#house is probably off somewhere with Wilson

[failedgrailknight]

Frustrated fellows

[lanawinterscigarettes]

What if Wilson accidentally consumed an aphrodisiac, how do you think his partner would deal with him lol?

I see the Wilson lovers are starting off strong here with their requests lmao

James Wilson accidentally consuming an aphrodisiac

Warnings: nsfwish content given the obviously suggestive subject matter

Honestly given how often House drugs/has drugged Wilson canonically in the show I wouldn't put it past him to do something like slip a substance containing some type of aphrodisiac into his coffee when he's not looking just for the hell of it

Regardless of how or why it occurred, I imagine Wilson wouldn't notice anything was wrong until it just sort of hit him all at once

Incredibly flustered, he'd excuse himself from whatever sort of interaction he was having, whether that be with a patient or another doctor, and lock himself in his office with hope that the feeling would soon pass

Once it became clear that wasn't going to happen anytime soon, he was stuck with the alternative option: paging you in hopes you could provide him some much needed, ahem, relief

(How you got into his office is entirely up to you. It's most likely he opened the door for you himself but if you want to imagine hopping over the divider between his and House's balconies for a more comical effect go for it)

He's so pathetic when you finally get a good look at him. He has an obvious bulge in his pants and looks even more like a kicked puppy than usual

Typically he's not one to ask for sexual favors at work, but it's clear an exception needs to be made before he combusts from all the pent up sexual frustration

He's torn between politely declining any help and begging for assistance until he sees you sink to the floor in front of him

At that point all the blood that was being used to form any sort of thought went rushing somewhere else if you know what I mean

Knowing Wilson he probably needed to be gagged (most likely with his own tie, as you didn't have anything else immediately on hand) so no one would hear his desperate moans while you sucked him off/gave him a handjob

Depending on how strong the aphrodisiac was would determine just how long you spent with him in his office. If it was weaker, then thirty minutes to an hour would suffice. Anything stronger than that and the two of you wouldn't be seen for the rest of the day

If you were to ask him about it afterwards, he'd admit it was a lot more enjoyable than he thought it would be given the fact you were both at work during the day

Still, he'd prefer if the next time he took an aphrodisiac it was in a less public area with him having knowledge of it beforehand

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[glorious-spoon]

finding excuses to be alone with each other - Buddie

hi, and thank you! sorry this has taken a while, and also i have no explanation for why i decided to write new year's eve fic in june. BUT: here you are!

a stolen moment

1200 words | buddie | developing relationship | secret relationship | kissing | fluff

-

There are too many people at this party.

Normally, this isn't something Buck would even think to complain about. Maddie and Chim are hosting, since Bobby and Athena are still living out of a tiny one-bedroom while work continues on their house, and Hen and Karen are still trying to get Mara settled back at home—New Year's parties are apparently not conducive to a quiet, predictable bedtime routine, and the Wilson family unit will probably be heading out well before the ball drops anyway—and nobody else has even close to enough room. It's still packed to the brim, overflowing onto the back patio, clusters of people chatting over drinks in the kitchen while the kids have taken over the living room TV for a vicious Mario Kart showdown that Chris is currently winning. Maddie's in the back bedroom putting Jee down for bedtime, and Chim is holding court over the dessert table, and it's all—great, honestly, it's great. It's awesome, having his family here, and happy, and together under the same roof after the year they've all had.

He glances up and meets Eddie's eye from across the dining room. Gets a quick smile in return. Eddie's cheeks are pink, maybe from the warmth, maybe from the two glasses of wine he's had, since Buck will be the one driving them home. He's wearing a green Henley that Buck knows is exactly as soft as it looks and worn-in jeans that mold lovingly to the lines of his thighs as he leans back against the door frame, and it's all pretty distressing, honestly. Buck's hands are itching to touch.

When he meets Eddie's eyes again, Eddie is grinning broadly. Caught, Buck ducks his head. He's blushing, he knows, and he doesn't have the excuse of the wine.

They're keeping it to themselves, at least for now. That was the decision they both made after Eddie kissed him in the loft two nights ago, after Buck kissed him back, after they didn't actually manage to make it all the way up to the bed and ended up on the couch instead, gasping into each other's mouths, fumbling and eager as teenagers. They're keeping it to themselves until Eddie figures out how he's going to tell Chris. He's skittish about that still, and Buck isn't going to push. So he'll probably be sleeping on the fold-out couch tonight instead of in Eddie's bed, and he's not going to kiss Eddie in the middle of the party, no matter how much he wants to.

It's okay. They have time.

"Hey, didn't someone bring dessert plates?" Chim calls from the kitchen. "Please tell me someone brought dessert plates, we're all out of the big ones and I'm really not up for doing dishes tonight."

Ah, shit. Right. That was Buck's job. He's pretty sure he did pick some up, actually, but they're probably still out in the Jeep, which is parked somewhere in the snarl of cars crowding the Han driveway and pulled off to the side of the street in front of their lawn.

"I got 'em," he calls, setting his soda down.

"My hero," Chim retorts, only half-teasing by his tone. Buck rolls his eyes and goes to find his shoes.

He doesn't realize that Eddie is following him until he's already slipped them on in the entry hall, a few steps away from the party. "What's up?"

Eddie shrugs, guileless, and crouches down to retrieve his shoes as well. "Figured I'd help you."

"You figured you'd help me…. bring in a package of paper plates?"

"Yeah," Eddie says innocently, but there's a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and god, Buck really wants to kiss him.

"Okay," he agrees instead, and pulls open the door. Eddie follows him out into the night, cool and dim even with Christmas lights still lit up all down the street. There's a dampness to the air that feels like rain; it's not that cold, but it's enough of a contrast to the warm house that a shiver goes through him. Eddie falls into step beside him, then reaches for his hand.

Buck shivers again, for reasons that have nothing to do with the cold this time. Eddie's hand is warm and broad, and he strokes his thumb lightly against Buck's, lighting up nerve endings he didn't even know he had.

It's such a small thing. But they've never actually done this yet. It all feels so new, sparkling like fireworks through his veins.

"Okay?" Eddie asks, and Buck realizes that he's stopped walking. 

"Yeah," he says. He's not doing a very good job of keeping the smile off his face, or out of his voice, but Eddie's got the exact same dopey smile on his face, so it's fine. They weave through the cars to where Buck's Jeep is parked, close enough to the street that they'll probably be able to get out without playing vehicle Tetris. Far enough from the house that they're shielded from view by Bobby's truck parked alongside them, so he's not all that surprised when Eddie lets go of his hand only to push him gently against the side of the Jeep and kiss him.

He gets lost in that for a little bit. The heat of Eddie's mouth, his hands moving from Buck's shoulders to cradle his jaw—he did that the first time, too. Held Buck like he's holding him now, like he's something precious and worth treating with care, and Buck's already hooked on it. He slides his hand up Eddie's back, feeling the warmth of him, to cup the back of his neck as Eddie licks into his mouth with leisurely sweetness, like he's got all the time in the world to kiss Buck just like this on the sidewalk on New Year's Eve.

Sooner or later, someone's going to come looking for them. It still takes a while for Buck to break the kiss, and when Eddie tugs lightly at his lower lip with his teeth before pulling away, he almost dives back in again. Almost.

"We should probably get back to the party," he says, very reluctantly.

"Yeah," Eddie sighs. He leans in and kisses Buck again, a sweeter, softer thing before leaning past him to open the door. Buck ducks into the back seat to retrieve the package of plates and the bottle of wine they forgot to bring in earlier, and when he straightens up, Eddie is watching him. He looks—hesitant, almost. Nervous. He looks the way he looked two days ago, right before he kissed Buck.

"What's up?" Buck asks.

"I want to tell Chris," Eddie says, all in a rush. "Maybe not—right now, at the party, but when we get home, I want to tell him. About us."

Buck takes a quick, sharp breath. "Are you sure?"

"I've never been as sure about anything in my life as I am about you."

"Eddie."

"It's the truth. And—I want him to know. Even if it's an adjustment, even if it takes some time to—I want him to know. I want everyone to know. If that's okay with you."

"Eddie," Buck says again, and then, "yeah, yeah of course it's okay."

"Good," Eddie says, with a sudden, brilliant smile. And well—Chim can wait a few more minutes for his paper plates. Buck sets them down and pulls Eddie back in.

[andavs]

One last unhinged theory before the finale kicks off, inspired by @captain-hen’s genius anon: witness protection

Councilwoman Olivia Ortiz is back for reasons, maybe she’s running for mayor or something

She’s buried the details around her son’s death while running a tough on crime platform or maybe getting drugs out of the city, but she’s actually corrupt and has some shady criminal connections

There’s a warehouse fire that’s related to something she’s connected to, 118 responds and they find evidence that wasn’t fully destroyed—not about Ortiz specifically, but something shady happening there

A Bad Guy sees the names Wilson, Han, and Diaz on their turnouts as they're talking to the cops and handing over the evidence they found—maybe Buck and Bobby were in a different section of the building at the time

Ortiz realizes that’s also the team that responded to her son’s accident and they can bring down her entire career if they figure out she’s involved

Her shady connections realize that if she goes down, their pull with the local government also goes down, so they take matters into their own hands to protect their interests

The shady contacts organize a way to take out Hen, Chimney, and Eddie, but Ortiz goes to Athena to warn them because she doesn’t want three innocent people to die

To keep the bad guys from continuing to pursue them or going after anyone else, they fake that the murder plot worked and announce that Hen, Chimney, and Eddie all died in the line of duty

They get one last goodbye at the station before they get hustled into nondescript vans and taken into protection while Athena builds a case with Ortiz to bring down her criminal connections

Their families know they’re actually alive but have to keep up the facade of grieving, and also they’re apart and can’t communicate with each other, except maybe sending rare messages/photos through Athena that they don’t get to keep. 

It’s a storyline that gives everyone something to do:

Hen, Chimney, and Eddie are suddenly isolated somewhere new and living under new names

Chimney finally married the love of his life and now they can’t even be together until the case is finished, and now he’s the one watching Jee grow up from afar

Maddie’s completely on her own with Jee for the first time since her PPD, but now she’s totally got this mom thing down—she just has to juggle that with work so maybe we get more of the Lees!

Hen and Karen have Mara who’s only just getting comfortable with them, only for Hen to be taken away and for Karen to suddenly have to handle all of it by herself

Who is Hen when she’s not a firefighter, paramedic, or mother? 

Eddie’s finally over Shannon and ready to move forward and then he’s yanked out of his life and completely isolated, probably working as a mechanic or something

Buck has to move into Eddie’s house with Chris and actually take on the role of full time parent, even though they both know Eddie will be back in a few months

(Maybe Buck and Eddie had a Moment but all of this happened before they got to talk about it and now they can’t talk about but they both know something shifted but will it still be shifted when all of this is finally over?)

Athena’s working on a seriously high profile case and all the dangers that come with it

Bobby’s holding the remains of his team together while knowing it’s temporary, and also probably still recovering from whatever the fuck is about to happen to him, if not physically then mentally

[badass-queer-couples-battle]

Gay wrongs tournament, quarterfinals of the major bracket

Propaganda:

For House and Wilson:

Literally the most insane couple of all time from medical malpractice the show. They’re best friends, they live together, they’ve drugged eachother, they make stupid bets together, they manipulate each other, they ride off into the sunset together. They’re Sherlock and Watson, they’re the best doctors in their fields and you’d never want them anywhere near your medical care.

Medical malpractice <3

For Will and Hannibal:

Ive previously only heard the term "murder husbands" refer to hannigram so it feels flitting. The whole series culminated with a murder they did together bathing in blood. 

The show and ship that coined murder husbands. It’s in the text in s3 from a journalist side character. They do Many murders either together or as a message to each other. Usually this involves turning the dead body into an art piece. The show ends with them killing a guy together in a slo mo scene backed by porno music.

They're both batshit and manipulative.

ALRIGHT so they're not canonically together but it is HEAVILY implied and they have some sort of fucked up psychosexual obsession with each other. in the later parts of the show they start committing murder and cannibalism together and they're soooo unhinged but it's awesome

kill people for each other. maim each other. kill people together. most batshit insane metaphors. send each other to jail. ruin everyone’s lives. someone can probably say this better than me but these gay people are insane

Literally THE murder husbands. They kill for each other. They've tried to kill each other. They're canon in all but name, like the homoeroticism between these two is the driving force of the show.

one time hannibal folded a guy into an origami human heart

They are in love and they kill and eat people. They are called Murder Husbands in canon.

The original murder husbands (literally, that's not just their ship name, they get called that in canon)

The show begins with Will working for the FBI and trying to catch Hannibal, but because Hannibal is so intrigued by the way Will is able to see the world and the motives behind the killings so easily, it becomes a game of Hannibal isolating Will even more from the people around and seducing him to try and kill. By the time Will starts embracing the side of him that Hannibal sees, he starts oulling back and trying to distance himself so that when the time comes for Will to fully embrace himself and Hannibal, no one really suspects what they have planned. 

hannibal literally does murder as courtship and it works bc will is also a fucked up little guy

I'm actually quite offended they aren't included by default (joke). They are THE murder husbands!!!!!! (mod note: they should have been, but I wanted to see how many submissions they'd get. They got 19, making them a little more than 6% of total submission count).

do i have to say it. they literally get called murder husbands IN THE SHOW

There are 3201 works for Hannibal on ao3 tagged Murder Husbands. They are the ogs, they are the pioneers we owe it all to them.

THEE murder couple. You know it. I know it. They commit crimes at each other as courting and then commit crimes together and then fall off a cliff to wash up somewhere and live on to serve cunt. Get referred to as 'murder husbands' in canon. What more do you need

Hannigram were literally called Murder Husbands in canon, they are the og, they are THE blueprint. They were gay as hell and comitted so much murder so many crimes. THEY RAN OFF TO EUROPE TOGETHER.

[megalony]

Break Ins and Births

This is my first James Wilson imagine from House MD, any other House requests would be amazing. Any feedback would also be lovely.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez-blog @jonesyaddiction @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me  @hellsdragon @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh @onceuponadetectivedemigod @ceres27 @avyannadawn  @noonenuts @sleepylunarwolf @coverupps @justagirlthatlovedtoread

Masterlist

Summary: (Based on a request) House let's himself into Wilson's home, not knowing his wife is in. The shock sends (Y/n) into early labour.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Something akin to a smile drifted onto House's face when he heard the successful click of the lock and when he jingled the door handle, it opened with ease.

He needed to get a key. Wilson had a key to his apartment for emergencies and mainly since he had stayed over a lot and never handed back the key. But House didn't have one to Wilson's house and that didn't seem fair. He couldn't come and check by on Wilson when he needed something or when he thought something was amiss. Instead, he had to resort to picking the lock when knocking wasn't sufficient enough and House was desperate.

"Wilson?" He shut the door behind him before he hobbled into the living room, looking round for his friend. He said he had this week off work from the hospital and House was getting desperate enough to visit him here at home for help.

His vicodin had run out.

If he didn't get another prescription supply soon, he would start to go into detox and it was not pretty. The amount of times he had detoxed over the years was unbelievable and House wasn't ready to go through that again and feel the imminent pain he would suffer.

He knew Wilson would give him something, he might give him something different than vicodin and a little less strong, but House needed something, anything to get him through the day.

He moved a few of the magazines from the coffee table, scattering them around to see if Wilson's prescription pad was hanging around here somewhere. No such luck, but then again, House wouldn't expect him to just leave it lying around here.

It would be up in his study.

"Wilson…" He called out again whilst peeking into the kitchen before he sighed and moved towards the stairs.

Why did Wilson's study have to be upstairs? Why did he have to have a house and not an apartment like House? Something on the ground floor that was easily accessible would be preferable to this.

It took a while and a lot of pain and effort for House to amble his way up the stairs, despite the searing agony it caused to bolt through his right leg. The pain would be worth it if he could get another dose of vicodin.

Which room was the study? House couldn't recall the last time he'd been upstairs in Wilson's house, it would only have been to use the toilet. Most of their hang outs apart from the hospital and the odd road trip was at House's apartment, not Wilson's house. The last time he was here probably would have been when Wilson invited him round after he and (Y/n) bought the house and newly moved in.

Taking a wild guess, House hobbled over to the second door on the right because he was sure the bathroom was the door on the left next to the stairs.

The door swung open with more force than House could comprehend, so much so that he stumbled forward into the room just as a scream hit his ears and a figure appeared in front of him.

Screaming, (Y/n) stumbled backwards when the door flung open at her just as she went to open it, causing her to fall back into the bedroom.

Oh God, someone was in the house. Someone had broken in, she had woken up at the wrong time. They were going to attack her and raid the house. What was she supposed to do?

Her hand held steadfast onto the door handle and it allowed her to ease herself down to the floor, landing with a thump on her bum. But when her wild eyes darted to look up ahead of her, another scream rattled through her chest and sent her reeling when something waved in front of her face.

He was going to hit her with a bat!

"What are you doing, you should be at work!"

Fire, rage and blind panic mingled together in (Y/n)'s blood as she blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears away from her eyes and focus on the figure looming over her. It was House, cane in hand and a bewildered look in his deep blue eyes as if he was the one who had just walked in on a burgalry.

"House!" Letting go of the door, (Y/n) slammd her fist into the wood and bashed the door away until it flung back and hit the wall.

With her fingers tangled in her hair, (Y/n) bowed her head down and tried to breathe but each breath was high and shallow.

What the Hell was he doing in her home? How on Earth did he get in? She was sure her husband would have locked the door behind him this morning when he left. And if not, why didn't House have the manners to knock? He couldn't just walk into her home whenever it suited him and expect her to be out or perfectly fine with him wandering in and doing whatever he pleased.

"Why are you in my house? H-how did you get in?" (Y/n) choked through her words, still unable to catch a proper breath.

She dared to let her furious gaze fall upon her husband's friend and she was somewhat relieved to see guilt written across his face.

(Y/n) tilted her head back so she could look up at him properly but she moved her hand to rub across her stomach. The baby was doing summersaults from House's surprise visit. It didn't help that she hadn't felt well this morning, which was the reason why she wasn't at work where House clearly thought she should have been when he popped round.

"Looking for Wilson, where is he? And your front door isn't very secure, should probably get that looked at." House leaned into the wall and slouched a little so he could relax his leg and lean his weight onto his cane. If he even tried to sit down on the floor with (Y/n) he doubted either of them would be able to get back up.

"He's on call this week… you can't j-just wander in whenever you like, you prick."

"I need vicodin, where's his prescription pad? You need to take deep breaths or you'll go into shock."

(Y/n) tried to roll her eyes but it only made her head spin and she was starting to feel sick.

"I don't know, he doesn't bring it home every night. And what I don't need, is being frightened when I'm thirty-three weeks pregnant- oh, fuck." Closing her eyes, (Y/n) let her head flop forward and moved both her hands to cradle her stomach.

She didn't need any kind of shock or jump scares right now, not when she was so close to reaching the end of her term. House knew this, he was a dcotor, he was Wilson's best friend. He knew they'd been trying for months to get pregnant and he was the only one at the hospital who knew (Y/n) had a bad miscarriage last year. She didn't need him coming into her home and scaring her half to death thinking an intruder was going to hurt and rob her.

But she knew she couldn't blame him entirely, he didn't mean to scare her. He didn't think she would be here, he was looking for Wilson who was used to his antics and games and Wilson didn't scare easily. Not anymore.

"What?"

"You gave me a cramp."

With a sigh, House pushed off the wall and reached a hand down towards (Y/n), despite the glare she shot his way. He waited patiently, keeping his hand reached out until (Y/n) relented and took it as she moved onto her knees. they both knew he wouldn't be able to pull her up properly, not with his bad leg and having to lean half of his weight onto his cane.

But he didn't grumble or say a word when she pulled tightly on his hand, holding his arm with her free hand so she could manage to get up without pulling House down to the floor with her.

"Come on… I'll make you a cup of tea." It was the least he could do after unintentionally giving her a fright.

When she was steady on her feet, (Y/n) let go of his arm and adjusted her pyjama top before slowly walking out of the bedroom after him. It was a relief he always had to walk slow because right now, (Y/n) felt like her legs were made of jelly and she had the shakes rattling through her.

They were two steps away from the stairs when a horrid cramp tore through her lower stomach and sent her reeling. She reached out to steady herself on the banister so she didn't go crashing to the floor again and her upper half coiled over like a tightening spring until her chest was merged with her stomach.

"House…" His name tore from (Y/n)'s lips in a quiet, frail whisper followed by a guttural cry when they both looked down and a steady stream of water trickled down her legs.

Oh dear.

She could see the way he visibly paled like a fading image standing in front of her and he sighed as his shoulders slumped down, but it was the worry in his dusty blue eyes and the fear creeping onto his face that showed he cared. He could see what was happening and he already knew the worries that were rattling around in (Y/n)'s head when she started to cry.

"Where are your keys, I'll drive you to the hospital. And I'll page Wilson to meet us at reception."

House didn't have a car and he knew there was no way he could get (Y/n) on his motorbike with him to get her to the hospital. It was a small mercy that the hospital was so close to their home so he could use (Y/n)'s car to get her there. It would be better than calling and waiting for an ambulance. And if he paged Wilson he would be sure to get the message rather than try to ring his personal phone and risk it being locked in his office while he was with a patient.

"By the door… House, t-this is too early, I can't-"

"Hey, come on. You're a nurse, this doesn't mean labour, Wilson will have you on bed rest in the maternity ward for a week or more before you have this kid. Let's worry about getting you down those stairs."

He wrapped an arm around (Y/n)'s waist, letting her grab his shoulder instead of the banister before they shuffled somewhat awkwardly over to the stairs. This didn't mean (Y/n) was definitely in labour, if she was feeling contractions there were medicines that could stop them and prevent them for days or even weeks. She could be put on observation and bed rest and not have this baby today or tomorrow or for a few weeks. they would find out when they got to the hospital.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wilson leaned his forearms on the reception desk and arched his back out before he glanced his eyes over at the two files he had brought down with him. He had been on his way to go consult with a patient when he got a strange page from House.

Need you at reception now. Bring a wheelchair.

There was too much room for speculation and no room for understanding. What was he supposed to do with that? With House, it could mean anything, it could just be him wanting a consultation or wanting an excuse to get away from Cuddy and clinic duty. It could be an actual emergency or just a one off or House bringing in a new case.

All Wilson knew for sure was that if he ignored the page and went ahead to his consult, he wouldn't hear the end of it. And God forbid it was some kind of emergency, Wilson didn't want it playing on his conscience.

He had been waiting for nearly twenty minutes, stood like a lost patient at reception with his pager on the desk, his phone in his pocket and a wheelchair at his side.

Every now and then he glanced at the receptionist and tried to smile but he knew his presence was unnerving her. She had given up asking him if he wanted something or what he was waiting for when he just said House or 'I don't know'.

"James!"

His head snapped to the right and as quick as lightning he pushed himself off the desk and straightened up. He knew that voice anywhere; his wife. He didn't like the urgency in her voice or the hoarse catch in her throat. She sounded like she'd been crying, even just from that one word Wilson could detect the panic in her voice and it set him on edge.

The sight of (Y/n) and House hobbling into reception was something Wilson never thought he'd see in his life and it was something he did not like at all.

(Y/n), his girl, almost falling on her knees with one arm around House's shoulders like a viper and her other arm cradling her stomach. She was wearing her pyjamas that were riddled with sweat and slightly skewed and scrunched up. Her hair was falling out of her ponytail and sticking to her sweat-ridden skin. But it was her expression that broke his heart completely.

She had been crying, a lot. In fact, she was still crying now, gasping for breath between sobs and Wilson knew she was having contractions when one rippled through her and jolted her down to her knees with a pained cry.

"James…" (Y/n) loosened her arm from around House who had been rather patient and understanding considering this wasn't his forte. He had calmed her down in the car, let her cry out when the contractions got worse and he timed them and talked her through it. He was practically carrying her into the hospital from the car despite his cane and limp and he didn't moan or squabble or complain once.

When she was kneeling on the floor, (Y/n) tried to take a deep breath but the moment James was crouched down in front of her, the waterworks got worse. Her arms deadlocked around his neck and she croaked and hiccuped into his shoulder, binding herself to him like glue.

It was comforting beyond relief to have his arms tightly wrapped around her and his lips pressed to the side of her head. She could feel the panic radiating through him and his heartbeat that was going wild.

Whatever House had said on his message, (Y/n) could see it hadn't been nearly as close to the truth as it should have been.

"What's happened?" Leaning back a little, Wilson moved to cup the side of (Y/n)'s face, brushing her hair away and swiping a few tears from her cheek and nose. He could deduce that she was going into labour, he noticed the vast amount of fluids on her shorts and between her legs to guess that her waters had broken. But he didn't know why.

This morning he had been called to come on shift since he had the on call phone and he knew (Y/n) wasn't feeling great when he left. She had a headache and felt under the weather, but other than that he knew she had been fine. Nothing had been wrong enough to suggest she would go into labour while he was away.

"House, what happened- did you call House?" Wilson looked back down at (Y/n) in his arms, trying to get her to talk but all she could do was sniff and try to breathe.

"I stopped by your place, she had a shock so I brought her in."

"Why were you at my house? What does a shock mean?"

Wilson darted his eyes to the side when he heard Cuddy's voice as she hurried from her office, diverting to grab the wheelchair when Wilson pointed over at it. In his rush to get to his wife he didn't scoot it over with him.

"H-he let himself in, I thought h-he was a burglar… it hurts." Moving her head, (Y/n) tucked her face back into Wilson's shoulder as much for comfort as to hide away from prying eyes. She could see a crowd starting to form around them as Cuddy pushed through with the wheelchair and House stayed close but not quite touching any of them.

She could feel Wilson tensing against her and his fingers dug into her sides to try and stop himself from going into a rage.

He could handle House at the best of times, especially when everyone else had had enough of him and his antics, Wilson could cope with him and calm him down and reason with him. But he couldn't reason with him over this. He had let himself into Wilson's house and scared his wife so badly she was now in labour. That wasn't fair.

"Alright sweetheart, I'm gonna get you up on three okay? One, two, three."

Shifting around from his knees onto his feet, Wilson then slipped his arms up until they were hooked under (Y/n)'s arms and he carefully and slowly stood up, pulling (Y/n) along with him. He paid no mind to how deeply her nails were digging into his shoulders through his white coat but he couldn't help but focus on her pained cries that were seeping into his neck and making him shiver. She was trembling so badly in his arms that she could barely stand up until he took all of her weight onto his chest.

He carefully turned on his heels and twisted them around until (Y/n) was level with the wheelchair Cuddy was holding and he lowered her down. The relief was instant on (Y/n)'s face but as soon as she was sat down, her legs coiled up and her arms cocooned around her waist like she was trying to curl up into a ball.

The anger boiled up into rage in Wilson's eyes when he glanced over at House who limped over to them.

"I was looking for you, I needed a pill refill but I thought she'd be at work-"

"So you broke into my house and scared my wife into pre-term labour? Thanks."

"Come on, you think I did this on purpose-"

"I think you didn't consider anything but your addiction, House! You break into my house where my wife has every right to be and shock her and now she's in the hospital. Just… go." His hands balled into fists at his sides and his jaw locked so tightly that his teeth felt like they were going to break.

With a wave of his hand, he turned his back and took a step closer to (Y/n) to end the conversation. He could stand around and argue with House for hours over this but he didn't have that much time. He needed to look after (Y/n) rather than waste his time taking his much deserved anger out on House.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Have you been waiting here this whole time?" Wilson closed the door behind him and leaned his weight onto the door frame. He couldn't quite meet House's eyes when he looked over at him. It was Cuddy who had whispered that House was sitting outside and true to her word, here he was, cane discarded on the floor and tennis ball in hand to keep him occupied in the empty hall.

House took a moment to take in Wilson's state. He was usually always prestine and presentable when he was on shift- which he technically wasn't anymore. Now, he had shed his doctor's coat, unbuttoned his striped shirt, rolled the sleeves up well past his elbows and his hair was dishevelled. He looked the complete opposite of himself.

"How is she?"

"Undoubtedly in labour and almost fully dilated," Rubbing at his forehead, Wilson took a few deep breaths before he looked back over at his friend. "If you wanted vicodin why didn't you just call?"

"Tritter can get my phone records, I just needed a few to get me by and I thought you'd be home. I didn't know she wasn't at work, I wouldn't have gone in if I did."

"Normally I'd do something rash like shout at you or even hit you. But you're desperate and (Y/n) said it wasn't all your fault." He ran his fingers through his hair, too tired to let loose the rage he felt earlier that was slowly disappating now. "Just… try and think, House. This is my family, if she wasn't past thirty weeks we could of lost another baby."

He wasn't in the mood to argue, but he needed House to at least try and see things from his perspective.

He and (Y/n) had wanted a baby for months and then they lost one at five months last year. Wilson didn't know how he managed to pull (Y/n) back after that loss, she barely got through it and now they were in early labour. If (Y/n) hadn't been this far along and labour couldn't be prevented, they would have a big risk of losing the baby. At least being at thirty three weeks, they still had a big advantage.

"You don't have to stay, you know. It's still gonna be a while until you meet your godchild."

"I know,"

With a nod of his head, Wilson turned on his heels and headed back inside where Cuddy was sat at (Y/n)'s side. The dean of medicine was close to both Wilson and (Y/n) and she wanted to be some sort of help and be with them during this. Much like House, who had been named Godfather since the moment they found out about the pregnancy, wasn't ready to go yet.

He knew he didn't have to stay, he could head back to his office or go home since it wasn't his shift today. But he stayed seated outside the delivery room. He wasn't going anywhere.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tipping her head back, (Y/n) closed her eyes and tucked her face into the crook of Wilson's neck. Her hand reached up to cup his face when she felt him kissing the top of her head and his arm that was secured around her waist tightened and pulled her into his side.

She could barely breathe and every inch of her skin was flushed and covered in sweat and everything below her waist felt both torn and numb at the same time. She even felt pins and needles in her feet as if they were on fire despite the tingling numbness travelling down her legs.

"L-Lisa, are they alright?" (Y/n)'s voice was cracked and she could barely speak from how hoarse her throat was from sobbing and screaming. Her eyes followed Lisa as she moved from the end of the bed and walked up to their side.

It didn't take long for the dean of medicine to take over and for the midwife to take a step back. (Y/n) was a lot calmer with Lisa being in charge and delivering their baby than a midwife neither of them knew, considering they worked in the same hospital.

"She's perfect,"

Every part of (Y/n) that could shake started to shake violently when a small newborn was nestled into her chest. She was tiny, still curled up in the fetal position and she wasn't crying, only whimpering so quietly it was barely there, but it was music to their ears.

She placed a shaking hand on the newborn's back and kept her other hand brushing across Wilson's face and she could feel the tears he was shedding. His free hand came up to cradle the back of their daughter's head while Cuddy leaned over to clamp and clip the unbilical cord.

"Would you like to weigh her and get her cleaned up?" Cuddy gently paced a towel around the newborn before she looked over at Wilson to give him the honours. After all, he was a doctor and he knew exactly what he was doing, there was no one better to get her washed, weighed and into something warmer than her dad.

She barely fit in the crook of his elbow, that was how small and fragile she was. When her small hand curled around his index finger, Wilson let the tears cascade down his face.

"House?" Leaning out the door, Cuddy finished wiping her hands with a paper towel, smiling softly when she saw that he was still where they had left him in the afternoon. He hadn't budged an inch other than to sneak to the vending machine and back.

He sat up straighter when he took in her expression, but the warm smile glowing on her lips calmed down one of the raging nerves inside of him. Despite what he liked everyone to think, House did care. Not about many people, but Wilson and (Y/n) were part of his family, and he cared about them very much.

"Would you like to meet your Goddaughter?"

[ichorai]

reset me ; wade wilson.

track twelve of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; wade wilson (deadpool) x mutant!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; charles sends you to recruit deadpool into the x-men. expectedly, the bastard tries to weasel away from you—and when that doesn’t work, he resorts to his most lethal method: flirtation. that, and taping a kick me sign on your back.

words ; 1.3k

themes ; comedy, mild fluff and action, mutant au

warnings / includes ; mild injury/violence, sexual jokes and foul language, a lil bit of banter/terrible flirting, reader has the mutant ability to harness energy into ropes, wade steals blind al's crocs, reader's implied previous romantic relationship with wolverine, mentions of the rest of the x-men :)

Wade’s place smelled like greasy pizza, put-out cigarettes, and old socks. The door wasn’t locked—in fact, it was slightly ajar, and you could clearly hear Wade and Al bickering about missing Crocs.

“I swear I put them right here!” she vehemently exclaimed, gesturing to a potted plant. 

Wade rolled his eyes. “Right—because you always hang your Crocs on our leafy greens.” 

Al shuffled somewhere into the back of the house, complaining loudly to herself. 

You took that as your cue to silently step in, standing just behind Wade, noting with mild amusement that he was wearing a pair of white Crocs. The very ones Al was searching for, you presumed.

In the blink of an eye, Wade whirled about on the heel of his squeaky, rubbery footwear and brandished a knife. Its strangely warm blade slotted against your throat just as you defensively raised your hands.

“Watch it, Wade,” you warned, though you were not at all worried. His knife lowered and flipped back into the depths of his fluffy bathrobe when he realized who you were. 

“Oh. It’s you,” he said. The discolored flesh of his face twitched with a grin. “Did Mr. Metal Dick send you? The bullwhip substitute to watch over the class?” He snickered at his own joke, recalling your mutant ability to harness energy into the form of ropes.

“Piotr is off on vacation with Kitty,” you replied, propping your hands up on your hips.

Wade tipped his head back and guffawed. “Do you think he stays that way under the sheets?”

With a grimace, you pinched the space between your brows and sighed loudly. “Jesus, Wade—I don’t fucking know. Why don’t you ask him next time you see him?”

“Good idea.” He shuffled off to shuck open a box of day-old pizza on the table. “You want?”

“No thanks.”

“You sure? It’s pepperoni. You know how expensive it is to get pepperoni nowadays, in this economy? I’m offering you gold flakes on bread, here.”

“Mhm, I’ll pass.” After a considerable silence, only filled with Wade’s loud munching, you tested the waters by saying, “Charles actually sent me.”

Wade gestured at a chair and nudged for you to take a seat. “McAvoy or Stewart?” 

“What? Charles Xavier, who’s McAvoy and Stewart?” You sank down onto the creaky wooden chair, frowning at the baby powder rimming the backboard. It was probably Al’s. Wouldn’t be surprised if it was Wade, though.

Ignoring your question, Wade tilted his head and asked, “How’s Yukio? And her emo-face Megasonic Nuclear Bomb-Head girlfriend?”

You smiled slightly, remembering how they were pestering Logan, who’d been working on fixing a motorcycle back at the mansion when you left. 

“They’re fine. Wolvie, too.”

“No way!” exclaimed Wade. “Logie’s there, too? Jesus—whole damn gang’s there.”

“Except you,” you pointedly said.

Wade paused mid-chew. “Oh. Oh-ho-ho, I know what you’re doing here. Charles wants me to join his rag-tag team of circus freaks.”

“Wade—”

“The answer is no.”

“Come on—”

“And he wants me to be around all those kids? In a school? Has he met me?”

“Believe me, I don’t know what he’s thinking, either,” you told him, scoffing. “You’re the last person I’d expect to be on the team but… I trust Charles. If he wants you in, there must be a reason why.”

Holding his hands out, Wade shook his head. “Listen, I’m flattered, really, but Deadpool works solo. Except for that one time I formed the X-Force. But that was a team of people I hand-picked! The X-Men just doesn’t sound up my alley, y’know?”

You blew out a breath and fixed him with a serious expression. “Some day you’re gonna have to pull your head out of your ass and realize that there are people out there who are willing to be your friends. Your family. Don’t throw it away, Wade.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked as he studied you. 

“You’re really bad with rejection, aren’t you?” he finally asked, quirking up a brow—or, at least where his eyebrow used to be—and crossed his arms. The Crocs he’d stolen from Al squeaked as he stood up and gestured to the door. “I’m surprised you didn’t go running back to Charles the moment I said no. I’m beginning to think you have a crush on me, or something. Not that I blame you. My face may be fucked but my dick works better than ever. Just ask Al. She’s blind as a bat, but she hears everything in this damn house.”

Immediately, you grimaced. “Ugh. Don’t be crass.”

“What? I thought you were into broken men. Like to pick up their pieces, don’cha? You and Wolvie had that fling once, no? He told me all about it.” 

In truth, Logan had told him little to nothing about his brief relationship with you, but Wade had ruthlessly pestered him anyway. 

You stiffened at his words, glowering. “You’re exasperating.”

“And you’re looking awfully lovely today. That frown really accentuates your eyes. Makes you look about a decade older.” Wade leaned his weight onto the table, leering over you, patting your back twice. “I find it very attractive.”

With a flick of your hand, a crimson coil of your harnessed energy shot out and thwacked him in his side, and he hissed out a string of curses, backing away from you. You’d burned right through his fluffy white robe, to his simultaneous dismay and astonishment.

“Jesus!” Wade glanced incredulously from you to the slight, shallow gash that formed by his ribs, already starting to heal itself. “That’s actually—that was so fucking cool. Do it again!”

Clearing your throat, you pushed yourself away and stood up. “Final time I’m asking. Yes or no?”

Wade pretended to give it a long, hard think. “Mmh…” He wrinkled his nose. “No.”

“Fine,” you said, rolling your eyes up to the ceiling. “When Piotr comes back from vacation, he’s going to find you and he’s not gonna go as easy on you as I have.”

“Ooh, ouch. Hope he brings some lube with him.” Wade grinned wolfishly.

Completely fed up with him, you ripped out a wad of paper and a pen from your jacket’s pocket, scribbling down your phone number. You folded it in half before shoving it against his chest.

“I’m not giving up on you. I’m a competitive person, Wade. If Piotr was the one to convince you to join, I just wouldn’t be able to bear it.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re literally obsessed with me, I get it,” he remarked, sparing you a lopsided beam. He made a show of pocketing your number on the side of his robe that wasn’t burnt. “You little minx, you.”

With a final flick of your hand, you lashed out another coil around his foot, and made your way to the door just as he fell back onto the couch with a muffled oomf! 

Just as you left, you heard Wade cackling to himself through the door you left partially ajar, just as it was when you came in. You chalked it up to him finding it funny that you managed to trip him over with your powers, and strode away from the shoddy house with your lips twitching upwards. 

Wade, however, was laughing because he’d successfully pulled off taping a kick me sign onto your back without you noticing. A low and childish blow, but would certainly make for some fun banter whenever he saw you again—which, he suspected, would be pretty soon.

Plus, Wade thought you were pretty cute when you were riled up.

[socialoutsider1a]

In my opinion, House and Wilson's time on the road together after Wilson reveals he's terminally ill could only ever end in two ways:

*The happy ending where Wilson finally changes his mind, deciding to get treatment which is successful and prolongs his life. My headcanon is if that happened, they'd eventually get married and live the rest of their lives somewhere probably far from New Jersey, engaging in a permanent 24/7 all-year round BDSM relationship, Wilson the Dom, Top and Master while House is the Submissive, the Bottom.

*The sad ending where after three months of traveling, House and Wilson also visit Thirteen, House fulfiling his promise and ending her life. With Thirteen dead, the two men bury her and then resume their journey, arriving at a motel somewhere in the U.S. and during September 2012, Wilson who's been weakened from the cancer dies either naturally or with House giving him a lethal injection of drugs. House, devastated by Wilson's passing ends his own life an hour or minutes later, House's will to live having disappeared the second Wilson died. My headcanon is that House calls Chase or Foreman for the last time to explain what's going on before House fatally injects himself with some drugs. A few days later, Chase arrives at the local morgue and ID's the two men, both of whom are "John Does". He has House and Wilson's bodies cremated and later scatters their ashes off a bridge somewhere in Princeton with Foreman accompanying, the two noting that House and Wilson are finally together in death.

[ltbarnes]

‘Tis the Damn Season

Stark U #6

Summary: It’s Christmas Eve, you’re too drunk, you’ve basically avoided Bucky and Steve for six months and the last person you’d want to meet at this party just happens to be yelling in your face. The panic attack is inevitable, really.

Pairing: college!Steve Rogers x reader, college!Bucky Barnes x reader, college!Sam Wilson x reader, college!Natasha Romanoff x reader

Word count: 7.8k

Warnings: so much angst, past SA, alcohol, talk about violence, Christmas celebrations, things finally start to happen, kissing :)

A/N: Happy holidays to anyone who celebrates and to those who don’t, I hope you have a good few days anyways <3 This is the first I’ve posted since July which is awful of me so sorry

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

You didn't see them all summer. The day after your last exam was over, you bolted back to your hometown and spent the entire summer selectively ignoring messages from Bucky and Natasha and Steve and Sam asking what you were doing and how your summer was going and maybe you could all meet up and go somewhere and—

It's December now, and every goddamn day since June you have been trying to figure out if what Bucky said to you when you were sick was a fever-induced hallucination or if he really, actually, said that he wanted you to take his last name someday. It made you panic, because the entire spring term you tried to convince yourself that your feelings towards them were batshit crazy and any inkling to them feeling the same was a delusional reach, grasping for crumbs that in reality were just friendly gestures. And then he says that.

"She's just practicing her future last name, Stevie."

So, yeah...things have been weird. Three months have passed since classes started and none of you want to mention what happened right before summer break. Actually, with each day passing you feel more like maybe it was just a hallucination or a very vivid dream, because both Bucky and Steve act like it never even happened. Bucky even had his mouth latched onto some blonde sophomore at a dumb, stupid frat party on Halloween. You went home right after and cried for two hours. But it's not hard to conclude that even if there was some spark or connection or anything beyond friendship with either of them before summer, it has died out completely.

The subject will probably never be broached. You're too scared of confrontation and definitely too scared of revealing unreciprocated feelings for that to happen. The slightly tense atmosphere in the loft is entirely your fault—your lack of communication with anyone in the group during the summer has made them a little confused, you guess. You mostly spend time in your room, giving excuses of studying and talking with parents on the phone and 'I'm just tired, sorry'.

Spending too much time with Natasha scares you too, because she reads you so well and you don't want her to know how hurt and unhappily in love you are. She'll try to do something about it and then Steve and Bucky will catch on and then you will end up rejected and labeled as crazy, because who the fuck falls in love with two people?

That doesn't mean you've managed to avoid her. Living in the same apartment as her definitely makes that hard, but just the fact that she won't let you makes it impossible. Last week she even broke into your room when you had it locked, because apparently she knows how to pick a lock open in under ten seconds. She absolutely knows something is off, but so far she hasn't brought it up.

Natasha is the sole reason why you're now standing in the backyard of some rich kid's house just off campus, surrounded by smoke from cheap cigarettes and fairy lights hung up between the trees and one too many shots of vodka in your blood. It's December utterly and thoroughly—there's snow on the ground but people still haven't accepted the fact that wearing their short dresses and tank tops without jackets does not work anymore. Ice drops hangs from the tree where you stand, listening to Natasha talk with a drunken girl looking for her phone.

It's fun, sure. Not the worst party you've been to and not the best either. You talked to the girl you've been sitting next to in History class earlier for almost twenty minutes. Got free vodka. It's Friday and you don't have any exams to study for. None of that makes you forget that things aren't the same.

"Nat. Nat." You poke her shoulder repeatedly, obnoxiously probably, until she glances over her shoulder with a slight glare.

"What is it?"

"I'm gonna get 'nother drink. Inside," you tell her, pointing with your thumb towards a hedge even though it was meant to be the door. Natasha seems to understand anyway.

"Okay. Don't wander off too long. And come back here right after."

"Yes, ma'am." You give her a half-assed salute before turning around, swaying slightly in your step. It's the uneven and slippery surface of the snow-covered ground, you tell yourself.

There's a lot of people here, is what you note as you push yourself through the seemingly endless crowds of the living room. You kind of hate that they haven't played a single song you like and if Steve was here he would agree, because he doesn't listen to any music made after the internet was born. Bucky would then make fun of Steve and you would laugh and everything would be right in the world. Instead you're pressed to kitchen drawers of a dark kitchen, cheap vodka mixed with soda running down your throat.

The kitchen is crowded too, but either way it's a respite from whatever the hell's going on in the living room. Jumping up and down and calling it dancing (you were doing the same the hour before). You're too drunk to be miserable about everything happening in your life this entire term and much too drunk to feel the absolute atrocious taste of your drink.

In half an hour you will probably throw up and tomorrow will be spent nursing a horrible hangover, but those consequences seem insignificant right now. You just keep thinking about the image of Bucky shoving his tongue down someone's throat that wasn't yours. It was heartbreaking. That he's not here is a good thing, because you'd either witness the same thing again or actually bring it up to him, and that's much worse. God knows it's only a matter of time before Steve does the same thing.

Someone pushes into you, forcing the liquid from your cup to spill from the confines of the red plastic onto your dress. It's black, so it doesn't really matter, but the alcohol still seeps through the fabric until it reaches your skin.

"Shit, fuck—"

Your hand tries to somehow dry your dress by fanning the fabric, which obviously doesn't help very much, and the paper towels placed on the counter in front of you escape your drunken mind completely.

Fresh air and icy winter winds are the only options, so you push through and stumble into people on your way outside. It takes a lot longer than it should. You can't really see much considering the dizziness and darkness inside, but somehow, magically, you are eventually dragging your way towards Natasha who stands in the same place as before.

"Nat. Natty—I spilled. Look."

The black dress with the now wet patch is lifted towards her by your hands, highlighted for her to see. You sway as you tell her.

"Jesus, you can barely stand straight," Natasha answers with a stabling hand to your shoulder, shaking her head to herself instead of focusing on the very urgent fact that you spilled on yourself.

Natasha turns to the girl she's talking to, saying something you can't bother to decipher, before stepping aside with a guiding arm around you.

"We gotta get you home before you embarrass yourself for real," she mumbles underneath her breath.

"I heard that," you whisper, a loud hiccup following. Whoops.

She rolls her eyes, fishing her phone up from her pocket.

"Who—who you writing? To?" you ask, slightly aware that your sentences lack correct structure but not really caring. As long as the message comes across, right?

"I'm texting Steve. I can't drive and you sure as hell can't."

Even in your state, panic instantly sets in over the mention of his name even though you live in the same goddamn apartment.

"Nooo. No Steve."

Your hand grasps for her phone. Nat pulls it away from your reach much quicker than you can comprehend.

"Yes Steve. You're a mess and he's the only one with the patience to take care of this level of drunk. I don't care that you're avoiding them for some stupid goddamn reason," she tells you.

"Nat," you whine. "He can't see me. I spilled!"

She just glares at you. "I swear to god, Y/n...nobody cares that you spilled your drink. I can't even see it."

"I'm so drunk!"

"Yeah, I know. Just—just stay here, okay? I'm going to get you some water so you can sober up by the time your precious Steve comes for us."

Natasha is heading inside before you can process her words. Waiting in place for a few minutes turns into an eternity in your mind. She should know better than to leave you unattended and then expect you to stay—really, it's her own fault. You will accept no blame if Nat gets mad at you for going inside again. It's cold and you need to go to the bathroom. Also, you're mad at her. Telling Steve to come get you? That's just...embarrassing.

Once again you're shouldering your way past people on about the same level of intoxication as you. There's a bad remix of a Christmas song playing loudly. Makes you wanna punch whoever's phone is connected to the speaker. The bathroom is so, so far away. It's something the architect of this house should've thought of before he put it at the very end of this long hallway you're currently making your way through, but clearly he didn't have you in mind.

"Fuck! Watch where you're going, asshole," some girl seethes at you as your shoulder nudges against hers. A nudge is an exaggeration—you brushed against it at most. She's probably an aggressive drunk, that's all.

You don't answer, instead fumbling for the door handle to what you believe might be the bathroom. Some couple is making out in here, the girl with her ass planted on the edge of the bathtub and the guy nearly devouring her face. Doesn't look very pleasant, if you're honest.

"Out. I need to pee."

Your hands find their way to their shoulders, ushering the lovesick pair out of the room without much protest from either of them. They're still making out as they walk out.

Despite your less than sober state, you manage to remember to lock the door after they leave. Some of the mascara that previously inhabited your lashes has moved down to rest under your eyes. You rub it away, smudging it slightly, but it just makes you look a little more like one of those cool girls you always see on campus. It will do.

You kind of want to throw up, but decide against it. That hasn't happened since you were a freshman, and you'd like to keep it that way. Staring at yourself in the mirror occupies your time in the bathroom instead, swaying slightly with your hands placed on the cold sink. If Steve saw you now he would be so disappointed. At least you imagine he would be—that fatherly look on his face as he tells you how you need to be more mindful with your alcohol consumption. Did you even watch who poured your drink? Never go anywhere alone at a party. Especially not a frat one. You know better than this, Y/n.

Steve's imaginary voice is interrupted by someone banging on the door, shouting for you to hurry the fuck up. It's been over ten minutes, but to you it just feels like three, and Natasha has been looking for you ever since she returned to the garden with a glass of water in her hand and no one to give it to. It's not her banging on the door, unfortunately, but instead a dickhead guy who has no patience. Can't a girl spend some time alone in the bathroom doing nothing anymore?

The guy glares at you as you push the door open, stumbling out into the crowded hallway while paying him no mind. It's dark save for the red LED-lights plastered on the walls, making it feel like a seedy dive bar instead of a seedy house. You don't see much.

"Hey! Hey, you—the girl with the black dress!"

Someone pushes their way past the people talking and making out and leaning against the walls, shoving through them as he searches for your attention. Of course, you don't really think it's you he's after. Half of the people at this party are wearing black dresses.

A clammy hand finds purchase on your shoulder, halting you in your less than gracious steps and turning you around with ease. Head tilted back, gaze running upwards until they settle on the face of a quite attractive guy. He doesn't look pretty happy to see you. You're not very happy to see him either.

The blood drains from your face, stealing away all that alcohol-induced heat within a second as his curly hair and green eyes look down at you with that same contempt he had when Sam dragged him away from the kitchen almost a year ago. You had hoped you never had to see him again. It was a naive thing to wish for.

"Y/n, right?" he asks bitterly. You don't answer, but he takes your silence as a yes. It was probably a rhetorical question anyway. His slightly crooked nose was perfectly straight the last time you saw him. His face is committed to your memory, burned in to taunt you on sleepless nights and everytime an unknown man walks a little too closely when you're out alone. "Your little boyfriend broke my fucking nose. You know that?"

Another rhetorical question. Definitely more threatening. Might be the tight grip he has on your arm too. Either way, his mere presence has apparently stripped away your ability to breathe normally. It feels like you've been running to the point of nausea, dark spots dancing before your eyes as he shakes you in attempt to get an answer.

"You ruined my fucking reputation. For what? I barely touched you. Such a sensitive fucking bitch, going around telling everyone that..." His voice trails off, ushering you into a quiet corner when he realizes people are staring. "Got nothing to say now, huh? Been so good at running your fucking mouth before, haven't you?"

"Let me go," you whisper, voice wavering. You don't sound assertive at all, instead weak and fearful. It's what you feel, as an upbeat, slightly bad cover rendition of "All I Want For Christmas" booms through the house. Girls shrieking in excitement over in the living room reaches your ears. You would have joined them if you weren't currently cornered by the guy who assaulted you in your own kitchen a year ago.

"No, we're going to fucking talk. What the fuck were you doing, going around saying shit like that about me to everyone?"

"I...I didn't..." Your lips part between words, breathing out shakily, trying to articulate sentences long enough to make sense. Why can't you speak? Why can't you even think?

"You didn't what?" he seethes. "You're such a fucking bitch, you know that? Acts all innocent and hides behind her friends. My nose is fucking crooked forever because of that fuckhead you sent after me."

Is it the alcohol that renders you this goddamn useless? There's just tears springing to your eyes, unable to say anything in defense of yourself. Can't even walk away.

He pushes you against the wall, knocking the breath out of you. To other people it probably looks like you're hooking up. At least that's what you hope they think, because otherwise you want to wonder why no one is intervening.

"Joshua, please let me go," you tell him again, even more pathetic this time. You're crying now, curled in on yourself in attempt to make yourself as small as possible.

"Fuck, you're so—"

"She told you to let her go."

The assertive, familiar tone booms through the hallway. It doesn't really, can probably only be heard by the people around you, but it feels like it when Steve's tall figure pushes through with hasty steps towards where you and Joshua stand, followed by a glaring Bucky with his jaw clenched so fucking tightly. A sob of relief is drawn from your lips, muffled by the back of your hand.

Joshua steps back instantly. Kind of funny to think that he's so scared of those two, and sad to think that he only respects a 'no' when it comes from men.

"Nice nose job," Bucky speaks up, pointing at his own nose as he stares at Joshua's crooked one, courtesy of the damn good punch he managed to land with his left fist all those months ago.

"Fuck you," Joshua growls, taking a step forward in attempt to appear more threatening or something. He doesn't really succeed—both Bucky and Steve towers over him in both length and build, unrelenting in their stance. As if they're stone walls keeping out the enemy.

Steve rolls his his eyes, shaking his head with a sigh. "Just get out of here. Don't go near her ever again, you hear me? Bucky's glad to fix your nose otherwise. Break it right back. Can't promise the result will be very good, though."

Bucky stands slightly behind Steve, raising an eyebrow in Joshua's direction that tells him there's not even a trace of a lie in the blonde giant's statement.

"You—fuck this." Joshua throws his hands in the air, aiming the most distasteful glare over his shoulder in your direction, before pushing past Steve and Bucky with a shove.

Your body instantly deflates, the tension melting off your limbs as you close your eyes and lean back against the wall. Gentle, firm hands instantly reach your cheeks, your arms, searching for any trace Joshua might have left behind on your body.

"Hey, hey. Y/n, are you okay? Did he touch you? Sweetheart, look at me."

Bucky's voice draws you out of the anxious, panicked state you slipped into, fluttering your eyelids open to see his worried frown and an equally worried Steve looming behind him. Wet cheeks and red-rimmed eyes greet them, pupils dilated from the alcohol.

"Y/n, are you hurt? How long have you two been talking?" Steve adds, looming over you in such a way that his large frame blocks out any of the colorful lights plastered on the walls.

They already know you're drunk—Natasha was the one to call them here to get you, after all. Maybe your silence and obvious intoxication makes it clear to them after a couple of seconds that an answer from you is a few minutes away, a few miles of distance from this foggy, packed house. Nothing more is said or requested from you. Instead your trembling form is led away and out into the biting cold by gentle hands belonging to your friends. Even your slight shock can't shield you from freezing your ass off as soon as you get out into the fresh air again, teeth beginning to chatter within the second step on tightly packed snow.

"What the—where the hell have you been? I swear to god, Y/n, I was gone for two minutes! I've been looking for you everywhere!" an angry Natasha yells, running perfectly towards the three of you down the slippery lawn to where Steve is currently helping you into the backseat of his car.

"Nat," Steve says, giving her a pleading look that silently tells her it's not the time for a scolding.

"What? I told her to stay put when I went to get her a glass of water and she just disappeared out of nowhere. Slippery motherfucker while drunk, I swear she'll be the death of me—"

"Nat," he repeats, sternly this time. In that tone only he masters, silencing even the most eager tongues with a single exhale. "She met Joshua. And she's not okay. So please, leave your yelling for tomorrow and get in the car."

Steve holds the passenger door open, gesturing for the seat beside Bucky. He's turning the key, letting the car warm up properly while he clutches the wheel tightly. Natasha's irritated frown turns into a concerned one, nodding silently before slipping inside. Steve closes the door shut behind her.

You lean your head against the frost-covered window, fogged up by your breath two inches away from it, and close your eyes. Steve leans over you, reaching for the belt and fastens it over your torso. You forgot. He never does.

It's no surprise, doesn't startle you despite your absentminded state, when his warm hand cups your cheek, turns your head to face him. Soft, blue gaze and ridiculously long lashes. It's nothing but contrasting against the clouds released from your mouths with each breath—warm, concerned...loving? Maybe.

"Are you okay?" he whispers, thumb rubbing over your cheek.

You nod. "Yes. I am now."

Bucky puts his foot on the gas, turns on the blinker, and pulls away from the curb, out onto the streets. It's nearly soundless. The usual rumble from wheels against road is cushioned by the snow.

"This was a mistake. Sorry, I can't—" Sam gags, moving his head out of the bathroom before returning his presence within a few seconds. "You're a real shitty guard, Nat. Why'd you let her drink this much?"

All four of your roommates are gathered in the bathroom, surrounding you as if you're a newly born lion cub in a zoo, while you puke your guts out into the toilet. Steve is kneeling on the floor beside you, a comforting hand rubbing your back, while Bucky sits a few feet away with a glass of water in hand, ready for whenever you need it.

"Fuck you. You weren't there—she was like a goddamn ghost, just slipping away everytime I blinked. Looked fucking everywhere for her. 'S not my fault," Nat answers, residing on the floor of the shower in lack of space.

"Not true," you murmur in answer, your voice echoing off the ceramic surrounding you.

You're pretty much done throwing up, it's just the exhaustion following that's keeping you slumped over on the bathroom tile. Your hand stretches out in Bucky's direction, reaching for the glass of water that's gulped down within a few seconds.

"Careful. Gonna get sick again if you do it this fast," Bucky says, unable to help himself from brushing away the stray drops of water running down your chin.

The gesture is nothing new from him. He did it when you were sick all those months ago too, and you haven't forgotten it at all. His thumb gently rubbing over your skin as if you're precious, something deserving of gentleness, is engraved into your mind. You're thankful for getting most of the alcohol out of your system, because you might not have remembered this moment in the morning if not. Fuck it if you forgot the way his pupils widen just slightly, as if he didn't mean to, as if he couldn't help himself.

"I'm fine," you whisper in answer, clearing your throat. "Got it all out."

"Good." Steve's hand moves up from your back to your head, stroking it for just a second before withdrawing his touch. "Let's get you to the couch."

"I don't wanna go to the couch. Wanna be in my bed." You're pouting. Maybe there is some trace of alcohol left in you.

"Steve and Buck will feel much less like creepy stalkers if they stare at you sleeping on the couch instead of hovering around your bedroom all night like a bunch of pervs," Natasha speaks up. A snort follows after, as if it was a joke and not a statement. Definitely tipsy too, despite unwilling to admit such a weakness.

Steve raises a reprimanding eyebrow Natasha's way, telling her to shut her mouth with just his gaze. She smirks in answer.

"Don't listen to her. A fucking liar," Bucky remarks, but there's still some form of amusement in his expression. He can't even deny the statement—he is going to watch over you. Doesn't really matter if it's in the living room or in your bedroom. "Now let's get you up. C'mon."

With a push from your arms against the cold tile, you're standing on two legs again. Steve is hovering his hand near your back, ready to support if the vodka decides to topple you over. But you're fine—just tired now.

For ten minutes it feels things are back to normal again. On the living room couch, nestled in between them, your head leaning on Steve's shoulder as a stupid Hallmark Christmas movie plays on the tv. Sam and Natasha are in their rooms sleeping, and for a few moments you forget why you kept your distance. Everything would have been good if this is how the night would end. If Steve didn't have to address the past six months.

"I've missed this. With us," Steve whispers as he strokes your shoulder absentmindedly, like it's second nature to him to have his hands on your skin. "You've been so distant lately. For months, Y/n."

The room instantly becomes tense enough to make you nauseous. A clearing of your throat, an attempt to sit up out of Steve's hold and away from this conversation that you'd much rather avoid is futile—it's instantly stopped by Bucky's hand on your chest that pushes you right back.

"No," he says sternly. "You're gonna sit right here, sweetheart, and tell us why you've barely let us see you since fall term started. 'Cause it's sure as fuck not something I take lightly. Why have you avoided us?"

You look away, shaking your head to yourself as you try to talk yourself down. You will not break. You will not confess a single thing. You are going to act like everything is fine and you are not currently freaking out being sandwiched between the only two men you would gladly be sandwiched between under different circumstances than this.

"What are you even talking about?" you answer meekly. It's clear as soon as the words come out of your mouth that no one is falling for your innocent act, not even sweet, naive Steve. Then again, you're doing a particularly bad job. "Both of you think I've been distant?"

"Cut the bullshit, Y/n. If we've done something wrong, just say so." Bucky bites his cheek, glancing down for just a second, but it's enough to let his vulnerability slip. He's hurt.

A wave of guilt instantly washes over your body, an unusual feeling. During all these months of avoiding any interaction with Bucky and Steve besides the necessary ones, you didn't think that they'd actually mind your absence that much. They might not be hopelessly in love with you like you are with them, but they're still your friends. Friends miss each other.

"Or if it's something personal, you can tell us, you know? Is it anxiety, or are you feeling generally low, or...?" Steve chips in, trying to drown out Bucky's accusatory tone.

"No, no...I'm not depressed, Steve. And none of you have done anything wrong, I promise," you say hastily, shutting down their concerns as quickly as possible while trying to buy yourself time to come up with an excuse. "I just...needed some alone time."

Bucky rolls his eyes, shaking his head. Sassy man. "Bullshit again. You've spent a bunch of time with Natasha. Sam, too. It's us you're avoiding." He points to himself and Steve with his hand. "It's been almost six months, Y/n. What the hell's your problem?" He pushes himself off the couch, standing up and blocking your view of the tv. It's as if his frustration is all contained while sitting down.

"Bucky," Steve scolds, glaring up at his friend. He's not appreciating the tone at all, that's for sure.

"There's no problem, Bucky," you tell him, shaking your head. Trying to dismiss this entire conversation before you reveal too much.

"No! Y/n, I'm going fucking crazy! This is the first time you've even let me touch you in half a year!" Bucky yells, a pleading tone in his voice that breaks your heart just a little. Because it's true. You have barely even hugged since June. You've barely talked for more than five minutes at a time.

"Don't yell at her, for god's sake, Bucky," Steve adds, his hands on your shoulders and ready to get up from the couch any second.

"What the hell's going on with you, huh?!" Bucky continues, ignoring Steve's statement. His eyes are solely focused on you, void of the usual softness. There's just anger. "Cause if you can't stand us, then tough fucking luck. I can have your fucking things moved out by tomorrow for all I care. Can move right into Walker's dorm. Bet he'd accept you with open fucking arms if you get to your knees and—“

The drop of your heart down to your stomach can almost be heard, an echoing, hollow sound. You're sure of it. Bucky shuts his mouth, as if he realizes what exactly was about to come out of it. What is not even a second of silence feels like a whole minute, before Steve shoots up from his seat beside you and grabs Bucky by the collar, rattling the whole room with the force in which he nearly tackles Bucky against the wall with. The tangy taste of iron starts to fill your mouth, your teeth biting down on your lip hard enough to draw blood. There's tears lingering in your eyes but you can't hold them back, not anymore.

"You don't fucking talk to her like that, you bast—"

"I love you! It’s ‘cause I fucking love you guys!” you yell, a pathetic sob marring the words. “So I’m fucking sorry that I’ve avoided you two but I’m trying to get over these goddamn—these feelings, but I can’t, okay! I can’t!”

The bitter delivery is punctuated by the sleeve of your sweater wiping away the tears furiously, cutting Steve off and drawing both of their wild eyes towards your figure now standing up, just a minute away from a complete breakdown. You don't even process the fact that Steve cursed. It would've been teased about endlessly in any other situation.

"I will go. I'll leave if that's what you want," you seethe with a voice so unsteady that it's almost unbearable to listen to. "But I don’t hate any of you. I don’t, and I get why you’re mad. But fuck you, Bucky. Fuck you for saying that.”

More tears fall. It's futile to wipe them away when they'll be replaced the second after. You want to say more, hit Bucky where it hurts, but you cannot get the goddamn words to form on your lips. Opening your mouth and closing it again, shaking your head, comes before hastily walking towards your room and locking yourself inside without giving them a chance to answer.

As soon as the door is slammed shut, your hand comes up to your mouth to muffle the sobs. Sinking down to the floor as if you’re in a movie, forehead resting against your knees. The rate of your heartbeats could be considered dangerously high, but you just blurted out a whole love confession for two of your roommates in the midst of a fight. How the hell could everything turn to shit so quickly? Half an hour ago all of you were joking around in the bathroom, and now you're not sure you have the courage to face any of them again.

It's a rash, impulsive decision fueled by anger and betrayal and shame, but you rush over to your closet and pull out an overnight bag that's soon filled to the brim with enough things to last you a few days. You're crying the entire time.

When you pass the living room again, Bucky isn't there anymore. But Steve is. Barely a glance his way is spared, with hasty steps heading towards the hallway. You remind yourself of a furious toddler when you angrily put on your jacket, stick your feet into your winter boots. The bag is slung over your shoulder, hand resting on the door handle.

"Don't go. Y/n, please don't leave."

Steve stands at the other side of the hallway, a broken down expression on his pretty face.

"Bucky went out of line, but he didn't mean it, I swear. He's just too prideful to admit it," he continues. You shake your head, biting down on your bottom lip. "Please, honey. It’s Christmas Eve. It won’t be the same if you’re not here tomorrow.”

"I just need some space," you whisper, brushing away a stray tear with the sleeve of your jacket. You’re so embarrassed and hurt that you can barely look him in the eye. "I can't be in the same apartment as him right now."

Steve sighs, looking about ready to just throw you over his shoulder to get you to stay. But he won't do that. That's not Steve. So instead he glances down to the floor, shaking his head to himself.

“Did you mean it?” he asks softly. “The thing about—you said you loved us. Did you mean it?”

It takes a few seconds before you nod tentatively, sniffling and keeping your gaze on a spot past Steve. He doesn’t say anything.

Steve gathers courage enough to walk up to where you stand by the door, grabbing your cheeks with his hands, thumb running over the tear-stained skin gently. For a few moments, he just looks at you. Loud thoughts running amok in that perfect head of his.

“Nothing I say right now will do my feelings any justice, so I’m gonna save any big speeches for tomorrow. But just…stay. It’s 2 am, it’s freezing out and you’re still drunk. I don’t want you out there on the streets alone. I need you to stay, even if it’s only for your own safety. Don’t have to talk to any of us if you don’t want to.”

His words makes you nod automatically. All it took was his hands on your skin and the flicker of hope his words ignite in your chest, and you conceded within a second. No hesitation left in that exhausted body of yours. He‘s not saying outright that your feelings are requited, but it doesn’t feel like a rejection either. He doesn’t seem disgusted by your confession, by the knowledge that you’re in love with both him and his best friend.

“Good girl. Let’s just—let’s get you to bed, okay?”Steve tells you, squeezing your shoulder gently. With your confirmation in form of another silent nod, he nestles the bag out of your grip and takes off the jacket from your torso.

The bed feels so soft and warm and comforting when you lie down. Steve tucks you in. It’s achingly sweet and you don’t really deserve it after avoiding him and Bucky like that for so long, but he looks out for you nonetheless.

“Steve,” you whisper, drawing his gaze up to meet yours. “I’m sorry. For being so distant.”

He shakes his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You were scared,” Steve answers. “Don’t worry about anything, okay? Get some sleep. You’ve had a tough night, Y/n.”

The softest of smiles grazes your lips, puppy eyes gazing up at Steve. Your wonderful, caring, perfect Steve.

“Are you alright? It must’ve been hard meeting Joshua again. And what Bucky said, it…it was far from okay.”

“I will be,” you whisper.

He nods, observes your face for a few seconds. Leans down to press a kiss to your forehead—what kind of college guy even does that? And then he leaves the room, turning the light off behind him.

You’re woken up by a red headed, crazy woman sitting on top of you over the sheets, shaking your shoulders.

“Wake up, fuckhead. You’re gonna open the presents I got you,” Natasha urges, grinning down at you as you blink your eyes open, groaning.

“Fuckhead?” you ask, a tired chuckle from your lips as Natasha climbs off the bed.

“Yes. Don’t like it, huh?” she teases. “C’mon. The guys are already waiting.”

With slow steps and a loud yawn, the slightest trace of a hangover plaguing your body, you drag yourself out into the living room. Around the ugly, little tree that Sam insisted on cutting down from the campus gardens last week (he almost got arrested by the security guards) the three boys sit. Your gaze falls to the floor, scratching the skin right above your lip nervously, once Bucky looks up at you. Can’t really read his expression, but you figure you’ll lay the fight aside for the day. It’s Christmas, after all.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” Steve says, urging you to sit down next to him right there on the carpet. You offer a soft smile, and an even softer ‘Merry Christmas’ back. You’re still unsure about yesterday. Despite there being no rejection from either of them, the uncertainty is kind of killing you. A pit of anxiety rests in your stomach, an uneasy feeling corrupting every cell as you sit down on the floor next to Steve.

Not even ten minutes later, the living room is drowning in a sea of wrapping paper. Natasha went overboard with the gift shopping this year, it seems like, but her absent father is also some kind of Russian oligarch or something so she tends to use up as much of his money as she can. You’re not complaining.

The special edition of The Hobbit, signed by the director of the movie, that you managed to get on eBay and cost you a fucking fortune is received with a whispered ‘thank you’ from Bucky. He holds it in his hands tightly, staring down at the book without a word, and you don’t know if he’s happy for it. Maybe he’s not happy with anything touched by you at this moment. He hasn’t gotten you a gift, it seems like, or maybe he threw it in the trash and burned it yesterday.

Steve got you three books that he’d heard you say you wanted months ago, and a dainty silver necklace with a bee pendant hanging from it. “You know, uh, I usually call you ‘honey’ and I thought it was a little funny, maybe. But I can exchange it if you don’t like it. It’s no problem,” he had said, even though there were tears of gratitude in your eyes. Your arms were thrown around him a second later, hugging him tightly as you thanked him profusely for the most thoughtful gift.

Now you’re leaning your back against the couch, still on the floor, watching as Sam and Natasha are tinkering with his new Nintendo Switch that he got from her (overboard with the gifts, as previously mentioned). He’s so happy it almost makes you zoned out as you watch his childlike excitement. It’s nice to see the two of them so calm and sweet with each other too. Usually bickering and getting on each other’s nerves all the time otherwise.

“Y/n, can we talk?”

Your head tilts back, looking up at Bucky standing nervously in front of you, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. There’s a deep hesitation within you, a pride that wants to say no and remain in your angry state forever without confrontation. But it’s Bucky. You hate this animosity between the two of you, the tension. Despite being pissed off and hurt and afraid that he doesn’t want you, you can’t say no, so you nod and push yourself up to a stand.

Bucky closes the door to his room behind him gently, clearing his throat and looking at anything but you. A sigh comes out of his mouth, shaking his head, before he parts his lips to speak.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n. What I said was disgusting and unforgivable and so fucking out of line. You didn’t deserve that at all. So out of proportion to what I was mad at you for,” Bucky says, running the palm of his calloused hand over his face.

“It was,” you answer honestly. There’s no use in denying that what Bucky said was stupidly hurtful. He nods, looking away from your gaze.

“It made me angry thinking that you ignored me, because at first I didn’t know what I had done, you know? And then I thought for a few months that me and Steve had been too overbearing and that you tried to keep your distance because you thought we were annoying or something. But that’s not the case. I should’ve known better by now than to think that you would do anything to purposely hurt us.”

You gulp, nodding, looking down to the floor. “I’m sorry too,” you whisper. “I didn’t know that you guys thought I had something against you until last night. Obviously, you…you know now that’s not the case,” you tell him, embracing yourself with your arms. “But last night, Bucky, I…you hurt me. I know you were angry, but saying those kind of things isn’t okay.”

“I know that. God, I know, Y/n. I’m so sorry. It was fucking childish of me, retorting to saying that Jo—“ Bucky shakes his head, hands coming up to tug at the roots of his hair. “And it felt stupid giving you that present in front of everyone, so now you think I didn’t get you anything, too, and—“

“You got me a present?”

“Yes. Of course I did, Y/n. But I saw how much Natasha had bought and that necklace Steve gave you and my gift felt stupid in comparison to that. Just didn’t want to give it to you in front of everyone,” he says, a little awkwardly. A little boy giving his mother a drawing he made in kindergarten, he reminds you of.

“Bucky…that doesn’t matter. I don’t care what you have gotten me. I’ll like it no matter what if it’s from you.”

He shifts in his place, contemplating something, before picking up a sweater on his bed, revealing a wrapped present hidden underneath. Bucky took the gift from the pile without anyone noticing before, throwing it into his room so no one would see.

With a tentative hand, he reaches it out to you. Doesn’t watch as you unwrap it, instead biting on his thumbnail. You reprimand him for it, and the hand returns to his side.

“Is it a book?” You run your fingers over the cover, a hardcover with nothing on it. Blank.

“It’s a photo album. Shit, it’s stupid. I don’t know,” Bucky answers, looking about ready to snatch it back, but you open the first page up before he has a chance to.

A picture of you, Natasha, Sam and Steve on the first page. It was taken last year in November. You’re all running after one of Sam’s model planes, fall leaves singling down from the sky. It’s a beautiful picture.

“4 grown idiots running after a kid’s toy - November 12th, 2022”

“It’s just pics I’ve taken with my phone, so it’s nothing artsy or anything, but…uhm.” Bucky runs his hand through his short, brown hair.

You flip the page. You’re looking out through the kitchen window, the sun shining through and casting shadows over the room and your figure curled up on the chair.

“Angel in the sun - March 25th, 2023”

A soft chuckle is drawn from your lips, resisting the urge to run your finger over the photo, but you don’t want to smudge the blank paper. On the same page there’s another picture of you with your arms around Natasha’s shoulders, nearly wrestling her to the ground with the force of your hug. You look so happy.

Bucky looks nervous as you glance up from the photo album at him. “Know it’s not much, but…yeah.”

A loud huff of hair escapes Bucky as you throw your arms around him. It takes a second or two for him to hug you back, but he soon has his chin resting on top of your head, arms around your waist.

“I love it,” you whisper, holding onto him tightly enough to constrict his breathing.

“You do? I can take it back if you don’t like it.”

Your grip around him releases, arms coming down to your sides so you can take a step back and look him in the eyes. “This is everything, Bucky,” you say softly, feeling a lump in your throat that can turn into tears any second. “The fact that you took the time to make this for me is just…it’s the most thoughtful thing ever. And these pictures are so beautiful, Bucky, and just the thought of you sitting down and glueing them onto the page and writing captions and—“

His lips against yours. Oh god. Oh my god, Bucky has his lips pressed against yours. Gentle hands hold your jaw, his head leaning down to compensate for the height difference, and Bucky Barnes is kissing you with urgency and desperation.

The shock is enough to make you unable to return the kiss. He seems to take your surprise as rejection despite the fact that you literally yelled ‘I love you’ in his face last night. Bucky steps away and takes his hands off your skin, running his hand over his mouth, shaking his head.

“I’m so sorry, don’t know what the hell came over me, I—“

On your tiptoes, fingers grabbing his sweatshirt to pull him closer, and you nearly smash your lips against his to shut up any of that doubt he carries. It’s not a graceful or very romantic kiss, but by the sound akin to a very mild growl that comes from Bucky and his hands sliding down to your waist to pull you closer, you guess he likes it anyway.

It doesn’t last more than 20 seconds. A harsh knock on the door to Bucky’s room interrupts it, forcing you part from his lips and get down from your tiptoes again.

“What the hell are you doing in there? C’mon! I’ve made goddamn Christmas brunch!” Sam yells, drawing a soft chuckle from your lips as your forehead meets Bucky’s chest.

With a soft smile, nothing said, you back away from Bucky. Slipping out of his room and leaving him there all flustered and semi-hard from a 20 second make-out session. The first ever between you, though. He thinks it’s pretty understandable.

As Bucky follows you into the kitchen, sitting down at the table by Steve, he leans towards his best friend and whispers into his ear low enough to make anyone else unable to hear.

“I kissed her, Stevie,” Bucky says with a shit eating grin on his face. “I finally fucking kissed her.”

The blond man turns his head enough to look over at Bucky, the red flush of his cheeks and ears enough to tell anyone what’s been said.

“Are you serious?” Steve asks.

“I kissed her and she kissed me back, I swear. I gave her that photo album I’ve worked on for weeks. She said she loved it, Steve.”

“I guess it’s my turn then, isn’t it?” Steve answers, a shy smile on his lips as the two of them watch you sit down opposite of them at the table, glancing through the window out at the heavy snowfall. Natasha puts a newly toasted bagel on your plate.

“Go get our girl, Stevie.”

[immeasurablesaladagere]

first i want to thank you so much for all that you do… feeding the housemd agere community near single handedly and bringing me and many others so much joy…. o7!! do take care of yourself tho!

second… sorry this is SUPER specific, so you don’t have to follow every detail if you don’t want to haha ��� but could you write smth like, the ducklings find out abt house’s regression (to like 5ish) because he got triggered or was super stressed during a case, and started slipping involuntarily? trying to hold it back but fails and is then upset/scared and small… the team tries to take care of him for a bit b4 getting wilson who explains a bit & worriedly helps, n he & the team get greg to feel better! & maybe they ponder on the surprise of it a bit

Ahhhhh sorry for the wait! School begins once more. One more request to go in the stack!

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Word Count: 1552

Summery: House is given a bear from a dying child patient whose case they fail to solve in time. It causes him to regress involuntarily after being informed of her death.

*Warning for mentioned death of a child patient.

-----

CLANG.

House pitched his pager off the metal leg of his desk, and it skittered across the carpet. She was dead. They failed. They should have had at least a few more days. She shouldn’t have declined so fast, they had time. 

Apparently they were wrong. He was wrong. The little girl had her first of a series of cardiac arrests in the early hours of the morning, and each arrest that followed got harder and harder to pull her back from until, according to his pager, twenty minutes ago, when her time of death was called.

He wasn’t known for grieving dead patients. He wasn’t Wilson, he didn’t get emotionally invested in his cases enough to mourn when some inevitably died, but even he could admit that this failure stung worse than the others. Madalyn Fleech, just six years old. The nurses had gushed obnoxiously about her in the first few days after her admission, cooing about how cute, how sweet and brave she was. Like all child patients, he had thought. Oh-so brave and adorable until it came time for a test or exam, then suddenly they became a pain in the ass like all children. But Madalyn didn’t fight a single test. She didn’t fight any of the dozens of tests they’d put her through; she barely even cried. And then, and then…

The stuffed dog sat innocently on his desk, dressed in a doctor’s coat and staring blankly at him with its plastic eyes. It was purchased from the hospital gift shop by one of the girl’s visitors, and Madalyn had given it to him the day before when he was overseeing her lumbar puncture.

“I already got so many stuffies! I want you to have it, for helpin’ me.”

He intended to get rid of it, or maybe give it to someone more sentimental, like Cameron, but between DDX meetings and tests he hadn’t found the time. Now it was on his desk, looking at him, reminding him that he failed. She was dead because they had done something wrong somewhere.

Where? What did they do wrong?

Something stupid and emotional prompted him to reach forward and grab the dog. It was a golden retriever, filled mostly with stuffing with beads in the paws to allow it to sit upright. The lab coat it was wearing was cheaply made compared to the rest of it, and the flimsy stethoscope was curled up on itself. He smoothed it down with his finger and gave the dog’s head an absent scratch. The ambient hospital sounds outside blurred over, and it was like the only two things left in the world were him and this little toy dog. His hand brushed over a rough spot in the fur. A small portion of the fluff was matted with a hard neon green substance. Jello. Madalyn had probably finished her cup of lime flavoured hospital jello and then buried her sticky face on top of its head without thinking about it, like every dumb little kid.

But she wouldn’t have any more jello. She wouldn’t cuddle any more stuffies because they failed her. Madalyn was dead.

His eyes began to burn, and a wall of fuzz crowded his brain without his permission. No. Not right now. Go away. He couldn’t be small like this. Not here, sitting in his office with a dead girl’s stuffed animal, and not now, when his fellows would be back any minute for a debriefing on the case. But the fuzz wouldn’t listen, and the urge to squeeze the dog to his chest and cry only grew stronger. Did Madalyn feel like this? So small and out-of-control? 

It was like his adult brain was being smothered in a warm blanket, both comforting and terrifying. He hated slipping, and he hated it even more when it was caused by something like this. It was his job, death happened all the time. He gave in and hugged the dog tight. But it was his fault, and she was so little. He didn’t mean to let her die. She wasn’t supposed to die.

-

Cameron clicked her tongue and sat back on her heels. She’d asked every way she could think of; concerned co-worker, worried friend, stern request, she’d even broke down and patient-voiced him, a tone that should have had House snapping at her for daring to express pity, but nothing could get House to tell them what on earth was going on. All they knew was that they’d failed to diagnose Madalyn in time, that she had passed away, and suddenly House was crying at his desk with his face shoved into a gift shop stuffed dog and refusing to speak to them.

She turned to Foreman and Chase, who were hovering awkwardly by the door. “So… differential?”

Chase ran a hand through his hair, perplexed. “Jeez I dunno, brain tumour?” His tone was equal parts sarcasm and genuine suggestion.

“Maybe he finally snapped and this is some kind of mental breakdown?” Foreman suggested. “Who knows, maybe this patient finally got to him.”

“Patients don’t just ‘get to him’, though. We’ve lost people before who were a lot younger than—“

House cut her off with a little sob, and she startled. Madalyn’s death hit them all hard, but hearing House cry twisted something deep in her stomach.

“I think it’s safe to say this is about the patient.” Chase said flatly, then he squinted and pointed at the stuffed dog. “Is that the dog she gave him?”

Cameron raised an eyebrow. “Madalyn gave him her toy? And he kept it?”

“Yeah, yesterday, when I was doing her lumbar puncture.”

House really was clutching the dog like his life depended on it. She’d never seen him act anything like this, and if she was being honest, it was a bit unsettling. Everything about his body language screamed scared, curled up on himself like he was trying to hide away from them.

“Oh, no way…” Chase muttered under his breath, and she and Foreman looked at him expectantly. “He’s nonverbal, the dog, the crying, the hiding… What if it’s age regression? He was stressed out, he was upset about Madalyn’s de— the case, and her toy could’ve triggered it.”

Instantly House tensed up in his chair, and that was enough to confirm Chase’s theory.

“If our boss is mentally a child, does mean I’m in charge?” Foreman said after a long moment of silence.

Cameron rolled her eyes and turned back to House. The only way they were going to be able to help was if House told them how. “House, have you ever felt like this before?” She asked gently, but not too gently. Even if he had the thought process of a child, it was still House. 

She had to stop herself from chuckling when he tried glaring back at her over the head of the dog. While it was a valiant effort, through his wet eyes and red face it turned into more of a sad pout. Still, he gave a short nod anyway. It was both surprising and relieving to find out that the regression was at least something House seemed to be familiar with, whether intentionally or not.

“Okay, uh… good! What do you usually do when you feel like this? How can we help?” She prodded a little further, maybe a little too far into pity-territory, because House made a disgusted face.

“Go.” He said, like he was trying to order them, but it came out weak.

Cameron looked back at Chase and Foreman, who both gave her similar unhelpful stares. Great. Thanks, guys. “Are you sure? It’d make me feel better if one of us stayed here with you, just to make sure—“

“No!” House physically recoiled at the suggestion like she had just spit on him, then let out a whiny huffing sound. “…Wilson.”

Chase snorted behind her. Cameron ignored him. “You want us to get Wilson? Okay. Yeah, sure, we can do that.” She turned to glare at Chase. “Make yourself useful and go find Wilson, would you?”

Thankfully, it didn’t take long for Chase to return with Wilson in toe, looking concerned but calm.

He took Cameron’s place in front of House. “Okay, fill me in? What happened?”

“We lost a patient today, and when we came back for the debriefing, he was acting like this,” Cameron said, “We’re pretty sure it’s—“

“Regression.” Wilson filled in. He didn’t elaborate any further and she didn’t press him for details, but it did make her wonder; just how much did Wilson know about House regressing?  

“…Yeah. Um, does he need anything? What can we do?”

“Honestly? Leave.” Wilson said bluntly, but his expression was soft. “You three should go home, get some sleep. He’ll be fine, I’ve got him.”

It felt wrong to leave when House was obviously still upset, but she trusted Wilson. If that was what he thought was best, then they would listen. She glanced to Foreman and Chase, who nodded and left to gather their things.

After lingering for an extra second, just to make sure she wasn’t needed in some way, she went to follow them. As she opened the door, she turned and gave House a little wave goodbye. “Feel better, House. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

[robertseanleonardthinker]

Tell me your pandemic house MD thoughts please!!

omg yes absolutely ty for asking

this isn't everyone but anyone is free to add their own thoughts

ok so some ppl on that post that inspired this were saying they didn't think house would wear a mask and that is just. absolutely not true. he's a stubborn ass who does what he wants but he's not stupid. he's a doctor, a doctor with a specialty in infectious diseases at that. he'd wear a mask, he'd just do the absolute bare minimum with it. like, for example, if he went to the grocery store he'd put his mask on the second he enters and take it off the second he leaves. but he'd abuse the fuck out of social distancing. he'd constantly use it as an excuse to stay home. he'd do most of his work over zoom doing whatever the fuck in his apartment all day. he'd call in saying he was exposed to covid all the time (said exposure being he went inside the hospital and yk, there's covid patients somewhere in there, so). cuddy would be so annoyed by it but she'd have to take it seriously every time because she doesn't have much of a choice.

wilson would follow every single guideline to a t. he's an oncologist, a lot of his patients are bound to be immunocompromised. he'd wear masks constantly, even in his office alone. i think he would also have a spare one on him at all times, along with a little bottle of hand sanitizer. he'd see as many of his patients over zoom as he possibly can. he wouldn't enjoy it, he prefers that face to face experience, but he'll do whatever for the safety of his patients.

cuddy would be very strict about it. she herself would of course do what she needs to do, but she'd also have very strict guidelines in place for the whole hospital. she'd be masking and social distancing and hounding others on it too. she'd especially be on house's ass about it. she'd also be pretty anxious about it too because she has a kid at home. she doesn't wanna bring it home to rachel and she'll do everything in her power to make sure she doesn't.

i don't have much to say about kutner except that he'd have fun fabric masks. he'd wear a different one everyday. they'd be star wars themed and stuff.

cameron would be like wilson. she cares so much about other people and it would make her so upset to see people ignoring the mask mandates and stuff.

taub would do what he needs to when he's out of the house, like at work and stuff, but i think he'd still be out doing his taub thing. he'd be out with women regularly. he'd justify it by saying they were both careful, but he'd probably end up getting it and everybody would know why.

[kitsaystransrights]

It'sa me, Kit!

Woah, hey, you can make pinned posts! I totally didn't forget about this feature. I should probably do that, huh?

Weeeeell anyway, howdy! I'm Maddie, I go by Kit online sometimes, you can call me whichever you prefer. She/Her pronouns only, please. I'm a 22 year-old trans furry who is chronically online and geeky, so if you have a problem with that, I'm putting you in a box and then launching that box into the sun. I'm a YouTuber, Twitch streamer, filmmaker, and game dev, so I'm basically every stereotypical geeky trans-girl thing except for an artist. Can't draw to save my life.

On my YouTube, I usually make reviews or video essays about games I like, though I occasionally do stuff on other media as well. Currently, my big long-term projects are the "Splatoon 3 vs Splatoon 2" series, which is AAAAALMOST finished at the time of writing this, and my series on Leilani Wilson's Elancia Chronicles novels, (which are REALLY FREAKING GOOD and you should check them out!) I've linked a few of the videos I'm proudest of down below :)

I also stream pretty frequently on Twitch! I have a PNGtuber of my fursona, Stormy, with art done by EmmalemmaMewmew on Twitter. Stills of her will also start showing up in my YouTube videos eventually, hehe. Currently, the schedule is every Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday, with each day being a different game. These streams always start at 7 PM Mountain Time (that's 9 PM Eastern and 6 PM Pacific) and go for around 4 hours. Sundays are Splatoon Sundays, currently the Anarchy Challenge, where I attempt to win an Anarchy Series with EVERY SINGLE WEAPON in Splatoon 3. It's hell lol. Then there's Triple-A Tuesdays, where I'm currently marathoning the Zelda series, and Indie Thursdays, where I work through my back catalog of indie games! There are also occasional bonus streams, usually around the releases of new games I'm interested in or events in ones I already play (like Splatfests!) Below is a link to my Twitch channel and my current stream schedule. I'll try to update this post as often as I can, but uh, no promises haha.

Last but not least, here's some of the other stuff I'm into/working on! Currently working on a Secret Game Project that I can't tell you about yet >:) But if you know, you know.

I'm a big fan of video games and animation (clearly), with some of my favorite stuff being, in no particular order... Sonic the Hedgehog, The Legend of Zelda, Persona, Fire Emblem, Pokemon, Elancia Chronicles, Super Lesbian Animal RPG, Splatoon, Hazbin Hotel, Helluva Boss, The Owl House, Gravity Falls, Amphibia, Steven Universe, Avatar: The Last Airbender, the Marvel Cinematic Universe, the Spider-Verse films, Dreamworks animation, Pixar animation, Insomniac's Spider-Man gams, Ratchet and Clank, aaaaaaaaaand that's all I could think of off the top of my head but I'm sure there's more junk buried in there somewhere lol.

Anyway, thanks for reading all the way to the bottom! You must really have nothing better to do with your life XD. Here's some links to my other socials, if you wanna follow me there. Here I'm mostly just be posting random rambling and updates for my YouTube and Twitch. See ya around!

https://www.instagram.com/kitthegoddess/

[all-pacas]

we never actually meet anyone from camerons family do we? we get plenty of mentions about her dead husband but we never see either of her parents or her siblings but we do get to chases' dad and both of foremans' parents.

Correct! And I'm fascinated by this. we don't hear much about them either — there's only three mentions I can recall:

Que Sera Sera:

HOUSE: It’s probably her mom, I bet she's huge. She's from the Midwest. WILSON: […] Who are we talking about? You know, just in case you need me to chime in and tell you you're a lunatic at some point. HOUSE: Cameron. She's lying, destroying hospital equipment, telling Cuddy off, gotta find out where she got the Fat Scratch fever.

Fetal Position:

FOREMAN: Better not hurt [Cameron]. CHASE: She already has a big brother. FOREMAN: She does?

And finally, Lockdown, again from Chase:

CHASE: I liked watching you stand up to your dad at Christmas when he yelled at your mom. How you didn't even know you were strong. But you were.

-

So the sum total of everything we know about Cameron's family is that she has an older brother, she (or at least her mom) is midwestern, and her dad yells at her mom at least sometimes.

There's at least a couple things we can assume, just from implication: Cameron seems to struggle a little with the idea of parents as non-supportive, both when she hears about House's and when she meet's Chase's, so for example I'd assume that while her parents might fight and her dad might be a bit of a jerk (on the daddy issue's show, it seems likely), overall they were loving and supportive: Cameron moves back to Chicago after the divorce, so even if she's not super super close to her family she clearly isn't on Chase's level of "move across the world and never speak to them again."

She likewise comes off as a bit gullible/sheltered at times, and while part of her wide-eyed idealism is very much intentional and Cameron wanting a fair world she knows doesn't exist, she still got her morality from somewhere. That sort of thing.

But we really don't know at all. I tend to imagine her parents are suburban and tenuously middle class, not poor but very deeply average, very small c conservative in the we live in our bubble and are not that interested in anything else kind of way; not terribly religious but possibly social churchgoers. They instilled in Cameron a very powerful sense of right and wrong — as a teenager she was wracked with guilt over "cheating" on a test — and I can imagine her mother as a housewife type who fills her schedule with charity work, her father as a sort of cliche unhappy breadwinner who feels he never got what he deserved out of life. But you can say literally anything! We have no clue!

[x-birdsong-x]

overly specific house dog au headcanons? spill some?

I can try and fit in one post everyone I've settled completely on so far, and also be obnoxious about dog breeds. fun

I've also bothered @greghatecrimes with a lot of these so very big thanks to them for helping me settle on breeds for everyone <3

It's when I've settled on a "base breed" with dogs that sometimes things just go crazy and go from there

Start with the most overly unnecessarily detailed one here you go:

Adams is the oddest most fantasy mixed breed of ALL fucking time her parents are one Belgian Tervuren and one Borzoi x Ibizan Hound and she appeared so much Tervuren that it’s just possible to miss that she’s got any sighthound(s) in her.

Editing to go even more in-detail with this one because my girl deserves it: She ends up looking somewhere between these two:

She’s very pointy and very leggy but she is very long-furred and that's where the mistakes come from. She moves mostly with the gaits of her sighthound sides which the others find is an easy way to make her bristle. She’s prancing across the room and Chase says you move like a sighthound and she says no I don’t (yes she does)

Park is a Silken Windsprite:

Probably struggles in snow and sometimes has to jump and jump to get through it when it's really deep but Adams mumbles that it’s cute and that's Fight invitation. Park brings up that Adams gets snowballs stuck on her and that it takes hours to melt out of her fur. ("Fuck you!" - "Do it yourself!") It's probably fair to say she has some little dog syndrome.

Chase is an Australian Shepherd. House probably used to make comments about he and Cameron both being Merle:

Cameron is this specific Border Collie (but with blue eyes, ofc):

Probably does the Collie Crouch sometimes. Absolutely does the Collie Stare, and that would come into House's "you can't actually pierce me with your eyes" moments.

Foreman is a Central Asian Shepherd:

For a slight visual similarity to how I imagine post-Lockdown Angst Cameron might feel meeting Masters, Masters is a Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever:

Probably has what I call in the groomers "Smart Breed Anxiety" along with her autism swag. Dogs who listen to and seem to understand every word you say and if you're telling someone or another pet off for anything, they assume they're the one you're talking to and give all their guilty looks. Also using my Bluebear as reference with that visual.

Thirteen is this Utonagan!!! No other visual!!! Have such a canine visual of The Dig it's insane.

Wilson of course took Golden Retriever. Definitely one of the larger/silkier ones. Show-type. He'd definitely be a dark gold but this is the best pic I have for how I picture him -color:

House is a Scottish Deerhound, mixed with what? He doesn't know. Wants to know. Very easy to miss that he's a cross:

(Little Rachel rode on his back for a bit once.)

Speaking of, Rachel is a little pupper Sheltie (Natalie) x English Shepherd (Simon) but she barely shows any Shep traits when it comes to looks:

Rachel's a mini-me of her mama, Cuddy took Rough Collie:

Kutner is a Springer Spaniel x Large Münsterländer, leaning more looks-wise toward the latter and leaning energy-level toward the former:

Taub is a Beagle, Chihuahuas are just too small for one of the main characters in my little visual I'm afraid (and I forgot Smooth Fox Terriers existed):

Rachel is a long-haired Dachshund, and Ruby is a show-type English Cocker Spaniel, so Sophie and Sophia are those crosses respectively. Click on the Spaniel to see the full pic.

Amber takes (Red) Siberian Husky:

She's quite thick-coated but she doesn't fall under "Woolly Husky" coat type.

Red (Irish) Setter Stacy:

Plott Hound Mark:

Dominika... So This dog is obviously a Belgian Malinois maybe crossed with something fluffier (unless the listing change from Mali to Terv is accurate, then she's just Small) but she looks exactly like this:

Saluki Lydia:

Belgian Malinois Alvie:

Lucas is just straight-up a Coyote. It just fits him too well. He gets a Coyote-themed name in the WC AU, and gets to be a Coyote when I think about canines:

Beauceron Nolan. Can't see him as something as round and soft as Newfies but also can't see him as a bully-type:

[greghatecrimes]

Do any of your autistic Thirteen headcanons work their way into the baby!Thirteen AU? How do our favorite gay doctor dads help her?

yesssss 100%!! House would be super aware of her autistic traits because of his own, so he’d be pretty great at helping her. Cutting the tags out of her clothes, using laundry detergent that won’t irritate her sensitive skin, always has sunglasses and ear protectors in case it’s too bright or too loud, making sure she has a say in picking out all of her clothes so that the textures aren’t overwhelming. He’d also give her plenty of space and quiet to regulate when she’s feeling overwhelmed; probably pick her up and take her somewhere where they can be alone and turn the lights off, and hold/hug her in his lap so she can have some gentle pressure sensory input. I think toddler Thirteen would also regulate by carrying either her blanket or a favorite stuffed animal with her (I’m picturing a bunny), and House would be very chill about her bringing them everywhere they go. He’d say they’re part of the family, lol. And she would have so many stim toys. In their apartment, in House’s office, even in Wilson and Cuddy’s offices, there’s always something that’s safe for toddler hands to fidget with.

[sarahsmi13s]

Lieutenant Rogers - pt 3

Holding Onto the Past; Letting Go of the Future

pairings: romantic!neil ‘omaha’ vikander x rogers!reader, platonic!dagger squad x rogers!reader, plantonic!sam wilson x rogers!reader, platonic!bucky barnes x rogers!reader  

characters: y/n rogers, neil vikander, the entire dagger squad (admirals and captain included), sam wilson, bucky barnes, john walker, lemar hoskins, misc. characters from both universes

series warnings: language, blood, fighting, sexual inuendoes, john walker, cannon dangers, cannon deaths, suggestive themes, the blip, talks of abandonment, if i miss any please let me know

word count: ~3.7k

a/n: if you couldn’t already tell, i’m OBSESSED with crossovers. reader is the daughter of steve rogers, and has the super soldier serum as well

sources: Top Gun: Maverick (2022) , The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (2021)

series summary: 13 pilots were called back to Top Gun in 2023. at the same time, Lieutenant Rogers learns that her father’s shield was passed down to John Walker.

chapter summary: after a pretty rough start, maverick takes the aviators to the beach for a team building exercise. star and omaha invite the squad over for the night. after a quick heart-to-heart with rooster, star has to watch the world forget her father.

pt 1  pt 2  pt 4  pt 5  pt 6

************ *The Next Day*

“Hey, Mav wants us at the beach today. Behind the hard deck.” You stepped out of the bathroom, toothbrush hanging out of your mouth, “What, why?” 

Neil shrugged, “I don’t, probably has something to do with what happened yesterday.” You rolled your eyes, “Hangman’s big mouth. I’m gonna punch him.” Omaha laughed, “He said dress comfortably.” 

You spit out your toothpaste, “What do you have planned, Mav?”

******

Well you definitely weren’t expecting a football game to be on your agenda for a Saturday evening, but here you were.

“I told you to wear shorts, Babe. Do you know how uncomfortable those pants are gonna be on the ride home?” You asked as you slipped your cut off t-shirt over your head and laid it on the table with your other stuff. 

Omaha smirked and pulled his shirt off as well, “Then I guess I’ll just have to take them off then.” He winked before putting his sunglasses back on and jogging down the beach. You shared a look with Penny, you both rolling your eyes before you followed him.

******

You caught the ball thrown to you and took off running, dodging the hands trying to get you. Hangman barely missed you as you passed him. “Nice try Bagman, better luck next time!” You crossed into the ‘endzone’. “Let’s go!” You cheered and tossed the ball back to Rooster.

In the next play, you were keeping an eye on Jake. As soon as he caught it you were chasing him. “Shit!” He laughed and ran as fast as he could. 

You tackled him into the ground, laughing as you rolled off of him. “Damn, I forget how strong you actually are.” You chuckled as you sat up, resting your arms on your bent knees.

He held a hand out to you, “You tired?” Taking his hand, he pulled you up and you dusted the sand off. 

You shook your head, “I can do this all day.” He arched his brow, “Can you now?” You smirked, “Oh yeah, I’ve got great stamina. Just ask Omaha.” He groaned and scrunched his face up in annoyance, “Gross.” 

You laughed and patted him on the shoulder, “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll find yourself a house hen somewhere…”

As you walked away you turned around, walking backwards as you said, “Or a Rooster.” You winked and Jake’s mouth fell open. “Fuck off, Rogers,” he chucked the ball at you and you caught it, laughing as you ran off.

*******

When it was over, none of you wanted to end the team bonding time.

“Hey, Omaha and I live pretty close to here. We’ve got alcohol and games,” you offered before you all made your way up the beach. “You had me at alcohol,” Yale said as he started up towards the parking lot. Everyone laughed and nodded in agreement.

So everyone, except you and Neil, went to base to shower and change.

Once everyone showed up, games were pulled out of the closet and bottles were being passed around.

After a few hours you resorted to a drinking game. “So, never have I ever been to an Avengers party,” Fanboy said, looking straight at you. “Okay, now you're targeting Garcia,” you complained but took a drink anyway.

“Wait, Omaha took a drink too!” Rooster shouted. 

You laughed, “Yeah, we’ve been dating for a while.” “I mean it was Tony’s wedding, so I don’t really know if that counts but I’m counting it.” “Oh, yeah y’all have been together since TOPGUN haven’t you?” Bob recalled. 

You nodded, “I graduated first and he was the class right behind me.” Omaha took another sip of his drink, “Yeah, then after a little while we got this place.” You took a gulp of your drink, “Technically, Tony bought this place for us, actually.”

“Why didn’t you stay in New York?” Hangman asked, leaning on the backrest of the couch and resting his head on his fist. You shrugged, “I don’t know. It was just kinda hard after the Blip, my dad was in this counseling group and Nat-“ You cleared the lump in your throat and took another drink. “She-She was still working with other Avengers to keep an eye on the world-the universe really- and I just needed to focus on my career, so did Omaha and we figured it was better for us.”

You cleared your throat again, “Um so it was my turn right?” The crowd nodded. “Okay, never have I ever been drunk under the table.” 

Everyone, save for Bob, rolled their eyes and took a drink. “Now who’s targeting?” Fanboy mumbled. “You started this Garcia. Also, that’s not targeting.” “It is when you're the one that drunk us under the table,” Coyote pointed out.

******

Later that night everyone except you and Bob were drunk.

“Hey, why doesn’t everyone just stay here?” You suggested, leaning on the bar as you stood next to Bob. “Are you sure? I don’t mind taking them back to base.” “And deal with 9 drunk aviators by yourself?” 

You glanced back to the group to see Harvard curled up on the pile of bean bags in the corner. “And Harv’s already asleep. And Fritz looks like he's gonna pass out too. I really don’t mind and I know Neil would be fine with it too.” “I’d be fine with what?”

You looked behind you to see your boyfriend getting another beer. “No, sir. Get a water.” He groaned but did as told. “I was just telling Bob that it would be easier to have everyone stay here for the night.” “Yeah, Harvard’s already passed out, has been for like 30 minutes.” 

You lightly clapped your hands, “So it’s settled, they can all stay here and since they gave us Sunday off we can do whatever.” Both nodded and you all started to get the extra blankets and pillows for your friends.

******

Once again, you were up before the sun and decided to get up and check on the group in the living room.

When you walked in you did a head count. 

Harvard-still out cold on the bean bags. Phoenix-snuggled with a pillow on the couch. Fanboy- on the loveseat with his phone on his chest. Hangman-reclined in the chair, arms crossed over his chest snoring so loud you were surprised the windows didn’t rattle. 

Fritz-on his stomach on the mattress on the floor. Yale-on his back on the same mattress. Payback-starfished in the middle of them. 

Halo-curled up in the big chair, blanket up to her chin. Coyote-in the hammock you brought in from outside, nearly falling out of it. Bob had taken the extra bedroom, despite his best efforts to give it to Halo or Phoenix. Rooster-

“Wait, where’s Rooster?” You looked around, checked the kitchen, bathroom. Maybe he bunked with Bob? As you passed the sliding glass door you saw him on the porch, sitting on the steps as he looked to the ocean.

You debated going out, he probably needed his privacy. But your curious side won and you quietly slid the door open, closing it behind you.

“Rooster? You okay?” He jumped a little at the surprise. “Oh, yeah,” he cleared his throat. “Yeah, Star, I’m good.” 

You hummed sitting beside him, “Now why don’t I believe that?” “Because you have this insane talent of reading people?” Bradley offered. You shrugged, “Possibly. Now what's bothering you?”

He sighed and looked back out to the ocean, “I don’t think Maverick is gonna pick me for this mission. I really don’t.” You pouted in confusion. “Why not?” He inhaled and clenched his jaw, “He pulled my papers to the Academy, set my career back four years.” 

You swallowed, you knew there was something else based on the reaction Jake got out of him on Friday.

“What Jake said the other day was way out of line…” Bradley nodded, sniffling as he looked away from both you and the water. “But he’s right.” 

You knew his eyes were on you now but you looked at the ocean. “I’m saying this with love. I know Maverick broke your trust and hurt you. Probably more than you let on… But the past is the past for a reason. I know how hard it is to let go, trust me I’ve seen it. When you’re in the air, you fly against the ghosts of what could have been and what was. Don’t let that be your downfall. Show Maverick his mistake, prove him wrong.”

You pushed up, turning to go inside and start getting ready, but Rooster gently grabbed your wrist. Stopping, you looked down at him. 

“What did you mean by “I’ve seen it”?” You sighed and sat back down. 

“My dad held on to his past the moment it came back into his life. In 2014, his best friend, who he watched fall to his death from a train in 1943, was in DC trying to kill him. And his lover from the war was dying from Alzheimer’s at the same time. In 2016, she died and he became a fugitive for the very same friend that tried to kill him…”

Bradley sat up straight, “Didn’t you-” “Yes, I graduated from the Academy a few weeks later.” You took a deep breath, closing your eyes as you let it out. 

“In 2018 I got him back and for the past five years I had him with me. Then when they brought everyone back a few months ago, he had to go back into the past and saw his lover again. When he took the stones back, he stayed with her…” 

You failed to discreetly wipe the tear, but he didn’t comment on it. “He stayed with her instead of coming back for me, for Sam. Not even for Bucky, the very man he risked his life for and was friends with since kindergarten…”

You took a breath to calm yourself. “And now, since Sam was too afraid to be the future, afraid the expectations of the past wouldn’t allow him to be who he’s supposed to be; they gave the shield to some Wal-Mart wannabe who thinks he’s the shit,” you chuckle humorlessly when you finish and shake your head. 

You swallowed and looked at Rooster, “Maverick is holding onto the past too. I see it every time he looks at you, he sees Goose. I saw it at the bar that first day, when you were singing…”

Rooster opened his mouth but was cut off by Fanboy, “Guys, come in here, you have to see this.”

You shared a look with Rooster before getting up and following Fanboy into the living room where “Good Morning America” was on.

Phoenix, Payback, and Omaha were on the couch. Fanboy sat on the love seat, Rooster sitting down beside him. Halo was in the chair she had slept in, Bob perched on the arm. Hangman sat up straight in the recliner. Yale, Fritz, Coyote, and Harvard were on the mattress on the floor.

As the marching band’s music filled the empty space, you stood behind the couch with your arms crossed over your chest.

You had to hold back the growl that bubbled in your chest when the camera showed John Walker signing things and taking pictures with excited fans. Fans that seemed to forget your father at the drop of a hat when a new face carried the shield.

Steve would have hated the fanfare this guy had. The interview. All of it.

He told you himself that back in the 40s he did the tours because he had to. He showed you the drawing of the monkey unicycling on a tightrope, and told you he felt like that all the time before he got into the war. The only thing that made those tours worth it was that it gave people hope.

“Ladies and gentlemen, your new Captain America!” The reporter announced, making your jaw clench. “Good morning, America!” God, even his voice was annoying.

“Thank you so much for coming. This has gotta be fun, though, coming back to your high school after so much has changed?” “Oh it’s great, we’re-” Some fan cheered from the stands. “John, I think the first thing everyone wants to know is what is it like being Captain America? Do eagles fly overhead wherever you go?” You didn’t hold back the eye roll.

“Is she fucking serious?” The rasp in your voice made you sound irritated, mainly because you were. Both Omaha and Bob shared a look, they knew it wasn’t just irritation; you were hurt.

John’s laugh didn’t help the mood, “Ah, yes! Yeah, that and flags tend to start majestically waving in the wind.” 

“God, this guy needs an ego check…” Hangman mumbled, shaking his head as he looked out the sliding glass doors. For once, everyone agreed that this man’s ego was bigger than Jake’s.

“And how's the tour been? I know they did a big rollout for you, right?” “It's the greatest honor of my life. Um, but I'm just a little shocked, I think. How did a guy like me end up here?” 

If you clenched your jaw any harder, you would break your teeth. This man had the audacity to act humble now.

“Oh, wait, wait, wait. "A guy like me"? Somebody's being a bit too humble. For those of you who aren't familiar with his résumé, "John Walker, first person in American history to receive three Medals of Honor, ran RS-One missions in counterterrorism and hostage rescue".” Oh, so it was a set up to brag, got it. 

“The government did a study of your body at MIT, and you tested off the charts in every measurable category. Speed, endurance, intelligence…”

“Look, here's the thing, uh, I'm not Tony Stark, I'm not Dr. Banner, okay?” You scoffed, “Damn right…” “I don't have the flashiest gadgets, I don't have super strength. But what I do have is guts. Something Captain America always had, always needs to have, and I'm gonna need every ounce of it. Because I got big shoes to fill. Hell, his daughter is one of the best Naval Pilots in the world. The Rogers name is one that is highly respected.”

“Damn straight it is,” Coyote said, looking back at you, only to find you staring daggers into the TV screen. “Don’t kiss ass now, Walker. It doesn’t work.” You uncrossed your arms, shaking them to relieve the tension you created.

“Did you know Steve Rogers? And do you know Y/N Rogers?” John shook his head, “I don’t know, Lieutenant Rogers personally, no. But I was two years out of West Point when Steve came back on the scene. I followed his career very closely as an Avenger. I like to think that I modeled my work after his.” You braced yourself on the back of the couch.

“So, you've always wanted to be a hero?” “I liked that what I was doing would make people feel safe. Steve Rogers was the kind of guy who could do that, he gave me hope. Even though I never met him, he feels like a brother.” 

That was it. Ain’t no way in hell you were gonna listen to anything else this man might have to say. 

Fanboy quickly turned the TV off.

The team was waiting in anticipation for your reaction. 

The expected reaction was for you to break the back of the couch you had a death grip on. But they didn’t expect the broken sigh escaping your lips. 

“I’m gonna start getting ready for the day. There’s food in the kitchen, help yourselves.” You looked away from all the eyes, hoping they didn’t see the frustrated tears in yours.

You went to the en suite bathroom and started your routine. 

You had grabbed your phone to play some music or a podcast to keep you focused, but it kept ringing. Bucky’s name kept popping up and disrupting your playlist, but you didn’t answer it.

He hadn’t wanted to speak with you, or Sam, since the funeral. He ignored every text, every phone call. You called his therapist to check on him but he barely gave her anything either.

“He's gonna keep calling until you answer him, you know,” Omaha said, leaning on the doorway. “I know. But if he wants to ignore me for months, then I can ignore him for one day,” you said as you washed your face. Neil sighed, but didn’t say anything. He watched you finish your routine and then followed you to the bedroom, sitting on the bed while you changed.

Bucky wouldn’t stop calling, but you couldn’t turn off your phone or mute it. “Baby, you can’t ignore him all day. He will keep calling. You know how stubborn he can be.” You slid a workout shirt over your head, “And you know how stubborn I can be.” You dug around for your shorts, finding them and sliding them on.

“I told Fanboy not to go get you,” he gently grabbed your arm when you walked by. “He feels bad.” 

You sighed, “I’m glad he did. He shouldn’t feel bad, I could have told him to turn it off at any time. But I needed to know what he’s like. He seemed fairly okay, I guess. The people seem to like him. But-” 

“But he’s not your dad, and he’s not Sam.” 

You nodded, sighing, “Exactly. But like I said before, I’m here to do a job and if the government gave a damn about what I thought we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I just can’t- I don’t understand how everyone can be so quick to forget him…”

You finally broke down, collapsing onto your boyfriend. “Hey, hey… I won’t ever forget him, the team won’t ever forget him… You know why?” 

You sniffled and shook your head. “Because everytime we look at you, we see him. You are your father’s daughter and you made him so proud. And you continue to do so, every damn day when you get in your plane. We will never forget him, because forgetting him is forgetting you.” 

He kissed your temple, “Why don’t we go work out this frustration, okay?” You nodded and wiped your face, “Let me cool down and then we can go.” “Of course.”

*********

“Have you talked to Y/N recently?” Bucky asked, following behind Sam. “Not since they handed over the shield,” Sam said as he kept walking. 

“I’ve been trying to call her since this morning but she’s not answering.” Sam scoffed, “Well, what did you expect? You’ve ignored her calls and texts for months. So, she’s just supposed to drop everything to answer you? She’s got bigger shit goin’ on right now Bucky.” Bucky rolled his eyes and pulled his phone out.

He’d given you time, maybe you were asleep or weren’t near your phone. But after a few hours he figured he’d try again.

*********

After you ran cold water over your face, you ate breakfast with the squad. Making sure to tell Mickey that you weren’t upset with him and he was fine.

Then everyone went to base to change and then you all headed to the on base gym.

You decided to work out with Phoenix, wanting to get to know her more. You both seemed to work well together.

After some weight lifting you moved to the treadmill to wind down. And that’s when your phone rang for the first time in about two hours. “Shit, I’ll be right back. I need to take this.” Phoenix nodded and decided that while you were on the phone she’d take a break.

You stepped into the hall, glancing around before answering your phone. “What Bucky?” “Well hello to you too, Kid.” You sighed and pinched your nose. 

“How are you doing?” “I’m fine,” Bucky said shortly. “Bullshit. Something must be seriously wrong for you to call me after ignoring me for months. Do you know how worried I was?” “Y/N, I’m sorry-” “Buck, you’ve been having to navigate a new world by yourself! Both Sam and I-” “You and Sam gave up the shield.” 

Your jaw dropped, “No. You don’t get to do that. You shut us out. Don’t think for a second that we intended for this to happen, that this was what we wanted.”

Bucky sighed, “I know… I know.” There was a beat of silence. “Y/N, I’m sorry. I am. I didn’t think about how worried you’d be, and honestly I didn’t think you’d be all that worried…” “Of course I was worried, Bucky. I know we haven’t known each other for very long, but Dad told me stories about you all the time. You were his best friend, and he left you to navigate a new time by yourself. I hate the idea of you being alone.” “I’ll work on it…” You smiled a little.

“Look, I need to ask you something.” “Sure, Buck.” “We need your help. We need to get the shield back, I don’t know-” 

You sighed, “Buck, I can’t.” You could tell he was confused, “What do you mean ‘you can’t’?” “In case you forgot, I’m a Naval aviator, Bucky.” “No, I know that.” “I’m also currently at TOPGUN. I got called for a training detachment. I can’t tell you what this mission is, but it’s dangerous. I need to focus on this.” You heard him sharply inhale.

“Before you jump my ass about it. I’m not happy about the situation. I’m very far from happy, but I can’t go AWOL because of it. Dad wouldn’t want me to ruin my career like that.” “I don’t trust this guy, Y/N.” “I don’t either, Buck. But it’s really important to me that I fly this mission, we’ve got less than two weeks to get ready…” 

He cleared his throat, “Okay, okay. I’m sorry…” You shook your head, “Please don’t apologize. But whatever you do, be safe Bucky.” “I will. I’ll talk to you later, kid.” You nodded, smiling a little, “Talk later Buck.” 

You went to hang up when he spoke again. “Hey, Y/N?” “Yeah?” “Be careful, okay? I can’t lose you too.” You nodded again, your throat tightening with emotion, “Of course. Bye Buck.” “Bye Kid.”

You leaned your head back against the wall, sighing as you closed your eyes. “Fuck…”

***********

well.... that was intense

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