulders in the tux. Strictly white tie - totally out of his element, but sometimes duty comes with a dress code. He wedges a thick finger between the starched white collar and his own tender skin. 

“In this get up?” Steve shakes his head. “Never did get used to wearing a monkey suit.” 

Tongue in his cheek, Bucky grins. 

“Have you seen yourself in your uniform?” 

Steve flings a fist back behind him, grinning triumphantly when his hit lands in Bucky’s gut; a metal fist swings in retaliation, but Steve manages to sidestep, his hands raised in quick surrender. 

“Hey, not too rough,” he says, tamping down a mischievous smile. “Tony will have my head if I ruin another one of these.” 

“Tony could buy you one for every day of the week,” Bucky scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

A knock on the doorframe makes them both turn. 

It’s been years now, since he met Natasha - wind whipping up familiar curls on the deck of the helicarrier, a watchful smile, wolves’ teeth hidden under a lamb-soft face. Even later, when he learned to trust her, he always found himself surprised at her startling contrasts, the ease with which she managed to be two things at once; ally and spy, friend then enemy then family. In truth, she was testing him. They both knew. Years of probing, disguised as teasing and sarcasm and near-insubordination - assessing his strength, his weakness, the man behind the shield. And after all this time, it was his steadiness at each of her own turns that pacified her, let her learn to lean on him in return. 

She smiles in the doorway now, her bright hair swept sleek behind her ears, revealing diamond teardrop earrings, probably on loan from Tony’s collection. The tips of her hair just brush her pale, bare shoulders, revealed by the strapless neckline of her jumpsuit. Black was always her signature color - never dull, though, because with Nat black is a spectrum, a rainbow refracted through her prism: intimidating, alluring, powerful, subtle. 

“You clean up good, Rogers,” she smirks, her hands tucked into her pockets as she gives him a look of approval. “Keeping the beard, though?” 

Steve’s hand idly brushes against his trimmed whiskers.

“It’s grown on me,” he admits. “And besides, I’ve got too much of a baby face without it.” 

“Some girls like that.” 

“Some guys like that,” Bucky adds, waggling his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, well,” Steve rubs the back of his neck, willing down the flush that crept up at his friends’ praise. “I’m not supposed to be the bait tonight.” 

“No, I guess that’s my job.” Another voice appears behind Nat, her head peaking around Nat’s shoulder as she steps forward to share the space in the doorway. 

Unbidden, Steve feels his mouth fall open. He always thought she was beautiful, from the first time he saw her, no makeup and the sleeves of her sweater splashed with coffee and mocha sauce; this morning, in the dusty half-light of the basement gym, sweat gleaming on her forehead and arms. But he wasn’t prepared to see her like this, glowing in his doorway, draped in a pink silk slip that exposed one of her thighs. She’d let her hair loose from it’s tight braids, her makeup bringing a dewy sheen to her cheeks - she looked…fresh, blooming like a rose. A clean swipe of red across her lips, almost an afterthought, as if she couldn’t be bothered to make more effort than that. Steve swipes his suddenly sweaty palms against his thighs and clears his throat. 

“Um, wow,” he says, wincing at his own voice, which nearly gave an embarrassingly pubescent crack. “I mean, you…uh, you look great.”

“Better than great,” Bucky pipes up, the amused tilt to his mouth the only hint that he enjoys Steve’s embarrassment. “She looks beautiful.” 

Nat nods in agreement. 

“The dress is perfect for you - is it one of Stark’s?” she asks. 14 shakes her head, modestly gesturing to the gown with her hand. 

“I’ve had it for a little while actually, I just couldn’t pass it up,” she sighs. “Just haven’t had the chance to wear it.” 

“Well, we’re finally gonna put some miles on it,” Natasha smiles, her eyes cutting to Steve, who has clamped his jaw shut to prevent himself from saying more. “We all ready? Happy’s pulling the car around.” 

14 nods, a shy smile tilting her mouth as she spares a glance at Steve before moving to follow Nat down the hall. She turns, and he sees that the cut of her dress falls low against the small of her back - almost low enough to glimpse the sweet dimples at the base of her spine. When they’re out of the doorway, he feels Bucky’s eyes on him - he’s perched on the edge of the bed, chewing his lip, one eyebrow lifted in an all-knowing look. He opens his mouth to speak but Steve lifts a hand. 

“Don’t,” Steve cuts him off. “I know what you’re gonna say Buck, but just- don’t.”

Bucky lifts his hands in surrender, standing from the bed and walking over to where Steve still stands in the middle of his room. 

“Fine, I won’t say a damn word,” Bucky sighs, shuffling across the thick carpet. He slaps his friend on the shoulder, gripping Steve with a firm hand. “Except you better move your ass instead of standing there like a dud - didn’t I tell you not to keep a lady waiting, Rogers?” 

 **********                                                                                         

Sam had whistled playfully as she glided out of the elevator on Steve’s arm, his eyebrows lifting halfway up his forehead. 

“Damn, girl - almost didn’t recognize you without your apron,” he winked, his gap-toothed grin charming as ever. 

“Didn’t match my shoes,” she winked back, flicking her hair over her shoulder. It sent a wave of her perfume drifting upwards; something bright and sweet, neroli, he thought, or orange blossom - maybe a hint of coconut. He had licked his lips without thinking; he’d like to smell it again, just to be sure. 

Here, in this stuffy ballroom across town, with eager officials and bourgeois brats trying to rub elbows with Captain America, he finds the smell much less appealing. Sweat and ambition, excess and greed, all covered in layers of atelier cologne (eau de aristocratie) and - well, Bucky heard enough of his socialist soapbox speeches back in the day, and his views certainly haven’t changed much. 

Still, he makes polite small talk with his admirers, rubs elbows, accepts drinks, all the while keeping one eye on the far corner of the room. It’s quiet, secluded, an overstuffed chaise with a soft cover tucked away from the buzz of the main dance floor. She’s perched there, ankles coquettishly crossed, the side slit of her dress revealing one leg and her glittering open-toed shoes; she leans on one arm, tilting her head towards the target, charming smile drawing up her lips as she hangs on his every word. Or pretends to, anyway. The target seems not to know the difference: Robbie Sinclair, a middle-aged man with the tanned smile of a Kennedy, salt and pepper hair slicked back from his face with a boyish cowlick escaping near the front, grins confidently as he talks to her. Steve watches him preen and puff his chest, spreading his legs to take up far more space than he needs. He stretches one arm along the back of the couch, leaning closer than appropriate, but she doesn’t move away. 

He doesn’t like this, any of it. To be fair, he’d never been a big fan of the espionage facet of his job; much to Nat’s chagrin, subtlety and subterfuge were not Steve’s strong suits. If he had his way, they’d come in swinging and arrest this creep (and his insider-trading Wall Street buddies, too). But shooting from the hip wouldn’t work here, not when they still needed hard evidence on this guy, something more substantial than rumors - heavy as those rumors might be, words like “human trafficking” and “slavery” coming up in his SHIELD files. He understood the necessity, and so did 14. 

Still, bringing her here and dangling her like a worm on a hook, hoping this asshole would take the bait…his stomach churned, whiskey bubbling unpleasantly at the thought. Steve angles his body around a chatty senator, trying to maintain his view on the corner. Sinclair looks about ready to take a bite, his head bent close to 14’s, sly smirk plastered on his face as he whispers something in her ear. Did her fist tighten around her glass? He can’t quite tell from this distance; he knows his own fingers are white-knuckled on his third whiskey. Or was it the fourth? 

In a blink, a stumble, a minute trapped in choked small talk with Miss New York (during which he wondered if her real teeth were filed down like a shark’s underneath that crown-winning smile like Sam told him), he’s lost her. 

A snowy static of panic whites out his brain, and his heart picks up against his ribcage as he all but shoves the beauty queen out of his way, his vision tunneling on the now-empty chaise in the corner. Where did she go? Where would she go? Barely managing subtlety know, he ducks his head, speaking to the comm device in his ear. 

“Natasha. Do you have eyes on them?” 

“…no, I was doing a sweep of the terrace outside,” she answers a moment later. “Did you lose them?”

Steve turns a circle where he stands, sharp eyes scanning each face and failing to find the one he wants to see. 

“They’re gone, I’ve lost visual.” He tries to keep his voice down, his tone tight and clipped. Through a break in the crowd, he thinks he catches a glimpse of her dress, but when he looks again it’s the wrong color, the wrong dress, the wrong woman-

“Alright, I’m heading back inside - I’ll go up the stairs to the next floor, see if they went up that way.” 

“Okay, I’ll take this floor,” Steve says, already making a beeline for the open doors of the ballroom, his tight-laced dress shoes clicking a solitary echo in the cavernous hallway just outside. Past the doors, and the gazes of nosy party-goers, he doubles his pace - the stiff starched tux protesting against the movement. 

They’re not tucked into the alcoves along this hallway, and he deliberates a moment where the hall forks in opposite directions, before darting to the left and continuing his clipped jog. In a small part of his brain, he knows he shouldn’t be this concerned about her. 14 was an agent - a highly trained, highly skilled agent; he’d worked with her enough by now to know firsthand how well she could handle herself. But the other part of him couldn’t shake the way Sinclair had looked at her - the way every man in the room had looked at her when she walked in, circling and waiting for their chance to close in. Not to mention the less-than-sterling reputation of Robbie Sinclair, who, aside from the trafficking conspiracy that put SHIELD on his scent, had a handful of secretaries threaten him with harassment suits, before they were quietly paid to keep their mouths shut. 

He comes to a dead end, a dancing nymph statue (far too baroque for his taste) mocking him with her tambourine against her hip. Doubling back, he curses under his breath and runs through the building schematics in his head, wondering where they could have slipped away to so quickly. 

“Natasha? Any luck?” 

“Negative. You?”

“No.” Steve clenches his fists and tries to force his heart back down from where it’s climbed up into his throat. His teeth grind together, jaw locked tight, holding in a frustrated growl. Unprompted, a wave of worst-case scenarios floods his mind - 14 dragged away by thugs, knocked unconscious, bleeding and gagged, unable to call for help. She’s a good agent. A good soldier. She can handle this. Try as he might to force them away, the tide of panic swells over and over inside him, the voice of his intuition telling him something must have gone wrong-

Behind him, an elevator dings. 

Steve turns to see the ancient metalwork door rattle open, Agent 14 stumbling out half a moment later. 

He blinks. She’s lost her shoes - no, she’s carrying them, the straps dangling from one hand. The side slit of her dress looks higher, and he notices the frayed edges along the top where the fabric has ripped. Her lipstick is smudged, her hair mussed, and she takes labored, panting breaths as she leans against the wall. 

It takes him a while to understand what he’s looking at. As his panic starts to ebb, something different, something wounded and green threatens to perch in its place, at the sight of her so disheveled, with swollen lips and rumpled clothes. He says nothing; he has nothing to say, shocked as he is by the bitter taste of his own thoughts, wondering if a rendezvous with Sinclair was worth the information she might have gained. 

It’s not until she starts sniffling that he notices the tears running down her cheeks.

The realization stops him cold, strangles the dark seed of doubt just starting to sprout in his heart, and fills him with shame and guilt. He takes a step forward. She’s not looking at him. 

“…14? Are you okay?” he asks, his voice hushed. “Are you hurt?” There were no visible wounds that he could see, though she had limped a little when coming out of the elevator. 

She nods, sniffing again.

“I’m-I’m fine,” she says, her voice scraping in her throat, barely holding back a sob. Squeezing her eyes shut, she presses a hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking with silent tears. 

In two steps he’s at her side, though unsure of what to do, what would be appropriate, what she wants or needs. Were they…friends? Acquaintances? Colleagues? Do work friends hug, comfort each other? 

“Can you tell me what happened?” he ventures softly, still not touching her, not crowding. He holds back a few inches, waiting, his hands feeling empty and heavy at his sides. “Do you want to?”

She nods, but it takes a few moments before she has regained her composure enough to lower her hand from her mouth and take a few rattling breaths, preparing to speak. 

“He…h-he,” she stutters over a sob, like a child who’s cried too hard for too long. “He grabbed me and-and was kissing me, and then he tried,” she’s interrupted by a hiccup and a shaky sigh. “He tried to…to…” 

She raises her eyes to his, tears welling up again, and shakes her head. She can’t say it, won’t say it - it is too much. It will make it real. 

For his part, Steve barely restrains himself from blacking out with rage. His jaw is so tight he can feel his teeth nearly crack from the strain, fists curled but unsatisfied with not being wrapped around Sinclair’s neck. How dare he? How dare anyone? When he gets his hands on this goddamned son of a bitch, he’ll-

His vengeful train of thought is interrupted when she collapses against his chest with a sob, gripping the lapels of his jacket for support. On instinct he wraps his arms around her, caging her in, his chin resting on top of her head. 

“I’m sorry - I’m so sorry,” he whispers as he hushes her and holds her, wishing there was more he could do, more he could say. He holds himself back from other platitudes, from it’s okay, and everything’s alright - he knows it’s not true. 

She shakes and cries and rides out the storm in his arms, full of anger and fear and shame and helplessness; all the while, he stands silent and solid, murmuring soothing words his mother might have said - in another life, when someone held him, protected him. 

Neither of them knows how much time has passed when her sobs become less violent, when her breathing calms, but she doesn’t step away. Her head doesn’t move from its place on his chest, and he makes no sign of wanting it to. Gently, slowly, he rocks her in his embrace, one hand smoothing over her back. 

After a while, she speaks. 

“I’m so tired,” she whispers. From this angle, he can see her blink slowly, tear tracks drying on her cheeks. He nods.

“You’re coming down from the adrenaline - that’s normal,” he murmurs, letting her weight sag against him, wondering if he’ll need to carry her.

“No,” she shakes her head. “Not like that…that’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean?” 

She doesn’t answer, not right away; her breathing has settled into an easier rhythm, less frenzied and panting. Her fingers slide from their place at his chest to rest around his waist. 

“When I was in high school, there was this guy.” Her voice startles him when she finally speaks again, she’s been silent for so long. He makes a noise to let her know he’s listening before she goes on. “He was…I don’t know. Popular, I guess. Cute. Football player. Advanced classes. All the girls liked him.” She takes a shuddering breath before forging ahead. “And-and I guess he liked me because he couldn’t leave alone for a single fucking minute.

“God, it was constant. He’d grab my ass, or say dirty things about me to other guys…sometimes it wasn’t even sexual, it was like…he’d squeeze my waist or pinch the fat on the back of my arms and comment about my weight.” She sniffs, and Steve tightens his arms around her, not speaking. “One time, between classes, he grabbed me by the hips and bent me backwards over a desk - he wouldn’t let go, and he was just laughing…and no one said anything, none of the guys or my friends or anybody.” 

Steve frowns, feeling impotent and frustrated. “I’m so sorry.” She shakes her head again. 

“The worst thing is I just put up with it. I didn’t say anything…I didn’t think, I didn’t know-” she huffs a bitter laugh. “I guess I just thought it was flirting. Like I should’ve been flattered by it.” 

“You shouldn’t - you don’t have to take that,” Steve says, fighting to control his tone. “Not from anyone.” 

“I know that now,” she says. “But I was just a kid…nobody told me. Nobody helped me.”

He opens his mouth, tries to think of something to say, but she goes on.

“And nobody told me that it never gets better, it never changes.” He can feel how tightly her fists are clenched at his sides. “No one told me that this would be the rest of my fucking life. First it was him, and old men at the gas station where I got snacks after school, and truck loads of frat boys following me home. Jesus even the damn milk guy at the café calls me ’sexy’ and won’t leave me alone.” She sniffles again, voice tightening with anguish. “I’m tired, I’m so tired - I’m so fucking sick of all of it…of-of just being a thing, I’m tired of being looked at, and-” She tries to swallow back her sob, but it crests and stutters in her lungs, taking over her voice once again as she presses her face impossibly closer. 

It breaks his heart and stokes his rage, the helpless, hopeless weight of her bitter words. Here he is, over a century old, and still watching people fight the same battles; battles to be heard, to be seen, to be treated like humans. He’d seen it all his life, women like his mother, like Peggy, spines of steel and hearts made of diamonds, resisting a world that would grind them down and make them small. He wishes his shield were wider, stronger. He wishes he could protect them from this. 

“I can’t tell you it’s okay,” he murmurs. “Because it’s not. It’s not okay, I’m so sorry.” She squeezes his waist gratefully and nods her head a little. “But you…you don’t ever have to feel alone in this, okay?” He leans back a little, prompting her to lift her head, to meet her tear-bright eyes. “You’re not alone. I promise.” 

It’s not enough. It’s not over. But today, for now, it feels like something. 

 **********                                                                                             

Natasha pages Happy, who pulls the car around to the front of the building. She says nothing as 14 limps down the front steps, shoes in hand, one arm linked with Steve’s and wearing his jacket, the too-long sleeves covering her hands. Nat’s eyes slide up to his - their silent exchange lasts moments, microseconds; her lips pinch tightly and her elegant white fists curl tight. 

Happy holds the door, offering a hand as 14 drops inside, folding her legs and wrapping her torn skirt as tight as she can around the exposed length of her legs. Nat glances at the open door of the car and steps away, angling her back to the patient Happy. She juts her chin at Steve. 

“You need a hand, Rogers?” He knows the look in her eyes is mirrored in his own - the look of a boxer stepping in the ring, of a lion sighting prey, a shark scenting blood.

Steve shakes his head, a hand reaching up to loosen his tie. 

“No, it’s alright. You go on with 14.”

Happy peaks his head around. 

“You don’t want me to wait for you, Cap?” he frowns. “I can keep the car running.”

Steve glances over Nat’s shoulder at the town car, where 14 has curled up in the backseat, and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows. 

“Nah. I need to have a word with Mr. Sinclair.”

  **********                                                                                        

The arrest doesn’t make the front page. Or any page of the papers, in fact. Robbie Sinclair wakes in a hospital bed, in SHIELD custody, and ready to make deals with anyone who will bargain - provided his security detail keeps him well away from the Avengers and their Captain. 

When the file crosses his desk, courtesy of Natasha, he notices the long list of names Sinclair has provided them with - powerful men, Wall Street and Capitol Hill’s finest, who found their positions one dirty handshake at a time. It would take some time to build a case against them all, find sufficient evidence for arrests, but SHIELD was up for the task. There’s a note in the back of the file, a small article someone has attached with a paperclip. 

‘Executive’s Secretaries Speak Out’ reads the headline, with the subtext ‘Sinclair accused of sexual harassment, assault’. It appears a few women who had crossed his path were tired of being silenced; they had banded together, sharing pain and courage, to finally see him brought to justice. And combined with the charges SHIELD was bringing against him, it was unlikely he’d step foot outside of a prison for the next couple of decades. 

It’s a start. 

A few days later, Steve rises before the sun, a creature of habit. He takes his run alone, listening to a podcast that Sam had recommended. By 5:30, he’s stretching at the bench in front of the tower, before making his way down the street to the coffee shop. 

She does a double take when she sees him, surprise and (he hopes) excitement creeping up in her smile. There’s only a couple of baristas in the store at this time - they haven’t hit their peak yet - and she’s wiping down the bar in front of the espresso machines by herself. 

“Morning, Cap,” she smiles. There are tired little circles under her eyes. She looks beautiful. “You want your usual?” 

“Hmmm,” he pretends to think, narrowing his eyes at the menu. “Actually…how about you surprise me.” 

She raises her brows, a little impressed. “You sure? Anything goes?”

“Anything - I promise I’ll try it.” 

“Alright,” she smirks, mischievous and much too eager, and she turns away from the espresso machines to the blenders behind her. 

Milk, syrup, ice - other ingredients he can’t see or identify, all thrown into the pitcher and blended. She leans against the counter as the machine whirs loudly, a cheeky smile dimpling her cheeks. Just as the machine stops, the bell above the door chimes, both of them turning to look. 

A small, wiry, white-haired man backs his way into the store, pulling a dolly stacked high with milk crates. He looks around, making sure he’s not backing into anyone, and catches sight of her behind the counter. Steve doesn’t like the look of his smile, or the way 14 ducks back down to her blender, her shoulders inching upwards.  

“Morning, sweetheart,” the man says, a bit too loud, rattling the crates on his dolly as he wheels around tables, towards the back of house. 

“Morning,” 14 replies coolly, not looking up from where she’s carefully lining Steve’s cup with mocha sauce. She doesn’t say anything more, keeping her head down as she pours out the drink and reaches for a canister of whipped cream. Steve’s eyes cut between them, his hands in the pockets of his shorts. 

The milk man hustles back through the store with an empty dolly, on his way to collect the next load of crates, and 14 sighs a little when the bell chimes on his way out. She’s just turning around to hand Steve his drink, when she notices that the café is empty - he must have slipped out as well. 

“Hey, pal,” Steve claps a hand on the man’s shoulder, consciously withholding his full force. “I was wondering - you usually deliver the milk here?”

“Yeah,” the man huffs, a little confused, and in a hurry to unload his crates. He squints, the rising sun in his eyes. “Why?” 

“Oh, I just wanted to talk to you for a second, that’s all,” Steve smiles. His hand doesn’t move from it’s place on the man’s shoulder. 

When he comes back inside, his towering, chocolate-swirled beverage is waiting at the end of the bar. 14 is waiting, too, arms crossed, one hip propped up against the counter. She tilts her head to one side. 

“Do I wanna know?” she asks. Steve shrugs. 

“Nothing to know,” he says, shuffling up to the bar to claim his drink and stare at it, incredulous and amused. “Now what on earth is this thing, a milkshake?” 

She rolls her eyes.

“It’s called a frappucino, old man,” she grins. “Drink up - you promised.”

[self-proclaimed-chaotic-good]

New Routine | Adam Milligan x Reader (Oneshot)

Prompt: Cooking

Fandom: Supernatural

Words: 1157

A/N: A continuation of my previous oneshots [On the Road] and [Family Business] from last year’s Writer’s Month. This is separate from [True Winchester Fashion].

-

Jack had been spending days tracing Sam and Dean’s footsteps in the hopes of finding either of them or Cas. In the meantime, you’ve been working cases with Adam, starting with the ones you knew he could handle before taking on the more difficult ones. He was a quick learner with the sass and quick reaction like Dean and the studious habits like Sam.

The two of you had just finished a werewolf case, having help from Garth, and were finally taking a break in the bunker. Adam had gone straight to his room, not even bothering to shower as he collapsed face first on his bed. You quickly checked in with Jack before heading to your own room, spending almost an hour standing under the hot steaming shower.

Despite the long few days, your mind only allowed you half an hour of rest before you were up again. There were too many thoughts running through your head, worries about things that were mostly out of your control. With a growl of frustration, you got up and headed towards the kitchen. You needed to find something to distract you.

Just as you suspected, the fridge was stocked up of mostly alcohol and the freezer with ice trays and ice cream. You needed to pop into town to get some ingredients.

Grabbing the keys, you debated whether you should wake Adam up and have him help you with the shopping or let him sleep. You went to his room, knocking gently on his door, only opening it a crack when there was no response. He was snoring away, his limbs spread across the bed, You smiled endearingly at him, closing the door slowly. Maybe next time.

-

The smell of steak filled his nostrils and roused him from his slumber. Adam sat up, sniffing the air before putting his shoes back on, letting his nose guide him to the kitchen. There, he saw you at the stove with two burners on, one with steak meat and the other with alfredo sauce. You had a fairly new looking apron on as you went back and forth between the two burners.

“Smells good,” Adam said suddenly, hoping he’d make you jump.

You merely looked over your shoulder and smiled. “It’s been a while since I’ve cooked this much food and I’m sure it’s been a while since you’ve eaten something that wasn’t fast food.”

“Spaghetti and steak. That’s some restaurant level dishes there.” He looked at the food over your shoulder, moving back when you had to transfer the steak to the two plates laid out on the other counter.

“I’d ask you to help me, but you’re really smelly right now,” you said without looking at him.

Adam lifted the collar of his jacket and sniffed. He grimaced, leaving to finally take a shower. “Don’t start eating without me!” he called out.

You went to set up the table, a plate of steak and spaghetti on either side with two glasses of water and a beer for Adam and wine for you. When he came back, you had taken off the apron and was scrolling through your phone. You found yourself feeling nervous, waiting for his reaction on the food. You heard him sit down and scoot his chair closer.

He looked at the plate, then up at you. “Wait, is this a date?” Adam asked, raising an eyebrow.

Your heart leaped at his words. You set your phone down and picked up your wine glass to hide your smile. “Do you want this to be?”

-

It became almost a routine. After a long case, you and Adam would buy food to cook back at the bunker. There were times where Jack would return to rest and catch up with the two of you, which meant you had to cook even more food. You couldn’t imagine what it would be like when the other three boys come back. There was a reason why you rarely cooked for Sam and Dean, mostly just baking pie every now and then. Good thing you had influenced Adam into liking cooking more.

After dealing with a difficult Revenant case, Adam wanted to try and make lasagna by scratch, so you helped him buy the ingredients. You helped with the prepping and watched in amusement as he looked back and forth between his phone and the ingredients, a deep frown on his face.

“Jack Jack’s stopping by today,” you said. You decided to give him space to cook, scrolling through new articles for any cases or signs of where Sam and Dean could be.

You heard Adam cursed under his breath. “You think this will be enough for three of us?” he asked. He held up the lasagna before quickly setting it down on the stove.

“Should be fine,” you said.

“Come and be my test subject.” He cut the lasagna into squares and placed one piece on a plate for you.

You got up and made your way over. He handed you a fork and waited expectantly as you cut a small piece and ate it. You took another bite and hummed. You put the plate down on the counter and wrapped your arms around him.

“I should make you cook more often,” you said.

“That good, huh?”

You hummed, turning to grab another piece of lasagna. With your back towards him, he wrapped his arms around your waist, his head leaning against yours.

“How long do you think we have until Jack comes back?” he whispered.

“Hey, guys!” Jack called out happily. “Look who I found!”

Adam grumbled under his breath, releasing you and turned. His eyes widened at the sight before him. He grabbed your shoulders and turned you around.

“Oh my god!” You shoved your plate into Adam’s hands and ran towards the closest brother, Dean, hugging him hard before moving onto Sam, then Castiel. “What happened? Where did you guys go?”

“It’s a long story,” Sam said tiredly.

“What I wanna know,” Dean said with a smirk, “Is what the hell is going on between you two. And is that lasagna?”

Adam rolled his eyes, walking up to his brothers. “You guys left me in the cage. You don’t deserve this lasagna.”

“We tried, Adam,” Sam said, being the first one to properly greet their younger brother. “We honestly did.”

“Taking a soul out of the cage is a complicated process-” Cas began to explain.

“Okay, we can all catch up later. I’m frickin’ starving!” Dean said, patting Adam’s shoulder before moving straight towards the kitchen.

Sam offered Adam a shrug. “Let’s just eat first.”

And for the first time, the three brothers, with you, Cas, and Jack, were able to eat a peaceful meal with each other. From under the table, you squeezed Adam’s hand. While it was something that had started between the two of you, you hoped that they would also be a part of this new routine.