#this sudden change will ignite all of them again but like tenfold now that the gods are gone

[magicalspit]

me reading the discourse posts in the cr tag like do you think these are the exact arguments people are having in exandria about bells hells for the next decade or so

[monicashipsnickyjoe]

A Treasure Worthy of a King - Pirate AU - 3k words

Nicolo has been the terror of the seas for a solid decade. He’s plundered many ships, evaded many privateers. He’s feared by his crew and the world alike, an image he’s cultivated with carefully selected targets, few words, and several well-timed glares.

Only a handful of his most trusted know the truth. That Nicolo hesitates to take a life. That when he chooses their targets, he specifically picks the King’s vessels with fat payloads, not small merchant ships. That his portion of the earnings is regularly delivered to an orphanage in a small, seaside village.

His trusted few help him pick the targets most deserving of plunder.

So when Nicolo raids a King’s vessel he heard carries wealth only to find a foreign dignitary, a prince no less, with a handful of guards and a skeleton crew, Nicolo is confused. Moreso, when the prince does not look at him with fear, but with a type wide-eyed adoration, like Nicolo is his salvation and not an agent of death.

“We should take him for ransom,” says Nicolo’s first mate Keane, a man Nicolo doesn’t trust or like much, but who has been around long enough to know the job.

“Yes, yes,” says the prince, gold and jewels glittering, though none as bright as his eyes. “That sounds a good plan.”

Nicolo is rendered momentarily speechless by the beauty of this man – for he has much, from the ocean of tight curls on his head to his well-groomed beard to his wide shoulders poorly concealed with silk robes.

“You...” Nicolo pauses.

The prince points at himself. “Yusuf.”

Nicolo shakes his head. That’s not what he’s asking. “You wish to be kidnapped?”

Keane gives Nicolo a strange look. “What are you asking him for?”

Nicolo has never been questioned before. He glares at Keane until he lowers his head.

Yusuf, meanwhile, only brightens, even when Nicolo turns the same glower on him.

“I’m very impressed,” Yusuf says, smiling. “Very... afraid? Is that what you’re after? Please, let’s hurry this along. I would like not to be prematurely rescued.” Finally, Yusuf’s brightness begins to dim, and Nicolo is struck with a rush of regret so sudden that he’s startled.

“To the ship, then,” he says, when he’s recovered enough.

The crew starts for Yusuf, but Nicolo is there first, taking him under the arm and tugging him forward. He wants to be gentle, but forces some roughness for show. Even so, he is much kinder than any of the crew would have been.

“This man is our ransom,” Nicolo tells them. “Any harm that comes to him will be returned tenfold.”

The crew murmur their agreement. Those closest eye Yusuf’s many jewels.

“You will turn over any valuables,” Nicolo says. He is softer than he means to be, in front of his crew.

“A small price to pay.” Yusuf removes them. Keane is the first to take them from his hands.

Nicolo escorts Yusuf to his ship, staring down any who look too long. No one dares question him now.

He starts for the brig, but changes his mind after a single step. He cannot see a man like Yusuf behind bars. Until he is returned to where he should be, Yusuf will remain in the best comfort Nicolo can offer. So he takes him to the captain’s quarters instead.

With the door closed behind them, Nicolo lightens his touch. He guides Yusuf a few steps further, then pulls away entirely.

“Have I hurt you?” he asks.

“No.” Yusuf stretches out his arm. “I expected manhandling.” He’s smiling again. “Your touch is not so unpleasant.”

Nicolo’s mind is caught in a storm. It takes some time for it to clear. “You... ‘expected?’”

“Oh? Of course.” Yusuf turns toward the room, walks the short distance from the map table to the foot of the bed. “Andromache explained everything.”

“Andromache.”

“Yes.” Yusuf leans forward and tests the strength of the bed. The storm in Nicolo’s brain becomes a hurricane. “Though she did not mention how terribly handsome my rescuer would be.”

“Rescuer.”

Yusuf stands fully upright again, and glances over his shoulder to Nicolo. “Are you well, Captain? Your face is turning very red.”

Nicolo feels underwater, like he’s moving and thinking in slow-motion. “This is a pirate ship, your highness.”

Yusuf waves his hand. “Call me Yusuf.” He must not understand the dire nature of his present circumstances, to be so flippant.

“We are pirates,” Nicolo says slowly, so that even if Yusuf struggles with the language - which does not appear to be the case - he will understand. “I am a pirate. And you are being held for ransom.”

“Yes.” Yusuf claps his hands together. “It’s wonderful.” Before Nicolo can even begin to try again, to somehow explain that if Yusuf is not overly careful, he could very well be killed, Yusuf steps away from the bed. “Here I was in a dark hour of need. I pleaded with Andromache for help. She was not terribly eager at first, but when I explained...” He sidesteps the map table, and does not stop walking until he is very near Nicolo.

Nicolo stands still as a statue.

“I know you will not ransom me, Captain. Andromache made that clear.”

“It seems,” Nicolo licks his lips, watching with wonder as Yusuf tracks the movement, “that Andromache has revealed much.”

Yusuf blinks and looks again into Nicolo’s eyes.

“She did not tell you,” Yusuf says. He leans back and Nicolo exhales, unsure if in relief or disappointment.

Nicolo forces out, “No.”

“You are my savior, Captain, from a life of misery.” He steps back, stretches his arms out. “A life I have no desire of returning to.”

“You are a prince,” Nicolo says. Why would Yusuf risk his life to give up such luxury?

“Betrothed,” Yusuf says. He pauses. “To a very beautiful woman.” He drops his arms.

Nicolo still doesn’t understand. Yusuf must see it in his face, because he comes forward again, back into Nicolo’s space, stealing his breath away.

Yusuf says, a whisper, “It is not a woman I want.”

Oh. Oh.

Nicolo’s whole body ignites in fire. He’s suppressed it for so long, resigning himself to the sea and his duty to the crew and the orphanage. He cannot remember the last time he has allowed himself to consider carnal pleasures.

He has never before been so sorely tempted.

“Do you understand now, Captain?” Yusuf’s voice is a sultry promise.

Nicolo’s every nerve itches to reach out, to touch, to – no.

Regardless of intent, Yusuf is his captive. Until Nicolo can free him, he will not –

He won’t –

Yusuf tilts his head slightly, moving a hair closer.

Nicolo jerks backwards, knocking into the closed door.

“Captain?”

“Nicolo. My name is Nicolo.” He’s proud his voice only shakes a little. “You... You must stay here, until I can find some way to help you escape.”

Yusuf, watching him, begins to frown. “Escape?”

“I will find a way,” Nicolo promises and flees.

*

“We must make port,” Nicolo tells the crew. He lies, “So that we can send word of our ransom.”

He gives them the heading to a pirate-friendly port town where he knows Andromache will be.

She pulled him into this mess. She can help him out of it.

*

At dinnertime, Nicolo takes a full portion to the door of the Captain’s quarters. With his crew watching, he shouldn’t knock, though he desperately wants to. Instead, he fumbles with the door handle, giving Yusuf inside fair warning of his entering.

Yusuf does not get the warning.

He is asleep on the bed, but it is not restful. He thrashes out against the blankets, whimpering.

Nicolo drops the plate on the table and hurries toward his side. He catches a sleepy punch thrown his way, and eases Yusuf’s arm back to the bedding. Yusuf leans into him, curling toward where he’s placed his knees on the bed.

Not knowing what to do but wishing to comfort him, Nicolo reaches a hand and places his palm to Yusuf’s cheek.

Yusuf’s whimpers ease into softer hums. A moment’s calm, and then Yusuf’s eyes flutter open.

“Nicolo.”

Nicolo has not heard his name aloud since the last time he sat with Andromache in a run-down tavern, when she told him of a ship carrying gold that carried Yusuf instead. He has not heard his name aloud, like this, spoken with reverence, in as long a time as he can recall.

“You were having a nightmare,” Nicolo says.

“It was, yes,” Yusuf whispers. “But then you arrived.” He smiles and puts the sun to shame. “I dreamed you.” His blinks are slow. His eyelids heavy. Nicolo keeps his hand to his face and watches as sleep again pulls him under.

Nicolo stays, longer than he needs to, longer than he should, touching Yusuf’s cheek, then his shoulder, then his hand, guarding him from nightmares, both waking and asleep.

When he falls asleep himself, it is on the floor, his hand on the edge of the bed waiting, in case he is needed once more.

*

Though Nicolo had demanded that Yusuf stay in the Captain’s quarters for his own safety, he is not surprised to find him escaped and out among the crew. What does surprise him is both how the crew indulges him – although that smile of his is disarming – and the way he is dressed.

Gone are the silk robes. In their place, Yusuf has stolen a pair of Nicolo’s breeches and one of his loose linen shirts.

Nicolo’s mouth goes dry. When had he picked those out? Had he gone through all of Nicolo’s clothing until he found what he liked? How had he decided?

And what kind of prince had any right to muscles like those, now clearly defined beneath the near-transparent linen?

Nicolo thought all royalty pretty and useless, locked behind their walls, their cares tended to by others.

The crewman shows Yusuf how to tie a sailor’s knot, and Yusuf easily replicates it. He is a fast learner, and eager. So unlike Nicolo’s idea of a royal.

“We’ll be at port in two days’ time,” Keane says from the helm.

Nicolo, realizing he has been staring at Yusuf, looks towards his first mate instead. “Yes.” He hasn’t been listening, really.

Keane seems to notice, because he repeats, “Port. Two days.”

“Right.” Nicolo dares another glance at Yusuf, and finds him staring back.

When their eyes catch, Yusuf waves.

Nicolo only just stops himself from waving back.

He hopes Keane didn’t notice, though with Keane’s hawk eyes, he worries.

 The worries come to a head the next night, while Nicolo is standing on the deck, peering up at the stars from near the railing, when he suddenly, inexplicably, finds himself being shoved over it.

He reaches out and grabs the banister at the last moment, but his feet are dangling. The banister’s wet. It’s too dark to find him if he topples over.

Bathed in moonlight, Keane is there. He does not reach out a hand to help. Instead, he pulls out a knife.

“Why don’t you call for help, Captain?” Keane says. “Let the crew see the coward you are.” He crouches, bringing his face closer to Nicolo, though on the safe side of the railing. “I have watched you these years. You are weak.”

“If this is a mutiny,” Nicolo says through gritted teeth. His hands are slipping. He holds on with his fingernails. “Where are the rest of the crew? Why are you alone?”

Keane’s face twists with anger.

Pride swells in Nicolo, for his loyal crew. “They would not join you. They would not even listen to you. They believe as I do, that you are coward.”

Keane brings his knife closer. It flashes dangerously in the moonlight. “Big words from a man about to die.”

Nicolo thinks that he has always known it would eventually come to this. He knew Keane doubted not just his leadership but all that he stood for. Yet even knowing it, he has kept Keane on.

A pirate lived and died by the sea. And maybe, Nicolo has been too willing to test it.

Keane lifts up the knife, readying an attack.

A figure knocks into the side of him. Keane falls. The knife flies, skittering across the wooden planks of the deck. The figure, Nicolo’s savior, rights himself, and it’s Yusuf.

“Nicolo!”

Yusuf hurries to the railing, reaches over it. He begins to lift Nicolo, enough that he can get a better grip on the banister, but then Keane is there, yanking him back.

Yusuf twists in Keane’s hold and punches him. Keane stumbles back, but not for long, not long enough for Yusuf to do anything other than prepare for the next attack.

They grapple, equally matched.

With his new hold, Nicolo has leverage he didn’t before. He exerts all his strength and swings up his legs, finding footing on the edge of the deck. With it, he easily pulls himself up the banister to the top of the railing and over it to safety.

He steadies himself. His arms ache and his fingers burn, but he will help Yusuf no matter – oh.

Yusuf, Nicolo’s protector, his savior, and his captive, does not need help.

Keane is dead at his feet, neck broken.

And Yusuf stares down at the body in pity. “He was your first mate.” He’s out of breath, chest heaving. Nicolo moves to his side, as close as he can without touching.

“Yes.”

“He tried to kill you.”

“Yes.”

Yusuf leans into Nicolo, brushing their shoulders together. “When I came looking for you, and I saw...” He breathes deeply. “I feared the worst.”

“It’s not yet my time,” Nicolo says quietly. He thinks on Yusuf’s words. “You came looking for me?”

Yusuf is slow to answer. “I cannot sleep without you.”

Nicolo frowns. “I sleep on the floor.”

“Your presence is soothing.” Yusuf runs a hand down his face. He stares down at the body. “Should we leave it for the others to find? Some kind of warning?”

“No. This was a mutiny of one. I’d rather send him to the sea and be done with it.”

Together they lift the body and cast it over the side. A moment, then a splash, and Keane is forever gone.

Yusuf and Nicolo stand at the railing. Though Nicolo could stay longer, Yusuf tugs on the back of his coat.

“I would like to see you away from the ledge for the rest of the night, if you don’t mind.”

Nicolo obliges him.

*

Later, in the captain’s quarters, Yusuf washes the blood from Nicolo’s hands and tends them.

“I haven’t thanked you yet,” Nicolo says. “I owe you my life.”

Yusuf waves the words away like he saves lives every day. Perhaps he does.

“You can sleep in the bed tonight,” Yusuf says instead, when he’s finished wrapping Nicolo’s raw hands.

“The floor is comfortable enough.”

“I will convince you.”

“Not in this,” Nicolo says, a whisper. “Not tonight.”

“Not tonight?” Yusuf watches him, a spark in his eye. “Does that imply perhaps a someday?”

Nicolo gives him a small smile, but that is all he can give for now. “Ask me again when I have helped you escape.”

Confusion spreads over Yusuf’s face. “Nicolo, I do not think you understand that –”

“Yusuf, I am tired.” Too tired to argue. Too tired to think of reasons he shouldn’t lie with this man. Too tired to voice them.

Yusuf’s face holds no smile now, all dire lines and darkness. “You are trembling.”

“I am so tired.”

“Lie down,” Yusuf says. “Let me hold you. Nothing untoward, I swear to you.”

Nicolo is a miserable wretch. “You will not hate me?”

Yusuf cups Nicolo’s face with both hands. He leans forward and places a soft kiss to each of Nicolo’s eyelids. “I could never, my heart.”

Nicolo lies down on the bed, as does Yusuf behind him. Yusuf wraps him in his arms, swallows him in warmth. In comfort.

Nicolo has belonged nowhere for so long. Now he feels as if he has returned to a home he didn’t know he had.

He closes his eyes, and sleep finds him easier than it ever has before.

In the dark, as the sea rocks them like babies in a cradle, Yusuf whispers into the back of Nicolo’s neck, “Andromache told me of a lonely man, heart as big as an ocean, who stole from kings to give to children.” He presses his smile to Nicolo’s skin. “I loved you before I met you. And meeting you, I love you more.”

Nicolo hears the words, but believes them to be a dream.

*

The morning comes too quickly, and the day brings them to port.

No one mentions Keane. His duties are quietly filled by others. Only one crewman is brave enough, and mutters, “Good riddance,” to the empty bunk.

 As the crew disembarks at the port, Nicolo lingers, watching. Yusuf stands at his side. He’s still wearing Nicolo’s clothes, even though Nicolo had set out his silk robes earlier across the back of a chair.

The day grows long. Most of the crew has left. Nicolo and Yusuf linger.

Nicolo doesn’t want to say goodbye.

For Yusuf, though, he must.

“Andromache is here,” Nicolo says. “We will go to her, and... I’m certain she will find you safe passage wherever you wish to go.”

Yusuf laughs.

Nicolo, startled, looks to him.

His smile is the north star. “I think you purposefully misunderstand.”

Nicolo straightens. “What do you mean?”

“Nicolo.” Yusuf turns to him. He takes one of Nicolo’s hands in both of his. “Do you truly not know?”

Maybe he does. Or at least, suspects. But. But. “You cannot want this life, Yusuf.”

“I wanted freedom,” Yusuf says, “And I found it in your eyes.”

Those pretty words muddy Nicolo’s thoughts, and he has to think clearly. He removes his hand from Yusuf’s and backs away. “You have been on the ship a handful of days. That is not enough time to know if it suits you.”

“I came here wanting this, Nicolo. The freedom of the sea and the wind at my back.” Yusuf, following Nicolo, steps forward. “I asked Andromache to help me become a pirate. She brought me you.” Another step, closer still – dangerously close. “I thank you for trying to protect me, but I do not need protecting. Not from this ship. Not from this life. And not from you.”

“Yusuf.”

“I am more pirate than I ever was prince.” Yusuf places both hands on Nicolo’s chest. Nicolo’s heart thunders beneath them. “And if you will have me, I would also be yours.”

Nicolo swallows. “This is a terrible idea.” He’s not pulling away. Not anymore. Instead, he leans forward, brushing noses with Yusuf.

“All of the best ideas are, my heart,” Yusuf says and kisses him.

*

Nicolo sits at a table across from Andromache. Not far off, at the bar, Yusuf laughs with Quynh and Lykon, who apparently he’s met once before and already befriended. Nicolo isn’t the least surprised. He knows now, to expect the unexpected with Yusuf.

“I see you found your prize,” Andromache says, grinning into her mug.

“You said, and I’m quoting, ‘A treasure worthy of a king.’” Nicolo tries to sound accusatory but he cannot keep the smile from curling his lips. It’s so easy to smile, when he can hear Yusuf laughing. When Nicolo glances over and finds him watching.

“Was I lying?” Andromache asks.

And Nicolo knows, “He’s more.”

[moonstruckbucky]

Fool for You [one-shot]

Summary: You want Bucky, but Bucky wants somebody else.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst. Lots of angst. Some self-deprecating thoughts, insecurity. Language because my potty mouth. Bucky’s a dick. Not a happy ending. You’ve been warned.

Notes: Inspired by Linger by the Cranberries, but keep in mind it’s not a song fic! I’ve been in such a writing funk lately. I hope this doesn’t totally suck. Enjoy! x

She’s funny. Her joke has Sam wheezing, Steve snorting, and Bucky chuckling. Even Nat has quirked a small grin. They’re so busy recovering their breath that no one sees the absolutely moon-eyed look Bucky directs at her.

Nobody but you.

It’s hard to ignore the rising bitterness in your throat as you sit on the couch, once ensconced in your novel until Sam began hooting like a broken trumpet, a result of her well-timed joke. Of course she’s funny. She has just about everything else going for her, including Widow’s respect, which is a national treasure all on its own.

She isn’t an Avenger, but she may as well be since she’s in the tower so much. It makes your stomach curdle. The super soldier at her side curls a loving arm around her shoulders, drops a kiss onto her hair, and the gesture has her beaming.

And Bucky looks about the same way you feel.

Because Bucky had to go and catch feelings for his best friend’s girl.

He thinks no one knows, but you’re his best friend. Of course you know. You know because he looks at her the same way you do him. You scoff quietly.

Cliches suck.

A weight drops onto the couch cushion beside you.

Careful, Y/N. Green isn’t really your color.

Wanda. Normally you take issue with the fact that Wanda sometimes implants herself in your head, but other times, like now, you’re thankful for it. Explaining it to anyone else makes shame bubble up in your gut.

You give Wanda a single, meaningful glance before your gaze is ultimately drawn back over your shoulder. She, Cassandra, is in the middle of telling a story that has everyone’s rapt attention, Steve looking down at her fondly while it goes unnoticed that Bucky is doing the same. You’re not sure if he realizes he’s doing it, but considering he’s doing it in front of Widow tells you he isn’t.

A quick glance at Nat shows her eyes bouncing between Bucky and Cassandra. Ah, so it wasn’t missed by the scarily-observant super spy. She catches your eye next, an entire conversation being wordlessly spoken. You avert your gaze with a sigh and miss the quizzical little head tilt Nat gives.

When Cassandra’s laughter bubbles up again, you can’t stand it anymore. Wanda frowns up at you as you stand, finger tucked into your book to save your place. You leave the room, wincing as the laughter picks up again.

Inside the confines of your room, you abandon your book to sit on the floor at the foot of your bed, your back against the mattress and box spring. You never meant to be part of probably the stupidest cliche to ever exist, yet here you are. And like that stupid cliche, you have no idea how it even happened.

Somewhere along the path of Bucky’s re-self-discovery, you fell for the man he’d become. Not the Soldier, not the smooth talking ladies’ man of the 40s, but someone somewhere in between. More self-assured than he’s ever been, though not without his faults or his setbacks. Really, though, how could you not have seen this coming?

You sigh into the dark, knees propped up and elbows resting upon them so you can drop your head into your hands. It’s stupid—pathetic, really—how your mind automatically begins to compare you to Cassandra, regardless of the fact that she’s taken. It’s more so because she has Bucky’s full attention, that moon-eyed look solely meant for her that you so wish was directed at you.

You’re a teammate, his close friend, and it seems that’s all you’ll ever be to him. It hurts, coming to that conclusion, knowing you’re one of those girls unfortunately and unfairly destined to experience unrequited love. You laugh mirthlessly to yourself and shake your head, tangle your fingers in your hair and tug, just a little, just enough to ground you before your mind sucks you into a maelstrom of self-pity.

You know sooner or later you’ll have to come clean to Nat, if the perceptive redhead hasn’t already put it together. Wanda is your closest friend aside from Bucky, but Natasha’s scary wisdom beyond her years comes in handy, especially in the tough situations.

You can’t imagine a situation any tougher than this.

So it comes as no surprise as, the next morning, the Black Widow corners you in the kitchen. You don’t bother to hide; stubbornness is one of Nat’s lesser, but more prominent, qualities, and she’s patient as all get out. Instead, you lead her back to your bedroom and spill. She doesn’t interrupt, only listens intently with her head tilted in that feline manner she has.

“Well, that’s quite a predicament,” she notes when you finish. Grumbling unintelligibly, you suck down your coffee. She leans back on her hands beside you. “So I take it there is zero chance of you talking to Bucky about it?”

“Why would I?” you retort, but Nat isn’t offended. “The only thing that’ll accomplish is ensuring our friendship is toast. Burnt as fuck, crispy toast. Plus, I’m not really in the mood to be humiliated when he says he doesn’t return my feelings.”

“How do you know he wouldn’t?”

“Uh, hello, I know you of all people didn’t miss the absolute head-over-heels look he gave her yesterday.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like he’s going to act on that. Steve would pummel him, and it would probably end their friendship.”

“Regardless, I’m not having that conversation with him. I’m just gonna...keep a lid on it and act as if nothing’s off.”

Nat scoffs and you shoot her a look. “Honey, even if I wasn’t me I wouldn’t miss the looks you give him when someone’s not looking.”

You open your mouth and then promptly shut it. Releasing a sigh, you rub your temples. “Okay, so then what do I do? If I pull away he’s going to know something’s up. He’s far too much like you.”

Nat, for once, is rendered clueless on how to proceed. Then, with an actual physical shake of her body, she says, “Okay, so you pretty much have three options. Option one, continue as normal, hide your feelings, be his best friend,  and ultimately, probably spontaneously combust because you’re keeping them down instead of letting them out. Option two, tell him, risk the chance that your friendship might change or Bucky will decide to pull his head out of his ass and not make moon-eyes at a taken woman, thus eventually falling in love with you and the two of you live happily ever after. Option three, you start dating. Outside the Tower. Run the risk that you’ll find someone who completes you instead of pining for a guy who might not.”

“That’s it, huh?” you deadpan. Truthfully, none of those options sounds appealing, but more than likely you’re going for option one.

Option one, it turns out, is a goddamn pain in the ass to stick to. In order to throw off Nat’s, and even Sam’s, suspicions that he’s into his best friend’s girl, Bucky has latched himself onto you. Normally, this would be, well, normal. Now? It’s downright impossible to bite your tongue from telling him what’s been cooking up in your head, damn near inconceivable to not lean into him when he sits a little closer to you at movie night. 

The little niggling feeling in the back of your head tells you he has tricks up his sleeve, but you brush it off for now and bask in the slightly spice scent of his cologne.

Some weeks later, you’re faring no better. It’s growing even more difficult to bottle your feelings up and stow them in the back of your mind, especially when Bucky’s clinginess seems to multiply tenfold. You aren’t dumb, or naive for that matter, when you realize the only time he’s right on top of you is when Steve and Cassandra are present. When you first put it together, no words in the English dictionary are sufficient enough to describe the painful pang in your heart.

Yet you let it continue.

Nat criticizes you more than once, as does Wanda (who’s admittedly a bit gentler with her approach, but Nat was never one for beating around a bush). You promise both of them you’ll confront him soon, draw a line in the sand that he can’t use you to make his best friend’s girl jealous. 

Plus, his plan isn’t working anyways. Cassandra remains both in the dark and unaffected by what he’s doing, and she merely smiles genuinely when she notices Bucky’s arm around your shoulder or waist. As soon as she and Steve leave the room, his arm drops and his shoulders droop. It makes you angry, and it’s why you suddenly begin to dodge his advances. You stop playing along to his chagrin and befuddlement, and the fact that he’s even confused by your refusal to go along with it reignites your ire.

How dare he abuse your friendship, wordlessly expect you to go along with a pointless attempt to make Cassandra jealous? It’s callous and a little cruel of him; you thought you were friends. Friends didn’t treat each other like toys or tools to just use at one’s convenience. Even more than that, with Bucky’s sudden attention on you all the time, as superficial as it is, it only intensifies your feelings for him—both the positive and the negative.

On the one hand, a large, secret part of you revels in being pressed up against him so often, absorbing his warmth and being able to pretend, for just a little while, that his feelings for you aren’t a scheme, that they’re genuine. The smaller, more logical part of you knows you can’t let this continue, and it finally all comes to a head when Bucky asks of you something so unbelievably selfish that you snap.

“I’m sorry, you want to what?” you ask, turning your ear to him as if you hadn’t heard him correctly.

“We should sleep together,” he repeats with a careless shrug. He seems surprised when your gaze hardens and ignites all at once.

“Why? So you can continue your pointless scheme of trying to make Cassandra jealous? Is that why?” you accuse icily. Bucky takes a small step back, mouth opening and closing similar to a fish as he searches for something to say. You beat him to it. “No, Bucky, I won’t sleep with you to go along with your stupid fucking plan of pursuing a taken woman, much less the woman who’s dating your best fucking friend. I’m not stupid; I know what you’ve been doing, and I can’t even believe you would abuse our friendship like that, use me the way you have, without a second thought. Do my feelings mean absolutely nothing to you? Do you know how hard it’s been coming to grips with the fact that, while I struggle with my feelings, for you, you only see me as something to use, something to exploit?”

Bucky’s face continues to fall as you rant, unleashing every pent up thought and emotion. Your voice covers a range of emotion—anger, sadness, hurt—all in a matter of seconds that he nearly has whiplash. Bucky’s always had a strong poker face, but even he can’t hide the feelings rolling through him. The one he settles on is shame. Good.

“You...you have feelings for me?” he questions, quiet and meek.

You scoff. “Right now, I really wish I fucking didn’t. You aren’t who I thought you were, Bucky. Not even close. I was willing to let it go that you wouldn’t feel the same way for me, I’ve accepted that. What I won’t accept is being used as if our friendship means absolute shit to you.”

“No, honey, that’s not—” He stops when you shake your head, teeth clenched tightly and jaw wobbling as you fight to hold back your tears of hurt and heartbreak.

“It was what you were doing, Bucky, and I want no part of it. In fact, I think it’s better you and I don’t speak.”

Bucky looks crestfallen, regret and agony and the will to plead for your forgiveness swimming in his eyes. Bucky’s poker face was ace, but his eyes gave him away and you’d become an expert at reading them. Even if it’s not what he’d intended when he began this hairbrained plan, it’s what happened, and you had been caught in the crossfire.

“Ever?” he asks, a sob ripping from his throat while those pale eyes brim with tears. You glance away for a moment, but then you bravely meet his gaze, holding it.

“Ever,” you confirm. Your face remains stoic but inside your chest your heart splinters and cracks. It’s so painful to break off your most treasured friendship, but Bucky had taken advantage of you, whether or not he had been aware of your feelings. You voice this aloud. “I can accept you not returning my feelings, but I can’t forgive you for taking advantage of me. That’s not what friends do. Goodbye Bucky.”

The door closes softly in his face and Bucky leans his head against the wood, face crumbling as he lets himself go. How could he have been so stupid?

[angstymarshmallow]

moments like these (cal lowell x mc)

[a little note: after all the angst I’ve put them through lately, and because of how much I enjoyed nightbound today - I took pieces of the latest chapter, when MC has the chance to spend the night with someone. I kept writing to see where it would lead, and now here we are!]

[words counted: 1713]

Her kisses tasted like hunger and passion, all mingled together into one delicious meal.

And for a moment all Cal could manage was a groan of pleasure as hot-blooded desire begun coursing through his veins. 

It was testing his limits as the wolf inside him roused awake with eager and almost wild abandon. When it came to Wren, Cal was beginning to think he could lose control – because it shouldn’t be this intense, this all-consuming. He shouldn’t feel like he could never get enough of her, even though they’re still pressed against each other; half-naked and half-starved for attention.

It was their first kiss that had ignited something inside of him. And he wanted more than just a few stolen kisses – pressed along the soft silken sheets of his bed. As far as first kisses went, this was probably one of his most memorable– tangled together as they were, underneath the odd mansion’s roof with creaky floors and eerie silence.

She was breathtaking, stunning – again reminding him of the sun, when he broke their kiss to stare at her. And like the sun – he felt compelled to watch her, compelled to keep staring at the slight flecks of dark brown inside her eyes. He wanted to burn the image of her heavy dilated pupils while he stroked her chin; her eyes practically glowing against the rising colour of her cheeks. She was too beautiful to look at.

All he could think of was burying his lips between the softest parts of her skin now that he had her alone, after waiting forever for a moment like this. He wanted to inhale her scent, commit it to memory and nip where he thought would give her the most pleasure.

He tested his theory on a whim; burrowing his lips to the side of neck – where her shoulder blade met and bit with enough precise pressure for her to gasp and shudder in delight. It was a full body shudder too, one that had his own nerves jumping at the opportunity to please her in every way possible. “Oh, you like that…” His voice trailed off into a husky whisper.

Her eyes were bright with mischief as he pulled back slightly, but it was just enough to watch the flicker of emotion flit across her face. As if to answer, she closes the rest of the distance between them to straddle him, one leg at a time before his hands dropped to steady her waist. She tangled her fingers inside his hair and pulled.

His groin twitched at the slight spark of pain.

“I really, really do.”  She heavily emphasized, dragging her lips across his jaw where she did her own nipping herself.

His pulse jumped again. He wasn’t accustomed to turnabout play – but as long as she was doing the biting, he could get used to this. It would drive him crazy, maybe not right now but if she kept it up, he didn’t know how long he could keep this up without wanting to tear the rest of her clothes off her.

“Wren…” he uttered her name softly, when she kissed the other side of his jaw. “I’ve wanted this so much, every single day…” He trailed off again when she switched back, nipping again until the sensations became too intense for him to ignore.

Giddy with the urge to have her, Cal flipped their positions. The motion had taken her off-guard by the sudden way her shoulders stiffened and her eyes growing wider in surprise, but Cal quickly displaced the uneasiness by sliding himself between her legs.

Very quickly, her surprise was replaced by desire and her expression darkened to mirror what he already knew to be true. She wanted him, and maybe she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

The knowledge that he was doing this to her - driving her as much crazy with his love bites and kisses, exhilarated him. It encouraged him press the entire length of himself intimately between her inner thighs and rock his hips.

Her breath hitched.

His own breathing became laboured as he dipped his lips to find hers again, except this time – he was doing it to devour her whole. He deepened his kiss, sliding his tongue past the breach of her half-opened kiss. He guided his hips against hers’ shifting his weight to push back and forward – almost slamming into her with a growing sense of urgency. And although the last piece of fabrics still separated them, the slick sound of their own eagerness at touching each other’s bare skin had Wren growling his name.  

Fuck, he wanted so much more.

But he couldn’t have more. Not now. Not when there was still a bloodwraith after her. Not when she was still in danger and tomorrow would have proved it a tenfold over.

Cal went still at the thought.

He pulled away long enough to thump his forehead against her bare shoulder and groaned in frustration.

If only they had more time.

Wren blinked up at him, her brow crinkling in confusion before she cupped his cheek. “Uh – did I miss something? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, of course not. You’re perfect.” He turned into her hand, nuzzling her soft palm before pressing a soft kiss and shaking his head. “Nothing’s wrong,” he sighed. “It’s just…considering what’s going to go down tomorrow,” he glanced away for a second, hating the words as he said them. “We should probably get some rest.”

There was a flash of disappointment in her eyes, but just as quickly as it appeared – it vanished.

He traced a finger down the length of her neck, stopping between the valley of her breasts – where he longed to run his tongue over.

Fuck, he would give nearly anything to rip off her underwear right now. But he wasn’t thinking clearly – at least not with the right head in mind, as he managed to tear his eyes away. He waited a few beats before he swallowed, and glanced back at her. “And the things I want to do with you…they are not restful.” He ran his fingers down her arm to emphasize his point.

Despite the serious nature of their conversation, Wren laughed – blinking up at him with a smirk that toyed at the corner of her lips. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Then as though chagrined, her smile dissipated into a slight frown. “Ugh, but I know you’re totally right and I hate it.” She uttered her own sigh of frustration at the predicament they were in. “I hate that we don’t have a lot of time.”

“Me too, but there’ll be other nights like this.” He didn’t mean to end it as a question, but the uncertainty abruptly in his heart at the idea of never having a moment like this again disappeared when she reassured him with a smile.

“Duh, you think I’d let someone as hot as you go without having a taste for myself?” She winked playfully.

He wanted to say he was looking for more than one night – he was looking to explore whatever this was between them. Although, he settled for keeping things simple. Overthinking things could complicate everything. “Stay with me tonight, though?”

He knew he was asking for a lot. The moment he said it, the atmosphere in the room changed and he understood why.  They were still somewhat strangers after all. Yet, despite the short weeks of knowing her – she had his back. On more than one occasion, she fought on his behalf when she didn’t have to and came to his defense against his own pack when they tried to brand him a traitor.

Already, Cal trusted Wren more than he trusted most people in his life. So, it felt natural to ask her now that he was certain – now that he knew the sexual tension between them wasn’t all in his head. He was greedy to monopolize her time.

And if he could have her all to himself in one night – he would take it in a heartbeat. Still, being wary not to scare her off, Cal cleared his throat and added. “I promise I won’t bite.” Then, as though realizing the irony in his words he added, “not unless you want me to.”

That comment earned him a smile, and Wren bumped her forehead into his – the gesture although surprising, sent a distinct flutter of happiness towards his chest. “I’d love to.”

Without waiting for him to respond, Wren rolled from on top of him to slide underneath the duvet covers. He missed her weight almost since the second it was gone, but ignores the slight pang of longing that replaces it as he joined her under the covers. He tucked his long legs underneath the sheets and offered her his arm.

She snuggled to his side, letting her heard rest against his bicep before a contented sigh escaped. 

At the same second, he yawned into the air. 

“I swear I don’t even need a blanket.” She murmurs, voice dropping with subtle hints of exhaustion. “Lying next to you is almost like sticking my hand into a goddamn furnace.”

When he laughed, his entire body shook as Wren’s dark eyes peered up at him. “I hope this is okay? You’re comfortable right?” Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea asking her to stay, maybe he should give her some space. Doubts were an ugly thing if you allowed them to take root. He forced the thought back as he tried to retrieve his arm.

“Wait, don’t –” She stopped him with a disgruntled sound of protest. “I didn’t say I I didn’t enjoy it.” She blew a stray strand of hair away from her forehead. “This is more than okay. It’s encouraged. Please let me snuggle you on a daily basis –then there’d be no need for blankets.”

He smiled, reaching up with his free hand to drag his fingers through her hair after she shifted to rest her face across his broad chest. “I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

“Good,” she titled her chin to drop a lazy kiss across his skin before yawning. “Good night.”

For the first time since they met, Cal was beginning to believe it would be because moments like these were hard to come by. “Good night.”

-