#sam's beard is always there watching you

[28confusedthoughts]

D: "it's just every time I think about it, it's like a nightmare. I mean, i can't eat i can't sleep, it's always just there, watching me."

S: "dean, it's just a beard"

[ramp-it-up]

Knock You Down

Summary: James Bucky Barnes is an avowed bachelor and one night stand artist. But when he meets you, he finds out that sometimes love comes around, and it knocks you down.

Word count: less than 2K

Pairing: Art Dealer (mob boss) Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: This fic was in part inspired by Seb Stan's latest pics and this press run 🫠, and partially inspired by an old song by some problematic people, lol. This is the result. As usual, I am Basil Exposition, so this is broken into parts. Part II is already in the queue and will be posted on Friday, 10/11.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Slow burn, cursing, mutual pining, Bucky the player, wild thoughts, kisses on the hand and the cheek. No sex!

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I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

"Won't see it coming when it happens. But when it happens you're gonna feel it, let me tell you now."

Bucky always scoffed at Steve’s advice. He and Sam never understood his solitary bachelorhood and his one night stand lifestyle.

The truth was, he hadn’t met anyone who held his interest enough to warrant a second date, much less anything beyond one casual hookup. So, he never made promises that he couldn’t keep, and most women said they were down for that. 

Even if they were lying to themselves.

At 42, James Buchanan Barnes was too dedicated to his business, ostensibly as an art dealer, for a serious relationship. The truth was that he dealt in many things, and that was why his business needed so much attention. 

His life and everyone’s around him depended on it. 

Bucky Barnes wasn’t going to get caught slipping.

In love or in business.

—---

The first time you met James Buchanan Barnes, on what you thought would be a random Monday afternoon, he appraised you in a way that shook you to the core, those ocean blue eyes looking into your soul. You felt as if he were evaluating a piece of art as he gazed at you across his desk. 

You couldn’t know that he felt the exact same way. 

His eyes never strayed from your face as he shook your hand, but he’d noticed every bit of you as you entered his gallery, Rebirth. You were more stunning than any piece of art that he’d ever curated in the space.

While nothing like his normal type, you made Bucky feel as if he’d been so wrong about so much in his life the moment you entered his orbit. He had to get to know you to find what he’d been missing.

This afternoon you were a sight to behold and serving body. Although you were covered from neck to shin in an elegant sheath dress, the high, wrapped waist was giving all of your bounteous curves up to whoever glanced at you. And you had heads turning.

Steve, Sam, and even Natasha craned their necks to watch you as you entered Bucky’s office. And he could have sworn that Nat’s neck was at a 90 degree angle as she watched you leave her desk just outside his door.

You were fine as hell.

Bucky was entranced by dreams of handling your curves and making you smile at him forever.

As Bucky dreamed, you admired the man in front of you. Tall, dark, and handsome, Barnes wasn’t a young man, but the gray in his beard and the crinkles around his eyes made him that much more attractive. 

Even more attractive than in the paparazzi pics of him with various young models and actresses of the moment, waifs and ingénues with whom he was never photographed twice.

You just knew you were safe from any advances from him.

You thought.

“Enchanté, Ms. Y/LN. It is a pleasure to meet you."

Bucky lowered his head as he greeted you, a slight bow and extended his hand to his desk. You noticed the tattoo that started on his hand and seemed to go up his sleeve and went in the direction he pointed.

"You know, you are quite tenacious. I don’t take many meetings with potential buyers. But all of my people told me that I should.”

The silk of his voice, the unexpected tenor of it, and the way he took your hand made you shiver at the aura of experience that he gave off.

The word Daddy floated around in your mind for a moment until he invited you to sit.

You had to concentrate on the business at hand, that of negotiating for a piece of art for the Art and Culture Center in Brownsville, of which you were the director. The purchase was made possible by benefactors to commemorate a deceased Brownsville artist who became famous, then forgotten, during the Harlem Renaissance.

“You’ve made it past Ms. Romanoff, my gallerist, Mr. Wilson, my business manager, and Mr. Rogers, my gallery director, Ms. Y/LN. What makes you think that I’m going to give you a different answer? Letting that piece go for the price you’ve proposed is not a good business move.”

“You can’t afford to miss out on this opportunity, Mr. Barnes. Yes, you will be taking a loss on the artwork, but you will be on the ground floor of a major rediscovery. You will be known as one of the few who helped to resurrect the brilliance of the artist Howard Benson. You can be the Alice Walker to his Zora Neale Hurston.”

And that is when Bucky leaned back in his chair, astounded at your shrewd calculation.

“I love the way your mind works, Ms. Y/LN.”

You smiled and settled back into your chair, causing Bucky to shift in his chair. He wanted to be buried in you. He appraised and decided that he liked the pout that changed your lips almost as much as the smile that initially greeted him when he replied, “But that price is still unacceptable.”

You raised an adorable eyebrow at him and rose to the challenge that he lay at your feet ready to tangle with the inimitable James Barnes. The conversation stretched from early afternoon to dinner time, making you suspect that Barnes was drawing it out for some reason. You matched him, point for point, until it was dark. But he yielded no ground.

The conversation was intellectual foreplay: art history, sociology, american politics. And it was the most stimulated you’d been in a while. 

You could do this all night.

Your phone buzzed and you looked down. There were several text messages and emails lighting up your screen. You’d been in deep with Barnes for hours. It was after 6 pm. It seemed like only minutes. You noticed that it was only you and Bucky left in the gallery and rose to excuse yourself, albeit reluctantly.

“Oh! I’m sorry to keep you so long. I’m sure that you must have plans.”

You’d done your research and you knew that there was probably someone little more than half Barnes’ age waiting for him. When you searched social media, there was a sighting or spotted every month or so of Bucky and a young, beautiful woman.

You reached for your coat, but Bucky was behind you in seconds, taking it from you and helping you put it on. You shivered at his breath at your throat and his hands on your collarbone as he draped the lapels over your neck. His deep chuckle made your stomach flip. He saw right through you.

“No one is waiting for me but my cat, Alpine. How about you, Ms. YLN? Anyone waiting for you in Brownsville?”

“Not tonight. No.”

Why in the world were you doing the sultry whisper thing? This man didn’t want you. 

Did he?

You cleared your throat and you felt dizzy when you looked up and saw how close he was standing to you. Those eyes and the smile that graced his handsome face had you warm, but the way he licked his lips had you spiraling.

Bucky pushed down a mild sense of panic that someone might be expecting you some other night, but that was irrational. Competition never ever entered his mind when he talked to other women. 

What was happening here?

“Well I would consider myself extremely fortunate and would be honored if we could continue this conversation over dinner.”

—-

The way James Barnes turned your meeting into a dinner date had your head spinning, but the wonderful conversation and easy, light hearted banter eased your mind. As soon as the first course was served at your table at dinner at Bohemian, he agreed to your initial price.

From there, once the terms were settled, the conversation turned to more personal questions, each of you sharing the stories of your life in your town, his childhood in Romania, your childhood in Brooklyn, and lots of funny stories.

At one point early in the night, Bucky stopped you from calling him Mr. Barnes.

“Please. Call me James. Or you could call me Bucky. My Friends call me Bucky. For my middle name, Buchanan. Bucky is short for Buchanan.”

Bucky found himself rambling. He had not been this nervous in a while.

You looked at him quizzically. At that moment, he would give you anything you were about to ask of him.

“Do you have a lot of friends? I mean, do a lot of people call you Bucky?“

Godamn, the husk in your voice, those lips, those eyes. Everything about you was about to set him on fire.

“I have a few who are in my close circle. Natasha, Steve, Sam. They and a very few others call me Bucky. Most people I speak with call me Mr. Barnes...”

You nodded slowly, licking your lips, making Bucky feel it in his cock.

“Then I will call you James.”

He got your subtle meaning. You wanted to be different. 

And you were. So very different.

After almost five hours of the best conversation and laughter, he proposed another time for you two to meet before the week was up, on Friday. He had made it clear at dinner that now that business was concluded that he wanted to spend time with you.

Friday night would be a date, the second one at his insistence.

You debated that fact as his driver took you home, even up until he walked you to the door of your brownstone.

He leaned against your doorframe and checked you out as you retrieved your keys from your purse. When you turned and caught him looking, you gasped, causing him to straighten up and move toward you, eyes dilated.

“It will be our second date,” you conceded.

Bucky’s mouth curled into a smirk as he grabbed your hand and lifted it to his mouth. Your soul burned as he pressed his lips to your palm. It was like the hint of a drug in your veins and you wanted so much more.

“What made you change your mind?”

That voice. Did you have a voice kink? Good lord.

You flushed, both at the images that were racing through your mind, and at the arbitrary three date rule you’d made up a while ago. Why was that again?

You cleared your throat.

“Because of the way you are looking at me, James. And the fact that you just kissed me.”

“Is this a kiss?”

“Ummhmmmm.”

You hummed as Bucky raised his eyebrow and your hand again. This time, he brushed his lips against your wrist and inhaled the perfume lingering there. You were about to melt.

Bucky didn’t even know what he was doing. The next step in his mind was to open his mouth and consume you, but he opened his eyes and spied you looking at him in that way, and he knew he had to stop. He didn’t want this to be like all of his other conquests.

He straightened up, but didn’t let go of your hand, entangling your fingers together. 

“You are correct, Y/N. In my mind, this is a date. I am interested in you, for more than just your taste in art. I hope that this is the first date of many.”

You were bowled over at his straightforwardness. It was not what you were used to. This was a man, not a boy in mens clothing.

“I appreciate your honesty, James.”

You went on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek, your lips lingering on the black and grey stubble so close to his lips. You turned around, giving him a view of your backside as you opened your door.

“And your ambition.”

You gave him that smile again with a wink, and your “Goodnight, James,” floated up to him on cloud nine.

——-

Let me know if you liked it!

Part II here.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Autographs

Fandom: Ted Lasso

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x GN!Reader

Summary: You’re the social media manager for AFC Richmond’s socials. You’ve been seeing a trend of asking players for their autograph so you decided to try it out with your team.

Ted Lasso Masterlist

You hold your phone up as you peek into the locker room. All of the boys are dressed so you enter with a grin on your face. You keep a stack of papers close to your chest as you quickly head into Coach Beard's office.

"Hey, coach, training doesn't start for another thirty minutes, right?"

Beard checks his watch and nods, "Affirmative."

You nod, "Cool. I'm going to film some content for the socials then," you turn to Roy, starting with you. You press record and hold out a picture to him, "Can I get your autograph, coach?"

"Fucking hell," Roy grumbles as he sees a younger version of himself staring back at him, "Where the fuck did you find this?"

"Did some digging. Love the curls, by the way," you hold out a marker and Roy glares at you. He still scribbles out his name on the photo, handing it back to you, "There. Now fuck off."

You snicker, "Thanks a bunch!"

You exit the office and zero in on your boyfriend, Jamie. You waltz right up to him with giddiness. He smiles up at you as he finishes lacing up his boots. He stands and pecks your lips, "What's with the look, babes?"

You hold out a picture of a small Jamie posing on a pitch, "Can I have your autograph?"

His brows shoot up in surprise, "No fuckin' way. Where'd you find this?"

"I asked your mom to send me a pic of when you were little."

He chuckles, "Look at me. A sexy lil thing, aren't I?" You snort and hand him the marker. He signs his name and draws a heart, writing his initials and yours inside it. He caps the marker and hands it back to you along with the picture, "There ya go, babes."

"I'll cherish it forever."

You look down at your next photo and go up to Sam, who gives you a polite grin, "Good afternoon, Y/N!"

"Hi, Sam! Can I get your autograph?"

"Of course!" you hand him a picture of when he was a young teen and he laughs, "Oh my."

Jamie, who decided to follow you, reaches for the picture, "Aw look at you, Sammy boy!" Jamie shows all the boys Sam's picture and Sam bashfully chuckles.

"Alright, give it here, Jamie!" Sam swipes it back and signs his name. When he gives it back to you, he asks, "Where did you find this picture?"

"I scrolled through your old Facebook photos."

Sam sighs and shakes his head, "I knew I should've deleted those."

The next person you go up to is Colin. He's a small skinny thing, donning his primary school uniform, smiling widely.

Colin looks up at you in disbelief, "Did you reach out to my parents for this?"

You give a nonchalant shrug, "Maybe."

Each interaction with the boys went this way. Each one was surprised to see a picture of a younger version of them being handed to them. The surrounding players hollering and teasing each other for how they looked back then.

Jamie stood beside you the entire time, watching each interaction and just hanging around you. How could he not? He's always drawn to your presence. Not only that, he just adores how well you get along with the guys. You're sweet and funny, which makes it easy for them to say "yes" to whatever kind of video you want to film for the team's socials. You're very good at your job.

After all the photos are signed, you set them out so everyone can see. You stand back, watching the boys mess around with each other. You're already uploading the videos to your dropbox so you can edit them all together on your work computer.

Jamie wraps an arm around your waist and kisses your temple, "Must be nice getting paid to make fun of footballers," he says with a smirk.

You giggle, "So fun! Seriously so glad Keeley hired me on! Probably the most fun I've ever had in any job!"

"Also probably the best job ever since you get to hang around your hot footballer boyfriend too, yeah?" He gives you a playfully nudge.

You snort, turning to completely face him, your arms hooking behind his neck, "Oh absolutely," you lean in to kiss him but Roy steps in, pushing you two away from each other, "Get a room, you disgustingly cute little shits."

You look at each other confused, but then shrugged as Roy yelled, "Whistle! WHISTLE!" The gaggle of football players quiet and you quickly wave at Jamie. You blow a kiss at him and mouth, "I'll see you later."

He blows you a kiss back and waves, earning him a slap on the head from Roy.

"Oi! What the hell, gramps?"

"Pay attention!" Roy grumbles and turns his attention back to the rest of the players, ready to prepare them for today's training.

[buckyalpine]

Bucky feral over pregnant reader

Pure pregnancy fluff and filth. This was meant to be pure fluff and then as usual, I got carried away, idk why I decided to make it this dirty. 

I can’t get over Bucky being obsessed with you carrying his baby. Yes he’s excited to be a dad but there’s something about the fact that it’s you. You’re pregnant because of him, it’s his little one in your perfect belly. Every tiny change he notices in your body makes him swoon from, from your swollen achy feet to your tender breasts, and your slightly plumper cheeks. 

He fucking loves it. 

Your his baby mama and nothing else matters, he’s so proud and in love with you. The swell of your tummy makes his heart beat faster, and the more it grows, the more irresistible he finds you.

“You’re carrying my baby” he coos, wrapping his hands around your tummy while you stand in the kitchen grabbing a snack. He’s happy to cradle the little bump in his arms, easing some of the tension from your back, doing anything to help you feel better. He’s such a lovesick puppy, always looking at you with heart eyes and it doesn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the team. 

“Look, he’s going it again” Sam whispered to Steve, the both of them watching Bucky watching you flit around the kitchen with his chin resting on his hands, sighing, enamored with how pretty you are with your cute little waddle. 

“Does he plan on moving any time soon?”

“Nope” 

Bucky is so busy admiring you, he doesn’t realize the team has started timing records for how long he just sits and watches because they find it utterly and disgustingly adorable. 

He wants to make love to you the entire time, every hour if possible but mama also needs her rest so he doesn’t try to tire you out. That doesn’t mean he keeps his hands to himself, especially when you’re extra hormonal and needy. 

“I got you, mama” He soothes you, pulling your soaked cotton panties off and pulling up your oversized shirt over your belly, his hands gently holding onto your hips and he pushes himself inside. He loves this position with your thighs spread apart, belly on full display, watching your face contort with pleasure, watching his cock thrust in and out of your dripping cunt.

It takes everything in him not to cum instantly, fucking his pretty, very pregnant girl, knowing he knocked her up, it’s his cum that has her all round and perfect, their love making that’s giving him a family. 

“Fuck mama, m’gonna cum” He can’t help the whine and whimper of his voice, muscles tensed from trying to hold back but he can’t, your body is so warm and soft, “S’too much, balls feel to heavy, you make my cock so sensitive, s’all fucked up, I can’t-f-fuuckk” His hips stutter and he’s  spilling ropes of his creamy spend into you, already thinking of getting you pregnant immediately after. 

He can’t resist you even when you’re asleep. 

“Jamie” you whine, your futile protests turning into a needy moan when you feel his tongue brush over your clit, his head between your legs, the time on the clock 1:15AM. 

“Please mama? Wanna make you feel good pretty baby, you deserve it” He just had to get a taste and he doesn’t relent till his beard is soaked and your a shaky, trembling mess. He suckles and nurses off your clit like it’s keeping him alive, pumping his fingers in and out of you till your eyes roll all the way back and your voice is cracking from screaming. 

Your pregnancy has made him down right filthy and feral. Like when you finished up your shower, wrapped in nothing but a towel that barely covered anything. Bucky was sitting on the bed with a book in his hands, the story now long forgotten when he sees you sitting by the vanity, applying your lotion. You let the towel drop to the floor, now bare naked while rubbing silky cream onto your sensitive skin. 

“Fuck, y’can’t do that doll” Bucky groans, his eyes trailing to your peaked buds down to your stretch marks and plush thighs, the soft rolls of your back making him feral, something he desperately wants to grab and squeeze them in his hands. “Let me help you, mama” 

He’s about to set his book down but you can’t help but tease him, shaking your head instead. 

“Y’know I can do this myself baby, I need to move around, doctors orders” 

He knows you’re right but that doesn’t stop all his blood rushing down to his now aching cock, screaming for attention. He palms himself, hoping it’d be enough to calm down but nope. You start to massage your swollen breasts, the smirk on your face shows you know what your doing. His cock ends up in his hand, book thrown aside, chest heaving up and down. 

“Fuck, m’so hard” He moans, stroking himself while you giggle, continuing with your routine. “S’not fair babygirl, makes my cock hurt when you look so pretty like that” 

He’s careful to use slow, languid strokes because any tighter and he’d cum all over his fist. At some point his metal hand cups his balls because his body feels too hot and they’re so fucking full. He could cum just from watching you but he’s more greedy than ever. 

“Mama. c’mere, please” he pleads with glassy eyes between moans, struggling to keep his eyes open. 

“Need something Jamie?” You coo, your perfect naked form causing spurts of precum to shoot from his tip while you saunter over to him, removing his hand from his cock and pulling him to stand up. He’s about to ask what you’re doing, stuttering when you bite your lip. 

“Oh god, fuck, no, you-you can’t-” He chokes out while you sink to your knees, taking the head  of his cock in your mouth, swirling your tongue around. He sobs at how angelic you look, your breasts heavier than ever, tummy nearly touching the floor. You’re a whole Goddess, on your knees, sucking his dick, pregnant with his baby, Bucky swears he’s died and gone to heaven. 

“Fuck, A-angel, don’t do this to me, m’gonna cum so much, feels too good, you’re so pretty” He cups your cheeks with softly, whining when you pull of him with a pop, his arousal making your lips and chin glossy, dribbling down your neck. 

“Go on daddy, mark me” You smirk while he furiously jerks his cock above your face, cursing under his breath, his cock swelling in his fist. He feels his balls pull tight to his body, his heavy length leaking and already dripping on your face. 

“OH GOD” He nearly roars, coating your entire face with his warm, sticky spend. “FUCK YES” he lets the last few drops fall onto your belly, your body perfectly covered in him. He kisses it all off with sloppy kisses, hard again with him minutes, this time filling your perfect pussy up instead. 

By the time he’s done, you need to shower again anyway, which he’s perfectly happy with, this time excited to join you. 

“C’mon mama, lets get you cleaned up again” 

Sorry. 

[shurisneakers]

saturn

summary: you die. bucky tries to bring you back (or) close to a year after you die, bucky's desperation finally finds an answer. but it may not be the one he's hoping for.

warnings: angst. death. being revived from death and the processes that follow. sickness. war or something. swearing. there is also fluf here and there

a/n: im drunk as fuck <3 i haven't really looked at this since December. the title is taken from saturn by sleeping at last because i couldn't think of anything better. enjoy <3333333333333

He occasionally catches a glimpse of his face in the lake.

His skin is worn from months of sun damage, splotchy and incorrectly healed. His beard has grown well past the point of respectability, with strands of grey he didn’t realise could sprout from him. Eyes sunken and half-lidded always.

Bucky waits everyday for the reaper to pull him underwater. Every day is another spent on dry, barren land.

_____________

It was closing in on a year and a half. Time moves like aged honey when you're punished, slow and grasping.

He steps off the bed and into the resolute silence of the cabin. There was a hole by his bedroom door after a regrettable night of alcohol. Mead. Something that had his head spinning and bile stuck to the walls of his throat, and of which he doesn't even remember the name of the next morning.

It's all fleeting, anyway. Names, labels, lives.

He cooks himself breakfast on an old pan.  The room is bone-cold, and the floorboards creak when he drags the decades old chair from the dining room to the porch.

Paint peels under his feet, and his toe curls. A dull, faded orchestra of evergreens as far as he can see. He's had a target on his back since he was a kid, always under the gaze of something beyond his understanding. Always making sure he doesn't take a step out of line, or let too much life into his heart.

It's been a while since he's felt that. Like it had finally decided he learnt his lesson, that he wouldn't dare to take a new breath without considering if he deserved it. And so he doesn't wonder if there are irises staring back at him with the same lifelessness with which he watches them, day after day, hour after hour.

The outside cools his blood to a standstill, and he is almost entirely certain he is alone. The vast expanse of an empty sky, bearing no clouds, no birds. Some days, he almost thinks he can feel you when the winds move.

He thinks he's past the point of insane.

__________

His friends are kinder than he is. To a fault, almost. God knows he hasn't given them a reason to be.

After a couple of months of shifting to the middle of nowhere, there are fifteen fucking knocks to the door.

Bucky flings it open, ready to chew someone’s head off. Raging, still in the ratty old t-shirt and sweatpants and socks with holes in them that you swore you would burn. He is armed with a battalion of curses and threats, only for words to die a quick death at the tip of his tongue.

“Hey.”

Bucky's muscles tense to the point where they might crack, but he forces his arm to lower. 

“Been a while,” Sam says, arms crossed over his chest.

He doesn't know how he's hunted him down, given the nature of his disappearance, but Sam was nothing if not determined in his humanity.

With nowhere else to turn, Bucky silently pushes the door open.

________

“I like what you’ve done with the place.”

Bucky glances around the house. There are cobwebs hanging from each corner he sees. Bulbs coated with dust. Fine china starting to fade with unuse, and utensils slowly beginning to gather rust.

He doesn’t reply. He’s offered him water, but Sam declines.

“You get cell coverage out here?”

“Don’t make a lotta calls,” Bucky’s vocal chords sound like they’re lined with gravel.

“We noticed.” Sam leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Talked to Dr. Canmore?"

"Yep." Not since the psychiatrist was forced to clear him after Bucky showed no signs of violence, or returning back to him. To him, that concluded the purpose of their relationship.

"And?"

"There's nothing to say, Sam," he rebukes, gruff. "'M fine."

Sam looks like wants to raise an eyebrow, but the patience he's grown over the years from dealing with those worse than the mess setting in front of him disallows him. "Get enough food?"

Bucky flashes him a thumbs-up, and feels the onset of a migraine.

"Sunlight? Water?"

"'M not a fuckin' plan--" he begins harshly, but clears his throat. "You?"

"Doin' alright." Sam shrugs. "Been training a buncha new recruits, getting in touch with new ones. Superheroes are poppin' up all over the place. Got a girl saying she can control squirrels."

Bucky nods absent-mindedly, picking at the hem of his shirt. He thinks you would have found that amusing, considering that you thought Scott Lang's schtick was a bit on-the-nose too.

“Do you want to?”

Bucky sharply shifts back into focus. “What?”

“Help out,” Sam clarifies. “Recruit, train.”

Bucky’s jaw inadvertently tightens. “No,” he says sharply.

"Could be good for you."

""M done with that life." 

Sam's eyes reflect a reality that's different, but he still relents, "Okay. Whatever works for you."

Bucky can’t say he retired, exactly. He’d unceremoniously quit and had gone AWOL, but it had never been on paper. SHIELD was gracious enough to accept in whatever form they had, sending him funds every month as an unofficial pension.

“You should drop by sometime. Compound's all re-done."

Bucky shifts in his seat like the chair is too small for him. “‘M not exactly a joy to be around.”

“You’re actin’ like that’s somethin’ new,” he riffs, mouth curling into a smile. “Still.”

Sam's a good man who often lets his instincts lead the way, and if he's insisting on Bucky to return then something must be worth listening to. But his only company's been the thoughts in his head for a while now, and they're no good. What's impure about him surely wraps its tendrils around the world around him, poisoning them.

It's difficult, impossible, even to shake the suspicion growing on him, crawling up his back.

“Alright, well–” Sam pushes himself off the couch “-- just give us a call if there’s anything you need help with.”

Bucky may not have as many words as he used to, but he hasn’t forgotten his manners. He walks Sam to the front, where his truck lay parked, all polished from the last time he saw it.

"You got everything you need?” Sam asks again, and something inside him ignites a spark.

“Yes.”

Sam nods, hand on the hood of the truck, giving him a final look up and down. The few seconds of a leeway fans the spark into a red-hot anger, one that has Bucky's muscles painfully tight.

"Right. See you aro-"

"Why'd you come here?" Bucky interrupts. "To check if I'm losin’ it again? SHIELD couldn't get Dr. Canmore on the line so they send their next bet to tranquilise me?

Sam's eyebrows raise this time, and Bucky thinks he's finally managed to piss off the last person who cares if he's dead or alive, but everything in him is too hot, too scathing to bother.

He wants someone to get it, what it's like to claw at concrete walls with raw fingertips and broken nails. He wants someone to see what it's like, living like they've been injected over and over with needles.

"I know it’s hard, man," Sam replies, gentle like cool water on a burn.

Bucky's hands freeze, because he realises very quickly he wanted someone to hurt.

"Just thought you could use knowin' you had someone there," he continues. "Got flowers too, but I wasn't sure if you'd..."

Something in Bucky deflates, and he wants to cower into a ball. Bury himself so deep underground that he doesn't have to deal with how his ribs feel like they're cracking into splinters all over again.

Sam's already moved towards the passenger side door, and pulled from it a beautiful arrangement of evening primroses and jasmines. Of course Sam remembered.

You would have loved it.

"I don't have anywhere to keep it," Bucky croaks. He's turned the home he bought into a tomb, and he's closed the door to any remainder of life waiting to be lived.

Sam simply hands it to him, and Bucky takes it cautiously like it'll wither in a second. His touch is venomous and his want is a death-sentence, but the flowers stay alive.

"If you ever find a place," Sam says, squeezing his shoulder, "leave something there, too. Might help."

________

He'd add 'liar' to the list of words he's chosen to describe himself, if he said he didn't think about it every second since you died.

The idea initially comes to him like a snake, slithering and winding its way up his shoulder to hiss into his ear. He shudders the first time, jaws clenching, and dismisses it immediately.

But 'sinner' is a word he would use, and so on nights when he's awake too long and when your laugh sounds like a draft in his ear, he entertains the thought.

Indulges in it, grotesquely allows himself to think of an alternate ending, where his presence had not corrupted your fate, and you would have been alive and vibrant and trying out new flavours of gelato from the corner store. Stealing kisses from him, half awake, and dragging him to watch sunrises from the roof.

He thinks of things he'd do differently. Retire a lot faster. Took you to the National Parks like he said he would. Make sure your scent seared itself like a tattoo on all his clothes, because there's nothing on earth that replicated it and he's turned it inside out trying.

When the air is icy and the skin aches where his metal arm meets flesh, he thinks of how you always flicked his shoulder when he passed an off-hand comment under his breath, but muffled a laugh when his insults got more creative.

But soon, it will be closing in on two years since Bucky's last heard you groan at his stupid comments and the lake is just as pristine as the day he bought the cabin. The water glimmers like shards of diamond and there are days he thinks it's too still for even his liking.

"Have you ever been to Asgard?" you ask one night, legs splayed over his thighs.

He looks up from the book he's reading, pencil tucked into his ear. "I have not."

"Not even once?" you ask, distracted from whatever show you had gotten hooked on on TLC. Ever since you'd discovered the channel, you were convinced it was the best way to learn about "his culture". Sometimes he tuned in to learn about updates to "his culture" in the years he was gone.

"Strictly earthbound," he replies.

You nod, eyes drifting back to the TV. He watches you for a few seconds, hand gently squeezing the arm closest to his.

As it always was, your posture was pin-straight. Always ready. Like sitting still wasn't even an option. He used to think it was because you were never truly comfortable around him, until he realises that that was simply a part of you.

Bucky re-adjusts his glasses. He was getting old. His back pained and creaked like an old door hinge more each time.

He didn't think he'd get here. He's growing to love it. Mission reminders and target locations get replaced more and more with reminders that he still has to put the leftovers in the fridge from the date earlier that night, and that your shampoo needed a re-stock.

"Would you want to come with me one day?" you ask suddenly.

He puts the book down, and you turn away from the TV again. 

He can always tell when you're thinking. The world buzzes a bit. When you're older than a few galaxies, the universe and you become not so distinct.

"Might be a bit too grand for a fella like me."

"I think you'd like it," you counter, "and you're in a relationship with me. You'd fit in as well as anyone could."

He's still not sure how he's managed to accomplish the second part but you must have liked something about his ragtag sarcasm and social isolating tendencies.

Bucky's growing older each day. You're the closest thing he's seen to eternity. He doesn't think he would fit in, not with his thrift shop t-shirts and unbridled insecurities.

"Do you want me to?" he asks, hesitant.

He's met Thor, and he's heard mostly about Loki through childhood tales and news reports. Thor didn't seem to mind him, but then again, Thor saw the best in everyone.

"I'd like to show you the place I grew up," you reply, playing with his metal fingers. "You showed me yours."

"That's a couple'a streets from here, sweetheart," he reminds playfully. "Not exactly another realm."

The corners of your mouth lift slightly. "But you feel connected to it, don't you? That it is a part of you?"

Bucky intertwines your grins and keeps it there. He's always felt something towards Brooklyn. Something that kept him going when Siberian frost nipped at his skin. Tethered.

But when he'd shown you the place he grew up in, it wasn't the same. Brickwall had been overlaid with plaster and paint. Doors ripped off their hinges, wallpaper a ghastly white instead of the stained floral print his sister and he drew on. It was unease, trepidation.

It didn't feel like his anymore. Probably because Bucky didn't feel like him anymore.

"Yeah," he replies after some thought, even though it's not entirely right.

"I feel that way about Asgard," you continue the thought. "Being here is lovely, and I love learning of all the things your people do, but--"

"It's not the same," he interjects gently. "I get you."

You look at him and smile, and Bucky feels the same gnawing feeling that this is something that's too good, too pure for him.

God of the Night Sky and the Mortal of Blood Stained Hands.

It shouldn't work, but you've already got a drawer in his shelf for your belongings. You've talked about moving to a cabin by the woods if you ever wanted to settle down. You kissed him that morning, and once more on his shoulder, and the last time he's laughed this much in one dinner was the one he had the night before with you.

"Whichever day you're ready," you promise. "I've got a feeling you'll be convinced."

Bucky presses a kiss to your fingers, and you turn back to the TV with a smile.

He watches you for a while. Your fingers continue to play with his. Bucky thinks getting older may just be worth it.

You made a dozen or so trips back to Asgard since the conversation, and he pushed his involvement on each one with the unfailing and ultimately misplaced  certainty that he'd have time.

__________

You wouldn't approve of the way he'd kept the cabin. You wouldn't approve of the way he lived. He knows that, but he also knows if you were around then he'd have a reason to actually sow more than vegetables in the land he keeps digging up. He'd make sure of the table cloth that he found stashed away, leave the blinds open more to allow light to reach his room.

He looks at the bouquet of flowers by his feet and thinks that laying it by a boulder would be insignificant.

So for the first time in a long while, he prays the act of creation will bring him some respite and builds. 

A little hut, with sticks he finds around the place, and makes it big enough to house Sam's bouquet from the wind and sun. He carves out your name onto the boulder, painstakingly with his pocket knife until each letter was guaranteed to last a century. He adds the year of your birth, and can't find it in himself to add the year you died.

He steps back and exhales. It's a memorial. It's a start.

__________

Bucky spends most of the day digging up dirt, sitting out on the porch and looking for firewood. He’s learnt how to grow his own vegetables, and how to go into town unnoticed for other essentials.

And now he has something to tend to.

It starts with fickle sticks and grows into something sturdier. He brings the memorial stronger wood, and bands to hold it together. He looks for wildflowers and pretty leaves, bunches them together and leaves them under the protection of the small roof.

It's the most he's done in over a year.

Months go from crawling to a standstill when it nears October. Bucky leaves the house less often.Truth is, the sky has never entirely recovered since you were gone. It's never truly dark-- a faint navy blue or even azure in the days leading up to the anniversary.

He's seen people puzzle over it-- call it the newest effects of light pollution or climate change. There is no reasonable answer, but the one that exists is that you left and you took the constellations with you.

Still, evening always comes faster and he can't quite stand being out at that time, when there is a void where he used to feel you the most. Instead he stays asleep for as long as he can. He makes use of the brief time he has to fix himself some food, and bare minimum upkeep.

He gathers the last of the flowers he can see around, some leaves that hadn't entirely been lost and makes his way to the lake.

"Forgive me, sweetheart. Season's changin' and I don't got a lot of options," he says lowly and to the hut that's managed to stay up.

Bucky looks at the sparse flowers in his hands and thinks that he'll make the godforsaken trip into civilisation to get you better ones. Ones you really liked, colourful and dynamic.

For now, he tries tying them together with a blade of grass to make it look less pathetic. It breaks every single time-- he's never been very good at being delicate.

Something around his wrist catches his attention. Some days he forgets it isn't a part of him.

His hair whips rather majestically around his head. He’s used to the sting when it strikes his skin, only reflexively reaching up to tuck it behind his ear.

“Hair tie?”

His eyes snap to yours in surprise. You've never really talked to him before, just brief nods and smiles along the way. Bucky wasn't exactly the patron saint for socialising either. He's always thought something about you was otherworldly. He didn't consider himself significant enough to be going out of your way to talk to either.

“Would you like a hair tie?” you repeat. “It’s rather bad out there.”

“Uh, yeah,” he replies, though he’s never considered that as a solution. “Sure, if you’ve got one.”

“We’ve learnt to carry them around when you fight alongside the likes of Thor and Volstagg.” You smile, reaching into the compartment of your belt. “Long hair looks good. Doesn’t always work that way.”

Bucky gives you a tight smile, feeling slightly embarrassed but a voice in him compels him to accept the kindness you’re offering.

He quickly secures his hair into a lower bun, giving more show to cheeks dusted pink.

“I’ll give it back after the mission,” he promises.

“Don’t.” You pause, giving him a once-over. “It suits you.”

Most days he remembers it's one of the only things he's still got of you. Still, he ties the flowers together with your hair tie-- and they stay this time.

"See you next week," he says, and a wind blows past him. Pathetically, he dares to hope it's a sign from you.

___________

Two sharp knocks on the door, but his eyes are open before the second one. It wasn’t like he was getting much sleep anyway.

When his arm doesn’t keep him up, it’s the ache in the rest of his body to be near you. Trailing kisses up your arm and watching wildfire heat spread through his neck when fingers tip up his chin. Lips trying to catch each other until panting breaths matched.

He flips over to the other side. Both sides of the pillow are drenched with his sweat. Christ, if this was how it was going to be in the days leading up to the anniversary, he can't imagine what would happen the day of. 

Someone rapps intently at the door, only picking up pace when Bucky chooses to ignore it. By all means, he’s retired. That alone should entitle him to some fucking peace, but no. 

He curses as he drags himself out of bed and pulls on a shirt, shuffling to the door. When he pulls it open, his eyes are probably murderous, but there is no one to catch the daggers. There is a simple brown cardboard box, labelled with his name.

Bucky, with a narrowed gaze, takes a step away from the box and instead heads into the open air. But there is not a soul, even as he stalks around the cabin and really stops to listen.

He comes back to the threshold and eyes the box. Using his foot, he swiftly kicks the lid off it and braces for an impact that doesn’t come.

There are shirts. And a mug. He frowns, kneeling down to shuffle through the contents, only to find bits and pieces of things he just…left behind when he left the compound.

Pictures he never really got framed. Socks with torn toes. Sweatpants. Laptop.

And there’s a tiny box. His chest twists the second he lays eyes on it so much that he thinks he’s been injured.

There’s a ring in there. Not really even an engagement ring, since you were gone before he had a chance.

Just a ring. But it’s enough to make him suddenly feel the weight of the air around him and he’s forced to take a seat right there on the steps. There’s nothing else in there of you, just old mission reports that mention your active involvement. Maybe if the smell of cardboard hadn’t permeated through the fabric of his shirts, he’d have traces of your scent.

Fragmented parts of his life, like snapshots of his history, running through his mind like an old film. It makes him question, for a second, if death was finally catching up to him.

Well, it was late. He’d been kept waiting for years.

_____________

The day itself is grey and sullen. In crackles of electricity, he can almost feel Thor’s state of mind. He tries not to think that in a few years, you’d be gone for longer than he knew you.

He rounds up leaves as orange as mandarins and ties them together with the hairtie. He clears up the last bunch he’d left and takes a seat on the shore of the lake. Cloudless and barren. Chill.

He can sense the end of the battle is near– he sees Sam a lot less overhead, even his gun didn’t require as many re-stocks. His pace slows to match the few that are left around him, and he’s already wondering how he can finish this quicker to get to help with search and rescue.

But Bucky didn’t even have to be told. Mid-punch, something in the air shifts and a deep shiver runs up the curve of his spine.

Before he even straightens up the sky explodes from the early azure of dawn to a blinding white to a blood-curdling crimson. His body reacts faster than he does, because the speed at which his stomach drops is only rivalled by how fast he was sprinting to your last known location.

He yells names through open comms-- yours, Thor's, Sam's-- turning the corner and immediately feeling the full force of a blast shove him onto his back.

With a groan and the force of his left hand, he presses into his ears to stop the excruciating ringing. He feels someone pull him up– blue, red and white kevlar against bruised skin and he’s already pushing away.

“Sam, where–” he blinks furiously, trying to read what word’s Sam’s got on his mouth because his head is still spinning. “She–”

He hears something about Thor and building and searching and forces himself to look at the force of a multistory highrise that’s collapsed into rubble on the street.

Something about impaled and sacrificed and he feels like vomiting violently, shoving Sam aside to stumble through the dust and smoke, teeth clamping down on his heart in his mouth.

Thoughts of you waiting under rocks, choking while fly ash turned your lungs to rock, suffocating.  Every second of his incompetence is a second you spend wasting away where he couldn't find you.

It takes hours for Thor to give up searching through the rubble. It takes Bucky days.

It took a few seconds for the sky to turn red. It took weeks to turn from crimson to the ghost of blue it still remains.

God of the Night Sky and A Man Too Slow.

Your body is never found, and Bucky never forgives himself. It takes a whole month to be able to look at the night. Some days he hides his face from the moon, afraid of wrath.

____________

When Bucky gets the call, he isn’t exactly sure how to respond. One, because he didn’t even know you had his number memorised and two, he’s not sure how you’ve allowed yourself to get arrested. But it’s 2am and he’s on his motorcycle, on the way to the police station, still entirely confused about what exactly was going on.

“That’s him.” You point, jumping up from behind the bars.

You look lovely– someone’s gotten you out of the battle armour he usually sees you in, and into something that passes as authentically Earth-like.

He makes a mental comment to tell you, but to still be discreet about it. He's not really sure where the both of you stand these days. You've got him agreeing to braids in his hair like a viking, and sitting next to him during team nights. He's got you reading the entirety of Lord of the Rings and going to museums with him to steal back his belongings. But he's not really sure.

Bucky’s eyebrow twitches at the fact that they’ve got you locked up, but you look entirely unfazed like it’s a new restaurant or escape room you’re checking out. Excited, even.

"Hey,” he says calmly to whoever wants to listen, “what the fuck?”

The grin you give him is sheepish and he already kinda wants to laugh, but he fights back a smile.

“Broke two tables at the bar two blocks down,” the officer replies. “Looks like she was going for a third.”

“I promise, I did not mean to,” you swear to him. “I did not realise your furniture would be so weak.”

Bucky looks at the officer wearily. “Had t’lock her up for that?”

Whatever the officer was expecting, it was not Bucky's lack of respect for the law or private property.

“Well– superpowers– we’re not really sure–” he stammers.

You watch the man curiously, while Bucky's eyes flicker over to you. He knows you could bend the bars of the jail cell and walk right out, so indulging them was clearly a choice.

“I’m an Avenger, I’ll take it from here,” he interrupts, making his way over to you.

“I’m gonna need to see some ID–”

“Google it,” he bites back, before turning to you. “Y’okay?” 

“I’m great,” you reply, full of life as if it wasn’t the middle of the fucking night. “It was a lot of fun.”

“How’d you know my number?” He mentions for the guard to unlock the gate, ignoring the swelling in his stupid chest.

“We are friends, are we not?” you ask, a bit confused.  

Bucky can't figure out if he's surprised or disappointed- a good mix of both, perhaps. He's glad you consider him a friend, but something in him aches dully. He positively despises it and how often it's been creeping up on him whenever he sees you around the compound. He was a 100 years old, not some lovesick fuckin' teenager.

“Yeah. We are,” he agrees, turning to glare at the officer who was holding up his phone, eyes darting between it and Bucky’s face. “Could y’move faster? It’s late.”

The guy hurriedly unlocks it and you step out, stretching your arms over your head before waving goodbye to the guy and sauntering off. He watches you go for a second before pressing back a small smile.

“The bar-”

“Tell them to get stronger tables,” Bucky calls from over his shoulder, not even waiting for a reaction. “Send the paperwork to the Avengers office, and put the bail on the tab.”

He finds you outside, arms crossed over your chest while you wait for him.

“Thank you.” You give him a smile. “I forgot that it would be late for you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he waves off. “Wild night, huh?”

He had heard that some of the agents who had shifted here recently were checking out the hubs around town, but he had no idea that you’d be with them. It made sense in hindsight. More often than not, you were seeking recommendations and guides on how to learn what it was like here.

“I’ve seen worse.” Your eyes shine, and for a second he thinks that they even glimmer like starlight. “I did not realise breaking tables would be such an issue.”

“Yeah, we tend to be possessive over stuff,” he scratches his neck, almost embarrassed for his kind. “Coulda kept the cops out of it, don’t know why they had to go through all this.”

“I will have them replaced. Ours will not break, they’re made for Asgardian parties after victories in battle.”

He nods slowly and wonders if a crane would be enough to lift the table into the joint. It was nearly 3am, and he was out here with you in front of a police station, and he can't stop his stomach from fluttering. He wants to punch himself.

“Are you hungry?” you ask suddenly.

Bucky’s head tilts. He definitely had dinner….maybe. Half a leftover burrito and an apple.

“I’m starving,” you add. “I saw this place along the way here–”

Not to rub it in, but Bucky Barnes, smooth player and charmer extraordinaire, blanks. He's about sixty years off his game, and sure, he thinks you’re real pretty and that maybe he’s always wanted to know what it’d be like to buy you dinner and maybe hold your hand? If you were good with that? Maybe even–

“Like a date?” he blurts out and immediately wrings his fingers.

You falter and he wishes he was never born. “A date?”

“Like– getting dinner together,” he tries to remedy. “Breakfast. What time is it?”

“Yes, that is what I asked.” Your head cocks to the side to match his in confusion.

“No, like– like different. Not just dinner– yeah, dinner, but more–” Christ alive, he wishes he could run into traffic, but the road was deserted.

You wait for him to explain a little better where he was trying to get at. He can feel his ears burning bright.

He just shuts up instead.

“Dinner-breakfast, but more,” you test slowly.

“...more romantic?” he tries finally, defeated. “A date. Romantic date– I’m tryin' to ask you out here.”

"Oh.”

The world is very still. He thinks he will hand in his resignation tomorrow and disappear.

He had done his part, embarrassed his mother and every internet poll that deemed him the most suave and mysterious Avenger, and could now die in peace.

“A date it is, then. Breakfast-dinner, but more,” you reply.

Oh. He thinks he’s probably going to combust but you lean over to press a small kiss to his cheek, and now he’s sure he’s going to combust.

“Humans think too much,” you say simply.

"Think I'm more of an exception than the norm,” he mumbles.

"Aren't I lucky," you tease, and tap on the helmet. “Don’t suppose you’ve got an extra?”

Bucky’s eyes fly open, and the blankets get kicked off in a frenzy. His chest heaves as he sits up, rubbing furiously at his eyes.

He knew it was going to be bad, but he didn’t think it would be this fucking insidious. 

He moves to wipe the sweat from his brow but comes back dry. The air is still cold even though he keeps the window shut, and he turns to it to see a thunderstorm taking place outside.

He watches the drops pelt against the window and trees shake violently for a moment, forcing himself to breathe as he rakes his hand through his hair.

Before it clicks, and his stomach drops.

“Fuck,” he hisses, not even bothering to throw on a jacket before bolting outside.

The path that he’s trodden a thousand times before looks entirely unknown, and had he not been reliant on his muscle memory he would have had no clue where he was heading. Inky blue trees, harsh and sharp, and he's sure he's gotten a few scratches on his face already as he sprints through the forest to the lake.

The boulder is there, the carving of your name remains but the hut of sticks and leaves-- it lays strewn across the land.

And the hair tie. The fucking hair tie.

He crawls miserably on his arms and knees, relying on the light from a clouded moon to guide him through every inch of grass. Eyes burning red, he continues to scour until morning breaks with twilight.

6 years he’s kept it with him. 6 years, and it’s gone with the rain.

He lets out a cry, fist driving into the earth, barely met with any resistance.

God of the Night, and Devil of Misery.

_______

The flowers had dried up and left him to rot with them. The lake was troubled on more days than not. He had a ring that was neither entirely yours, neither entirely his and no more than the traces of your skin in his memory.

So this time when the idea appears to him like a snake, crawling and inching up his back to tell him that he deserves it, you deserve it. It would solve everything.

He is no stronger than Eve. He had fallen from grace a long time ago. He shudders just as he did the first time, but now it felt like more reprieve.

_____________

“James,” it greets, hollow like a windchime.

His voice comes out more gruffer than he expects from months of unuse, “Got a minute?”

The light retreats further into the house, away from him. He watches it fade as it travels, unsure of what to do until it pauses, hovering in one spot.

It waits for him, he realises. He slips the beanie off his head and into his pocket, before hesitantly taking a step into the cabin. The floorboards creak under the weight of him the way his own used to months ago. Now they were well-worn and all the corners that made the most noise were identified and memorised. The house and its resident both stayed silent.

Bucky finds Wanda with her eyes closed, palms pressed into her knees as she sits midair, body levitating like she was held up by a marionette.

The room is lit dimly, the only light enough to see Wanda and he understands that the woman he met years ago and the one in front of him now were not the same. Even without his serum, he has a feeling the hair on his body would be standing up, adrenaline replacing desperation and fingers bound tightly into a fist. But even with his senses on high alert, Bucky finds it hard to find a reason to care.

“You found me.”

They gave him back his laptop. He knew the Avengers had eyes on her– but only because she was allowing them.

“What brings you here?” she asks, eyes still closed.

“I need a favour,” Bucky replies, voice unnaturally strong.

“Most do,” she hums, bones cracking when her head creaks to the side. “What is it that you want, James?”

“Got a feeling you already know,” he replies.

“Humour me.”

Bucky’s eyes burn the more he continues to stare. He feels sweat trickle down his back in a clean line. The room felt like it was closing in on him with every pulse of light, crawling into his skin and scraping up and down his bones until–

“I want to bring her back from the dead.”

Wanda’s eyes stay shut but a sick, twisted sort of smile works at the corner of her mouth. “Who?”

“You know who,” he swallows thickly.

Wanda straightens her head till she is sitting pin straight again, eerily firm as if her spine had been replaced with a rod.

“It has been months. Nature would not have been kind to her.”

“But it’s possible,” he says– asks, really.

“Anything is,” Wanda tuts. “But all that time would have eroded away at her.”

“We never found the body." He hates how his voice quivers for a second. “And she’s not from this Earth. That’s gotta count for something.”

“Depends.”

“Can you do it?”

“I can.”

Bucky feels relief flood into his system, an ecstatic sort of euphoria that has his heart lead–

“But I won't.”

And it goes back to how it was. Cold. Bitter. Was this some sick fucking joke?

“Why?” His voice drops an octave.

“Time will heal you. Getting in the way of that is only harmful to you.”

Real fuckin’ rich coming from you, he wants to scream.

“I tell you this because I know from experience.” It’s almost as if she reads his mind. Probably does. “Bringing someone back from the dead is not what you think it is.”

“I’ll handle it. Whatever it is.”

“Can you?”

Bucky wavers, brows furrowing. “Yes.”

Wanda hums, the same smile from before returning to her face. “Your spirit is admirable. But I’m afraid I can’t grant you this wish.”

Bucky feels white hot inside, and like his world crumbles into a dark heaving mess. “Wanda–”

“It’s for your own good, James.” If he wasn’t so full of rage he’d maybe hear the fondness that hid behind a few of her words.

“How would you know?” he snaps. “Vision wasn’t human–”

Wanda’s eyes snap open. Bucky is forcefully shoved a step back, arm jumping up in front of him in a second. For the first time he notices that the light wasn’t shining on Wanda– it was coming from her. Crimson red and pulsating as fast as the blood raced through her veins.

“You think Vision was the first time I’ve lost someone?” Her voice is cold. “You met him, James. You knew his name.”

Bucky’s grown to carry guilt on his back like Atlas. A little bit more is hardly a burden. “This– it’s going to be different,” he says. “She’s not a mutant, she’s a God, Wanda–”

“So you think you can match up to that by playing one?” Wanda’s voice raises. “You don’t get to pick who stays dead. You don’t get to choose. I didn’t. None of us did.”

“I wasn’t there when she died. If I was, then maybe–”

“That doesn’t mean anything. I cannot give you this favour.”

“Then consider it repayment. Of a debt,” he finally exclaims. “You said it. You owed me one. I’m cashin’ it in.”

Days of starvation just so that the kids could eat. If his handlers knew, they’d make him kill them with his bare hands. He gladly accepts fifteen more broken bones just so that the twins are kept together, and even when he goes back under, the sight of their big eyes, too big for their faces, staring at him haunts him in his nightmare.

“I just want another chance.” Bucky’s stare is strong, voice steady. “I’m tired of praying. I’m sick of it. I’ve been begging my whole life for a second chance at everything. You think I want to be here? That I get to be the one that’s still alive?”

The glow around Wanda looks like it should burn her. All consuming and vicious, like blood splattered on a wall.

“Please,” his voice reduces to the strength of a child. “Just try. That’s all I’m askin’.”

Bucky watches as the light slowly dims to a silhouette, leaving him blinking back the burn on his iris. He loosens his fist, knowing later that his fingernails probably broke through the skin of his palm.

Wanda’s chest rises and falls.

She closes her eyes. “Leave.”

He wordlessly turns on his heel. It was stupid of him to hope, he supposes.

______________

Autumn dies for December to grow, and he starts staying inside more than he already does. Snowfall covers the roof and the treetops. He swaps eggs for soup and makes batches large enough to last the whole day. The ground freezes over, and he looks for ways to keep his self-sustaining system going, but trips to town become more frequent.

Sam visits once more, and brings some more things with him this time. Books, a journal, some old box sets of shows. Bucky nods along to the conversation, asks after his family and when the time comes, rejects another offer to come to spend Christmas at the compound.

He accepts Sam’s flowers with more grace than the last time. The door closes, and he leaves it by the couch.

__________

He attempts to rebuild it. Pulls together some stronger branches and heavier stones. A new memorial lays together half-heartedly. Dejected. A little miserable looking.

He stares at it a little too long before one swoop of his arm cracks it in half and leaves it strewn across the grass.

Bucky doesn't try again.

__________

“Did you come up with the constellations?”

It's a stupid question, but he's always curious about you.  

“Hm,” you reply at first. “Not in the sense that you’d think.”

Bucky turns away from looking into the abyss and towards you. His flesh hand continues to trace shapes into your skin as your neck rests on his bicep.

“I didn’t place them in a way that was meant to be drawn,” you reply. “My mother used to tell me when I was a child that the spirits of those I cherished would live on through parts of our creations. For others, it would be through groves of orchards, or rain that corrode caves into mountains.”

Bucky watches the fingers of your free hand dance nimbly, while the other stays tucked between the both of you.

“I was young when I realised that certain lights were brighter when I felt too much for someone. Pain, joy, rage,” you continue, fingertips pointing upwards, “Those stars, satellites– whatever you wanted to call them– they were the ties I had to those I loved. So sometimes, I would move them with me so that every time I looked up, I would see that I had company.”

He tears his eyes away from you and towards where you were gesturing. It’s subtle at first, but then he sees– stars moving faster than they should, darting all around the canvas of the night like runaway splotches.

“Over time, those on earth noticed patterns and called them constellations. I’ve always seen it as my family,” you say, gently dragging a barely lit star from the corner of his eye towards the centre.

“That’s for Thor. Sif.” You take turns to point. “Loki. Fandrall. Hogun. My parents.”

Each seems to glow a little brighter as you call out their name. “There’s one for you, as well.” Your finger drops, finding its way back to comfort on his chest.

Bucky’s eyebrows raise.  

“You’ll have to see for yourself which one it is.” You leave a kiss on his jawline, and he instinctively tugs you a bit closer. “It won’t be any fun if I tell you.”

He doesn’t need to ask. There’s one slightly to your left, that’s glowing a little brighter tonight than the rest. His chest swells, and there's a profound sort of speechlessness that engulfs him. He never really knows what to say around you anyway.

“Really fuckin’ love you, you know that?” he mumbles into your the skin of your temples.

“I’ve got a clue or two.” You laugh and along with you, so does the sky.

___________

Bucky eyes fly open, fingers digging deep into the pillow. Not because of the way his brain was choosing to torture him again.

But the fact that the fucking person from before was back at his door, even though it was the middle of the fucking night.

He lets the first three knocks go unanswered but by the fifth one, he’s ready to unleash the force of the shitty month he’s had into whoever was here to drop off the next box of fucking whatever.

He doesn’t even bother pulling on shoes or straightening out his clothes. Hair wild and untamed and fury in his eyes, he marches down the steps of the cabin with a select choice of words for SHIELD and their stupid protocols.

With enough force to pull the door from its hinges, he yanks the door open, eyes ablaze and mouth set in a scowl.

And the earth stops spinning. 

The absolute wind gets knocked out of him and he’s scared to even blink because this has happened to him before. It’s happened, and his eyes have closed and it’s left and he can’t afford that again–

He freezes when a hand reaches out to touch his bicep. Because that has never happened before. He’s always woken up before this.

At the threshold of the cabin, he falls to his knees. His joints ache the same way they did in church all that time ago when his fury was masked with tears.

“Oh,” he whispers, kneeling before the essence of a God he thought abandoned him.

“Bucky?” you ask, confused and soft, hand reaching out to cup his cheek before lowering yourself to his height.

Bucky makes somewhere between a strangled noise and a strange laugh, head reeling.

“You’re back.” His hands fall at your waist lightly like he’s afraid to disrupt still water.

“What’s–” your sentence is interrupted when your eyes roll back into your head.

Moments later it goes limp, and his reflexes move faster than he can comprehend as he grabs you, body springing into action when his mind gives up on him.

He lets out a sigh of relief loud enough to be a sob, fervently holding up the dead weight and a rhythm returns to the stillness of the night, one he’d forgotten the sound of. If he was even the slightest bit aware, more than grateful, he would see the signs from then. His vibranium doesn’t warm when it meets the sliver of skin as he bunches up your shirt in his grip. It feels like he’s breathing in Antarctic air, not spring drafts.

“Thank you,” he whispers against your shoulder to whoever is listening. “Fuck– God, thank you.”

_______

"It's been a month."

"A week, and that's pushing it."

"You're pushing it," you mumble, tightening the straps of your armour, "I do not know how you live like this. Do you always just stare at the ceiling when you're bored?"

"Sometimes I like to switch it up. Look at the floor," Bucky adds gruffly, to a roll of your eyes. "Maybe the door on the days I'm feelin' real fancy."

"You will just let your TV lay that way? With half the screen missing?"

He shrugs half-heartedly. "Sports season's done. Got nothin' to watch."

"Hmm," you pause a second. "'No' to your offer then. You may take that as my formal reply."

"'No' to Thai takeout later?" Bucky squints out into the twilight through the window of the ammunition room. "Lebanese then?"

You raise your eyebrows, tightening the leather around your wrists. "Goodbye, Barnes."

"Bye," he replies, checking to see if his knives sat securely in his old tactical pants.

You send him a nod before you start striding towards the door.  The jet had landed a while ago, still onloading agents and recruits from the compound. 

Bucky's arm jets out to grab your elbow, pulling you back into him. He's well aware it's only because you let him.

"I'm kiddin'," Bucky laughs at the matching smile on your face. "I'll get it fixed. I'll fix it myself. Just marry me, please. I'm growin' old here, sweetheart. All this questioning's not good for my heart."

"You're already old. And we will talk about it when we get back," your fingers press gently into his chest, and he can feel your touch even through the bulletproof vest. "Your laws-"

"There's no law out there that says ex-enemies of the state and Gods can't marry. Even if there is, it'll be just another one I have to break."

Your eyes twinkle when you laugh. Bucky sees remnants of old cosmos in there, as he always has.

"We'll talk about it when we get back," you promise. "Be safe."

"Can't guarantee that."

"Try not to die, then."

"Always."

He can't remember a time when he wasn't the last one on the jet, owing to goodbyes like this. You never opted to join them, reaching the same way Thor does.

The night was uncharacteristically calm, especially since he knew that miles away you were about to step into another battle. But it's good. The night means you will be at your strongest, and that is what he hopes for.

Bucky allows a few seconds of silence to take you in, skin glowing even against harsh fluorescent lighting and a cool air of confidence around you. You raise an eyebrow at him, because this is far from the first time he has done this. He would never divulge why.

He takes a chance to press a quick kiss to your lips, humming. "I'll get the TV fixed when we're back."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Barnes." You smile, thumb swiping across the dent in his nose, an imperfection in a sea of many. "Thai for dinner?"

"Lemme check my calendar." Bucky takes a step back, feeling his heart constrict in a way that he's gotten used to craving. "I may have an opening."

"Please, don't try too hard."

"I'll have my secretary get back to you."

You roll your eyes, fighting a smile. "I love you."

"So, that's a yes then?"

"Get on the plane, Bucky." You sigh. "You already know the answer."

"Love you more." He grins at you, bright and like he's never known sadness. "Catch you later."

____________

In the days that pass, he doesn’t know how to be.

His body leaves him no choice–  staying up all night, waiting for Wanda to show up at the door, fingers burning to take it all back. He keeps the doors locked and windows shut, as if ageing wood would provide any sort of a barrier when it came to her will.

Bucky walks around in a trance, eyes glossy and body stiff like he isn’t sure how much of what he’s seeing is real.

Your body, housed in his old clothes, looks three seconds away from death. He keeps a bucket by the bed from when you cough up dust, the last remainder of old organs. He massages leg spasms, and muscle cramps from your neck.

He keeps a towel close by for the nausea and anything in between as your body fights off the shock of a rebirth. Allopathy is useless when you're a God either way, so he resorts to herbs and roots to alleviate as much as he can.

Your lungs struggle for air at night. He’s already awake, propping you up to make sure you’re breathing better. He rubs at your back in circles the same way he used to do for Steve and finally takes a breath when the wheezing subsidies.

He fervently tells you he loves you every time you slip back under, and wipes at your forehead with a wet cloth to ease the warmth. He’s met with coughing fits and clenched eyes.

Exactly one week from your return, a trip downstairs to gather more firewood for the room and Bucky falters to a stop near the kitchen.

There's a note pinned to the dining table with no indication as to how it got there.

The debt is repaid. This was by your will. Whatever happens next will be by hers.

Every hour, he watches rotting flesh, dissolved muscles and clotted blood crawl out of your mouth. He forces himself to watch. It was his choice after all.

Bringing you back from the dead was never going to be easy.

_________

A week later, the remains of your old body stop exhuming itself. Perspiration beads line your forehead, and he thinks the salt of sweat is your first act of creation. 

Your breath steadies. Nights go smoother. He learns he can live off of two hours of sleep. 

He toys with the idea of telling someone. Sam. Thor, even.  But your lips are bluer than he’s ever seen, even more than when he’d introduced you to blueberry juice pops when the heat beat down on you both in July, and you’d kissed his red-stained ones. 

The longer he stares at you, he dismisses the idea. Something in him says that beyond being something they could accept, they could actively bring a stop to what he was doing right now. 

He couldn’t afford that. Not now, not ever; not when he’s let you down once before already. It’s a secret for now, then. For as long as it needs to be. 

__________

In the days later your nervous system seems to be rewiring itself. The first time he sees you with your eyes open, the plates he’s holding clatter to the floor. 

“Hey,” he whispers, fingers clutching the side of the bed, “Hey, honey. Can you hear me?”

But your eyes never meet his. He slowly follows your gaze to the closed window, eyes glassy and surrounded by strings of red. 

He sees you mouth something, and desperate as he is, he never truly understands what it is before you’re gone again.  

His exhale leaves staggering, head dipping to your arm as he clenches his eyes tight till he sees spots. 

_____________

Bucky starts leaving the windows open. The ones in your room, at least, and only when he's there to keep watch.

It becomes a mission then. The next time you opened your eyes couldn’t be to the desolation he lived in for months. He looks for flowers. Vines. Anything to make the place look less dreary and miserable. He cleans the blinds, and dusts the paintings in the room.

The cells in your body seem to be working overtime– every day there is a little bit less that reminds him of where you came from. Scabs fall away faster than they grow, leaving unbroken skin.

He notices it late. There is only one wound that remains-- a red, jagged scar along your stomach. It looks angry. Heals slower than the rest of them. It is the only place Bucky sees specks of gold instead of bronze when you exert yourself too much.

__________

It takes a good amount of time. He should have anticipated it— the next time you awake, and the next few times after that are only when the sun chases beyond the horizon. 

He drops to your side with questions of “can you hear me?” or “does something hurt?” but each time, something outside the widow holds your attention dear to its chest and unwilling to share.

The moon rays become an elixir more powerful than anything from this Earth. Light almost surrounds you like a cloak, sinking into your skin and drowning in your bones. 

He stays up at night, massaging your arms and your temples, but you are still so cold to the touch he isn’t sure the blood is circulating at all. So he gets more firewood. Makes sure the house is warm all the fucking time.  

Stagnant. Still. Some nights he thinks he can see you looking at him from the corner of your eye.

The second he turns, you lay unmoving as before.

________

He stands labouring over the stove. There's a batch of rich tomato soup, with bread toasting in a skillet nearby. He alternates between wiping down the bowl to serve you in, though you still haven’t eaten, and stirring the soup to stop it from sticking to the bottom of the pan. 

He makes note that he still has to get more gauze from the town, and proper tools to sand down the chairs before he can even think of--

But something interrupts his to-do list. It's so soft, he thinks for a second he's imagining it. But the ladle he's holding clangs against the pot, and he abandons the bowls with such hurry that he wouldn't be surprised if it's in shards.

He races up the stairs, three at a time, his heart is thumping louder than the floorboards creaking.

It’s silent. He can hear his own arm whirring quietly.

He lets out a breath when he sees you haven’t changed positions since he last saw you, and wordlessly turns to head back downstairs to an over-bubbling cauldron of soup. 

"Bucky?"

It’s almost like eternity whooshes past his ears when he realises that he wasn't imagining it.

“Hey.” He drops without a second thought to your bedside, knees scraping against the wood. “Hey. Hi sweetheart. What do you need?”

“Water,” your voice is hoarse and just above a whisper, but you’re looking at him.

You’re fucking looking at him, and your eyes are a share darker than he remembers them being.

He makes a grab for the jug by your bed and holds a full glass to your lips carefully, watching as water treacles in through chapped lips. 

"How are you feelin’?" He hates how shaky his voice sounds, as if he wasn't prepared. As if he hadn’t been waiting.

It takes a second for you to form the word. "Tired."

His fingers brush against your cheek. "What can I do for you?"

You don’t respond, and he watches your chest rise and fall heavily again. You were asleep again.

He bites into his lower lip so hard he can taste the rust of his blood. Moonlight filters in through your curtain and he runs his thumb over the corner of your eye, placing a kiss on your forehead.

It was a start.

___________

Bucky grew up with siblings he outlasted and an absolute wildfire of a friend. It was safe to say the man had more patience than most.

The same conversation repeats three more times over the next few days, and he answers each time with as much tender refrain as the first, begging to know where he can help and what he can do.

“Tired” turns to “I’m tired” turns to “I’m just tired”, and with each he is as proud and hopeful as he was when you talked the first time. 

You begin to eat finally, and he hopes his skills aren’t bad enough to send you to the other side again. Spoonfuls of soup. Bites of bread. A glass of water, and then two. 

“Buck,” you rasp.

And he’s as ready as he was the previous day, with a gentle, “Tell me, sweetheart.”

You’ve already gotten a slice of bread into you today, and you’ve slept through the night. He’s considering this one of the best days you’ve had so far, and that alone is triumph enough to ease the anxiety that pervades him. 

“I was dead.” But this was new. 

Bucky blinks, not sure if he heard you right. Your eyebrows knitted together tells him he did. 

“You were,” he confirms, not daring to breathe. 

“But now…” you trail off, as if you were expecting to wake up that minute. 

His Adam’s apple shifts up and down. “Things changed.”

“How?” you ask, eyebrows pulling together even tighter, and he worries it takes energy that could be used elsewhere.

The muscles in his jaw tighten anxiously. The floorboards press into his knees. 

"You did something?" your voice comes back quietly. 

His silence is enough of an answer.

"How long was I gone?"

"It’s been a while, honey," he replies, eyes never leaving yours. 

Your head turns to face the ceiling, a deep exhale working its way through you. Bucky's eyes drift to the scar on your stomach, hidden under the fabric. Thorny and broken.

"Who knows?"

His gaze shifts back to your face, but you aren't looking at him.

"Only me," he says, voice unwittingly dropping before adding, "and Wanda."

"Wanda," you repeat quietly. "It was magic."

Something familiar sets into Bucky's chest. Heavy, pressing down on his throat and making the bile rise.

"I'll get you more water," he says, pausing briefly to look at you, but you continue to stare at the roof. "I'll be right back."

You don’t have a response for him. As he makes his way to the door, it follows like a shadow. He pauses by the frame to look at you once again, but your eyes have closed.

Bucky watches for a second, swallowing thickly. It feels all too similar to guilt.

__________

Bucky dedicates himself even more vigorously to the house. He finally takes out the cutlery, cleans it up the best he can and wipes down the table every single day.  He spends the day collecting fruits for juices and vegetables for broth. Firewood. Making sure everything is sharp enough to use, and the traps he set up in his initial time here were still functional.

He checks to see if the trees can take the weight of the swing he’s hoping to fashion out of bark. How fast it would take to polish the porch chairs and flooring, and what exactly it would take to do that.

No matter how much he cleans, it isn’t enough to wipe the look on your face from where it was seared into his brain like hot iron.  

A week later he's in the garden, digging up the ground to plant seeds. It's January, and it's still fucking freezing, but he's gonna fucking try anyway.

He's got a hold of seeds of poppy, marigold, daisies and who knows what else, and plenty of fucking time.

"You garden now?"

He looks up in surprise. You lean against the backdoor, no winter coat on even though it's freezing. It flashes in his mind that you look paler than you used to, and he wonders if that will go in time. 

“I’ve always gardened,” Bucky defends weakly, and tries to keep his tone normal. “Just– not well.”

Arms crossed over your chest, you ask, “Has that changed?"

“Can’t say it has, sweetheart." He looks at the mess he's created on the ground. "'M tryin', though.”

The corner of your lip upturns into a faint smile. His stomach twists painfully.

"You're up," he says, a little too late. It came faster than he thought it would. Then again, you weren’t human. You didn’t always listen to the laws of nature. 

"Y'feeling cold?" he adds quickly. 

You shrug, pushing off from the door to slowly take a seat. Your legs dangle off the ledge of the porch, barefoot. Bucky waits for you to swing your legs like you always have but you stay still.

He dusts his hands on his jeans and stands, tugging his jacket off his shoulders and holding it out to you. "Can I?" 

"Go on," you allow, and he drapes it around your shoulders, making sure it isn't likely to slip off before stepping back.

A draft blows past you both without either of you saying a word. Discarding the little shovel on the ground, Bucky chooses to take a seat beside you instead.

"You will feel cold, won't you?" 

"I'll be fine, don't worry 'bout me," he reassures. 

"Seems like you have it covered already," you say, making a motion to imitate the shape of his beard. "Mighty fine mane you've got there, James. You could give Odin a run for his money."

He gives a short chuckle, threading his hands through his hair that reaches down to his shoulders.

He’s finding it hard to formulate words. He couldn’t even tell if his mind was racing or entirely blank.

"You've got grey in your beard now," you observe. It sounds wistful. Sad even, and all of a sudden he’s left realising that he doesn't know how long it has been for you.

"Been a while since I got a haircut." 

Christ, he was drier than a brick. His conversational skills and charm had deserted him along with the rest of his luck. 

You lift your eyes from his beard to his face, scanning from his hairline down to his chin. "You look as handsome as you always have," you say and his heart jumps. "Just a bit..."

Sadder. Tired. Mistrusting.

"Older," you settle on.

He'd grown more wrinkles than he could count, and his skin didn't bounce back as much as it used to.

Beyond that, he smiled a lot less. He spent more time thinking than verbalising.

“You need help?” He hears you ask faintly, head gesturing to the patch of dug-up mud.

“You need to get rest,” Bucky shakes himself out of it. “I’ll get you some–”

“I’ve rested long enough, Buck,” you say assertively. 

He wonders if you did. Bucky remembers what you told him of Asgardian funerals. How your body is set floating along a river, and your soul lifts towards the sky to rest. You never got to have that. He doesn’t even know if they sent an empty log along a cold river.

"Tomorrow?" he delays.  

You look at him briefly before nodding.The ground stays untouched and the sky still greys. Bucky sees you take a few deep breaths, shuddering when a draft of wind blows by. He silently shrugs off his scarf too, and wraps it around your neck loosely.

You simply let him. Minutes pass in silence, and neither of you make any motion to move. 

You bump your shoulder into his. "I see you haven't fixed the TV yet."

A swift exhale leaves him in the form of a laugh. He turns away so that you don't see how his eyes begin to burn.   

"Sorry, honey," he croaks out, "I've been distracted."

The smile you give him is melancholic, and that's enough to dissolve his red eyes from a warning into tears.

_________

Bucky buys every single streaming platform available, and every channel available on cable.

That night he takes apart every single component of the television, wipes it down and puts it back together better than before. He only rests when it's 2am and the sound of late night commercials softly flood the living room.

__________

Bucky takes the guest bedroom, initially, a floor away from you to give you the space you need. 

He then realises it's too far, it's too risky. Sheepishly, he shifts to the same room as you, but makes himself a place to sleep on the floor with blankets and a pillow.

You voice your protest, and even though he’s spent three years curled up beside your sleeping frame, he says his back could use the hard surface now. 

He gets you clothes from town. Sweaters and socks, scarves. Things he knew you used to like and things he always promised he'd get if he had another chance. You take them with a small smile and a thanks. He sees you wear them around the house, and while they're exactly the size they should be, and the colours he knows you love.

There's a nagging feeling in him that they don't sit right. They don't look right. Still, you wear them on the days you can leave the bed. He shows you around the house. The good parts, at least, and pretends like that’s how he’s always lived even though he can tell you see right through his facade. 

He’s there when you thrash around at night. Bucky's up before the minute is even over, at your side and gently calling your name till you jolt awake. He hands you glass after glass of chilled water, rubbing your back in circles till the wave passes. It’s entirely too reminiscent of what you used to do for him, and he hopes the familiarity would do you good. 

Sometimes you tell him what you saw. Darkness enveloping you for hours, holding you close and sliding its vines over you, binding your limbs like rope before you're shoved into blinding light.

“Last I remember was the fight," you say one night, as he wipes the sweat from your forehead. "I cannot tell how much of it was real, it's--"

And you pause and struggle, and he's at a loss for words because you never have been. You've always known what to say. You've always had a thought you wanted to share. 

"Thor told me a little bit," he offers quietly. "If you'd want, I'd tell ya."

You look at him, conflict raging behind drained irises. "I was fighting. I heard them say something about-- there was a building with civilians hiding."

"Yeah, there was," he confirms, voice tight.

"They wanted to-- do something to it." You close your eyes, brows furrowing in concentration. "I told Thor I would get them out before anything happens. We had done it so many times before."

"He said there was an explosion."

The sky explodes from the early azure of dawn to a blinding white to a blood-curdling crimson.

And Bucky was too slow to get you out.

"I don't remember that," you say and his eyebrows furrow. "I remember--"

Bucky watches you hesitate for a second before your hands nimbly move the fabric of your shirt slightly to reveal the outline of the scar, inhaling sharply. 

"I wasn't careful enough. There were civilians I was getting out and someone from behind--"

It dawns in a slow realisation the reason why the scar hadn’t healed yet. Why it stood out from the others that littered your skin. Bucky had thought for this long that you'd died in a blaze, trapped under bricks and mortar. That you had been left suffocating because he hadn't been fast enough, that he wasn't good enough.

"I knew I would not be awake for long. I just wanted to get rid of as many of them as I could."

"The building came down." He swallows the rock in his throat. "We spent days searching through it."

"I think I was gone before the explosion happened."

It makes sense-- the sky shifted all too quickly that day. You were gone before he even had the chance. Your fate had already been sealed. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I should have been there.”

“I’m glad you weren’t. It wasn’t a pretty sight.”

"That's not–" his words come out in a rush, stumbling over each other, insistent. "If I was there--"

"There is no point in punishing yourself," you interrupt his spiral. "It was a choice I made. I would do it again. It was what had to be done."

He swallows thickly when he knows the conversation ends there. 

__________

Some nights Bucky settles on pressing a kiss to your knuckles, and lingers there for a second longer than he should. 

You turn to face him from your place on the bed, looking at him like you've known him for centuries. Some nights it feels like you have.

_________

Bucky builds you a swing. It's a little ridiculous, and it takes a whole week to do it.

But your face breaks into the biggest smile he's seen since you got here, and he can taste the sun on his tongue. The strange feeling in his stomach is alleviated for a moment, and replaced with something closer to pride.

You spend hours on it while he works on parts of the house. He makes sure you've got a blanket with you at all times, even though you’ve never once told him you feel cold.

You ask him questions about everything. Him, the world; like you’re trying to relearn what you’ve lost.

"How long ago did you buy this place?" 

"Nearly two years ago," he replies, paintbrush in hand as he swipes up and down the deck. "Owners hadn't come here in a while and they wanted it off their hands quick, so I made an offer."

You hum, using the balls of your feet to swing yourself higher. "I have always wondered what it would be like to live in a place like this."

Bucky’s painting halts for a second as he fights a smile, but he doesn't respond. The squeaking of the swing stops. He looks over to you, only to find you already looking at him.

"Is this why you bought it?" you accuse.

Bucky returns to painting the wood, face turned away.

"You are far more of a hopeless romantic than I ever remember you being."

He scoffs out a laugh. "You'd'a run away."

"I wouldn’t have." You narrow your eyes. "I have had suitors in the past who've done far worse. You are far from the most embarrassing."

"You laughed when we kissed for the first time," he points out, amused.

Your jaw drops. "That was because I wasn't expecting it. You'd been courting me for months, I thought you were never going to move beyond that."

"I was tryin' t'be a gentleman," he defends. "I didn't know how they do it in Asgard."

"Well, for starters, they don't kiss someone after dropping tiramisu all over them."

He cringes, but it doesn't escape him that memories of the both of you feel like they're accompanied by a light this time, instead of dread. "Could you blame a fella for bein' nervous?"

"I do not know why, you had no reason to be."

He wants to ask if you've seen yourself before. He was damn near pissing himself whenever you got too close to him. The tiramisu was just collateral damage from when you chose to wipe cream smudged at the corner of his lip that night. 

When he lifts his head to look at you, you're back to swinging. Back to your own world. A new one you seem to have constructed for yourself since you came back. Back then he was privy to all your thoughts, no matter how mundane they were.

Right before he goes back to painting the deck, his brain makes a small connection. It's a small detail, but one that holds a lot more weight the more he begins to notice.

Your back curves in on itself ever so slightly. No longer pin-straight. His grip on the brush grows a little tighter.  

__________

February rolls around. Bucky's only managed to work up the courage to hold your hand occasionally when you go for walks.

Fingers laced in yours, he shows you parts of the woods he's discovered that stray from the main path. The shrubs that look like they're alight when the sunset catches them. The trees that have a hole right through the centre, like they've taken a bullet.

You keep him out longer and longer, and by now he’s run out of things to show you. He ends up repeating a lot, but you look glad each time, like you’re learning something new about him each day even though he’s dredged you through the same mud path at least thrice now.

He wants to think that it’s because you like having longer to hold his hand. 

You listen intently, asking questions whenever you could. You let him know what parts you like better, and parts you’re glad he’s left behind, even if it was recent. 

Bucky blushes from head to toe when you pick a flower and tuck it into his hair, and you smile it away with a swing of your hand. 

"You get visitors?" Your mouth moves in tandem with your fingers that weave together a crown from stray leaves and blades of grass. You tell him, even though he remembers, that it was something you learnt from Sif growing up. 

"Sam drops by every now 'n then."

"Do you visit them?" you ask, hands twisting deftly and with skill of someone who’s done this all too many times. "How has everyone been?"

Should he tell you he's been sequestered? That he dropped everything and disappeared overnight because the questions of 'are you fine?' and 'do you want to talk?' became as suffocating as a thick cloud of smoke.

"Last I heard, they were doin' alright." He hopes it's enough.

"I tried talking to Thor," you tell him casually, but it feels like a cold fist clamps down on his chest. 

“And?”

“I couldn’t hear him,” you tell him, just as normally and he’s disgusted that he feels even the tiniest bit of relief. “I couldn’t hear Heimdall either. I know he’d respond if he could hear me, so I can only assume he hasn’t.” 

“You’re sayin’ you’re not able to talk to them?” His voice sounds small.

“I believe I lost the ability to communicate with them,” you tell him, tying the last bit of grass together. “I don’t think there is precedence for when someone comes back from the dead.”

You hand him the crown, and Bucky doesn't dare to meet your eyes. It’s too small for him. It’s closer to the size for a child. 

"'M sorry, honey," he mumbles. It returns to his stomach. The sick, gnawing feeling that he’s tried to obtain salvation for.

"I still have you,” you tell him, “But you were here for this long without anyone. It must have been lonely.”

Truth be told, he never really noticed. It almost seems like he’s forgotten how it felt.

"Hasn't been for a while, now." He squeezes your hand.

"I don't like the idea of you staying here alone.” Your eyes scan his face. "You deserve to be around others."

Bucky doesn't know what it is about the way you say it-- like you're not entirely sure you're here either. Like you aren't real. 

He calls your name, unsure, scared even. You answer with a hum. 

"Are you okay with being here?" It’s too late to be asking this. 

Your face pulls together thoughtfully, but he can't decipher what you're thinking.

"I like spending time with you. Always." 

Your head leans on his shoulder, and you resume the tune you’re humming. Bucky tries not to think about the fact that you haven't quite answered his question.

_________

He wakes up on the ground again, not to your muffled groans or bed sheets being thrown to the ground.

You're not in bed. The window is open. There's scattering downstairs, and it's followed by a strange scent, and for a second he panics.

He scrambles down the stairs, mind already conjuring pictures and images so vile and ghastly--

But all he sees is you in his biggest shirt, one that you yourself once got him as a joke for a punchline he can’t really remember right now.

And you're surrounded by broken pans, bent forks and an entirely indiscernible charred mass on the bottom of a skillet.

"I tried to cook," you admit, "like on TLC."

"And you broke the pan?" he asks, a little stunned, a lot more in love. 

"I did not realise your cookware would be so weak." You try so desperately to hide a smile. "Tried to scrape it off using the fork."

He looks at the misshapen piece of cutlery.

"And what's that?" He slowly makes his way into the kitchen towards you.

"The remnants of a frittata." You hold it out to him.

Bucky takes the handleless skillet from you and looks at the ashes.

"What do you think?" you ask.

Bucky holds it back out to you. "Could use a few more minutes on the stove."

The smile you try to hold back breaks into laughter and his face lights up in surprise. It's the first time since you've gotten here, and the first time in years since he's been graced with the sound.

He bites his lip when you take it back from him, all while still giggling, like he doesn't quite believe his ears.

"I do believe I would fare better at toas-- oof."

Bucky pulls you into his chest, arms wrapping around you like a weighted blanket. The pan drops to the counter as his head falls to your shoulders.

"I missed you so fuckin' much," he utters desperately into your neck, clenching his eyes closed so tight it hurts.  

"I missed you too," you say softly, arms circling his waist, pulling him closer.

___________

The days start to get warmer. Your skin still stays cool to the touch. It's something he's getting used to. For years he was used to waking up at night to turn down the thermostat, just so that he could stay under the covers with you without burning up.

But while good days increase, there are the ones you spend too feverish to get out of bed. You sleep the whole day, only waking when he brings you food.

March fades the dark circles around your eyes as much as it can, but they never truly go. The scar on your stomach doesn't heal beyond a certain point, and is always ready to turn garish and violent on days you can't get your head to lift.

Bucky wonders if you’ll ever get better. 

Fevers break when the mornings do. You tell him you dream of the same thing over and over. Darkness, holding onto you with the same tenacity as a mother stops a child from running into a flame.

You walk with your shoulders drooped, and always some sleep in your smile. Sometimes he hears you call for your parents, who he knows haven't been around for a few hundred years. He hears Thor's name, and Loki's during nights that are more peaceful.

On days that are good, you spend time helping with the garden and for once, the flowers start growing. Tree bark he can't break into two, you manage with one hand. You watch shows together on the couch, and he massages your head when it's in his lap.

And finally, Bucky shows you the lake when it thaws over. Crystal clear waters let you peer at the little plants growing on the bottom, and the sunlight glows in the ripples.

You notice the engraving on the boulder before he has the chance to divert your attention. When you ask, he tells you about the little memorial and the rain and the loss of the hair tie. 

Your hand squeezes his a bit tighter. He thinks no memorial can hold a candle to that.

You look at your reflection in the water a lot. Bucky sits beside you, skipping stones to see how far it can go, like he did in the harbour as a kid. Steve always used to win, no matter how much Bucky tried. 

"There was a lake by my school when I was child," you tell him. "When I was mad, I used to skip class to go sit there for hours."

“What made you mad?” He chuckles.

“A lot of things. I had too much energy to just sit there, and that was ‘unbecoming of a future leader of Asgard’.” Your face pulls into one of distaste. “I always thought there was more to learn about the world than what their books contained.”

Bucky collects a few pebbles from around him. "Did the lake make you feel better?"

"Always." You take a stone from him to skip across the surface. "Sometimes my friends used to join. Our elders said the water had the ability to remember. Loki used to make faces, and it would always linger for a few seconds before it disappeared. Even after we thought he was gone, I'd see his face there."

Bucky stays quiet, nodding at points to let you know he was listening.

"I used to see younger versions of myself sometimes," you continue, voice distant. "It always surprised me. I thought I used to know what I looked like. It was different each time."

You inch towards the shoreline, leaning forward on your knees. The clear water looks like an open sky underneath you. "I look different now, too," you say. "But I can't remember what I used to look like."

Bucky discards his stones to come join you, leaning down to where you were. The face staring back at him pulls a sick, twisted feeling in his gut. Deep in him, he knows what you're talking about extends beyond immediate impressions. Centuries of being intertwined with the universe had always given you lines and traces that transcended your physical appearance. 

You have always felt like the God of the Night.

Now you have been to the other side and returned, seen things others haven't and still kept intact. While he doesn't have the courage to admit it, he knows in his blood what you feel like. 

He's scheduled an appointment with him many times, but always just missed it.

Now, you feel closer to the God of Death.

"You've always been beautiful. Still are." It's a band aid on a gaping, festering wound.

Even still, you look at him with a smile. "So are you."

Bucky makes the mistake of looking at his visage in the water, and immediately recoils.

"Christ," he grunts at the difference between the both of you. "What a fuckin' mess."

"Oh, it isn't that bad," you laugh, watching him contort his face.

"Easy for you to say, you look stunning." He points to your reflection. "I look like I was raised by wolves."

"You just need a shave," you hum.

"I need a new face."

You leave aside his last comment to propose something entirely new instead, "I could do that for you."

"What? Give me a new face?" he asks and you give him a pointed look. "Oh. Shave my beard?"

"Same thing, no?"

He supposes so. "Alright," he agrees, with a certainty reserved for no one else. 

A small smile appears on your face, even though you aren't really looking at him.

Bucky watches you lean forward. Your fingers dip into the water, disturbing the reflection.

_____

Late evening finds you settled on the counter, armed and ready. "Lot of trust you're putting in me."

"I'd trust you with anything," he says, looking in the mirror to check once again that foam covers every inch of hair on his jaw. "You know this."

"Still," you note, watching him tilt his chin up. "I could do this with a dagger, if you'd like."

"This works fine, thanks."

You let out a laugh, and he finally steps in front of you, satisfied with his part. You swish the razor into water once again just in case, before leaning forward.

The first swipe goes agonisingly slow. Bucky watches your face screw up in concentration as you scrape down his left cheek.

You pull back and make a face. He raises his eyebrow in question.

"You are too far away," you declare, wrapping an arm around his bicep and tugging him closer.

Your legs wrap around his waist to keep him in place, locking behind his back. His breath hitches in his throat the proximity but you appear entirely unfazed, washing the razor again.

"Are you okay?" you ask, keeping one hand on his neck for balance as you get a much better go at his face.

"Yep," he thinks he says. It may just have been a sound.

You could have spent hours there for all he cares. He's too focused on the pressure of your legs on the small of his back and the way he's basically melted into your hand.

"Your eyes have always been my favourite feature," you tell him, blade carefully running down the curve of his jaw. "When you smile hard, there are these lines in the corner. It's like you can't handle being that happy."

He can't tear his sight from you, and from the fact that this is the closest you’ve been in years. You may as well have been telling him utter nonsense, and he'd still find it hard to control his breathing.

"But I have a soft spot for this." You lightly tap the bridge of his nose. He knows immediately what you're talking about. "I will never forget how stupid you were. Throwing yourself in front of danger like that."

"Couldn't let that guy touch you," his voice comes out an octave lower than what it was. "I'd gladly take a few more punches."

"That's why they stopped pairing us up on missions." The corner of your lip upturns, and you swish the razor around in water again. "You were being reckless."

"I'd do it again."

"One scar is enough." You tilt his jaw to see if you'd gotten everything. "I don't enjoy you getting hurt on my account."

Bucky exhales deeply when you get started on the other side. His hands itch to hold your waist, pull you closer like it’s been carved into the strands of his being, but they stay by his side. 

"I tried for so long after you were gone," he tells you instead, to gain a sense of control. "I went to the therapist. I tried talkin' about it. No one got it. It was the same thing over, and over."

How do you explain that it wasn't simply a person. He thought that that was where it ended-- everything in his life had finally culminated. And that was taken too.

"Went back to the roof a month after everything happened," he continues, studying your reaction. "It was s'ppsed to be a clear night. There was nothing in the sky. I couldn't see the constellations. I couldn't see your family-- I couldn't see you."

You listen intently, but never stop working at him. The longer you spent there, the more of his old face revealed itself to you. Worn, and aged a thousand years in a few months, but it was still the still face you swore to love and cherish for aeons. 

"They took all your stuff. Said it belonged to Asgard, they couldn't keep it here. Thor went off grid. All I had was pictures of us and the hair tie you gave me."

You clean the razor off in water, eyebrows furrowing at the information.

"It felt like you were never here. Like I'd just made you up all those years." You can hear the faint trembling in his voice. "But I had memories of you in all these places-- and I couldn't stay. It was easier to move here and start again."

Looking back at him, you realise you've already finished. There was nothing left on his face to clear.

"Was it hard?" you ask finally, letting go of the razor in the water. 

He looks at you, and you know he's struggling to form the right words. He looked like he wanted to scream, rip the hair out of his scalp, punch a hole through the mirror. 

"More than anything.” His voice comes out raw and peeling. 

Bucky watches you look at him for a long moment, and he wonders if he’s said too much too soon.

But instead you kiss him.

His arms find its way back home around your waist, and he feels you sigh against his mouth before your body relaxes, tilting your head to deepen it.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there,” you breathe, forehead leaning against his. 

"Don't," he begs.

You search his eyes for any kind of a message.

He kisses you harder, pulling you flush against him.

__________

Bucky moves into your bed after you threaten him well and good, and he knows you intend to keep your promises.

For the first time since he can remember, he keeps the windows open throughout the night and throughout the day.

It’s foolish, to think he was invincible. That what you had had finally cemented itself as final.  

You both stay in as long as you want. There is no hurry, nothing to get to. You talk a lot more. You begin to tell him sometimes at night that you see glimpses of what seemed like beyond the end.

Gold. Blood of ichor. Warriors fallen in battle go to Valhalla. Trees that kissed the skies, and valleys so green it hurt. Sometimes, in the corner of your eyes, you could see those you'd lost over the years waiting for you, hand outstretched.

No matter how hard he tries, Bucky doesn’t seem to get it. Every time he thought he was dead, there was only jet black silence and crushing pain. Then again, he never truly died.

But he isn’t ignorant. Fevers and fatigue that initially lasted a day, now knock you out for a week. There are times you throw up more than you've eaten, and the dark circles look like abysses.

He worries to the point of his stomach churning. You look like you don't have the energy to be here, even though you kiss him like you do. 

Bucky runs his hands over your scalp and tells you stories of his childhood. What he felt when you moved in with him, how anxiety made space for comfort. He reads you tales from other mythologies and marks the similarities in the stories you've told him over the years.

Each time you come around your smile gets more tired. Your shoulders grow heavier and your skin loses colour.

You still cook breakfast together. You still watch TLC together to figure out the culture on earth because even after all this while, you still maintain that's the best way to do it.

Things could still be good. But more often than not, Bucky wonders if he’s unknowingly surrendered you to a life you do not wish to live. 

_______

"Sweetheart?"

You continue to drag your finger through the water, oblivious to what he's saying. 

He calls your name, and there's still no response. April sees this happening more often, and Bucky's learnt that no matter what he does, it only seems to worsen.

He touches your shoulder lightly and you almost jump.

"It's getting late. Wanna head back?" he asks, because you’ve skipped out on lunch to stay by the shore the whole day. It seems like it’s the only place you want to be. 

"Yeah." You give him a small smile, wiping your hands on your pants.

"Want a hand?" he asks, holding out his.

You grab it, and pull yourself up, giving him a small peck on the lips along the way.

It feels comically normal. He wants to pretend that it is.

"Pasta tonight?" you ask breezily, slipping your hand into his.

Your fingers are ice cold to the touch. He forces back a shudder.

"Anything you want," he promises.

__________

He catches you humming as you water the plants, when you walk with him, while you read from the end of the bed. 

It's the song of my people, you tell him. They used to sing it when everyone was together.

He listens to the tune and tries to commit it to memory, but it changes far too often.

May catches you staring a lot more often. At walls. The trees. The lake is the worst.

On what would have been the fifth anniversary of the both of you being together, he brings you a cake. The both of you share it over a glass of wine, even though it clashes terribly and leaves an aftertaste.

You laugh harder than you have in the last few weeks and he gets to feel triumphant for an evening. 

You chase the frosting on his lips with a searing kiss, and that's that.

“What do you suppose it means?” you ask later that night, arm wrapped around his middle.

“What?” he mumbles, drowsy from a full stomach and good time.

“That I got a second chance and others didn’t?” your voice sounds distant.

Bucky is suddenly very awake.

“It couldn’t be that they weren’t as loved," you continue. "So then what made me different?"

He doesn’t have an answer.

He rolls over to look at you. But you are staring at the ceiling once again.

_________

His unwavering faith that he can learn to live with it feels like it’s eroding. 

Death changes everyone. He knows that before Steve left a few years ago, he wasn't the same Brooklyn-born spitfire. Steve's died a dozen or so times. He was reborn into a different soul each time.

Spring bounds towards you with warmth and life. The grass is greener, and Bucky's learnt there's more to life than just casseroles and toast.

You bring him more flowers to tuck into his hair. He wears them dutifully, and then learns to press them in between pages of books you both buy from old bookshops.

You give him wider smiles. You talk a lot less. 

Bucky learns that silence doesn't have to be filled. He's loved you in the winter, and he loves you in spring.

But there is always a tension simmering under the surface, just out of reach, like the sky reflecting in the lake. 

Sometimes you say things that he can't quite make sense of. Sometimes it's a lot more obvious, and the same feeling of guilt returns to his chest and flowers under his ribs.

So he asks you one day. You're on the couch, head in his lap while he reads a book you've annotated the week before. The only disturbances are when he stops occasionally to ask you why you liked a line, or why you drew a heart next to another.

You're humming the tune he can’t catch. 

There's nothing really wrong, but he knows. He can feel it in his marrow.

“Sweetheart," he calls gently. 

You look up at him. 

"Are you– are you happy?” And he leaves his heart, raw and unprotected on the line.  

You don’t look surprised. Not entirely knowing either.

A beat passes before you open your mouth to speak. 

“I like being here with you. I love you, I always have, and I will always love being here with you,” you choose your words carefully. “But I don’t know if I can feel that anymore. Happiness, I mean. Or sadness.”

Bucky keeps the book down. You don't lift your head from his lap.

“I feel like there’s a void where my body should be,” you continue in a chance to explain, “I feel like I'm made of air.”

“Are you feeling under the weather?” Bucky tries to find a rationalisation. Anything, that he can fix. That he can control.

You slight him a smile. “Not since the last bout.”

He doesn't know. He doesn't want to get it. He’s always felt that he was selfish, that that was ultimately what led to his punishments. This was a whole new level.

“I was born on Asgard. I have always felt like I was a part of the mud and the riverbed. They were a part of me as much as I was, them. I don’t know if that’s still…”

You pause, and Bucky feels time come to a standstill around him. 

“I’ve been reborn here,” you continue. “I don’t feel like anything is mine. I don’t feel like… I am a part of something. Even the night.”

He knew. Though he knows in his dreams he can still feel traces of Brooklyn carved into his bones, it had jaded over time, been eroded by years of waking up in places he couldn't place.

You sit up to look at him. Your eyes have an intensity to it that even the universe couldn't mask. 

“Do you really like who I am now?” you ask finally.

“I love all of you. Every one.” Ever changing, transient.

“How?” you ask softly. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

He swallows thickly and wills himself to ignore the chill creeping into his body. In truth there is so much he wants to say. He doesn't think that as a war-fractured man from the thirties who grew up in bloodshed will really have the sufficient words.

“I just do. Can’t help it.”

Even if you aren’t satisfied with his answer, he will never know it. He has known for a while now that he's been letting you down since the day he walked into Wanda's cabin.

You give him a slight smile. Lay your head back down on his lap. His book remains unread.

It felt like the beginning of the end.

It's a simple decision then. It would have been, for anyone who wasn’t born with a soul as corrupt as his.

One more week that is hard for you to get up from bed, turns into two. One more week that your face morphs into something he can’t quite recognise. He's never wanted to harm someone he loves, but he seems to do a fine job at it.

It's a simple decision, really. But simple didn't mean easy-- God knows he is anything but a saint.

When you see it finally, the fruits of a labour that took far too less time to manifest than justified the time he spent putting it off, the smile that appears on your face is blinding, he wonders how the sun even has the gall to shine.

“Thor,” you breathe out, only seconds before being engulfed in the most bone-crushing hug you’ve ever received.

Bucky watches from the sidelines, fingers wringing and entirely ready to be smithed to ashes.

“I came as soon as I heard,” he breathes into your shoulder. "I cannot believe this."

You pull back, and standing next to Thor gives Bucky a new frame of reference. One that isn't dependent on how you looked the week prior. He doesn't know how it slipped past him, how he hadn't noticed that you looked so different.

“You look wonderful." You grin at the behemoth of a man. "Your hair has grown out once more."

"They can try cutting it off my dead body," he replies defiantly, arms clasping at your shoulders to keep enough distance to study you from head to toe. "You'll have to give me a second. I didn't think this would be true, when Heimdall gave me James' message."

You look over at Bucky whose lips pull together in a tight line. 

He looks embarrassed. Unsure. Afraid. Guilty, and prepared to be berated for how long it took him. 

"It's true," you reply instead, giving him a smile. "Here, in the flesh."

Thor squeezes your shoulder once more, and laughs the same laugh he's always had around you. Loud, boisterous and entirely free. 

"The others will be thrilled. Sif, Hogun-- you have no idea how the past two years have been. There is so much to catch you up on."

Bucky knows. The fact that you're standing there today is living proof that he knows so well.

“I cannot wait to meet them." The corner of your lips upturn wider at his enthusiasm. "I've missed them terribly."

"We did not get to give you a proper farewell. Your welcome back will be a thousand times better," Thor says brightly. "We can return as soon as you say the word."

You look to Bucky, not for permission, but as a question he's known has been awaiting him a long time.

"Ready?" you ask softly.

He knows you didn't have to ask. That if you'd left him there and never returned, he'd deserve it and worse.

But you're you-- patient and kind. And he thinks that he can try to start redeeming himself.

__________

Turns out he wasn't wrong. Asgard really is too grand for a fella like him.

It is opulence-- gold and towering heights that bleed the love of its citizens and a history richer than words can contain.

Thor is smart. Aside from Heimdall, who greets you with the hug a father gives a child who's been away for too long, no one knows of your appearance until you are ready.

You get a few days in the tower to yourself, to breathe in the air that grew your lungs and touch the marble you've split your head open against in the past. The help are sworn to secrecy, and no one knows who Bucky is anyway except as the man who has been specifically allotted to the same room as you upon your request.

It doesn't take long for your face to pick up. Your skin comes alive with a vibrancy he didn't think he'd see again. You sleep sounder at night, and you eat more than you've had the appetite for in the last few months.

He trails behind you and Thor initially, not wanting to eavesdrop into conversations he has no place being a part of.

But you grab his hand, lace your fingers in his and tug him along as if to say that this is his home too.

He sees what you mean when you say that you are connected to the land. Clothes on Earth have never fit you right. Silks from Asgard decorate you like you are one in the same, like it flows from you.

_________

Reunions are a tearful affair. Lots of hugs are exchanged, punches to the shoulder, and kisses to various parts of your face.

“You have been alive for months, and we are just now learning of it,” Sif holds your hands in hers. 

“It took me a while to recover.” You give her a small smile. 

“We would have come as soon as you called,” she continues. “You did not have to heal alone.”

“I wasn’t alone.”

Eyes turn over to Bucky, and he’s suddenly very aware that the clothes he’s been given are too rich for him, too grand. He feels small, like they drown him out.

Despite what he’s saying, he feels as though he has deprived you. He knows that he has, and he has no one else to blame but himself. 

“Thank you,” Sif says instead, taking him by surprise. “We will remember this.”

“Don’t mention it,” he replies weakly.  

__________

It takes days to meet the closest of your friends, until they decide they had their fill. Bucky is slowly introduced to all of them. Boisterous and loud, most greet him with a wide appreciation. Others are less quick to warm, and he gives himself no room to blame them either. 

Upon insistence, he joins you for your welcome back dinner, and gets a seat right beside you. 

Your hand holds his the entire night, squeezing tighter when something makes you laugh, or when someone is particularly embarrassing.

When there is a lull in the conversation after hours, sly grins are exchanged.

"So, this is the one you raved on and on about." 

His eyebrows quirk in amusement.

"I did not rave," you huff. "I simply informed you--"

"For hours. Days even,” they drag on. “A great warrior from earth with eyes that could rival storms--"

Bucky chokes on his wine. You award your friends with several curses and glares.

"Long hair past his shoulders. Oh, and arms to die for--"

You take in the way his face has gone red, all the way up to his ears. You laugh and grip his hand tightly with an unabashed shrug.

"I am only glad that that's all you remember," you joke.

He thinks he should be buried in the garden for his sanity.

_________

Walks around the castle become increasingly common at night. You are mostly left undisturbed, and you take the opportunity to show him everything you've ached to.

Where you've learnt, where you first scraped your knee. The first arrow you shot. Where your parents met. The first and last time you cried over a friend gone astray.

He can't fathom why he ever thought he wouldn't be ready to know this. As if knowing more about you would cement the fact that he was lesser than.

“You look ethereal,” Bucky tells you one night, honest and true.

You look at him, a bit taken aback. There was nothing particularly different about you this evening. In fact, you’d chosen to stay away from festivities today to lie around the gardens with him, citing a headache.

“I should have said yes earlier,” he continues. “You belong here. It shows.”

A laugh leaves you as an exhale. “It feels different.” You run your fingers through his hair. “I don’t know if it would be the same if I brought you here years ago.”

“Different how?” Bucky closes his eyes and revels in the feeling of your touch.

“I don’t know,” you tell him. “I am not sure it is what I remember it to be.”

You don’t say anymore. Bucky doesn’t ask. 

He lays with you under a clear night sky, and your fingers deftly move the faint lights in the sky to mimic shapes of fishes and hunters. 

He notices the sky here, too, has taken the same fate as it has on earth. Not as full as it could be, always just a little less bright.

He assumed it would change when you came back. He assumed it would change when you came to Asgard.

The sinking feeling in his stomach reminds him of what he already knows is going to come.

_____________

There are nights you are dragged off by your friends for things that don't include him.

You shoot him a sorry smile and he tells you to just go with steady reassurance.

Bucky takes to exploring. He's been given robes to blend in. They always fit in a way that's too soft.

He looks at statues erected, memorials in place for those who've given up their lives for a bigger cause. He spots your name in there as well, as if they've not yet entirely sure that you're back. He spends hours at the library, reading up on things he couldn't find on Earth. Where heroes slain in battle actually go, what it's like over there. Stories of when they are brought back. None of them end well.

Thor finds him, and introduces Bucky to Asgardian mead that he swears got Steve tipsy. Bucky’s had a rough couple of years. He’s in no place to turn down a drink. 

He remembers what it's like to be 21 and drunk again and like nothing bad can ever happen.  When you choose to join in with them, Bucky finds he’s a lot braver and a lot smoother with liquor flowing through his veins. 

Stumbling through tower hallways, giggling and stealing open-mouthed kisses in the shadows like a bunch of teenagers until he has your back pressed up against the bedroom door. 

“Eager?” you breathe out when he nips at your neck, hands scouring every inch of you he can find. 

“What gave it away?” he mutters, pulling away to look you. 

Wild eyes and equally untamed hair, and there is a light in his eyes that outshines supernovae. 

“I love you,” you tell him, and it’s a startling moment of clarity in the middle of a juvenile hour. “I hope that always remains with you.”

Before he can respond, you thread your hands behind his neck and steer him towards the bed, mouth never once leaving his. 

________

Another solitary night, and it's by pure accident that he ends up retracing his steps to the first place he was introduced to in Asgard. He wonders how much of it was intentional, his conscience forcing him to a reckoning long awaiting him. 

Heimdall is there as always, standing tall with a grace that is still threatening. Bucky is not a fool-- he knows he can sense his presence.

Still, he looks only for a moment before making leave. 

"I hear it was magic that brought her back," Heimdall voices.

Bucky pauses in his tracks.

"Yes," he says, like he’s forced to respond.

"Are you aware of what it takes to bring a body back from the dead?" Heimdall asks, tone still. "Cells are broken and reattached if they do not malfunction. The brain is attacked with sensation after being dormant for months. The heart pumps degraded blood through vessels that have collapsed."

Bucky feels bile rise to his mouth at a memory that seems so far away. Enough has happened since.

Heimdall looks at him, steel cut eyes boring into his. “Our ancestors have tried this for centuries,” he says slowly. “It has always ended the same way.”

Bucky keeps silent. Wonders if the God can hear him swallow the lump in his throat– probably can.

“Tempering with fate has never fared well.”

“I’m not trying to play with fate,” Bucky finds himself moving on its own accord. “If this wasn’t supposed to happen, it wouldn’t have. I am not a God.”

Heimdall stares into his soul and Bucky feels suffocatingly exposed. “The separation between divinity and mortals is thinner than you may imagine.”

“I have no interest in crossing it.”

“Haven’t you?” Heimdall’s eyes flicker over to the direction you were last going in. “When your will supersedes reality– what else do you call it?”

“Luck.” His voice comes back stonily.

Heimdall gives him a wry smile. “No such thing.”

Bucky’s palms feel clammy, his stomach twisting into knots.

“Your grief is natural. But do not let it overpower your love,” Heimdall adds. “I am sorry you had to go through this. I'm afraid sooner or later you will have to see that you cannot disrupt the natural order of things.”

"Why?" His voice cracks and he curses himself.

Heimdall's eyes soften. "There comes a point where your love for someone becomes indistinguishable from hurting them. Your intentions are noble, but you already know where you stand."

Bucky quietly turns on his heel and leaves, but the conversation remains heavy on his mind for days to come.

_________

The first time you fall sick, really sick, like you used to be on Earth, Bucky watches from the sidelines as various people tend to you. Those with divinity at their fingertips, those with herbs and concoctions he’d never heard of, others with tools and prayers and everything. 

They try everything. It takes you a full week to recover.

Bucky sits, emotionless by your bedside, and feeds you from a spoon, food that your friends swore you grew up loving. 

Asgard was supposed to work. Being here was supposed to work. No one knows what to do, except to wait it out. As your fever quells and Bucky watches you open your eyes for the first time in a few days, everyone breathes a sigh of relief.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says quietly from your bedside. “How can I help?”

The smile you give him is tired. He gives you a small one in return, and leaves a kiss on your forehead. 

It feels all too familiar. 

God of the Night and the Devil of Cursed Fates.

_________

Thor teaches him the song, the one he caught you humming for months. It sounds different to what he remembers you singing.

He watches you thumb through titles in the Asgardian library, looking for a book of wildlife to show him. It only takes a few seconds for you to hum under your breath again, but Bucky is quick to ask this time. 

“Oh.” You blink. “I may have remembered it wrong.”

He tilts his head at you, but you go back to browsing through library books.

___________

Nights in bed, he spends tracing up and down your arm. He's full from a feast, and he's watched you dance around a courtyard with spirit and joy, and for the first time in years he feels like he can breathe.

You drag him along with you, and while he may have been quick on his feet in the thirties, Bucky was significantly older. You don't seem to care. You laugh like nothing has ever worried you before, and he finds it infectious.  

"D'you s'ppose we'd have been married by now?" he asks, breaking the quiet.

"I remember turning down your offer," you say, the corners of your mouth pulling upwards. "So, who's to say?"

Bucky's face breaks into a smile, one that looks particularly incredible in the moonlight. "You said I knew what the answer was already. Looks like that leaves the ball in my court."

You look at him, a little endearingly, and as he's come to expect, a little sad.

"I think we would have," you hum. "But you wouldn't have survived wedding festivities here."

He scoffs, rolling onto his back and feels his stomach ache dully. "Barely holdin' on now as it is."

You pull closer to him, fingers dancing across his chest. "Why didn't you try to find someone else?"

He exhales, sharper than he intends. "Didn't wan'to," he mumbles.

"I'd hate to think you didn't try to find others who loved you," you tell him, brows pulled together, "You have so much of it to give. It'd be a shame."

"Didn't see the point." Bucky hopes he doesn't sound as sharp as he does in his head.

"If something were to happen tomorrow, and I am no longer here," you begin and he wants to beg you to stop talking about this, "It would break my heart if you didn't go on with life as you were meant to live it."

"This is how I'm meant to live." He sounds pathetic-- obsessed, and entirely dependent but he isn't sure you know. "This is it. This is the best it's ever gonna get for me."

You look at him, eyebrows knitted. Your thumb caresses his jaw, running across the sharp curve.

"You deserve more," you say gently. "You do. Life has been unkind, but you will always deserve more."

You’re doing it again. Preparing him. For the inevitable he knows is looming on the horizon. The one he saw in Heimdall's eyes.

Still, you notice that it is too much for him, and you break the tension with a smile.

Outside the window, the sounds of a party continue on. You would be out there too, if he hadn't noticed the slow in your movements and the dip in your energy. He instead gave his lack of stamania as a reason and asked if you would join him in the room, for which you shot him a grateful look.

"You never gave me a ring," you remind instead, voice teasing.

Bucky looks at you wearily before silently getting up from the bed. 

You sit up in confusion, watching him trail across to the wardrobe and pull out the clothes he was wearing on his first day here.

He shuffles back into bed and turns to you, holding out his hand in a request.

It takes a second but you give him yours, and he silently slides a ring onto your finger. Even in the darkness it glitters like it’s made of light.

"I've had it for ages," he tells you. "Woulda given it to you quicker if you'd just said yes the first time."

You laugh loudly, and hold his face in yours before kissing him hard to the sounds of a fading party.

__________

The effect wears off gradually. It goes the same as it does in the cabin. 

You begin to space out visits. Stay in for a day or two, which increases as time passes. Though the castle help are ever gracious and at your beck and call, you send them away in exchange for quiet nights in.

Bucky wipes your forehead with cool cloth. Feeds you nectar by hand and tells you of everything he's learnt since the time you've arrived there.

You begin to look sick again, and miserably, he does not know what to do. You've been attended to by the best of medicine that the nine realms have to offer. You've spent nights with your friends, drinking in joy and embodying love.

But you are dying. You have been since you came back, and he can no longer choose to look past it in hopes for a remedy.

He looks at you like you've given the world the light it bathes in, and wipes your perspiration with his thumb.

You smile back at him in your sleep, and he lets that slow the march towards the end.

_________

One of the good days, you lead him to the lake. The one where water remembers. You point out faces. He discerns them to be some of your friends a couple of hundred years ago.

He follows as you walk along the banks, letting you show him yourself through the years. Some streaked with tears, others with joy so infectious it has his stomach doing flips.

"That is the last time I came here," you point at the last one. "Two months before it happened."

He remembers the trip. He thought he remembered how you were back then, that he'd etched into the crevices of your mind.

When he looks down, he sees a different person. Your face is light. The weight of circumstance does not weigh you down.

You were right when you said you did not recognise the person you were.

That night in bed, he holds onto you tighter than he has, no longer afraid of causing more damage. He has already done the worst, and you've taken it without a word.

“Bucky,” you call.

He doesn’t trust his voice to answer, so he just makes a noise.

Your eyes meet his intently and he knows. You do not have to say a single word to him. 

You’ve made a decision. It was your will, as Wanda had told him all those months ago.

“I'm sorry,” his voice cracks. “I'm so sorry. It was so selfish.”

“It's okay,” you press a palm against his cheek and shudders from the cold.

“I love you.” His eyes burn, but he forces himself to take more of you in. “I love you so much, I'm sorry. I just wanted a second chance.”

“I know.” You smile but your voice is sad. “I know. I understand.”

“I don't know how you aren’t angry at me." I don’t know why you stayed.

You look him in his eye, giving him no space to run. "I would have done the same. If I could, I would have done the very same thing."

He chooses to believe that, despite what Heimdall has told him. If he tries, he can find heat in the frigid veins.

"But we are simply delaying the inevitable, my love." You press a kiss to his forehead. "I no longer belong here. I am not who I was. I doubt I will ever be."

He loves every version of you. He already loved, and he will always learn to love whoever you change to be.

"I know it is hard, but I have to go," you tell him softly.

His eyes burn and his head stings.

"I grew up with friends I loved, and a family that loved me. My life was good," you tell him. "I didn't realise how much I wanted to give that forward until you happened. I will always love you for that."

Bucky kisses you till you can't breathe and his tears mix with yours.

Till the morning breaks and you have to tell everyone of your decision, he tells you over and over again a tale you already know. Everything he's ever felt. Everything that’s happened in the last few months– his revolving door of therapists and all the movies he’s watched and all the bakery foods he thought you'd like.

You listen, and you tell him stories he memorises to heart. You are still dying. 

But this time he is there, and in that lies his true second chance. 

________

A month later, and not a day before that.

You pass away quietly, surrounded by people instead of rubble. He holds your hand throughout, and for long after even once your chest stops rising.

The Asgardians let him stay for as long as he wants, still and quiet. No one says a word as he presses a kiss to the crown, leaning his forehead against yours for as long as the universe permits.

The funeral goes by in a haze. Everyone gathers, even after such short notice. No matter how much time he had to prepare, the air was thick, and he swallows down his discomfort.

A gentle breeze whispers through the columns of the great hall, carrying with it the soft, mournful melodies of Asgardian lyres and flutes.

In the center of the pyre, you lay, ethereal even in repose. Around you, night-blooming flowers bloom alongside, as if the sky itself was paying its respects.

Thor recites the ancient eulogies. With reverent hands, they guide the vessel into the river that flows through Asgard.

As the vessel drifts away, a hush falls over the assembly. Just before reaching the edge of the waterfall, arrows shoot fire onto the wood, letting the flames consume the casket. Bucky holds back a cry. 

Thor hits the staff, and the casket continues onward instead of falling off the edge. Within a flash Bucky sees an orb rise above you and shoot off towards the sky.

Thousands of lights are let loose into the sky. He closes his eyes, says a few words no one will know except you, and lets go of the soul orb given to him.

And that was it.

________

Bucky looks at the last of his belongings, tied tightly together. 

There were a few things he was allowed to take with him, things that belonged to you while you lived here. He's grateful more than anything, that he's not relegated to photos.

He was made to stay a few more days in Asgard while everything was completed. Though the people were lovely, and he's more than glad he came, he knows that this was where this ended.

He exhales, looking back at the place where he spent the better part of three months.

"You will be alright?" Thor asks, walking with him to the courtyard.

He shrugs. It was still fresh, but the utter despair he had felt the last time had been replaced with a quietness.

"You?" he asks in return.

Thor smiles, and claps his back and Bucky is forced to take a step forward.

"It will be an honour to remember her," he says, and for a moment, Bucky feels a sense of peace at his words. "You are always welcome here."

A small laugh leaves Bucky in the form of an exhale. "Don't be a stranger, Thor."

The God summons the Bifrost and the force is enough to make Bucky hold his hands up to his face.

"I'll see you around. Thanks for everything." His lips pull together in a tight smile.

Thor takes a second, but then says, “You will be alright, James.”

It’s reassuring, he thinks. Bucky nods and turns, taking a step towards the bridge.

"Wait," Thor calls loudly, "I almost forgot."

He turns to him in confusion, and a list of possibilities running through his head.

"She told me to give you this," he says, "She used to carry them around for us."

From around his wrist, he pulls off a hair tie and holds it out to him.

Bucky takes it, a little stunned.

________

Two months pass.

Bucky stands on the threshold of a door that is foreign to him.

His head falls, but his arms raise either way. Two swift knocks and he takes a step back. He looks around nervously, hands stuffing into his pocket. His car lays at the end of the long driveway, ready to leave at any given moment.

For a second, he thinks about making a run for it. But the door swings open and Bucky's eyes quickly dart up.

"Hey," he says, voice coarse. "You got space for one more?"

Sam looks at him in initial surprise, but it fades to softness when he notices the shape the man is in.

“C’mon, Buck,” Sam says softly. “We’ve got you.”

Bucky lets out a staggered breath, and leans over to pick up his backpack that Sam's already beaten him to.

He takes one good look at the sky. Dark, clear and finally returned to the way it had been for centuries.

But he swears that a single star in the corner of his eye shines a little brighter than the rest.

[apocalypseornaw]

It's Real

Dean Winchester x Reader

Dean's back from Michael, everything should be ok but he's staying locked up in his room so you make it a point to find out why.

Smut with feelings

Dean was back. Michael was gone and Dean was back but it felt as if he was still gone. The moment he'd staggered in that door it'd taken everything in you to not rush straight to him. Once you were sure it was him you'd nearly dove into his arms. He'd hugged you tight, whispering in your ear “It's ok sweetheart, I'm ok”

Everything seemed ok on the ride back to the bunker, yeah Dean was a little on the quiet side but considering you could understand. When you parked and got out the impala he was even teasing Sam about his beard as the three of you walked into the bunker from the garage. The moment he walked into the war room and Sam was greeted with “Chief” and you with “Cap” you could see the wall slam into place but you weren't sure why.

In the last week you'd seen Dean a handful of times and that was when you happened to be in the hallway when he headed for a shower or the one to make a run into town and he wanted the snacks he'd added to the list. 

Every time you tried to talk to him he shut you down and it was driving you insane. Yeah he'd been through a lot and yeah it was his default setting to not talk about his feelings but not with you. Any other time he let you in but not this time. 

—-------------

You were sparring with a few hunters from the apocalypse world and had somehow managed to draw a crowd. Ryker and Tyler towered over you in height and Vivian was fast as hell but you were holding your own against the three of them.

You took Tyler out at the knees then ducked under Rykers arm, catching it and using his own momentum to flip him on his back then nodded to Vivian.

You went blow for blow with her but she happened to misstep one time and that was all you needed to pin her. When you offered her a hand up she took it with a grin “Damn Cap who taught you to fight?” You shrugged “I've taken self defense classes mixed with sparring with Sam and Dean along with on the job learning” 

She nodded “Think Dean will join us? I'd love to see you two spar” you didn't want to tell her he was avoiding you at all cost so you just smiled “I'll ask” you turned to grab your water bottle then headed to your room so you could grab a shower.

Dean knew he needed to integrate himself with the hunters inhabiting the bunker but he didn't know how many more times he could see you and Sam working shoulder to shoulder, sharing inside jokes with a look and leading an entire squadron of hunters together. 

He'd heard a few of the hunters talking about how “Cap” and “Chief” were always together, always worked every lead together, stayed up researching together and “Most of the time end up falling asleep together” one of the younger refugees from the apocalypse world had deemed you two a power couple and that was the straw Dean had to hear to know he needed to resign himself to his room for a while.

He'd lost you. Fifteen years of friendship, ten years of wanting you, eight years of loving you. If he'd just said something sooner, hadn't been afraid of losing you as his friend but now he'd lost you to his little brother and he couldn't even be angry, no matter the jealousy eating at him. 

You stepped into the hall and saw Sam had just come out of Dean's room. When he shut the door behind himself he spotted you so you raised your eyebrows “How is he?” He shrugged “He's watching horror movies and has pizza and beer” 

You glanced at Dean's door then asked “Why won't he come out the room? He barely talks to me or anyone for that matter when he does” Sam's eyes softened at your words “Maybe it's time you do that thing you always do with us” 

You waved a hand, asking for an explanation and he laughed “You never let us wallow for long. He won't react to me, Cas, hell even mom. He needs you whether he admits it or not” you laughed “You mean he needs someone as stubborn as he is to out stubborn him?” He nodded “Exactly”

You looked from him to Dean's door then nodded “Wish me luck” he patted your shoulder “Good luck” then headed down the hall.

—---------------

Dean heard a knock at his door and figured it was Sam again “Sammy, I said I'm good” the door creaked open and your face popped around it “Good to know. Can I come in?” 

He tried to ignore the way his chest clenched at your smile. “Of course sweetheart. C'mon” he watched you shut the door then walk further into the room, kicking your boots off before walking over to the bed. 

You grabbed a slice of pizza from the table near the bed then climbed in the bed, laying sideways with your head on his back so you could see the TV considering he was laying on his stomach “Comfy?” He asked with a laugh once you'd taken his beer out of his hand and took a swig before turning back to the pizza “Very much so. You're a wonderful pillow”

You shouldn't be in his bed, shouldn't be laying against him. If you and Sam were…well he didn't want to think too hard about it but he wasn't the type of man to take another man's woman, especially his little brother's. He told himself it was innocent enough. The two of you had done this dozens of times over the years even if this time his mind was running a lot faster than normal.

—-------------

You lay like that through the entirety of Halloween two and halfway through Freddy versus Jason before your mouth had a mind of its own “I miss you Dean. For weeks we had no idea where you were then by some turn Michael let you go and now you're home but I still miss you. You're pulling away from me, from everyone and I don't want to lose you again. You mean too much to me”

He looked over his shoulder at you and grabbed one of your hands, giving it a light squeeze “I'm here sweetheart. I just don't want to take up too much of your time. You got a lot going on Cap” you rolled your eyes at the nickname you'd been dubbed with “I've always got enough time for you. Talk to me”

He let go of your hand then pushed himself back so he could turn to face you as he sat up.“I miss you too but this, coming home to this is a lot” “What do you mean? The hunters?” 

He nodded “The hunters, you and Sam. You two are a unit, you run this whole operation like clockwork. You've built something and I don't know where I fit now”  you smiled slightly “You fit with us Dean. You and Sam are the most important people to me”

He sighed “But you and him are more or it feels that way” you knew the confusion was clear across your face because he just shook his head “Never mind. Can we just go back to the movie?” You nodded “Yeah, sure” 

—-------‐—----------

He laid back down on his stomach and this time you laid down next to him instead of on his back. You had no clue what he meant about you and Sam being more? Had someone said something to make him feel that way? You’d been running on damn near empty for weeks, Mary had taken to hiding your car keys to force you into eating and sleeping and when that didn't work she'd bring in the big guns and threaten to call Jody.

Sam hadn't fared much better. The two of you had been doing everything you could to keep each other's heads above water.  Dean was the person who raised Sam, he'd always been the most important person to him. As for yourself, you loved the man laying next to you. He'd claimed your heart years ago whether he knew it or not. Your chest had felt hollow knowing the man you loved was being used by some dickheaded angel. 

You reached for his hand closest to you, running your fingertips over the back of his hand. He smiled slightly then it was like his mood changed and he pulled his hand away. 

“Sorry” you murmured and moved to sit up but he was already grabbing your wrist to keep you on the bed “Wait sweetheart. Fuck” you sat down in front of him and he turned to face you “Just talk to me Dean. Whatever is going on, we can fix it”

—---------------------

He shook his head, hand dropping your wrist. “I know you and Sam have gotten even closer since I've been gone”

You smiled slightly “Well yeah, leading a bunch of wayward hunters and hunting down some douchey archangel to get you back will do that to ya. Still doesn't explain the change between me and you. Dean you're my best friend, you've always talked to me and now you're shutting me out. I'm not used to it and I don't like it” 

He hated seeing the pain in your eyes and knowing he was the cause of it. He sighed “I know you're with Sam” your head tilted to the side and you stared at him for a moment before you began to laugh. After a moment you covered your mouth with your hand then took a few deep breaths. He was confused as hell but figured you'd give an explanation “Oh Dean, honey you are so smart at times but so damn dumb at others” 

“What?” You shook your head “Me and Sam have gotten closer yeah but not like that. Someone else has my heart and it ain't Sammy”  his eyes flew to your face “Then who?” You shook your head again “Doesn't matter just know it's not your little brother”

He reached forward, cupping your chin with his hand “No way are you gonna tell me some lucky bastard has your heart then not tell me who” you wouldn't meet his eyes so he used his grip on you to turn your face where you had no choice. “You honestly have no idea do you?” You sounded almost sad when you asked and he felt his heart skip. 

Did you mean him?   “You have no idea how hard it's been with you not being here Dean. How many times I cried myself to sleep laying against Sam's chest because I knew he was the only person who could come close to knowing the pain I felt. You're his brother, you've been his parent and protector his whole life and I knew he was only person here who loved you anywhere as much as I do” 

“You love me?” He damn near whispered and you nodded “How could I not?” 

—-------------------

One moment you were spilling your heart out and the next Dean was claiming your lips in a hungry kiss. You were stunned for a moment then returned the kiss fully, when you felt his tongue slip into your mouth you gasped lightly and he used that to roll his tongue against yours. The heat roaring to life against every inch of your body from just a kiss seemed damn near impossible but this was Dean.

Holy hell this was Dean. You just confessed your feelings and instead of bolting he was kissing you in a way that had the wetness between your legs growing by the moment. 

When you were finally forced apart for air he leaned his forehead against yours, both of your chests heaving. “Not what I was expecting” you teased breathlessly and he chuckled “Sweetheart, I've been locked up in this room because the thought of you with Sam…I couldn't take it. You're supposed to be mine. The jealousy has been eating me alive, imagining you with him”

You pulled back from him and grinned “You were jealous?” He nodded “Damn right I was. I've loved you for years and the thought that out of all people my little brother would be the one to take you from me? I hated it” you laughed “In that case, come here” 

“No, you come here” he grabbed you by the hips pulling you towards him and turned putting your back down on the bed. He held his weight on his forearms as he hovered over you, catching your lips in another kiss. “Dean” you spoke and he pulled back to look you in the eyes and saw the love and desire there “I want you, please” he smiled “Never beg for me baby. Just tell me what you want” “I want you. All of you”

—----------------

Dean let out a low groan at your words. Fuck, the power you held over him. “You've got me” He promised, catching your lips again. He felt your hands slip under his shirt, silently asking for more access to him. He broke away from your lips long enough to pull the henley he wore off and toss it across the room.

The way you looked at him was like nothing he'd ever experienced. You let your hands trail across his chest, nails scratching lightly “I've always loved your chest, your arms” your praise of his body unlocked something in him. Fuck he loved it. You leaned up to place a kiss at the hollow of his throat and his eyes fluttered shut at the intimacy of the moment. 

When he opened them your eyes were on him, a small smile on your face “No more running from me?” He smiled “No more running” he reached for your shirt so you arched your back off the bed to help him remove it. He tossed it behind him and looked down at you “You're so damn gorgeous”

He crashed his lips against yours and felt your hands gripping his shoulders, pulling him closer to you. He rolled his hips into yours and the moan you let out was better than anything he'd ever heard. 

—-------------

You broke away from Dean's lips your need for air winning in the moment. He kissed down your jaw and to your neck. He pushed your hair back and attacked your neck, kissing and biting the skin there. Your grip on his shoulders tightened “Fuck Dean” 

He moved down your neck, kissing across your clothed chest before looking up at you through those long lashes. He held your eyes as he rolled one breast into his mouth, grazing the sensitive bud with his teeth and enjoying when your breath caught in your throat. His hands slipped under you and you felt the bra give way before he was pulling it off of you and tossing it, giving him full access to your chest. 

“Look at you” he whispered, tongue flicking out to tease at one of your nipples while his fingers of his other hand teased the other. Your fingers slid into his hair, eyes fluttering shut at the pleasure coursing through you. 

He bit down on your nipple and when your eyes flew open he smirked “Cmon baby I'm just starting. I want your eyes on me” “So damn bossy” you teased and he winked at you “You must like me being bossy” “I love it” you admitted watching him kiss down your stomach. 

When he got to your jeans he looked up at you “Are you sure about this? About us?” You rolled your eyes and lifted your hips off the bed as you unzipped your jeans and started to shimmy them down your hips. He laughed lightly before you felt his hands cover yours as he helped you rid your legs of your jeans then slid your panties off as well.

—-----------

“Look at my girl” he whispered in awe. “All yours Dean. What are you gonna do with me now that you've got me?” The look he gave you was enough to make your entire body feel like you were on fire. The promises there, the desire, the love.  “Devour you” his voice was somehow deeper than usual, lust driving it down. 

He started at one ankle, kissing up your leg then your thighs stopping just shy of where you wanted him. When you let out a rather pathetic sounding whine he just laughed darkly “I've waited long enough to have you like this, let me enjoy it” 

He moved to the other leg, repeating the process. This time when he got where you wanted him he glanced up at your face before lowering his mouth to you. The first lick was tentative, teasing but when your hips bucked and a moan of his name fell from your lips it was like a switch flipped. He dove in, a perfect mixture of teeth and tongue working you closer and closer to that edge. 

He slipped first one finger then added a second,easily finding that spot inside of you that made your legs begin to shake. When his lips locked around your clit  at the same time his fingers found that spot your eyes rolled back and your vision went white. The pleasure was like nothing you'd ever experienced, waves after waves of it washing over you as Dean pulled two orgasms back to back from you.

—-------------

When you weakly shoved at his shoulders he pulled back,leaving feather light kisses on your inner thighs “What's wrong sweetheart? Too much?” You wanted to glare at him but knew it wouldn't be very believable. “How the fuck did you do that?” He grinned “Guess no other man has ever made you come back to back before?” You shook your head and he laughed “Good”

You shook your head and reached for his shoulders “C'mere” he kissed his way back up to your body and when he got to your lips you could taste yourself on him.  “Your jeans are still on!” You nearly whined and he laughed “Let me fix that” 

—--------------

He stood up and when he moved to unzip his jeans and push them off his hips you stopped him from climbing back onto the bed. You sat up and reached for him. He moved closer and when your hand slipped under the material of his boxers to wrap around his hard cock he swore under his breath. You slid the boxers down his legs and he stepped out of them. 

You'd always figured Dean was well endowed but seeing it, feeling it in your hand was different. You lowered your mouth to the tip, licking around the head to collect the precum then pulling more of him into your mouth. Your hand worked what of him you couldn't fit as you swirled your tongue over the vein running up his shaft. His head fell back with a groan, his fingers went to your hair, pushing it back from your face, holding it back. 

You could feel the tension in his hips so you tapped his hips letting him know it was ok. He gave a tentative thrust of his hips and when you hollow out your cheeks to allow more of him down your throat he moaned “Fuck you're perfect” he gave a few hard thrusts into your mouth and you took it, swallowing around him and feeling him tense. 

“Fuck baby” he pulled out of your mouth with a wet pop, using his thumb to swipe the spit from your chin “That was amazing but I don't plan to come anywhere expect inside of you tonight” 

—-------------

You scooted back up the bed and he climbed between your legs settling himself there. You could feel his cock nudging at your inner thigh, he hesitated “You're sure?” You nearly growled “Dean Winchester. I fucking love you, I want this I want you! Now for the love of everything fuck me already” 

He laughed lightly and in one roll of his hips buried himself inside of you. You gasped at the fullness you felt, the stretch from how long it'd been since you were with someone else and just how big he was. He left a trail of open mouthed kisses across your jaw.

After a moment the stretch gave way so you let your legs fall apart further before hooking them around his waist. He took that as the go ahead and gave a deep roll of his hips, when the answer was your nails biting into his shoulders he placed a searing kiss against your lips before moving to press his forehead against yours. 

There was something so damn intimate about looking into his eyes while he was so damn deep inside of you. “This is real, isn't it?” He asked and you moved one hand from his shoulder to cup his jaw, understanding the underlying question “It's real Dean. You're here with me” 

He turned his head to kiss the palm of your hand “I love you” you moved your hand back to his shoulder and he kiss you, this one wasn't as hungry as others but it made down to your toes tingle and he gave a hard thrust hitting that spot inside of you with the head of his cock.

—--------------

When your back arched up, pressing your breasts into his chest his thrusts started to get harder and deeper. “Please don't stop” you begged, the pleasure building in your stomach threatening to steal your vision yet again. “Wasn't planning on it” he said, pulling your legs up to his shoulders and nearly folding you in half.

The new angle had you practically screaming his name. The knowledge that he was strong enough to manhandle you like you were nothing drove you crazy. His cock was so damn big and the angle meant he was hitting that spot with every damn thrust. The pleasure was so intense it was borderline pain but better than anything you'd ever experienced.

His hips snapped into yours and you could feel how close you were. His fingers found your clit, rubbing tight circles “Let me feel you baby. I'm so damn close but I need to feel you” 

You felt that pleasure burst as your vision went soft around the edges and a hoarse scream of his name fell from your lips. You could feel his thrusts begin to falter so you gripped his shoulders tightly “Fuck Dean, i want to feel you. Please baby” his face was buried in the bend of your neck and when he buried himself inside of you with one final thrusts the feeling of him coming made a smaller orgasm wash over you, causing your walls to clench down around his cock causing a curse of your name to fall from his lips as well.

—-----------------

He gently eased your legs down, rubbing them gently before pulling out of you. You gasped and he smiled almost shyly “Sorry” you grinned at him sleepily “That was everything Dean”

His smile deepened before he placed a tender kiss on your lips “Let me clean you up a bit” he found his shirt and cleaned you up as best as he could before tossing it at the hamper in the corner. 

—-----------

When he climbed back in bed next to you he asked “Do you need anything? Water? Bodypart massaged?” You shook your head and moved over to be laying halfway on his chest “Just need you to hold me” He wrapped his arms around you and kissed your forehead. You were almost asleep before a thought occurred to you and you started laughing. 

You looked up to see he was staring at you like you'd grown a second head “Baby are you ok?” You nodded “There's like thirty hunters here that probably heard that”

He grinned “Well at least they clearly know you're mine and I'm yours” you grinned “damn right. Now kiss your girl so we can both get some sleep” “Yes ma'am” he replied pulling you into a kiss.

Tagging those who told me to write it lol @deans-baby-momma @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @daughterofapollo-7 @littlemadamred

[malum-forev]

In My Head

Bucky was past the point of anger. Sam could tell by the way Bucky stared at him with tense  eyebrows. He had been for the past sixteen hours. 

“What the hell is wrong with you now?” Sam massaged his temples. They had barely escaped death days prior, he didn’t have the time or energy to deal with whatever Bucky’s problem was. 

But the Sergeant kept quiet. 

Sam huffed, leaning his head back on the wall of the plane.

Just three more hours and we’re back home. Sam thought. 

Bucky grinded his teeth, keeping his eyes set on the floor.  He felt his blood like fire, rushing through his whole body. His thoughts were racing, a thousand miles per hour. His muscles felt weak but he couldn’t fall asleep, not after what happened. 

A flashback to the moment where everything almost ended came back but Bucky shook his head, trying to erase the memory. But nothing would let him forget what he saw in those last seconds. 

Then the all-consuming rage came back again. 

Bucky had been going through this vicious cycle for the past 72 hours. 

His body tried to betray him when the plane landed, Bucky’s sore body begged for mercy. Even one hour of rest would help but he was on a mission. 

Bucky stalked off the ramp directly into the compound’s common area. 

“Buck!” Steve rose from the couch, happy to see his best friend alive and back. 

But instead of greeting his friend, Bucky kept walking. “Where is she.”

“She? Who?” 

“She’s got you too, huh.” Bucky scoffed. “Un-fucking-believable.”

The elevator ride up to the bedrooms was too long for him. He needed to unleash the rage he’d been filtering for days, and there was only one person responsible for everything. 

You thought you were getting a relaxed Sunday. No one needed help, the world was at peace, and you were going to watch disgustingly cheesy movies all day. 

Key word- thought. 

Suddenly your door was being almost smashed by a couple of knocks.

“I know you’re in there.” Bucky’s voice boomed. 

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep yourself as quiet as possible. He would go away eventually, right?

“Open the damn door!” He yelled. “I can hear your breathing pattern.”

Your “relationship”, if you could even call it that, with Bucky is strained to say the least. 

He’s a veteran who should be retired, you’re a newer hire. He likes things to be done a specific way, you always try new things. He wants to lead, you want to lead. 

“I’m not on the clock right now so technically, you’re not my boss.” You yelled back, throwing a popcorn kernel in the air and catching it in your mouth. 

“Open this fucking door you witch!”

“Sorceress.” You corrected him. If he was going to try and use your powers to insult, he should do it the correct way. 

You heard a growl then a pop. As you sit up in bed, the door handle from your side of the room falls to the floor and the door flies open. 

“Guess the door was open after all.” Bucky gives you a fake smile. 

“Why are you here.” You turn away from him, partly to act disinterested and partly to stop looking at him. He wasn’t your favorite person in the world but you’re only human! You hadn’t seen him in days and the ruffled ways of his hair and unkempt beard made your breath hitch. 

“You know why I’m here.” He gripped the metal pole on your bed’s footboard, you turn only your head towards him blinking a couple of times at the sight of his rolled-up Henley exposing his forearms. When the fuck did you start being attracted to forearms, when did that even become a thing! You followed the popped-up veins traveling from his knuckles to his elbows where they disappeared completely. 

“I don’t have time for your mysterious ways, Barnes.” You turn back to your movie. “Either tell my why you’re pissed or get out.”

With two steps he’s standing next to you again. His stern blue eyes pierced through you, forcing your head up. 

“How did you do it.” Bucky says through gritted teeth. 

Your eyebrows furrow. 

“This is the last time I’ll ask politely.” You could see the anger in his eyes. “How the fuck did you do it!”

You stand up. He was still ways taller than you but no one was going to come into your room and speak to you like that.

“I have no clue as to what you’re talking about.” You crossed your arms. “So, this is the last time I’ll ask you properly. Get out.”

Bucky let out a humorless laugh. “Is this a joke to you? This job? Be careful how you talk to me because I can make everything go away in a second.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise.”

Your breathing quickens as your anger rises. “You have no right being here when I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Nothing wrong?!” Bucky yells coming closer to you. “You almost cost me my life that’s what you did! Now you say nothing’s wrong?”

“Your life? How the hell am I responsible for a mistake you made thousands of miles away!” You stand inches away from his face, rage hovering over both of you like a cloud. 

“You got in here!” Bucky points to his head  “I know you did some spell just for me to mess up!”

“I didn’t do anything! I wouldn’t try and get you killed!” You yell. 

“Then how the fuck did I see you when I was going down!” He yells back and your room suddenly goes quiet, only the sounds of your heavy breathing could be heard. 

“Y- you saw me when you were dying?” You whisper, looking up at his crystal blue eyes. 

Bucky sucked in a breath, his eyes going from yours to your lips. 

“You were in my head, I know you did it on purpose.” Bucky’s eyes stopped at your lips.

“I would never do anything to hurt you.”

Your mind must have been playing tricks on you because you were almost certain Bucky was coming closer to you. 

But suddenly, the heat radiating off his body was ripped away from you. He jumped towards the door and out the hallway. 

“I need to leave.” He said, coughing into his hand. Red splotches adorning his cheeks. “I’m sorry about your door handle, I’ll have someone come by and fix it.”

All you could do was nod. 

“I-my-I’m.” Bucky stuttered. 

“Have a nice rest of your Sunday, Sarge.” You said and he nodded his head, hurrying down to his bedroom. 

You fell back onto your bed. This has got to be the weirdest Sunday ever. 

[coolpointsetta]

“no, roy doesn’t like me like that.” jamie insists while the team is at the bar. “roy hates me still. love ain’t on the table.”

everyone shares a glance, unable to really believe that.

isaac watched as jamie wordlessly walked over to where roy was eating lunch and handed over his clementines. roy peeled them without breaking conversation with beard and nate, going so far as to peel the little white bits off too before handing the clementine back. everyday jamie does that, and everyday roy peels them without complaint. if that’s not love, isaac doesn’t know what is.

sam overheard as jamie talked for several minutes about something so random and inconsequential to their daily lives, but roy listened. he didn’t say a word, didn’t interrupt other than to add a little tidbit of his own to the story. there was a small smile on the corner of his lips and his eyes were bright. it didn’t matter how boring the topic was, roy wanted to hear it. if that’s not love, sam doesn’t know what is.

the whole team witnessed roy coming into the locker room before training and saw jamie wasn’t there. they all watched as roy began to pace around his office, head down and not speaking to anyone. that is, until jamie came strolling into the locker room a minute before training started, drinks in his hand; one for him and one for roy. jamie knows roy’s coffee order by heart. if that’s not love, the team doesn’t know what is.

keeley pointed out that whenever roy says something that causes the team to laugh, he always looks at jamie to see if he’s laughing. if jamie’s not, roy adds to the joke until he does. if that’s not love, she doesn’t know what is.

“and,” jan says pointedly. “the two of you were kissing in the boot room yesterday.”

“yeah, out of hate!” jamie defends even when everyone starts laughing uncontrollably.

[jollyhunter]

Intro: 𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐝𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ! 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 aka . ☆.´☽¸.❝ 𝐁𝐚𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐟 ❞.¸☽´.☆ .

🐺 leader│strict│over-protective│rough│loyal│dominant

🐺 Age Gap! Dean's in his early 40s - Reader's in their late 20s.

🐺 Dean is the leader of a Special Ops Squad called "Hunters".

🐺 Dean's official codename is "Bad Wolf".

🐺 Sam is a leading figure of the Supernatural Special Forces Research Division.

🐺 The supernatural world has been recognized as an official threat to humanity decades ago already. They work more subtle and aim to infiltrate society from all ends. (AU)

🐺 Squad Leader ! Dean is a bit rougher, a bit more hardened and (seemingly) callous.

🐺 Dean’s always either light bearded or full bearded. And a little banged up from the missions.

🐺 Usually he shows up at your home still wearing his rugged gear or tactical suit, depending on his mission. And he will collapse on your couch with a split lip, bruised knuckles and aching ribs, searching for the peaceful comofort of his head resting on your lap.

🐺 Sleeves rolled back, some loose tie draped down on his wrinkled dress suit, laptop on his lap, a half-empty bottle of whiskey next to the bed. Dean’s ritual before showing up at the HQ to hand in the damn mission reports.

🐺 Sam is the man in his ear, usually assisting any mission over intercom. (And reading the latin words over the radio's speakers 'cuz Dean can't memorize them)

🐺 Reader works in Sam's team, in the Research Division. A "Paper pusher but safe job" where you "wrangle with nothing but words all day", as you've been told by Dean.

... But one day you get your chance and get recruited for an undercover mission in the field:

As the intel lead for Dean's squad.

“Are you insane? Absolutely not.” Dean grunts while he reassembles the sniper rifle, his hands moving around the table with practised ease. “It’s not debatable, okay? I’m in.” You counter with your eyebrows pinched together, hands clasped against your hips. “What?” He stares down at you, his movements on the firearm stilled in mid-air. The flash in his emerald eyes has your breath catch in your throat. Shifting your weight from one foot to the other, you swallow past the lump that has formed in your throat before you answer in a tight voice. “I’ve been signed up for it, Dean.” His eyebrows snap into a scowl like you’d just pulled a trigger on him. The growl in his voice sharpening each of his words as he speaks. “Not happening, not on my watch. I’ll have you removed from the team.” “What?” Your hands slide off your hips, a huff of deviance slipping you, “And on whose order, huh?” “Mine of course. I’m the damn leader of the squad after all.” Dean replies, his tone rising slightly to match your challenging tone. His hands go back to click and shove the parts into place, his eyes returned to the armoury. Your jaw clenches and you suck in a breath before you interject, “But-“ “I said no.” He cuts you short in a tone which would have taken the wind out of anyone’s sails. But you’re not anyone, so of course you stand your ground and step up next to him, forcing him to look at you. “What's your problem? Even Sam says I’m a crucial part of this undercover mission. You need me to get in!” You argue in a firm way, your hands back on your hips and back straightened in a futile attempt to match his authoritarian presence. “Sammy submitted your application?” His eyes narrow and a muscle jumps at his jaw, “Oh, I’ll give him a piece of my mind. And fists.” He snarls, his anger and frustration emphasized by the cold CLING that echoes through the walls as the completed firearm hits the metal table. “No- wait, Dean- please, for the love of it-” You sigh heavily. He’s not gonna like this part. But getting Sam out of the line of fire was only fair. You clear your throat while you scramble after him, “It was my idea. I applied for the job.” Dean stops dead in his tracks, turning around slowly to face you with a look of disbelief and something which you can only interpret as a hint of concern. “…You kiddin’, right?”

A/N: It took me some time to figure out what AU would fit best for the vibe of this new Dean x Reader relationship dynamic. Ultimately one of my favourite episodes, "2.12 Nightshifter" and song "Renegade" by Styx, as well as the pics I've seen of "Atomic Monster" made me go for a more action themed AU!

Also excuse my aesthetics being all over the place? I’m still figuring everything out :’)

Any questions about the new pairing? The AU? You think you can handle BadWolf!Dean? 👀 Head them my way! ↠↠↠ Comment, send an ask or reblog what you like! ♡ I wish you all a wonderful Sunday sweeties!

MASTERLIST

Dean tag list:

♡ @aylacavebear ♡ @jc-winchester ♡ @ambiguous-avery ♡ @bettystonewell ♡

Want to be added? Let me know in the comments!

[junicult]

!! the bachelors & hot features they have / things they do

contains ; gn!farmer. written w fem!farmer in mind, but nothing that specifies. established relationship. nsfw. body / facial hair headcanons. suggestive content. mostly sfw w fluff. not proofread.

note ; ok so this is a prompt i made like a year ago on my other blog, so i just decided to bring it here w stardew valley characters!

harvey.

- he’s literally the loml.

- he’s so well groomed, his hygiene is genuinely perfect.

- ofc we know he has his famous mustache, super clean and neat. he trims it every so often to keep it that way.

- and i feel like he can grow a beard, but it doesn’t come in as thick so he decides to just shave it.

- this man has a happy trail 🫡

- a dark, thick patch of hair that trails up to his belly button. it progressively thins the higher it goes, but it’s definitely prominent when he’s wearing low shorts or even just boxers.

- he keeps that nice and trimmed too. i’m tellin you, he’s so clean.

- he also smells so good. whether it be cologne, or just him, it’s so good.

- he’s a boxer briefs kinda guy. they make him feel secure.

- he probably sleeps in a matching pair of pants and shirt. lol.

- but likely during the summer, he’ll end up falling asleep in just his boxers every once in a while.

- this man is the perfect husband.

- wakes up to make you breakfast, makes dinner to give you before you get home.

- on lazy days he’ll clean up the house, make sure it’s all nice and tidy while you work on the farm.

- he recognizes you have a lot to do, so he wants to give you as much as you give him.

- a househusband, if u will.

- he’s a cuddler.

- whether it be just sitting on the couch, watching tv, or lying in bed—he’s cuddling u.

- big spoon, little spoon, wrapped around your body one way or another.

- if he knows you hate cuddling, he’ll be cool about it. but you’ll probably have to compromise and give him something, like his hand holding yours or your head resting against his chest.

- your presence is enough, he just likes to feel you’re there before falling asleep.

- he’s huge on emotional intimacy.

- after a long day, and he gets to just unwind with you, and maybe a glass of wine every once in a while is like heaven to him.

- the type to set up a nice bubble bath with candles and stuff, just so you two can sit and catch up.

- “hm? no, my day was fine. much better now.”

- i’m just saying, harvey, with his hair slightly damp, glasses low on the bridge of his nose, head tilted to the side while listening to you intently, and his body all covered in bubbles. he’s so…

- fuck i love him.

sam.

- a thinner happy trail, but still goes up to his belly button.

- it’s like a slightly darker patch of blonde hair.

- he doesn’t really have to groom it or anything, but he does make sure it’s fairly neat every once in a while.

- he honestly doesn’t really dwell on it though. it’s just there, and since you’ve expressed interest in it, he’s more then happy to leave it.

- i feel like he could grow facial hair, but it always comes in super patchy and thin, so he just shaves it off.

- he honestly prefers it that way too. it just doesn’t look good on him.

- boxer shorts 🤭🤭🤭

- those baggy, plaid shorts that look so fucking good, especially when he wears them low on his waist.

- that’s all he wears to bed lol.

- CUDDLER!!!!!!

- spooning with him is so cute, swear.

- probably bc he wants to strictly be little spoon.

- even if you’re significantly shorter then him, he loves feeling like you’re his little backpack.

- i almost wanna say he moves around a lot in his sleep. it’s really interesting to wake up and see where he’s laying.

- like, he can go to bed with his whole body tucked under the covers, head on the pillow and feet at the end—but he’ll wake up with his limbs hanging off the end and entirely upside down above the covers.

- all of that but somehow he knows not to touch you, so it’s like a little surprise every time you both wake up.

- he absolutely loves pda.

- not an inappropriate amount, but there’s no way he can go even an hour without kissing you somehow when you’re together.

- holding your hand when you’re standing together, leaning over to give you a kiss on the cheek just cus.

- he loves going 1 on 1 with you during pool, but mainly because he just loves how sassy you get when you’re winning.

- or, whenever he’s playing against sebastian and he has you by his side cheering him on.

- he feels on top of the world.

- he’s so in love with you, swear.

shane.

- 😵‍💫

- he’s got what i’d like to say is a dad bod.

- round tummy, large arms, broad shoulders. he’s attractive in a realistic sense, and he may not be incredibly confident, but your attraction to his physique makes him a lot more self assured.

- especially when your eyes wander a little when he takes off his shirt, and he can mask his flattery with a teasing comment.

- “wanna take a picture?” so smugly, just so he can see your lips purse and you immediately look away.

- *sweats* h-happy trail….

- it’s thick; and dark, and not necessarily groomed, it just kinda grows one way & he doesn’t really touch it.

- literally 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

- not to mention he also definitely has chest hair, but not enough that it’s disgusting, y’know?

- and he has facial hair.

- just subtle scruff all around his chin and jaw, mainly because he couldn’t care enough to shave but also bc he knows you like it.

- that’s about all he can grow, anyways.

- it’s extremely (and i mean EXTREMELY) rare he’d shave, but on the occasion he does…

- tease him about it.

- loves when you rub your fingers against his cheeks, especially when you’re sitting in his lap just like, “it’s so soft, you look prepubescent.”

- he doesn’t, not in the slightest, but it’s still funny to see him swat your hand away and his face gets all red.

- after u got married and he got better with his addiction, i’d like to think he became much help on the farm.

- you need trees chopped? he’s ur guy.

- clean the chicken coop? obviously.

- maybe even sometimes if you’re not feeling good, you can bet he does everything you need for you.

- so his body definitely builds from that, but don’t fear! he’s still got his chub.🫡

- he sleeps in boxer shorts also.

- that or some pants, but never a shirt.

- if he’s wearing a shirt in bed, something’s seriously wrong with him. that, or it’s like the dead of winter (but even then it’s so rare.)

- this dude is like a FURNACE at night. he’s literally radiating heat just by laying there.

- and he’s not an initial cuddler.

- he loves you, but he likes his space getting ready to fall asleep.

- but i can promise you, somehow during the night he’ll end up wrapped around you entirely, squeezing u and practically lighting you on fire w his body heat.

- it’s endearing, tho.

- no matter how much he says he hates cuddling, he still ends up like that somehow (so who’s to say he really hates it?)

sebastian.

- 🤭🤭🤭

- lean build, pretty skinny.

- super pale too, and i’d like to think he has a ton of random freckles spotting across his body.

- not very many on his face cus he doesn’t get much sun (lol) but yeah, little moles here and there.

- his skin is also super smooth all the time for some reason.

- he’s not weak by any means, lowkey sleeper build except nothing really comes out when he uses his muscles LMFAO.

- like, if you give him a bunch of logs to carry that are really heavy, you expect him to only grab a few, not the whole bunch.

- and he can carry it effortlessly. it’s easy to forget he’s genuinely strong.

- but anyways, he doesn’t have chest hair or a happy trail.

- no facial hair, either. literally none. he’s just never been able to grow it, and he’s actually totally fine with that lol.

- his pubic hair is so well groomed, and that isn’t even by cause. his hair just naturally looks like that.

- a small dark patch around his shaft, fairly short but still just utterly average.

- if he whipped his dick out, you wouldn’t be shocked or anything.

- he strictly wears pj pants to bed, no shirt.

- he has veryyy subtle definition in his abs, so subtle you’d have to squint to see it.

- and he’s the kind of guy that (if he wanted to) no matter how hard he tried to get bulkier, it just wouldn’t work.

- he’s just genetically a pretty lanky guy, and while growing up he was embarrassed by it, right now he couldn’t care less.

- he’s grown to be more confident in himself after being with you.

- this man loves being praised, and when you reassure him he’s the ideal man for you.

- “you look so handsome today. did you do something with your hair?” hearing that first thing in the morning, when he didn’t even do anything & he actually doesn’t feel super attractive at the moment: yeah he’ll be thinking about that for weeks.

- it makes him feel so good whenever you randomly shoot one-liners that’ll catch him off guard like that.

- like in passing during a busy day, you’re just coming up to check on him for a couple minutes and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

- “you make it so hard for me to stay on task all day.” you sigh, grinning when he clearly gets all flustered.

- and he may not be as bold as you, but he has his moments.

- “mm, what if you just stayed in bed with me today?” “wish you’d stop pulling away whenever you feel gross, y’know it doesn’t bother me.” 👀👀

- this probably doesn’t need to be said, but i’m gonna say it anyways,

- he doesn’t like pda. the most he’ll do is hold your hand if you’re in public together, maybe kiss you on the cheek if he’s feels particularly affectionate / protective every now and then.

- he likes to keep his relationship private, it makes you feel a little more special to him.

- like, he loves the fact that only he gets to see you in specific ways.

- such as just being together on sappy evenings, softly mumbling things you love about each other while being in his arms. things like that.

- cus for him, if he does stuff like that in public, well for starters he’ll get uncomfortable. he’s too introverted for stuff like that.

- but really, it just means anyone can look over and see what you both look like when you’re all vulnerable with eachother, and to him he’d much rather keep that private.

- now, that being said…this man is so clingy lol.

- if you both are having an indoor day, and he’s working on the computer, while you’re just sorting through stuff inside, he’ll want to be near you.

- you’re at the stove? he’s at the kitchen table.

- you’re in the living room? he’s on the couch.

- you’re brushing your teeth? so is he.

- it can be dead silent between you two, just as long as you’re nearby, he’s happy.

alex.

- he’s one of the guys with a more toned physique.

- he’s got some pretty nice arms, can i just say.

- they’re toned, grow larger when he flexes, even resting they look pretty nice.

- and his abs too, they’re not crazy, but they’re definitely there.

- a nice definition you can see even when he’s not flexing. there’s at least four there.

- as for facial hair, he has none.

- i feel like if he could grow some, he’d definitely leave it. it’d make him feel more “manly.”

- but he just doesn’t LMFAO.

- now, non-facial hair is a different story👀

- he’s got a happy trail folks!!!

- it’s a dark, thick patch of brown hair that trails (once again) all the way up to his belly button.

- and it’s so fucking hot.

- it might be the prettiest (next to harvey’s, ofc.)

- believe it or not, he’s actually pretty neat with it.

- he takes pride in being attractive! ofc he’s going to groom it.

- trims it whenever it gets untamed, but never shaves it off. he loves it, and he knows you do too.

- he’s also a boxer briefs guy. 99% of the time, he’s walking around wearing only his boxer briefs in the house.

- especially whenever it’s an indoor day, yeah, he’s not even bothering getting dressed at all😭😭

- that’s all he sleeps in. even if it’s the middle of winter.

- another pda fan.

- but this time, dare i say…he’s a little more bold.

- he’ll kiss you like he does when you’re private, even if there’s people around.

- cupping your cheek, pulling you in for likely more then 5 seconds sometimes.

- he’ll hold onto your waist when you’re standing together. he’ll stand behind you with his arms wrapped around you, even.

- and well, yes there’s empty seats all around you, but that’s too bad. cus he’s pulling you into sitting in his lap.

- he loves knowing everyone’s jealous of him.

- you’re so attractive, he knows all the other men look at you thinking the same thing.

- and he just loves how he’s got a rock on your finger that’s similar to his. he loves the fact that you said yes to him, not to anyone else who would’ve asked.

- so he loves showing you off.

- he’s got such a high libido, so he’s fairly sexual all the time.

- rolling over to kiss you after fucking you for literal hours, and even just the sight of you lying there, trying to catch your breath has him ready to go again.

- he’s one to grope you (consensually!)

- like, if ur walking by him, he’ll grab your ass and shoot you a grin like nothing even happened.

- but he knows when to be more serious, like if you had bad day and you just need a good cry.

- i’d like to think he’s really good at comforting people.

- he was there for his mom whenever his dad was treating them horribly, and he definitely helped her through a few tears, so he’s perfect at just holding you.

- he’s genuinely a sweetheart. yes he’s cocky, and flirty, but when it comes to people he loves: he’s so perfect.

elliot.

- *cracks knuckles*

- he can grow facial hair, but he normally goes without it.

- it comes in thick, but it won’t grow past any stubble (or at least he doesn’t let it before shaving it all off.)

- but omfg…his facial hair looks so nice when he lets it grow for a bit.

- especially when he kisses you, or lets you cup your hands around his jaw during that phase.

- he’s another one that loves to feel your fingers rake through his hair when you’re just commenting on how handsome he looks with it.

- despite how attractive it is, he still prefers it gone. so it’s rare when he lets it get to that point.

- his has a very subtle happy trail. it’s mostly just a patch of hair that peeks above his waistline, and it doesn’t go all the way up to his belly button,

- but it’s still as handsome as ever.

- his sleepwear is literally silk. stg.

- he’s so extra.

- he probably even got you a matching pair with your initials engraved “just cus.”

- but when he isn’t wearing all of that, he’s probably just wearing some regular pj pants and a shirt.

- it’s rare tho, cus like i said—he’s so extra.

- something so casual, but so attractive that he does is when he’s super exhausted with writing for so long, that he just leans back in his chair and sighs.

- like…he throws his arms over his head, manspreads just a little and sighs.

- or or or

- after you’ve had such a long and exhausting day, he’s quick to place his pencil down and open his arms to slot you on his lap.

- “tell me what’s the matter, my love. want me to make you some tea, get you some water?”

- and while you’re talking, he’s just gently rubbing your thigh and kissing your arms softly.

- he’s just so gracious and endearing.

- this man 😮‍💨😮‍💨

[cloudytardigrade]

fav things from the new longform (now one of my favourites)

•Luke being so confused in the beginning and then the "ohhh"

•The echoing mic was iconic

•Mrs Claus's sass

•Luke saying "What the fuck is Snowdrop??"

•"I have loved you since 0 AD"

•"I was a wise man" "I was dressed as a sheep"

•"You can call me a giant elf if you want but I don't give a shit, do y'know that?"

•The awkwardness of Snowdrop having to watch Mr and Mrs Claus argue

•"Barbados is on the naughty list. All of it"

•Also Krampus IS one of the best SFTH characters.

•The relationship between Santa and Snowdrop. THE PROTECTIVENESS <33

•"You just gonna keep being an asshole to me?.."

•The eyebrow raise from Snowdrop when Santa says "You slept with Javier!"

•The casual "See ya later" from Mrs Claus after having an argument that will probably end their relationship

•TOM PLAYING VILLAINS HOLY MOTHER FUCKING SHIT.

•"Breakfast, lunch and dinner: Santa's smiles"

•"September, October, yeah I'll do it, then November comes and it's like "fucking hell!!"

•Javier??? Xavier's long lost twin??

•I WILL be making fanart of the characters, specifically Krampus and Snowdrop bc they're my favs

•The hold back of laughter from Luke when Santa says "we recently found out this year that all elves have ADHD"

•"About time, Luke-I mean, Snowdrop"

•Sam singing 😭

•The little hand movements Luke does after Santa accidentalky says "Luke" instead of Snowdrop

•Krampus talking in third person

•The way Krampus and Little Krampus get around

•"You have DHHA" "Damn Hot Attention Awareness"

•The hair caress that Krampus gives Little Krampus, which shows their love

•Krampus holding his leg whilst moving

•"Welcome to the North Pole airport"

•Luke literally throwing his head back with laughter in the sidelines

•Mrs Claus not knowing how passports work

•The banter on how passports work

•I love how happy and enthusiastic Tom seems

•"Oh, bribery!" "That's also a crime!"

•The poses for the photo booth

•Poor Snowdrop :(

•"That's Krampus! The most wanted terror!st in the North Pole"

•Tom's out-loud commentary, and Luke just nodding

•"Where's our bowl full of jelly laughs? This is SHIT"

•"Barbados.. Let me check the map *pulls out map* There"

•Snowdrop's smirk when one of the elves says "We're not allowed passports" and then "There's a photo booth"

•"I'll climb up on your shoulders" "Oh really?" "Yeah" "Okay"

•The name's if the characters on the presents in at the start is really cute (damn they really know the fanbase huh)

•"I have an alternative proposal" "I'd probably prefer mine, to be honest 😏"

•"Oh, actually, fuck yeah, that's great"

•"Rudolph motherfuckerrr"

•"The teddy bears are getting married" dude. how can he say something as pure and wholesome as that and NOT expect me to combust

•Forgetting the reindeers names and an audience member helping them out

•"I was expecting a sexy lady with a big beard"

•Javier turning the elves head to look at him

•"Christmas is ruined, there's no laughter for us to eat"

•"Ho ho ho is gleeful laughter"

•Everyone subtly making fun of Mrs Claus saying "I was caught on a cloud"

•"You're his muse. His inspiration" ☹️☹️

•"Hey, let's not blame someone with a disorder, shall we?"

•"Sometimes, the hyper focus is really useful for making toys. One day, I made a thousand game boys. They said to try and make something else, I said "fuck that!""

•Krampus's song

•"Krampus grows more powerful!!"

•"Little Krampus has a gun now!! Ho ho ho.. 😈😈😈"

•The deep "I'm everywhere"

•"No no no no no"

•"Poor little teddy bear Christmas man!"

•"Ahhh.. A Christmas gun..."

•"One present from every child.. goes to Krampus's tum tum!"

•WHY ARE THEY SOME THE MOST GORGEOUS AMAZING PEOPLE EVER TO EXIST EVER??? LIKE THEY ALWAYS LOOK GOOD.

•"I feast on the tears of the children!!"

•"Find the joy... Santa"

•Definitely wasn't hoping for a kiss scene or something...

•"You are nothing little lady girl.. I'm a sex!st as well"

•"Your wife is my wife now"

•"Hehehehehe"

•"Look at my little piss boy"

•When they all start singing "All I Want For Christmas Is You" very slowly and eerily

•"What is this song? This wasn't around when I was put beneath the ice"

•Most beautiful men ever ngl

•"AVADA KEDAVRA!!"

(So basically the entire play)

[pandorasprongs]

JAMIE TARTT | call it what you want.

PAIRING: jamie tartt x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 5.7k

SUMMARY: reader's family comes to visit london and she ends up having to hide her relationship with jamie till the final game of the season.

WARNINGS: language, innuendos

A/N: this is technically a sequel to my comfort crowd story that was my first one about jamie, but it can be read as a standalone too! would recommend reading it first since it gives a little backstory to the garden and reader's past relationship. also, you'll probably be able to tell that i rewatched match scene in the finale for a certain scene AHAHAHA i really wanted to show jamie's more affectionate side, so there's def a few cheesy scenes in here! the title is taken from 'call it what you want' by taylor swift

It's midnight when you hear a knock on your door. Any reasonable person would've ignored it and/or hid in case it was some axe murderer. Of course, you knew it wasn't a murderer, just your boyfriend.

"I thought I said you couldn't stay over tonight?" You say when you open the door to reveal Jamie, whose expression quickly turns into a pouty face.

"I know, but I missed you," You playfully roll your eyes, yet are unable to stop your smile. Christ, he could be annoying, but he could also be pretty sweet. Those two balanced each other out.

"Fine, come in, but you can’t sleep here," You take his hand and bring him inside your flat. He plants a kiss on your temple and the two of you settle down on the couch, which for you was a deserved reward.

The reason why you were up so late despite having to work in the morning was that you had been trying to make your place spotless before your brother and his family came to visit the next day. They had already been in England for a few days but were only coming to London now to visit you and to attend the final Richmond match of the season.

"How's the cleaning going?" Jamie asks, as he wraps one arm around you and reaches for the remote in the other one.

"Took five hours, but at least it’s done." You sigh as you settle closer to Jamie. Even if you had warned him not to come over tonight, you still appreciated his presence.

When you started dating, you never expected the football player to be so clingy, but not even a day after your first date, he was already hanging around you every chance he got.

You couldn’t even hide it from the team because the moment Sam caught the two of you arriving at the clubhouse together, that was it for you guys. They were happy for the two of you, though sometimes too happy, especially whenever you had to call Jamie for a physical and they automatically assumed it was code for something.

"How was practice?"

"Good. The team's having a hard time mastering the start though. The timing's always off," He explains about the surprise goodbye performance they were doing for Ted and Beard. 

They had been planning it from the moment they heard the news the two of them were leaving for Kansas at the end of the season. Well, right after they all finished processing — through crying, screaming, protesting, and the like — the news.

"You guys will do fine," you take the remote from his hand and start looking for a certain movie. "Plus, even if you fuck it up, I’m sure they’ll love it regardless." That gets Jamie to chuckle and you feel the vibrations from his chest.

"How about this? Let's watch the Sound of Music, so you can try and copy one of the von Trapp siblings!" You suggest as you press play on the movie. Jamie doesn't protest and simply wraps his other arm around you too.

You look up at your boyfriend and suddenly feel a pang of guilt. "I'm really sorry,"

You don't need to explain further because Jamie instantly understands. He kisses you on your forehead, "Stop saying that. I know you don't want your family to know you're dating such a talented football player because you're afraid one of them will try and steal me from you."

You remove yourself from Jamie before playfully pushing his head. "Yeah, that's exactly right." The both of you laugh as Jamie pulls you in again.

You had already explained why you were hiding it from them back when you found out they were visiting. You had already been dating Jamie for a couple of months, but not a single person back home knew. 

Most of your family knew about the disastrous way your last relationship ended and you were sure they'd be extra protective about the next guy. As much as you loved being with Jamie and knew he wasn’t that guy anymore, you knew that your football-obsessed family was aware of who he used to be.  Stories of the multiple scandals, hook-ups, and rumors of unsportsmanlike conduct throughout the years were the exact reason you were so afraid to tell them. Those were in the past and you knew that, but you weren’t so sure how to convince your family of that, too. 

Jamie, true to form as the prick he is, completely understood and never tried to pressure you to tell them. He was even the one to tell the whole team that your brother was coming to visit and they had to, in his words, shut the fuck up about your relationship.

This was probably the last night for a few days you two could comfortably spend together, so you didn't really want to force him away. The two of you just sat there watching a Julie Andrews classic where you'd occasionally hear Jamie sing along to the musical numbers.

It was around 2 am when the movie finished and now, he definitely had to go home. Even then, you had a hard time separating yourself from Jamie, but your rational brain was telling you it would be bad for a secret relationship if your family caught him in the apartment.

"See you tomorrow, yeah?" Jamie says as he opens the front door.

Instead of responding, you plant a kiss on his lips, catching him by surprise. He's quick to wrap his arms around your waist as he reciprocates it. You separate and finally, answer him. "Yup, see you tomorrow." Jamie gives you one last hug and a kiss on the cheek before he leaves your apartment. 

You look around your place for a second, seeing if there's anything you need to fix up before tomorrow. Once you assess that it's as clean as it can be, you go to your room and catch some much-needed sleep.

——

When you hear a knock at your door, you drag yourself out of your bed and to the living room. Before you can even twist the doorknob, you hear a voice on the other side, "You should be awake by now!"

"I am!" you respond, as you open the door. You're greeted by the sight of your older brother Frank, your sister-in-law Denise, and their son Gregory.

"Hello, family," you say drowsily, as the three of them envelope you with a hug. Once they let go, you lead them inside your apartment. "How's your vacation so far?"

"Oh, amazing. I get why you moved to Europe," Denise answers, as she looks around your flat. "They have you set up pretty nice here, huh?" She plops down on your couch and pulls Gregory down next to her.

"Yup," you head to the kitchen to make the three of them some drinks. "So, what do you two plan to do while Gregory comes to work with me?" They had already told you ages ago that Gregory wanted to visit the clubhouse badly, but you knew it was also free babysitting.

"Sightseeing mostly," your brother replies, grabbing his cup of tea from you. When you take a seat next to Denise and your nephew, the former leans into you and whispers, "And get into places where 18 and unders can't." 

You chuckle and she plants a kiss on her son's head. As they enjoy their drinks, the three of you start catching up. You steer clear of any questions about relationships and instead focus on you being a physical therapist for a football team.

"Do their feet smell?" Gregory asks and you nod your head.

"Extremely, so always remember to wash your feet, okay?" You reply and the 8-year-old gives you a thumbs up and drinks his hot chocolate.

The topic then shifts to the upcoming final game between Richmond and West Ham. You managed to get the 3 of them tickets, — thank you, Higgins, — which they said was the perfect way to end their trip.

"I'll get you some shirts today, too. Gregory's gonna help me pick them out, yeah?" You turn to your nephew who is more than excited to do so.

"Nice," your brother reacts. "I'd appreciate an Obisanya one."

"Yup, and I want a Colin Hughes one if they're available. And of course, this one here," Denise pulls Gregory into a hug, "wants the captain's jersey."

"Will do," you make a mental note, before excusing yourself to get ready for work. 

You’re freshening up in your bathroom when you hear your nephew call out to you. "Mom's asking if you have an extra blanket!" 

"Check my room!" You hear him go to the room across and as he passes you again, he shouts a quick 'Thank you!'

Once you’re done getting changed, you head back to the living room. All three of them were ready to head out, so you lock up and hail a taxi to the AFC Richmond clubhouse. On the drive there, the seatbelt was practically the only thing stopping Gregory from bouncing up and down in the car. 

When you get there, you find some members of the team along with the Director of Football Operations standing front and center near the entrance of the building. You thank the driver and grab Gregory by the hand. You say goodbye to his parents, and since they’re so excited to have some alone time, they don't even bother looking up at the scene in front of them.

"What's all this?" You say as you approach the entrance. Gregory, despite his excitement, was now walking more cautiously, lagging behind you. When they hear your voice, the team finally settles down.

"Well, a little birdie told me that you'd be bringing someone special to work today and so we decided to assemble the Richmond Welcome Committee for him." You stare at all of them in disbelief and your smile grows wider. You find Jamie in the group, whose smug expression tells you exactly who it was.

"Hello there, Gregory," Higgins turns to your nephew and sticks his hand out, who is still hiding behind you. You move to the side and crouch down next to him, so he feels more at ease.

"Hi," your nephew finally speaks up and shakes his hand. 

Higgins then bends down to the eye level of your nephew. "Welcome to AFC Richmond! We prepared a little gift for you if that's okay."

Gregory nods his head. Higgins and the rest of the team start doing a drumroll and move out of the way to reveal Isaac, with a personalized jersey. You exhale in disbelief and turn to your nephew. 

"What do you say, Greg?" Said nephew was too awestruck by his favorite player to even move. 

After a few seconds, he finally ran up to Isaac and hugged his favorite player. The team captain was now the one in shock, but slowly reciprocated it. Gregory then lets go and accepts the jersey from him. The rest of the team moves to crowd the boy and start talking with him. Almost immediately, your nephew transforms from his former terrified state to the life of the party.

You moved to the side to give them space and thank Higgins, who just shook his head. "It's no problem," he started. "Henry doesn't come here that often anymore, so it was nice to do this for another kid." You smile, before noticing Jamie going toward you.

"And here's the little birdie now," Higgins jokes before excusing himself. You see the team busy entertaining Gregory, so you take the chance to plant a kiss on Jamie's cheek.

"If only the tabloids knew how sweet the striker of AFC Richmond could be." You whisper afterward.

"I know, I'm a great not-boyfriend." He continues to show his smug smirk and before you can reply, you notice that your nephew is starting to look for you.

You put enough distance between you and Jamie to seem platonic, "Greg?" You catch his attention and see him already wearing his jersey over his shirt.

"Can we go inside now?" He asks and you nod your head.

You turn back to the "welcome committee," and thank them. "This was so great." They wave goodbye to the both of you — with Isaac giving Gregory a high-five — as they head to the field for training.

Once you're alone again, Gregory turns to you. "That was so much fun!" You laugh at the boy's reaction as you settle down in your office.

For about 2 hours, you had to deal with the boy asking you about every detail of the papers in front of you. Vitals, size charts, diagrams, he was curious about all of it. A part of you hoped that he'd want to talk about something, anything else, but you soon regret wishing that.

"Auntie (Y/N), is Jamie Tartt your favorite player?" You try and hide your shock at the question. He's 8 years old and it's probably an innocent question.

"Yes, he is." You answer honestly and turn your chair to the treatment table where Gregory was lying down. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I saw you talking to him earlier." He observes, sitting up and looking like he's about to launch into a whole monologue. "And I saw a lot of his jerseys in your room too, so I thought you must be a fan. But you work here, so are you guys close?"

Maybe you should have closed the closet door before sending him in there. You try and keep your calm. "Kind of. I mean I'm close to all of the players, in a way."

If Gregory thinks anything is off, he doesn't show it. Instead, he nods his head and goes back to his comic book as you continue to work on some reports for the players.

Once you finish, you bring Gregory to watch the morning training. His parents were going to pick him up during lunch, so you only had to keep up the charade for just a little longer. The team was doing a few drills when you got there and Ted spots the two of you approaching. He immediately runs over and greets, "Is this the little guy? Hi, I'm Ted."

What was it with dads and shaking little kid's hands? Gregory, already getting used to meeting such famous football personnel, took his hand and shook it as firmly as an 8-year-old could. Jamie was too busy with his drills to notice you there and you’ve never been more relieved about that.

After spending the next hour watching the game from the stands, it was time for lunch and you headed to the car park to find Frank and Denise. You smile at them and hand off Gregory who started telling his parents about his brand-new personalized kit.

You feel your phone vibrate and take it out to find a message from Jamie. secret boyfriend bought secret lunch for a secret date in your office ;)

You chuckle at the message and send him a quick reply before hearing Gregory mention your name. "Auntie's friends with all the players, especially Jamie Tartt. He's her favorite and they're close."

Oh, this child is going to ruin you. You try and stop yourself from overreacting, though you instead end up letting out an exaggerated laugh. "Yeah, I mentioned him being my favorite player, but he seemed to forget that I said I'm also close with all the players, not just Jamie."

Frank seemed to buy it, but you can tell that Denise was starting to pick up on things. She could always tell when you were lying, even before you left for London. After you had broken up with Matt, it took one call before she realized what happened. So it was only a matter of time till she figured it out, but you had hoped you could delay it till after their trip. You wave to the three of them as their taxi left the car park.

You headed back to your office to find Jamie already devouring his pasta. "Hey, I thought this was supposed to be a date?" His head snaps towards you with noodles still hanging out of his mouth.

"I didn't know how long you'd take and I need my carbs." You roll your eyes as you go to the seat across from him. Jamie puts his plate down and brings out yours.

The two of you start talking about the upcoming game this Sunday, to which you bring up your usual 'night before' ritual.

"I thought your family was gonna stay at your flat that night?" Jamie asks, but you just shrug.

"I'll find a way to escape. No way you're going to the garden without me. I'm your good luck charm, Mr. Tartt." You lean towards the football player and playfully narrow your eyes at him. He breaks into a smile and takes your hand into his.

"Yeah, you are." He says softly, and your smile starts to fade. Jamie would never say it out loud, certainly not in the clubhouse where his teammates could hear him, but his nerves always reached an all-time high before a big game. Even after the Man City match and the talk with his mum, you noticed he still felt uneasy in the days leading up to this one.

He was good at hiding it from most people, but over the months, you figured out the small tells that showed he wasn't feeling his best. That's one of the reasons Dr. Sharon suggested he find a safe space, one where he could collect himself before a game, especially like the game on Sunday.

"Hey," You get him to look back at you and squeeze his hand tighter. "You and the whole team are going to dominate. You've already guaranteed a spot in the Champions League, so you’re set for next season. Plus, your beautiful and frankly, awesome girlfriend is gonna be there in the dugout cheering you on."

Jamie pulls you in for a quick kiss as a thank you before you start to fix up the table. He then suggests a rather inappropriate after-lunch activity — "Ay! Call it a motivational activity," — and you have to physically push him out the door for his afternoon practice.

——

It's the night before the match and you were currently arguing with your brother about the sleeping situation.

"Frank, I'll be fine. There's three of you, it's a king-sized bed, and you know I love couches." This time, he gives in. You watch him disappear into your room and after five minutes, you start heading out.

You go down to find a parked car outside, with its owner leaning on the side of it scrolling through his phone. Since you had dinner with family and he got a drink with Roy, the two of you had planned to meet up later than usual.

"Told you I still knew how to sneak out." You say to him, and the moment his eyes land on you, his expression seems to relax. You approach him and ask, "How was hanging out with Roy?"

"Weird, but good," he answered as the two of you got into the car. "Told me he was proud of me."

"That's nice of him. After all those training sessions and him barging on both our doors early morning, you deserve it." You’re reminded of when Roy came to your flat at 4 am after he realized that Jamie wasn't at his own house, which ended with you scolding the coach about it.

You didn't want to make a big deal of it, but you knew how much Jamie appreciated hearing that from someone he looked up to since childhood. Especially with their history back when Jamie first joined the team.

He continued to tell you about what went down, even mentioning how he convinced Roy to go to Keeley that night and finally ask her out again. Though, he admitted he partly did that was so they could finish earlier and he could see you.

You get to the garden and despite visiting it almost every week, you’re still amazed at its beauty. You remember the first time he brought you there before you were even dating. You had been so touched that Jamie was willing to share this place with you that you ended up kissing him right then and there. 

Ever since then, you ended up going with him before games, even if the two of you would just sit there in silence and simply take in the surroundings. That's exactly what was happening tonight, with you and Jamie sitting on a bench and just observing the garden.

After a while, you took the chance to look at Jamie without him noticing. He was always the most calm here and you could tell it from his side profile alone. His jaw was relaxed, his eyes were closed and he was breathing steadily.

You suddenly get the urge to admit something. "I'll tell Frank and Denise tomorrow." Jamie looks at you as you repeat, "I'm telling them about us tomorrow, after the game."

The football player breaks into a smile, and you can't help but mirror it. If the two of them could only get a glimpse of the Jamie you knew, who was thoughtful, enthusiastic, and truly kind-hearted, they wouldn't even care about all the dumb stories of the past. 

After a little while longer, Jamie drives you home and you give him a quick goodbye kiss before heading back to your flat. You try to be as quiet as possible, turning the knob ever so slowly. You soon realized you didn't have to, as you hear someone clear their throat. You open the door to find Denise sitting on the couch in her pajamas and you freeze. "You went out?"

"Yes," you finally managed to croak out, as you closed the door behind you and leaned on it. "Wanted some fresh air."

"Fresh air? From the car I just saw you get out of?" Denise crosses her arms and you accept defeat. You say nothing as your sister-in-law asks, "Who's the guy?"

"Jamie Tartt," you admit, and her eyes almost pop out of her head.

"Oh shit, you are dating him. I really thought Gregory was just exaggerating things." You roll your eyes and join her on the couch.

You quickly plead, "Please don't tell Frank yet. I promise I’ll tell him after the match. You know, just in case he gets an urge to do bodily harm to my boyfriend."

"Come on, you know he wouldn't actually do that." You tilt your head. She adds, "He probably wouldn't. But fine, I'll keep it from him." You sigh in relief until she starts giving you a look. "So, Jamie Tartt, huh?"

You groan. "Oh God, can we not do this right now? What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing! I just didn't think you'd go for a guy like him. You know, more laidback with a slight douchy vibe."

"He is not a douche!" You're quick to defend Jamie, but now Denise narrows her eyes at you. "Not anymore. He was the one who planned that jersey thing for Greg. Would a douche do something like that?"

"Okay, okay, I believe you. He doesn’t seem like the prick from before." Denise holds her hands up in surrender. "But, I only know that because of how you're acting now." She nudges you on the shoulder and you tilt your head. 

"Look, you just seem happier, lighter. Much better than when you were with Matt. I was never going to admit it, but you should’ve ended things after college. Nothing was too toxic about your relationship, but you always looked like you were holding something back."

It was true. It took a few months of not being with him anymore to realize just how many red flags he had. Yes, he was smart, polite, and always knew exactly what to say, but he was also the first to criticize you when you didn't live up to his “standard.” You had convinced yourself that he was only trying to make you better, but in reality, he was just an ass. 

Being with Jamie is what convinced you of that. He got you out of your comfort zone to enjoy things, without ever making it feel like he was pressuring you. You did the same for him too, and instead of pushing back like Matt always did, Jamie would actually listen to what you had to say and cared what you thought.

You explain all of that to Denise and at the end of it, you're sure she's starting to see why you fell for Jamie in the first place. "I'm glad you're happy." 

You hug your sister-in-law tightly before you both start getting tired. Everyone had to get up early tomorrow, so it was best to get some rest before then.

You're already lying down and tucked into the couch, but you grab your phone and send a quick message to Jamie.

i hope you're sleeping because this is for when you wake up tomorrow. good luck and i know you'll be the best fucking player on the field!

You hit the send button before returning your phone to the table and drifting off to sleep.

——

You had planned on getting to the clubhouse earlier than usual. You had to prepare for the match and your family didn’t want to push through a bunch of people to get to their seats. 

But even then, there was already a crowd around the building. Maybe it was because this was your first time working here with the team making it to the finals, but you've never seen that many AFC Richmond fans present.

You had separated from the three of them once they got their tickets and insisted they could find their seats on their own. Because of all the chaos of getting ready and setting up with the whole crowd, you hadn't gotten a chance to check if Jamie had replied or even look for him.

It was only when Will showed up at the dugout saying that Jamie was looking for you did you see him for the first time today.

"I've been waiting for my good luck kiss," is how he greets you and you can only laugh as you embrace him. He met you outside of the locker room, so you avoided all the whistles and 'oohs' from his teammates. 

You give him a quick kiss before telling him about last night. You could see his relief when he realized that your sister-in-law did approve of him, which you almost felt guilty about. 

Jamie Tartt, world-renowned football player, was nervous about what a relative of yours thought about him. 

"I'll tell Frank later. And, if you guys win the game, maybe he won't come after you and injure your other ankle." You remind him and he chuckles, but your straight face is enough for him to take it seriously.

"Shit. I guess we do have to win." 

After hearing Ted asking everyone to huddle up, you separate from Jamie and the two of you join the crowd inside the locker room. You with the rest of the physical therapists and Jamie with the players.

You had to admit, you were a bit nervous for the game. You knew the team was doing great, but after their crying session right before the match, you were worried they'd be too teary-eyed to make it through. And in the first half, you were right to be. Despite their efforts, West Ham was ahead much to every Richmond supporter’s dismay. 

But after whatever happened in the locker room, they seemed to be picking it up. After those 3 misses, you and the rest of the people in the dugout were ecstatic when Jamie finally scored. 

But then it led to a whole different issue. Now, West Ham was focused on marking Jamie. From both a personal and professional standpoint, you were worried. Jamie's ankle could still easily be injured after what happened at Man City and Richmond would lose what was called "their central cog." 

You were grasping your medical bag as the game continued, ready at any moment to rush over there. You flinched when Jamie fell to the ground, but when the referee called for a penalty, you knew this was one of his tricks and you sighed in relief. 

He looks at you with one of his signature smirks as he's pulled up by Sam. You playfully shake your head and roll your eyes, as the teams get ready for the kick.

And thank God Isaac was able to get it in the net. Well, through it? You could feel Gregory's excitement over it, even if you weren't sure where they were in the crowd.

After eavesdropping on Rupert Mannion ordering his manager to "take out" Jamie, you felt a lump forming in your throat. But at least George still had some integrity, even if you ended up seeing his balls after he gets pushed. As Rupert got heckled off the pitch, Jamie catches your eyes.

He notices your worried expression and gives you a reassuring look. It was his way of saying "Don't worry, you think they can take me out?" You not as the players head back onto the field.

Even then, the players were completely boxing Jamie in, but you watched as Ted signaled a strategy for the free kick which they seem to understand quickly. Jamie's trying everything to get Bumbercatch's attention, but the moment he sends it Sam's way, you know exactly what's going on.

"Go, go, go," You whisper, on the edge of your seat. You're squeezing Will's arm a little too tight, but even he is too immersed in the game to care.

Sam gets the ball in and the whole stadium erupts in cheers. You wait, but when the final whistle was blown, you and Will start celebrating too. The whole team starts running onto the pitch and at that point, you weren't thinking. 

The moment your eyes landed on Jamie, you were running across the pitch towards him. He catches you in his arms and pulls you into a kiss. You deepen it as if you weren't surrounded by thousands of people right then and there.

You break apart for a split second to say, "You guys absolutely smashed it. I knew you would win." 

He pulls you back for another kiss, before smiling against your lips. "You aren't worried about your brother seeing us?"

The thought hadn't occurred to you at that moment, but you try and find them in the crowd, still not removing yourself from Jamie's grasp. With all the chaos, you give up and just shrug it off, turning back to the football player. 

"I don't really care anymore." You admit as you laugh.

Jamie pulls you into a hug and spins you around in the air. You laugh and hold onto him tightly. When he puts you down, you find your family coming toward the two of you. Frank is the only one who seemed shocked by this whole ordeal, with Denise simply smirking and Gregory being distracted by all the people celebrating on the field.

"Right, hi Frank," you start and you slide your hand down from his arm to intertwine it with Jamie's hand to steady yourself. "Did I forget to tell you I have a boyfriend now?"

"Yeah, I don't think it's come up, no," He replies.

Jamie takes a step forward and stretches his other arm for a handshake. "Hello, it's nice to meet you. I'm Jamie—"

"Jamie Tartt, yes." Your brother firmly grasps his hand. "I know who you are." Jamie's legs buckle slightly at Frank's strength, but Denise puts a warning hand on her husband's shoulder.

"Not too hard, honey." which prompts Frank to finally let go of Jamie.

It's a few minutes of silence, — well, as quiet as a celebrating football stadium could be — before you finally try and escape the situation. "Maybe we should let Jamie celebrate with his team!"

"Yes, of course! Congratulations, Jamie! You guys did amazing." Denise says, causing Jamie to flash a genuine smile.

"Yes, you and your team did great," Frank adds on, notably less enthusiastic. "Especially with that last shot from Obisanya." Of course, he had to add his favorite player to this.

You try and pull Jamie away to bring him to his celebrating team, but your brother pulls him into a hug, forcing you to let go of Jamie's hand. You watch Frank whisper something in his ear, before letting go. He then says out loud, "Congratulations on making the Champions League. Can't wait to see you guys play next season."

All Jamie can do is nod in gratitude, as he seems to still be processing what happened before that. You decide to thank him on your boyfriend's behalf.

"See you guys later!" You say to your family as you bring Jamie away from them, his expression slightly worrying you. Once you put a safe amount of distance between them, you whisper, "What did he say?"

"Nothing," Jamie pursed his lips. "Just that he'd make my life a living hell and find a way to ruin my career if I broke your heart." He laughs it off, but you can hear a slight shakiness in his voice.

"Alright then," you interlock your arms with Jamie's, but neither confirm nor deny the truth in his statement.

"That was a joke, right?" Jamie tries to ask but you just shrug. His face almost turns white, but you laugh and instead, he playfully narrows his eyes at you. "That's not funny."

"Well, I’m pretty sure you aren't going to break my heart, so you'll never have to find out. You plant a kiss on his cheek and remove yourself from him. “Now go, celebrate your win!" 

You push him to the rest of his teammates, who are in the middle of celebrating, but he's quick to grab your arm and pull you close. "I know how I want to celebrate this win." He moves in for yet another kiss.

You briefly wonder if this is being televised and if it might be how all your friends and family back home find out, but you'd deal with that later. Right now, it's just you and Jamie. 

And you've always wanted that celebratory field kiss.

[iguana-eyanna]

Shadow of Himself

Pairing: Isaac Mcadoo x Reader

Summary: Isaac's teammates try to guess who is mystery girlfriend is.

"Bruv, it's gotta be a Victoria Secret model" Jamie Tartt says.

"Nah, mate. She's an American singer, he's been obsessed watching the Voice for months." Colin Hughes says.

"American? Not international?" Richard Montlaur suggests, creating a louder argument with the team

"Okay y'all, what's going on? Y'all playing Guess Who: Celebrity edition?"

The boys turn around to Coach Lasso, Beard, and Kent as they stood by the entrance of their office.

"Coach, do you know Isaac's new lady lover?" Dani Rojas asks.

"I don't seem to know why I need to know." Lasso said, placing his hands in his pockets.

"I'm hosting an end of a season dinner at my restaurant for the whole team. Isaac asked me if he could bring a plus one." Sam said, feeling guilty he accidentally slipped it up to the whole team.

"And that concerns you how?" Beard asks.

"It's just news to us, no one knew about the girl. Not even Colin!" Bumbercatch pointed out to a solemn.

"You think you know a man." Colin says to himself, lowering his eyesight.

"Don't you think calling Issac's partner 'girl' a bit degrading?" Roy said, creating an unsettling silence in the locker room.

"Coach is right. I think we should be a tree and 'leaf' the situation. If Isaac is ready to tell us about who's dating and what not, we'll be here to support him."

"Ready for what?" Isaac said as he walks in with his bag.

The team try to stammer a lie, making Roy mutter a small 'fuck this' under his breath as he went inside the coaches' office.

"Uh, the dinner at Ola's. I've added a new dish to the menu!" Sam saved the conversation, hoping to not have a chair be thrown at his direction.

"Nice." Isaac said, walking over to his bench as he gets ready to go home.

Everyone of his team makes subtle eye contact with each other, wondering who would bring up the sensitive.

"Isaac, when are you going to bring your secret lover?" Jan Maas asks, ripping the bandaid as he always does. The whole team groans, throwing their used towels and dirty laundry at the Dutch player.

"Can't keep a secret from you all." Isaac muttered, snickering at the thought in a second.

"So you are seeing someone?" Jamie asks in a genuine tone.

"For everyone's information, yes. I am seeing someone. And no: she is not a model, singer, or a Romanian Spy." Isaac says, staring directly Thierry Zoreaux on the last part, who raises his hands in defense.

"You will meet her at the party, but till then, no one digs into my relationship. Got that?" Isaac demands. The whole team nods in agreement and go along their day, afraid to be stared down or beat up their captain.

Soon, Isaac drives home with a content smile on his face after he picked up some Thai food for dinner. He then gets outta of his car and unlock his door, seeing a pair of shoes that are 5 times smaller than his.

"Love, you here?" Isaac asks, as he takes off his shoes. He then lifts his head to see you standing there with a jean flared-skirt, beige blouse that silhouetted your figure just right, and your hair styled in an updo.

"Please tell me you got my pumpkin curry? They were out last time." You pleaded.

"You're in luck. They had it tonight." He said, raising the plastic bag for you to see.

"Gahh you're the best. Before heading back here, I grabbed you these for dessert." You raise your arm to show him his favorite candy, Rolos chocolate.

"That's why you're amazing" He said, giving you a kiss as he dips you down with his strong arms. Soon, you two set up dinner and talked about your day.

"Really, a Romanian Spy?" You ask, as Isaac told you what his friends were guessing your profession.

"Well you would look great in a spy costume."

"You wish you would." You remarked as Isaac slapped your but lightly, making you yelp and blush. You return the favor as he yelped louder and turning back to you with a mischievous look in his eye.

"You don't think me being a school librarian would make them think I'm boring?" You ask, looking up at him as you two sat down.

"You kidding? I think it's great you help out kids. And if they don't, i'll rough them up."

"I don't think your coaches will like it if you sent them to the hospital." You remark.

"Let them, cause no one will ever say a bad thing about you on my watch." Isaac said, taking your hand and kissing it.

You smile, feeling very confident in your relationship with him. You were a bit skeptical of course, as he was flaunting his money to impress you when you two were first dating. The both of you had a serious talk that splurging should be kept to a minimal (especially when you can't even afford to get his favorite cologne with 3 paychecks alone.)

As for the secrecy of your relationship, you two just wanted to spend your time privately with each other. He didn't like the idea of the press looking at his relationship under a microscope. But now that his team knows he's seeing someone, he realizes his privacy might not last for long.

"I wanted to ask you something."

"Oh no, that sentence never ended in a good situation." You remark, placing your glass down. You two scoot closer to each other by the table, and Isaac takes his hands in yours.

"I wanna introduce you to the team. Sam is having a private dinner party for the end of the season. No press or cameras, it will be just me introducing my amazing girlfriend to my friends."

"I'm your girlfriend now?" You quip an eyebrow, smirking.

"If you like to be... I mean what do you call four months of dating-"

You cut him off with a kiss as he holds you tenderly, melting underneath your sweet lips.

"I'd love to come."

Isaac smiles brightly as he kisses you again.

+

As the season ended, Isaac drove you over to Ola's and parked a few feet away. He looks over nervously by the window as he bounced his knee.

"Hey, are you alright? If not, we can leave." You said, placing your hand by his thigh.

He doesn't respond as his eyes dart to his designer shoes.

"Are you afraid your friends are going to say something?" You ask, knowing that his friends have a mouth like no body's business.

"No it's not like that, it's just... I used to be this big shot man who was undefinable. And when I'm with my mates, I become this dick that I don't recognize. I'm just afraid you won't like me if you see the worse parts of me, since it's pretty hard to imagine a life without you innit."

Your eyes soften as he finishes. All this time, you thought that you didn't matter enough to his adventoruos life when it was him that was having these insecurities.

"Isaac. I understand what I was getting into when I found out you were a pro-footballer. You come with a package, and yeah, every man has a very shitty phase but you pointing it out matters. Don't beat yourself up because you used to be a rich twat-"

He shoots you a glare, but he turns it into a snicker.

"I love you, and I hope that the both of us can grow into better people." You intertwine your hands with his.

Isaac looks at you with those dark brown eyes that you adore so much. He's been beating himself up for thinking he wasn't good enough for you. But it was because of you that he wanted to be a better man.

He takes your hand and kisses it.

"Lemme introduce my amazing girlfriend to my team."

Eagerly getting outta of the side of his car, Issac opens your side as he walks with you hand in hand to Ola's. He takes a deep breath before looking at you then walking inside where he's greeted by his new family, now forgetting why he was ever scared. He'll never be a shadow of himself, now that he has you as his light.

+

"So are we sure she's not a Romanian spy?"

"ZOREAUX!!!"

[its-time-to-write]

hi, i love your writing! could i request something where jamie and reader are dating and jamie starts introducing them to the important people in his life, like roy, keeley, the richmond boys, etc. and each time they get introduced to someone new, whenever jamie steps away, they basically get some variation of the 'you better not hurt him' talk, and when jamie finds out he's worried that reader is gunna be offended or upset but they reassure him that it's fine, they think it's cute that everyone's so protective of him and that it's nice to see him have so many people care about him

Sorry this took FOREVER. Here it is!

the way it goes

It has been exactly twenty-one days since Jamie asked you out on a proper date, and you’re of the opinion that life can’t get much better than this. You’ve only met two of his teammates so far, (Isaac because he’s one of Jamie’s good friends and Richard because you ran into him while shopping) and honestly, they aren’t what you expected at all. 

They’re kind and they seem to genuinely like working together.

(It’s a little funny to call football “work.”)

Isaac tells Jamie to bring you next time they all hang out, and reminds him to buy more juice packs than last time so they don’t run out again.

—

Turns out the next “hang out,” is a night at Isaac’s, and the whole team is there with various partners and spouses. There’s a strict sweatpants-only drsesscode, and pretty much everyone is in clearly expensive matching sets. You’re grateful that Jamie shrunk a brand-new deep green set the other week, because you didn’t have time to go out and buy something new/not ratty.

There are tables of board games, a pile of snacks, and even a bar. Jamie drags you over so he can get “proper buzzed,” and requests something incredibly complicated from Beard, who appears to be the only coach present.

“Babe,” Jamie says, “you good here? I’m gonna get some food.”

You nod and watch him weave through groups of people. You lean against the bar and wait for Jamie’s drink.

“So,” says Beard, “you’re Jamie’s girlfriend.

You nod. “Yeah, I am. I’ve known him for ages, though. Since I was in uni. Always thought he was just some prick footballer trying to score, if you know what I mean.”

Beard chuckles. “I get it. He’s a bit of an asshole sometimes.”

You grin. “He’s my asshole.”

Beard slides you Jamie’s drink but before he completely lets it go, he says, “Hey.”

His voice has lost its jocularity, so you look up to meet his (very intense, slightly terrifying) eyes.

“Jamie doesn’t need his heart broken. He may have been a giant prick, but he’s different now. He’s not the kind of guy you can just screw and move on from.”

Your mouth has gone a little dry, so you just nod. Right then. You turn to go find Jamie and hope he won’t mind if you take a sip of his drink. You’re planning on staying sober tonight, so that one sip is going to have to get you through till the end.

It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s told you to be careful with Jamie. The first time was actually Roy’s niece, Phoebe. Jamie was babysitting and he asked you to come along, so while he was paying for ice creams Phoebe tugged your arm so you’d get down to her level and said, “If you make him cry, they’ll never find you again.”

You had looked at her in shock while she matter-of-factly stated, “My Uncle Roy’s been teaching me things.”

She said the word things far too ominously for an eight year old, but then Jamie came back and she was all smiles again. 

You got a similar, equally threatening talk from Phoebe’s mum, and then from Roy, and then Roy’s girlfriend Keeley.

Variations of the “break him and I’ll break you” talk had begun to trickle in whenever you’d pick up Jamie from Nelson Road. The tone ranged from Sam’s vaguely threatening, “We all love Jamie very much. We’re incredibly protective of him,” to Jan Maas’s blunt, “If you break his heart, you will never find another date on this entire continent.

Even Ted had a comment, which was more along the lines of, Jamie’s a big softie, he doesn’t need some to play him right now, he needs a real supporter. Each time, you assured them that you weren’t going to hurt him. You didn’t ask why they thought you would be the one doing the hurting when he was the one with the reputation.

Because you are fully aware of his reputation. You hadn’t seen Lust Conquers All, but you’d seen enough clips to piece together exactly how it went. And you’d seen the details of his cheating scandals all over the papers. And dealt with him firsthand while in uni. So yeah, Jamie’s past prick-ish behavior is not a mystery to you.

You find it endearing that so many people love him enough to protect him. It’s a good sign, you think.

You find Jamie carefully stacking various snacks on a tiny, tiny plate. His face lights up when you come into view.

“Oh good,” he says. “Extra hands.” He grabs his drink with one hand and gives you the plate with the other. He starts piling on something flaky and slightly green. 

“Isaac’s girlfriend makes these fucking pistachio things, and they always go way too fast. Gotta eat them while you can,” he says while creating an engineering marvel.

“Glad you like ‘em, bruv,” comes Isaac’s voice from behind you. You jump a little, and the plate wobbles. 

You turn to see Isaac with an absolutely gorgeous woman on his arm.

“I’m Stella,” she says. “It’s wonderful to meet you. We’ll have to have you two over for a real dinner.”

Jamie and Isaac quickly become engrossed in a serious discussion about football tactics, with Jamie downing his drink and then taking the plate of food from you. He was right, those pistachio things are amazing.

You chat with Stella for a little bit and learn she’s the face of a modeling agency and met Isaac during some football/branding thing.

“He was the only one during the entire shoot who made sure I was drinking enough water,” she laughs. “Who knew the way to my heart was through proper hydration?”

You talk a little longer before Jamie’s arm is snaking around your waist to whisk you off to see Dani. It goes like that for a little while until you finally settle down at one of the game tables. It’s a card game involving a lot of yelling and pointing fingers.

The house is noisy and cozy, filled to the brim with people who are just comfortable around each other, and you think you’ve never experienced something like this in your whole life.

Jamie on the other hand, is yawning a little bit. His hand, which had been on your knee tracing squiggly patterns, is starting to slow down so you put yours on top of his and whisper, “You about ready to go?”

Jamie nods and presses a kiss to the side of your head.

“Got fucking extra training tomorrow,” he quietly laments.

You get up to leave and Jamie follows suit with a very loud pronouncement that he’d rather be somewhere private, much to the amusement of the Greyhounds who begin to hoot and whistle. You roll your eyes and smack his butt on the way out.

Forty-five minutes later, Isaac’s phone dings with a photo of Jamie in a pink robe and green face mask, hair pulled back in an equally pink and fluffy headband. He’s lying on your bed and he can see the tv screen playing Notting Hill. You’ve typed, Someplace private, my ass, and Isaac just shakes his head and grins. Fucking Jamie. Prick on the outside, softie on the inside.

You better not break his heart, he writes.

HAH comes your reply a moment later. Not a chance.

“Babe, look,” you say handing Jamie your phone. “I’ve collected the whole set.”

Jamie reads your text thread then looks up at you in confusion. “What d’you mean?”

“Isaac is the only one who hasn’t like, threatened me or something if I hurt you,” you reply.

The tips of Jamie’s ears turn red. “What do you mean, the only one?” he asks. “Like, the team?”

You shake your head. “Oh no. I mean, yes, the whole team, but like pretty much everyone who works at Nelson Road.” 

Jamie’s eyes widen as you begin to list people on your fingers. “Alright, so obviously the Greyhounds, plus all the coaches, Keeley, Rebecca, Higgins, Trent, Samantha at the front desk, Gary, Phoebe and her mum, Will-” you pause. “Should I keep going?”

Jamie groans. “Fucking hell. I’m sorry. They’re all twats, except Phoebe. I swear, they’re not always like that. I’ll talk to them and make ‘em leave you alone.”

“No! You can’t let them know that you know! And…” you hesitate, “I thought it was kind of sweet. Like a green flag, you know? They all like you enough to make sure that you’ll be ok, and they want me to know I have something special. Of course, I already knew that,” you continue, “but it’s nice confirmation.” 

Oh. That’s new.

Jamie’s quiet for way too long so you look over at him. “Babe, are you crying?”

“No,” he says, choked up. “Face mask got in my fuckin’ eye.”

“It’s dried solid, babe.”

“Fine,” he says, “I might be a little. But you can’t tell anyone, especially not Ted, because then he’ll talk to me about feelings and shit, and I’d rather eat ten fucking scones than that.”

You laugh and snuggle into his side. There aren’t going to be any heartbreaks here, not if you can help it. You’re both planning on keeping the other around for the rest of your lives.

[huffelpuff210]

Connection part 2

Summary: Steve and everyone finally find you, but not in the condition they were expecting.

You were so glad you excelled in engineering and tech, even though you were still severely injured you decided to upgrade the place, the house had a under ground home under the foundation, you upgraded everything starting with the steel paneled door,

Making sure no one could just walk in if they found the hidden door upstairs,

Finger print security locking, you put cameras up outside the house at every angle,

Alarm trip wires, upgraded everything you could think of, you couldn’t risk getting caught off guard

Sure at the time when the avenger were together you were just tech support and engineering, but you did take training with Nat and Clint, they showed you the weapons and escape training that you would need,

Steve taught you combat, all the training came in handy,

You were currently in the shower when the trip alarm went off and you could hear talking from above, you were extremely sore, you never properly stitched your deeper injuries you just wrapped them with gauze, you were also exhausted you couldn’t sleep properly because of your spiraling thoughts,

You step out of the shower putting on a pair of plaid pajama shorts, red and blue and a black tee shirt, you didn’t bother drying your hair, you knew if it was the government you had to move quickly,

You grab your tranq gun from the counter, you still didn’t have what it took to kill someone,

You take one of the hidden entrances you made, it was dark pitch black,

You were up in one of the beams in the house, near the roof,

You counted at least six of them,

“You sure this is the place?” One of them ask

“Positive, she’s definitely here” a female voice says,

There was no doubt they were looking for you,

“spread out” another says you watch as they separate

You watch the leader,

‘Always go for someone the group can’t function without’ Steve’s words echo in your mind

You take a deep breath jumping from the beam landing on the man, you both fall to the ground with a thud, you pistol whip him causing him to grunt, you straddle his waist about to tranq him in the chest,

“Whoa, whoa, Y/N it’s me, it’s Steve!” He says with his hands up in surrender,

You stop your movements.

Your eyes widening seeing it was indeed him, he had a bit of a beard going on,

“Glad to see your still in shape.”Natasha says from behind you

You look at them all shocked,

You couldn’t believe that they were here you were unsure if they were really here or if you were dreaming,

“Umm, Y/N could you…” Steve said motioning to you still straddling him,

“I’m so sorry.” You say getting flustered standing almost wincing,

“I thought you were.. I mean I didn’t mean..” you began

He chuckled,

“It’s fine.” He says,

“Come on in,” you say opening the hatch in the floor they follow you into the new space you created,

“Damn, this place is..” Sam be fan but couldn’t fin the right words,

“Incredible.” Bucky finished,

You stare at the man then smile,

“thank you,” you reply

[roosterbruiser]

𝐀𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥

The sandy stone patio outside The Hard Deck is quiet. 

Well, it’s quieter than it was inside. Rowdy Navymen and their rowdy friends a few too many draft beers deep jamming out with the jukebox on high, Penny overwhelmed by the amount of men in Uncle Sam beards and patriotic paper top-hats, peanut shells on the floor, ice clinking in whiskey glasses, fireworks going off every few minutes. 

It’s all a bit overwhelming for you, which is why you slid out and quietly settled in one of the metal bistro chairs, breathing in the sweet ocean and sulfuric air. It’s foggy outside from the fireworks, which are bursting into the night sky in fantastic sparks of yellow and pink and red and blue. 

Finally--you can take a deep breath, inflate your lungs, tune in with your daughter just beneath the taut skin of your swollen belly. She’s fluttering around like she always is when you’re finally still. Sometimes, you like to imagine that she’s mimicking you: taking a deep breath, tilting her head towards the sky, lashes fluttering as she watches the fireworks. 

Bradley is still sitting at the piano, playing a jaunty version of Born in the USA on the piano, a little tipsy and the kind of happy that makes his cheeks bright pink. The usual crowd is around him, much drunker and much blearier, sloshing their drinks and mussing each other’s faux beards. 

“Where’s that wife of mine?” Bradley asks suddenly--he scans the crowd around the piano and doesn’t find you in the sea of red, white, and blue. “Jake, did you scare her off?” 

“She wakes up to you every morning, Bradshaw,” Jake retorts, grinning. “How could I scare her off?” 

Bradley stills--everyone groans when the live music stops. 

“Yeah, yeah, cry me a river!” Bradley says as everyone boo’s him. He stands up, stretches, glances around the bar again. He doesn't see you still. “Respect your countryman!” 

And then he’s fielding pats on the backs as he navigates the bar, heading for the patio doors. He’s sure you’re out there--you like to sneak away when you can get away with it to dip your toes in the water or sit in the patio chairs. 

He’s right--you’re right where he knew you would be: sitting in the patio chair, head tilted back as you watch the smoke drift across the star-dotted sky, shoes thrown aside and feet buried in the sand, eyes shining as you stroke your belly with both hands. 

“Hey, mama,” he greets softly. 

You turn, a soft smile on your face. All the noise of the bar fades whenever Rooster closes the door behind him, grinning at you something fierce.

“Hey, daddy,” you respond, face warm with love.  

He stalls right where he is, hands on the hips of his true-blue Levi’s. Pink sprouts across the exposed part of his chest, his Hawaiian shirt long unbuttoned after his fourth drink and second song on the piano. He just beholds you, a lip tucked between his teeth, his smile growing wider when you wrinkle your nose at him. 

“What?” You ask, but you have a feeling that you already know. 

“You’re a fucking vision,” he sighs, earnest and yearning. “How’d I land a bombshell like you?” 

“Trapped me,” you tease, gesturing to your bump. “Remember?” 

He grins, laughing. He starts to toe his Chuck Taylors off, peeling his socks off while you rest your cheek on your shoulder to gaze at him. 

“It’s quiet out here,” he says softly, sauntering over to you and wrapping his arms around your neck. He peppers your sweet-smelling hair with a few kisses before tucking his nose into your neck. “Didn’t realize my ears were ringing in there.” 

You smile. 

“Poor baby,” you mutter mockingly, curling your fingers in his sandy locks. “You alright?”

“Respect your countryman,” Bradley insists softly, muffled from the silky skin of your neck. “And the father of your daughter.” 

He moves his hand to your belly and your daughter kicks softly, stretching and turning. You can feel his grin when it spreads across his face. He’s so delighted in the thought of becoming a father that his joy is genuinely palpable. You can feel it at all times like the sun on your cheeks or the wind in your hair. 

His hand is warm, covering the front of your rounded belly. Bradley sighs softly, eyes fluttering shut as he feels your daughter move inside of you, imagining what she’ll be like. 

But then a firework goes off--pops right beside the both of you. And you both feel it: your daughter jolting in your belly, startled. 

Before Bradley can respond, you’re laughing. Laughing a big and loud laugh with your mouth wide open and your eyes teary.

“Oh,” you giggle, grinning at Bradley. “Our poor baby!” 

Bradley, frowning good-naturedly, tuts and moves so he’s kneeling before you. You’re still fighting your laughter, biting your lip and stroking your belly. But Bradley’s tucking himself between your legs, moving your shirt up until the curve of your belly is exposed to the cool night air. 

“Poor thing,” Bradley said, pressing a few kisses to your skin. “S’okay, bird. Just some fireworks, huh? You’re gonna have to get used to ‘em, aren’t you? Fourth of July is…big in this family, to say the least.” 

You nod as if she can see you, combing your fingers through his hair as he peppers your belly in affection. You can almost see it now: Bradley holding your tiny daughter, pressing his nose into her little shoulder, making her shudder when his mustache tickles her delicate skin. 

“We’ll get her some headphones,” you tell him, biting a grin. “That oughta do the trick, huh?” Another firework pops and she jolts again, more than before. Your belly flutters, tenses. “She really doesn’t like those,” you tell Bradley, gasping softly. 

With his brows furrowed, Bradley peers over his shoulder at the small group of mens setting them off on the beach. 

“I’m gonna go give ‘em a piece of my mind,” he mutters. 

“Bradley,” you laugh. “What’re you gonna say? You’re scaring my unborn daughter?”

He pauses--glares at you. 

“And if that is what I’m gonna say?” 

Grinning, feeling like you’re about to burst with all this love for this goofy man on his knees before you, you shake your head. 

“Oh, boy, do I love you,” you say softly. “And so does our daughter.” 

He grins. 

“Our American girl,” he laughs. “Who doesn’t like fireworks.”

You hope, with everything in your heart, that she has his laugh. Big, loud, hearty. You want people to hear her laugh and know who her father is. Oh, that’s gotta be a Bradshaw. 

“She’ll learn,” you tell him, stroking your belly. “Her daddy’s a Navyman.” 

𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐟 𝐨𝐟 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝐀𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐬 <𝟑