#my muse for sam is still really low. but he needed to speak

[maykrisms]

❮ Why is everyone so obsessed with eggs right now? ❯

A beat. ❮ Actually. Don't tell me. I don't think I want to know. ❯

[fanficimagery]

Talking to the Dead

Imagine your sister calling in a favor, only to find out said favor is for the vampire sheriff of Louisiana.

Words: 6.3K Author's Note: I am not Bill's biggest fan, nor am I Eric/Sookie's biggest fan either. That said, this takes place AFTER all damn drama with King Bill. Eric still runs Fangtasia alongside Pam and Sookie still works under Sam at Merlotte's. They're friends. That's it.

Eric sits behind his desk, the bottom half of his face covered in blood as Pam files her nails. She had been going through Fangtasia's books when she realized the money wasn't adding up and that some of their product was missing. So when Tara brought forward those responsible in making sure Fangtasia was up to date with their taxes and everything, Eric called in a favor from Sookie to get a read on them. Only Eric lost his temper and killed the two men, leaving thousands of his money stashed somewhere only the dead knew of now.

The office door opens and Sookie stumbles inside, still in her Merlotte's uniform. She takes one look at Eric and sighs. "Did you have to kill them? I just wasted a trip out here, Eric Northman."

"How tragic," he deadpans. "You wasted about five dollars in gas, meanwhile I'm still out of thousands, Miss Stackhouse."

"Don't you take that tone with me, Mister!"

Pam snorts. "Shame your little fae powers don't allow you to speak to the dead," she drawls. "That would really come in handy right about now." Sookie opens her mouth to defend her still untrained powers, only to pause and snap her mouth shut. Immediately that catches both vampires' attention and Pam leans forward, interest piqued. "Have you been holding out on us, Tinkerbell?"

"No." Sookie scoffs, suddenly overcome with wariness. "But I, uh, I might know someone who-"

"No." Eric cuts her off. "No witches."

"She's not a witch," Sookie says. "Y/N is, um, she's my sister."

Eric freezes before he leans forward in his chair. "There's a third Stackhouse? How come we never learned of this?"

Sookie sighs and drops onto the couch. She shrugs. "Y/N's powers manifested a lot earlier than mine did and they.. well it drove her crazy. She was in and out of the hospital, and the death of our parents didn't do her any favors. She started rebelling at seventeen and drank herself into oblivion. Constantly."

Pam hums. "Sounds like my kind of girl."

Sookie frowns at her before looking back at Eric. "She's actually due for a visit tomorrow. I'll bring her by."

"How are you so sure she'll do this for us? If I recall correctly, you did not come peacefully," Eric muses.

Sookie rolls her eyes. "Y/N is a free spirit. If I hadn't told you she was my sister, you wouldn't have known we were twins."

"Twins?" Eric seems to perk up, eyes lighting up, and this time it's Pam's turn to roll her eyes.

Sookie scoffs. "Don't be gross. We'll be by after my shift tomorrow."

Finding an Uber into Bon Temps after the sun had set was almost impossible, but fortunately you found someone who was willing to make the trip. You knew Louisiana had become a vampire hotspot, but you didn't know people had found traveling in the state quite so fearsome.

You don't have much on you, with the exception of a small suitcase holding a few change of clothes, so you opt to be dropped off at Merlotte's rather than your childhood home. And upon exiting the car after making sure your payment went through, you grab your suitcase by the handle and walk towards the entrance. A few whispers attempt to reach out to you, but you shake off the echoes of death and march on.

There's only a handful of locals inside Merlotte's, but the no-good nosy folk still all stop to see who's entering their local establishment. Inside, the whispers get louder, but you reign in your control and shake your head clear. What the hell happened here that there are so many echoes?

"Do my eyes deceive me or is that my favorite Stackhouse?"

You're already grinning as you find the source of the comment, grin widening as Sam's familiar handsome self makes his way towards you. "Come on, Sam. We all know who your favorite Stackhouse really is?"

He laughs as he opens his arms for a hug and you drop your suitcase to step into his embrace. "Jason's bragging again, isn't he?"

You huff a laugh and pinch his side, the two of you not speaking of all the years he spent pining after your sister. "So where is my twin?" You ask as you pull back and roll your eyes when Sam readily picks up your suitcase.

You follow him to the bar as he says, "She's taking a call in the back. Want me to let her know you're here?"

"Nah, but can you put in an order for me? I miss Lafayette's burgers."

"Sure thing, chère. What do you want?"

"Cheeseburger with everything, cut the onions. Extra ketchup. Fries. And whatever beer you have on tap."

Sam chuckles as he's already pouring your beer. "So the usual." You grin as he slides your glass across the bar. "I'll be back."

Taking a seat on the stool there at the bar, you grab your glass and sip at the ice cold beer. It feels so good sliding down your throat that the sip turns into a gulp, and before you know it half the glass is gone. Needing a breath, you set the glass down and inhale deeply. As you exhale, you burp, and then take a moment to stretch in your seat while glancing around. A few people are still staring and murmuring far too low to their companions for you to hear, so instead you raise an eyebrow at them- challenging them to say their opinion out loud. None of them do and you scoff an amused laugh before drinking the rest of your beer.

Sam reappears. "Long flight?" He takes your glass and refills it.

"Flight was fine. It's the people of Bon Temps who annoy the shit out of me." Sam frowns, but you shrug off his concern as he quickly glances around at those in his establishment. You're well aware of what everyone thinks of you and Sookie thanks to Sookie's abilities, and you're grateful you didn't quite get the same ability as her. If you had to hear every living being's thoughts on top of the dead's, you'd have permanently committed yourself long ago.

"Well I talked to your sister in the back. She said she'll be right out."

"That's fine." Accepting your second glass of beer, you smile gratefully at Sam before taking another drink.

"Girl, I knows you ain't tryin' to eat my food without saying hello."

You turn on your stool, one knee crossed over the other as you beam at the cook. "Lafayette!" He approaches with your plated cheeseburger and a basket of fries, setting them in front of you before pulling you into a hug. "I wouldn't have left without saying hello. I just wanted my food first."

"'Course you did," he muses. "How long you here for, little Stackhouse?"

"Um, I'm kind of between jobs at the moment," you sheepishly admit. You quickly grab a fry and pop it into your mouth. "I'll probably stick around until I can find something or Sookie kicks me out."

Lafayette swats you with his dish towel. "You know damn well Sook won't kick you out. That sister of yours misses you lots. She's been talkin' nonstop about your visit."

"If you need a job, chère, I'll be happy to give you one."

You pop another fry into your mouth, grinning over at Sam. "Lord knows you can barely handle one Stackhouse, Sam. No way in hell you can two- three if Jason is around as much as I'm assuming." Sam opens his mouth to retort, but a shriek cuts him off. It's Sookie and she barrels right into your side. "Jesus Sook," you laugh. "Warn a girl."

As you and Sookie quickly catch up (she's all for you staying as long as you need), more patrons enter Merlotte's and Lafayette's forced back into the kitchen. Jason and his best friend Hoyt walk in, so you walk over to join them as Sookie gets back to work also.

Jason is glad Sookie won't be in the house all on her own since he has his own place and Hoyt is just glad to see all the Stackhouses together once again. You finish your cheeseburger and fries there at the table with them, along with three glasses of beer and two shots courtesy of your brother who wanted to properly celebrate your homecoming.

Jason and Hoyt leave, you waving them off when they asked if you wanted a ride home. Sookie's shift is just about over and you remember her asking if you could wait for her because she wanted to take you someplace. So when Sookie comes out from the back to collect you from the bar, you're slightly swaying on your stool as you grin at her.

"Are you drunk?" She incredulously asks. "Y/N, I need you level headed."

"Ooohhh," you coo and reach out to bop her on the nose. "And just what do I need to be level headed for, sis?"

"Can you walk?" She asks instead. You laugh and nod, hopping off the stool and giving yourself a moment to make sure the room isn't tilting. She sighs. "That's good enough for me. Come on. A friend of mine needs a favor." She walks behind the bar to collect your suitcase and a bottle of water from the small refrigerator under the bar. "Bye, Sam! See you later!" She then calls out as she leads you down a hall. You hear Sam's muffled reply from one door in particular and then Sookie's leading you out the back exit and towards her car.

Outside she opens the passenger door to her small yellow Honda Civic that looks newer than the last time you saw it, and tosses your suitcase in the backseat. She pushes you down onto the passenger seat and holds the water bottle out to you. "Drink."

You take the bottle without a word, twist off the cap, and start to guzzle the water as she shuts the door and walks around the car to the driver's side door. You only get half of it down before needing to breathe. "What.. am I.. guzzling water for?" You ask in between breaths.

As Sookie starts up her car, she casts a wary glance your way before looking back to where she's driving. "Shreveport. We're going to Fangtasia. The owner of the bar needs you to listen to some echoes."

"Fangstasia?" Your brow furrows as you try to wrack your brain about why that sounds so familiar. A moment later, however, the answer comes to you and you groan. "First off, I can overlook the vampire bar. What I can't overlook is that of all people to tell our secret to, you chose vampires. Vampires! Do you know we're like crack to them?"

"I'm sorry, okay! I got involved with them a while back, which is a mistake that I can admit now, but Eric actually tried helping me in his own way. Somewhat. We've become friends."

"Sookie." You groan again. Your sister pouts and you decide to keep quiet, sipping on your water and wishing it were something stronger. "So what does this Eric know about me listening to echoes?"

"Nothing really," she says. "I know how you like your privacy, so last night was the first time I mentioned that I even had a sister." You grin, not hurt at all by her not mentioning you to others. "I just said that you could listen in on the dead. They don't know about anything else."

"Good. I like to keep 'em on their toes." Sookie snorts at your all too amused expression. "And besides, I learned a new trick! I can't wait to test it out."

Your sister glances between you and the road, her smile faltering. "Are you- are you sure you're okay to do this? I know how it can get when you're not truly focused."

"We're on the road." You giggle. "No turning around now."

This time it's Sookie's turn to groan. "I knew I should have asked beforehand. Now the night's gonna end with one of us pinned to a wall."

"Oooh. Kinky."

The rest of the drive is painfully quiet, with the exception of some gospel music station Sookie has playing on low. You're humming a completely different song under your breath, right arm hanging out the window and letting the humid air rush over the skin of your arm. Thankfully the drive isn't too long and Sookie is soon pulling into the parking lot with a building partially decorated with neon red lights. The outside of Fangtasia is not what you expected, but seeing the line of both human and vampires in their scantily clad outfits makes you excited to see what's going on inside.

You're practically bouncing in your seat as Sookie parks and she can't help but grin at your apparent excitement. "Get it all out now," she says. "You won't be smilin' the closer you get to the buildin'. Not while you're half drunk."

"Shut up and let's go!"

Sookie fondly rolls her eyes and the two of you simultaneously pull down the sun visors to check yourselves in the small mirrors provided. Happy with your reflections, the two of you climb out of the vehicle. As your sister comes around to your side, you hook your arm through hers and the two of you head for the building.

Instead of heading straight to the back of line, Sookie leads you directly to Fangtasia's bouncer and ignores the grumbled displeasures of those waiting in line to get in. It takes you a few seconds to recognize the dark skinned female checking ID's, but when she turns to greet Sookie and her eyes widen upon seeing you, you grin. "What's cookin', good lookin'?"

"Oh Lord," Tara muses. "Eric's gonna murder the both of y'all."

Sookie huffs and she holds you back as you attempt to poke at Tara's abdomen. "Who put him in a bad mood now?"

Tara shrugs as she swats your hand away. "It's Eric. He's always in a bad mood unless he's balls deep in some fang-banger."

Your sister ew's and you grin, clearly impressed, until Sookie elbows you. Tara just chuckles and gestures inside. "Go on in. You know where to find him. See you later, Y/N."

"Lookin' forward to it." Sookie drags you inside and the second you step foot in the darkened hallway, you sway on your feet as pressure builds up in your head. "Wait, wait, wait." You step aside to lean against the wall, shaking your head clear and trying to build up mental walls. When you catch a glimpse of your sister, you see her smiling sadly at you and are grateful she doesn't gloat about being right. "This is why I don't hang around vampires much," you murmur. "So much death."

"Sorry. I know I should have asked beforehand, but I didn't want to give you a chance to say no. Eric's annoying when he doesn't get what he wants."

"Yeah, yeah." You wave her off, close your eyes, and take a few deep breaths. Once you feel a bite more settled, you push off the wall and meet your sister's gaze. "Okay. I'm ready."

Entering the main part of the club you can't help but look around in wide-eyed wonder. While most would think you were awe, you actually weren't and instead bit back the comment about how ridiculously cliché the establishment is. Everything is in blacks and reds, vampires in leather or electrical tape are dancing on poles, and the humans reek of desperation.

"Huh. No one's on the throne," Sookie muses.

You glance towards a raised platform, eyes lighting up at the sight of two actual thrones. Sookie's grip on your arm, however, stops you from attempting to go up there. "At least buy me a drink before we meet Mr. Scary Vampire." You pout.

"Nope." She starts marching away from the bar and towards a back hallway. "You're drunk enough already. You can have one at home when we're done here."

"Boo. You're no fun."

Sookie stops right outside a black door and impatiently knocks. You grin at her already huffy attitude and then walk in behind her as soon as someone permits entrance. The office is very plain, with the exception of a blood red couch off to the side and the two vampires behind the desk, and you frown as Sookie guides you towards a black leather chair and pushes you down into it.

"So this is the mysterious Stackhouse." The blonde male drawls.

You drag your gaze from your sister to the vampire in question and sit a little straighter in your seat as a lazy smile stretches across your lips. "And you're the mysterious vampire I've only heard about an hour ago." You then look at your sister. "Please tell me you banged this one."

There are simultaneous snorts from behind the desk and Sookie exhales roughly, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Eric. Pam, this is my sister Y/N. She might be a little drunk."

"Just a little," you muse, giggling.

"Well at least we know who the fun Stackhouse is."

You perk up again, putting one finger on the tip of your nose and pointing at Pam who's smirking at you with the other hand. "And don't you forget it."

"As amusing as this is," Eric drawls again, "I need a favor. Are you capable of doing what your sister claims you can do?"

"I wouldn't be here if I couldn't." You smirk. The smirk falters however as you feel a chill slide across the back of your neck. You still and slowly glance over your shoulder, whispers you hadn't been listening to earlier getting louder. You wince and turn back around, strengthening your shields. A moment passes before you clear your throat and say, "But I have two conditions before I start."

Eric and Pam had been watching you closely, intrigued the second Sookie held up her hand to stall their questions when they noticed you zone out and stare at the corner of the room. "Money is no issue," Eric then says.

"Pft. I don't want money."

"Y/N!" Sookie reprimands. "You're in between jobs. Take the money."

Without looking at your sister, you wave your hand at your sister to get her to shut up. You know you've done your job when she swats your hand so you continue speaking to Eric. "First condition, no biting! I don't care how delicious I smell. No gnawing on the tiny little gremlin."

Pam's lips stretch into a wide smile whereas Eric's lips faintly twitch. "And the second?"

"I get free drinks from the bar whenever I'm here."

"Deal."

"Yes!"

"You're such an idiot," Sookie mutters.

You look to your sister, bouncing in your seat in excitement. "Joke's on Dracula. I'm gonna be in Bon Temps for the foreseeable future. That's a lot of free drinks for me. Suck it, Pixie."

"Oohh. I like this mouth breather. Can we please keep her?"

You meet Pam's gaze and wink. "As beautiful as you are, sweet stuff, you are so not my type."

Her left eyebrow raises as she's still clearly amused. "Because I'm a vampire?"

"Nah. Because you're female," you say. "I can appreciate a hot as fuck lady when I see one, but I still prefer cock."

"Okay!" Sookie nearly shouts as she stands up. Eric beams at your drunken blunt attitude. "We're here so Y/N can find out where your money is and we're way off topic. Can we please get on with it so I can get her home?"

You snort. "Prude." Sookie slaps the back of your arm and you squeal, slapping her arm back. You glare at her until her lips twitch and then you're back to giggling, looking back toward the vampires. "So let's do it. Do you have anything of the dead guy I'm supposed to be listening for? It'll make it easier to listen in on him."

Pam shrugs. "His blood is still in the dungeon. Will that work?"

"Gross, but yeah. Lead the way."

As soon as you stand, the voices amp up and you sway at the sudden onslaught of voices. You grit your teeth and tune them out, nodding at Eric who had stilled to keep an eye on you. He gestures to follow after Pam and you do, Sookie and Eric following behind you. Pam makes a beeline for the stage of thrones, but before you can follow there's a hand gripping your wrist and leading you towards a door behind the bar.

You're led down into a dimly lit dungeon behind Eric and you can't help the next words that leave your mouth. "It's always such a let down when the dungeon is actually a dungeon and not a sex dungeon."

Eric turns around to stare at you with a leering gaze and Sookie groans. "Been in a lot of dungeons?"

"Not really." You shrug and walk towards the back of the room where there are metal poles sticking up from the concrete floor. Chains hang from each of them and you shiver as your fingers run over them, the metallic rattling immediately tuning you in to the whispers. Subtly shaking your head, you look towards Sookie. "You know the drill."

She nods, pulling small orange styrofoam plugs from her pocket. "If it looks like you're struggling, plug my ears. Or get out."

"Bingo." You grin at your sister before looking at Eric. "If it gets bad, I expect you to vamp speed her little butt outta here."

"And how would I know what bad looks like?"

"Oh you'll know," Sookie mutters.

Grinning one last time at Sookie and Eric, you turn back towards where Eric obviously chains up those who end up on his bad side. So touching the chains again, you let the rattling and whispers overcome your senses.

"..dangerous. Need to leave."

"..bad place. I just want to go home."

"Stupid fuckin' vampers."

The room turns hazy and silhouettes walk to and from around the basement. You stare at them, letting the voices come and go until you find the one you're looking for.

"..so screwed. Never should have done it." Your gaze zeroes in on the silhouette, watching it pace back and forth. "It was just a little money. Pocket change."

"Never gonna find it. Calm down. We're already dead."

You listen a bit more to their whining, hoping for anything useful when a loud dry sob pierces the air. You wince and whirl around to spot the source of noise.

"Did she- can she hear us?"

"If she can then she can tell that goddamn vamper where his stuff is." You whirl back around, gasping at the too close silhouette. "Hello." A chill rushes through you and your too tense muscles seem to relax as a haze takes over your mind.

"Y/N? You good?" Sookie asks. She warily glances around, she and Eric both noticing the atmosphere in the room thickening.

"Hm?" Your eyes blink rapidly as if clearing your vision. "Yeah. All good," you hear yourself saying.

"Well what did you find out?" Eric asks.

You feel your head turning left and right as if taking in your surroundings before you turn around and walk towards the wall where more chains are hanging. Eric growls at being ignored and Sookie quietly assures him that this is normal. Reaching for a chain, you feel your hand gliding along one chain and picking it up, caressing a metal stake at the end of it.

"Y/N," Sookie cautiously calls out. "What are you doing?"

Getting a good grasp on the stake in one hand, you turn around and smile at Eric- a chilling smile that immediately sets Sookie on edge and lets even Eric know that something is off. "Fuck your money. You're never gonna get it, you dead piece of shit."

"Y/N, don't!" Sookie screams as your arm suddenly thrusts the stake towards the side of your neck, only to stop mere centimeters from the intended target.

Sookie gasps and Eric raises an eyebrow in surprise. "Are her eyes supposed to completely white over?"

"Well she did mention learning a new trick." Sookie nervously shifts beside Eric and they watch you slowly come back to yourself, expression hardening.

Eyes completely white, you stare straight ahead as you lower your hand without any resistance from the spirits. "You dead fucks try that shit again and I will obliterate your fuckin' souls, and mark every soul in your goddamn family. Do I make myself clear?" You seethe. The dungeon gets chilly before the tension seems to suddenly dwindle. The whispers amp up before completely dying out and you stand a little taller. "Good. Now where is the money?"

Eric and Sookie patiently watch Y/N as she lazily glances back and forth before the white recedes from her eyes. Her shoulders sag and she meets Eric's gaze. "That Rafael guy had a building he was renovating over on.. over on.." she trails off, brow furrowing as she tries to collect her thoughts.

"I know of it," Eric says.

She sighs. "Well the money's in the wall on the second floor. Happy demolishing."

Then like a puppet with its strings cut, Y/N collapses right before their very eyes.

          - - - - - - - - - -

A pounding at your temples is what wakes you and you groan as your eyes flutter open. You're apparently still at Fangtasia, back in Eric's plain office and laying on the most uncomfortable couch you've ever laid on.

"You're awake. Good."

You begrudgingly sit up, wincing as the throbbing persists. Glancing around, you frown as you notice you and Eric are the only two in the room. "Where's my sister?"

"Miss Stackhouse couldn't bother a mere hour in my presence so she went out front to pester Tara."

"You two exes or something?"

Not even close. "No. I admit I pursued her once, but it was only to satiate my curiosity about why she smelled so divine." Bill fuckin' Compton was also a cock block of epic proportions.

You snort. "Cock block. Who is Bill and why did he cock block you from Sookie?" Eric stills and he goes quiet. You frown at him and then between one blink and the next, Eric is kneeling in front of you.

Can you hear me?

"Um, yes?" You say. A moment passes and then you realize your slip-up. You groan. "Okay, so yeah. I can't read the minds of humans, but apparently I can read the minds of vampires. It only happens when I'm at my most vulnerable and being slightly possessed makes me vulnerable."

Eric slowly smirks. "Well aren't you my new favorite Stackhouse."

You fall back against the back of the couch, groaning. "Whatever. I don't have the energy to argue with you. Just please don't tell Sookie. She gets all huffy when I can do something she can't."

Another blink and Eric is sitting beside you on the couch. "Is there a reason why you can read vampires and she can read everyone else but vampires?"

"Your guess is as good as mine." You shrug. "I eventually came to the conclusion that we're just a part of different courts. She's Light Fae and I'm Dark. She flourishes under the sun and I under the moon. I don't really know."

"Have you tried getting answers from other Fae?"

"Yeah, no. I met a member of the Fae court and that's a hard pass. Those fairy fucks can keep their imposter foods. I like this realm just fine, thank you very much."

Eric's lips twitch. "If the vampires find out about your powers, they're going to fight to put their claim on you."

"Is that your not so subtle way in trying to convince me that I should ask you for protection?"

"I'm the sheriff of this area, sweetheart. You won't be able to find anyone better suited for the job."

You huff a quiet laugh. "Keep your fangs to yourself, sweetheart. I can take care of myself."

We'll see about that.

Settling in at what was always known as Gran's house, you almost take Sam up on his offer to become a waitress or bartender at Merlotte's. But then a day after doing Eric a favor, a check arrives for you- a check worth thousands of dollars- along with an offer from Eric to work every other day at Fangtasia to read the vampires coming and going from his area.

You didn't get back to him right away, instead choosing to just keep to yourself for a bit and re-familiarize yourself with the town. And then just when you think you have a lid on things, a constant buzzing makes a home just at the back of your skull.

For days Eric tries reaching you through texts and calls, but you just don't have the patience to deal with him. The buzzing is non-stop, the echoes of the dead sound as if they're underwater, and you can't hold a conversation longer than a minute. Sookie seems to understand that you can't be around people, so she leaves you be for the most part.

Your sister is currently at work so you have the house all to yourself. You haven't been able to clear your head and the buzzing is only getting louder and louder. You're nearing your breaking point, so when there's a knock at the front door you try to ignore it.

The knocking persists so you reluctantly roll out of bed, frowning as you march downstairs and towards the front door. Through the screen door you can see Eric standing there. You scowl at him, he grins, and when you push open the door he's immediately leaning against the door jamb. "You've been ignoring me."

You sigh and cross your arms over your chest. "I haven't been feeling well. Something's.. off."

That causes his faint grin to drop. "Is it something serious?"

"I'm not sure. I just- it feels like something bad is on the way."

"Well in that case.." Eric straightens up and stares down at you. "You're going to invite me in so I can protect you-" you scoff, "-or have primal passionate sex with you. You pick."

Though your mind is on overdrive, you can't help but faintly grin at the tall vampire. "I'll take a raincheck on the sex, but if you still want to come in, then come in."

Eric smirks as he crosses the threshold of the house and you shake your head at him before turning around and leading him to the living room. You take a seat in the corner of the couch, curling up with a pillow in your lap, and Eric sits on the middle seat to be as close to you as possible. "How long have you been feeling like this?"

"Few days now," you tell him. "There's this.. buzz. It's constant and it just keeps getting louder and louder."

"And the voices?"

"Muffled. No matter how much I concentrate, I can't hear them clearly. It's like they're trying to tell me something, but I can't tune in to the right station. It's annoying." Eric hums in thought and you attempt to change the subject. "So what brings you down here to Bon Temps? Surely my first impression wasn't that memorable."

He smirks as his arm rests along the top of the backrest of the couch, his fingers tugging on a few pieces of your hair. "It's rare for someone to amuse me these days. And you weren't what I was expecting Sookie's twin to be."

"Between the two of us, Sookie got all the perkiness. I, uh, I got stuck with all the doom and gloom." Eric quirks an eyebrow at you and you chuckle, wincing a moment later as an lingering echo screeches in your ear. Your attention is immediately drawn towards the kitchen where you see a silhouette walk by and the buzzing amps up.

Without uttering a word, you get up and follow it.

Eric watches as Y/N laughs one moment and then in the next second her expression is completely blank and attention elsewhere. Normally he'd be offended, but after learning what he could from Sookie he knows to never bring Y/N out of a trance. So in order to protect this little fae that just continues to become more and more interesting, Eric gets up and follows Y/N through the kitchen and out the back door.

He keeps several feet between himself and Y/N, his curiosity piqued as he notices her stop in the middle of the field behind her home. She glances back and forth as if searching for something, slowly turning in a circle. She winces and stumbles back, eyes wide and heart pumping furiously. Whatever's going on, Eric's instincts suddenly kick in and he doesn't like it. He doesn't like the look of fear on Y/N's face.

One sudden stumble sends Y/N to her knees, hands clamping around her ears.

"No, no, no," you mumble. The buzzing is extremely loud now, voices are screaming but you're still unable to make out what they're saying. Rocking back and forth, you glance around and your heart sinks as you watch Eric standing there across from you. "Go. Get away. I can't-"

"What's wrong? I can help you."

You shake your head. "You can't. You need to go. Get away from me. Please."

Eric watches you and you whimper when you see his resolve strengthen. He's not going anywhere. Clenching your eyes shut against the onslaught of noise, you slam your hands down on the ground in front of you and your fingers dig into the earth. Your breaths come faster and faster, and when you can't take it anymore your eyes fly open as you open your mouth and scream.

Your scream drowns out the buzz, the voices become clearer and it's only there alongside your scream do you understand them. You don't know how long you scream for, but when you stop your throat feels raw.

"What was that?" Eric asks.

"Sookie."

He's immediately kneeling before you, fingers under your chin to tilt your face upward. "What did you say?"

"My sister. She's not- she's not safe."

"She's at work under the ever watchful eye of the shifter."

"She is. Until she walks out back to take out the trash," you say. "Please," you beg. "Just.. just go check on her."

Eric continues to hold your gaze for a moment longer before he gives you a terse nod and then stands tall. Your eyes follow him as she lifts off into the air and it's like a weight is lifted off your chest. You sob in relief, curling in on yourself with your face in your hands.

"..inside.. safer.."

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up and your cries immediately cease. Sniffling, you sit back up and glance around the field you're in. Hearing the chirping insects and the ruffling of tree limbs puts you at unease, so you climb to your feet and hurriedly make your way back towards the house. You don't breathe until you're inside, behind closed doors, but even then you're still a little tense and wondering if your sister is okay.

The minutes tick on by as you pace back and forth in the kitchen, and you yelp when you turn around and Eric is standing right there. You raise a fist in order to punch him, but stop halfway there and instead poke his chest as you push him back a step. "Don't do that."

He smirks. "Sookie is fine. A couple of human junkies needed some money for their next fix. The sheriff is on the way to take care of the issue."

"Thank you." You sigh. As you move aside to take a seat at the table, you glance back at Eric and see a blood trail falling from his ear. Your eyes widen and you rush towards him, uncaring about boundaries when one hand lands on his chest and the other grasping his chin to turn his face sideways. "Your ear! I told you to leave before I screamed. Why didn't you listen?" You let go of his chin and then shove him a step back as you go back to pacing.

Eric chuckles. "You've been keeping secrets. You're not just Fae, are you?"

You shrug. "I'm not really sure what I am. I only found out I was part Fae because you guys told Sookie she was. The mind reading is from Fae abilities, but the screaming-"

"The wailing is a whole different breed."

You stop pacing and face him once more. "There's only one creature that wails," you say, "but I gave up on digging into our family history a long time ago."

"You truly are a rare breed, Miss Stackhouse. Half fae, half banshee. The vampires are going to be in a tizzy over you."

You groan. "A problem is inevitable until I agree to a claim, isn't it?"

"Aren't you a smart cookie."

You scowl at Eric then, holding his gaze until you sigh. "If I say yes to a claim, can I have your word that you won't take advantage?" He smiles then and though this vampire is ridiculously good looking, you rather not be someone's pet. But alas, you know he's right. "If the offer for a job at Fangtasia is still open, I'll take it. I don't plan to leave Bon Temps anytime soon and I'm going to need the cash."

"Sweetheart, if you agree to be mine I'll give you all the cash you could want."

Your nose wrinkles. "I'm so gonna regret this." There's a faint click! as Eric's fangs appear, his eyes darkening as he readily bites into his wrist. "Don't tell my sister."

Drink up, little one. We're going to have some fun.

[barcaavengers]

Weakness || Bucky Barnes Imagine || Pt. 1

Note: I just had to jump in the Bucky Barnes train after watching TFATWS and with Sebastian looking like that it gave me much needed muse to get back into writing. So Here it is! I feel like this is fast paced but I'm already working on the second part. Let's see how this goes. This goes from Episode 3 and transitions to Episode 4 at the end so consider some spoilers? As always, let me know your thoughts and I'm open to ideas!

Disclaimer: Gif not mine.

The idea of going to see Zemo to get any leads wasn't something you were particularly fond of when Bucky decided to go in there by himself. Yes, you trusted the soldier, but it was Zemo who you didn't trust. He was responsible for the break up of the Avengers. If it wouldn't have been for those events you would have all been together to defeat Thanos.

Your combat skills were what gave you the spot in the Avengers. You didn't have a serum, or superpowers, no tech to give you advantage, you were just really good with guns, strategies and tactics, learned to think outside the box.

You know everything is about to go to hell when Bucky takes you and Sam to a warehouse filled with cars and starts talking about breaking Zemo out of jail.

"Do you remember what that man did to all of us? To you? To T'Chaka?" You ask between Bucky and Sam who were looking at each other, that was until the squeak of the warehouse house doors interrupted. The three of you turn to look as a shadow got closer until…

"What the hell?! You said it was hypothetical! What is he doing out, Barnes!?" You snarl and take two quick steps towards Zemo.

"We need him, Y/N!" Bucky blocks your path.

"You are going back to prison!" Sam shouts, Bucky putting his hand on Sam's chest.

"If I may…"

"No!" The three of you shout, looking at Zemo before turning to each other.

"It's the only way! We can't do this alone!" Bucky states. "When Steve refused to sign the Sokovia Accords, you two backed him. You broke the law and stuck your neck out for me… I'm asking you to do it again."

"This is different! It was to protect you from him but now you are asking us to work with his ass after everything?" You question. You would do it in a heart beat because he was asking for it, but the thought of being crossed by someone like Zemo was what had you on edge.

Sam only sighed and you knew, yet again, he would go through with Bucky's plan. "Okay. If we do this, you won't make a move without our permission…" Sam says and your eyes close as you let out a huff.

You are all walking down the bridge once you get escorted to the city of Madripoor, Low Town specifically. "You need to stay in character, no matter what happens" Zemo says.

"The assistant, shouldn't be that hard" you say with a roll of your eyes.

"Anyone would love such role, Y/N. I would prefer if your dislike didn't show when we get there" he says. "It is the only way to explain why we brought a lady along to such dangerous business."

"I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself, but thanks for your concern. That's sweet coming from someone like you" you say and you can spot Zemo smiling from your spot behind him.

"You okay?" Bucky asks once he falls behind you, looking at the surroundings and taking everything in.

"I'm not thrilled about this, but I guess we have no choice" you say as you look around, then your eyes fall on his frame. "What about you?"

"I don't know anymore…" he says before you all get inside the club.

Everyone fell silent when Bucky walked in, watching him, wondering if it really was the Winter Soldier. You have never been in the same space with Bucky in public, so the whispers and the looks had you feeling a kind of way, almost defensive, but you had to keep your role and give smiles to strangers while you walked with Zemo with your arms linked. You look around the place, leaning against the counter, hiding back a smirk as Sam drinks whatever the hell they just put in on his 'usual' drink.

"Zemo might not be welcomed here, but his assistant can stay as long as she wants" a man says into your ear and you are quick to move away.

"Excuse me?" You eye the man on your side.

"What's your name pretty face? I can get you a better job than being an assistant" the man reaches to push your hair away from your face, letting his hand linger on your shoulder and your body tenses. Sam meets your eyes and slowly shakes his head, knowing you were about to break character and beat the hell out of this man. Zemo noticed, but kept a neutral expression.

"If he doesn't take his hand off you…" You hear Bucky murmur under his breath. You gesture with your hand at him carefully to not give anything up, just raising two fingers towards him.

"Who says I want a better job?" You smirk and reach for your drink, sipping on it on one go.

Zemo turns to look at Bucky, and you have heard the words Winter Soldier in Romanian enough times to know them, so when Zemo speaks them and Bucky nods, your heart stops. He is swift in his moves and in a blur he is gripping and twisting the hand of the man that was bothering you. He looks back at you as he shoves the man away, your eyes meet for a moment before it all starts. Men from left and right start throwing themselves to him, like if they stood a chance against the Winter Soldier. Seeing him like this sent chills down your spine. Quick, agile, ruthless. His moves were so calculated, so life ending. The Winter Soldier might be gone but his skills and moves were there alright, you only hoped it was just that.

"It didn't take much for him to fall back into form" Zemo says on your side almost as if he read your thoughts.

"Make it stop, Zemo or I swear I'll jump in the fight…" you snarl.

"Stay in character or the whole place will be upon us" Zemo says and you let out a huff. "Your soldier will be fine. It's all part of the show…"

"He is not my soldier…" your eyes couldn't get away from Bucky, who now had a man pinned on the table and that's when you hear the clicking of a gun.

Things take a bad turn real quick. Sam got caught in his character thanks to a phone call. Selby got killed and now there was a bounty for her killers who were apparently the four of you, then Sharon saved your assess and took you to her place. You were getting ready for the party, something comfortable to fight should it be needed. Bucky leans against the bathroom frame while you curl your hair, "You know that will go away soon though, right? When you pick on the next fight."

"If it lasts me two minutes it would be worth it" you say with a smirk as you look at him through the mirror, placing the iron on the counter you turn to look at him, he offers you a weak smile. "Well you look handsome" you say as you eye him. The black suit looked so good on him, and it just made his blue eyes stand out.

"You look... beautiful" he blinks as he eyes you, his hands falling into his pockets.

"Well thank you" your cheeks flush. After a few seconds, your gaze softens when you feel he is...off. "Are you okay, Buck? I know that what you did back there..." you trail off.

"I'm fine. Its just… I'm still processing..." he shrugs.

"You shouldn't have gone through with the plan. We could've found another way…"

"We didn't have time to find another way. Zemo knew that way would give us the information we needed" he says.

"I still don't like that he is using you like this..." you say with a frown.

He remains silent for a moment, wetting his lips before speaking. "Y/N, I know we-"

"You two done?" Sam interrupts and James takes an annoyed intake of breath, your gaze drops.

"Yeah" James walks away without a look back and you chew on your lower lip.

"Did I interrupt something?" Sam says with a smug smile.

"Get out" You walk out of the bathroom and Sam throws his arm around you, laughing.

"You two were having a moment there, weren't you?" Sam teases as you walk, poking on your shoulder. "Listen, you gotta do this smoothly. He is all rusty. He hasn't had a date in like 70 years."

"He probably wants to be by himself to finish that notebook, and right now nothing can distract us" you frown.

"You distract each other already" Sam says between laughs. "One of you will be in danger and the other will run and save the other."

"That's what I mean. Zemo said it earlier, the Winter Soldier has a reputation. If he has to keep playing the part, I'll be trying to stop him even more than I already do. I can't blow off the mission because of whatever this is..."

"Alright, you got a point, but talk to him, alright? If you want, take him out of the party and work it out" Sam pats your back as you walk out to the living room area.

"Looking sharp, Y/N" Sharon says with a grin once you come out and you twirl with a laugh. "Enjoy the party. Stay out of trouble, I'll see what I can find."

"Shall we then?" Zemo asks, holding his arm out to you.

"Let's go" you link your arm with his, just to play along. After this time with Zemo you figured out you might as well enjoy yourself, there was still a long way ahead before getting rid of him again. He didn't seem so bad since he broke out, you still didn't trust him though.

Once at the party, you stick around with Zemo. Sam and Bucky are somewhere around the lounge surveying the place, you all still had a bounty on your heads anyway. Meanwhile you are with Zemo, who was making some moves that had you giggling and laughing. He took your hand and started going around you before letting go and you grin. "Should've known you were this fun I would've helped breaking you out" you tease over the music.

"Didn't had a chance" Zemo says and smiles as he claps while letting the music move him. He eyes something behind you before looking back at you. "Your soldier can't seem to stop looking at you" you want to turn around, but you decided against it.

"He is not my soldier…" you say. "He is just watching out for us. We have prices on our heads remember?" You tap your head as you say the words. "And you have him acting as our bodyguard."

"I know your hatred was fueled when I had him act in such way, and I do apologize for such plan but it was the only way" he says. "You would know if you understood how things realistically move" he says.

"Apology accepted" you say. Zemo takes your hand and twirls you, and you catch a glimpse of Bucky walking towards the two of you.

"I believe we have company" Zemo says into your ear. "You know where to find me" he says and walks out and into the crowd with his own, awkward dancing pace. You giggle at it before turning around and finding Bucky close.

His shoulders were tense under that black suit that made him look so good, and his scowl was too obvious. "Having fun with Zemo?" He asks, everyone around you was moving to the music, except him who only looked to where Zemo had disappeared to, his tongue poking in annoyance at his cheek.

"Just wanted to get to know him a bit more. Is not an everyday thing we hang with a Most Wanted prisoner" you say with a shrug. "Who you broke out of jail may I add."

"I didn't do anything" he says and his gaze averts from yours.

"For being one hundred and six you are an awful liar, Buck" you smirk, but he doesn't say anything. His hands are tucked in his pockets, eyeing everything but you. "Relax. Enjoy the music."

"This isn't my type of music" he says coldly and looks around the place once again.

"Fine…" you stop on your moves. Might as well take Sam's suggestion, plus you could see this scenario and the music was too much for him. "Come on, let's go back upstairs and talk" you hold your hand out for him and he looks at it, he hesitates before his glove covered hand wraps around yours and you lead the way.

"I told you, I'll be fine" he sighs as he sits down on the couch, you sit right beside him.

"Bullshit, Barnes" you say as you drop down. "When you were fighting those people…"

"It was just an act…I'm not a killer anymore..."

"I know, Buck" you reach to put your hand on his knee, which he eyes before looking at you. "But you didn't go to therapy to get over this only to be pulled again for a show. This isn't right."

"I'm okay, I promise…" he trails off. "I'm just getting used to all of this" his hand covers yours, sending electricity through your nerves.

"I promised Steve I would look out for you to not do anything stupid," you smile at him "I am not a super soldier or have any powers, but if I can help. I will do what I can…" you admit to him. His blue eyes look into yours and your heart stops it's beating for a second.

You hold his gaze and shift your position on the couch, your leg was already falling asleep since it was under you. "I-" he pauses and you can see his mind wondering, thinking, calculating. Sam was right, you could almost see the gears turning.

"Talk to me. I know you have something to say" you smirk.

"I guess that what I'm trying to say is, I am glad that you are with me in this mission even after everything-"

"Don't. Please…" you were sure he was going to bring up that one time where Sam, Steve and Natasha, as well as yourself, were attacked by him while trying to get a hold of Hydra. It was the first time you had seen him, you didn't know him, but you feared him. You are a mere human and he is a super soldier, the most dangerous soldier for the past years. He had tried to kill you back then one way or another, guns, knives, grenades, but somehow you survived.

Then you met him when Cap and Sam went after him, seeing him act like a normal person triggered something in you. How could someone like him turn into someone so dangerous? The time you spent watching after him, and fighting alongside the team had warmed your heart towards him to the point you admitted to yourself you caught feelings for him. How could you not? You were the only person to go to Wakanda to see him after he was freed, and it will be an understatement that you cried your eyes out when he told you the words. That was when the two of you started having a connection.

"You okay?" His voice echoes and you realize you had zoned out.

"Yeah. Sorry I was just thinking of…" he eyes you curiously, those steel blue eyes had you going weak. You inch closer and you feel him move, his head siding in a way that all you had to do was… "I'm so sorry for this, Buck-"

"What are you apolog-" and your lips muffle his words when you press them against his. You hated this. Losing your control the second you are alone with him. This wasn't right, but it felt unbelievably nice. His lips don't move, so to save yourself more embarrassment you pull away and duck your head to avoid his gaze, hoping that your hair is covering the redness of your cheeks.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that…" you pull your hand away from under his, daring to look up at him. "We should go back to the-"

This time, he interrupts you. His flesh hand moving in a blur to the back of your head to bring you in for another kiss. His lips were rough on yours even when they parted slowly, but what did you expect? For him to be the womanizer Steve once told you he was? That now that he was free he would be kissing any girl? You let out a sigh of relief through your nostrils before pulling away.

"Did I do something wrong?" His eyes were soft with worry as he tried to meet yours.

"No. Gosh no" you bite your lip. "Don't apologize...I just lost myself there…" you giggle and he smiles weakly. You move forward again but stop, looking into his hues for approval before you lean in again slowly and his lips capture yours. He dares to part his lips and you tilt your head slightly, so does his, deepening the kiss only slightly.

"Y/N? Are you- Sweet Jesus!" Sam voices echoes through your ears and Bucky quickly pushes you away lightly, but enough to have you away from him.

"Sam. I-" You try to explain.

"Nuh-uh. I saw enough to know what was going on."

"Any leads?" Bucky asks, trying to divert the attention, standing up now.

"Sharon found him" Sam says. "Let's go, and no PDA while I'm around, okay?"

"When all of this is over-" Bucky starts as you two walk down the containers, Sam, Sharon and Zemo a few feet ahead.

"I shouldn't have done that" you insist. "My timing was off.."

"You make it sound like it was wrong when it wasn't" he pulls out his gun and so do you.

"It was" you nod your head as you walk. He reaches for your hand, looks at the group in front of you before he pulls you to the side behind a container, your body between the two.

"I have wanted what happened more than you know" he is soft in his words and his eyes divert to your lips for a moment. "I just...I have a past, Y/N..."

"A past you are free from now, Bucky" you point out. "You are not The Winter Soldier anymore. You have grown from that ever since Wakanda…" you assure him. "I'm not even asking you to accept it to start something because I know its way too soon-"

"You don't understand" he slowly backs away from you.

"You don't trust yourself entirely yet, do you?" His eyes avoiding your gaze made you frown. "I knew that this would have consequences. I'm going to talk to Zemo."

"Y/N, wait" he catches your arm as you turn and he brings you close. "We can't trust Zemo. You know that…" he says. "I am not sure how to explain it, but-"

That's when it hit you. "You don't want him to know we are each other's weakness…" you voice and his head nods slowly as he swallows.

"That's why we need to sort this out, but later, not during this…"

"Y/N?" Sam calls out and you frown.

"On it!" You whisper shout back.

"Be careful. I'll go in with Sam…You stay with Sharon…" he says and your head nods.

*****

"Walker I swear if you don't shut up I'll make you swallow that shield" your arms were crossed, leaning against the wall behind Bucky who was guarding the stairs. Zemo was cuffed, Sam was inside talking with Karli, Walker and Hoskins had found their way to you and now were here.

"Easy there. I'm just worried about your partner being in there by himself" he says and you notice the glare the Sargeant gives him.

"You have been messing this whole operation the moment you got here" you spat.

"Aren't you worried about Sam back there?"

"He can handle himself. He is doing what is right, unlike others" you eye him up and down and his whole face darkens, taking a step forward and you take a defiant one as well.

"Think carefully what you will do next, Walker" Bucky puts his hand on his chest.

"Let him. I can kick his ass and take that shield off his hands in a heartbeat…" you hiss.

"This is all easy for you, isn't it? All that serum rushin' through your veins. You let your partner in there with a Super Soldier, that blood will be on your hands if things get dirty in there…" Walker says to Bucky. How dare he!?

For a moment, you ponder on his words and you can't stand the thought of Sam being in there getting beaten by Super Soldiers while Walker could be right. You didn't want him to be. What if they took him? What if…?

"Buck…" you put your hand on his bicep and he looks at you, knowing very well what you wanted to do.

Of course, Walker wasn't very good with entrances since he literally waltzed in calling Karli and saying she was under arrest. Super Soldiers showed up everywhere and your eyes widened. Karli pushes Walker and then storms off running.

"Karli!" You call and look at Sam.

"Go! We got this!"

Your head nods, eyes shift to look at Bucky who was fighting a Super Soldier off before you storm to the direction Karli headed to. You see her walking down the corridor, not too far from you. "Karli, wait! This is not what it looks like!" Karli says and she stops in her tracks, looking back at you.

"It is exactly what it looks like! You are working for Captain America!"

"What? No! We hate the guy!" You admit bluntly, honesty can get you places after all, and at least she stopped. "We just want to work this out. There has to be a better way to fight for what you want, Karli…" you say and get closer.

"Yeah. There is...But first, you will help us deliver a message before we trust you again" your head tilts to the side curiously when you feel arms around you and you feel a pinch on your neck. Your eyelids feel heavy all of a sudden until you can't hold them open any longer.

-Bucky's POV-

After fighting some of the Flag Smashers off he meets with Sam, Walker and Hoskins in the middle of the building.

"We lost them" Hoskins says as he looked around.

"You made us loose them! I had everything under control until you stepped in!" Sam complained.

"Where is Y/N?" Bucky asks as he looks around.

"She went after Karli. I haven't seen her since..." Sam says, his phone goes off and Bucky is quick to move close to him as he opens the message. "They got Y/N…" Sam's brown eyes shift to look at Bucky who was clenching his jaw yet his eyes showed how worried he was, and mad for letting you go after Karli alone.

"That's it." Bucky turns on his heels and started walking the other direction.

"Bucky!" Sam calls but it didn't get the man's attention. "Bucky!"

[simsadventures]

Mellow Hearts

Bucky x Reader

Summary: You and Bucky take a vacation by the ocean, happy to just spend some quality time together by the beach. 

Warnings: fluff, smut (MUST BE 18+ TO READ THIS STORY)- lovemaking, sweet and tender you guys, nothing animalistic this time

Word Count: 1186

A/N: Some shorter Bucky action for my lovely followers. This is also a super late fic for my friend’s Laura’s @imanuglywombat​ writing challenge #uglywombat4Kchallenge, where I picked the song by Nick Murphy- Talk is Cheap (Talk is cheap my darling/ When you’re feeling right at home/ I wanna make you move with confidence/ I wanna be with you alone,) and the moodboard Beach, which is the picture for this fic. Anyway, enjoy my lovely people, and once again, congrats Laura for reaching such an amazing milestone. 

Bucky Barnes Masterlist __ Masterlist 

His heart beat against your skin, and you couldn’t believe this was happening. Life had been hectic in the past few months, and there were rare moments you and your man could spend together, let alone together for longer than 24 hours. So, the chance of going on a vacation for a week, where you didn’t have to worry about being called to a mission and not seeing Bucky for a week minimum. 

To have him in your arms now was priceless. It was the whole aura in the room that got you going ever since you arrived. The hotel was situated near the beach, so much so that you could taste the salt in the air coming from the ocean when you opened up the French windows. Bucky mentioned multiple times that you tasted a bit salty, but that he enjoyed it immensely because it was something new. And he was all in for trying novelties with you, especially when it came to you and the taste of your skin. 

Seeing Bucky in this new environment, where he didn’t have to be the Sargent, always alert and ready to fight any danger that would come his way. But here he was calm and in peace, smiling freely and not caring about his diet like he did back in New York. He was his best self when he was out of the team, and you often wondered if it weren’t better for you two to just retire after so many years serving the world, and leave for some quiet place wherever he would like, and just live happily there. 

But Bucky thought it was too soon after all that had happened with Thanos, and you let him call the shots because you really didn’t mind either. What you did mind, however, was when he wasn’t rested and happy, and so you pushed on Sam to just let you two off the hook for at least a week so that you could get your strength back. And as even the always-blind Sam saw, Bucky needed to get his mind back into peace, so he let you two go. 

That’s how you found yourselves on the coast of Spain, sitting on the bed by the open balcony door, staring deep into each other’s eyes. 

When you woke up that morning, you felt quite sore from the escapades of the previous days, both in the room and, quite dangerously, even on the beach and in the sea, because, as the trip showed, Bucky was quite the exhibitionist and the idea of getting caught thrilled him to the bone. You didn’t mind some semi-public action either since you knew Bucky and his super-hearing and super-strength would hear anybody actually coming near you and would carry you to safety. 

Bucky was worried that he hurt you from the low moans escaping you in the morning, but you relentlessly assured him that you were okay, just a little sore here and there. When the information finally hit his brain, he realised he didn’t have to go sex-free for the day, and the mood changed quickly. But unlike all the other days, when you two acted almost purely on animalistic instinct, this morning you craved a deeper connection. 

Sitting on top of Bucky who was sitting as well with your legs entangled around his torso, you threw your head back as Bucky’s hips moved from left to right, creating friction on your sensitive clit that you so needed. He always knew what your body was asking for and was very quick to deliver. 

Sweat was glistening on your skins, and in the light of the early morning sun, Bucky looked more beautiful than ever. And you were sure to tell him over and over again. 

“You’re so handsome like this, Buck. Fuck, if you could only feel what my heart feels. It’s so full when I’m looking at you, your pupils blown and your lips just a little redder because of my kisses. You look so happy, and my heart literally swells my love,” you moaned as you ground your hips against his, and Bucky hissed in pleasure. You could even feel his cock do a little jump at your praise. 

It was a long time ago that you found your spot boy had a praise kink, and you used that to both your and his advantage. Every word of love you said was the truth, which made it that more alluring to Bucky. 

“Fuck, doll, you’re so beautiful like this, riding me gently and just staring in my eyes. I feel like I’m staring right into your soul, and do you know what I see? My home. We don’t need to speak, because I often feel like talk is cheap, but I know you, and I know your heart, and you are my home. Fuck, I love you so much!” Bucky was speaking through his teeth, the pleasure taking over his speech, but you appreciated his effort. 

And he was right, you were each other’s home no matter where you found yourselves. This was more than love; this was the complete conjunction of souls. Each move he made was felt not only in your pussy but also in your heart, because of the way he looked at you. Like he would do anything for you. His actions spoke louder than the words, and each thrust of his hips sent you both closer to your climaxes. 

What Bucky saw in your eyes was taking his breath away. You were confident in your love for him, which you conveyed with each little kiss, each little nip at his lips and his neck. Your eyes showed him how deep your love ran that it was interlaced with the very essence of you, and when the realisation hit him, that you were utterly and entirely his, most probably forever, he came with a loud grunt and stutter of his hips, triggering your own orgasm so much, so you shouted and fell into his open arms, where his erratic but happy heart awaited you. 

“We should take time off like this more often, doll, I think it suits us,” he said to your hair, and you chuckled at the relaxed expression on his face when you looked up. 

“Yeah, I think making love three times a day on a daily basis does suit us,” you smirked, and Bucky pinched your side but still laughed with you. 

“We should hit the beach soon if we want to catch some good spots, doll,” Bucky mused, and you just hummed, not really sold on the idea of leaving the comfort of neither the room and Bucky’s arms. He tried to make a move towards the bathroom, but your arms held him so tight he gave up the idea of leaving very shortly after feeling your arms locking behind his back. You wanted him near, and he would give you anything you asked for. Because he would do anything to be with you alone, and he wished this vacation never ended. Maybe leaving the guns behind wasn’t such a bad idea. 

Taglist in reblogs (trying to make these tags work!! Ugh, Tumblr!!)

[buckyownsmylife]

Clean - John Winchester Smut

The one where John’s your best friend’s father

Warnings: smut, age gap, rough sex, oral sex (f), p in v, overstimulation, dirty talk, curse words

A/N: Day 6 of kinktober and I’m really exhausted and low. But here it is. Hope you guys like it. The prompts were overstimulation and bestfriend’s father.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I could feel his eyes on me from across the room. It was difficult not to, especially when it felt like my body was so perfectly attuned to his, permanently in search for his attention. But of course, because things couldn’t be easy, not only was he thirty years older than me, he was also my best friend’s father.

Sammy wasn’t even my age, which made it worse. Even he was older than me, as we’d met in college, where I’d been accepted even before I was of legal age. And now that we’d ran into each other after I lost everything and everyone I knew to a werewolf pack, he felt like it was his responsibility to take care of me, which is how I ended up in his family’s bunker, permanently stuck with him, his older brother Dean, their friend Cas - who was an angel - and their father, John. The muse behind every wet dream I’d ever had since our eyes had first met.

Life with the Winchesters - and Cas - wasn’t hard or bad. Most of the time I stayed at the bunker, perfectly content in helping with research - it was my favorite activity, after all. John had been scared of allowing me to join them on their hunts, saying I needed actual training that they couldn’t quickly provide, but these last few weeks had found us alone with each other more often than not, his hands over mine as he taught me how to pull the trigger of a gun.

That part was hard, ignoring how his touch made me feel electrified when he was so close, holding my hands in front of my body from behind and directing them towards a designated target, but not as hard as the cock I felt straining his jeans and rubbing against my backside in those same moments.

We never spoke of it, both pretending to not notice, but we knew better. And that’s precisely why I allowed him to run off into his bedroom immediately after our training sessions, without accompanying him to offer my help in return.

He was my best friend’s father. I shouldn’t. But fuck did I want to.

So that’s why these last few days, it felt like the temperature had been steadily rising between us, to the point where it seemed like we’d both burn up into flames at any moment. John had gotten back from a hunt five days ago and still hadn’t offered to meet me in a training session, something that struck me as weird, but I didn’t want to bother him, so I never asked for it, opting to simply wait for his invitation.

Now, I could feel him staring at me from across the room, and as much as I wanted to ask why, I didn’t. I just kept my head down as I tried to concentrate on the research Sam asked me to help him with.

Just as I was about to finally be able to focus, though, Dean decided to disturb the peaceful atmosphere.

“Who wants to go to the bar?” It was an invitation made strictly out of politeness. He’d long ago given up on ever getting me to leave the bunker to “relax” in that kind of loud atmosphere, so I just granted him a sheepish smile, to which he chuckled. “Alright, I got it. Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. Sam, what about you?”

My best friend’s head whipped up from the book he was reading at the mention of his name, and it took him some time to tune in into what Dean was talking about. When he did, much to everyone’s surprise, he actually nodded, closing his book and stretching up. “Sure, I think I deserve some rest after this week. Are you sure I can’t convince you to join us, Y/N?”

John’s P.O.V.

She smiled, but shook her head at my boys.

“Nah, I’m good. You guys have fun. Besides, anytime you take me with you, someone ends up having to babysit me, and I’m sure the main reason you want to go out is to find someone to spend the night with, right?” Sam blushed, but didn’t deny. Dean, on the other hand, always my son, just chuckled, no embarrassment in his features. 

“Well, a man’s gotta live.” What he didn’t add was that if she offered, he’d exchange all the skanks in the world for a chance to be with her. The only person who didn’t take notice in his obvious crush for her was her.

There was another thing that remained unspoken while the boys prepared to leave the bunker. The main reason why someone had to stay behind with her was because no other girl approached our table when she was around us. She just had that effect. We became so enraptured by her that no one else caught our eye, and so no one approached.

We didn’t mind. She took all of our attention when she was around, and she didn’t even know it. So it was safe to say that ever since she stopped agreeing to be dragged out into bars with us, we were grateful.

“Dad?” They hadn’t realized I had made no effort to get ready until they were already at the door. 

“‘M not going tonight.” Her surprised eyes found mine from the other side of the room, but just like my kids, she didn’t say anything. In another minute or so they were gone and then it was only her and I in the bunker for the night.

I could see the tension in her shoulders from the other side of the room, and I almost chuckled. Perhaps this was only another sign in a long list of things that should show me how screwed up I was for wanting what I did, but I’d given up trying to fight it. I’d fucked woman after woman thinking about the girl in front of me, and she was still the only one I could think about when I lied down at night. So now it was time to get her.

“Y/N,” I called out to her a few minutes after the boys had left, wanting to give them time to possibly come back to get whatever item they might have forgotten, but when that wasn’t the case, I broke the silence that had fallen in the room without a second thought. “Come here.”

I could see even from the distance between us that she flinched at the sound of her own name. Had I startled her? She was a hunter, she couldn’t be so easily scared, but perhaps it was the tension that had appeared between us that made her uneasy enough to jump at anything.

Her head whipped up to look at me, but she didn’t immediately do anything, just stared, like she was unsure if I’d actually called her name or if it was only her own imagination playing tricks on her. When I refused to repeat myself, but still maintained eye contact with her, she slowly got up from her chair and made her way to where I was sitting, giving me the perfect opportunity to appreciate her body.

Fuck, she really was something. The way that jeans hugged her curves, showing off her tight ass, and how her breasts bounced with each step she took towards me. It was impossible not to be aroused - I couldn’t understand how Sam kept it in his pants. I knew for a fact Dean had eyed her quite a bit, because I was the one to remove any ideas of him ever getting with her with a single slap on the back of his head when I got him smirking down at her.

That kid was too much like me for his own good.

“You called?” She asked when she was finally right in front of me, her head doing that cute little thing where it leaned to one side as she nibbled on her lower lip, waiting for any sort of reaction from me.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

John’s stare was an intense kind of torture, one that seemed perfectly constructed just to break me down to my most primal state. I had no doubt he’d be able to achieve that. After what felt like hours of him undressing me with those brown hues that had seen so much more than he actually let on, he finally showed me some sort of direct recognition, sitting up straighter in the armchair he was sprawled on, before clearing his throat.

“Yes, I did call you. You see, Y/N, I’ve found myself in a sort of… situation, for quite sometime now, and I’ve tried everything I could to get myself through it. There’s only one thing left, now. You.”

My eyebrows flew up while I opened my mouth several times, in search of something to say. Still, with the little amount of information I had, all that was left for me to ask was “Me? How can I help you?”

By the way the corners of his lips twitched up - the closest thing to a smile coming from John Winchester - it was clear that while he anticipated my questioning, it still amused him greatly. I got the impression that he thought of me as something precious, innocent even, and while I couldn’t understand neither where I got this idea or why he thought of me like that, the truth was that it got me hot like nothing else.

“Considering you are the very reason for my problem, I’d say there are a lot of ways you can help me, sweetheart.” My heart had started beating more quickly, the innuendo in his words, the tension that had been ever-present in the atmosphere between us, it all made sense. But I still couldn’t believe this was actually happening, that he actually wanted me.

I didn’t want to do or say anything that let on what I was thinking about, because God, how embarrassing would it be if I had completely misread this situation?

John sighed at my lack of response, throwing a hand through his hair as he looked around the room before fixing his eyes on me again. “Listen, sweetheart. I don’t want to put you into a difficult position and I most definitely don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want, I just think you might be interested in taking up my offer. I’ve seen the way you look at me, it’s not much different from how I look at you either. None of the boys need to know. This would just be between me and you.”

I was certain he was able to hear my heartbeat by now, but still, I forced myself to speak over the thundering sound resonating in my ears. “And what would that be, exactly? Your offer, I mean.”

John didn’t immediately answer, opting instead to run his eyes through my figure once more. I forced myself to contain the inevitable shiver, pondering how the hell was he able to feel so dominating while remaining seated, whereas I was standing up.

John’s P.O.V.

“I want to use you as my personal fucktoy,” I decided to get on with it, lay it all out in the open as soon as possible. There was no reason to hide, after all, I wasn’t exactly a blushing virgin and I wanted her to know exactly what she was getting herself into if she accepted my proposal.

“Now, I need you to really understand this, pretty girl. I’m not fucking around and I’m most definitely nothing like the boys you probably fucked up until now. When I say I want you to be my fucktoy, I mean you will be my fucktoy. I have a lot of pent up frustrations to deal with and I will not do anything other than use you. It will be rough. I will not be gentle.”

I watched with clear interest as my words registered in the girl in front of me. It wasn’t hard to see that she was interested in what I was offering, by the way she was biting her lip and changing her weight from one leg to another. I was willing to bet that she was wet already. 

“Are you sure we’ll be able to keep this from the boys?” I smiled at how she called my sons, who were both older than her, and at her priorities. There was a reason I knew I should take the leap and look for relief in her. Instead of worrying about how rough I could be, she just wanted to know about the privacy of it all.

“Come here, sweetheart,” I asked, beckoning her to my lap. She obeyed with barely any hesitancy, which instantly aroused me. There was nothing I loved more than a girl who knew her place and what she wanted.

As soon as she was in touching distance, I pulled her to sit on one of my thighs, relishing in the tiny gasp of surprise she let out at the sudden movement. “You don’t need to worry,” I assured her, while wrapping a strand of her hair on one of my fingers, while my other hand secured her in her spot. “We’re both consenting adults, right? They never have to know about what we do when they aren’t here.”

Her eyes had been staring at my mouth as I talked, and by the end of my question she quickly raised them to meet mine again, like she was scared to be caught staring. A chuckle caught in my throat, I wrapped my hand around the back of her neck and pulled her to me. “Just come here,” I said right before meeting her lips with mine.

It was exactly as I imagined, her softness meeting my chapped lips with some timidness as I forced her to welcome my eager tongue. The tiny moan that she let out as I parted her lips to get my first taste of her went straight to my cock, making me groan before I adjusted her so she’d sit properly on both of my thighs, facing me. 

Her hands clutched my shirt as mine explored her body, masculine satisfaction filling my chest at the knowledge that from now on, she’d be mine to take.”Wanna start being a good girl for me?” I whispered in her ear, fully enjoying seeing the goosebumps that rose up on her arms at the touch of my breath on her skin.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Yes,” I breathed out without even thinking twice, completely lost to the feeling of John’s warm, manly hands groping my body. His ever-present smell of whiskey and gunpowder was going straight to my head, making me feel like the world was swirling around us as he savored my lips, my jaw, my throat, his hands getting lost in my hair before grabbing my ass over my jeans, grinding me against him.

“Then get up,” he ordered, already helping me do as he said with his hands on my waist. When I was standing in front of him again, he ran his eyes through me one more time before continuing, “Now strip.”

I’d normally feel at least a bit timid of following his direction, but with John looking at me like I was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid his eyes on, I found myself wishing that my clothes were already on the floor - especially since it suddenly felt way too hot in this bunker, the fluorescent lights a sun in itself. 

First went my shirt, before I unbuttoned my jeans and let them fall down to my ankles. John licked his lips at the sight of my body in just my underwear, before telling me to step out of my jeans.

He didn’t need to tell me to proceed with my strip-tease, I did so instinctively, my bra quickly falling down to the floor before my panties followed the same path. John’s gaze had darkened considerably, and had become so strong that it almost felt like a physical presence over me, exploring my crevices.

“Pull out that chair, sweetheart,” he nodded towards one of the simple wooden chairs we kept by one of the dining tables, and although I quirked an eyebrow in his direction, I did as he said, positioning the chair to face him, before he tutted. “Turn it around,” he instructed, and I did so quickly, my breasts bouncing with each step I took. “Now brace yourself on the back of that chair.”

For the first time, I hesitated before doing what he wanted. With him still seating right behind me, I’d be quite literally giving him a vision of everything. But of course, that was precisely what he wanted, so I just resorted to doing exactly as he said, wrapping my arms around the back of the chair and leaning over so that my pussy was on display for him.

I didn’t witness any sort of reaction for a few seconds, and my heart was beating so loudly I couldn’t even hear his breath to be able to actually pinpoint if he was still seated or not. All I knew was that with each passing minute, my nerves stood on end, my nipples tightening in the warm air of the room while I could feel my wetness start to seep out of my lower lips.

But then, I felt his hands on the back of my thighs, his warm breath right over my most intimate part, like he was teasing himself with my smell before allowing his own satisfaction. “Such a pretty little pussy,” he whispered in that rough voice of his that always gave me shivers. Accompanied by a sweep of his knuckles against my most sensitive part, it almost made my knees buckle.

John’s P.O.V.

I had to stop myself from chuckling at how much my little actions affected her. I could only imagine how she’d look all fucked out, when I was done with her. “Hang there, sweetheart, I wanna get myself a taste.” Keeping her still by my grip on her legs, I buried my face on her pussy from behind, paying attention to the adorable little gasp she let out at the first swipe of my tongue. “You can be as loud as you want, pretty girl. The boys aren’t here to hear ya.”

I slowly collected some of the wetness already slipping out of her with the tip of my tongue, relishing in her sweet taste. I immediately needed more, needed to have it dripping off my beard, imprinted on my taste buds.

All calmness and control recklessly abandoned, I pressed myself further inside of her, only half-listening to the broken moans and gasps leaving her lips as she tried to remain in the position I ordered her to be in, while I lapped up her cunt with a vigor I hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“Fuck, you really are a sweet thing, aren’t you? I’d forgotten how great young pussy tasted. Hang in there, sweetheart, this might take a while.” It wasn’t my plan to spend so much time just eating her out, but she was just too delicious to leave without having her cum directly against my tongue. So I gave her my all, engulfing her pussy in my mouth as my jaw rubbed against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, my beard certainly leaving a burning sensation I could only take egoistic pride in. Finally, she gave me what I wanted, cumming directly into my mouth with my nose pressed against her little clit, and I drank it all in, licking my lips and hers to make sure I wouldn’t waste any drop.

She was still trembling and trying to catch her breath when I pulled away from her, rubbing my lips to chase the remnants of her taste. Then I paused, once again looking her up and down, from the tiptoes she was resting on, the back of her thighs until the perfectly presented cunt just there for me to take.

“Wait just there, darlin’, I think I might need a second taste.” By the time I was done with her, three orgasms later, she’d cum with my hands spreading her asscheeks, after I fucked my tongue inside her pretty little asshole, with a single finger inside of her while I bit on her thighs and finally, with three digits buried to the knuckle, as she begged me for a release I was more than happy to give her. Her juices were already dripping past her ankles, and as much as I wanted to lick it all up, clean her with my tongue, my cock had been throbbing inside my jeans for far too long to continue to be ignored.

Rising up behind her, I caressed the skin of her back as I tried to calm her down, while I kept one hand on my belt, prying it open. “There, sweetheart. We’re almost done, aren’t we? All that’s left for you to do now is to welcome my cock into that tight cunt of yours. Think you can do it?”

Y/N’s P.O.V.

My heart couldn’t keep up with what was going on. It felt like I’d just run a marathon, my skin all sweaty while my wetness dripped on the concrete floor below us. “Y-yes,” I answered with all the energy I had left, flinching at how hoarse my throat felt. “I can do it.”

John chuckled warmly, and it was with a jolt of excitement that I realized his cock was out, as he pulled me against his chest by my hair. “I know you can, sweet thing. The question is… how badly do you want it?”

He rubbed his cock against me as he whispered the question in my ear, and I gasped at how thick he felt, immediately comprehending what he wanted from me. “Please, John, I want it so bad. I want your cock inside of me, I need it.” 

The growl I got in response let me know I had gotten it right even before I felt the head of his cock pressing against me, spearing me open. He shoved it all inside of me in a single thrust, not allowing me anytime to get used to the feeling of being so brutally stretched after he bottomed out.

“Now, darlin’, you just hold onto that chair and let me ruin you.” Pushing me against the chair again, he immediately started to pound against me, both hands so tightly holding onto my waist that I was sure I’d have bruised in the morning.

He wasn’t lying about ruining me. I’d never been so forcefully fucked in my entire life, and it wasn’t hard to see that I had John’s sexual experience to thank for it. “John!” I screamed out his name as I felt myself reaching that high again, my channel throbbing around him. He just kept fucking me with the same intensity, turning my sensitiveness into overstimulation in a second.

“John, please!” I begged as tears rolled down my cheeks from the way it all felt like too much - the feeling of being so filled, the way my clit ached and throbbed, my pussy trying to push him out and keep him in at the same time. Still, I couldn’t be certain of what I was asking for - for him to stop? To continue? Both ideas sounded equally necessary to me at that moment.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to be my fucktoy?” He asked threateningly, pulling me by my hair again so he could lick the salt on my cheek. “You can take it, sweetheart. You’re a big girl, aren’t you?” With a slap over my clit, I cried as my last orgasm suddenly intensified and I felt myself bursting with a white hot flash of an orgasm as I squirted all over our clamped legs.

When I finally managed to blink my eyes open again, I realized John was still hugging me to him, but he’d stopped moving. Then, I realized the mess between my legs was even stickier, and it all made sense.

“I forgot to ask you where I could cum,” he joked, kissing my temple before slowly pulling out of my abused pussy. He looked around for my clothes before selecting my shirt to wipe the excess moisture on our skins.

“It’s okay,” I explained as I tried to catch my breath, still frozen on the same spot and holding the chair, since I was scared my legs would fail me if I tried to move. “I’m on the pill.” Before I could say anything else, John picked me up bridal style and started moving us towards the bedrooms, making me wheeze in surprise. “Where are you taking me?” I inquired, confused and tired, but he looked down at me like I was suddenly gone crazy. 

“My bedroom. I figured I’d let you soak in a bath while I take care of the mess we left in the living room. Then I can come back and hold you for a bit, before you fall asleep. How does that sound?” As hard as it was to wrap my head around the concept of John Winchester performing aftercare, I was too tired to even question, so I just nodded, smiling softly up at him.

“Sounds perfect.”

[lovingrosewho]

Fake Dating (pt. 1)

Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5

Hello again! I’ve been really busy with this one, I was bored/tired of not finding a lot of tropes involving Crowley that were SFW, so I decided to write my own :-) This has pretty much every major trope I can think of; Winchester!reader (although it’s not specified and you can decide that), fake dating, sharing a bed (sort of), lack of heat, etc. Maaaybe the last chapter will be NSFW but I haven’t decided that yet (if you have any thoughts or suggestions on this I’d appreciate them a ton) anyways, I’ll shut up now and let you read, PLEASE, if you have any feedback it’s gladly welcomed! I lately realized that I put a looot of dialogue into fanfiction and perhaps not enough context, so I tried to fix that <3 Usual disclaimer: English is not my first language, bla bla bla :-) Ly!

MULTICHAPTER

Pairing: Crowley x Reader

Rating: T. I guess fluff/crack?

Word count: 1.2k

Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester need your help with a case, which involves pretending to date the King of Hell.

Warnings: mild innuendos, summoning?

“Nuh-uh, I’m not doing it” you declare turning your back on the boys. Dean runs to you and gently grabs your arm without you stopping.

“(Y/N) come on, you’re the only one who can do it” he begs, which gains a sigh from your mouth and you finally stand still, tilting your head at him as a prompt to keep talking “It’ll just be a couple of hours, just until Sammy and I are able to get to the house and hide from those two jackasses before they get there”.

“Are you actually asking me to have dinner with a couple of psychos... pretending to date him?” you question Dean sincerely, a look of concern and disbelief plastered on your face. Said petition, coming from the most protective Winchester brother, was a true surprise.

“You know I wouldn’t be doing it if it wasn’t our only option. (Y/N), please” he supplicates one more time.

It had all started when Sam and Dean screwed up at catching the shape shifters you were after, it was a simple job, but of course, they went in guns blazing, walking into a trap, a set-up, and when they realized, the monsters were gone. Funny enough, they turned out to be quite the art collectors, which seemed logical, given the circumstances under which they were killing and stealing from. But who could possibly know a pair of loonies like that? Even better, be friends with them? Exactly.

The King of Hell.

It wasn’t as if Dean were asking the world from you, it was a simple date. A risky one, sure, but you’d had it worse and with far worse men. The plan was straightforward, you entertained the shifters pretending to be Crowley’s girlfriend, whilst Dean and Sam got to turn down the security system of the house and hide, surprising the shifters the moment they entered.

“Fine” you mutter after a few minutes considering your possibilities. Dean immediately lifts you up the ground and kisses you all over the cheeks and forehead repeating again and again a series of ‘thank you’. You sigh for what seems to be the eleventh time this day and follow Dean towards the dungeon where Sam is waiting with the ingredients. You nod over at him to let him know you’re ready.

“Et ad congregandum, eos coram me” Sam proclaims as the blood from his ripped open palm runs across the dagger and through his fingers, dripping inside the summoning bowl.

A strong tug shakes the earth beneath you, and a low thunder sounds in the distance as the King of Hell himself, presents before your eyes.

Crowley looks directly ahead at the three of you, and then brings his gaze down, rolling his eyes in annoyance at the sight of the devil trap.

“Hello, boys” he salutes politely “(Y/N)”.

Your legs falter at the sound of your name in his voice, his lips savoring each and every syllable as your core twitches and you’re forced to bite your lower lip down not to hum in response. You had always been attracted to him even if you didn’t know how to act around him, it wasn’t as if they taught you in any manual nor hunter school how to make a move on the King of Hell.

“Aren’t we a little past the whole devil trap deal?” Crowley asks bringing you out of your musings “What is it that you want this time?”

“The shape shifters you were talking about the other day, the art collectors” Dean starts and is interrupted by the demon.

“What about them?” Crowley says with a bored look until his glare lands on yours. You arm with courage and mentally scold yourself for being such a nervous fuss, giving a brave step forward and speaking.

“We need your help to trick them” you tell him and catch an interested shine in his eyes.

“And why exactly would I help you with that? Mind you, they’re my personal acquaintances, very important, and very dangerous acquaintances” he exclaims, his stare not dropping yours “What’s in it for me?”

“A date with me and the three of us not kicking your delicate ass” you declare, crossing your arms in your chest, trying to maintain your tone neutral and your mind in place. Crowley’s eyes finally leave yours to roam throughout your body.

“Threatening, aren’t we, sexy?” he speaks at you, clicking his tongue. Dean takes a step forward, demon blade in hand and angry stare, you stop him right in his tracks grabbing him from the hem of his jacket and yanking him back again “Lucky for you, those shape shifters have been meddling in a... particular, and highly important, business of mine, so, I’ll gladly help”.

The three of you stare blankly at him.

“Just like that?” Sam asks him, which causes Crowley to roll his eyes once again.

“I’ll happily deny until you have something else to offer if that’s what you want, Samantha” he affirms and causes the youngest Winchester to frown in response and raise his arms in surrender.

“So it’s settled then” you declare, exhaling a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

“Text me the details, will you love?” Crowley pronounces softly. You nod quietly and walk towards the devils trap to free him, but when you’re near enough you trip over some ingredients that were still on the floor, breaking the seal either way. Crowley catches you and holds you tightly by the waist.

“Eager much, (Y/N)?” he purrs in your ear and you feel yourself melting at his touch, but you readjust just fine and separate from him when you catch sight of Dean beginning to sense something odd. Crowley raises an eyebrow at your impassive glance, but says nothing, instead, to your surprise, he brings out your cellphone from his suit jacket.

“How did you...?” you start, looking into the side of your jeans you thought you had it in.

“Not so hard to pickpocket you, darling” he expresses, curiously eyeing you “I have very talented hands”.

You gulp as you turn to stare back at him, just to see him typing something on your phone, his smug smile not going unnoticed by you.

“I guess I do affect you at some level, don’t I?” he mutters so only you are able to hear him. You stay still, not saying a word, biting your lip down as he handles back your phone to you, his fingertips delicately brushing your hands, vanishing the moment the electronic touches your palm, the lights of the archive room seeming to fade at the singular contact and light up again when he’s gone. You check your phone to see what he did, the words “My King” read on the top of the screen and the number “666” at the center. You roll your eyes and put your phone back in your pocket.

“And? What’d he do?” Deans asks expectantly. You make a dismissive gesture with your hand.

“Nothing. It’s done” you declare turning to the Winchesters, proceeding to leave the room with both brothers looking at each other like questioning, what did they just miss?

Part 2

MASTERLIST (If anyone would like to be tagged you’re free to tell me! <3)

[missorgana]

not without my muse

pairing: bucky barnes/sam wilson/steve rogers

fandom: mcu

rating: general

word count: 9259

warning: swearing, referenced (canon) character death

summary: Sam celebrates his birthday while on the run. He has a lot of feelings about being away from home, and a lot of feelings about two of his companions. (slightly canon divergent post-cacw pining)

(my best boy sam wilson’s birthday AND on bisexual visibility day 🥳 he is so important to me of course i needed to write something. this is for the lovely Samtember event by @samwilsonfest, and this is also my first time writing the all caps ot3 !! i want to thank my beta-reader for helping me out sm with this, and the horse gc on twitter for cheering me on as always 💖 hope you enjoy??)

read on ao3

This morning is just as the many, many other mornings Sam’s had since he became a fugitive from the government; waking up from relatively peaceful slumber on a stiff mattress and remembering the reality of the ship that is their only refuge. Better than stingy motels, though.

God. Yet another day.

It’s only been three months since Steve and him picked Bucky up; five months since Natasha joined them. Four of them now, harder to stay under the radar, but they’re making it work.

Naturally the blond is keeping an eye on his friend every waking moment, and Sam’s decided to do the same when Steve finally lets himself sleep.

The ex-Winter Soldier is quiet. He seemed happy to see them. Tired. Sam would be surprised otherwise.

And now they’ve landed for three days; that’s the maximum, of course, and they’ll have to get in the air as early as possible, stretching it an extra day isn’t the wisest, but resources are limited and they need to eat, obviously.

He blinks himself awake in the morning sunlight streaming in; the faintest of bird songs outside. Seems to be the first one awake.

Just another day on the run. Except-

Except it’s Sam’s birthday today.

It takes a minute for it to hit him, actually, funny; he’d almost forgotten it was coming up. That’s strange to think about. But as fugitives, that’s still just as much another day, because, well, what is he supposed to do?

What Sam sits up, stares into the empty space in front of him and thinks of, what he wants and needs so desperately is to go home. To his little sister, his nephews.

They have burner phones and it helps. But that doesn’t really feel like enough right now, it couldn’t. He hopes he’ll have the chance to have a phone call today, then, with any of them. Sarah’s voice always grounds him when he needs it, or hearing Cass’ laugh.

Even with burner phones they’re keeping contact short and limited, you can’t ever be careful enough. Maybe Nat’s too paranoid, or maybe she’s just too experienced with this thing. The latter, he’d say. They have to remain untraceable, unfindable.

Somehow, by his friend’s pained face a month ago, when she’d been humming  American Pie  to herself and he’d sat down, not really saying anything but rather just listened, a soothing sort of thing in the middle of this, he’s got a feeling she understands what he’s feeling right now. Missing someone so badly you can’t get yourself to do anything else.

Speaking of Natasha, soon enough she enters his line of vision and takes the rear seat, reminding him that he needs to get up already. Get ready. Get going. Yet another day.

“‘Morning,” he tells her while stretching, his back aching, which is to be expected nowadays, sadly. Last night was probably the most rest they’ve had in days.

She nods in acknowledgement; not a morning person, he’s aware.

For a split second Sam wonders if she knows what day it is, but perhaps it doesn’t really matter. He can’t remember if he’s told her. Or if she found out on her own with those russian superspy skills of hers.

Ah, well. It’s not like he expects a surprise party. Or gifts or cake or… whatever. He just wishes he’d had more sleep, two weeks of it would be sufficient. One can only dream.

As his friend wakes the Quinjet to life and he himself gets to work at the map, previous locations and small jobs pinned as they go, though, he feels a hand and arm briefly graze his waist as the person passes by behind him.

He reveals himself soon enough; Steve’s voice is hoarser than usual when he tells him, “Happy birthday, Sammy.”

The blond caught a cold recently, which he didn’t even know was possible with the super serum, but he passed by it quickly. Reminded Bucky of the old days, whatever that may have meant.

His friend remembered. And now said friend is standing next to him with a shy smile and looking at him in a way that puzzles Sam. Sort of like he wants to say more. Or like the greeting wasn’t enough, like he was ashamed. Or like he’s keeping something from him. That’s a lot he’s getting from just one facial expression, he realises, but spending every waking moment with someone else makes you familiar, more than they already were, that is.

The smile does make him feel instantly better about getting up at all this morning.

It reminds Sam of Sarah’s voice. That doesn’t make much sense, does it?

But it’s grounding. He likes Steve’s smile a lot; the bigger one even better, when it turns into a grin without all the self-righteousness he puts on when they get down to business, and he just looks wide-eyed and sunny.

And he smiles back easily, feeling his smile form like the warmth spreading in his throat.

God, his eyes are still burning. His friend’s hand hasn’t left his waist, he suddenly realises. Does Steve realise? Should he point it out? He’s probably as tired as himself, he reasons.

“You remembered?” The statement comes out as more of a question, and the man next to him soon turns the smile into a half-frown.

“Of course,” the blond replies, “It’s your birthday.”

His voice is ever so stern. Sam would laugh at his serious demeanor, if he wasn’t still blinking sleep out of his eyes.

“I didn’t expect you to, man. Given our, uh… current situation.”

His friend’s hand still hasn’t left his waist. Huh. He isn’t complaining, though, the touch is… soft. Welcome. It just makes his brain wander, which is a little hard work at 6am.

“You should,” Steve says. He’s smiling again, and turns then, to look at the map lighting up in front of them, “It’s important.”

See, another thing Sam likes about him: the sincerity is overwhelmingly evident, clear when it’s coming from him. He nods, and bites his lip. Both of them seem to contemplate the visual in front of them for a bit. When Bucky’s footsteps sound behind them and he eventually appears on the other side of Steve, the blond still doesn’t remove his hand.

He doesn’t really want him to move it, to be completely honest. Sam likes it there. Perhaps he could touch it with his own. But that’d be weird, right?

A gruff mumble reaches him with its own lieu of a greeting, “Happy birthday.”

Sam finds himself blinking in surprise; slowly, twice.

Ah, well. Steve must’ve told him.

*

They’re not doing any odd jobs today; missions are there when they need to keep busy, and Nat’s an expert on undercover work. Rather the goal for the day is finding a new hideout for a night or two and stocking up on supplies. Still undercover work, kind of.

This is why they’re heading into the main street in sunglasses, caps and hoodies, keeping their heads low, weapons down and Bucky’s instinct to cover his arm sticks with him, clearly.

“Two hours,” Natasha told them, “We can’t afford to risk anymore. Meet back at the ship.”

They all know the plan, because it’s the same plan, time after time, day after day, yet they repeat it like a mantra. Soon enough, they’re split into teams, the brunette and blonde heading for the pharmacy while he and Steve look over the grocery store aisles.

Sam’s planning to call Sarah; hopefully catch her when she’s home from work, before going to bed, otherwise he wouldn’t know when he’d be able to get a hold of her again. Might be weeks. Going by the sugary cereals reminds him a bit too much of his nephews, in fact, he has to look straight ahead and keep going. He feels Steve’s eyes on his neck.

Speaking of Steve, once they’re in the queue, Sam feels a familiar hand going for his pocket and it certainly isn’t his own.

The blond doesn’t speak a word. He wants to ask, but his friend puts all his focus on paying with his only free hand, and a strange sense of calm comes over Sam, for some reason he can’t begin to explain. This birthday is stranger than he expected it to be.

And the moment disappears again before he knows it; like in the morning, on the ship.

Steve had to let go eventually. Sam finds himself wishing he didn’t.

Even stranger, the blond has an errand to run, he says. Alone.

“You sure?” he hesitates with the question, because surely if Steve wanted him to know he would say, but keeping secrets is sort of out of character for his friend, “We’re meeting Bucky and Nat halfway. We’ll watch your back.”

Steve shakes his head firmly, “I’ll catch up to you, won’t be long.”

He still isn’t saying exactly where he’s going. It worries Sam, just a little bit. Not exactly a fan of letting his best friend out of sight.

But when the blond’s set on a decision, there’s no way anyone can tell him otherwise. “Okay,” Sam decides, “Call me if you need me.”

“Always.”

In response to his explanation of Steve’s absence, he gets a simple tilt of Natasha’s head and Bucky’s face twitching so quickly he’d miss it if they weren’t huddled so close together. The woman doesn’t exactly look happy about it. The taller man, meanwhile, he has the face that Sam knows is his worrying face; he just recognizes it so instantly it scares him a little.

At least his other friends are behaving normally; well, not Bucky, because he’s been considering too many reasons why the ex-Winter Soldier would possibly know about his birthday, and all of them are logical. But it still makes him feel some sort of way. Like when Steve smiles at him.

It takes Sam a moment to register Natasha speaking because he’s stuck inside his head about the two other men, but, “Happy birthday, by the way,” she tells him, a crooked smile and hands in her pockets.

“Thanks, Romanova. Still hate birthdays?”

“Absolutely,” she huffs, “Mostly my own, however. Must be a disappointing one today, though, huh?”

Sam just has to move his eyes to Bucky for a second, who abandoned the bench for the flea market on the other side of the road. He has no idea why.

He wonders if his friend notices. He shrugs in response, “Could be better. I need to talk to my sister.”

Her nod is short, and her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. It’s these types of situations where he knows better than to ask.

And while the brunette’s crossing the street back to them again, the blond also reappears behind them, which is clear by him patting Sam’s shoulder. He’s never been this touchy before. Has he?

What’s the most surprising isn’t that though, rather, it’s when Natasha eagerly continues on, right in the heels of Bucky, and Steve matches his own pace behind them. Then, he hands Sam a white box.

He doesn’t understand. His best friend looks at him expectantly, until it seemingly dawns upon that Sam needs an explanation.

“It’s for you,” he says, smile evident in his voice, no matter how hard he tries to whisper.

“For me?” he asks, because the gesture confuses him beyond words, “I- why?”

Well, this is a birthday present, isn’t it? It can’t be, though. Steve really shouldn’t. It’d be too much trouble to do when they’re literally running for their lives, and the guilt is already showing its ugly head inside his mind.

It’s Steve’s turn to look confused, “For your birthday.”

Right. Right, okay.

“You didn’t have to.”

His friend slows down his pace a bit, “I know.”

“But you still…” Sam doesn’t really know where he’s going with that sentence, to be honest. That feeling in his gut wishes Steve’s hand was touching his waist again. He could easily understand. Explain it away, act like it’s not making him feel certain things and think certain thoughts and making him overthink the blond’s eyes staring back at him behind the shades.

“I wanted to, Sam,” Steve tells him, speeding up again, they almost lost sight of their friends for a second there, “You deserve it. Well, you deserve more, but I- we can’t.”

It’s as if his heart does a somersault, runs a marathon and wrings itself inside out, all at the same time.

Oh.

Sam decides to look at him in question, and his friend somehow knows what he’s saying, “Open it.”

So he does. Inside, he finds a birthday cake. Or rather an oreo ice cream cake. One similar to the one he’s gotten for basically all the birthdays he can remember, all the way back to his childhood. It’s a tradition.

When exactly did he tell Steve about that? He must have, sometime, a long time ago, but he can’t recall when.

And because he’s getting a bit too overwhelmed by this gift, and this day that’s barely even started, he just looks at the cake in shock and tries for the life of himself to look casual about it. He also tries extremely hard to read his friend’s face, but it’s nearly impossible.

“My favorite,” is all Sam can come up with. He feels like a bit of an idiot. But also, he feels like someone needs to pinch his side. And he feels a lot like flying, no wings required.

“I know.”

*

Steve is doing things to him, and he probably doesn’t even realise.

He wouldn’t expect anything else, he’s a good friend, he’s Sam's  best  friend, yet the blond putting his hand in his pocket again and the box holding that cake is making his head spin.

He has to stop thinking about it too much. Sam just really needs to talk to Sarah.

Getting through the crowds of people, avoiding any possible surveillance cameras and eyeing suspicious suited men until they realise they’re just accountants or lawyers or bankers, it’s quite some work, but they make it back to the secluded woods where the Quinjet’s waiting - thank heavens for cloaking technology, huh?

He eyes his wristwatch, now might be the best time to try reaching his little sister. There’s coverage, too, it seems.

This is why Sam slows down and eventually stops in front of the entrance, the three of them all giving him a variation of confused looks until he holds up the burner phone as explanation. He hopes they’ll understand. They nod, so most likely.

“Don’t be long, Sam,” the woman warns him, but there’s still a hint of smile there. He returns it with a bit of relief.

The tone rings three times before someone answers. Sam is close to giving up until the sound shakes, and his sister’s voice comes through the speaker and washes over him with the greatest relief he’s felt in a long time, “Sammy?”

He can’t help the grin growing on his face. “Yeah, it’s me.”

Sarah’s giggles remind him of home. And God, does he want to see them again so badly.

He doesn’t regret standing by Steve, but being so far from the safety he knows is terrifying, sometimes. And lonely.

“You’re still causing trouble?” she asks, and yeah, she can always get a laugh out of him, no matter the situation, no matter how long they've been apart. It’s part of their connection, he guesses.

Sam also rolls his eyes, which she can’t see, of course, she’d only tease him more, “Trying to stay out of it, more like.”

His little sister sighs, “Happy birthday. I miss you.”

The relief and nostalgic happiness switches into something a bit more melancholic, the nostalgia frighteningly more heartbreaking. They usually avoid talking about, well, Sam’s current situation, whenever they communicate. It took him a long time of secrecy before breaking the news to his nephews, revealing why he couldn’t visit them at the moment.

“I miss you too,” Sam tells her, hoping his sincerity can be heard over the phone, “I wish I could see you.”

“Me too.”

Speaking of his nephews, it’s not long into their phone calls before some muffled voices in the background make themselves known, and Sarah laughs softly again, some movement can be heard, “It’s your uncle on the phone.”

He’s pretty sure she put him on speaker, because next thing he knows AJ is yelling into his ear, “Uncle Sam! Uncle Sam!?”

Sam bites his lip. He hasn’t got much time before they need to leave, and if he returns to the ship with tears in his eyes Steve will probably look at him with his big knowing eyes and say this is all his fault. He can’t have his best friend blaming himself this much, not right now, anyway.

Because, well, yeah, they’re on the run because of the Accords. He’d never sign that for the life of him regardless of Steve, but Sam also trusts the blond with his life honestly. Since they met Steve’s been by his side, unwavering, and he intends to do the same for him.

And he doesn’t know Bucky… he still doesn’t. He’d like to. But if Steve is willing to go this far for his friend, he’s just as willing.

He shakes the thoughts of his two friends out of his head, for now, sniffles and laughs through the tears threatening to escape his eyes, “I’m here, buddy.”

“Uncle Sam, are you crying?” Cass’ voice comes through this time, he really can’t hide anything from them, can he? “You shouldn’t be sad on your birthday. You’re beating up bad guys, right?!”

Sarah’s laugh overlaps with his own, “Not exactly.”

“Oh, all the time,” he retaliates, “Your mother’s lying to you, boys.”

His sister’s fake gasp sets him back to the lemonade stand they set up together when they were kids, Sam was certain he remembered their mom’s recipe right, and Sarah didn’t talk to him the whole day when he doubted her version. Of course neither of them were right, anyway.

He feels like a broken record inside his head, but the only thing he wishes for is to see her face. Kiss her nose because she found it so embarrassing, but she’s grown fond of it, he can just tell.

So Sam does try to narrate the odd jobs they’ve been doing, making it as dramatic as possible and leaving out all the existential fear and doubt and his tired bones repeating the same protocols over and over. The boys love every second of it.

He knows his sister is shaking her head at him when AJ excitedly interrupts his story of his first visit to Wakanda, “I could be a hero too, right? Right!?” “You can be anything you want,” he tells him, the tears welling up again. In the far corner of his eye he spots Nat returning to the walkway of the Quinjet, leaning against the opening expectantly. She can wait for a minute, he decides.

“Mom! Mom! Uncle Sam said I can be just like him!”

“You can, sweetheart, but that’s for when you’re older, okay?” Sarah’s voice is a bit quieter now, and his nephews both come through with some sad sounding noises, “Your uncle’s job can be- uh, dangerous.”

He nods. That’s an understatement. Of course, none of them can see this, he realises, once again looking towards his friend who’s waiting for him, looking up in the sky in search of who knows what. Redwing’s still checking the perimeter, so they should be safe for now. The blonde doesn’t exactly trust the drone, as she’s told him on many, many occasions, but she’ll warm up to him.

“Your mom’s right,” Sam finally answers, and although he’s not sure he fully believes it himself, he’ll make the best attempt he can to ease his little sister’s worries. God knows how much she’s got to deal with back home, “I’ll be careful, though. I gotta come back and check on you guys.”

There’s silence for a moment. Then, “You better.”

Sam smiles. He can hear the tears in her voice, too, “I promise. I intend to keep my promises.”

His sister sighs, she’s not agreeing or disagreeing or… anything, but she sounds a little more calm. A little. He’s trying, but he knows he’s giving himself away, tripping in place and laughing more nervously than anything else.

“I know you don’t have much time, Sam. Just promise me you’re taking care of yourself, okay?” “Always-”

“Did you have any cake, Uncle Sam?” AJ’s voice resurfaces once again, and he laughs at the interruption, “We always get cake for you… we want to.”

The disappointment is clear as day, and very much breaking his heart into pieces that he doesn’t know how to pick up or where to keep. Sam clears his throat instead, and looks toward his blonde friend once again, who gives him a crooked smile and shrugs one shoulder.

They should go soon. Nat’s looking at her watch, but she’s not rushing him, though.

“I know you do, buddy. We can have all the cake we want when I come to visit you, right?” he reassures his nephew, who giggles with his brother in excitement, before his sister’s half-joking disapproval, “I wouldn’t say  all the cake, but we’ll see about it.”

He looks away from his friend on the Quinjet, looks at his watch, sees Redwing descending to the ground. Time’s up. 

But for some reason, Sam can’t say goodbye before he finds a question popping up in his mind, one that’s been all there all day and confused him to no end.  “Sarah?” he asks, she hums in response, “I have to go but I need to ask, does it- uhm… does it mean something if Steve got me a birthday cake?”

A moment of silence again, somehow seeming agonizingly longer than before. “I don’t understand what you’re asking, Sammy, sorry.” He thinks his sister might be frowning in question, but it’s hard to tell. She just sounds as confused as he’s feeling.

“I mean… I don't know. He remembered my favorite cake. And he went on this secret trip to get it?” 

Sam laughs at himself, and the thoughts of his friend come back again. The friend he’s known for a long time now, the one who held his hand as they landed in Wakanda, something that he didn’t fully process then because of how the airsickness clogged his ears and made him feel like vomiting, but it’s all he can think back to, now.

He continues, “I just don’t understand why he’d go to so much trouble for me. One wrong move, a wrong person and he could’ve-”, of course, he abruptly pauses, remembering his young nephews still on the line, backtracking, “... you know.”

Sam doesn’t know how long he waits for his little sister’s answer, and he doesn’t know what he’s expecting either. She can’t exactly look into Steve’s head, and they’ve never met, anyway. Maybe she’ll tell him to stop worrying and focus on not getting arrested, or worse.

And yet, Sarah replies with, “You’re worth that risk.”

He furrows his brows, “Sorry?”

“You’re worth that risk and more, Sam. To me,” she says, voice confident and filled with the peace of the early mornings he misses so much, “And to him too, I bet.”

Huh. Sam cannot for the life of him think of a response to that.

“You still with me?”

He shakes his head at himself, nods at Natasha, who nods in response and retreats into the ship. “Hm? Yeah, yeah. I am.”

Sarah laughs at him, which is a bit rude, but he doesn’t mind. He’d like to listen to it all day and every day, if he could. In fact, he has to remind himself to make her laugh as much as he can when he sees them again.

He promised to get back to them. Sam Wilson keeps his promises.

“I love you,” his sister says, which is better than saying goodbye. Until next time, more like. See you soon, very, very soon.

It’s only then he feels like he can breathe again, “Love you too.”

*

See, being on the run in a Quinjet is much, much easier than Steve’s tragically tiny car - not only due to the advantage of having space and proper beds and not having to check in on questionable locations every three days under a new fake name, but also, it has a freezer.

Useful when your best friend decides to get you an ice cream birthday cake.

Sam actually finds it already placed in the freezer, one that’s heavily organized, all thanks to Nat. When he spots the box, he finds himself wondering if their two companions noticed it. If so, they aren’t addressing it.

A silence has settled over the ship now; it’s midday, sky’s clear save for the grey clouds lurking in the distance, and Steve’s taken over the rear so Natasha can take a break. They do it in shifts, because more often than not they have to keep on the move at night, as well.

And while their friend has resided to her bed and headphones, Sam lingers in the kitchen area, interconnected with the main cockpit. 

The blond’s back is turned to him. He always taps his foot when he’s concentrating on something, and he’s put on the radio. Marvin Gaye, of course. Sam can’t help smiling to himself.

Steve’s hair has grown ridiculously long now- well, so has his own, not exactly much access to hairdressers at the moment. They could both match Bucky’s hairdo soon, he bets.

Speaking of the long haired man, this is exactly who soon joins him, almost sneaking up on him, his footsteps barely making a sound. Sam was a bit in his own world anyway, he’ll admit.

When he appears on his side, he stands for a moment and moves his gaze in the same direction as his own. Sam wonders if he should make conversation, but the moment’s gone in the blink of an eye when Bucky grabs a beer from the fridge and then comes to learn against the counter like himself.

It’s a rare kind of quiet on the ship.

It feels almost… relaxed. Calm unlike those many strained silences after almost getting recognized in public or nights when Sam finds himself unable to sleep, and somehow, a strange sense of knowing that all his friends are kept awake as well. Steve snores, so the lack of the sound is a giveaway, and Nat is restless, moving around the ship when she thinks the men don’t hear her.

Bucky’s bed is in his line of vision, however, so he knows the longer haired man rarely sleeps these days. At least, when he’s up at night, he’s noticed his friend staring at the ceiling, bedsheet abandoned at his feet and almost looking like he’s holding his breath.

It’s those nights Sam is eternally grateful for the locket his sister gave him; made sure to put her and his nephews on one side, their parents on the other. He can’t explain how, but having them close to his heart when they’re running errands, the anxiety that creeps up on him lessens, a little bit.

And Riley’s army tags. He left their pictures together back at the house, he bitterly remembers, and prays to all the higher powers out there that the agents sent after them haven’t touched that box. That it’s still on the top shelf of his closet, containing the polaroids and every drawing Cass has made him, and his mother’s favorite scarf.

Sam smiles to himself at the memory. She knitted him a million scarves and socks and hats, but that one, it keeps him connected to her. Like, he can put it under his pillow and close his eyes and he can almost see her and her warm eyes and hear her sing him and Sarah to sleep.

Suddenly, his thoughts are interrupted, by the man next to him poking his side gently.

“I got you something,” Bucky tells him, his demeanor neutral, lips showing the slightest hint of a smile that no one would notice. Sam does, though. He does the same when they play chess to pass the time; secretive, trying his hardest to hide his enjoyment of the game.

He blinks at his friend, “Huh?”

The brunette shrugs, “For your birthday. It’s not much, but…”

“I…” Sam doesn’t even know what to say, one minute focused on Steve’s gift and now another gift for him to process, neither of which he expected at all, “Bucky, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

Bucky shrugs again. “Don’t care. I wanted you to have something.”

Okay. His friend’s face doesn’t change a bit, but the moment changes, and it’s much like the ship and everything else around them vanishes into thin air. It’s just the man next to him and his stoic face and messed up hair.

“Is that okay?” he asks him, and Sam can’t do anything else than nod. He has to take a deep breath, for some reason, as if his lungs grew three sizes. And it feels like someone lit fire sparklers inside his chest.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course it’s okay. I’m just surprised, is all.”

“Good,” his friend replies quickly, before turning his back to him and walking across the room.

He returns not long after, with a familiar white box in his hands, and offers it to Sam before grabbing the beer can again. Leaning back, taking a way bigger gulp than necessary, eyes seemingly avoiding to look him in the eyes.

He really can’t stop looking at Bucky, though. So he opens the box instead, and finds just how familiar it is. Inside it, an ice cream cake. His favorite. Also, the exact same as the one Steve got him just hours earlier.

This is why Sam looks up at the blond’s still turned back for a moment. He’s whistling to the tune of the music.

Then Sam looks back at Bucky, who still isn’t looking at him, and bites his lip. He finds himself clutching the box tightly, fearing it’s a dream that’ll disappear if he startles awake, but none of it fades away and instead he’s stuck in place because… so, not only did his two friends get him cake.

They got him the same cake. Two of them.

His only guess is that they didn’t plan or… coordinate anything, because it’s not like they had much time in town. They made sure to get something there. For him.

Sam can’t quite contain the grin growing on his face.

And, well, his friend is still avoiding looking at him, so he nudges him with his elbow and hopes his, “Thank you,” doesn’t sound too hoarse or low or nervous even though his voice breaks in the middle. He wishes he could call Sarah again, and tell the boys he’s gotten two cakes this year. They’d be ecstatic. And he could forget his confusion for a bit.

Bucky shrugs once again. “It’s the least I could do.”

*

Hours pass by until the evening announces its presence, and Sam and his friends are each left to their own devices; Steve’s steering while Natasha’s navigating the map, and while he himself was searching for a podcast to shut the world out for a minute he rather just ends up listening to the rain pattering down around them.

One birthday out of the ordinary, that’s for sure. It’s around ten before he sees Bucky again, but he does appear, with a new can of beer and sits on the far end of his bed. His hair’s still damp from the shower, tied up in a bun.

Sam quite likes it when he does that; well, he likes his long hair, it looks like it would be soft. He doesn’t know how he knows that, but… he just knows. 

But he’s always blowing strands of hair away from his face, and this way, you can see all his features, every little thing you don’t immediately notice, every tiny waver on his lips and every glint in his eye.

The glint in said eyes appears when they play chess, of course. When Steve shows him one of his drawings, or when he huffs to himself over the book he acquired on the last flea market he found, multiple states over.

Thing is, it was definitely in his eyes when he handed Sam that box. Maybe that’s why he avoided looking at him after the fact.

And well, it’s got Sam’s heart in a twist. This whole day’s got his heart in a twist, really.

Because he misses his little sister and his nephews and his parents. And Riley’s tags against his chest are pressing too fucking hard. 

And Steve and Bucky, they… they’re making him feel… how Riley made him feel. Breathless. Light as a feather. Like he could just look at them and everything would be okay despite everything being very, very much not okay these days. They’re just- they’re like that. 

Oh, this is bad. This is really, really bad.

Sam can’t be in love with his best friend. Or his best friend’s friend. Or… both?

He can’t be in love, period. Especially not with his partners in crime, so to speak. Yet, he can’t stop thinking about Steve’s smile and Bucky shrugging like it didn’t matter, but it mattered. It did to Sam. It does.

He shakes his head at himself and wonders if Sarah would do the same. Can you be in love with two people at the same time? It feels very real, but he doesn’t know. Maybe it just overwhelmed him. Maybe his birthday this year makes no sense, which he already knew, but regardless. Maybe they were just being good friends, or maybe they remind him of Riley too much, or maybe those feelings have been there all along and Sam’s been closing them off for too long.

Too many maybes. Way too many.

And apparently, Sam ponders over this for far too long, because the grey skies outside have turned significantly darker and Bucky has disappeared from his bed and instead sits down on his own. He already feels his heart jump into his throat.

“Hey,” the man says, a curious sort of look in his eyes, like he’s trying to read Sam’s mind. He can’t help returning the smile he’s given, instantly feeling at ease in the other man’s company. Steve’s still whistling along to the mixtapes in the cockpit, he can’t quite stop thinking about it, but that seems incredibly far away right now.

“Hey,” he answers. Sam’s trying to read the brunette, but he’s not sure how. Earlier, he grabbed a piece of each cake his friends gave him, and it’s an outstanding cake, almost as good as the one from his childhood, but he really couldn’t stop thinking about what Sarah told him over the phone.  You’re worth that risk . “Bucky, can I ask you something?”

He nods. “How do you know it’s my birthday?”

“Hm?”

“I mean,” Sam’s lips feel dry as he speaks, “Did Steve tell you? I just don’t remember it coming up, so-”

“Not today.”

What… what exactly does that mean?

“I don’t understand.”

Bucky’s face morphs into an expression that seems like he’s thinking hard, trying hard to recall something from a long, long time ago. And that turns out to be almost true, “When you visited me in Wakanda for the first time. It was a month before your birthday.”

That is also true. Sam wanted to go back home, trying to think of ways both he and Steve could hide out there but ultimately deemed it too dangerous. He’d never be able to live with himself if he put his sister and nephews in danger. He just couldn't. 

“...Right.”

“You talked about Sarah,” he remembers, and the smile on his face grows a little bigger, “I had a sister, too. Older. You said she worries about you a lot. That her laugh is the best thing you know, that she teases you all the time, but you deserve it most of the time, too. Steve said you guys were talking about going fishing when all this is over, that your parents got a boat, because of your family business, uh-”

“Wilson Family Seafood,” Sam blurts out, because he has no idea what else to say.

“That’s it,” the brunette chuckles low, “I’ve always wanted to try seafood. Never did. Stevie won’t because he’s a coward. But he really wanted to meet your family. I get it, they sound lovely.”

So. Sam is rather speechless. All he’s feeling is the heat rising in his cheeks and hearing the rain growing louder. Bucky’s just sitting there with this big smile on his face and he wants to look inside his head and figure out why he’s doing this to him.

“You… you remembered all that?”

The man shrugs. “I did.”

“We weren’t- we barely knew each other, then. We fought all the time before Shuri treated you,” Sam points out.

“I know.”

“But you remembered my birthday, and my family, and-”

“You had orange juice in the morning,” he interrupts, “Steve hates orange juice. It made you laugh, how much he hates it, it’s a whole thing. Your eyes get all crinkled in the corners when you laugh like that, you could barely breathe. You looked really happy and… carefree. I wished you didn’t leave, that first time. I wanted you to stay.”

Oh.  Oh.

“Bucky,” he tries, taking a breath. Sam gets this overwhelming urge to not say anything, and instead lean over and close the space between them. Is he overthinking this? “Why did you get me that cake? And why-  how  do you remember all of this? I wanted to check on you while Steve was undercover but I wasn’t sure if you trusted me enough, without him.”

The man next to him frowns, “It was for your birthday, Sam, I told you.”

“Yeah, but-”

“And I like looking at you.”

Sam thinks his brain might short circuit. He blinks in pure shock at the words, “What?”

“The sound of your voice is... calming. Beautiful. You know, I only acted like an asshole to get you to talk to me. I wanted you to trust me,” Bucky licks his lips, and although it seems like he wants to say more, he opens and closes his mouth within a few seconds.

The sparklers in his chest are nearly turning into fireworks, and Sam honestly doesn’t know how to hold them down. He doesn’t really want to. But he also doesn’t know if Bucky is… if he’s communicating the same feelings as the ones blooming inside himself.

He should ask. But the man next to him is blinking with his long lashes and a shy smile that makes Sam’s words fail him, and instead he feels compelled to ask something slightly different, “What- what are you saying? I mean what are you thinking about?”

They’ve also been inching closer to each other. And the sound of the rain has faded in his ears, because all he’s hearing is his own breathing mixed in with Bucky’s.

Sam can’t really breathe, maybe because he’s a little nervous that his reading of his friend is purely wishful thinking. It’s only been one day, but he’s fallen in love on his birthday, he doesn’t doubt it anymore, at all. Twice. At the same time, it feels like he’s finally breathing after holding his breath for over a year.

The brunette’s smile turns into a smirk that should probably annoy him, but it doesn’t. Just makes his heart beat faster.

“I’m thinking about kissing you,” Bucky says bluntly.

Oh, Sarah would be thrilled to hear this. But first things first, Sam thinks he might be going crazy.

But he’s not,  you’re not . He hasn’t felt that swooping feeling in his gut since Riley, and… God. It just feels right, and he’d curse himself for never noticing this till now. But he’s too distracted by his friend’s statement, and how the fireworks in his chest are spreading to his entire body when he looks at Bucky’s face.

Sam’s already moving closer, “You want to kiss me?”

The other man huffs, “Pretty much. If you’d like that, that is.”

And well, he doesn’t need much time to think about that preposition, “I think I’d like that, yeah.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

They’re already practically nose to nose, it's been a long time since he’s rushed to act on something as fast as this, and he doesn’t even need to rush, because Bucky’s lips are on his before he knows it, and they’re chapped and slightly desperate but it’s just… perfect. Those fireworks, Sam’s seeing them under his eyelids and feeling them in his fingertips and it’s the best feeling he’s ever had, quite frankly.

His friend’s hand landing on his thigh is pretty good, too. Sam pulls back to catch his breath, and he feels lightheaded, all the way up in the clouds. Bucky frowns and pulls him back.

They kiss slowly, putting thousands of thoughts into every single one, and now, he can read the brunette like an open book. They fall into the same pace so, so easily. The hand on his thigh doesn’t move, just traces circles with his thumb, until it freezes for a second when Sam decides to hold it. His friend grins and their teeth clash, but neither of them care much.

It feels like forever and yet nowhere near enough time when they finally pull apart, and his companion runs his tongue over his bottom lip. Sam doesn’t want to let go of his hand. Bucky isn’t moving, either.

Now it’s definitely harder for Sam to breathe, but for a very different reason. He thinks it’s stopped raining outside. The brunette tilts his head and stares at him, not intensely, but a gaze that makes the fireworks reduce to a soft, everburning ember. He wishes he wasn’t lost for words. It all just makes sense.

“What are you doing?” Sam blurts out, eyes not leaving his friend’s. He’d like to keep kissing him, but he also craves a lot more sleep than last night. He was so very wrong about his birthday being just another day, this year.

Bucky’s smile isn’t shy anymore, “Looking at you.”

*

When Sam wakes the morning after his birthday, to the same walls of the Quinjet and the same hum of the engine and the same thin mattress, he feels like everything’s changed.

Steve’s still taking the helm and Natasha’s still cooking with her headphones on, but Bucky is giving him a sly smile over his coffee, which just makes him miss his lips. Too much.

He thinks the fireworks are changing into butterflies, sort of; he feels even lighter than yesterday, and he also fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. The first thing when he opened his eyes being his friend messing up his hair definitely also contributed to the warmth still spreading in Sam’s body.

It does hit him, did their two companions see them? Realise what happened? They aren’t acknowledging it if they did, and the brunette’s throwing secretive glances at him every so often, which just makes Sam full out blush. Bucky smirks every time.

So, yeah, he’s pretty much floating on pink skies this morning, and his little sister would gag at his cheesiness, but he doesn’t care in the least. 

He finds himself touching Riley’s tags with his ring finger, through his t-shirt. The metal’s cold, not burning itself into his chest anymore, like it did yesterday morning.

The bliss Sam’s feeling does hit a slight halt, though, when he opens the freezer to his two not yet eaten cakes. Steve.

It’s suddenly like his brain’s going in hyperspeed again, and the thoughts of the blond man echoes in him from the day before. And  fuck . That ‘in love with two people at the same time’ thing? It might be true. At least, he feels it glaring at the back of his neck, begging him to not ignore it.

Maybe his birthday was a little, uh, complicated after all. Still sort of is. Sam can’t stop thinking of the brunette’s breath on his lips and fingers caressing his thigh, but he certainly cannot stop thinking of his best friend’s hopeful eyes as he gave him that cake either, the offended look when he told him he didn’t have to, as if not getting him a birthday present was equal to a criminal offense for the blond.

Just as he thought he had something worked out in the middle of this mess, his two friends are haunting his mind. Dammit.

Sam’s unsure if he should talk to Steve about it, if he should tell him and Natasha about the kiss or not, but coincidentally, the blonde woman decides to do a pit stop. Eerily similar to his friend yesterday, she doesn’t really tell them much about where she’s going, but promises she’ll be back in less than two hours. What the hell, they’re hidden in the thick woods, might as well go for a walk and attempt to clear his head when the opportunity hits.

Bucky brushes his hand with his own as they exit the ship, but the man also rushes to the nearest town (Sam’s got a feeling he’s looking for a bookstore) and so that leaves him with the blond himself.

Steve’s looking with the greatest interest at a squirrel collecting its food when he smiles at him, “Wanna join me for a walk?”

His friend looks up with a smile as big as the sun, nodding, “Sure.”

On the walk, they’re getting creative, let’s say. There’s lots of hiking paths in here, not many people, but they remember caps and sunglasses just to be on the safe side. Generally trying to steer in circles around the paths, circulating the ship, not getting farther away than necessary.

Steve whistles to himself,  American Pie , Sam recognizes it from Natasha in an instant. And well, that takes him back to his friend humming to Marvin Gaye just yesterday evening, while Bucky kissed him.

They both gave him the same cake. Wait, wait- why is Sam only thinking about that, really, now? Did they plan it?

Doesn’t seem like it, though, considering they both were rather secretive about it. So they didn’t talk at all about it, and it was just an odd coincidence? He knows now that Steve didn’t have to tell Bucky it was his birthday, because the man remembered from that very first visit, and that still makes Sam a little breathless, to be honest.

But this prompts him to voice his thought stream out loud, “Steve?”

“Hm?”

Their arms brush as they walk, comfortingly close, but still… too far away. Perfect distance for friends, he thinks. But… his heart is obviously telling him otherwise. He can almost feel it getting ready for another marathon.

“The cake you got me,” Sam hopes he isn’t stumbling over his words, recalling Sarah’s reassuring statement within his mind.  You’re worth that risk , “Did you and Bucky plan it together?”

He didn’t have much of an idea on how to ask otherwise, but he regrets the question when the blond’s face screws up in confusion. “What do you mean?”

His suspicion was correct, it seems. Coincidence. “Uhm, well… I mean, why didn’t you guys just get me one cake together? I love them both, don’t get me wrong, two cakes is  way more than I could ask for in our situation-”

“Buck got you cake, too?”

Steve looks rather shocked. He isn’t frowning, per say, but his brows are furrowed as he tries to process the information, and he slows his pace down until he comes to a full stop, back near the ship. Oh god, did Sam just do something very stupid?

“He did,” he replies, smiling hesitantly still, and his friend automatically smiles back, which makes it easier for him to carry on, “I- sorry. I found it strange that you both got me one and thought you must’ve talked about it. But Bucky didn’t say anything about yours either, so I mean…”

Once again, Sam feels his words falter. He also definitely knows he’s blushing again, hard, cause the warmth is rushing through, but the nerves are getting to him, too.

“I’m glad he bought you one, too,” his best friend decides, his face so earnest and honest and kind, it makes him want to scream, “You deserve more than one. And so much more. I wish we could’ve celebrated properly. I know you want to go home, and I still want to meet your sister, you know.”

He sighs heavily, and Sam truly can’t hide his fondness.

“I think she’d love you,” he tells Steve, because he knows it’s true. Then, he’s unsure if he should continue the sentence. Sam’s thinking of Bucky and his stupidly perfect hair. Then he looks at Steve and his calloused hands, and the words hit him like a train before he can stop it coming out of his mouth, “Not as much as I do, maybe.”

There it is. There wasn’t really much denying, was there?

Sam can practically already feel his heart pounding against his ribcage, and the butterflies down in his gut are bashing in the rush of adrenaline and fluttering their wings way, way too fast for him to keep up.

His best friend kicks around a couple of pinecones on the ground before the statement hits him, then, he looks up again, wide-eyed and in an endearing state of total confusion.

“You… you love me?” Steve asks, bafflement evident in his tone.

Sam bites his lip. “Can I ask you something? Will you be honest with me?”

His friend nods immediately, confusion vanishing for a moment, “Always, Sam.”

He needs to take another deep breath. Here goes nothing.

“Do you… do you think it’s possible to be in love with two people- or, more than one person? At the same time?”

To Sam’s greatest surprise both yesterday and today, the man in front of him takes barely a second to respond, no time to think it through, no signs of doubt, “Of course. I love Bucky, but I loved Peggy, too. I love Sharon. And I love you.”

Steve seems incredibly shocked at his own confession, just as much as Sam’s himself. Those butterflies must be on a fucking rollercoaster or something, at this point. 

Strangely, this lifts the nerves within him so easily, just like yesterday. His breath still feels stuck in his throat, but holy shit, he just can’t stop himself from smiling. His cheeks must be burning hot.

The blond looks a bit confused again as Sam chuckles at himself. He has no idea what he’s doing right now, but the direction it’s going- once again, it just seems right. Feels right. He wants to reach out for his best friend’s hand, but waits, “I’m glad I’m not the only one. I just realised- well, I think I might’ve been in love with both of you for a while, but not realised it until yesterday. You and Bucky.”

Steve’s eyes are shimmering with hope, and so he decides to hell with it, he takes his friend’s hand. And to his precious luck, the blond squeezes his hand back, thumb tracing slow circles in his palm.

“You’re serious?” the blond asks, laughing in disbelief.

“I am.”

“ Holy shit. ”

Sam matches his friend’s laugh, and the forest almost bends to their conversation, wind softening and the trees surrounding them like a cocoon, almost. Reminds him of those fairytales his little sister loved so much, that she insisted on him reading for her because he liked making weird voices and changing the tale, much to her annoyance.

The silence between them is the most lovely thing, just like the one between him and Bucky yesterday, full of expectation but zero tension.

Steve clears his throat, “Sammy, I- sorry, you're just the best person I know, this is too good to be true. I didn’t know if you felt the same… I’m not good at that. Uhm, hinting. Or flirting, I guess. I don’t know what to say.”

His best friend is blushing as much as himself. Naturally, there’s only one thing Sam can think about, “Then come here and kiss me.”

The blond doesn’t need to be told twice, and he loves him even more for it. And Steve’s lips are softer than Bucky’s, but that’s in no way… better, or, like. It’s different. But it’s the same fireworks popping up in the dark under his eyelids again, and that’s a sign.

He’s in love with his two best friends. And they love Sam back. And his racing heart hums softly, like it’s breathing out as much as he is, a calm from all the way back home settling upon him. His friend hums against his lips and moves his hand to the hair at the nape of his neck, gently pulling. It gives him a sort of tingling feeling in all his limbs, to be honest.

They do have to pull apart when the sound of twigs crackling on the ground is heard, they have to stay alert, after all, even it could very well be another squirrel. Instead, it’s Bucky, carrying a book under his arm.

He’s giving them that sly smile again, “You’ve gotten smoother than the old days, Rogers.”

Steve blushes profusely. Sam finds himself laughing again, his nerves long gone, and touches his cheek. His friend clears his throat a little more, “You got the same idea as me, Buck. With the cake.”

The brunette joins them in the clearing, lifting a brow in question, “You mean  my  idea?”

“Shut up!”

“No, no, you learned from me punk, I’m proud of you,” Bucky laughs, and Steve’s about to slap his arm, if their friend didn’t grab the blond’s hand mid-air, “You’re an asshole.”

Bucky looks at Sam in question, and he answers, “He’s not completely wrong.”

His friend shrugs. “You both love me, though.”

“I do,” he nods, and Steve chimes in with, “Sadly, yes.”

Of course, their companion grins like an idiot, “Now we got that settled, will you kiss me again, Sammy?”

Sam is so fucking lovestruck right now, he’s not scared to admit it. Steve’s hand is still on his neck and Bucky’s taking his hand, and it’s nothing less than perfect. Just like a happily ever after, although he has no idea where they’re going after this, but it only matters to him that they’re together, really. He thinks Sarah will love both of them. He hopes they’ll meet someday, at least. And AJ and Cass, they’d be thrilled, oh my god.

The blond interrupts as Sam’s already leaning in, “Hey! I want a second kiss too!”

He rolls his eyes fondly, “Of course, Stevie.”

Well, it’s almost perfect, until a fourth voice makes them all jump, “You lovebirds need a minute before we take off?”

Nat’s smirking, Steve looks embarrassed and Sam laughs, his air mixed with his two companions and the butterflies’ flutter making him warm and tingly, still. Bucky flips her off. Guess some things never change.

[rowanwhitethornisbae]

Faking It Ch 2

A/N: Thanks for all the love on chapter one! I’m defiantly going to make this at least ten chapters so buckle up haha. TW: Language 

Aelin couldn't remember when she’d lost count of the number of shots she’d taken. All she knew was that the alcohol coursing through her veins offered temporary relief from the breathtaking pain. The pain that had her sobbing so hard that she vomited her guts up each and every night. These pointless high school parties were her only escape from reality. Her parents were dead. Who gave a fuck about anything. Stumbling a little, Aelin made her way over the kitchen sink, prepared to vomit if need be. 

“Are you okay?” A low voice asked from behind her. 

“Fine.” She muttered and leaned against the counter for some semblance of balance.

“You don't look it.” The stranger said kindly. 

“Well isn't there some saying; Don’t judge a cover by its book or whatever.”

The mystery man laughed and Aelin finally lifted her head to look at him. He was handsome. So much so that if she hadn't already been leaning on something she might have swooned. His eyes were green, the colour of a pine tree in the dead of winter. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled and a tattoo crawled down the length of his arm and decorated the edge of his collarbone. 

I like men with tattoos. She thought. 

“Thanks.” He said, laughing awkwardly under his breath. 

Oh shit. She avoided meeting his eye, instead landing her gaze upon his silver hair. 

“Do you dye your hair.” She asked casually. 

He seemed slightly taken aback, but smiled all the same. “No. Do you?” 

She gasped as if it was the most preposterous thing he could've said and ran a hand through her long blond hair. 

“I’d sooner eat snakes.” Aelin grinned.

“People all over the world do that voluntarily.” The green eyed man mused. 

An image of someone eating snake popped into her head and Aelin suddenly felt bile rise in her throat. Before she could vomit on the perfect stranger, she bolted from the kitchen and into a vacant bathroom. Gagging, she fell onto her knees and was violently ill. 

So gently that she barely even noticed, her hair was pulled back from her neck and shoulders as her stranger eased himself onto the cold tile beside her. When Aelin had finished vomiting, she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and slumped against the wall. 

“Thanks.” She said, tying her hair into a messy bun with shaking hands.

“I’m Rowan.” He answered, extending a hand. 

For the first time in weeks, she felt a smile tug at the corner of her lips. 

“Aelin.” 

“Miss Galathynius are you even listening.” Her math teacher’s voice snapped her out of that very unwelcome flashback. 

“Do you want me to lie to you?” She asked, earning a few laughs from her classmates and an elbow to the ribs from Aedion. 

“Take a walk.” He snarled, and Aelin breathed a sigh of relief. She needed fresh air anyway. 

The hallway was practically empty, save a few students on their way to the bathroom, and Aelin started towards the side doors to the parking lot. She passed a locker that had been decorated for someone’s birthday. Streamers flowed down from the top, framing the collage of photos perfectly. The girl in question looked to be a freshman, with a bright smile on her face and eyes that screamed innocence. The things Aelin would do to go back to freshman year. To live with that lack of knowledge and trauma that she so desired. But she couldn't. 

She was rounding the last corner when something made her stop dead on her feet. There, leaning against the wall in a way she’d seen so many times before, was Chaol Westfall. Still, it wasn't the sight of him that send her heart into a flurry. It was the girl fiddling with her hair opposite him. It took Aelin a minute to recognize her. Nesryn Faliq, they had advanced chemistry together. She laughed at something Chaol said and reached out a hand to brush his arm. Shivers ran down Aelin’s spine at that hint of a touch. Chaol smiled back at Nesryn and leaned in to whisper something in her ear. 

Unable to watch anymore, Aelin turned on her heels and bolted to the women's bathroom. She was breathing too hard, her heart racing much too fast to be healthy. God this was an awful time to have a panic attack. Slowly, she managed to calm her breathing enough to splash water on her face. 

This was bad. Really fucking bad. They’d broken up barely 24 hours ago and Chaol was already flirting with the entire female population of Terrasen High. Fine, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration.

Clearly Lysandra had been right. Aelin slumped down against the wall and curled her knees to her chest. She needed a rebound, and fast. Aelin pondered names as she ran her fingers through the grooves in the bathroom wall. Name after name came forward and she found herself subconsciously shooting them all down. 

Nox, Fenrys, Sam, Lorcan, Sartaq. None sounded right. 

In fact, the only one she could ever see herself with was Rowan Whitethorn. The silver haired senior who’s heart she’d held in her hands sophomore year. Held and crushed. She deserved every ounce of the hatred he had for her. 

Still, he wasn't a bad option. She knew he found her beautiful, he’d told her as much. The only problem was that he would never go for her again. People tended to put up a guard after having their heart shattered. 

Flirting with him would be futile and unfair. The only way she could ever get him to date her was if she gave him something in return. 

“Holy shit.” Aelin swore, jumping up so fast that she nearly hit her heat on the sink. 

If there was anything Aelin knew about Rowan, it was that he wanted to play on the football team. He’d gone on and on about it before. According to him, he had been deathly ill during tryouts and had ended up vomiting off the side after one hit. He’d begged and begged the coach to let him try out again but it was four years later and Rowan still wasn't on the team. Lorcan, Fenrys, Vaughn, and Gavriel all were and Rowan was half miserable because of it. 

There it was. A plan. She’d get him a tryout, somehow, and in exchange he would help her beat Chaol in whatever sick game they were playing. With a newfound purpose, Aelin washed her hands and walked back to math class.

Lunch. She’d make her move then. 

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

The cafeteria was mostly empty, a normal occurrence for Tuesday afternoons. The lunch provided was some weird crossover of meatloaf and mashed potatoes that had most students eating out. Unfortunately for Rowan, Fenrys had convinced them to eat in the cafeteria today in his attempts to stalk a blonde girl on spare in the lounge. 

Now, he was picking at his food as his friends discussed the football game tomorrow. Rowan was just beginning to think his day couldn't get any worse, when he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. 

“Can I talk to you?” Someone asked from over his shoulder. He knew that voice. Had heard it in both his dreams and his nightmares. Rowan’s grip on his fork tightened and his knuckles went white. His foot began drumming against the floor as he braced himself for impact. Everyone else at the table was rapidly flicking their gaze between Aelin and Rowan. 

“No.” He said harshly, not daring to turn around. Rowan didn't think he’d have the will to deny her anything if he was forced to meet her eye. 

“Please.” Aelin pleaded. “I have something to say to you.” 

“Well that’s too fucking bad because I have nothing to say to you.” He responded, voice carefully exempt of any emotion. 

“Then just listen.” She begged. “If you don't like what I have to say than we can go back to ignoring each other like you wanted.” 

“I wasn't the one who wanted that.” He snapped before he could take it back. 

Rowan felt more than saw Aelin stiffen behind him. Lorcan was drumming his fingers on the table, as if prepared to hold Rowan back if called for. 

But it was Fenrys, the friend who was kind to everyone, who spoke. “I think you should go Aelin.” 

She swallowed audibly behind him. “Alright.” She relented. “I’ll be at the Starbucks during fourth for spare. Come find me if you want.”

Rowan didn't bother to nod. Instead, he gripped his fork harder, letting up only when the sound of retreating footsteps subsided. He looked up slowly to find all eyes on him.  

“So that just happened.” Lorcan mused. 

“Yes thank you so much for that observation.” Rowan sniped sarcastically. 

“Woah.” Lorcan replied, throwing up his arms in mock surrender. “You’re mad at Galathynius, not us remember.” 

“Whatever.” He mumbled and went back to picking at his food. After a few seconds he threw his fork on the table and let out a groan of frustration. 

“This food is the worst thing I have ever eaten in my entire life. It is terrible and horrible and fucked up and I have no idea what to do with it.” Rowan half-shouted. Heads swivelled in his direction and he ignored them. Judgement from people he didn't know was the least of his many concerns at the moment. 

“Is that supposed to be some sort of metaphor for your life?” Vaughn asked, dead serious. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Seriously Rowan. All I've heard for the last year and a half is Aelin Galathynius this and Aelin Galathynius that and now she’s finally speaking to you and you’re not going to do anything about it.” 

“I don't talk about her that much.” Rowan mumbled under his breath. Lorcan shot him a look as if to say “Yes. Yes you do.”

“I know I'm normally not one to get involved in deep shit, but Vaughn’s right. I’ve never seen you nearly as happy as you were for those few months in tenth. And honestly, what’s the worst that can happen. You hear what she has to say. You like it, great. You don't, fuck it and forget about her.” Rowan had never heard Fenrys speak for so long without sarcasm in his life. 

“To be fair,” Gavriel said, always the buffer. “We’ve also never seen Rowan as broken as he was after Aelin. Maybe the risk outweighs the reward on this one Fen.” 

Rowan didn't reply. He was too busy struggling to get the memory of those painful few weeks from his head. 

“Just talk to her man. Who gives two fucks it’s high school.” Despite being mainly in an attempt to end this conversation, Lorcan’s words made sense. It was just high school. In one more year he’d be out of this shit hole and hopefully across the world in Rithfold. Talking to Aelin was just one step along the way. 

“I’m going to.” He said, willing his tone to stay confident. 

“Great man.” Fen said, patting him on the back. He barely felt it though. Barely felt anything as the rest of the day passed by in a blur, his thoughts occupied by a beautiful blond haired girl. 

---------

It had been twenty minutes and Aelin was starting to think Rowan wasn't coming. In all honestly she should've expected that outcome from the beginning. Even though she understood, the way he had acted towards her at lunch had hurt more than she was willing to let on. 

Instead of wallowing in her own self pity, Aelin took a long sip from her coffee. It seared her tongue and burned her throat, the pain helping to ground her in a way nothing else ever could. She was picking at her fingernails, head down, when he arrived. 

A metal chair scraped against the cobblestone, a bird sung from a oak tree, a paper bag rustled in the wind, Aelin Galathynius blinked. That’s all she had time to do. One blink to compose herself before she was looking dead into the eyes of Rowan Whitethorn. 

She allowed herself a brief second to take him in up close. His high and defined cheekbones, perfectly crafted nose, striking green eyes, and silver hair had always made for a truly stunning combination. He looked the same as ever. Except he didn't. His eyes no longer possessed that unbridled joy and love that she’d seen whenever he looked at her. Instead he just looked done. Done with life and done with her. 

Aelin swallowed audibly and handed him a coffee. “Cream and sugar.” She smiled, trying to lighten the mood. 

Rowan’s hands tightened slightly. “You remembered.” It wasn't a question. After a brief moment of hesitation he accepted the coffee and went back to staring at the table. 

“What is this about Aelin?” He asked softly. Although his voice was gentle, his tone was hurt in a way anyone else would’ve missed. She hated that. Hated that now, even a year later she was still somehow hurting him. 

“So you know I broke up with Chaol. Or, he broke up with me.” She tried to keep the tremor out of her voice. Rowan nodded once, nearly imperceptibly, and she took that as a sign to continue. “Anyway, Lysandra says that I need a rebound and I need one first because Chaol is the one who broke up with me.”

Rowan’s eye flared with surprise and something else she couldn't place. “I won't be your rebound. Please don't disrespect me by asking.” 

Her heart nearly cracked open at the pain lingering in his words. “No no I would never.” Aelin paused for a brief moment to regain her bearings. “Here’s the thing. I don't want a rebound. I’ve been in a relationship for as long as I can remember and I'm in desperate need of a break. But, I’m also the most competitive person you'll ever meet. Like seriously it’s an issue, once -” 

“I know.” Rowan interrupted. “Once you sprained your ankle 8 km into a 10 k run and still finished first because you couldn't stand the thought of losing. You told me already.” 

Aelin just stared at him for a second, her chest unbearably tight. Rowan’s eyes looked her up and down and she could've sworn his eyes flashed in satisfaction at the pain written on her face. 

Not wanting to look at him anymore, she went on. “I figured maybe instead of me actually doing the whole dating thing, we could fake date.” 

She held out a hand as Rowan opened his mouth to protest. Begrudgingly, he restrained from commenting and gestured for her to go on. 

“That way I'd beat Chaol in whatever this is, I wouldn't have to answer everyone’s condolences on my being dumped, and I’d be saved from the whole post breakup dating fiasco.” 

Rowan’s voice was hoarser than before when he finally spoke. “What do I get out of this.” 

She took a deep breath in. “I’ll get you a football tryout.” 

His knee slammed into the table and Aelin couldn't help but flinch. His eyes were wide and lit up with hope. “Seriously? How the hell are you going to do that?” 

“I have a plan.” She tried to sound confident despite her growing doubt. 

Rowan let out a small laugh. “The last time you said that we ended up in the back of a police cruiser covered in raw eggs and paint.” 

Aelin’s face broke into smile and she began to laugh. For a moment she could almost pretend they were back in sophomore year, lying on Rowan’s lawn and watching the stars. Neither of them had known anything about constellations so they’d made things up based on what they looked like. By the end of the night, Aelin’s stomach hurt from laughing. She wondered when the last time she’d been that blissfuly happy was. 

Just as suddenly as they had arrived, their smiles and laughs died on their lips. An uncomfortable silence seized the air and Aelin began to play with the hair elastic on her wrist. 

After a few more seconds, Rowan cleared his throat. “I’ll do it.” He announced, although it sounded like he was still trying to convince himself.  

“Great.” Aelin smiled. “Why don't you come over tomorrow and we can work out logistics.” 

“Don’t you live with Aedion?” Rowan asked cautiously.

“Yeah but he’ll be at Ren’s place tomorrow for a project. I checked.” 

Rowan nodded slowly and rose from his chair. “Alright.” 

They stared at each other for a moment, Rowan standing and Aelin sitting. “I’m going to uh... go.” He said at last, severing the quickly brewing tension. 

Without waiting for answer, he turned and fled, leaving Aelin to do nothing but watch. So they were actually doing this now. What’s the worst that could go wrong? 

TOG Tag List: 

@queen-of-glass

@courtofjurdan

@fictional-horan

@bamchickawowow

@julemmaes

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato

@chieflemming

@morganofthewildfire

@http-itsrebecca

@captainswanandclintasha

@booknerdproblems

@sassys-world

@thegoddessofyou

@cityofchelsea16

@loudphantomdragon

@poisonous00

@wesupremeginger 

@becarefuloflove

@more-espresso-less-depresso-xx

@tillyrubes10

@perseusannabeth

[idreamofhazeleyes]

Gender Swap

Tags: @squirrelnotsam @impala-dreamer @mrswhozeewhatsis @idreamofplaid @mariekoukie6661 @idreamofplaid @percussiongirl2017 @winchestergirl-13 @lyrr24​

Words: 1701

Idea: Thanks to a curse, the trio experience being in the opposite gender’s body.

Muse: Truly Forgotten (Radio Company)

Warnings: Smut, p in v, both receiving, reverse gender body 

It had to be the witch. Aaliyah just knew somehow that it had to have been the witch. Nothing else could explain it. Her whole body had the feeling that something was off, but she couldn’t put a finger on what it was. A few days had passed since she and the brothers had taken out a rogue witch, but not before he was able to cast a spell on them; a warning that it would come to fruition in days. She was ready to deal with the results. Not the results she stared at in the mirror. Her face had taken on more of a chiseled feature, blending into a neck that seemed to be a bit stockier, then into broad shoulders.

Aaliyah straightened, taking her weight off her bathroom sink. There was no question now. The witch had done a spell that had completely changed her gender. Part of her was angry at the witch for doing this against her. It was countered by her curiosity that had lasted years since living with the brothers. Her gaze shifted south even as a hand reached to the hem of her running shorts she wore to bed. She noticed her torso had narrowed down from her chest. Her hips had streamlined along with her torso. Damn if she didn’t … No, not going down that road. Aaliyah couldn’t stop herself from pulling the top of her sleep shorts out enough and looked down.

Yeah, that was the full thing.

She worked to keep her breathing steady before hearing a scream from down the hall. Aaliyah took a look in the mirror before stepping away and shed away her bra. There was no point on keeping it on. A few steps in the hall brought her into Dean’s running path.

“Damn it, Dean,” Aaliyah caught his arms before he could stumble back. “Watch …” Her sentience dropped when she got a good look at him.

His face had slimmed down, the two day stubble had disappeared. Aaliyah let him go and took a step back to take in the full change. Lithe legs. Boxers that seemed to be strained ever so much against his wide hips that led to a flat stomach and healthy waist. And breasts that were free hanging and dared Aaliyah to kiss them. She tore her eyes from Dean’s chest and matched his gaze. Still apple green eyes and short hair.

“Looks like the witch got you guys as well,” Sam’s voice said.

Aaliyah turned at the feminine voice, startled more at the higher pitch than the words. He too had been transformed into a female version of himself.

She nodded. “Seems like.”

“I don’t like it, change us back,” Dean demanded, anger rising.

Aaliyah chuckled. She had to admit he was kinda cute being angry like this. “Wait, you don’t like this?” she said with a smile.

“And you don’t? Come on, Liya.”

She half shrugged. “It’s a … something. We got the witch, and who knows how long the spell’s gonna last? Are either one of you gonna make the call to Rowena to reverse it?”

Both brothers shifted and avoided her gaze. Seemed like they both thought of calling Rowena, but could be a bit too proud or embarrassed to do so. Aaliyah made a mental note to make the call herself after a few days.

“So, what are we gonna do?” Dean asked, frustrated over not being able to do something in fixing the problem.

“What the two of you are gonna do is maybe be able to fit into my clothes,” Aaliyah started. “Because you’re not walking around like … that.” She gestured to their partially nude bodies.

“And you’re any better?” he shot back.

“Dean,” Sam chided.

“Hey, I’m covered.” And wanted to explore more in private. “Come on, you both look like you can wear my stuff for a few hours.” She led the way back to her room, now aware of the rubbing and the itching in her sleeping shorts.

“You know,” Sam said, coming up along side her. “You can adjust if you need to.”

Aaliyah released a sigh before reaching down and adjusting enough for comfort. In her room, she rifled through her dresser in the hope of finding clothes for Sam and Dean. Maybe not Sam since he was still a good six inches taller than her. She tossed a couple decent bras at them. “Put those on.”

A half hour and a wardrobe change later, Aaliyah found herself sitting in a library with books on the table in the chance of finding a way to break the spell. She had figured out a good sitting position that didn’t pinch or squeeze too much. Sam had dared to venture out for food, claiming he got sudden urges for sweets and chocolate. Aaliyah didn’t have the heart to tell him what could happen in the next couple weeks.

A thump of a book broke into Aaliyah’s concentration, causing her to jump in the chair.

“Any luck?” Dean asked, leaning back on the table in his usual manner.

Aaliyah shook her head as she reclined in the chair. “Nothing. You?”

“Same.” Dean took the chair next to her. “It’s like the Men of Letters here didn’t know how to handle witches.”

“And it was a different time.” She remembered Henry and his mind set coming out of the 1950s. “We’re more creative in our solutions.”

“Why can’t we just call Rowena?”

“You wanna explain to her what happened? And get a good laugh from her?” Aaliyah smirked when she watched Dean didn’t quite meet her eyes. She pushed back from the table and stood, stretching as she did. “Yeah, thought so. Now, we can figure it out on our own. I’ve started getting used to … things.”

“Speaking of which. Have you gotten…” Dean gestured in a way near his groin. “Excited?”

She had been trying not to think on that. There was little point on entertaining the thought when there was a spell to break.

A hand traced up a leg, breaking into Aaliyah’s thoughts and bringing her attention back to Dean. She shifted back a little on the table when he moved off the chair and settled between her legs. Her mouth met his. Hands slipped up a shirt and helped to shed it. Another pair worked on jeans that had become a bit too tight.

The kiss broke.

“Damn it, Liya,” Dean said, his voice low.

Aaliyah swore she could hear the husky undertone just before her breath hitched when Dean freed her from the jeans. Her eyes closed as he moved down and took her in his mouth. A light thud of denim hitting the floor reached her ears. She resisted the urge to buck her hips into him. Hands worked off her boots. Somewhere in the back of her mind, notes were being filed away as Dean worked at her. Her feet stepped out of the jeans. If things returned to normal, she would know what he liked.

“Dean, come here.”

Her dick had a slight chill when he obeyed; hands sliding up and under her shirt.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” he whispered.

She smirked. “You are too.” Aaliyah reached around and unclasped her bra from him; kissing each breast as she moved from the table and guided Dean around into her spot.

Their mouths met again as Aaliyah worked through the same motions Dean had with her. Jeans open and down the legs; boots off and legs free of the clothing. Aaliyah positioned Dean’s legs wide and started licking at him and being rewarded with a gasp. She worked a couple fingers into his vagina, slick coating them. Any more teasing and she would climax soon.

“Sweetheart …” Dean started. “Please.”

Aaliyah heard the plea in his voice and pulled away. She settled in between his legs and kissed him, slick still on her lips. “Please what?” She pressed her hips against him; her erection painfully close to Dean’s entrance.

“I need …”

“Need what?”

“You. In me.”

She reached down and lined herself up, pushing into him.

He sighed as the tension faded from his body.

Aaliyah pressed against him as she started thrusting. Slow at first in the want to draw it out. But with how close she was and knowing Dean had to be on the edge, she couldn’t keep the slow pace. Grunts started before she groined with the climax. Dean tightening around her.

She didn’t move from him for a few minutes, allowing the post climax contentment ebb on it’s own. The sound of the main door opening was her one warning that someone was going to see them. Both of them managed to put on their underwear before Rowena rounded a corner.

“I see Samuel was right,” she said, a small amount of amusement coming through. “Well, then. You two finish getting dressed and I’ll get started on the reversal.”

Aaliyah grabbed her discarded clothes and found a spot away from Rowena to dress. Dean followed her to the same spot.

“So … um …” Dean started.

“Learning curve.” Aaliyah stretched a little to give him a kiss before returning to Rowena. “So, what’s the reversal call for?”

“Down to business I see. That’s good. If I may be bold to say, love. You do make for an attractive person.” Rowena gestured to what she laid out and told what the ingredients were before actually casting the spell.

Aaliyah wrapped an arm around Dean when she felt him come up beside her; her body morphing back into her natural female form. It was smaller than Dean’s now male form; always was. But it seemed more noticeable now.

“Thanks, Rowena,” she said.

“It was the least I could do. No need to be having word getting out that the Winchesters had gotten on the wrong side of a spell.”

The wrong side of a spell? Did the witch they took out cast wrong? Aaliyah didn’t know and really didn’t want to. She saw Rowena out with another thanks. Her gaze fell on Dean from the landing. He gave her a head tilt. She smiled and followed after.

[archivistsammy]

I really hope this is the last time I find myself wanting to make a post absolutely dragging Dean Winchester through the mud, because it’s hard to believe he could let me down any further. But then, I don’t doubt Supernatural will dig deep to find more ways to bury Dean and Sam alive, so we’ll have to wait and see. 

Anyway.

The first time Katharine and I watched this episode together, we were both a bit confused by what Sam meant here. We were naively, foolishly, caught up in Dean’s pity party, and mused in our text thread, “What is the problem, then, if not Dean’s tendency to hurt people by association?” This time around, after having a season and a half’s worth of experience wringing our hands and tearing out our hair at the consistent way Dean implodes his own life by treating everyone around him like trash, we understood immediately what Sam meant. And I want to talk about it.

The biggest theme of our complaints against Dean seems to be the way Dean is never held accountable for his actions, nor is he encouraged to authentically reflect on his trauma and experiences which inform his actions. So what you get is a ticking time bomb of a maladjusted PTSD survivor who leaks his pain and his anger over everyone else without even thinking about how he might heal that trauma, nor even thinking about how he might repair the harm he caused while he was struggling. I’ve already talked about how terrible this is for me to watch, but it seems yet again rather acute in this scene. 

The context for this scene is that Sam has just ejected Gadreel and learned the truth about how Dean saved him after the trials. He is understandably upset with his brother, and when he begins to express why, Dean steers the conversation towards his own self-hatred. He calls himself poison and emotionally asserts how awful he is and that he ruins everyone around him. I believe firmly that Dean believes this, and that makes me sad. However. This isn’t how you have a conversation, Dean Winchester. 

This is similar to his lecture to Kevin, in that I think this is a manipulation on Dean’s part. The difference is that I think this time it’s completely unintentional. I don’t think Dean realizes what he’s doing--redirecting the conversation away from Sam’s very valid anger and towards Dean’s own feelings about how awful he is--but it’s not an excuse all the same. Dean isn’t interested in hearing why Sam is mad, or he’d shut up and listen to it. Instead, he shuts it down by beginning to talk about why he’s the worst, and why he thinks he needs to leave Sam after this conflict. He essentially makes a shitty excuse to run away and avoid actually dealing with what Sam is upset about. And by making it about himself, he’s trying to manipulate Sam’s own feelings from anger to sympathy. Or, perhaps more likely, he fully expects Sam not to argue with him and simply agree, which still satisfies Dean’s low self-esteem and desire to be emotionally punished for mistakes he’s made in the past (versus actually being accountable and fixing those mistakes). Either way, the point is that we have--yet again!--a moment where Dean refuses legitimate accountability, nor does he give space for the person who was harmed by him to speak openly about why they’re upset. He effectively closes the conversational door and decides to leave. 

Sam’s response is neither of what Dean expects, because Sam doesn’t agree with Dean nor explicitly disagree. He tells Dean to leave, but quips that Dean’s problem isn’t that he’s terrible. And when Dean asks what that means, Sam dismisses him. This is kind of a childish response on Sam’s part, but I still kind of love him for it, because I get what he means now in a way that I didn’t the first time. This is Sam tacitly telling Dean the problem is that you don’t listen. You don’t respect my choices. You don’t hear me when I tell you want I want. And when you leave, you do so because you’re not willing to face the consequences of your disinterest in my choices. You’re not leaving because when you’re around people you poison them. You’re leaving because you refuse to work through the part of yourself that jumps to self-destruction when things get rough. Because you won’t work through the part of you that hurts. And that, in turn, leads you to hurt others. And honestly, I don’t fault Sam for not being really clear about that. Because he knows perfectly well that Dean will, once again, not really hear him.  

I’m so tired of being so upset with Dean. I’m so tired of watching the pain he causes for himself as well as the pain he causes for others. I wish the show--and Dean himself--held more compassion for the older Winchester. I wish there was a real effort made to get Dean past these Chuck-awful hurdles. But it just never really happens for him, and it’s a damn shame. 

[shitty-marvel-fan732]

“I’ll Be Here”

Title: “I’ll Be Here”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!reader

Warnings: Nightmares, insomnia, mentions of past trauma (nothing graphic)

Word Count: 4,800...because I have no self-control 

Summary: Y/N hasn’t been sleeping well, can Bucky find out why?

The first time I noticed Y/N's insomnia was during an early morning training session. 

She was off to the side, sparring with Natasha as I worked on strength training with Steve. The two women were on the mats, wrestling with one another. I should've been paying attention to the weights in my hands -- something Steve would no doubt scold me for soon -- but as usual I was more interested in watching Y/N. Not because I was totally infatuated with her or anything, just because she was acting a bit off. 

Right. 

Usually Y/N and Natasha were well matched; the two assassins typically sparred for nearly the entire session with neither one getting the upper hand for more than a few moments at a time. Today, however, Y/N was lagging. Natasha managed to pin her in just a few minutes. What's more, Y/N took a few seconds longer than usual to get back on her feet -- normally she was quick to hop up on the off-chance that she was knocked down, but today it seemed like she was moving in slow motion. Confusion rippled through me at the sight of the usually confident and collected assassin lying on the mat looking defeated and tired. Y/N and Natasha exchanged hushed words briefly before Y/N stomped off, grumbling to herself. 

I wasn't tired in the least -- namely because I hadn't even really been working for the last few minutes -- but I felt my curiosity slowly getting the best of me. I stalked off under the guise of getting some water, eyes trained on Y/N's hunched form. I sidled up to her as casually as I could manage and grabbed my bottle. She nodded curtly in recognition of my presence but didn't speak. 

I felt my eyebrows crinkle together in confusion. Y/N wasn't like the rest of the team -- impossibly chatty and self-assured, she was never crabby or tired during training. Realizing I hadn't kept up the act well at all, I sipped from my water almost robotically. While I sipped, I tried to subtly study her face, wondering what could possibly be causing her to act so out-of-character. I noted with concern the deep, purple circles under her eyes and the far off expression on her face.

I opened my mouth to question whether or not she was alright, but was abruptly cut-off by Steve's shout to get back to training. Rolling my eyes, I flashed Y/N one last look of concern before jogging off towards my friend. I'd have to file this encounter in my brain for later. 

After that I began to watch Y/N more closely, trying to figure out what it was that troubled her. She seemed to bounce back by the time I'd seen her later in the day, and I all but forgot my concerns. It wasn't until a few days later that her lack of sleep entered my consciousness once more. 

It was movie night in the tower, and I was bored out of my skull. Everyone had gathered in the tower's massive living room for the weekly event -- Sam and Tony were arguing over which movie to watch, Wanda and Vision were sitting practically on one another's laps as they chatted idly with Nat, Steve sat scribbling on yet another mission report, and Peter was hanging upside-down from the ceiling as he patiently waited for the movie to begin. I was sitting furthest from everyone else, keeping to myself and idly observing the various conversations, when Y/N wandered into the room. 

Though I still internally thought she was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, it was instantaneously clear that something was wrong with Y/N. She looked similar to that morning in the training room -- large bags underneath each eye and a somewhat pained expression splayed across her features.  Maybe it was the way she seemed to move more slowly across the room or just her general aura of dishevelment, but whatever the case she just seemed off somehow. I felt myself growing more concerned by the moment. 

She plopped down into the spot next to me, and I instantly felt my heart rate pick up at the proximity. Heat flooded my face as my mind became a jumble, and I was suddenly thankful that the only other people with super hearing in the room were currently busy at the moment. I tried my best to stifle the stupid little flutters raging inside my belly as I murmured a 'hello'. Y/N rubbed her face tiredly before mustering up a smile and muttering a half-hearted greeting. 

"You doing okay doll?" I asked concernedly. She chuckled lightly, shifting a little in her seat so her head was leaning against my flesh arm. She settled into the position with an ease and familiarity that both warmed my heart and sent me into a panic all at once. 

It was strange, the effect Y/N had on me: on the one hand, she had this ability to calm my entire body with just a single touch, but on the other hand it also made my mind race with over-eager thoughts and feelings. Even now, the feel of the soft skin of her cheek through my shirt sleeve was enough to send tiny pricks of electricity throughout my entire body. But it wasn't the harsh, painful sensations my mind seemed to expect -- Y/N's touch was always gentle, welcomed. Even so, my mind raced with thoughts of why on earth she felt so relaxed around me. Was she just like this with everyone? Did it mean anything? 

"Just fine Buck," her half-joking reply broke me out of my mental musings. "Why, do I look ugly or something?" 

I immediately began floundering, shaking my head quickly and stuttering out apologies so fast I almost missed the soft giggles eminating from Y/N. Even though I was pretty sure she was kidding, I continued to ramble on, unwilling to let her think for a second that she was anything less than gorgeous. Thankfully, she only let me panic for a few moments before lifting her head fractionally and smiling at me. 

"S'okay Buck, I know what you meant," she chuckled amicably before settling back into my shoulder. "I'm alright, just tired as always."

If anyone would've asked, I would've sworn my face was on fire. I hummed lightly in response, not trusting my voice at the moment. Thankfully, Nat saved me further embarrassment by rolling her eyes and laughing. 

"Of course our little insomniac is tired," she quipped good-naturedly. "When's the last time you actually slept Y/N/N?"

I frowned down towards Y/N in concern. She just snickered at Natasha's question, flipping her off as she smiled sweetly. Nat chuckled once more, letting the subject drop and turning her attention back to her previous conversation. Evidently Tony and Sam had finally agreed on a movie, and the lights dimmed as the main titles began to play. 

"You're not sleeping?" I softly questioned. Even though she hadn't been moving before, I could still feel the way she stiffened at my question, and my concern grew. She recovered quickly however, turning her head just enough to look me in the face and shooting me a wary look. 

"Do any of us?" she questioned back. Her face was illuminated by the soft glow of the screen, eyes darkened with a look I couldn't quite place and features as vulnerable as I'd ever seen. The sight of her, so close to my face and so open all but took my breath away. I opened my mouth to respond --

"Hey lovebirds, can you quiet down over there?" Sam interrupted loudly. I tore my gaze away from Y/N to find the entire team looking over at Y/N and I with amused and expectant expressions. Y/N buried her face into my arm at the attention, clearly embarrassed. Unconsciously, my arm wrapped around her frame and pulled her deeper into my side. I glared at Sam and flipped him off with my free hand. He and the rest of the team chuckled before turning back to the movie. 

After the intrusion I was too distracted by the feel of Y/N being tucked into my body to question her any more. Also, she did end up falling asleep during the film, head resting gently across my chest and expression serene. She managed to sleep through the entirety of all 3 movies Tony insisted we watch. Normally I would've left part way through the first, but I would rather die than disturb Y/N as she peacefully slept. She clearly needed it, and the fact that she was cuddled up to me as she did it was just a happy coincidence. 

I chalked her lack of sleep up to a generational difference. Maybe millennials had just learned to get by with less sleep? I wasn't totally up to date with the ins-and-outs of this new generation, but I was fairly sure that insomnia was a common problem. People could say what they liked about them, but I was honestly blown away by the amount of shit that people in this age had to deal with. College cost more than a house would've back in my day, employers were getting pickier and pickier about who got a job, and there was a near-constant threat of some kind of world-wide disaster at any given moment. Not to mention the fact that apparently the arctic was melting? Global warming disturbed me to no end, especially since it was one of the only reasons Steve had been found in the first place. Of course people slept less easily these days, why would Y/N be an exception? 

Currently, we were on our way back from a routine mission. We were the only ones on the Quinjet, sitting across from one another as we flew home. Neither of us said much, both happy to decompress from things silently. 

Studying her face as we sat, I felt the familiar feeling of concern bubble up in my chest at the sight. Her eyes were almost bloodshot, lids weighing heavily as she leaned against the side of the jet like she was fighting to keep them open. The purple bags that I'd first noted all those weeks ago had only seemed to have grown, now sagging low on her face which seemed paler than usual. Her expression was flat, mouth and brows drooping into a very uncharacteristic frown. 

Though I was worried, I wasn't willing to break the comfortable silence Y/N and I had created in the jet. I watched as her eyes fluttered shut and snapped open for a few minutes before she finally succumbed to her tiredness and fell asleep. I breathed out a sigh of relief I wasn't even aware I'd been holding in as I watched her struggle. I wasn't a religious man, but I was suddenly thankful to whatever god listening that she was actually getting some sleep. 

Settling back into my seat, I watched as she slept and internally planned a way to bring her out of the jet without waking her. Seemed simple enough -- she'd slept soundly enough all those weeks ago at movie night that I was able to gather her up into my arms and bring her to her room without waking her. It wasn't exactly difficult to convince myself to help her once more. Outside of the fact that I was legitimately becoming concerned about the amount of sleep she was getting, I would be lying if I said I wasn't thrilled at the prospect of having Y/N in my arms once more. Last time she'd cuddled into me so tightly, like a kitten curling up on your chest. If I concentrated hard enough I could practically still feel her warm body against my torso. The mere thought raised a light blush to my cheeks and made my legs start to lose strength. 

I seriously needed to get a grip. 

I was so wrapped up in my thoughts I almost missed the sounds Y/N was making. The soft whimpers reminded me almost like the sounds dogs make as they dream -- small, high-pitched noises that squeaked from her lips as she slept. Her body was still slumped against the metal frame of the jet, but with one glance I could tell her posture had definitely tensed. Her fists were clenching and relaxing over and over, eyes squeezed closed tightly, and every now and then her whole body would jerk around. Fear and guilt pooled in the pit of my stomach as I realized what was happening. 

Y/N was having a nightmare. 

I froze for a moment, unsure what to do, until Y/N let out another cry of pain and terror, louder this time. My body was instantly by her side without even checking in with my brain first before moving. I pulled her onto my lap gently and began rubbing soothing patterns around the expanse of her back with my metal hand while the flesh one delicately cupped her face. She was trembling all over and her fists immediately wound their way into the fabric of my shirt and clenched as she hung on for dear life. 

After a few moments I decided I had to wake her. Whatever was going on in her head was clearly causing her immense fear, and it felt like my heart was breaking with each jerk of her body or whimper of pain. I began softly calling her name, hands still moving gently across her skin as I tried to rouse her. 

It didn't work. 

My gentle prying hadn't woken her in the slightest. In fact her movements had become even more erratic -- she was now thrashing in my arms, futilely trying to fight off whatever she was facing in her dream. Mind whirling, I gripped her tighter and began calling her name louder. 

She woke with a start. Her bloodshot eyes flew open and she instantly attacked me. Her fists flew quickly and landed solidly against my jaw as she scrambled off my lap. She jerked away, back landing against the farthest wall of the jet and posture defensive. Her eyes were wild with a kind of dangerous fire I recognized all too well. 

 I raised my hands up in surrender, not moving an inch from my place. 

“Y/N, it’s me. Bucky. You’re safe, it was just a dream,” I explained slowly. “You’re safe.”

Her eyes darted back and forth for a few seconds, and I could practically feel the realization seeping through her. The fog of terror from her nightmare was slowly fading from her face, giving way to a look of vulnerable confusion. 

“Bucky?” she breathed. Her chest was still heaving with each breath she took and her voice was small. Y/N’s eyes were wide as she searched my face for an answer, and I felt a wave of sympathy roll through me at the panicked, bewildered emotions that were written all over her face. I nodded slowly and began to lower my hands. Y/N sucked in a breath as the final flash of recognition crossed her features and she let out a sob. 

I was up in an instant, arms winding around her shaking body and lips murmuring encouraging words into her hair. I could feel her tears starting to soak through my shirt as she clung against my chest and sobbed. A deep, unsettling weight made it's home in my belly as I listened to her cries. I pushed the feeling down as I comforted her, trying everything I knew to end her anguish. 

Eventually her sobbing slowed, and the jet was silent once more, save for a few hiccups and sniffles every now and again. My hands were still absentmindedly rubbing against her back, but I took her silence as a good sign and I pulled my head back marginally so I could look at her more fully. 

The sight of Y/N's face almost broke my heart in two. Her normally clear skin was now tear-stained and covered in red and pink splotches, and the area under her eyes was puffy. Her mouth was set in a deep pout that didn't suit her at all. Worst of all was the look in her eyes -- her Y/E/C irises looked like a storm cloud, pain and despair swirling within them in a way I was all too familiar with. They looked like the way I often felt during my more dark moments, and the idea that she was feeling anything close to that twisted the rock-like knot even deeper into my lower belly. 

"Y/N…" I murmured emphatically. She sniffled, pulling one of her arms away from its place entangled in my shirt to rub some of the errant tears away from her face. I guided her gently back to one of the benches and we both sat without detangling ourselves from one another.

"Sorry," she whispered almost robotically. "I just...I had…". 

"A nightmare?" I supplied quietly. She nodded, body beginning to lean away from mine as if she was going to pull away. My grip on her tightened marginally, unwilling to let her go just yet. She seemed appreciative at the silent offer of support, and her head rolled back into the crook of my neck easily. 

"How long?" I asked evenly. Though I couldn't see her face anymore due to our position I could feel the way her body tensed at the query. My hands began running up and down her back once more, almost of their own accord. After a few moments her muscles relaxed a bit under my soothing touch, and I breathed a silent breath of relief at the progress. 

"Since Ultron, I guess," she whispered so quietly I almost missed it.  I felt my brows furrow even deeper at the admission -- Steve had filled me in about what had happened in Sokovia, but if I was recalling correctly that was almost 2 years ago. Guilt flooded my chest at the sheer length of time Y/N had been struggling without any help. 

 “I watched...there was a kid, and he…I couldn’t”

“You don’t have to tell me,” I cut her off quickly. Her only response was to burrow deeper into the crook of my neck, seemingly grateful to be spared the task of reliving the nightmare. Though the feeling of the soft skin of her face against my neck was enough to send those embarrassing flutters through my body, my mind was still working in overdrive to try and figure out a way to reduce Y/N’s pain. 

"I'm so sorry," I whispered. "I...I want to help". 

I felt Y/N's small smile against my neck and I shivered at the gentle movement of her lips. 

"I know you do Buck, but there's nothing to be done," she mumbled regretfully. Almost immediately afterwards she yawned and began stretching her limbs like a cat around my frame before settling back into my embrace. I couldn't help but chuckle fondly. 

The only sounds that filled the jet now were the soft whirring of the engines and the sound of the air passing by the outside as we flew. For a moment I wondered if Y/N had fallen asleep again, but the steady thrum of her heartbeat and the quiet yawns she let escape every now and again told me otherwise. After a few minutes of silence I quietly spoke up once more. 

"I get them too you know."

Y/N's face turned upwards just enough so she was looking me in the eyes. Her expression was guarded, but I could see the spark of curiosity in her eyes. 

"Really?" 

Even though her tone was nonchalant I could easily tell that she cared more about my response than she'd like to let on. I nodded, swallowing thickly and glancing away from her. 

"Yeah. I used to get them back during the war, but they really started up bad after everything with HYDRA," I explained as calmly as I could manage. I could practically feel the holes her eyes were burning into my face as she watched me intently. 

"I still get them sometimes but not as much.”

“Wh-what did you do to make them better?” she asked curiously. I shrugged. 

“I dunno. Therapy and time I guess,” I supplied. Her hopeful expression faltered slightly and guilt fanned through me. “Sorry, I know that’s not exactly what you probably wanted to hear.”

Y/N shook her head, yawning. 

"S'okay Buck, you're just being honest," she mumbled against my shoulder. "Wasn't exactly expecting an answer anyways."

She let out another huge yawn. My hands paused briefly on their circuit up and down the expanse of her back as a thought filtered through my mind. 

"You should sleep doll," I murmured softly against her hair. "I can tell you're exhausted."

Y/N yawned once more and shook her head stubbornly against my chest. 

"S'fine Buck. I've been worse." her soft voice filtered up, slightly muffled by the fabric of my shirt. I frowned. 

"Y/N…" I warned disapprovingly. 

"Seriously, I'm fine!" came her sleepy, half-hearted protest. "Besides, if I do it'll just…"

She trailed off, but the weight of what she was alluding to covered the air in the jet like a thick, wet blanket. The tension in my brows relaxed marginally as I was hit with another wave of sympathy. I tightened my grip on her body into what I hoped was a comforting embrace. My heart lifted and those damned butterflies erupted into a frenzy as I heard her sigh contently. Not even a beat later I felt her burrow herself even further into my arms and I couldn't help but smile at the feeling. 

"It's okay doll. I'm not going anywhere, I'll be here if it happens again," I ventured quietly. After a few moments of contemplation Y/N lifted her head from my chest, and I felt a flash of fear tear through my body. Maybe I'd crossed a line? What if she didn't appreciate my nagging, or thought I was overstepping the boundaries of the tentative friendship we had? I opened my mouth, poised and ready to spew apologies for intruding, but closed it seconds later as I caught the look on her face. 

Her Y/E/C eyes were wide, unshed tears lining them as she looked up at me. Her expression was one of pure adoration, full of hope and cautious optimism. The sight of it almost knocked all the breath out of my body. 

"Yo-you will?" she breathed, voice small and hopeful. Warmth filled my chest and I smiled. 

"Promise." I vowed. Her face split into a lopsided grin and her cheeks flushed with the most adorable pink splotches I'd ever seen. She held my gaze for a few moments longer before her face disappeared into the confines of my chest once more. I settled back into the side of the jet with Y/N's form still gathered closely in my arms, utterly content and pleased with the way things had turned out. 

In no time at all I heard her breaths begin to even out and the beating of her heart slow as she fell back asleep. I sat back, hands still absentmindedly running along her back as she slept with my mind racing as it tried to process the last few minutes. Normally after even the briefest interaction with Y/N my brain would be riddled with self-doubt and anxiety, over playing each second over again and internally cringing at my reactions. But it was hard to form any thoughts that were semi-coherent with her cuddled peacefully against my body. Instead, my mind was occupied by scanning every visible inch of her form, working desperately to try and commit the sights, sounds, and feelings to my memory. 

It didn't take long before the jet landed back at the tower. I paused momentarily before carefully gathering Y/N in my arms and walking out. I made a beeline for her room, ignoring or silencing any of the team we met along the way with a single glance. After the struggle on the jet I’d be damned if one of them woke her. Not that they really tried -- everyone backed off pretty quickly once they noticed Y/N’s sleeping form, irritatingly smug smirks plastered across their features. If it weren't for the sleeping beauty in my arms I was certain that any one of them would've had a litany of teasing comments at the ready. Especially Tony. Poor guy looked like he might have an aneurysm if he didn't get to spit whatever sarcastic jab his brain was cooking up out soon. 

Eventually I made it to her room, and settled her gently into her bed. 

It wasn’t easy. 

Even asleep Y/N was still one of the most stubborn people I knew. She grumbled petulantly in her sleep, and I practically had to pry her off my chest to get her onto the bed. Once I'd successfully detangled my shirt from her fingers' iron grip, I removed her combat boots and brought the covers up over her curled up form. She'd pay hell in the morning from Tony for sleeping in her dirty tac-gear and ruining the sheets, but I sure as hell wasn't about to wake her to change. After I was sure she was settled, I took one final glance at her peaceful face before turning to leave. I made it all the way to the door, finger hovering over the light switch, before I heard her. 

"You said you'd be here."

Y/N was sitting up in her bed, eyes half-lidded and palms rubbing against them tiredly as she piped up. I smiled unconsciously at the sight of her sleepy expression. 

"That I did," I chuckled softly. She raised an eyebrow curiously. 

“So stay here...” she murmured. “Please.”

I nodded, crossing the room once more and dragging her desk chair with me as I went. I set it down next to her bed and settled in before motioning for her to continue sleeping. She blinked a few times, amusement and exhaustion lacing her features. 

"No, you old man," she giggled quietly, patting the empty space next to her. "I meant here as in here."

Now it was my turn to blink in confusion. 

"O-oh," I stuttered. "Is that -- I mean if you want…"

Y/N chuckled again, clearly as amused by my floundering when half-asleep as she was when she was awake. 

"Just get in here Buck."

No need to tell me twice. I shucked off my boots and crawled into Y/N's bed beside her. I paused as I pulled her blankets over my body, uncertain as to what to do next. 

I mean, she seemed like she liked being in my arms back in the Quinjet, but maybe it was different now that we were in her bed? It certainly felt different -- even though the space between us couldn't have been more than a few inches at most, it felt like there was an entire country between Y/N and I. Things were too close, too intimate. I was powerless to make even a single move under the crushing weight of the implications thick in the air. And yet my fingers were twitching against her mattress as they fought the urge to wrap her up in my embrace once more. 

Evidently, Y/N noticed the distance between us. 

She rolled over to her side so that she was facing me. Though she still looked like she was having some trouble keeping her eyes open, there was a glint of mischief and some other emotion in them as she surveyed my frozen form. I glanced down at her briefly, muscles completely stiff and immobile as I silently wondered what the hell I was going to do next. 

Y/N giggled once more, the sound sending the butterflies in my core crazy. She mercifully closed the space between us as she settled into my side. Her head nestled against my chest and her arms threw themselves around my frame like I was a pillow. I breathed a quiet sigh of relief, muscles relaxing considerably as I wound my arms around her and pulled her flush into my side. 

"Thanks," she murmured sleepily. Her eyes were already closed and I could feel her heartbeat slowing as she fell asleep once more. 

"Anytime Doll," I whispered fondly, nose nuzzling into the hairs atop the crown of her head. I yawned, suddenly extremely aware of just how tired I was. I leaned my head down against Y/N's and closed my eyes too, sure that for once I'd be guaranteed a good night's sleep. 

[spohkh]

miracle on cornelia street [dean/castiel]

so BASICALLY sarah @adanceinasnowglobe and i were talking about what everyone would be up to post-series -- yknow, like, now that theyre all safe and healthy n everythings cool and destiel is officially together. yknow. as happened in canon -- and we were like so obviously destiel get a house, and thats kind of the basis of this verse so !! this is the foundational fic for what i HOPE will be a series of fun lil day-in-the-life drabbles, from both me and sarah!! 

ehehehe :-) enjoy!

read on AO3

The house is a quaint thing, sitting low and snug under a pair of shady oak trees in a quiet suburb just outside of downtown Lawrence. Its brickwork face is weathered—definitely in need of a good power wash—and the roof is just as worn. The bottom step to the porch slants unevenly, and the porch itself has cracks in the concrete. There are chips in the paint on the window frames, the iron porch railing is rusting, and who knows when the gutters were last given a proper cleaning.

There’s a lot of work to be done, but standing there in the small front lawn, Dean Winchester can’t say if he’s ever seen anyplace else so perfect as the house at 3767 Cornelia Street. Dean’s house—his home. His home with Cas.

“Can you believe it?” he quietly says to Miracle, who has been sitting patiently by Dean’s leg. Miracle tilts her head and wags her tail. Dean looks back up at the house. “Yeah, me neither.”

The sound of a familiar car rumbling up the road snaps Dean out of his reverie. He rubs a knuckle at his eye and clears his throat and tries to look like he hadn’t been standing in his front yard about to cry while talking to his dog, christ.

The car rolls to a stop on the curb just in front of the house. The driver’s side door opens, and Sam slowly unfolds his ridiculous limbs as he gets out. It’s always a wonder how he can fit himself into a car at all. Sam gives a dorky little wave as he ambles over to where Dean is standing.

Dean peers behind Sam, trying to see into the car. “What, no Eileen?”

“Hello to you, too. Dick,” he replies snarkily. “She’s wrapping up a work thing. She’ll come over when she’s done.”

Dean sucks his teeth in disappointment. “Ah, well. Guess you can go home then.” Sam shoves at his shoulder. Dean just laughs and pulls Sam in for a proper hello hug.

“Why are you standing out here, anyway?” Sam asks when they part.

“Can’t a man just hang out in his own front yard? Accompanied by a dashing canine companion?” He leans down to pat Miracle on the head.

“I guess…” Sam looks down at Miracle. When she tips her head up and gazes back at him, Sam snorts.

“What?”

“Miracle on Cornelia Street,” Sam says with mirth.

Dean squints at him. “What?” he repeats, now more incredulous.

“You know—like Miracle on 34th Street. But we’re on Cornelia, so.” He nods down at the dog. “Miracle on Cornelia Street.”

“Dude.” Dean rolls his eyes at Sam’s goofy grin and starts walking up the path to the house, Miracle trotting behind him. “Shut up and come inside already.”

Sam follows after him, pausing just inside the threshold as he spots something on the doorframe. “Oh, classy,” he says, throwing a sardonic look to where D.W. and C.W. are scratched into the wood.

“Just wait,” Dean jokes with a toothy smile, “when I got the time I’m gonna draw a little heart around it.” He was joking, but now that he said it, he kind of wanted to.

Cas looks up from the stove when they walk into the dining room. He’s wearing one of Dean’s old AC/DC tees, the logo all but worn away from being washed so many times. He’s usually in some ratty tee or other when lounging around these days. But in honor of Sam’s visit today (Cas’ words) and to seem a little more dressy short of donning his usual button-downs (Dean’s private opinion), he’s also wearing the cable-knit cardigan Sam got him as a gift last Christmas. “Hi, Sam.”

Sam leans against the counter that separates the dining and kitchen areas, craning his giraffe neck to catch a glimpse at the stove. “Hey, Cas! What’cha cooking?”

“Nothing. Dean made it. I was just watching the pot so it didn’t boil over.” He locks eyes with Dean, his intent stare very clearly communicating I did not touch the chili I added nothing I did not touch the dial I was just watching it like you asked so don’t even start.

Dean just smiles as he walks past the counter and steps into Cas’ space. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he says, and busses Cas on the cheek.

“You’re welcome,” Cas replies warmly. He’s gazing up at Dean with those summer afternoon blue eyes, standing in one of Dean’s shirts and that dorky cardigan, and Dean starts to get full of that feeling from out in the front yard again. If they were alone, Dean would probably say something recklessly sappy like I am so stupid in love with you.

As it is, Dean clears his throat and turns back to Sam, slinging an arm around Cas’ shoulders, and says, “He did the salad.”

Cas sneaks him a knowing look before, thankfully, putting his attention on Sam without commenting on Dean’s hasty redirection. “I did the salad,” Cas agrees blithely, and places the salad bowl on the counter for Sam to see, seeming pleased with himself.

Sam looks between the two of them, an amused tilt to his eyebrow that Dean implicitly distrusts. He’s definitely thinking mocking thoughts about the two of them. But he just quirks a smile and says, “It looks great.” Shrewd little diplomat.

Cas shifts to the side to see past Sam’s shoulder. Sam glances behind himself before shooting Cas a confused look.

“She’s still at work,” Dean tells Cas, guessing who he’s looking for. “Sadly.”

“What, am I not good enough?”

“Of course you are,” Cas promises earnestly, just as Dean says, “Well…”

Sam’s opening his mouth to retort, probably something absolutely scathing, when his phone chimes. He pulls it out of his pocket, a smile spreading over his face. “Speak of the devil,” he says, then tips his head with a grimace, “as it were. That was Eileen. She’ll be here soon, so I’m gonna go wash up.”

“Bathroom’s down the hall—“

“Dude, I know where it is. I did help you guys move in.”

Dean spreads his hands in assent. “Fine, christ, I swear never to be a good host to you in my home ever again. Go ahead and go take your dump now.”

“I’m not gonna—ohmygodnevermind.” He turns on his heel and huffs down the hall, Miracle trotting after him, the tags on her collar clinking together jauntily.

Dean reaches past Cas to turn the burner off, then lands his hand on Cas’ hip. “Have I told you today how cute you are in that sweater?”

“Yes.” Cas brings his hands up to cradle Dean’s face. “Four times.”

“Make it five.” Dean kisses him. He pulls Cas into a hug, pressing his face against Castiel’s shoulder. They sway into each other. After a warm moment, Dean says in a low voice, “The first family dinner in our house.”

Cas hums a soft, contented sound in agreement. “The first of many,” he responds, just as quiet. Dean squeezes him tighter. He knows they’re both thinking about Jack and Claire, their bedrooms sitting empty and waiting for whenever they can find the time to visit—and Kaia and Alex and Jody with Claire, if they can, and Charlie and her girlfriend, and Bobby, and all the other wayward extensions of their sprawling family caught out in the wind. Their house isn’t big enough to host everyone, but with Sam and Eileen up the block and the bunker just a few miles out, there’s plenty of room to put up people who come out their way. Dean has the hope that 3767 Cornelia Street becomes a common pitstop for folks—a suburban Roadhouse, a tidier (much tidier) Singer Salvage.

Dean presses a kiss against Cas’ neck, and Cas breathes a sweet little sigh that pushes all thoughts about future dinners right out the window. Fuck, this dinner could go out the window, for all he cares. He kisses a little higher up, right under Cas’ jawline, before pulling back to catch Castiel’s darkened gaze. “How ‘bout we ditch the nag and go have a private party of our own?”

“Dean, no. I worked really hard on that salad.” He sounds perfectly serious, but the playful glint in his eye gives him away. Dean snorts, mumbling oh, forgive me, Chef Cas as he leans in again.

Just as they kiss, Sam walks back in. “Hey, I think something’s wrong with your sink–- oh, sorry.”

“Huh?” Dean reluctantly pulls away as Sam clears his throat, looking sheepish. “What’s wrong with what, Sammy?”

“Uh, with your bathroom.”

“The bathroom? Oh, what, you clogged the toilet?”

“Wha— N—  I DID NOT SHIT IN YOUR BATHROOM.”

“Then how did the toilet get messed up?”

“It’s the SINK, the SINK—”

“You took a shit in the sink?”

Cas pinches the bridge of his nose. “Dean…”

“What? He started it.”

“Started WHAT?”

Dean snaps his fingers. “The end of the world.”

“Oh! My god!”

“I guess technically, yeah, since god is our kid...” He turns to Cas. “Weird, weird lives we lead.”

Cas just shakes his head, clearly exasperated. Sam has given up on speaking completely and has fallen back on making a gesture like he’s one second away from grabbing Dean by the throat.

“I was there for all twelve years of it,” Sam says to Cas, “and I still can’t believe you stayed with this guy.”

“Well,” Cas muses serenely, “you’ve been here a lot longer than me.”

Sam grimaces when Dean throws him his best shit-eating grin. Nothing like his two favorite people bonding over how much of a pain he is.

The sound of the front door opening distracts them, and then a voice calls, “Knock knock! The life of the party has arrived!”

“Eileen!” Sam exclaims happily. Miracle takes off down the hall, Sam hot on her heels.

Dean chuckles at Sam’s unabashed excitement, then gives Castiel another peck on the cheek before moving away from him. “Can you put everything out on the table? I’ll go check out the bathroom sitch real quick.”

Cas catches his hand as he starts to leave, softly saying his name. When Dean looks back at him, Cas smiles and says, “I love you.”

Dean wonders if maybe three time’s the charm and he should just give in to what his body wants him to do. If a man has a right to stand around and cry messily anywhere in his own home, surely the kitchen would be the place to do it. The kitchen, after all, is the heart of any house.

But Dean doesn’t. He indulges in a little sniffle, Cas’ eyes glimmering with knowing in the soft light. Dean brings Cas’ hand to his mouth and kisses the neat gold band around his finger, and he kisses each peaked knuckle, and he turns Cas’ hand over and kisses his palm and his wrist. Then he lets go and puts his own hand against Cas’ cheek, and says his recklessly sappy thing: “I love you, too, sweetheart.”

And the glowing feeling inside him doesn’t settle, only grows brighter.

Whatever’s wrong with the sink will be just one more thing to a long list of shit to deal with. Their house needs work, no denying. But Dean knows they’ve got plenty of time.

[siancore]

Title: Take a Break

Summary: Sam’s been training too hard, to the point of frustration, and injures himself a little. Bucky takes care of him. BONUS: They were roommates! 

A/N: *tosses this light-angsty-fluffy-domestic SamBucky one-shot at you*

Warnings: Language; Hurt/Comfort; Self-Doubting Sam

Word Count: 1,970

He’d been at it for the better part of the day; slinging the shield at the makeshift targets. It would whirr through the air and sometimes connect with what he was aiming for; other times, most times, it would end up in the bushes. He really wanted to get it right. He was practising with so much diligence and with such dedication, and was getting better, from what Bucky could tell; but he was also getting frustrated. And maybe over-working himself by pushing his body too far.

“Wilson, why don’t you take a break?” said Bucky from where he was standing near the house as he watched Sam jog to the place the shield had landed after missing its mark. Sam offered nothing in reply.

“Sam, c’mon.”

“No,” was all Sam said, causing Bucky to sigh.

“You’re gonna put too much strain on your arm –”

“You don’t think I can do this, either?” Sam interjected, as he walked back to his spot. “Well, you’re not the only one, ‘cause everyone else thinks so, too, so get in line.”

He didn’t mean to be so short with Bucky, but he was irritated. He and Bucky had been growing closer having spent so much time together the past few weeks. When they were finally afforded the chance to settle down and catch their breaths, Sam was intent on perfecting his skill with the shield. Things were going slow, but he was improving. He just needed to be more patient with himself and know when it was time to rest.

“Sam, come on,” said Bucky, as he walked closer to his friend. “That’s not what I meant. I’m worried you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“Don’t gotta worry ‘bout me,” Sam proffered. “I’m a big boy, Barnes.”

“I know,” said Bucky, stopping near Sam. “But big boys can injure themselves if they’re not careful.”

Sam saw the genuine concern in Bucky’s eyes. He felt something akin to fondness swirl around inside of him; had been feeling it more and more as of late whenever Bucky said or did something he found endearing. But he couldn’t let Bucky’s charms distract him from the task at hand.

“Thanks, Barnes,” said Sam, as he turned to ready himself for his next throw. “But I’ll be alright.”

…..

Later that evening, Sam Wilson was, in fact, not all right. He walked into their home and looked a little stiff; Barnes noticed.

“You okay, Wilson?” he asked, honest concern etched across his face as he took in Sam’s appearance.

“Yeah, dude,” he replied, not meeting Bucky’s gaze. “Just need a shower.”

Bucky nodded, but was still worried about the way Sam’s right arm hung limply at his side. He said nothing else as he watched Sam walk away. He listened, waiting for the shower to turn on, then figured Sam might want something to eat after his vigorous training session. He went to see what they had in the fridge, and then groaned; he would probably need to make a quick trip to town to pick up some take-out. He didn’t want to leave just yet, in case Sam needed him for whatever reason after his shower. Bucky closed the door of the fridge, ran his hand through his short tresses, and then made his way back to the living room.

While scanning the pages of a local agricultural magazine, Bucky was drawn from the article about eco farming by Sam’s presence. Bucky lifted his gaze to glance at Sam before his eyes went wide: He was shirtless. Shirtless with small rivulets of water running down his perfectly formed body. Bucky let his eyes roam over Sam’s broad chest and defined abs before gathering his wits and tearing his gaze away. He cleared his throat and placed the magazine down on the couch.

“Feel better?” he asked, trying not to be distracted by Sam’s state of undress.

“I dunno,” said Sam, trying to roll his shoulder. “Think I messed something up; pulled something. I couldn’t lift my arm properly to even get a shirt on.”

Bucky was concerned, but the reminder of the fact Sam was shirtless drew his eyes back to the other man’s body once more. He really needed to stop ogling his roommate and focus.

“And don’t say I told you so,” Sam added. “Can’t deal with you bein’ a smug asshole right now.”

“Lemme see,” Bucky replied, gesturing for Sam to come close.

Sam stepped over to where Bucky was standing. They locked eyes a beat longer than was necessary before Bucky placed a tentative hand to Sam’s shoulder.

“Does it hurt?” he asked while applying some pressure.

“Yeah, a little.”

“In the bone or muscle?”

“Muscle,” said Sam. “And the joint?”

“Okay, take a seat,” said Bucky. “Let’s try a warm compression. Wait here, and I’ll get a towel. Fix you up in no time.”

He gave Sam a small, reassuring grin, and then made his way to the bathroom. Sam sat down and tried to roll his shoulder once more, but winced at the discomfort. Bucky returned soon thereafter and set about alleviating Sam’s aching joint.

He held a small towel that he had submerged in hot water a moment.  

“I’m just gonna put this here,” said Bucky, as he placed the towel to Sam’s shoulder. “Keep it on there until it goes cold.”

Sam nodded and then Bucky went back into the bathroom. He returned with a glass of water and two ibuprofen pills.

“Take these for the inflammation,” said Bucky, handing them over to Sam. “I’m just gonna do a run into town to grab some food for dinner. You stay here and rest.”

“Okay, Doctor Barnes,” said Sam jokingly. “But seriously, man, thank you.”

Bucky gave Sam a gentle smile, and said, “Don’t be stubborn. Sit here and take it easy until I get back.”

…..

When Bucky returned, he found Sam sitting with his eyes closed, and the towel still pressed to his shoulder. He was a sight to behold. Pretty and relaxed; angelic. Bucky stood admiring his good looks a moment. He could stand there for the rest of the night and take in the pleasant view, he mused, but his friend was probably hungry, too.

“Sam?” he asked softly, thinking the other man had dozed off to sleep.

“Yeah?” asked Sam, with his eyes still closed.

“How does it feel now?”

“Better,” said Sam, as he opened his eyes, glanced at Bucky, and removed the towel.

Bucky smiled and said, “Great. Sit tight, let me grab some plates for our food, and then I’ll have another look.”

He placed their take-out dinner on the coffee table and then went into the kitchen; before he could grab the plates, Sam followed behind him.

“I told you to sit tight.”

Sam rolled his eyes and said, “I’m fine, Barnes. I can help you grab a couple o’ plates. Besides, it’s only a little stiff now.”

“You’re such a stubborn ass,” said Bucky, as he abandoned his task at hand, walked over to Sam, and gently took hold of his left arm. “C’mon.”

“Barnes –” Sam protested weakly as Bucky led him back to the living room.

“What?”

“You don’t need to fuss,” said Sam, as he stopped and gently pulled out of Bucky’s grasp.

Bucky let out a huff, sat on the sofa and said, “C’mon. C’mere.”

Sam gave him a questioning look and raised a brow.

“Get your stubborn ass over here so I can give you a shoulder rub.”

“Buck, seriously?”

“Yes, now move, Soldier.”

Sam sighed, but there was no real irritation behind it. He actually found Bucky’s concern endearing. It was nice to have someone worry about him; to have someone care for him. Sam tried to ignore the fluttering in his tummy when he saw the soft expression on Bucky’s face.

“Sam, please,” said Bucky. “Let me take care of you.”

Sam relented and moved toward the couch. He took up a seat, and Bucky settled in behind him. When Bucky placed a hand to Sam’s skin, Sam leaned into his touch.

“Do you even know how to give a proper shoulder rub?”

“Basic training.”

“What about it?”

“That’s where I learned to give a shoulder rub,” Bucky explained. “Recoil on rifles can hurt like hell.”

Sam nodded in response, knowing that to be true. Bucky went to work, gently circling his thumb over Sam’s skin. Using his fingers to knead his tired muscles while applying pressure with his palm. He felt the other man relax under his touch. He smiled to himself when Sam let out a tiny, very delightful moan.

“Anyone ever tell you your fingers are like magic?” Sam queried, his voice low and languid; it did something to Bucky, hearing Sam sound like that. He had to stay focussed and not let the other man’s rich tone distract him.

“You got no idea,” said Bucky, immediately chiding himself for sounding too flirty with his roommate.

“So, you went out of your way to prove to me you got magic fingers?” Sam teased, and then grew somewhat serious. “Seems like we both want to prove ourselves in our own way. You with the magic touch, and me with the Cap stuff.”

“Hey,” said Bucky, as he stilled his massaging. “You don’t have anything to prove, Sam. You’re the right man for the job. Stop doubting yourself, and do what you do best; what you were born to do: Be a hero the people need. Don’t sweat the small things, sweetheart.”

Sam nodded his head and took in what Bucky was saying as he offered a sincere, “Thank you.”

Sam then focussed on the warm palm of the other man’s hand that lingered on his naked skin. They could each feel the mood shift in their quaint living room. The electricity between them was profound; Bucky swore he could feel it dancing across his skin.  

“Y’know –”

“Sam, I –”

They both laughed at the fact they went to speak at the same time.

“You go,” said Bucky, as he began to massage Sam’s shoulder once more.

“I was gonna say,” Sam started. “That you bein’ all sweet with me is nice. But you don’t have to butter me up to cop a feel; all you gotta do is ask.”

It was playful and teasing and caused Bucky to let out a little chuckle as his face grew warm.

“It ain’t that. I mean, this sure is nice an’ all,” said Bucky, referring to the physical contact between them. “But I’m not tryin’ to butter you up. I care about you.”

The playful moment faded away as the seriousness of Bucky’s words settled in around both men.

“And I wanna take care of you,” Bucky added. “I don’t ever like seeing you hurt, Sam. So, stop bein’ so stubborn and pushin’ yourself past your limits. There’ll be plenty of fights in our future, so quit fightin’ yourself.”

Sam shifted away from Bucky a little so he could turn and face him.

“When did you get so smart, uh?” asked Sam, as he searched Bucky’s eyes. There was a softness there that made his breath hitch.

“I think all your smarts rubbed off onto me,” said Bucky with a coy smile. “You’re the smartest guy I know. Your brave and strong. You’re loyal. You can literally fly. You’re the best, Sam. The absolute best. And you’ll get the knack of that shield soon enough. Just don’t wear yourself thin in the process. I kinda need you.”

“You need me?”

“Of course I do,” said Bucky, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “So, look after yourself, okay? For me.”

“Okay,” Sam replied with a smile that lit up his face and caused Bucky’s heart to skip a beat. “For you.”

[idkxwriting]

Treacherous - Chapter Thirteen

Author:  idkhaylijah

Pairings: Reader x Elijah Mikaelson, Reader x Dean Winchester

Word Count: 5.9k (extra long chapter since it’s been a billion years since the last update and you guys have been sooooo patient!)

A/N: man, what a year I’ve had. But, my muse is back (for now) and I hope you guys like this chapter. I can’t wait to share the rest with you. Thanks for reading! If you don’t know by now, Treacherous is the last story I will be doing with a tag list - so if you want to stay up to date, follow @idkhaylijahwrites​ and turn on notifications as it will be only new work :) 

Chapter 12  - Masterlist - Leave Feedback

Y/N leaned back into the worn leather of the booth she occupied, blinking heavily. She looked around, taking in the familiar scene of the Mystic Grill before her. “I need another drink,” she commented.

Damon nodded and smirked. “Wait right here,” he said, making his way up to the bar.

Y/N smiled to thank him, and glanced around her old stomping ground. She let the warmth of the fireplace in the center wash over her as she thought about how many nights had ended with her, Caroline, Elena and Bonnie in the very booth she sat in. She smiled into the flames.

“Y/N,” Sam’s voice pulled her from her thoughts, and she turned to find him walking toward her, Dean in tow.

She hoped her expression hadn’t betrayed her, but as they approached, Sam glanced between her and his brother. His face fell as he realized he was once more in the middle of something he wasn’t sure he understood.

“Mulder, Scully!” Damon returned from the bar, drinks in hand. “Fancy meeting you two here.”

“Told you you were Scully," Dean said under his breath to his brother before clearing his throat. "We just wanted to relax a bit, grab a drink. Stefan mentioned the Grill. ‘Best bar in town,’ he said.” He glanced around. It wasn’t a dive bar, so it was a step up in his book.

“It’s the only bar in town,” Damon winked. “Have a seat,” Damon gestured, steering Sam into the empty bench as he flagged a waitress down. He was quick to sit next to Sam, leaving the only available seat beside Y/N.

Dean rolled his eyes, his jaw tightening.

Y/N scooted out of the booth. “Please, sit,” she gestured awkwardly. “I’m just gonna hit the restroom…” she shot Damon a disapproving glare, but his smug smile showed no remorse.

She brushed past Dean, her steps rushed as she tried to get out of there. She felt his eyes on her, and she quickened her pace.

As she turned the corner she slammed into a hard body, stumbling backwards. “Sorry,” she began, her eyes trailing upwards to find a familiar grin.

“Y/N?”

She couldn’t help but smile back. “Matt! How are you?”

He shrugged, his hand waving down the front of him. “Picking up a shift, what are you doing here?”

She also shrugged. “Just home for a visit,” she answered vaguely.

He knew better, Matt always did, but she wasn’t sure how much she wanted to fill him in, and truth be told, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be roped in. He laughed, bending down to hug her. “It’s good to see you.”

She shared in his sentiment, hugging him a little longer than necessary. “You too,” she grinned as she pulled away.

Matt glanced over her shoulder. “Is Elijah with you?”

She shifted uncomfortably as she shook her head. “Uh, no, he’s at Stefan’s, actually…”

Matt glanced at her with curiosity but didn’t push.

“Listen,” she started. “I’m gonna let you get to work, but it was good to see you.”

He nodded. “You too.” He hugged her once more and as he turned to walk away she called after him.

“Matt?”

“Yea?”

She bit her lip. “Do me a favor and maybe get out of town for a few days.”

“Y/N if there’s something I should know…”

“There’s always something,” she paused, considering her friend for a moment and everything he could be if he could just get away from it all. “You deserve better than Mystic Falls.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line, and she knew he’d insist on being involved later. He always did when push came to shove. “I’ll catch you later,” he said, turning to clock in for his shift.

Y/N continued to make her way down the hall. The bathroom was empty, and she was grateful for a quiet moment to gather herself before facing Dean. She let out a deep breath, running her hand through her hair as she studied her reflection.

The image in the glass flickered, and she leaned in closer, sure her eyes were playing tricks on her. Her face reflected back at her, but it didn’t match. She reached out tentatively, her fingertips tracing the surface of the mirror. It was ice cold beneath her touch, and the lights began to dim.

Her heart raced as she realized it wasn’t a trick of the mind. Her reflection gave a sinister smirk and when she stepped back it screamed in horror, the high pitch shattering the glass in the mirror. Shards flew everywhere, the sharp edges slicing her skin. She was quick to cover her face, her forearms shielding her eyes as she tucked her head low, trying to drown out the unbearable screaming, but it was too much.

She dropped, sure her eardrums would burst, the pain unbearable. She tried to cry out but it was useless, the shrill shrieking drowning her out.

*****

The world went quiet once more, and Y/N opened her eyes, her surroundings completely different.

She was so sure she had been in the bathroom at the Grill, but she had somehow managed to find her way in the alleyway behind it, instead. She stood carefully, feeling disoriented. The sting the glass cuts had left had faded, and she studied her arms, finding no evidence of the shattered mirror at all.

“Y/N?”

She turned around to find Matt, trash bags in hand. He tossed them with ease into the large dumpster, and she looked around. “What happened?”

He furrowed his brows at that. “A little too much to drink, I hope…” he suggested cautiously, moving towards her.

She nodded slowly, her hands coming to rest on her temples as her head began to pound.

“You okay?” He asked, moving closer.

She nodded again, but began shaking her head, suddenly scared and angry. She backed away from him. “What’s happening to me?” She asked.

He moved toward her, gripping her arms. “What’s wrong?” He asked.

She felt her gums burn and panic set in. She struggled against Matt’s hold and he pulled her in, holding her close to him.

“Y/N, calm down, you’re gonna be okay,” he said, trying to soothe her.

Her vision began to blur and as he turned away to shout for help, she saw the vein in his neck throbbing.

Her panic subsided, and she stood tall, a feeling of control washing over her followed by a thrill she didn’t recognize. She lunged, and as her teeth met his flesh she covered his mouth - his muffled screams filled her ears and her world spun.

*****

Y/N gasped, catching her breath and sitting up slowly. She was back in the bathroom. She looked around, trying to get her bearings and unsure of what she had just seen. She felt disoriented, but relieved the screaming had stopped.

Until she focused in on the pounding.

“Y/N!” The hard pounding continued and she shuffled up onto her feet. “Open the door!”

Dean.

She reached for the door and pulled, but it didn’t budge. “Dean?” She tugged harder.

“You okay?” He asked, his voice muffled through the thick wood.

She didn’t know how to answer him, pulling harder on the door still. “It’s stuck,” she called.

“Sounds like a witch problem,” she heard Damon groan, the door shaking under his strength but not moving. “What the hell happened?”

She leaned her head against the door frame and took a deep breath. “I’m not really sure. The mirror shattered, and I think I passed out...I don’t know, I saw Matt…” her breath caught and she began to panic, shaking the door handle as much as possible in an effort to get out. “Oh my god, Matt...Damon you have to find him!”

“I can smell blood, and you’re worried about Donovan?” He said dismissively.

Y/N cut him off, the worry in her voice evident. “I’m fine,” she glanced at the few cuts on her arms, bleeding lightly but nothing she couldn’t recover from. “Find Matt, he’s in trouble.”

She heard them speaking, and she could make Damon’s voice out in a harsh whisper. “I’ll find the quarterback,” he sounded annoyed, but urgent. “Call Freya, get her over here, now.”

“Y/N,” Sam’s voice came in. “What do you remember?”

She shut her eyes, letting herself remember, though she wasn’t sure if it had happened or if it was a vision. “It was like...screaming...unbearable screaming...you didn’t hear that?”

“We didn’t hear a damn thing,” Dean said. "You've been in there for ages."

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but she pushed on. “And then it all stopped, only I was outside. And Matt -my friend - he asked me if I was okay, and I started to panic, and then I felt angry. So angry. And I was scared, and he came toward me, and I...I…” she started to cry, remembering the way Matt’s muffled calls for help sounded as her teeth ripped into his flesh.

“Hey, just breathe, okay?” Sam tried to calm her, hearing her voice begin to break. “Take a deep breath, we’re going to find your friend and get you out of there.”

“Move,” she heard Dean grumble before a loud thud hit the door followed by a few curses as he presumably tried and failed to break down the door.

“What’s going on back here?” She heard an unfamiliar voice ask.

“Bathroom’s out of order, lady,” Dean snapped.

She heard a disgruntled voice before Sam’s cut in once more. “I’m going to fill Freya in, see if she can meet us over here…”

“Keep me updated,” Dean mumbled.

She heard him sigh, and she could only assume they were alone. Y/N sunk down to the floor, leaning against the door.

“You okay?”

Y/N glanced again at her arms, the cuts stinging, but mostly superficial. “It was like I was there...like I killed him…”

“I’m sure your friend is fine, and you’re right here, okay? You’re right here and I’ve got you,” he pressed his hand against the wood of the door.

She sighed at that, thinking back to their earlier fight, how she had ruined everything between them.

“I’m sorry…”

She sat up at that. “What?” She shifted so her ear was against the door, making sure she heard him right.

On the other side, Dean swallowed nervously. “I shouldn’t have said what I did tonight. I was angry,” his chest tightened, and he took a deep breath, pressing forward. “I know I blew it, and I’m sorry. The truth is, Y/N…” he swallowed nervously. “The truth is you’re the one good thing I’ve got going for me, and I don’t,” he sighed, hating that he was doing this here and now, that he couldn’t see her, but he couldn’t hold it back. “I don’t want to share you. Not with Damon, or Elijah, or anyone else. I know we haven’t figured everything out yet, but I don’t want this to be over.”

Her mouth went dry as she searched for her words, but before she could reply, Sam came back. “Freya is on her way,” he said.

She heard Dean clear her throat, knowing the conversation would have to wait until later. She felt guilty that she was relieved by Sam’s presence - grateful for the time to process Dean’s words. “And Matt?” She asked.

“Damon’s taking care of it,” Dean reassured her. He shot Sam a look of concern, as if he wasn’t sure he believed his own words.

“I’ll text Stefan,” he whispered, stepping away from the door.

The unease in the pit of her stomach grew - Damon should have been back by now. “Where the hell is he?” She asked.

*****

Sam and Dean had successfully blocked off the bathroom area, moving a wet floor sign into the entryway and redirecting the wait staff under the guise of being from the township looking at a water main. They were grateful the majority of staff were teenagers, either too dumb or too lazy to care to look into things more.

They kept Y/N calm, asking her to recount the events again and again as the three of them tried to piece together what had happened until Freya had arrived. Much to Dean’s annoyance, her brother and Stefan in tow.

“What happened?” Elijah demanded, immediately aware of the scent of Y/N’s blood, taking note that at least it wasn’t fresh.

Y/N sighed heavily behind the door, still worried about Matt. “I’m fine,” she grumbled.

“You’re bleeding,” Elijah countered.

Dean stepped back, leaning against the opposite wall as Freya immediately got to work, her hands hovering above the doorway, sensing the magic keeping Y/N locked inside.

“I’m fine,” she repeated. “The mirror broke.”

“Y/N?” Freya interrupted. “It’s a simple locking spell - I can undo it.”

“Great,” Dean mumbled. “Let’s get this done.”

Freya and Elijah both turned, shooting a look of disapproval at the elder Winchester, and he could see the relation.

Freya rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the door. “Did you see anyone?”

“No…” Y/N answered, tired of answering questions and eager to be out helping find Matt who had seemingly disappeared from his shift.

“This isn’t a complicated spell,” Freya explained. “Whoever did this wasn’t a witch - at least not a well practiced one.” She flicked her wrist and the lock clicked with a pop, the door unlocking.

Y/N stood and opened the door quickly, relieved to be out. She threw her arms around Freya. “Thank you,” she said before heading towards the back exit.

Dean’s hand shot out and grabbed her arm. “Not so fast,” he growled.

“I swear, I’m fine!” She shook Dean off, but when she turned back around Elijah stood in her path. She met him with a defiant glare, but he simply raised a brow, tilting his head slightly. She let out an exasperated huff, holding up her arms. “Just a couple of cuts,” she argued. “I’ve got to find Matt,” she said impatiently. “Please.”

Elijah stepped aside at her pleading, letting her pass through.

She pressed her weight against the heavy door, bumping it with her hip to open it. She rushed out into the alley by the dumpster, where she had so vividly seen Matt attacked. And yet there was no sign of the attack, no sign of Matt, or Damon for that matter.

Elijah and the others followed her outside.

“He was right here,” Y/N searched, kicking at the few trash bags along the side that hadn’t made it into the dumpster. She peaked behind the small gate that housed the recycling bin searching for any evidence that it had been more than just a nightmare.

“Is there any chance he could have just gone home?” Sam asked.

She shook her head absently. “He had just gotten here, and Matt wouldn’t bail like that.”

“And we’re sure he’s not inside?”

Dean shook his head. “The manager said she hadn’t even seen him show up for his shift.”

“I saw him!” Y/N argued, turning to face the group.

Elijah narrowed his eyes, studying the scene (or lack thereof) before him. He tilted his head curiously, taking a step forward.

Y/N caught his movements, watching him. “What?” She asked.

Freya also stepped forward. “Brother?”

He looked towards his older sister, his expression grim and as Freya moved toward him she stopped, becoming aware of whatever it was that caught Elijah’s attention.

“What is it?” Y/N asked.

“A cloaking spell,” Freya said cautiously. She bent down, her fingertips resting on the pavement as she began to chant quietly.

They all stepped back as the area before them rippled, like an invisible wall began to falter, until the scene before them was revealed.

In front of the dumpster was a pool of blood, thick and glossy as it settled. They followed the mess, splattered up the dumpster, sticky drops oozing from the corner like molasses.

Y/N stepped forward, her hand covering her mouth as she prepared herself. “What’s in there?” She asked, her voice weak.

Sam stepped forward and glanced over the edge of the dumpster, tall enough to see inside without climbing up. He winced, slamming his eyes shut and turning away, bringing his arm up to cover his face.

“Sam?”

He ignored her, glancing at his brother. “Help me,” he said, solely focusing on what needed to be done.

Dean nodded, and he leaned over the edge of the dumpster taking in the scene that lay there. “Shit,” he mumbled.

Sam reached in, heaving up and Y/N watched as a leather clad arm - Damon’s distinctive ring on the middle finger - came into view. Dean pulled and Elijah moved to take over when they got the body up and over.

Elijah laid him on the pavement gently and Y/N rushed toward him, her heart pounding. She leaned forward, trying to find any sign of life, but his body was still.

“Y/N,” Elijah said, reaching into Damon’s chest and yanking out a sharp object, seemingly a rusted screwdriver.

She breathed a sigh of relief, knowing he’d wake up.

But her relief was short lived, as Sam and Dean pulled another body from the rubbish, lowering the limp form of Matt Donovan carefully.

Y/N let out a choked sob, quickly moving towards her friend, her knees scraping on the pavement through her jeans beneath her. She ignored the burning, instead scrambling to reach for his hands, searching for the ring that would bring him back. “Matt!” She called, her brain trying to catch up with what she was seeing. “No, no no,” she cried upon finding the Gilbert ring gone. She pressed her head to his chest, crying into his shirt before shifting to turn his neck, seeing the damage to his throat.

“What happened?” Stefan rushed towards them, dropping to check on his brother first. He turned, seeing Matt and dropping his head in sorrow as his best friend continued to cry over his corpse.

“Did I do this?” She sobbed. She leaned backwards, her back hitting the side of the dumpster and she looked at her hands, shaking in front of her, covered in blood.

“Hey,” Dean knelt in front of Y/N, pulling his face into her hands. “You did not do this, do you understand me?”

She shook her head adamantly. “I saw this,” she sobbed. “I felt this. I was there...this is my fault.” She began to cry hysterically and he pulled her into his chest, holding her tight.

“This isn’t on you. There was nothing you could’ve done, you hear me?”

Elijah watched them for a moment, and he listened to the Saturday night crowd shuffle their way out of the front entrance of the Grill - closing time was approaching. “Get her out of here,” he commanded.

Dean looked up at the vampire, nodding in understanding as he stood, scooping her up with him, grateful that Baby was just around the corner.

*****

Damon groaned, his body stiff as he sat up from the couch in the Great Room. Stefan stood over him, his arms crossed. He glanced down at his chest, pulling his shirt away from his skin. “This was my favorite shirt,” he sighed. A blood bag dropped into his lap, and he looked up, shooting Elijah a grateful look as he tore into it, taking eager gulps.

“Do you remember anything?” Stefan asked, getting straight to the point.

Damon held a finger up, telling him to wait as he sucked the blood bag dry. He licked his lips with a satisfied sigh, laying back down onto the couch. “You got any more of those?” He asked, shutting his eyes.

“Matt Donovan is dead,” Elijah stated, his patience lacking.

Damon pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m honestly surprised he lasted this long…”

“Damon,” Stefan warned.

Damon sat up, rubbing the back of his neck before looking up at his brother. “I know, okay. I know he’s dead, and now I’ve got to figure out how to tell my girlfriend that her best friend is dead and I didn’t stop it, so I know, okay?”

Elijah eyed him with disdain, frustrated at Damon’s lack of ability to see anything outside his own world, and a small one at that.

“I already called Elena,” Stefan said.

Damon shot up. “Why the hell would you do something so stupid?” He shouted. “Now she’s coming back here!”

Stefan didn’t flinch at his brother’s outburst, holding his ground. “She deserved to know.”

“Niklaus is on his way back with Caroline...reluctantly, of course,” Elijah added.

Damon shook his head in frustration. “Look, I know I wasn’t his biggest fan, so maybe I’m biased - but maybe we should wait until after we kill Empusa before dragging everyone back for a funeral which is marching them straight into a trap!”

Stefan shrugged as if it were obvious. “Matt is dead, Damon. And he’s not coming back.”

Damon sighed and walked around to the liquor cart, pouring himself a bourbon.

“While I understand the frustration and concern, I believe what Stefan is trying to say is that our friends need us,” Elijah said.

He held his glass up in a sarcastic cheers gesture. “Well the good news is, no one will need us when they’re all dead.”

Stefan sighed at his brother, figuring it was best not to feed into his antics for the time being. “What happened tonight?”

Damon shrugged. “I went to look for the quarterback. I smelled blood, but couldn’t find the source, and I turned around and next thing I know, Y/N’s stabbing me in the chest.”

“It wasn’t her” Stefan started, but his brother cut him off.

“Well aren’t you just the world’s greatest detective,” he snapped sarcastically.

Elijah cleared his throat, deep in thought. “Why would Empusa keep you alive?”

“My devastatingly handsome good looks?” Damon suggested.

“Perhaps,” Elijah noted with an eye roll. He paused. “She enjoys toying with her prey…Niklaus believed Y/N was the key to getting to us, but what if we were wrong?”

Damon sighed, exhausted. “She got to you without needing Y/N,” he scoffed.

Stefan shook his head, his own thoughts circling for an answer. “It’s a game for her. She’s not toying with us, she’s toying with Y/N. Think about it. What’s the one way to guarantee to get Y/N’s attention? To pull her out of hiding?”

Damon placed his glass down slowly, catching up with Stefan’s thinking. “Kill the love of her life…”

Elijah’s brows furrowed and he shook his head. “She had the chance to kill Y/N back in New Orleans…”

“Unless she needed her in Mystic Falls,” Damon suggested.

Elijah and Stefan exchanged glances.

“She’s not safe here,” Stefan said. No sooner had he finished his thought, Elijah was gone.

*****

Y/N moved through her house in a daze. She was vaguely aware of Dean hovering, trying to make sure she was okay, but she couldn’t be bothered to answer him. She had stopped crying, the guilt she felt over Matt’s death, the regret and not telling him to leave then and there, warning him...the pain she felt at seeing him lying on the cold, hard ground next to piles of trash - it was all too much. So instead she shut down. There was a lingering sadness, but mostly she felt numb.

“Baby, listen, you didn’t do this,” Dean knelt before her once more, finishing cleaning up the scrapes on her arm. She remembered the car ride home, repeating over and over that it had been her fault. She wanted to believe him, to know she hadn’t killed her friend, but it was all too real to ignore.

She shook him off, standing slowly. “I’m going to grab a shower,” she whispered hoarsely.

Dean nodded, watching her walk up the stairs slowly, wanting to follow, to make sure she was okay - but she clearly wanted to be alone. He sighed, dropping onto the plush couch and leaning his head back. He sat thinking, and listening for any indication that she would need him.

Upstairs, Y/N stepped into the shower, exhausted. She glanced around her bathroom, tucking herself under the stream of hot water. She focused on the sounds of the drops against the tiles like a lullaby. She closed her eyes, shoving away the thoughts of the day and rested her forehead against the wall of the shower, shivering at the stark contrast of the cool surface against the warm water rushing down her back. She let her mind drift away...

She found herself in a hallway, a mysterious haze clouding her vision. She rubbed at her eyes, and realized she was back in the bunker. Strange, she thought. She hadn’t remembered coming back here.

A part of her realized it must be a dream, but she wasn’t so sure. She placed her hand along the wall, the tile cool under her touch. She studied her fingertips for a moment, confused at how real it all seemed, when she heard a noise.

“Dean?” She called out. “Sam?” She followed their voices into the war room, where she found Sam pouring through books and Dean with his feet up on the table that sat in the center of the room. They didn’t acknowledge her as she entered, instead continuing their heated debate.

“It’s a crime against humanity…” Dean grumbled.

“I like it,” Sam argued. “Besides, Y/N’s here now, she can decide.”

“Decide what?” She asked as they turned their attention to her.

“Sam here wants to order pizza.”

“Great, I’m starving.” She felt hungry suddenly, placing her hand on her stomach curiously. Could you feel hunger in a dream?

Dean shot a glare toward his younger brother. “Except he wants pineapple topping. Fruit does not belong on pizza…”

“We always get meat lovers, Dean! At least do half and half…”

They began to bicker again, but Y/N tuned them out, preoccupied with how hungry she was. She turned, leaving them to their argument, and went in search of a snack in the kitchen. She searched through the cupboards, pulling out bags of chips, and Sam’s trail mix. She set aside a bag of his kale chips with a look of disgust, and kept digging until she found a pack of beef jerky. She opened it, biting into a small piece before spitting it out. She checked the expiration date, surprised to find it was still good, and tossed it back in the cupboard.

She then moved to the fridge, her stomach grumbling. Why was she so hungry??? She tossed through the contents of the fridge frantically, growing frustrated as she grew hungrier and found everything they had to be revolting.

“You’re not gonna find what you’re looking for…”

She slammed the fridge shut, and turned to find Dean. “We need a new fridge or something,” she sighed. “Everything in there is bad.”

He shrugged. “No, it’s not.” He shook his head sadly, sighing heavily in disappointment. “Everything in you is bad.”

“Excuse me?”

He gave her a slight nod towards her feet, indicating that she should look down, and when she followed his gaze she jumped back in surprise. There was a pool of blood beneath her, leading back out into the hallway. “Dean?”

When she looked up again he was gone.

She slammed her eyes shut, breathing intentionally. “It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream,” she whispered to herself, but when she opened her eyes, the blood was still there.

She gathered her nerves and followed the trail back out into the main room, a chill running up her spine when she realized the brothers were gone. The silence that fell over her was eerie, and she moved forward cautiously.

“Hello?” She called out.

There was no answer, and she stopped when her foot caught on something large, her balance lost as she tumbled over the immovable mass beneath her. She hit the floor with a thud, blood pooling around her, soaking her clothes. She felt the dampness coating her fingers, and jumped when she realized her hands were covered. “No, no, no,” she whispered as she began to shake. She turned to see what she had fallen over, and there he was, in the thick of it, his body lifeless.

“Sam!” She screamed, pulling on the massive man, shaking him violently. “No, come on Sam, no!” She tilted his head towards her, when she saw the vicious bite marks on his neck - identical to the wounds left on Matt Donovan. The flesh was torn, blood still pouring out. “Help!” She screamed.

She continued to scream until her throat was raw, her voice coming out rough and scratchy. She screamed until she was too tired to do anything but weep, holding Sam’s face in her hands, cradling it in her lap. She began to rock back and forth, hugging him tightly and slamming her eyes shut, praying to wake up from the nightmare that felt like it would never end.

“You did this,” Dean’s voice startled her, and she looked up, eyes swollen and red. “You took my brother from me.”

She shook her head, confused. “No, I would never…”

“Look at you,” he spat. “You’re a monster.”

She laid Sam down gently, rising to her feet, and as she took a step towards Dean, he took one back. “Dean, please,” she cried.

“I should have driven that stake into your heart myself,” he said, chin held high and his jaw set in anger as he looked down on her.

She furrowed her brow. “What?” Her gums began to ache, and she reached up to touch them. As her fingertips felt the sharp point of her canines, she ran toward the bookshelf, picking up a trinket and searching the reflective surface. She could just make it out in the curve of the antique glass, but there it was. The fangs were unmistakable, and in her eyes she could see the darkness as the hunger set in.

Y/N dropped the trinket with a crash, her hands shaking as the realization of what she was sunk in. She held her hands up, covered in Sam’s blood.

What had she done?

She turned to find Dean stalking toward her, his fist white knuckled as he gripped a stake like his life depended on it.

She instinctively stepped back, but she was pressed against the shelf behind her, and too broken to fight. She pleaded, but he said nothing. His eyes were cold, fueled with hatred as he pressed into her, lifting the stake to line up with her heart.

“See you in hell,” he snarled before shoving the stake into her chest.

Y/N crashed back into reality with a jolt. Her heart raced and she took deep breaths, suddenly all too aware that the water in the shower had gone cold. She made quick work of washing up, anxious to get warm again. She shut off the shower and bundled up in her towel, wiping the fog from the mirror and studying her reflection - relieved to find, though a little worse for wear, it was her own.

She pulled the oversize towel over her shoulders after drying off her hair, taking the time to calm down and gather herself before getting dressed and heading downstairs.

*****

Dean stirred awake, surprised to find he had dozed off at all.

“Sorry…” a quiet voice whispered.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes before looking over at Y/N, towel drying her hair damp. “Shit,” he mumbled. “I must have crashed there for a minute…” he glanced at his watch, unsure of how long he had been out.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Y/N said softly.

Dean shook his head dismissing her concern. “You hungry?” He asked. She shook her head, offering him a weak smile and stepping toward him. “You okay?” He asked, swallowing as he took in her appearance. She wore pajama shorts, the kind that hugged her ass and showed off her legs, and a cami that dipped low.

She bit her lip and stood over him, her legs straddling either side of his, forcing him to lean back. He placed his hands on her hips, holding her back. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

She ignored his protests, sitting in his lap and bringing her lips to hover above his, daring him to stop her as she ground her hips down into him.

He groaned, slamming his eyes shut as he tried to gather himself. “Sweetheart, I don’t think we should be doing this right now,” he said roughly, turning his face slightly.

She brought her hand up to his cheek, coaxing him to look at her once more, his green eyes boring into hers. She had her other hand on his chest  and began to slowly inch it lower. He gripped her wrists, pausing her movements. He used his size to flip them so they were laying and she was sprawled beneath him. He pinned her hands above her head so he was in control, forcing her to stop.

Still she persisted, her hips rising to meet his, searching.

“Y/N,” he groaned.

She ignored him, instead leaning up and silencing his protests with a kiss. When he didn’t respond she dropped her head. “Don’t you want me?” She pouted.

He sighed heavily. “Not like this,” he admitted, letting her go and pulling away from her. He got up, pacing away from her as he ran his hand over his face in frustration.

She sat up, pulling her knees into her chest. “So what’s the problem?” She asked, her voice small.

He rounded on her, his patience thin. “What’s the problem?” He shouted. “Y/N every single time I try to clear my damn head, you come in here like nothing’s happened! I can’t think straight!”

She sighed, standing and moving across the room toward him. “What exactly is it you’re afraid of Dean?”

He furrowed his brows, but before he could respond she gripped his neck with a surprising amount of strength, pushing him back until his back hit the wall.

“Hmm? That she’ll never love you the way she loved Elijah?”

“Empusa,” he growled, fighting against her hold.

She grinned wickedly, her eyes growing sinister. “I know everything about her, you know. How she thinks, how she feels...would you like to know?”

“Go to hell, bitch,” he spat.

Her knee raised, connecting to his gut with force. Dean doubled over, coughing, and she side-stepped, letting him drop. “Do you know she wished you were him when you shared her bed? She’s using you, Dean.”

He groaned, flipping over onto his stomach as he began to push himself up off the floor.

“Let’s be honest, shall we?” She kicked his back, knocking him down once more with a grunt. “She could never love you. You couldn’t give her all this,” she gestured to the home they stood in. “What can you offer her?”

Dean rolled over, his foot kicking and knocking Empusa down. He moved quick, grabbing the small knife he kept in his boot and rolling on top of her. “I’ve got some moves of my own to offer, sweetheart,” he huffed and slammed the blade into her side with everything he had and she shouted in pain before flipping him over, slamming him into the coffee table.

Y/N rushed down the stairs, alerted by all the commotion. She rushed forward, grabbing the lamp from the side table and slamming it over the intruder’s head, but Empusa simply turned her attention on her, unphased.

She took a few steps back as Empusa marched forward, and she caught a glimpse of Dean’s knife jutting out from her side. She kicked out, her shin connecting with the hilt and forcing the knife deeper.

Empusa’s steps faltered, and she reached down, pulling the knife out and slamming it into Y/N’s shoulder.

Y/N yelled as the blade pressed into her flesh, and she gritted her teeth - trying to breathe through the pain. She gripped Empusa by her hair, slamming her head with all her might against the wall.

The monster pressed her palms against the wall, shoving back with all her might and sending Y/N off balance, who fell backwards into Dean as he stood back up. He caught her, righting her once more, and they stood facing off the creature before them.

Empusa grinned, relaxing her stance as she wiped at her bleeding lip.

“Would you look at that, the bitch bleeds,” Dean commented.

She laughed humorlessly, her hands moving behind her back. “It doesn’t matter. Even if you manage to kill me, you’ll never manage to save her, and that’s what you really want, Dean,” she pressed her palm against the wall, a blinding light forcing Y/N and Dean to cover their eyes.

The room went dark once more, and Empusa was gone, the only evidence she had been there was the disheveled furniture and a strange symbol in blood on the wall.

“What the hell was that?” Y/N asked, panting and holding her injured arm.

Dean moved forward, squatting to study the symbol - similar to enochian, but not one he recognized.

As they stood in the living room catching their breaths, Elijah rushed through the front door.

“What happened here?” He asked, taking in the scene before him. Y/N stood in nothing but a large t-shirt, her hair damp. He eyed her, taking in new injuries, before looking at Dean accusingly.

“Well this night keeps getting better and better,” Dean grumbled.

[dustedmagazine]

Ian Mathers’ 2020: We’re stuck inside our own machines

I’ve had a song I loved in high school and haven’t thought much about since stuck in my head. The song “Apparitions” by the Matthew Good Band is a fine example of the alt rock of the late 90s; if you grew up then but somewhere down in the states (or elsewhere) instead of my southern Ontario you may well have your regional equivalents, and like this one they may not resonate terribly strongly outside of their time and place. It popped back into my head after a long time recently and of course 2020 has changed it a little. A song that as a teen I felt keenly as about loneliness (albeit also about how technology can feed into that) of course now plays on my nerves as another small piece of art about the way that most of us (those scared and/or responsible anyway) have only that relatively narrow, technologically mediated connection to the people we love. All of us, artists and listeners alike, are trying to fit our feelings and art and selves down these little connections, with some success.

On a personal level, 2020 wound up being stressful in ways we couldn’t have predicted even after the pandemic hit. In circumstances that could have seen governments on this continent support those unable to work (and those who shouldn’t have to), support those workers who are truly essential, support workers and renters and even landlords and small businesses, instead we got a near-total abeyance of those governments using the resources we provide them with to save any of us. On a personal level my wife and I were lucky enough to be able to work from home (not that it didn’t come with its own forms of stress, and now that I’m off until January I have several work/stress-related illnesses to recover from) but still saw friends and loved ones lose good, used-to-be-sustainable livings overnight, saw family businesses succumb to a near-total absence of effective government support after months of trying to keep above water, etc.

It is probably no surprise that this is not a situation conducive to listening to music, let alone writing about it; I have deliberately and happily kept busy on behind the scenes stuff at Dusted that I could still manage but looking, at the end of the year, at the amount I managed to actually create is demoralizing if not at all shocking. I’m not sure I think next year will be ‘better’ in many important ways, although at our job there is a growing feeling among coworkers that next year has to have some work/life balance because 2020 was, maybe more than anything else, unsustainable.

That’s not to say I didn’t spend a lot of time and emotion on music this year, and if nothing else constant sleep deprivation, stress, and panic meant I was probably open to being deeply moved by all sorts of art even more than normally (it’s gotten to the point where I can’t even read a sad or moving twitter thread out loud to my wife without getting teary, which is kind of… nice?). Funnily enough the band that did the most to keep me sane didn’t really put out anything in 2020. Personal favorite, Low, instead started, in early April, getting on Instagram with something they called on whim “It’s Friday I’m in Low.” With one brief break they have now done by my count at least 35 shows (catalogued here, by the way), every Friday at about 4 my time.

Admittedly it’s easier for Low to pull this off than some bands, since the 2/3 of the trio that sing are a married couple (they’ve had a couple of socially-distanced backyard shows with bassist Steve Garrington, but he’s mostly been isolating elsewhere). These shows have seen the band’s Alan Sparhawk take a mid-set break to do follow-up phone interviews with the acts featured in the COVID-curtailed touring bands series Vansplainingthat they started on YouTube, or just to give a tour round their vegetable garden and talk tips. It’s seen Alan and Mimi Parker draw on their impressive, 25+ year body of work (averaging 4-5 songs a set, I don’t think they’ve repeated themselves yet) and talk a bit between songs about pandemics, politics, song choices, and whether Alan should grab his bike helmet this time.

They’re not the only musicians out there speaking love and sanity (and playing music) into the strange digital interzone filled with hate and disinformation where we’ve all been forced to gather while locked down, but they were and the most consistent and steady signal being emitted each week. No matter how tired I was from work or what new symptoms I’d developed or what horrific thing I read into the news, even if I had to take an emergency nap while it was actually airing, every Friday the show was there. Once things do return to something more like normal, it’s one of the few things I’ll unambiguously miss about this weird-ass year.

So if that makes an argument for Low as my band of the year (admittedly again… it’s not like Double Negative has aged poorly, either), that does a disservice to those 2020 records I did connect with; even if there are still literally dozens I have to go through, many of which I expect to love, my top picks this year (if as unrankable by me as always) hit me as hard as any top pick in recent years did. So here I present a quick and informal top 5, which the rest of my top 20 following in alphabetical order. Here’s hoping for more time and space in 2021 for music, and even more than that, for more support for those who need it from those who could have been providing it all this time. (The Matthew Good Band, incidentally, always did best with their ballads. “Strange Days” is another I’ve had in my head these days; the image of moving “backwards, into a wall of fire” has stuck with me since the 90s and it’s never felt more grimly appropriate.)

Greet Death — New Hell

New Hell by Greet Death

This one is, in some sense, cheating; it came out November 2019. But that just means it’s the latest winner of my personal Torres Prize for Ian Being Late to the Party (so named because becoming slightly obsessed with Torres’ Sprinter just after I sent in my 2015 list was the first time I noticed that one of my favorite records of each year tends to get picked up by me just after I call it quits on the year, no matter how long I try to wait). This very doom and gloom slowcore/metal/(whatever, just know it’s heavy) trio at first felt very much like my beloved Cloakroom (whose Time Well has also won a Torres Prize) but sure enough nuances revealed themselves. Back in February it felt almost a little too negative, but then the rest of 2020 happened. And the extended burns of “You’re Gonna Hate What You’ve Done” and the title track remain searing.

Holy Fuck — Deleter

Probably the record I’ve been trying to write about the longest in 2020, and the one I’m most disappointed in myself that I just couldn’t get the requisite paragraphs together. It’s a wonderful effort from the consistently great Toronto resolutely human-created (and —mediated) dance music quartet, one that both feels like a summation of everything they do well, and with the addition of some outside voices (including strong turns from the singers of both Hot Chip and Liars) a step forward at the same time.

Spanish Love Songs — Brave Faces Everyone

Brave Faces Everyone by Spanish Love Songs

As the year got worse, this roar of defiance only got more crucial for me to hear every so often; I was a big enough fan of it, even after writing it up for Dusted, that when they solicited fan footage for a subsequent music video you may just be able to get a glimpse of me in it. (I’m the one in a “No Tories” t-shirt.) My punk rock-loving twin brother was the one who introduced me to Spanish Love Songs and we were supposed to spend an evening in June screaming along to them live in a packed, sweaty room. I need that in my life again.

Julianna Barwick — Healing Is a Miracle

Healing Is A Miracle by Julianna Barwick

It’s a sign of what 2020 has been like here that even just this album title leaves bruises, and while I privately worried Barwick would have a hard time following up 2016’s sublime Will (probably my favorite record that year), it seems that continuing to take whatever downtime she needs to keep focusing and refining her particular muse has once again yielded amazing results. Anyone who thinks they know what a Barwick track sounds like should really check out, say, “Flowers”, but much of this record absolutely sounds like Barwick, just even better than before. She also boasted my wife and I's favorite streaming concert of 2020, an absolutely gorgeous rendition of this album with Mary Lattimore showing up.

Phoebe Bridgers — Punisher

Punisher by Phoebe Bridgers

I joked on Twitter recently that I have far too nice a dad (and far too good a relationship with him) to be as obsessed as I am with Phoebe Bridgers’ “Kyoto”, but here we are. Like most of her generation, Bridgers’ social media presence ranges from shit-posting to inscrutable, but even though things are often just as hard to figure out in her beautiful songs (as they often are in life), there’s an emotional clarity to them that can just grab you deep down. Couple that with seriously impressive songcraft and the progress from her already astounding debut Stranger in the Alps and more than anyone else in 2020 I’m excited to see just where the hell Phoebe Bridgers is going to go, because it feels like she’s talented and hardworking enough to go just about anywhere and drag a lot of our hearts with her.

Other Favorites

Aidan Baker & Gareth Davis — Invisible Cities II

Anastasia Minster — Father

Deftones — Ohms

Hum — Inlet

Kelly Lee Owens — Inner Song

Mesarthim — The Degenerate Era

Perfume Genius — Set My Heart On Fire Immediately

Protomartyr — Ultimate Success Today

Rachel Kiel — Dream Logic

The Ridiculous Trio — The Ridiculous Trio Plays the Stooges

Sam Amidon — Sam Amidon

Shabason, Krgovich & Harris — Philadelphia

Stars Like Fleas — DWARS Session: Live on Radio VPRO

Well Yells — We Mirror the Dead

Yves Tumour — Heaven to a Tortured Mind

Five Reissues/Compilations/etc.

Aix Em Klemm — Aix Em Klemm

Bardo Pond — Adrop/Circuit VIII

Charles Curtis — Performances & Recordings 1998-2018

Coil — Musick to Play in the Dark

Hot Chip — LateNightTales

Ian Mathers

[ppaperheartss]

Godzilla

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

word Count: 5.7K

Warnings: a lil angst, some swearing

A/N: Hey! I really hope you enjoy this, I’ve worked really hard on it. Inspired by Godzilla by Kesha. Any comments or feedback are appreciated!

-

Bucky Barnes wanted to find peace. His whole life had revolved around fighting and angst and fear, and now he decided it was time for that part of his life to be over. It took him a long time to readjust to a life without meaning, without something to fight for. He spent his days wandering around the compound looking for someone he could spend time with, but most of the time the compound was a ghost town. So he kept himself occupied with therapist appointments, catching up on pop culture and exploring different music genres.

(Rumour has it that Bucky was seen working out to Taylor Swift’s new album, but he always denies it regardless.)

He was proud of everyone else on the team. Sam took on the role of Captain America with both hands and was eager to help the country with the pressing issues which the Avengers never got the chance to handle. Captain America is now the frontface for Black Lives Matter and is tackling gun violence one day at a time. He is making America great again. 

Wanda has taken on the role of training new agents and works very close with orphanages in New York to rehabilitate young people who have led traumatic lives. She even introduced the Pietro Maximoff Foundation which aims to find people that had been injured in all Avenger fights as collateral damage and get them the help they so rightly deserve.

Scott spends a lot of time with Cassie to make up for all of the years that they missed together, and he even has another little one on the way with Hope. Though Bucky isn’t very fond of children yet he’s open to the idea of a miniature sized version of Scott running around the compound and causing havoc. Even the thought of it brings a smile to his face. 

Parker recently graduated high school and now works with Bruce a lot of the time in their own lab in the centre of the city to continue on with the work that Tony had started. After the whole fiasco with his identity being outed he tends to keep a low profile, taking his time to get used to the spotlight that is everyday life as an Avenger.

Bucky is still coping with that too, honestly. It’s strange walking down a street knowing that everyone probably knows his name and his history, and has an opinion of him, when he has never seen them before in his life. Maybe he has. He struggles with his memory too.

When he was diagnosed with PTSD and anxiety, it was a strange experience. He had a little knowledge on it from his uncle who had fought in war before him and suffered from the illnesses, but it was different knowing about it and being diagnosed with it he realised quickly. He’s cautious around strangers and struggles to speak to someone who he doesn’t know if he can trust yet, but his therapist Dr. Walker says he’ll develop with time. He just needs to focus on his breathing and find something to distract hunsekd. 

And he did. He went from not being able to open up the door for his takeout - which the app to order said takeout took him just a bit too long to understand - to being able to speak at veterans meetings with Sam in front of a couple dozen people. He connected well with the other veterans, especially those who had lost a limb in war, and found himself looking forward to the meetings for the chance to speak to people who shared similar life experiences and didn’t give him a sad look whenever he opened up about his nightmares. Knowing he wasn’t alone gave him a sense of belonging, something that he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

He retired from the Avengers and moved to a small apartment in Brooklyn that Sam helped him look for. He even went couch shopping with him, making sure that he bought the deepest and comfiest one there. He didn’t mind, he loved how comfortable modern things are compared to the 30s, but he wondered why he insisted on getting that particular one. That was, until one night Sam came to his apartment blackout drunk and slept there for 15 hours straight. He only woke once to complain drunkenly about how small the blankets were, to which received a pillow to the head.

Bucky enjoys having his own place to live. He wakes up early in the morning to go on a leisurely run through his neighbourhood and watch the sky turn from red to pink to blue. He stops at the cafe at the bottom of his street for whatever pastry is fresh and a sweet coffee.

He then comes home to his cat and plants, and spends his days loving and caring for them. He found Alpine on what could have been one of the worst nights he’s experienced in his normal life. It had been raining heavily for hours and Bucky was walking home from therapy when he was jumped by a group of men. In the panic of it all he lashed out, and having not been in the field for so long he underestimated his strength.

A civilian got hurt in the scrapple, but she was so scared of who he was that she refused to take help from him. The police then arrived and Bucky had to fight his case for an hour in the pouring rain with only a running tee on. It was a witness from an apartment block on the other side of the street who came to Bucky’s aid and explained how he hadn’t started the fight and didn’t hurt the woman on purpose. He walked home in a storm of a mood, his whole body shaking with anxiety and the cold seeping into his bones, when he heard a faint meow come from a dark alley. 

He quickly swooped into action without hesitation, fishing the small creature out of the soggy box it was in and shielding it under his arm as he started to jog home.

That’s how he found himself an hour later sitting face to face with a small white cat with eyes he thought resembled his own in a strange way. He knew he was going to keep the cat without hesitation, he just wondered how something so pure could have made its way into his fuck-up of a day.

He even got a job in a coffee shop for a short while when Dr. Walker felt he was ready for it, so he could work on his social skills and how to control situations positively. He lasted a whole month in the shop and he made fairly good relationships with his colleagues and frequent customers, but he was asked to leave one afternoon as they had had a complaint from a daily customer about him. Apparently Bucky has a resting face that looks intimidating, and made the customer feel anxious. He had a tough time in his head that night. It took him a few days of wallowing in self pity and several conversations with Sam and Dr. Walker to realise he didn’t do anything wrong. He had to accept the fact he couldn’t convince everyone he was a good guy, and this is something he is still learning to accept.

He had felt so much misery over his lifetime that he thought he would never get the chance to be happy again, perhaps this new life would be enough for him. Though, he had to admit, that the fact that the only constant human interaction he had on a daily basis would be with store workers when he went grocery shopping, it was starting to make him feel lonely. It was like he lived on the moon, only watching others live their lives from a distance as he lived his own mundane life. That, of course, was before he met you.

You came shining into his life like a beam of sunlight that made him feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. There wasn’t a moment where your beautiful smile didn’t grace your face, and the joy on you radiated instantly made his day a whole lot better. You had been neighbours for quite a while before your first interaction, though you would always give him a chipper smile when he passed you in the hallways to which he responded to with a bashful grin.

Bucky woke up with a feeling something was wrong one day, and his suspicions were confirmed when he got a call from the nursing home informing him that Steve was sick. He knew he had to visit right away, just in case, but he didn’t know how long he would be gone and refused to leave Alpine alone. He couldn’t ask Sam, he was too busy being Captain America and a dumbass to properly care for a cat, so he moved onto what seemed to be his only other option.

The super soldier stood in your door frame (which was just too small for him to stand at his full height comfortably in) with a cat carrier in hand, blue bag slung over his shoulder and a desperate smile on his face. “Hi, I’m Bucky. Barnes. Bucky Barnes. Your neighbour. Room 6? Anyway, I need to ask a huge favour of you. I have to visit a friend out of town but I can’t leave Alpine alone - she doesn’t like it at night, and I was really, really, hoping you could watch her for a few days. I understand if you’re busy or have plans, though!”

You listened to his ramblings with an amused smile on your face, hand on the doorframe and leaning forward slightly. “Alpine?” you mused, eyebrow raised slightly.

His cheeks tinted instantly as he nodded down to the now meowing carrier. “Yeah, my cat. She’s two. She’s lovely, I promise. Doesn’t scratch or anything, she’s a real doll. You won’t even notice she’s there.”

You had bent down to look inside the carrier as he continued to ramble, only to be met with remarkable blue eyes which matched its owner’s perfectly. Cooing softly at her, you look up to meet the other pair of striking blue eyes. “Of course I’ll watch her for you. What else are neighbours for?”

He smiles instantly, shoulders relaxing as he lets out a breath. Holding out the carrier to you with his metal arm which you took instantly, he starts, “Thank you so much…”

“Y/N. Y/N L/N.”

“Y/N.” he repeats, setting the bag at your feet. “My number’s in there if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call. I’m better at calling than texting. Thank you, again, I owe you.” He smiles before waving quickly as you exchange goodbyes, turning on his heel and walking quickly to his car with keys in hand. 

After closing your door you set the carrier down and open it up, lifting out the small white cat into your arms. Smiling fondly, you press a kiss between her ears. You wandered over to your window to see Bucky climbing into his car as he held a phone between his ear and shoulder, and something deep inside of you knew this was the start of something special.

After that first encounter, you and Bucky seemed to be glued to the hip. It started off as a coffee date as a thank you after he got home from the weekend in which you watched Alpine, and you were glad to hear that Steve was well. It then evolved into a home cooked dinner from you the next day because Bucky refused to let you pay for your coffee even though you insisted and you wanted to pay him back somehow. He was always a gentleman with you. 

It then turned into weekly Friday night movie nights to catch him up on what he had missed movie-wise and supermarket shopping together the next morning because Bucky loved shopping in near-empty supermarkets just as much as you. Somewhere along the line you both got keys cut for the other’s apartment and you more often than not spent everyday together, even if it was just spending your hour lunch break from work sitting on a park bench chatting. You both had formed the best friendship possible, so it was no surprise to anyone that you wound up dating. It was meant to be, really. Soulmates. 

But not when Bucky went to the gym, because there was no way you would be caught dead doing physical activities.

You loved being around Bucky; he was sweet and caring and loved to try whatever new hobby you were experimenting with. He would always taste-test your cooking and baking and never say anything mean about it - even that time you made cupcakes and used salt instead of sugar he was quick to force it down and sing its praises. He cries at dog movies and volunteered at the local animal shelter weekly after you informed him one night that he could because he was just desperate for some interaction with the dogs. You were surprised he hadn’t come home with every single dog his first day there because he just wanted them to be loved so much. 

Bucky Barnes was a Saint sculpted by gods who had a heart of gold, and you could never see him any other way. Sure, you knew his history. Hell, you had even written a paper all about him and the Howling Commandos in your college History class, but none of that mattered to you. The Winter Soldier had been gone for over a decade, the trigger words meaningless and the mystery over, and you just wanted to know Bucky. Not his past - not that he could remember much of it anyway - but his and your relationship’s future together and what possibilities come along with that.

-

Bucky loved going shopping with you. He would give you an armful of clothes and make you give him a fashion show, where he would cheer for you and clap obnoxiously and shower you with the sweetest compliments, and you both savoured every second of it. You also had a fairly decent understanding of fashion, so you would help him keep up with all of the trends and keep him looking as gorgeous as he always is. So a Saturday spent together roaming the mall should be the perfect outing for the both of you. If only you could do it alone.

You held his hand tightly in yours, fingers intertwined and palms sweating slightly, but you were sure it was only his that was. You kept him near to know he was safe and coping, because crowds were one hundred percent not his thing. Maybe that’s why recently he had taken a liking to online shopping, because you could still have your famous fashion show in the comfort of his safe, judgemental free apartment. You could feel every set of eyes follow you and the six foot ex-assassin beside you for longer than necessary as they walked past you both, but you kept your head held high. No one was ever going to make you feel bad for loving Bucky. Not now, not ever.

“Oh my God.”

“That poor girl.”

“Stay back, he’s dangerous.”

“Do we just let murderers walk free now?”

You don’t know if the people walking by tried to be discreet with their whispering or wanted you both to hear, but you could hear them so Bucky definitely heard them. Looking up at him as you feel his breathing hitch, you follow his eye line and find a small girl being whisked away by her mother with fear evident on her face. The air around you grew thick, like you could feel his suffocating anxiety grow. He didn’t want to scare anyone, and this sight seemingly pushed him over the edge into a downward spiral.

Tugging on his arm you grab his attention, flashing him a reassuring smile.

“Why don’t we get food? I’m starving.” He simply nods in response, not trusting his voice.

You sit across from him in the booth in the corner of the food court, eating happily as you watch him visibly relax into his surroundings. He has a mountain of food in front of him but you know it’s never enough, and you just grin as he reaches over to swipe some of your fries.

You both talk mindlessly about insignificant things; a jacket that caught his eye, where you’d like to go next, how you both are craving ice cream, oblivious to the numerous pairs of eyes staring at you two. The flash of a camera and a series of giggles catches your attention. You quickly look to Bucky to see his reaction, but just smile at him distracted by his milkshake which has now covered his face. You lean over the table to wipe it away with a napkin before kissing his nose gently, and he smiles happily at you as his cheeks tint red.

“Why don’t we just leave after this?” He looks up at you, and it pains you to see the hope in his eyes at the thought of leaving. “We can go to that ice cream parlour at the bottom of the avenue and have a walk in the park instead.”

You smile at him. “That sounds so much better than shopping, baby. Let me go throw all of this in the trash then we can go.”

“No, I’ve got it. I’ll be two ticks.” He slides out of the booth, pecking your lips quickly as he picks up the trays and walks over to the trash. You still have a smile on your lips as you pull on your jacket and pick up your purse, but it fades quickly when you hear a crash and yells from behind you.

Jumping out of the booth quickly you turn, finding Bucky standing with a now empty tray between a bunch of chairs and a woman draped across the floor covered in the remains of your lunch. Bucky’s shaking as he tries to stammer out an apology. You assume that they’ve bumped into each other, and with Bucky’s strength she fell back hard. 

People had started to crowd around as the woman went into painfully fake hysterics about how he had attacked her, and Bucky just stood there like a deer in headlights. Pushing through the crowd you run to him, grabbing the tray from his hands and setting it on a table. You take his hand in his, holding onto it tightly, and he leans into your touch to try to make his body as small as possible.

A hush settled over the crowd as the woman’s cries turned into whimpers when she realised she had an audience. “That thing just assaulted me! Did you see it? Doing this to a vulnerable woman!”

A few people murmured agreements to her accusations, and it only made your blood boil more. 

“Bucky is a person, not a thing,” All eyes turned on you, and you only stood taller to secure your confidence. “and he wouldn’t harm a fly. I’m sure this was all just some sort of accident.”

She scoffed as she was helped up to stand from a few bystanders. “He’s a criminal. He knows nothing but hurting people. Just look at that,” she gestured to Bucky’s metal arm that he was now trying to hide away behind his body. 

Just as you tried to defend Bucky, the crowd started getting rowdy again and you felt a tug on your hand. Looking back you see a mortified looking Bucky with glistening eyes. His voice is so weak you almost don’t catch what he says.

“Just leave it, Y/N. Please. I want to go home.” You nod quickly, fixing your bag over your shoulder and delivering the woman a scowl as you turn and practically run out of the mall together. You didn’t want to make a scene, because it always affects Bucky worse. 

The car ride is silent, you in the drivers’ seat and Bucky bouncing his knee beside you, eyes shifting around frantically. You sit in the parking lot of your apartment block for a while, Bucky’s head on your shoulder and your hand running through his hair softly as he finally lets himself go. You stay there until his shoulders ache and he can’t find anymore tears to cry. You hold him close as you walk to your apartment, and he sits on the bathroom counter as you run a warm bath. You drop in his favourite bath bomb, and that at least brings a smile to his face.

He finally begins to relax as he sinks into the warm water and you sit on the edge of the tub, treading your fingers through his hair gently. It’s quiet for a while, but both of your minds are loud. 

“I wish they would see you like I do.” Your voice cuts through the air like a knife. He sighs, shaking his head. 

“They never will. Why should they? I’m a monster.” Bucky sounds weak. He’s tired of living like this, scared that he’ll make one wrong move and his face will be plastered all over the news. 

“You’re not a monster, Buck.” You keep your voice steady. “You're the kindest, sweetest person I know. I don’t care about your past at all, and I… I love you.”

You weren’t planning to tell him you loved him for the first time, but it just seemed right in the moment.  He’s quiet for a while, and you begin to wonder if he actually heard you or has fallen asleep from the warm water and lavender. 

Bucky takes a deep breath before he speaks again. 

“I love you, too.”

You can’t control the smile that takes over your face and you lean forward, planting a kiss on his head. You hear him smile and he moves to see you. The water swishes as he moves. A wet hand cups your cheek and you lean into the touch, watching his eyes stare at your feet as he struggles to get his words out. 

“I love you so much it hurts. I wake up in the morning and see you laying beside me, and I know that I’m where I’m supposed to be. I just don’t want to screw it all up.” He finally meets your eyes. They’ve turned a stormy blue, and you can see all of his emotions swirling around them. 

You turn your head to the side and kiss the palm of his hand, your fingers still running through his hair gently. He leans in, the tension escaping his muscles. He sighs as he pulls away, resting his forehead on yours. You smile at him, pecking his nose quickly. 

“You could never mess this up. You’re my soulmate. Now, how about we have that ice cream now?” the two of you share a knowing smile. 

You squeal as Bucky pulls you in for a hug, both of you laughing as he soaks your clothes and peppers your face in kisses. 

-

“This is wrong, this is all wrong. I told you I should’ve worn a tie! Even Steve agreed with me on that one! I look so stupid wearing, why the hell am I wearing a leather jacket to meet your parents? Can we turn back? I’ll change quickly. Let me cut my hair. Is it too long?” Bucky pulls down the passenger mirror to inspect himself, his forehead creasing as he tries to perfect his already styled hair. 

You sigh as you reach over from the steering wheel and take his hand, bringing it over to kiss his knuckles gently. “You look great. It doesn’t matter what you wear. They’ll love you no matter what.”

He grumbles a disagreement as he sinks back in his seat, changing the song playing through the car radio until he finds a depressing song to play to match his mood. You had noticed he did that a lot after only a week of dating. Whenever he’s happy you will almost always hear Michael Jackson or Queen playing from wherever he is in the apartment, and he had downloaded Spotify’s Sad Songs for whenever he felt down. 

You reach over and change the song quickly, which earns a sharp look from him. You scoff, but you both know that it’s not malicious. “Calm down, Buck. You’re just nervous. We’re having a barbecue, not a fancy meal in a fancy restaurant.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just don’t want them to hate me. Would you leave me if they hate me?” He sounds like what a sad puppy would if it were able to speak. Stopping at a red light, you turn your body to face him. 

“I love you, okay? Nobody will ever come between us, not even my parents. Just flash them that charming smile of yours and they’ll have you hooked.” He smiles bashfully at you, and you grin as you kiss him quickly. 

After that the ride is short and sweet to your parents’ home. Honestly, you didn’t know how they were going to react to Bucky. You hadn’t told them who he was specifically, just that he was your handsome boyfriend who you loved very much. They had always been accepting of whatever life choices you made, even when you decided to drop out of college. They just wanted you to be happy. And Bucky made you happy, so that means they should accept him. 

You held onto his hand tightly as you walked up the driveway, and before flashing him one last reassuring smile you knocked the door. The air was tense and time seemed to stretch as you waited for one of your parents to open up the door. Even you were becoming slightly nervous. 

The door handle jiggles before the door flies open, and you smile fondly at your mother standing in the doorway. Bucky smiles too, though it’s a nervous one. 

It had been so long since he had felt any parental love - he thinks about his family everyday - and as selfish as it sounds he was hoping he could use this as an opportunity to finally have a stable father figure in his life. From the stories he had heard from you, he decided you had lived the life he had always dreamed of. Family trips, game nights, going out for special meals together. Even just the little things, like how you called them every night to say goodnight. He craved stability in his life, and this may be one way he can achieve it. 

She looks between you both, the smile on her face fading the longer she looks at Bucky. Just as you open your mouth you see her eyes flit downwards - straight age Bucky’s metallic hand. He adjusts his hand to loosen his grip on yours and swallows dryly. A strangled gasp escaped her lips before she grabbed your empty hand roughly, tugging you inside and scrambling to lock the door behind you. 

“Y/N! What were you thinking, bringing that monster here!” She searched your face as if she was hoping to find bruises under your makeup, and your blood boiled. 

“What the hell?” You shouted at her. Reaching back you feel for the door handle, but she takes your hand in hers before you can. 

“Do you not watch the news? He’s dangerous.” She pulls away, staring at you like you were crazy. “Has he been lying to you?”

“I know exactly who he is mom-”

“Then it’s… it’s Stockholm Syndrome. I’ve read about that! I think I’m using that right.” she says. You scoff at how ridiculous she’s being, fully conscious of Bucky standing behind the door. She only frowns. 

“I can’t believe you’re doing this. That’s my boyfriend that you just locked outside.”

“Whatever’s you’re feeling isn’t love, honey. I’ve heard everything about him. Did you know he attacked some poor woman in a food court a few days ago?” There's a tinge of pity in her voice, and it only makes you more angry. 

“Oh my god,” you moan. “He is my boyfriend! That’s the James that I told you about! And you just slammed the door on his face and called him a monster.”

Her movements falter as realisation dawns on her face. She actually loves the monster, is what you assume she’s thinking. You turn and swing open the door, only to see Bucky seemingly frozen in place in shock and mortification. He just blinks and stares at you, and you just want to swaddle him up into a blanket and hold him close right on the spot. 

You reach your hand out for him, but he flinches back and stumbles down the steps. 

“Th-This is all wrong. I’m sorry. I knew I shouldn’t have come.” He sounds weak, like a child after being scolded.

He stands there looking lost, like he wants to run away and never come back but is also too scared to turn his back on you. He isn’t leaving you, just the situation. He doesn’t know what to do. Will you hate him for this? Are you angry that he isn’t standing up for himself? But he doesn’t want to shout what he wants to say. He wants to be calm. He’s learned how to be calm. How can he learn to be calm after everything he’s gone through, but no one else can?

Your dad comes to the door and you know things will only get worse. You step down to stand beside Bucky, holding his hand tightly. 

“Y/N, what’s going on here? Who is that man?” Your dad seems just as confused about the situation as you are. 

“Mom just- ugh. I can’t believe this is actually happening.” You didn’t want to cause a scene, just because of the sheer fact that your mom knows about what happened the other day so if one person sees this who knows what it will be escalated to in the media. 

“She ruined today. Today was supposed to be amazing and she messed it all up because she didn’t want to give Bucky a chance.” 

“Sweetie, look at him,” your mom began to defend herself. “Can you blame me? All I know is that he is a killer with an arm made of metal. He could hurt you!” 

“Like you are?” She stared back at you in shock. “You took one look at him and decided he was a monster. He’s a person just like us, and he deserves to be treated like one. I’m sorry, but I can’t stand here and allow you to treat him like that. I love him and he loves me, and that’s all that matters.”

Your dad calls on you as you storm to the car, but you don’t listen. Slamming the door behind you, you push your foot in the ignition and drive away as soon as Bucky gets in the car. 

Bucky doesn’t know what to do. Normally he knows how to help you, but he’s never seen you like this before. You’re shaking, and he doesn’t know if it’s from anger or fear. Fear that you’ve lost your parents? He’s so lost and feels terrible that he can’t help you. 

It takes about fifteen minutes for you to stop seeing red and finally slow down to the speed limit. It was like something else took over your body and you were watching from five feet away. Everything happened so quickly. What actually just happened. Are you in the wrong? Maybe you should’ve told them about him before. You don’t want to have to but you know you should have. Explain it. Him. Bucky. 

Looking over you see him half smiling patiently at you. He’s the one hurting right now, but he’s hiding it so he can be there for you. You don’t mean it, but the look he gives you when your lip trembles causes the floodgates to open. 

He manages to reach over to the wheel and guide the car off the side of the road when the road begins to get blurry from tears. 

“I’m so sorry, Bucky. I didn’t know she was going to do that. Never in a million years did I think she’d do that! She-she’s horrible and nasty and-”

“Y/N, please.” Bucky reaches out and holds your hand, his other reaching up to wipe the tears off of your face. “You don’t mean that.”

“But it’s still not okay.”

“I know it’s not,” he sighs. “I just thought they would be more like you.” He smiles weakly at you. 

“So did I.” You sniff as you lean over, resting your head against his shoulder. His lips instantly reach down to kiss your head gently. 

“Let’s leave it for now, and you can call in a few days. Maybe we can convince them to come around to me. I know you want them to like me.” Bucky’s voice doesn’t sound as hopeful as his words, but he wants this for you. You’ve always had a good relationship with your parents and he doesn’t want to be the reason it’s all messed up. He knows he’s not worth it. Well… yes, I am worth it, he forces himself to think. 

He knows his worth in this relationship. He knows he means so much to you. You mean the world to him. He hopes you know that. But he knows how much your parents mean to you, and he would never want to make you choose. That’s selfish of him. 

You look up at him and smile. “You know I love you, right?” 

He smiles back. “You tell me everyday.” He bends down, capturing your lips in a kiss. 

Bucky still had a long way to go with his recovery, but you made everyday easier. He couldn’t imagine his life without you anymore. You were the reason he got out of bed everyday, the reason he cared for himself, the reason he smiled. 

Who knew Godzilla could fall in love?