#wilson looks so pathetic in his mug

[bowofbalance]

I'm in the packing trenches right now and my favorite update so far is that Cameron and Wilson and House have a job now, which is cushioning my breakable mugs.

[moonlight-prose]

angel of the morning

a/n: about a month ago i got an idea for a threesome fic and well it has lived in the back of my head since then. and normally i wouldn't write smut with wade, but this one actually made me feral. thankfully the promptober list this year gave me the perfect opportunity to bring it to life. so i give you a filthy and fun fic brought to you not from the execs at disney, cause let's be honest this would kill them on sight.

logan promptober: day nine - deadpool

summary: wade has a proposition to offer: he will sit quietly (a complete lie) as logan shows him how fucking you properly is done. only it's not up to logan...it's up to you. his sweet angel of the morning.

word count: 3.4k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader x wade wilson

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MDNI 18+ ONLY!!, threesome activities, voyeurism, bondage, wade wilson breaks the fourth wall, oral (m receiving), gags, coming untouched, p in v sex, fingering, cumplay, squirting, logan is rough with the pussy, gratuitous descriptions of filthy acts, biting, unedited + unbetad.

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME SERIES MASTERLIST

"Think of it as a learning opportunity peanut." A glass shattered on impact - ricocheting off the wall and lodged into Wade's chest. Neither the pain nor the blood could get him to stop talking though. "Possibly a way to work out those Hulk-like anger issues."

"No," Logan snapped, itching to rip the voice box out of Wade's throat. Maybe then he'd get an hour tops of silence as the fucker healed.

"You won't even ask her?" he whined. Truly the entire thing reeked of desperation. Wade knew how pathetic he looked right at this moment; whether he cared was an entirely different story.

"Shut the fuck–"

"Ask me what?"

They looked like two deer caught in headlights mere seconds before death. Wade's lips curled into a smile bright enough to rival the sunlight that poured in through the open window. Logan however looked as if he witnessed a ghost climbing out of the shitty painted walls to your right. You stopped inches away from the shards of glass that lined the floor—your eyebrows raised in disbelief at the sight.

How they both wound up in your apartment still remained a mystery to you. Logan went home before you even fell asleep, promising to return with your usual Sunday breakfast from Rosemary's. You came to the conclusion—given the food on the table—that Wade must have followed him. Intent on being a third wheel. Again.

"N-Nothing," Logan replied, his cheeks flushing a deep crimson.

You grinned, eyes trailing down to his jeans that sat snug on his hips. "Are you sure?"

"Sweet angel of the morning can I proposition you for a moment? Don't worry I'm not selling you a car. Although I could." Wade poured coffee into your new favorite mug—a tiny painting of Wolverine sat neatly on the front. "This is more of a learning experience."

"Learning what exactly?" You took the mug with a smile, entirely aware of Logan's eyes tracking your every step.

He thought you were going to run; you leaned into his side to prove you would stay. Whatever question Wade was intent on asking, it clearly touched a nerve. One you had to fix before another mishap occurred in your relationship. Logan wasn't the greatest at communication, but you could make up for his lack of talking in a language he understood well enough. Physical touch.

"Have you ever studied the art—nay the science—of a threesome?"

You choked on your coffee.

Unfortunately, that didn't seem to be enough of a warning for Wade to stop speaking. "There's classes dedicated to its research. I'd be a teacher, but have you met your boy toy over there? He's been alive for two hundred years. There's no way he's not danced the twisters tango."

"Twisters...tango?" Logan's hand patted your upper back as you forced the words out through a choked rasp.

"Twice the fun, three times the knot." He smiled, stepping so face you barely had a chance to stand upright before he was looking down, his finger tipping your chin gently. "Something tells me you'd be an expert."

"Get the fuck off her," Logan snapped, silver flashing in your peripheral.

You gripped his wrist in an attempt to stop the bloodshed from going even further. Cleaning broken glass from your floor was one thing. Scrubbing Wade's blood out of the carpet near your couch was another thing entirely.

The air around you grew tense as Logan's hand fell to your hip in a silent claim you felt curl at the base of your spine. Wade's smile never wavered, even as you felt your mouth dry. The offer circled in your head with a quickness that left you dizzy and gasping for breath. A threesome wasn't the most outlandish of propositions—hell your ex boyfriend had even asked at one point in your relationship.

But a threesome with both of them. Men who never faltered, never grew tired. Keeping up with Logan took the majority of your energy some nights—his insatiable need to have you became an overwhelming trait you grew to crave. Yet the thought of Wade joining in on that. The blood rushed to your head at the very concept, your heart ramming against your chest with each breath.

Logan tensed which gave you the answer you were looking for.

He wasn't worried about his own feelings. He merely wanted you to feel safe. There would never be another day you were put in harm's way because of something he caused. This was simply another one of those moments; a time where the choice remained entirely up to you.

"Drop it mouth–"

"How exactly would it happen?"

They froze, mouths gaping and eyes fixed on your inquiring face. What must have started out as a joke - something for Wade to relentlessly tease Logan over—became something else entirely. Before you could laugh it off, push past whatever awkwardness lingered in the air. Wade's smile returned—eyes alight in a type of joy you'd only seen come from him watching The Great British Bake Off.

Or cocaine.

"So glad you asked angel."

"God this feels like a teacher student porno. Except instead of me getting bent over a desk for being a bad boy I get to watch the teachers fuck." Wade practically leapt out of his skin as Logan tied the knot around his wrists. Pulling until a ring of white formed around the skin. He'd lose feeling in his hands, but something told you that remained part of the appeal. "Do I get to ask questions? In case there's a test?"

You smiled, sitting on the chair stuffed in the corner of your room. "I don't think the professor would like that, Wade."

A soft snarl emanated from Logan's chest, his hands chest heaving with each shift as he did his best not to look at you directly. The bulge on his jeans remained evident enough of what he thought of this. How he had to resist tearing through your clothes to get to what lay beneath.

Logan and self control never went hand in hand. Yet he held on by the skin of his teeth in order to help you settle into a familiar state of comfort. You silently thanked him for that - your nerves jumping with every second that passed.

"You're not gonna fuckin' talk," Logan replied gruffly, pulling out a spare leather belt he kept in your drawer for when he stayed over. "You wanted a learnin' experience. So that's what this is."

"But how am I supposed to learn if I can't–"

The belt went into his mouth harshly, yanking his head back as Logan pulled it closed with surprising speed. You began to wonder if he had done this before. Gagged someone with the efficiency of a pro who partook in sexual activities far more adventurous than what you'd been giving him. Maybe that's what this was all about. Dipping your toe in the waters to see if this experience was meant for you.

His thumb smoothing your furrowed brows pulled you from your thoughts. "You can say no honey. Don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"Logan–"

He shook his head, dropping to his knees before you. "If you say no I'll heat up the breakfast and Wade can put on a movie. Yeah?"

"And if I say yes?" you breathed.

"Then we take it as slow as you want."

The answer lay on the tip of your tongue, begging to be put out into the world. So you pulled him in for a kiss. Your fingers dug into his hair as you licked behind his teeth with a soft moan - the ache from last night building once more in the crevices and curves of your body. Wade echoed your sounds with a few of his own, body writhing to get closer to the edge of the bed. Logan however consumed you entirely.

He rose to his feet, hand cupping your chin to keep you in place. Spit trailed down your chin and for a moment you felt the urge to wipe it away. To clean your body in case that's not what he desired at this time. He cut you off with a growl, licking at the wet smear of spit before letting it fall back on your tongue. His thumb dragging the rest down the length of your throat.

"I want you fuckin' messy honey," he muttered. "Gotta show off my pretty little thing."

A gasp pierced the air, your body jolting at the command. This was familiar to you. Logan leading the dance as you trailed along with the hopes he'd see how good you could be. How much you longed to please him. Somehow the aspect of your relationship flipped when it came to sex. He was no longer tentative or worried there was a chance you might find him repulsive.

When it came to this Logan understood your love for him held no ands, ifs, or buts.

You'd never let him touch you if you didn't love him—that remained clear in his mind. It allowed him the chance to breathe.

"How about we give him a better view."

Whimpering out your unintelligible response, you let him move you with ease. He took the chair, spreading his legs wide for you to prop yourself on his thighs. Tugging at the t-shirt you slept in with a soft grunt he pulled it up and over your head—the softness of your skin on full display. He could practically feel you dripping onto your inner thighs, coating your body in that familiar tangy sweetness.

The thought made him dizzy—his fingers digging sharply into your hips. A stunted groan echoed from the bed, Wade's eyes flicking madly from your breasts to the shiny slick that covered your pussy. His cock strained against his gray sweatpants, a stain leaking into the fabric and turning it a shade darker. If his hands weren't tied Logan had no doubt he'd be fisting his cock to the sight of you naked and wanting.

And what a fucking sight that would be. Seeing this mouthy asshole finally grow quiet just from a mere glimpse at your body.

"What do you think honey? Should we free him?" Logan pointedly looked at Wade's groin—his chin hooking onto your shoulder as his hands slid along your thighs.

You whined, your ass pushing back into his hard cock. "He looks like he needs it, baby."

"Be a good girl and pull it out. Wanna see how wet he is."

"Okay."

Sliding off him, you dropped to your hands and knees, crawling the short distance towards Wade who looked ready to cum right then and there. He sucked in a broken gasp, his hips bucking up into nothing when your hands gripped the edge of his sweats. Your lips dragging along his clothed shoulder—fingers tugging down the waistband until it hung around his knees.

"Oh," you sighed, eyes fixed on the ruddy length of his red and purple cock. It practically dripped like a fucking faucet—spilling onto what sparse hair stuck to the base.

Blistering heat filled your body at the sight of his cock throbbing in your face, the length of it sticky and shiny. Wade never mentioned how much he wanted you. Or perhaps it was the fact that both you and Logan were giving him the show of a lifetime. Indulging him in a fantasy that felt like his imagination came to life.

"Give it a lick," Logan said. "Tell me how he tastes."

Hesitation was nowhere to be found in your body; the thrill of being told what to do shot through your stomach. Wade's eyes rolled back into his head when your mouth closed around the tip, suckling him in between hollowed cheeks—your tongue sliding through the slit.

A choked moan broke free around the belt, spit flying down his throat. You met his noise with one of your own, slick smearing across your thighs, your pussy fluttering at the salty tang of him spread across your tongue.

"That's enough."

You sat back on your heels—eyes meeting Wade's bleary gaze. The both of you were torn to shreds from the inside out. Pieces dispersed in a mess on the floor. Only for Logan to gather what remained—intent on putting you back together.

"C'mere honey," he huffed, gathering you back in his arms.

Logan's touch was relentless. Quick strokes along your bare thighs as you settled in his lap—teeth nipping along the line of your shoulder until pain bloomed beneath the pleasure. Each press of his hands made you melt into his chest, back pressing to his bare chest. The warmth of his arms became something you latched onto.

A constant source of comfort, of a promise to never let you sink below the waters.

You spread your legs over his thighs slowly in a show of revealing your pussy to the man across from you—his eyes practically glued to your pulsing hole. How it fluttered each time Logan sunk his teeth in. How you could feel it leak enough slick to drink down. You wanted to guide his face closer, see if he would like a taste, but Logan had other ideas.

The echo of his belt undoing seared a hole in your chest. Your body vibrated with anticipation—heart hammering a quick timed beat that left you breathless. He pushed you up, the slide of his cock pushing through your glistening lips drew a soft moan to the surface. Your fingers were a tight grip on the sides of the chair, and for a moment you felt a numbing sensation trickle into the palms of your hands.

"She's needy for it huh," Logan boasted, tapping the head against your clit to watch you jump. "So ready to be fucked."

You whined, loud enough to echo off the walls. "P-Please."

"So polite." His hand gripped your hips and in a swift thrust he pushed past your entrance, filling you until your mouth dropped in a pitiful moan. "And fuckin' tight. Don't tell me you like being watched."

A gasp tore from your throat, hips pushing back to take him right down to the base. The burning stretch only helped to drive you even higher. Wade's moans were a muffled chorus in the background, an audience member enjoying his free show. And for a brief moment you opened your eyes to find his gaze.

Tears streamed down his cheeks—agony glistening in his blown out pupils. But it was his cock that grabbed your attention. Purple and strained and aching for someone to touch him. Saliva filled your mouth, a high moan slipping past your parted lips.

"I knew it," Logan grunted, grinding up into you. "My dirty girl. Look at him. He's begging for it."

"L-Logan."

"Give your old man a kiss." He gripped your chin roughly, dragging your lips to his as his tongue invaded your mouth. Sucking the taste of Wade off your tongue with a hoarse moan.

He let you set your own pace, settling back into the chair to give you space and keep you steady. With stunted movements you lifted yourself off his cock and sat back down. A sharp cry bouncing off the walls, each thrust forcing the head of his cock right up against your walls. The slap of skin mixed with Wade's sounds—the wet squelch of your pussy sucking Logan back in echoed filthily in the room.

A sinful euphony of sex that had your toes curling and chest heaving.

Wade's eyes flicked between where the two of you were connected and the bounce of your breasts. The harsh thrusts began to force his cock to jolt—precum pouring into his lap and staining the sheets below. He'd never get tired of this sight. You entirely lost in chasing your pleasure as Logan watched proudly below.

"I-It's hard," you gasped, thighs trembling with each shift.

Logan tutted under his breath. "I know honey. Let me finish for you."

You weren't prepared for the ruthless pace he set. His hands became a vice-like grip on your hips with each pound of his cock into you, the sounds you made nowhere near anything you'd heard before. He fucked you without mercy. Every thrust punctuated with a biting growl—his cock slamming repeatedly into that perfect spot along your walls.

Nails ripped at the chair's arms, your body a shaking mess in his hold, and you could barely see straight in front of you. Wrenching your eyes open, you focused on Wade—your mouth forming a permanent shriek of Logan's name that closer you got to shattering. You watched him struggle to free his hands. His body trembling on the edge of the bed.

"Bet he can't fuck you like this," Logan spit, his teeth bared in a snarl. "Watch and fuckin' learn mouth."

"Logan!" you sobbed, the hot swell of tears spilling rapidly down your cheeks. "I'm gonna. Oh f-fuck–"

"Yeah you are." He yanked you back, his teeth setting into the skin of your shoulder, forming another ringed mark that would serve as a reminder to who you belonged to. A mark of his claim imprinted in your flesh.

The swift slap to your clit wrenched a choked sob from your throat, your eyes rolling back with the second hit. You held onto the edge by the skin of your teeth, your hands moving to grip his wrist. Breath became obsolete with each move and with a harsh third slap you broke with a garbled moan of his name. A wet gush splattered against your thigh, your body shaking viscerally in his tight hold as he came with a broken whine.

The harsh thrusts forced another wave of searing bliss through your body, a second stream of cum spilling onto the hardwood floors. Your eyes were blurred with tears, mouth sucking in sharp gasps, but Wade's pain muffled cry drew your attention back to the present moment.

His hips bucked up into nothing, eyes rolled back and spit drooling down his shirt. The veins of his neck were strained with each shift of his body—for a moment you worried he would choke. Until he came with a muddled shout, cum shooting up to his torso and splashing beneath his chin. The mere sight of it had you clenching down around Logan - your mouth parted in complete awe.

"Shit," Logan gasped, eyes wide and cheeks flushed crimson.

"C-Can I?"

He tapped your thigh. "Go on honey."

On shaky legs you practically fell to the floor and dragged yourself towards Wade. Your mouth immediately swallowing his cock with a hazy sigh—tongue licking up the heady taste of his cum. It slid down your throat, warmed the insides of your body. And Wade looked down at you with eyes full of adoration. A sight you'd never seen him wear in your presence.

Logan shuffled to his feet, quickly moving to undo the restraints. Only for Wade's hands to press against your head—shoving his softened cock down your throat with a soft fuck.

"You guys would make a fucking fortune on Only Fans," he grunted, another spurt of warmth spilling into your mouth.

Logan growled. "Count yourself lucky mouth. She may not want this again."

You grinned, pulling off to press a messy kiss to the still leaking tip. "This was fun." Your voice was hoarse, body covered in a sheen of sweat, yet they regarded you with an emotion you felt weigh heavy at the base of your chest.

A feeling you never believed might occur in your life.

"Logan?" The warmth of his hand spread down to your chest when he cupped your face, swiping at the mess on your lips. "How about that breakfast?"

"Anythin' for you honey," he vowed.

"You guys ever seen the movie Oklahoma?" Wade butted in, his forehead knocking gently against yours before Logan pulled you to your feet.

You laughed, dizzy from the high that still coursed through your veins. A flannel was draped over your shoulders, fingers working to button them up before he got frustrated.

"Might inspire a second round of teacher, teacher, student."

A breathy giggle was muffled against Logan's lips in a swift kiss. "Isn't that musical?"

"It's not just a musical sweet angel. It's a lifestyle. Literally for some people who live in well...Oklahoma."

Logan groaned, dragging you behind him in an attempt to stop the conversation short. You merely called over your shoulder in response. Wade stumbled after you buck naked—his shirt and sweats discarded on the floor in favor of giving the world a view yet to be forgotten. You eyed his chest with a smile, even as Logan palmed your ass to bring you closer.

"Play it." You grinned, hand sliding down to cup Logan through his jeans. "We'll see what happens."

"For fucks sake."

note: i don't even know if this is good. but i hope y'all enjoyed it. drink some water!

[brainyrot]

I said I would and so I did

Part one

Part two

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

"I just feel constantly watched, that's it. It's creeping me out!"

"Maybe it's just the anxiety."

"I mean, the mind can trick you in many ways, maybe no one is really here."

"But what about the footsteps you and Felix heard?"

"I.. don't know yet but this place looks more abandoned than anything. it's probable some homeless people are here."

if that was actually true.

and if this mug could stop dividing his food to share with the others, it would be great.

honestly, he doesn't care that much, there's easier ways to get food and fast, the problem is that he can't right now. There's a certain follower here, which is already unusual, these weird toons following him everywhere and there isn't a place Wilson hasn't placed his stupid technology to keep him stuck in this form.

it's just annoying, that's it. he could lead them around, sure, but it's more dangerous for him than anything right now, he really hates this stupid form.

and he has no idea how to respond, in general, to them.

One asks about why he's so quiet, he tries to explain but they think he's just tired or just had..an ink attack or.. whatever. "His clothes are all full of ink!"

"The whole place is full of ink."

"Yeah but he literally has ink dripping form his hair. And have you seen his eyebags?"

such a weird observation.

what even is an ink attack? Like when he turns into the ink demon?

He wouldn't call it an attack but, sure I guess. Everybody's creative in their own way.

He needs to start being more creative because if they keep up with the cans and the lunch break room, they'll be stuck here forever.

He could wait until they are asleep, but none of them seem to be wanting to sleep.

those two dishes keep mourning over a dead body they haven't truly met before.

The girl keeps analyzing everything, and she's way more close to the truth than anyone, but it'll only drive her mad, like everyone here.

and the cat, acting sweet and kind, acting fatherly towards this demon he doesn't even know.

Either he's dumb, or something else. nothing positive though.

"Are you okay?" Are you?

"Do you need to lay down? Food?"

"Look once you feel better we can start looking for Boris." We can look for Boris right now actually, wouldn't hurt to pay a visit to that silly anxious wolf. Maybe those two can stop crying, it's pathetic really.

they don't even say why, they don't even look for comfort through the rest of the group, truly some kind of masochists.

and since no one here is gonna do anything, unless he does anything, he just got up and left.

They'll follow him like if they are little ducklings anyway.

he is not here anyway, anymore. He left. he's probably thinking of some sacrifice.

it's useless and stupid, you're not gonna get saved or spared, you're just living in an illusion created by your own mind to have some sort of comfort in this place we're all stuck here day by day until the end of time.

but it's stupidly funny how big this place is, very amusing, especially the reactions.

They are all confused and wary, especially because he knows this place despite "being his first time here", the girl is intrigued too, her curiosity will get her killed, the cat is too but he keeps to himself. Not like her.

She asks questions. She analyzes, she talks. The thing no one does here.

she points things out, she tries to find logic and reasoning behind madness and Ink. That's why she's driving herself crazy.

You can't find logic behind something that has nothing but no sense at all.

but it's not much of a problem for him, the rule here is that you are either mute, to keep yourself safe mostly, or you go mad. No in-between.

sometimes you're both too. Depends.

the more they go down, the more they ask questions, which he could answer, but he can't.

"the pipes are broken, explains the ink."

"People were surely obsessed with this joey guy."

"And bendy."

"what is even the deal with the ink demon?"

"Maybe they are talking about the ink illness?"

"Whoever wrote all of this is probably mad."

"I mean, have you seen this place? Who wouldn't be?"

they are there just not quite.

"this is probably an old abandoned studio some crazy lunatics used for either protection or just to have a roof on their head. they probably had some experiences with the ink illness, it could explain why they keep talking about this "ink demon", they could have used the word demon as a substitute for illness."

"like, when people say you're possessed by a demon when you act crazy?"

"Kind of. They think the ink illness doing is because of a demon, or think the illness is a demon itself tormenting them."

If he could sigh loudly, he would.

"why are we even exploring this place. We should go." He's right. This tall smoking cup is right. You should go.

"Because bendy has no intention to stop, and frankly I'm not leaving him here with who knows who." this cat is going to die first.

"is he looking for Boris?"

"Obviously! he's the only one that we haven't found."

"What about the others? Like Alice or..black hat, I don't know." oh? They know Alice too?

well he could do her a favor then.

"Wasn't Alice in heaven? And what would hat even do here?"

"One of his weird stupid experiments?"

"You think this is one of his experiments to figure out the ink illness?"

"Probably. He had a guy with the ink illness caged up like some animal."

He can't even tell who is talking and who isn't, they all sound the same, say the same thing. and he isn't bothering to make a difference between all of them.

"Oh my Lord!" But for the life of him he can't tune out Sammy's annoying voice.

and those finger guns again. They aren't pointing at him so he's fine, they are pointing at Sammy.

"hey! Don't you dare get any closer, ya weirdo."

A man now made of ink, willingly turning himself into a monster to please a lord that didn't exist in the first place.

"Oh, I'm so pleased my Lord! A gift just for me! oh you flatter me." The man says, holding his axe like his newborn child. A faint laugh from his lips.

"I'll make sure this time the sacrifice will make you happy." Ready fo attack, ready to slice their heads off. But how can you go against toons who can bend reality? How can you against things that were built to not follow logic?

Sammy is only human, a man pretending to be ink, he can't compete. but neither can they, truly a show worth to watch if it wasn't for that grip on his shoulder from the older cup, holding him like if he was some fragile vase that was gonna break any time soon, a friend to protect, something defenseless.

Which he was, but he wasn't in danger at the moment, not when Sammy was here, not when hundreds of lost ones have heard the chaos. Not when so many souls floating and swimming in the dark, lurking and waiting to meet the new guests.

no one is going to hurt him though, no one is going to lay a finger on him.

They all worship him, they all love him, he doesn't get why, but in times like this, he's glad.

but he doesn't want to be at the center of attention. He needs a corner, a table, anything to hide and be ignored until he can make a run for it and be finally free from this cage of a body that he's stuck with.

"I said back off!" He hissed, he surely knows how to act brave. He is not. He is nervous, he is slightly shaking. He is scared of the unknown in front of him, on his head, on the floor, kind of everywhere but he doesn't know.

"If any of you get any closer imma start shootin' and it's all over for you." But it's not effective on people whose life matters no more.

[ronearoundblindly]

The Stark Legacy (27)

Tony Stark's daughter (OC) x Bucky Barnes epic slowburn

Pigeons, part of Book III: Power (see previous or series)

Summary: Bucky, Steve, and Sharon help Samantha with target practice.

Warnings for canon-level destruction (but in a training sense), guns, pranks, and awkward convos. Rated Teen/15+ ONLY, please. WC 2.2k

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN—April 2039

Without coffee, Sam did not recall why her alarm clock went off so damn early. She could not remember the previous day’s embarrassment at all until squeezing a leg into Johnny Storm’s jumpsuit. Why the hell would a man wear something this tight? Sam hoped training today involved punching something she was less afraid of than Natasha because she was poised to wail out frustration on something flammable. Tandy spoke of her required ‘discharges’ of Lightforce if she hadn’t used power for a long period of time; Sam wondered if this was the same thing. Maybe her body was just antsy with pent up energy? Maybe it had nothing to do with Bucky himself? She hoped.

Out on the lawn, travel cup in hand but not enough caffeine in her veins, scarfing the last bite of a croissant sandwich down, Sam walked sloppily towards a car in the drive. A small kit of pigeons pecked between the gravel at the corner of the lawn. Sam kept shuffling forward expecting the birds to scatter as she neared, but in her morning haze, it slowly dawned on her that they didn’t move. Her foot stopped less than an inch away from one’s foot. She stared curiously.

The birds took flight simultaneously aimed at her body. Startled, Sam raised her hands to her face, tossing her mug aside, and falling back onto the drive. The squeaking noise that erupted in her shock was followed by a snickering laugh across the lawn. Big Sam stood in his sweats, arms crossed over his heart, cackling.

“Your face,” Wilson breathed through joyous belly laughs, “priceless.”

Sam wasn’t hurt, save her pride and liquid lucidity. Option #1 for punching: Big Sam. She grabbed her half-spilled tumbler off the ground, frowning, but thankful that she had not worn her white sweatshirt as she dusted off. Bucky stood by the car, holding out a peace offering of more coffee and failing to hide his own smile. Sam got into the car, thinking Option #2 within arms length. 

Trailed by various soaring friends, Big Sam waved Sam and Bucky on as he completed his run before training the teens. His pace was slow but steady, his salt and pepper hair glittered in the dawn light. Samantha tilted her forehead to rest against the window of the outlandish, dark green, custom Ferrari Bucky had chosen from Tony’s garage. Bucky must have done something right to convince Tony to give him access to his ‘babies.’

Sam drank some of the new tumbler then wiggled it into the holder. “How long is the drive?”

“Over an hour, when I go the speed limit.” Bucky smirked, energized by their little prank. When Sam didn’t reply, he shifted his eyes from the road to her, his nub of a ponytail gently scratching against the leather head rest. “It looks nice,” Bucky tried, making a waving gesture over a shoulder with his free hand. 

Trying to put a shine on early hours with a compliment of her hair cut was not going to work. 

“I hate you,” Sam grumbled before shoving her hands into her kangaroo pocket and nodding back off against the pane of passing trees.

Bucky smiled again.

Sharon adjusted Sam’s shoulders and feet. “Try it like you’re shooting.”

Sam hit zero of the stationary targets set 50 feet out, facing away from the Rogers’ classic farmhouse home outside of…where? Sam had no knack for domestic geography. She wanted desperately to be fantastic at this. Instead, her showing so far was truly pathetic. All that came forward from her palm was a wide spit of flame that launched Sam backwards into the grass. 

Her coach returned to her side. “Ok, describe to me what you’re doing.”

They wanted her to fire a blast of energy that maintained inertia across the rich green field from her left arm, of course, which was not her dominant. She was having to mentally adjust the few aiming lessons of her life to the other side, and she felt overwhelmed and stupid for not picking this up immediately. She was good at a plethora of things, all sorts of subjects, but not this. Sam’s analytic mind reeled, rushing through physics calculations and velocities and impacts and force and speed. Equations were much easier on paper. Or when Missy helped. This was Sam, alone, with an audience of professionals. It should have been her dream, what she’d worked for this whole time. It made her sweaty instead…or would have if she could still sweat.

“I’m…aiming like drawing the bow back.”

Sharon laughed at herself. “Right, shooting arrows, with Clint." She rounded on her heels, remarkably spry for a woman in her fifties. “Bucky, give me your weapon.”

The resistance to the tug of the assault rifle from his chest let Agent 13 know just how possessive the soldier was of his comforts. Nobody ever fired it except Bucky unless some bizarre happenstance prevented him maintaining and cleaning it himself. Steve couldn’t stop the curl of his lips.

“Just for a moment,” Sharon comforted, “I promise, I just need to demonstrate kickback. This is the most equivalent size. Pretty please?” 

Bucky relinquished. 

Sharon gingerly cradled Bucky’s metal baby in her arms, stifling a laugh, until she was back by Sam’s side. She positioned the girl’s hands, shoulder, and the angle of her hips. “I’m expecting this to knock you over, so prove me wrong, yeah?” Sharon lowered her voice to barely a whisper, adding, “I know you can impress them.” She winked before shifting to stand behind Sam. “Tiny burst towards the targets, just so you can feel the force and correct. Just one, or Bucky will have a heart attack.”

Sam’s breath caught as she lifted the heavy weapon, afraid of falling on her ass, so she dug her heels in for balance and concentrated. She could feel something summoned inside by her focus, a tendril of steel reinforcing her arm, strengthening her shoulder socket. She practiced a one-count in her mind in an attempt to automate the timing in case the kickback overwhelmed her. Her finger gave a tentative squeeze.

The tat-tat-tat of gunfire startled her even when she expected it. Her feet did not falter until after the firing stopped, but then she stumbled back, unable to shift her balance forward against the punch of the butt into her pectoral.

“Goddamnit,” she mumbled.

“Not bad,” Sharon whispered with a pat on Sam’s shoulders, calling “You can have it back now!” 

Bucky hovered a foot away and grabbed the gun back faster than Sam could release her hands. Sam had the distinct feeling she had managed to defile something precious to him, but he was gone before she could apologize or thank him for allowing it. Sharon wasted no time. “That’s the kind of thing happening inside your body—best guess—so I want you to prepare, to push back so that your balance aids your aim. Alright?”

Sam’s face betrayed her terror. Sharon put her arm around Sam, blocking the eye line of the men. “Sam, think of it as you are the bow string, you are what pushes the bullet forward. Sorry, mixed metaphors, but you are absolutely smart and strong enough to produce the different velocity and distance shots I’m asking for…plus I’d rather you learn to take down targets when they are far away rather than up close. This will technically make you good at both, and you’ll get stronger by producing and aiming different forces.”

Sam sagged a corner of her mouth in response but nodded. Her heart raced as Sharon walked away, leaving the impression of a demolition expert unspooling a cord to distance herself from dynamite. Missy’s voice quoted mathematical possibilities in her head. It made Sam focus on the problem at hand, in her hand. 

So my body is a weapon now. Release the safety, feel the balance, and control to discharge…that’s shit soldiers say, right? Her eyes focused on the red center of rings but didn’t fire. Her eyes, she noticed, shifted focus as if a solid tunnel formed between her and the spot; the closer her field of vision got to the tiniest of spots, the hotter she felt.

Sam raised her arm. Every cell produced a tiny wave of energy, little ripples bouncing around, magnified when they hit the echo pad of her vibranium skin. She willed the little echos to converge to her left palm, and they did exactly as they were told. Behind her ears came a high ringing like the charge before Iron Man’s blast. Something methodical took over. Her periphery shut down. The game was an experiment; Sam needed the results. It was that simple. She made mental notes…that she couldn’t share with Missy. The ringing peaked. She fired off like a snapped rubber band, a bright whip of fire racing from her outstretched palm.

Sam did not puncture the target—she blew the whole thing sky high.

“What the hell,” Bucky shrieked.

Steve beamed with pride, but his eyebrows raised high in surprise anyway.

Sharon clapped after a split-second of shock. “Great, and now we’re gonna reign it back in a bit.”

Samantha Stark’s first ever shit-eating grin spread ear to ear across her face.

Sam smiled all through lunch; she didn’t even mind the other three chatting as if she wasn’t there. She had no notion of what they were saying anyway. At some point, after Sam inhaled her pot roast and salad, Sharon turned to discuss a burgeoning plan to fully train her. 

Sharon Rogers was engaging and kind, but Agent 13, the professional, dived back in with precision and intensity, convinced that she had relevant footage to help Sam train.

“No, no,” Sharon insisted, “the DVDs are in the garage. I know they are.”

Steve shook his head. “The player doesn’t even work anymore.”

Unhappy to see her trainer deflate, Sam offered to help. She fixed the Barton’s stuff all the time back when she lived there.

Sharon rushed to gather everything, dropping the hardware off at the table with Sam and her husband before disappearing again to search the garage. Bucky excused himself to set up the afternoon’s exercises.

While Sam tinkered, Steve stared out the window at Bucky work then shifted to watch her. Sam assumed he didn’t want to talk until he blurted, “I chose to be changed, too, back in ’43.” 

Sam barely raised her chin, intent on her task, and clueless as to what he meant.

Steve started swirling his tea around in the cobalt blue tumbler. “I’ll give you the same advise I was given. Remember who you are. That doesn’t change simply because you can do more.”

Sam had no idea what prompted his concern, but it felt out of place with their current circumstance. “You mean, stay the girl born into technology so I can repair some old fart’s video system?” Sam smiled in jest. 

Steve couldn’t help but smile back. “You’ve been hanging around Cloak and Dagger too much.” He knew Sam would never have spoken to him like that a year ago because it was familiar and playful, friendly for once. “You like it, admit it,” he added, grabbing away one of the little tools Sam had set down only to watch her fling her hand out in offense.

“Give,” she demanded. 

He handed the screwdriver back. “I meant that sometimes when people have the ability to do something, they tend to think they must, that they have to use power. You don’t have to, you understand?”

Sam tinkered for another moment. Steve sipped his tea, thinking that the task before her did not require such an intensely dark expression.

“Sir, I wasn’t anybody before this,” Sam started slowly, “not to you or anyone else. I was given everything, and I was still nothing. So pardon me for enjoying being noticed, whether it’s because I can blow stuff up or because I can fix things.”

Bucky and Sharon returned before Steve could protest. Sam tightened the casing she’d replaced and triumphantly trotted to the living room.

“Perfect.” Sharon followed Sam. “Let’s set up while Bucky tries to clean my dishes without breaking anything.”

“Sharon,” Steve warned, hanging his head.

“Or twenty bucks…for interest added.”

“You said 15.99,” Bucky quoted, gathering plates, “and I would rather be blown up.”

Steve snorted, waving his hand forward. “Sam. Sic ‘em.”

“I’m not a dog. You’re the golden boy. Let’s make sure this plays,” she finished, turning into the den, “I promise I won’t set your house on fire.”

“I know you won’t, sweetheart.” Sharon, jumping forward to her plan, handed over the disc. “But after this, I want us to get back finding that sweet spot you found with that first target. Everything was in balance, you could see it in your glow.”

Sam crouched down to plug in the cables behind the viz-screen base. “What’d you mean?”

“Well, you know, the Extremis and vibranium, they work against each other or one dominates and you are orange and violet or your skin’s all a patchwork, but when it all works—” she linked her fingers “—together, you’re basically green. That’s a balance. We need to work on that.”

Sam’s training in the afternoon was less terrifying when she tested the nuances of her energy strikes. She even shot the Cap Shield out of the sky…once. 

Bucky couldn’t explain why Steve got choked up when Sam celebrated by bouncing up and down. Kid stuff, he thought, but while the dark road in front of him zipped under the car, he understood that his friend had no children to teach. Samantha Stark was the only child Steve Rogers had been around from her birth to adulthood, and his friend witnessed her learn something new. Bucky never considered that a bond on its own.

It was a confusing day for Bucky, including the cryptic conversation Steve had with him over the dishes. The talk ended with “Buck, if you don’t even bother to look for the right partner, the dance ends with you alone.” The sentiment was not new, but it came out of nowhere. Bucky remained distracted the whole afternoon while watching ancient footage of himself, Rogers, and the Howling Commandos, clips that Sharon had compiled long ago and refused to embarrass Steve with until she thought it might inspire Lil’Sam. 

After seeing others go through growing pains, progress never feels as slow and arduous. It worked for Sam, but Bucky hardly paid attention.

“I see why they live like that,” Sam chirped, breaking the silence of the ride back to HQ, “it’s peaceful. No people around.” She’d continued her great mood all day.

“Yeah, nice to be secluded,” Bucky replied softly. Why was what Steve said bothering him so much?

When Sam made no further comment, his eyes focused back on the road, and the silence descended again. Bucky’s mind wandered to the distinction between children and adults for a time. He certainly felt his own innocence die with his father, having already grown up without a mother, but he remembered moments at Lehigh when recruits would befriend him. He knew, even at thirteen, the difference between being treated with respect or as a naive brat. He’d known then, and he was nowhere near as smart as Sam at that age. Why did he associate her joy negatively with youth? Why did he think Sam acted childish and unprofessional for celebrating a successful day? Hell, most of my training consisted of being brutalized until I complied. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

A thought popped into his head out of nowhere. “Where did you find the whisky?” 

He knocked Sam out of deep contemplation aimed at the window. She raised her brows, tired.

“My gift, thank you by the way, how did you find it?”

“Oh,” she blinked, “my search of your name for information on your arm.” She shoved her hands back into her sweatshirt, adding,“happy belated birthday, by the way.” She was frozen in cryo on the day last month.

Bucky snorted. “I don’t count those anymore.”

Perhaps Sam was too tired to filter her thoughts. “If I were that old, neither would I.”

He tried to suppress a hearty laugh, biting his lower lip, darting his gaze off to the side. His attention turned back to the road quickly, but his smile did not fade right away.

Sam giggled, a new, charming sound. “Did you know that there are fan clubs dedicated to you? It’s actually a little freaky the number of photos they have of you, but there are so many fans of Captain America… They make up all these stories of celebrities you date, or have one night stands with. It’s weird.”

Bucky scowled, the first one Sam ever saw on him. She had to know this made him uncomfortable, but she kept going.

“I’m just saying you’ve got a big pool of options. Lots of takers. No one should be alo—”

“Would you and Steve mind your own damn business?” Bucky exploded. His blood boiled over in an instant.

Sam’s arms snapped to her sides, eyes as big as half dollars.

“It gets old really fast when you all just blurt out what you think I need—”

“Hey,” Sam yelled back, ”Steve knows you better than any person alive.”

“Then leave me to my life.” His temper wavered. Apparently, she was not angry that he’d snapped at her, but Bucky saying something against his friend, a man not around to defend himself, that crossed a line. Odd. An uncommon response from a teen.

“I’ve—” Sam got quiet while he stewed in irritation. “You’re right. I have no right, but…Tony, without Mom…he’s a shell, and I don’t want you to be a shell.”

Bucky pursed his lips. That insightful little twerp, he grumbled, unwilling to relinquish his anger yet, she has a point. Is this how Steve feels too? He made no reply aloud. He already knew the answer because Bucky heard the same speech year after year.

“Excuse me for not wanting that to happen to anyone else.” Sam let out a huffing sigh and shifted. “How much farther is it?”

“Why do you always ask me about this stuff?” Bucky couldn’t let it go just yet.

“I only asked if you knew about fan clubs, and then you screamed at me. Didn’t hear you screaming at Steve earlier…What did he say?”

“I wasn’t—sorry, I’m sorry.” The apology hardly explained, but this topic needed to die a quick death in his book. On top of all the rest, he kicked himself for ruining Sam’s good mood.

She curled into a ball in the seat. “Whatever. Be an asshole. Just get us home.”

Bucky found it interesting that Sam finally referred to headquarters as ‘home.’ She looked comically adorable when she pouted, but he thought it inappropriate to smile before being forgiven.

[Chapter 28: Room]

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[lovelybarnes]

restless- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader, mentions of natasha romanoff, sam wilson, and steve rogers warnings: mentions of nightmares and clingy bucky but it’s mostly fluff about: bucky can’t sleep without y/n a/n: i was going to post this yesterday but i fell asleep :| my computer was literally open and nearly dead when i woke up lmao

today marks one week that you’ve been gone, and with it, the official shortest amount of sleep that bucky has gotten in a week. he supposes it’s sightly pathetic that he can’t sleep well- or, really, at all- without you, but you continuously tell him you chase his nightmares away for him, and without you there to make them disappear, where else will they go but deep into the crevices of his mind, where they’ll hide long enough for him to let his guard down and lull himself to sleep, only to wake up with the ugly memories of things he hoped he’d forgotten. he’s constantly told that his attachment to you is overbearing- not by you, though. never by you- because it must be, with how much he clings to your side, always touching some part of you so that he’s sure that, yes, you’re there. not a dream or an illusion, although you’re good enough to be one.

he misses every part of you; your fingers and the way they run through his hair, trace his features with such tenderness he nearly believes he is what you see, your voice and its ability to transform the most mundane words into the greatest poetry, sing soft songs into his skin until he’s fallen asleep, your eyes and how they examine him in the best way possible, glowing when they meet his.

he longs for you, but he can only imagine your smile, the bitter reminder that you’re probably showing it to some psychopath for the mission you’re on. he hates steve every time the memory is evoked, the panic that comes with your being used as bait for some of the most screwed up villains in the world only returning stronger. he’s tempted to go get you himself, uncaring if he screws up the mission because at least he’ll have you.

stark will call him pathetic, then go to bed with the love of his life, so bucky prefers keeping his thoughts about you to himself, much like he’d like to keep you. you’ve told him you can handle yourself, and bucky never doubts it, having been victim to the using of your skills when he first encountered you as the winter soldier. you kicked his ass then, and you kick any and all ass now.

it doesn’t help his sleeping schedule, though your calls do. he swears you’re an angel because there’s no way a normal human could glow like that through a screen, but you always laugh off his words and simply tell him to turn his brightness down. however, you haven’t taught him that yet, so he greets you with the same sentence every time. his smile is always brighter after your calls, the dark bruises under his eyes reduced as if he got a full night’s rest. it’s your effect on him, and as much as everyone teases you both for it, they appreciate it.

you’re due to come back in a week or two, but bucky is unsure he can wait that long, and judging from your chirpier-than-usual voice in your latest interaction, you’ve finished early, like you always do. he likes to imagine it’s because of him, behind the deprecating voice that screams at him why would it be? (the answer is that you love him and hate every second you’re away from him)

sam scoffs when he overhears him telling that to steve, sitting down next to bucky, “man, there is no way you can tell that from a phone call. even if you could, i know she’s good, but to shave two weeks off mission time? natasha hasn’t even been able to do that.” a proud smile grows on bucky’s face without his permission as he shrugs, “she’s that good,” he brags, choosing to ignore the fake gag sam sends his way.

you frown when he tells you what he thinks on your call a few hours later, lips puckering into a small pout, “how did you know? i wanted it to be a surprise!” you ask through a crackled voice. so much for state of the art technology, bucky thinks, but is glad nonetheless to hear your voice. “i know you too well, doll. you’re really coming back today?”

you nod excitedly, biting your bottom lip. “mhm! i missed you and my bed too much to stay here a moment longer. villains are such pervs,” you complain, nose scrunching. bucky’s jaw sets when he hears your words, immediately thinking the worst. “but, i’m coming back today, so it’s fine. what do you want to do when i get back?”

bucky shrugs, “be with you,” he answers simply, making you laugh. “other than that, dummy. we could watch a movie, have a little date night to make up for the one i missed while i was gone.” bucky grins at this, remembering his plans for that night. “okay,” he agrees, “we’ll watch one of those movies on my list. although sam put some weird ones.”

you concur through chuckles that pass through the phone, reminding him how much you love him. he swears an oath to never let you go again and bites back a yawn that you see right through. “you’re sleeping the moment i get back,” you instruct, and bucky nods with your words, even when the sole idea of your being within arm’s reach is obviously too enticing to pass up for sleep. “whatever you want, doll. as long as you’re here.” he replies, thinking about spending the night pressing kisses to your hair and checking for any injuries you may have withheld from him.

the sentence is dishonest and you both know it, but you leave it at that, missing him too much and sure he’ll rest with how exhausted he must be. you say goodbye without the actual words, only giving a blown kiss and a “see you later.”

bucky spends the rest of the hours without you thinking of you, skimming through the words written in the little blue notebook you got him to replace his old one. that one sits on his dresser, the disuse proven by the layer of dust that covers it. the names he spent hours agonizing over, tracing his fingers over the indents made by the pen, are hidden by its cover. they never fade from his mind, though. only half of the pages of the one you gave him are blank now, and the ones that aren’t are bright and white, inviting him to drop his pen on the lines and jot whatever reference he didn’t understand but wants to. he eyes the names of the movies and shows, some accompanied by quotes that refer to them. “new girl: nick miller,” he reads, remembering how one of your friends said he was the avenger version of the character. “friends: ‘joey doesn’t share food,” sam told him that one when he didn’t let him have any of his chips. he looks at clueless, recalling the way all of his teammates stare at scott whenever the movie comes up. there are a couple pages like this, some of them recommendations and others titles he kept hearing. tonight, he decides on starting a new show, but he leaves the actual show up to you to decide.

you arrive a couple hours later, when stars have littered the darkness that bled through the sky. it’s all very rom-com-filmesque, the way you light up when you see his face- even through how tired you clearly are- and how you jump into his arms, ignoring the ache in your muscles because the way his arms wrap around you seems to make it disappear. he gathers you in his arms and kisses everywhere on your face, treasuring your laugh and the feeling of your lips pressing to his shoulder when you hug him again.

even when you pull away, he doesn’t let go of your hand, flesh fingers tracing small circles into your skin. you don’t complain, even when steve shoves papers in front of you and asks you to sign them with a sheepish look. sam comes by and teases bucky lightheartedly, hounding bucky to let you have both your hands. you chuckle at his request and squeeze bucky’s fingers, kissing the back of his hand, “oh, no, he better not,” you half-joke. he smiles, red tinting his cheeks as he gently draws you closer.

you don’t feel like driving at the moment, and you need to water your plants, completely sure that wanda forgot to do it, so you end up going to your room, even though you spend most of your time at his own room or your apartment outside the compound. you can tell how little the room has been used by the spotless counters and floors, furniture clean of any of the knickknacks you usually leave. you only sleep here when bucky leaves for long missions, his absence is overly blatant when he’s gone, and your plants keep you from feeling too alone.

you usher bucky inside, tugging open your drawers to search for something for him to wear. you grin at the soft fabric under the pads of your fingertips, recalling the memory of stealing them from bucky’s closet to soak in his scent when you couldn’t have the real thing. the considerable use has washed away all traces of him, and you decide that needs to be fixed, picking out clothing for him.

you change into one of his old shirts and make tea while he changes, smiling when you feel his arms wrapping around your waist and kissing your jaw. “what do you want to watch tonight?” he asks, and you contemplate it while you pour your drinks, shoveling spoons of sugar into each one to make it as sweet as possible- his favorite. “new girl, i think you’ll like it,” you reply after a moment.

he unravels his arms from around you, taking the mugs from the counter and following you to your room after you peck his cheek in thanks. “okay, i want to see what this nick miller is all about,” bucky says, making you laugh softly. “c’mon,” he urges, opening his arms for you after setting the cups down. you cuddle up to his side after you grab your computer, setting up netflix and choosing the show.

halfway through the first episode, bucky feels the fatigue hit him like a ton of bricks, hours of missed sleep catching up to him now that he’s finally relaxed and comfortable. keeping his eyes open is a job all on its own, and the sweet smell of your hair combined with the way your fingers move on his chest, softly writing letters and drawing shapes, is too much to resist.

you barely notice when he shuts his eyes, the evening of his breathing alerting you he’s succumbed to his tiredness. you stop the video and quietly shut your laptop, placing it on the bedside table while moving as little as possible. he feels you shift through your efforts, pulling you closer in his sleep. you chase away his nightmares like you always do, letting him sleep his first full night since you left.

he wakes up rejuvenated and embarrassed, sputtering out embarrassed apologies that you shush with kind reassurances and tender kisses. he’s reminded of how wonderful you are when you turn, arms extending to reach into your bag and carrying out a small stuffed animal that you say reminded you of him.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Looking for a Place to Happen 4

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape, age gap, general stupidity, some violence and threats, coercion, manipulation, hand job, loss of virginity

This is dark!biker!Sam Wilson x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s lots happening in Birch and you find it all too amusing.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, Little Bones, and Fully Completely

Note: Sorry it took so long to get this out. Hopefully I can work on part 5 now that I have this posted.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 4:  With its gallery gods and its garbage-bag trees

💀💀💀

Sam left you in the same daze that fogged the entire day. The night was restless as you tossed and turned, replaying the scene over and over. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the lens staring back at you, imagined yourself on a screen, your hand moving between your legs, your pathetic mewls as you came for this man and who knew how many others. 

Well, he did say it was up to you how big the audience was.

You woke early and only checked in with your nan to fill a mug with coffee and start your day ahead of time. You needed to keep yourself busy after a night bombarded by your own thoughts and yet, you couldn’t focus enough to do more than stare at the blinking cursor.

You put on a Twitch stream to keep your mind from wandering too far but it did little to help your focus. You fidgeted, still without your phone, and again thought of the previous day and what you’d done. You’d never done that in front of anyone. You only ever joked about it online, that persona was everything you weren’t irl.

All your stupid online jokes and exaggerations got you into this. You fucked up because the line between virtual and reality was too blurred in your head. You got carried away and now you just had to deal. Well, you guessed it was a lesson no one learned the easy way.

You didn’t realise how much time passed until your stomach growled loudly and squeezed. You felt like throwing up but only had the slice of toast you scarfed down that morning to coat your stomach. You rubbed your eyes and headed downstairs to sneak some of your nan’s sugarless jelly cookies. She hated your snacking but she rarely finished a box on her own.

As you entered through the kitchen, you came to a sudden halt. You tilted your head and frowned as you heard your nan’s voice and the one that answered had you knocking your hip against a chair as you rushed into the living room.

“Just over there,” she directed as the leg of the couch scraped on the floor, “slide it against the wall.”

Sam stood straight dusted off his hands on his jeans. He stepped back and looked over the old floral sofa. 

“Definitely looks better over here,” he remarked.

“What the hell?” you blurted out.

“There you are!” your grandmother tutted, “I called up to you but you do what you always do and tune me out.”

“I didn’t-- I was working, I--” you cleared your throat and looked at Sam, “what are you doing here?”

“He’s being very helpful,” your nan praised, “how many times did I ask you to help me with this thing?”

“Sorry, I…” you swallowed and glanced between them.

“And smell that,” your nan inhaled deeply, “he’s making us dinner.”

“And I brought sugar-free dessert,” he added, “anything else I can do?”

“You’re so sweet,” she squeezed his thick arm.

“So are you… once you get past the frying pan,” he chuckled.

“I see a man in leather, I’m swinging,” she scowled, “you’re lucky you came bearing gifts.”

“Hey, look, we’re not all bad,” he smiled as she sat and he handed her the book from the small table that held the lamp and her ashtray, “I’m not like those guys who threatened your granddaughter.”

“And more honest than her,” she shook her head, “you didn’t tell me you were down at that bar. I warned you-- you really are lucky he was there.”

“Uh, sure, yeah,” you squinted at them, “didn’t you just tell me the other day I should grab any biker by--”

“I’m old, I say things,” she laughed but her eyes had a glimmer of ‘be quiet’.

“Would you like some more tea, Millie?” he asked as he took her empty mug and neared you, stopping in the broad archway that opened up into the living room.

“One more, if you don’t mind,” she smiled sweetly. She never smiled.

You hid a scowl and turned to follow Sam into the kitchen. He moved the kettle onto a burner and turned the knob. He stopped and opened the door of the stove and peeked inside as a blaze of savoury hot air blasted out at him. You felt it just before he let it snap shut and turned to lean on the counter, crossing one foot over the other.

“What are you doing?” you uttered.

“I told you I’d be back,” he shrugged.

“I didn’t think you’d--” you lowered your voice and glanced at the doorway, “what have you been telling her?”

“Everything she wants to hear,” he ran his fingertips along the precise line of hair of his goatee, “and nothing she shouldn’t… but that can change.”

“I did what you wanted. End of punishment,” you put your hands on your hips.

“End? Hmmm, I don’t think I said that,” his forehead wrinkled, “we’re far from finished… and come on, we both know you had as much fun as me.”

Your nostrils flared and you sucked in your cheeks. He was entirely too hard to figure out. He was that sort of man you hated and feared all at once. You just couldn’t predict him.

“I don’t… I don’t care what happens to me, just don’t hurt her,” you said quietly.

“Hurt her? Now why would I do that?” he taunted, “I mean, right now I have no reason to do anything like that.”

You squirmed and let out a breath, “please, alright?”

“Settle down, honey, you’ve been good… so far,” he said, “you just gotta keep it up.”

“Yeah,” you grumbled as the kettle began to shake and he turned his back to you, “any chance I can have my phone back?”

He chuckled as he searched the cupboard for the tea and plucked out a bag, “you’re funny… I like that but you gotta stop acting like everything’s a joke. It doesn’t hold up.”

💀

You found it hard not to wear a look of unamused confusion as Sam served dinner at the table and your grandmother sang his praises as he poured her wine she could actually drink. Just one glass but it was enough to loosen her up. You hadn’t eaten in the dining room since you were a kid, more used to eating at the counter, sitting on the wobbly stools or in front of the television.

Sam offered for you to clean up and do the dishes. Your nan was overjoyed at that, almost mocking. When you finished, you found them in the living room, some old Robert DeNiro movie on the television. You sat on the couch, as far from Sam as you as your grandmother yawned into her hand.

“Well,” she stubbed out her cigarette, “I should really be getting to bed. That wine is kicking in.”

“It’s early…” you argued weakly.

“You kids don’t get into too much trouble,” she warned as she stood with a groan and gripped her hip, “these ears still work.”

“Trouble? Me?” Sam kidded, “you don’t have to worry about me. I haven’t been a kid in a very long time.”

She smiled and nodded but for a moment she hesitated. She looked at you and pushed her tongue to her denture.

“Good night, girlie,” she said.

“Night, nan,” you forced out as normally as you could. 

You knew if she sensed your fear, she’d act out. She was always too brave for her own good and while you admired that, you didn’t need to get hurt because you were dumb as a brick.

She left slowly and you heard her television begin to crackle and the voices of the Law and Order actors were muffled behind her door. You hunched your shoulders and rubbed your hands together as you stared at Deniro’s wrinkled forehead and that characteristic squint. 

The lamp went out as Sam pulled the cord and the screen glowed in the dark. You felt the cushion dip as he shifted closer without subtlety. He slung his arm over your shoulder and you smelled his earthy cologne as he turned the TV up a few ticks. He pulled you to him as his hand came up to cradle your cheek.

“Shouldn’t we go… somewhere else?”

“She won’t hear us honey,” he cooed, “you just gotta be good. Be quiet.”

“Let’s go upstairs. Please,” you grabbed his hand as you pleaded.

“You keep arguing and I’ll make sure to wake her up,” he warned, “now,” he twisted so that he had your wrist in his grasp and forced it down to his lap, “put your hand down my pants.”

You gulped loudly and your hand trembled. You read enough fanfic to know what to do but your lack of actual experience had you nervous. Much like many things in your life. All talk, no skill.

You turned awkwardly on the cushion, your body uncomfortably contorted as his legs stayed pressed to yours. You struggled to unhook the button of his fly and the zipper was slow to descend. You felt the bulge as your hands moved against the denim and you hesitated as your fingers pressed to the elastic of his briefs.

“Mmm,” he purred as he hugged you closer, “that’s it, honey.”

Your eyes widened and you were happy the room was dark enough to hide your face. You pulled the elastic back with two fingers and shoved your other hand blindly beneath the fabric. You brushed against his hard dick and angled your hand so that you could grip him, his smooth length felt peculiar against your palm. Was he big? He felt big but didn’t have anyone to compare him to.

“Tighter,” he groaned at the friction as you moved your hand.

You squeezed and his hot breath grazed over your hair and he pushed his head back over the couch. He twitched as you kept a steady motion, trapped in the limbo of mortification and cluelessness. Were you doing it right? What were you even doing?

“Ah, honey, you’re so good,” he said as he rubbed the back of your neck, “goddamn.”

You said nothing as you focused on your hand. He snaked his arm under yours suddenly and pulled you over as he lifted his ass. Your hand was caught in his under as he laid you down beneath him. He reached down and fixed your grip on him as he held hovered atop you, his knees pressed into the cushion between your legs.

His arm crossed under yours as he poked along your jeans and shoved his hand beneath the denim and cotton. His palm was flush to your pelvis as he slid two fingers along your folds, held snug to you by the fabric. He swirled his fingertips over your bud and you gasped as your other hand gripped his arm in surprise.

“Honey, you’re wet already,” he whispered, “you sure you haven’t been waiting for this?”

You moaned as he pushed back along your entrance and dragged his fingers back, spreading your wetness over your clit. You quivered as you struggled to keep your own hand moving. He inhaled and groaned as played with you and pressed his lips to your cheek. He trailed up to your lips and kissed you, forcing his tongue inside as he shuddered.

He drew away with a sloppy noise and withdrew his hand from your pants. He sat up on his knees and pulled your legs to rest against his torso. He gripped the back of your jeans and yanked them down along with your panties. You smothered your cry as you were shocked by the force of it and the air of the room on your bare ass and legs.

He let your jeans dangle from one ankle as he bent over you again. Your leg fell over the edge of the couch as he held himself over you with a hand just above your head, fingers tight on the cushioned arm. He wiggled as he shimmied his jeans and briefs down with his other hand and you pressed on his chest.

“Wait, wait,” you hissed, “you… please, just… slow down… I never--”

“Shh, honey, you’re making too much noise,” he muttered, “it’s okay.”

“No, no, please, can’t we--” your voice caught as he lined his tips up along your cunt and rubbed it along your clit, “I’ll… I’ll use my mouth.”

“Later,” he whispered as his tip slipped down along your entrance, “honey, I need to feel you.”

“Pl--” your voice evaporated as the head of his dick stretched you.

You whimpered as he brought his arm down and nestled it under your head. He pushed further in and you gritted your teeth as you whined at the pressure of his intrusion. With each inch, the strain grew worse as a deep pain flooded your body. He shushed you as he forced past your resistance.

He covered your mouth as you cried out and barely kept your voice under control. He kept your head on his arm as his other hand cupped your lips and smothered out your agony. He forced himself in as deep as he could and your body tensed as your walls squeezed him. Your eyes rolled back as tears welled and spilled over the corners.

“Honey, it’s okay, we’ll go slow,” he coaxed, “just like that.”

He rocked his hips carefully but it still felt terrible. He pulled back and slid back in, each time it felt like he got even deeper than the last. His breath hitched and your own grew laboured as you huffed through your nostrils. 

He growled and sped up, just a little at a time, your cunt slickening his intrusion as his pelvis brushed against your clit and sent tendrils down your thighs. Even so, the pleasure was not enough to mute the pain.

“That’s it,” he uttered, “that’s it.”

He fucked you faster and the couch shook beneath you. His flesh slapped and the noise seemed to be monstrous, so much sure that you were sure your grandmother would come out and catch you. 

You grasped his wrist as you felt your climax rising. You squeezed and arched your foot as you were overcome and crashed down harshly as the pain tore through the ecstasy once more. He turned his hand and framed your chin as he kissed you again, swallowing your murmurs as he thrust into you over and over.

He lifted his head and dipped his thumb into your mouth as he held in his voice. He quaked and his motion stuttered but kept on. You felt his release, hot and wet, inside of you, a strange sensation that made you both sickened and aroused you.

He eased up and stilled at last. He brushed his nose against yours and chuckled under his breath as he wiggled his hips and you swore at the way it made your walls squeeze him. You blinked as your vision cleared of tears and the darkness. His features were blue with the light of the television, sinister and shadowy.

You went limp under him and breathed out slowly. You shook as he ran his thumb along your bottom lip and left a line of spit down your jaw.

“We’ll have to get that on tape next time,” he said, “but I doubt you’ll forget that, honey.”

[vibing-and-writing]

Suavemente

A/N: hello beautiful ppl!! i hope you’re all doing well!! here is my submission for the #marveldiversitychallenge hosted by @allaboardthereadingrailroad. i know i’m a couple days late but school has been really annoying ;-; i hope you enjoy and as always feedback is greatly appreciated!! edit: i forgot to mention my prompt was “Are you stupid or stupid?” which I put in bold. thanks sm

Summary: When Tony organizes a team-building exercise at a Salsa studio, Steve doesn’t know what to expect. Shenanigans ensue. 

Latin!Reader X Steve Rogers 

It had been an established tradition that once a month, everyone who was free that called themselves an Avenger had to participate in what Tony had dubbed “team-building activities.” Steve thought these were fun, like the time they played laser tag or when they went to that pottery place and the team made mugs. These team activities were always the time where they could relax and do something fun, ignore the weight on their shoulders. A time to spend time together without bad guys around every corner. So when Tony walked into the boardroom, he wasn’t too worried. 

The meeting starts off like any other, updates on other regions, a call to the Guardians, the usual. Near the end of the meeting, Tony stands confidently in front of the projector after a pause. “Set the mood FRIDAY,” he says, his face conniving and too cheerful. Very loudly, FRIDAY plays a Spanish song, one he’s definitely heard but doesn’t know the words to. 

Suavemente, bésame!

Te quiero sentir tus labios,

Besándome otra vez. 

Steve’s eyes widen a bit, his mind running through the different activities. Glancing around him, Steve looks at the team’s various reactions. Bucky seems a bit taken aback but not surprised, Nat looks like she knows where this is headed, and Sam is already dancing in his chair. Vaguely shimmying to the beat of the song, a mischievous smile pulls on Tony’s lips as he raises his voice over the music. “We’re going to a Salsa class. Spiderboy, Wanda, Pepper, and Vision are going too. You can thank Sam for the idea. Be ready by 1:30, I booked an hour and a half” Before anyone can say anything, Tony shimmies his way out of the room, the music fading with him. Sam looks around the table excitedly, hopeful his friends like his idea. His eyes practically glow with happiness. “Make sure to wear workout clothes, y’all. Y/Ns gonna make you work,” Sam says, his voice almost mischievous. Steve lets out a defeated sigh, accepting his fate of stepping on many toes and struggling to keep up. Thinking back, Steve was never the dancer, and even less now with the change of music over the decades he’d been in the ice. But he’d be damned if he didn’t try, especially if Sam was gonna be watching, poking fun at him the whole way through. Bucky gives a nod, a small smile on his lips. “So this is where you spend your days off,” Bucky says like he should’ve seen this coming. Sam gives him a smirk as he gets up and grabs his jacket. “How do you think I got these thighs,” Sam replies, gesturing towards said thighs, barely contained by his jeans. Steve lets out a chuckle, chancing a look at Natasha. Grabbing her laptop, her smile is warm but challenging. “I’m gonna dance you into the floor Wilson,” she says, confident in her dance experience. Sam lets out a laugh, his tone just as confident and challenging, “Are you stupid or stupid? I’d like to see you try.” With that, they leave the boardroom together, the faint sound of Spanish music filling the Tower until they all pile into a car and drive to the dance studio. 

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

Getting out of the car, Steve can still hear Bucky and Sam bickering, though the parking lot seems deserted save for a few cars. Steve doesn’t know what to expect. Especially since he’s never been a dancer, and knows less about Latin culture, something he only got educated on when he was in the 21st century. As someone who was always in control, this was very new. But nonetheless, he walked into the studio behind Sam, Bucky, and Tony with Pepper on his arm, with Peter, Nat, Wanda, and Vision trailing behind. The first thing that catches his eyes is the glass case full to the brim with different trophies and medals. The studio’s walls were floor to ceiling mirrors and a front desk area near the entrance, with a door that led to what Steve assumed was a locker room. “Y/N, your favorite Avenger is here!” Sam called into the empty studio. The locker room door opens, and Steve couldn’t stop his blush from spreading if he tried. The woman, who he guesses is Y/N, walks out confidently, her arms outstretched to hug Sam. She is stunning, to say the least, her brown skin glowing under the studio’s lights. Her hair is in a slicked-back puff, donned in a simple muscle tank and leggings. And she’s wearing red lipstick. “It’s always the lipstick,” Steve can hear Bucky teasing in his head. “Just because you’re my student doesn’t mean you’re my favorite Sam,” she replies, her voice teasing but fond. Steve feels Bucky nudge him with his arm, breaking him out of his obvious ogling. Releasing from the hug, Y/N turns to the rest of the group. “I’m Y/N, incase Sam didn’t give it away, and I’ll be your instructor today.” Steve feels his heart skip a couple of beats at the prospect of getting to stare at you for the next hour, though his pathetic dance skills will probably kill any chance he has with you. Steeping on someone’s toes wasn’t the best way to make a first impression. In a fight, Steve was light on his feet and agile, but fighting was very different from dancing. Plus his experience with women isn’t exactly the best and he would probably break one of your toes before getting your number- He suddenly felt all eyes on him and a long silence. Blinking, Steve notices you looking at him, your hand outstretched. If Steve wasn’t blushing before, he definitely was now as he stuttered. “I- I’m sorry what did you say?” 

Looking at him consideringly, you awkwardly retract your hand. “I was asking if you wanted to be my partner for this class.” Steve can hear Natasha and Bucky holding back their laughter behind him, and Sam just looks as smug as ever. “Oh, I don’t think I’d be a very good partner. I’m probably the worst dancer here.” Steve replies, laughing nervously and rubbing his neck with his hand. Your face lights up in understanding before walking closer to him. You grab his hand and usher him closer to the front of the studio near a laptop and speaker set up. “Which is exactly why you should be paired with me, Captain Rogers. You’ll learn better if you’re with me. Plus, I’m used to students stepping on my toes.” Your voice is resolute as you hold him by the hand, grouping up the other team members as you fiddle with the music. Steve can’t help but feel like this is set up as he looks between your hand grasping his and his teammates, all looking various stages of smug or suggestive except Peter, who just looks happy to be there, and Vision, who is just staring at Wanda. Grouped in partners, Natasha is with Peter, who actually has experience with salsa he found out, Sam is with Bucky, both noticeably not looking at each other, Tony with Pepper and Vision with Wanda. 

Looking at the other groups, you start to explain the starting position and the basics of salsa without the music. “Normally, the taller of the pair will lead with their right and the shorter will lead with their left.” You seem to think for a moment before you continue your explanation. “While salsa is meant to be danced in pairs, the lead is the one who guides the dance.” Gently grabbing Steve, you place your left hand on his shoulder and hold his hand with your right. Before Steve can form a thought, you start to slightly move him by the shoulder, using your weight to push him. “When you lead it is very important to use your body weight. Even a dancer with no experience can dance well if they have a good lead.” Most of the group is either trying to hold back their imminent laughter or they’re too busy trying to ask questions so you continue to use Steve as a test subject. You either don’t notice or ignore them as you run over to the speaker, start the music, and go back to Steve. “Can I do a quick demonstration?” you ask him, and it was really unfair because there was no way Steve could say no.  Steve nods slightly, and before he can blink you shoot off like a rocket. You push him into a spin to the right, a turn to the left, another spin, and Steve can only see vague flashes of movement as you move around him fluidly. You almost leave him dizzy, until you finish, letting him fall gently into a dip. Steve opens his eyes, not realizing he closed them, and is greeted by your face inches away from his. His face erupts in a blush as you stare at each other, your breath only slightly labored. He can vaguely hear applause and Sam complaining about not getting to dance with you before you let him stand upright. You let out a small laugh before looking back at Steve. “I hope that wasn’t too bad Captian,” you say, your hands fidgeting with your muscle tank. Steve can only open and close his mouth repeatedly before just replying, “Wow.” The team and you laugh a bit and his blush continues to spread down his neck. “Well, we won’t be doing too many spins today, but I hope that was fun for you.” Steve laughs lightly, his hand coming behind his neck. “Well I- it was a lot of fun. Felt like a rollercoaster.” Your smile widens as your laugh rings through the studio, and Steve tries not to think how nice it sounds before you turn to the rest of the team. 

You seem to get back into a professional element, letting go of Steve’s hand to help out the other pairs, especially Buck and Sam as they bicker over who should lead. Coming back to the front of the studio you grab Steve’s hands and get into the starting position. Reaching behind you, the music streams from the speakers. Leaning into Steve, you talk to him over the music. “I’ll lead for now Captain Rogers,” you say, your voice almost teasing. Steve can only nod jarringly, before replying shortly, “Steve is fine.” You nod in acknowledgment before addressing the rest of the pairs. “We’re going to start by doing the basic salsa step, just forward and back,” you say as you demonstrate. Steve stands trying to follow your instruction, his hand clammy against yours. Everyone nods before you start counting the beats and doing the basic step. 

The rest of the class goes on without incident, and Steve is proud to say he only stepped on your toes twice. The team seemed happy as well, the couples very comfortable with dancing and lots of laughter coming from Pepper on Tony’s behalf. The rivalry between Nat and Sam got squashed very quickly because Sam was too busy bickering with Bucky, and Nat was trying to make sure her and Peter’s hands wouldn’t stick together. Wanda and Vision seemed the most peaceful, though it seemed they were staring at each other more than actually paying attention. Bucky and Nat kept sneaking teasing glances at him, especially if you used him as another demonstration, your hands landing on his waist or vice versa. By the end of the class, the team was tired but pleased. Everyone was joking around and laughing, so much so that Steve could almost ignore the blush that had coated his cheeks for the past hour and a half. Saying their goodbyes, Steve went to give you a handshake, but you held his hand for a moment. Your eyes lock for a moment before you look back at your intertwined hands and take a deep breath. “I don’t want to be too forward, since we just met and all, but I was wondering if you’d want to go out sometime? Not dancing but maybe dinner-?” 

“Yes,” Steve interrupts. You both let out surprised laughs, Steve’s free hand going to rub his neck, a nervous tick you’ve noticed. Both of you are thoroughly flustered and whipped for each other already, Steve found it hard to imagine how he could’ve said no. You let go of his hand, happily running towards the front desk to grab a pen and piece of paper to jot down your number. As you write down your number, you hear a thump against the window of the door of the studio. There stand, very squished together, Sam, Bucky, and Natasha, looking very pleased. Out of your peripheral, you can see Steve trying to shoo them away. “I’m sorry about them,” he says, his voice only half upset. You smile at him and gesture back at the trio. “I’ll have to get used to that if I want to keep you, right?” Steve laughs, his smile lighting up the studio. “Yeah, but I’ll get them to leave us alone somehow.” You nod in affirmation, the trio finally trickling away from the door as they notice their position has been compromised. Handing the paper to Steve, you lead him out of the door, the afternoon light making your skin glow. 

“I’ll talk to you soon Captain,” you say, leaning in to give Steve a kiss on the cheek before closing the studio door. Steve might’ve convinced himself the kiss happened, except for the red lipstick stain on his cheek and the hollering of his friends a few feet away from him. As Steve walked away, his friends trailing behind, he knew he had a great feeling about you, and he couldn’t wait to find out more.

[heli0s-writes]

Ugly Christmas Sweater Party

Summary: Bucky (sort of) agrees to wear an ugly Christmas sweater, but what he ends up wearing is much worse. This is for @holy-captain‘s 1.2k writing challenge! Congratulations, Liv and thank you for hosting! I’m so sorry it’s late!! 

Pairing: Exasperated!Bucky x ChaoticDumbass!Reader

Warnings: Swearing Word Count: 1.8k

It’s supposed to be a fun and light-hearted thing—a season full of shiny-glowing-fantastic-twinkling excitement and ruddy red noses and misty breath in the chilled air. A season of joy and celebration, of spiked eggnog, fuzzy striped socks, and sliding down the compound hillsides on Steve’s shield.

And he’s screwed it all up.

It sinks in like the swollen marshmallows in his now cold cocoa, drooping to the bottom where the rest of the sediments lie. Outside, snowflakes gust and whip, blanketing the pine trees and skeletons of shrubbery in white flurries. Red holly berries peek out where they can and glare at him with their crimson eyes.

His phone lights up with picture messages of Steve and Sam, hurriedly trying on a cluster of sweaters in preparation. Horrid renderings of cats on ornaments. Oversized slouchy sleeves flecked with tinsel. Santa’s dreadful ass-crack peeking out of a chimney.

Bucky grumbles and turns his phone face-down, leaning back in his chair to stare at the Christmas tree in the corner. He wants to scream and put his leg through the damn thing.

Soft footsteps draw his attention to the hallway when you emerge, blinking slowly as you stifle a yawn from behind your hand until you see him. Then, you scoff and disappear back down the hall.

“Wait!” Bucky calls, leaping from his seat and nearly knocking the tepid mug from the table, “Damn it, wait!”

You’re gone. Stomped back to your room and even if he starts running now, he wouldn’t be quick enough—only getting the slamming door on his nose. He’ll try anyway.

Bucky slumps against the panel, pushing his chest against the cold metal of it and his cheek until his words come out smushed into his teeth.

“C’mon!” A pathetic whine of your name before he sticks his fingers underneath the slit of the door like a cat, wiggling the bent tip back and forth. Incredible. The Winter Soldier sprawled out all over a corridor, begging for forgiveness over this.

Only silence replies; you’re probably on the bed, thinking about scratching his eyes out. He can practically see you flicking him off with both hands. You’ve never been this upset before, and it deeply troubles him considering the dynamic of your very friendship spun on the axis of one single truth: Bucky’s the annoyed one. You’re the fuck up.

And now he has no idea what to do.

One week of it and he’s completely lost; the start of it all—December 1st when Tony announced: Ugly. Christmas. Sweater. Party.

Two days before Christmas, the team will be gathering in the common area for a white elephant gift exchange, and sweaters will be judged based on ugliness. What a stupid idea.

The winner will be awarded with “no team meetings for a month” and Tony’s personal stash of bourbon as long as no one touches his whiskey.

Upon the proclamation, you had clapped your hands together and grinned, “We’re gonna win this damn thing.”

And Bucky, being regular Bucky who ignores your half-witted ideas and short-sighted fixations, muttered, “Whatever,” and went back to thinking normal-person thoughts.

For the next several weeks, you dove into your knitting, the needles clicking together faster than he’s ever seen, weaving sparkling black and bright cherry red. The rows were tightly bound, looped and coiled expertly until he could finally make out the shape on the front of it.

He really did love your sick sense of humor—although he’d never admit it—funny, twisted, always brought him a bit of joy.

“Fuck no,” he had laughed at the image of a mutilated deer, antlers dangling silver ornaments showcasing his sigil. “I am not fuckin’ puttin’ that on. It looks like hell.”

“You agreed!” And then the needles and yarn hit him right in the nose.

On your way out, a low chuckle came from the corner of the living room where Steve sat sipping a cup of steaming chai. “You know Christmas is her favorite holiday?”

A snorting laugh bubbled the surface of Steve’s tea, “Good goin’, Buck.”

-

“Last Christmas” is on, blaring synth beats through the halls. George Michael croons sweetly, longingly, grieving an unrequited love before jingle bells ring in the scattered percussion.

Bucky hears your voice as you carol along to possibly the cheesiest song of all time—infuriated and baffled that you won’t speak more than two words to him but will sing your heart out to this crap. George Michael, Wham! and all of England can eat his whole ass.

He trudges from his room and into the den where the lights are dimmed and the table is set with snacks and a crock pot of hot chocolate. A dish of pine cones sits in the middle, flanked by a merry snowy village filled with little ceramic teddy bears and reindeer. On the edge is a deflated Santa Hat filled with paper scraps and pens for the voting process at the end of the night.

It is seven-thirty and you are standing next to Sam with bent elbows, wiggling your hips to the chorus, sliding back and forth on the polished floor in fuzzy socks. The two of you are facing the window, pointing at the flurry and a mountain of sludge that was previously a horrid misshapen lump of Snowman Steve.

Bucky squints a little, alert when he sees two matching sweaters—black on the back. Hell no, he thinks.

Sam turns around and Bucky’s worst holiday fears are confirmed. One innocuous “Oh hey, man,” and all the warmth drains from him.

On Wilson’s chest is that terrible disfigured deer you constructed, its antlers spearing out from its head to reach all the way up to his shoulders.

Bucky flies across the room and before either you or Sam can do anything about it, he’s peeling the hem of it over Sam’s head, kneeing him in the groin, and taking him down onto the floor. “What the hell!” Sam yells, struggling to get out of his grasp. “Shit—get off—Barnes!”

“A red star isn’t even your fucking symbol!” His hair is in his eyes along with Sam’s elbow, their limbs and joints knocking into each other in the wrestling bout. The sleeves and front are being stretched terribly, but neither of them seem to notice.

“Hey,” Your calm voice calls from above them—falling on four deaf ears. “Hey,” You try again, and when it doesn’t seem like two grown men can stop aggressively fondling each other over a damn pullover, you raise your hand and decisively land it across the back of Bucky’s head in a deafening crack.

A swell of multiple shocked gasps rises from behind you and when Sam and Bucky freeze, they see the rest of the compound’s inhabitants staring at the scene like a disfigured Nativity display. They also see your palm, at the end of your motion, resting next to your shoulder.

Bucky gingerly rubs his wound. “Ow,” He grumbles.

“Room… now.” You command, pointing your finger down the hall. Wilted, he shuffles away dutifully, saying nothing to the others as he passes. When he’s gone, you look scornfully at Sam and your beloved jersey, loosely hanging at the edge of his torso, pulled nearly apart.

“Voting starts in twenty, kid,” Tony mentions breezily.

“Yeah,” You reply through gritted teeth, “Don’t worry, we’ll be there.”

-

Steve coughs behind his hand awkwardly when Bucky steps back out, the once snugly-fitting sweater around Sam hanging collapsed and loose on Bucky’s right side. You’re close behind, bouncing on your heels and smiling as if nothing had gone wrong. Steve’s not sure which is worse: your wrath or glee.

“You, uh, you alright?” He calls quietly.

“Oh yeah, absolutely. Right, Buck?”

Bucky swallows, “Uh. Yeah.”

He has no fucking idea; when you shut the door behind him, the sweater in your hand was calmly unfolded and held up to his shoulders, damage assessed by a calculating mind. Bucky still has no clue what possessed you not to scratch his eyes out that very second.

Then, you looked him up and down and said, “Put it on, Barnes. Show’s about to start.”

And if he was a weaker man, he’d be shaking in his goddamn boots at how calm you are.

The team gathers around the tree, various colored pens and torn scraps in hand as they evaluate each other’s attire. Natasha is boldly displaying a patchwork kind of cardigan with what looks like the Michelin man ominously hovering behind a tree. Tony, of course, has custom-ordered a perfectly sized wreath knitted around his arc reactor heart. Steve has completely missed the Christmas memo (or is perhaps the politest Grinch on Earth) wears blue, the tiniest hint of gold tinsel woven through.

And Sam -- stupid, stupid Sam-- who didn’t plan on being robbed of a perfectly knitted sweater five minutes before the voting process, is out of the game.

Bucky is about to write your name down, because a medium part of him feels guilty for hurting your feelings while a much larger part of him feels apprehension about what exactly might happen if you lose, but you suddenly dig your hand into his pocket.

All five fingers shove deep until your fist is gripping tight and your knuckles stab his thigh.

“Hey! No hanky-panky during voting!” Tony is scandalized.

A vicious snap of his pocketknife swings open and before he knows it, your left hand is fisting the yarn on his chest and your right is ripping it straight through. The room falls silent when you do it a second time and Bucky’s at a loss for words until the breeze hits.

Chills.

A tendril of AC sneaks through the two open holes you’ve carved and goosebumps bloom all over his chest. Dread settles in his tummy.

His nipples are pebbled and exposed for everyone to see and with a quiet click of the blade retracting, you tuck it back into his pocket. 

“Let the voting begin.”

No one moves. No one makes a single sound and the whole place is quieter than a crypt until a shrill wheeze squeaks out of Sam’s nostrils. Through the choked snickering and the slowly building crescendo of everyone else’s laughter, Wilson admits, “They’re browner than I thought they’d be.”

There’d be no need for a voting process, Bucky knows. You’ve stolen the show – or rather, his nipples have stolen the show, and the once-worthy prize is now his Sisyphean burden to bear. He closes his eyes and counts to a million.

Screw exemptions from team meetings, Bucky thinks, praying desperately that when the bourbon is bestowed to him, by some miracle of sweet baby Jesus, he’d be able to get shitfaced again.

-

perm tags: @whothehellisbucky @serpentbaby @badassbaker @alagalaska @cake-writes​ @crist1216​ @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​ @infinity-saga @jamesbarnesthighs​ @pinknerdpanda​ @xoxabs88xox​ @imsoft-barnes​ @momc95​ @typicalangel​ @wretchedgoddess​ @readeity​ @iwannasail​ @ya-lyublu-tebya​ @geeksareunique​ @wildefire​ @satanxklaus​ @jhangelface0523​ @wkemeup​

[thejolexgroupchat]

Hi! Love all the fics you guys write :) could you guys do one where Jo and Alex were together before Alex even started his intern year? Like idk they met somehow while Jo was in college & Alex was in led school and started dating. Everyone tries to hook up with Alex but he’s got this super secret girlfriend that everyone makes fun of him for. They could still have a large age gap or they could be like a year or two apart. Basically, I just want to see Alex holding out for Jo and being super proud & showing her off when she gets into the residency program.

the one where they met in med school - part one

So... we absolutely LOVED this prompt, took it and ran with it. This originally was supposed to be a one-shot, but it kind of grew out of control and became what it is now.

This fic was written by @iamtrebleclefstories (Leya), @doc-pickles (Nina), and tumblr-less Nat

                                                           ———

                                                       (July 2006)

“Hey! I miss you,” Jo smiled as she talked into the phone. “How was your first week as an intern?”

“Honestly? It sucked. But it was also amazing. I don’t know if that makes sense,” Alex replied, shrugging although he knew she couldn’t see him. “And for the record, I miss you more.”

“That’s impossible. You’re so busy you don’t even have time to miss me,” Jo chuckled. “Me on them other hand? My life revolves around school and studying. Studying isn’t as fun without you around. I miss our study dates.”

“I do too,” Alex sighed. He really did miss her. A lot. All the time. He’d only been living in Seattle for a month and it was definitely a challenge. He really didn’t know how he was going to make it through the next year without her. “But at least you have Lexie there. You’re not completely alone.”

“Yeah you’ve got a point,” Jo hummed. “But Lexie doesn’t do all the things for me that you do, if you know what I mean.”

Alex groaned, “Stop it. We’re way too far away from each other to do this. I need you so bad right now and I can’t have you and it sucks.”

“Tell me about it,” Jo agreed. She couldn’t believe how far they’d come. She and Alex had been together for about 2 ½ years now. In all that time, they’d been attached at the hip. He was her best friend and she was his. It was odd not seeing him everyday. It was unnatural to sleep without him beside her at night like he’d been doing for years. “I have a week-long break next month though and I was thinking of coming to visit. I’ve saved up a bunch of money from tutoring undergrads.”

“Would it be bad of me to just keep you locked up in my apartment the whole time you’re here, because that sounds appealing,” Alex’s words sparked a string of laughter from Jo, making him sigh down the line. “I miss hearing your laugh and that makes me feel pathetic. It feels like I’m in one of those stupid rom coms you and Lexie forced me to watch all the time.” “We didn’t force you, you readily agreed to it, Karev,” Lexie’s voice echoed faintly in the background, Jo shushing her as the two bickered quietly. 

“Am I on speaker?” 

“Um… maybe?” Jo shrugged, knowing that he couldn’t see her through the phone. “You can’t possibly be embarrassed. Lexie has seen and heard worse from you.”

“I sure have,” Lexie yelled out from her spot across the room. “Keep going! Don’t let me stop you from being all mushy and talking about how much you miss Jo.”

Alex rolled his eyes, “Keep your comments to yourself, let me enjoy my girlfriend for a little while please.”

“So, tell me. Did you make any friends yet?” Jo asked. 

“What is this? Middle school?” Alex scoffed. “I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to become a surgeon. A kickass, rich, plastic surgeon.”

“Yes I’m sure between the scut work and the enemas you have plenty of time to dream about all the money you’re gonna make,” Jo giggled down the line. 

“Oh, you just wait. When you’re an intern I’m going to have you doing all my scut,” Alex warned playfully. “You’ll be sorry for making fun of my career aspirations.”

“I just can’t see you going into plastics,” Jo confessed, a large grin on her face. “Not that you wouldn’t be good at it, but I just don’t see it. Maybe general or ortho!”

“General? Wow I didn’t realize you thought so little of me,” Alex leaned back onto the brick wall behind him as he listened to the sounds of Jo’s quiet laughter. 

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with general,” Jo insisted. She groaned as she saw the time. The worst part about Alex moving across the country was the time difference. “I wish I could talk more, but I really have to get ready for bed. I will try to call you tomorrow evening.”

“I’m on-call tomorrow,” Alex revealed sadly. “I hate this. I went from going to bed next to you every night to struggling to even find some time during the day to talk.”

“I know,” Jo sighed. “I hate it, too. Of course I wish you were here, but I am so proud of you.  You’re living the dream right now, Alex. If that means I have to miss you for a little while, so be it.”

God, he really loved this woman. Alex smiled and clutched the phone tightly, “I love you. So much.”

“I love you too,” Jo answered. It still made her heart beat quickly whenever she heard him say those words. He’d been the first person to ever say them to her and mean it. “Go kick some ass.”

“I will,” Alex chuckled. “Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight.”

Alex hung up his phone and sighed as he walked back into the bar across the street from the hospital. He walked back up to the group of his fellow interns and ordered a beer, staring at his phone for a moment before finally putting it back in his pocket. 

“What’s up with you?” Yang asked. “You look all, mopey.” 

“It’s nothing,” Alex shook his head.

“No, she’s right. You look depressed,” Grey seconded. 

“I’m fine,” Alex took a swig of his beer. “I’m just a little homesick.”

“You know what will cheer you up? Getting laid. You see that girl over there,” Yang pointed to a woman across the bar with red hair and blue eyes. “She’s been eyeing you for a while now. I’m sure if you asked she’d say yes.”

“I don’t need to get laid,” Alex narrowed his eyes at her. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re uptight. Isn’t he Stevens?” Yang asked the woman he’d identified as Dr. Model. 

“He is,” Stevens nodded, laying her hand on Alex’s shoulder. “I know we’ve only known each other for like a week, but this is the most disappointed and depressed that I’ve seen you. And that’s saying a lot, considering that we are surgical interns and basically slaves to the hospital.”

"I'm not depressed and I do not need to get laid," Alex grumbled, taking a swig of his beer. "If you must know, I was on the phone with my girlfriend."

"Evil Spawn has a girlfriend?" Cristina raised an eyebrow. "I didn't take you for a relationship type guy."

"Neither did I, but then I met her. So, just stop pestering and let me mope in peace."

"Wow. Karev has a heart," O'Malley chuckled and took a sip of his drink. "I didn't see that one coming."

“Oh screw you guys, why don’t you go get laid? Being so invested in someone else’s love life has gotta be a sign that you need to get some.”

                                                          ———

                                                   (August 2003)

“Hey! You’re Jo right?” 

Jo turned around to see a young woman with short brown hair and brown eyes smiling at her. Jo outstretched her hand, “Yes. I’m Jo. You’re Lexie, my lab partner right?”

“Yup!  It’s so nice to officially meet you,” Lexie shook Jo’s hand. 

She seemed like a sweet and perky person. The exact kind of person that Jo didn’t normally associate with. For the longest time, Jo didn’t have any friends or get attached to anyone. She had two friends the entirety of her undergrad and typically didn’t look to make any more. Jo supposed it would be nice to have someone, "It's nice to meet you, too."

                                              (September 2003)

"I can't believe you actually did that!" Jo exclaimed as she and Lexie walked down to the lab. "You became another one of Karev's conquests."

"Honestly, I don't even regret it," Lexie confessed, a large smile on her face. "There is a reason why Leah is so hung up on him. He knows what he's doing. You should go for it. Sleeping with him is like a right of passage or something."

"Ew, no way," Jo faked a gag. "He's an ass. I have much higher standards than Alex Karev."

They entered the lab to find the program's resident man-whore going over some samples. Jo had to admit, he was pretty hot. Alex Karev was cocky and charming and incredibly intelligent. He was always getting the highest grades and was every professor's favorite student. She was into him. But she'd never say it out loud.

"Hey, Lexie," Alex smirked as they walked over to their stations. He gave Jo a once over and looked at her with one of his signature crooked grins. "Hello Lexie's friend. You got a name?"

Jo considered staying quiet but finally decided to respond, "Jo Wilson."

"Nice, I like chicks with boys' names."

"Karev, " Lexie warned.

"What? I do. It's hot," Alex shrugged.

"Alex, stop sleeping with all the first years. It ruins them," Lexie admonished.

"I slept with you," Alex pointed out. 

"Yeah, and it's never going to happen again. Besides, Jo's my best friend," Lexie shrugged. "I'm protective of her."

                                                (October 2003)

“I told you I didn’t need you to follow me,” Jo grumbled. “I can take care of myself.”

"Calm down,  princess. There's no need to get your panties in a twist," Alex rolled his eyes at Jo who'd been yelling at him for the past few minutes. They'd been studying with a group of friends in the library when Jo decided to leave and Alex offered to walk her home. “I just don’t think you should be walking home alone with that fancy watch on your wrist that daddy probably gifted you. Can’t risk someone mugging the princess.” 

"Stop calling me princess!" Jo shouted, turning to face Alex as anger bubbled up inside of her. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself for a moment. "My mother left me at a fire station when I was two weeks old. I got bumped around foster homes until I was sixteen when I took matters into my own hands and started living out of a car. I parked it behind the gym of my high school so I could sneak in and use the showers before class. My home ec teacher--Ms. Schmidt--she’d let me do my laundry there for free. And yeah, I got into good schools because I worked my ass off. And when I walked across that stage at graduation, I didn’t have a cheering section filled with my richy-rich family. I had one person, Ms. Schmidt. That’s it. She’s the one who gave me this watch when I got into Med School. Her son works for the company.” 

Alex had the decency to look down at the ground ashamed. He walked up to the wall Jo was leaning against and stood beside her, “It is a nice watch.” 

“Thanks.” 

The next time they see each other, things are different. Understanding Jo’s background gave Alex a deeper appreciation for her work ethic. Even though they were in different years, Alex found himself seeking Jo out for projects and studying. Being around her made him want to be better. He wanted to excel in ways he hadn’t in the past. And that said a lot, considering he was already at the top of his class. 

So that’s why when he saw her sitting at the bar a couple weeks later, he decided to join her. They’d had an argument earlier in the day where some things were said. Alex walked up to the bar and grinned at the bartender, “A beer for me and another round for Hobo Jo. Let me guess… Thunderbird or is it straight paint thinner?” Alex looked back up at the bartender. “You got a little brown paper bag you can put that in?”

“Would you stop,” Jo sighed and looked at Alex. “I had no parents. I lived in my car. Yes I have trust issues, it comes with the territory.” 

“You need to stop acting like you’re the only person who ever had a crappy childhood,” Alex rolled his eyes slightly. 

“Oh yeah? How many foster homes did you get kicked out of before you moved into your car?” 

“Seventeen. And I didn’t live in my car. I went to juvie,” Alex took a sip of his drink. 

“Stop making fun of me,” Jo shook her head. 

“I’m not.” 

Jo’s face scrunched in interest, “Really?”

“And you’re actually lucky that your folks abandoned you. It means you didn’t have to watch your schizo mom go after your baby brother with a steak knife.” 

“Fine, fair,” Jo conceded. “But you never woke up in the middle of the night with junkies banging on your bedroom windshield, praying they’d get tired or bored before they put a rock through a window.”

“No, I didn’t,” Alex shook his head in response. “Because the junkie was my dad and he didn’t break windows, just fingers.” 

“Well, did you ever have foster parents that made you and nineteen other kids sleep on cots in the basement? Locking the doors, lights out, so that if you had to pee in the middle of the night, you had to use buckets they set up along the wall. Buckets you couldn’t see because if you turned the lights on, the bigger kids would hold you down and take those buckets and--” Jo’s voice cracked slightly.

Alex bowed his head in sadness, “God… no, never.” 

“Me neither,” Jo shrugged. “Saw it in a movie on cable.” 

Alex’s mouth twitched into a shocked grin as he let out a few chuckles, “How did you get cable in your car?”

“I don’t live in my car anymore, jerk,” Jo giggled lightly. 

Her story must’ve done the trick to break the ice because before they knew it, Jo and Alex were well on their way to becoming best of friends. They laughed and joked together for hours, even going as far as fake crying to get out of paying their tab. 

“You know, you’re not half bad, Karev,” Jo grinned as she and Alex walked out of the bar. She clutched the sides of Alex’s jacket which he had so kindly allowed her to borrow. “I actually had a lot of fun tonight.” 

“So did I, Wilson,” Alex smiled back at her. “What do you say we grab some tacos and eat them in the back of my truck?”

“Sounds great to me.”

[buckthegrump]

Years Later

Summary: Bucky doesn’t have the best of luck. Or at least he didn’t until the day he finally met his soulmate.

Warnings: Small amounts of Angst, fluff, cursing words

Word Count: 1396

A/n: I should be focusing on my Nano writing but fuck it

Soulmates were rare. If you were lucky enough to have a soulmate, the first words they ever said to you would be somewhere on your body. But even then, there were complications. Sometimes both people would have the words other times it would only be one.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Those are the words that had been on Bucky’s left shoulder since the day he was born. His ma and pa were just a little disgruntled that their son’s soulmate had such a mouth, but as years passed, they saw the humor in it. Especially since Bucky himself had quite the potty mouth.

Throughout the years, he waited for a dame to say those words to him but to no avail. He fell off that trail that fateful day in the forties thinking that the universe had made a mistake and that he didn’t have a soulmate.

He spent years under HYDRA’s control, hoping and praying that he wouldn’t hear those words. He wasn’t sure how he would handle it if his soulmate had been one of the people to imprison him.

Everything changed the day he met Y/n.

He was standing at the edge of the kitchen in the compound with Sam. There was someone in the kitchen that Sam had told Bucky he just had to meet, a new team member. Y/n. She turned around quickly and bumped right into Bucky.

The tea that she’d clearly just made was still steaming and now all over Bucky. Not that he minded much he’d gone through worse. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she groaned, and the floor was knocked right out from under Bucky. “Sorry about that.”

Y/n grabbed a towel from the counter and tried to dry Bucky off as much as she could. Bucky, who was frozen, didn’t say anything until she looked up from his chest.

She let out a sigh. “Hi, I’m Y/n.”

“Hi,” was all Bucky could say. She stared at him expectedly, but he just stared wide-eyed at her slightly afraid of her. 

“Ok, well,” she lifted her mug, “I’m gonna make myself another cup. Mr. Wilson.”

“Y/n, you make me feel like I’m a million years old when call me that,” Sam said as she turned back to the kettle.

“Yes, well, it’s a good thing that you’re hanging out with Sergeant Barnes,” She looked over her shoulder, “he might make you feel young again.”

And that was it. Bucky was a goner.

/

Months went by, and Bucky was starting to wonder when Y/n would realize that she was his soulmate. Until he remembered that his opening line was ‘hi’ a very common greeting. She probably had no idea.

And because most of his left shoulder was gone now, he had no way to prove that they were soulmates. Not for the first time, and definitely not the last Bucky cursed his luck.

He wondered how different it would be if he hadn’t lost his arm and with it his soulmate words.

Then one day during a mission, an ex-HYDRA agent was targetting Bucky, and Y/n had gotten in the way and blocked a shot meant for him. It hit her in the abdomen, and she went down quick.

The next thirty seconds were the longest of Bucky’s pathetic life. He took out the agent without a moment’s hesitation and dropped to his knees next to Y/n.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he whispered.

“I’ll be fine,” she said. And she was, but that didn’t stop Bucky from blaming himself.

It was that day he decided that it was better he kept the whole soulmate thing to himself rather than risk Y/n getting hurt again.

/

Tony loved throwing parties almost as much as Bucky hated going to them. It wasn’t that Bucky didn’t enjoy the company of others, he just preferred to hang out with people in smaller settings. That, and unless Thor was around, it was a task in and of itself to get even slightly buzzed at these parties.

Normally, Bucky would find himself hanging around after everyone had left or gone to bed, cleaning up the mess left behind. Bucky liked feeling useful, he also hated waiting around for a cleaning crew. And this time wasn’t any different. What was different was that Y/n had also stuck around.

“Shouldn’t you be out with your boyfriend?” Bucky asked, doing his best to keep the disdain from his voice. Bucky was aware that it was his fault that Y/n dated people, but he couldn’t help but be jealous of the people who could go out with her because they didn’t have the past he did.

“I broke up with him, he lied. Which I should be used to,” Y/n sighed as she swept up glitter. “Why did my words have to be ‘hi’? Do you know how many people I’ve met that have said that to me?”

“I imagine a lot,” Bucky said softly.

“So many. I’m starting to wonder if I even have a soulmate.” She paused, and it made the air heavy. “Did you ever have a soulmate?”

“I do,” he answered truthfully and instantly regretted it.

“Who was it? What happened?” Y/n asked, leaning her head against the handle of the broom.

Bucky wanted to lie to her, he really did, but the words came out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“I was born with the words on my left shoulder, and my parents were happy I had a soulmate, not so much with the fact that her first words to me were curse words. Well, at least at first. They soon found the humor in it.

“I didn’t meet her for years, and then the war happened, and I assumed I’d meet her after the war. I did. But I was more than 100 by the time I met her,” he said softly.

Y/n face lit up. “Does Sam know?”

Bucky shook his head. “No one knows, you’re the only person I’ve told.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what were the words?” Y/n smiled at him widely, and his resolution to not tell her was quickly dissolving.

“‘Oh, for fuck’s sake’,” he said. He waited for it to click in her head, but it didn’t.

She laughed, “sounds like something the soulmate of James Barnes would say.”

Bucky looked at her until she looked back at him. 

“What?” Y/n asked.

“Do you remember when he first met?” He asked.

“Vaguely,” she said.

“I spent a long time hoping that I didn’t actually have a soulmate. Because I wasn’t sure I was ever going to get away from HYDRA, but then I did. And I found a new family with the Avengers. And then along came you, and you spilled your tea all over me.”

“Shit,” she whispered as it all clicked in her head.

“At first, I wasn’t sure how to tell you that I was your soulmate, then you took a bullet in the stomach because of me. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to put you in that kind of danger, so I just didn’t tell you,” Bucky had more to say, but he wasn’t sure how to say it. It didn’t help when Y/n walked towards him and stopped centimeters in front of him.

“Sergeant Barnes,” she whispered, “do I not look like a grown-ass woman to you?”

“You do, ma’am,” he added the ma’am purely on instinct, through from Y/n’s eyes he could tell she liked the authority he’d given her.

“Than what made you think that you had the right to make that choice for me?” Her stare was unwavering. The last time Bucky had been under such an intense stare was from his ma.

“I wanted to keep you safe,” he whispered. 

She placed her hand on the back of his neck, and he let her pull him in closer to her. “Stop thinking that you aren’t worthy of things. You are worth the very slight risk that I get hurt.”

“But you -” he started ready to remind her of the time she got shot.

“James,” she said sternly, and he melted. “Will you shut up and let me love you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded. She kissed him, and Bucky swore he’d never tasted anything as sweet.

[mwolf0epsilon]

Sorry to bother you. But can we get a story of Norman helping Sammy from the inks Control?

Summary: It was only a matter of time before Norman's curiosity got him deader than that one cat... No good deed goes unpunished.

---

"Somethin' ain't right 'bout the studio." Is the one sentence that precedes a series of catastrophic events in Norman Polk's life. A combination of letters that form a very simple and inconsequential phrase that still held a lot of negative connotation. Easy to dismiss, especially over breakfast as he reads the paper with a bored expression on his face.

His wife sits in front of him, buttering their youngest child's toast while the eldest daughter fetches a glass of juice for herself, and her brother, the second oldest child, glances up to peer over and then around the paper.

"What do ya mean pa?" Aaron's inquisitive eyes catch his one good eye, and Norman finds himself setting the paper aside and picking up his mug. Out of his five children, Aaron is the one to inherit his father's curiosity.

"Just a thought." He takes a sip of his coffee and shrugs "Things been a little weird as of late."

"How do you mean?"

"Aaron don't go listenin' to your pa's nonsense or ya gonna get stuck with his ramblings. You gotta get ready for school, so eat breakfast and get going." Margarite rebuts, before glancing at their two daughters. "That goes for you both as well, you especially Louise, your teacher's been hasslin' me bout you doin' no work."

"Mrs. Wilson is nuts. She picks on me for no reason, the crusty egg!"

"Louise!"

Aaron pouted, clearly unsatisfied with the lack of a response, but thought better than to go against his mother's wishes. Wise kid. Norman was proud he was growing up smart.

He didn't bring it up again until the kids were sorted and off to classes. His wife gives him a long-suffering sigh before crossing her arms and looking at him in the eye.

"Don't go lookin' for trouble Norman. I know ya got the guts to go findin' nothin' good." She pleads with him.

"I don't go lookin' for no trouble Maggie, just curious is all... And things have been weird. It's gettin' to the others..."

"Norman, you do know what them people say 'bout your sorta curiosity don't ya?"

"And what would that be?"

"Curiosity killed the cat. And ya sure are lookin' real cat-like to me..."

-

Joey Drew had plans, that much Norman knew. It all had to do with that weird machine of his, as well as all those brittle pipes that kept bursting and flooding areas with thick glossy and acrid smelling ink.

What plans, Norman couldn't tell (yet), but the consequences were visible. Structural integrity in the studio was a mess, something Thomas Connor often dreaded about due to his impeccable work ethics.

Things were constantly soiled with ink, and cleaning supply expenses had risen to the point Wally was having to lug in bleach and detergents from home to get stuff cleaned up. Everyone's dry-cleaning bills had likely also suffered with this.

Speaking of, everyone was going crazy.

"I tell ya, meltdown of the century." Wally winced on the rare occasion Norman took the time to sit with others to eat lunch. That day he was sitting with Wally, Buddy and Dot. "Thought Miss Campbell was gonna throttle the poor broad!"

"She has been acting very hostile." Dot winced in sympathy. "Miss Pendle has the patience of a saint if she can bare all that, but she's not the only person Susie has blown up on recently."

"Uh?" Buddy looked over at his friend in surprise. Norman too looked curious. Wally snapped his fingers as he realized what she was on about.

"Oh yeah! The other night right? She went and barged into Sammy's office and things got heated, and not in the good way if ya know what I mean."

"Wait really? Miss Campbell yelled him?" Buddy looked to be in disbelief. He couldn't imagine a petit little lady like Susie yelling at that overgrown peacock of a man. Not when Sammy tended to yell back at people with twice the amount of ferocity.

"Didn't just yell. She tore him a new one! Was so bad I got outta there as fast as I could. Didn't wanna witness no crime a' passion and all that." Wally glanced around, hoping neither Susie nor Sammy were around to hear. "Saw him come outta the office much later when I was about ta lock up for the night. He looked... Rough."

"He always looks rough." Buddy commented.

Norman found himself frowning at that.

Now that he mentioned it, Sammy had been looking a little green around the gills. Like he was sick, or at the very least extremely sleep deprived. With Drew's policy of time being money, and illnesses having to be serious for sick leave, it didn't surprise him that Sammy might have caught a bug and been unable to sleep it off at home.

"Speak a' the devil..." Wally ducked his head and quickly scarfed up the remains of his meal before getting back up and moving off. "Here he comes now."

Buddy and Dot followed his example, not feeling particularly keen on getting yelled at by Sammy. Norman let them go, eating his meal at a leisurely pace as he observed Sammy more carefully.

He didn't just look rough. He looked off.

How exactly, Norman couldn't explain, but it certainly must be something if the hairs on the back of his neck were so fast to raise.

He needed to look into it.

-

It's a particularly bad encounter in one of the men's bathrooms that tips Norman off to what might be wrong.

After that particularly bad scene involving Drew, Norman had been more cautious with his wandering and observing. His boss's behaviour raised questions, and his threats were definitely ringing alarm bells in his head. How it all involved that wretched machine Norman couldn't figure out.

Until, while putting his burnt hand under cold water (another projector went and caught fire because ink had gotten in it somehow), Sammy Lawrence suddenly barged in and practically kicked in a stall door to then double over a toilet bowl and violently vomit the contents of his stomach.

All this happened in very few seconds and Norman found himself with his unburnt hand clutching at his chest in fright.

"Jesus Christ, ya nearly went and scared the soul out of my body!" He closed the tap and pulled the first aid kit closer, setting to work on bandaging his injured hand. Bless the doc for giving him a kit in the first place, after so many incidents with projectors.

He waited for Sammy to bark out some sarcastic retort, but instead was met with more retching and coughs. Norman became concerned when it didn't stop.

"Sammy?"

He peered into the open stall and was met with a smell that shouldn't be coming from someone's insides. An acrid chemical smell that permeated the studio, due to its origin being pumped through pipes like blood in one's veins. The music director was puking ink.

"Sweet mercy..." That wasn't good. The boy needed that stuff out, which he was managing on his own from how much he was getting sick. The issue was, how much of the crap had he swallowed if it kept coming up? "Sammy what the fuck?!"

"G'way y'fu'kin' ..." He cut off as another wave came up to meet the rest, his nose dribbling with the black sheen of ink, and big fat tears barely clearing the gunk already covering his pale skin "H'hurts..."

The pathetic whimper was enough to break his heart. Sammy sounded scared for once, rather than angry, sarcastic or apathetic.

"How much did ya even get in ya? Did the music department go under again?" Once the music director didn't look like he was going to throw up again, the projectionist scooped him off the floor and noted with horror how unusually light and pointy the blond felt in his arms.

It was like holding a sack of bones... What in the blazes? Just a few days ago he looked healthy enough...

"M'gettin' ya to the infermary. The doc might have somethin' for intoxication... If not then Drew can't just keep ya here, this is a hospital thing."

"N-no... No doctors..." Sammy struggled weakly but gave up once he realized he couldn't squirm out of Norman's grasp. "M'fine..."

"Boy, I have half a mind ta call the doctor myself if ya go sayin' stupid shit like that. You ain't fine."

"J-just stomach ache... It'll go away..."

"Samuel Lawrence you are a dumbass."

How daft did the kid need to be to not see the issue here? Hopefully the resident doctor could convince Drew to let Sammy go to a hospital. Hard to fake getting a toxic liquid in your system after all...

-

After the encounter in the bathroom it's not long before Sammy goes missing. People start speculating about it, and some are rather mean-spirited about it.

Sure Sammy wasn't the kindest person, but going about saying he ran off with his tail between his legs because Susie dumped him was just plain disrespectful (especially considering he hadn't seen Susie around as of late either).

The stories about him drinking ink tho... Those peak his interest. They are also easy to confirm, as Norman looks in horror at the contents of the drawers in Sammy's office. Empty ink wells. Several of them. Some definitely licked clean.

It explains things Norman wished he hadn't overlooked. The machine, the pipes, the slow descent... The ink was what was wrong with the studio.

Norman realized then and there that he needed to warn the others to get out. Whomever would hear him at least.

Starting with Buddy and Dot. Those kids needed out.

Whatever Drew was planning with that hellish stuff, it couldn't be good for them.

-

Once the authorities' investigations are closed up and the studio opened back up again, Norman decides it's time to finally grab his light and go down and see what the groaning was. He eats breakfast with his family as quiet as a mouse, lost in thoughts, then goes to work after kissing his wife goodbye.

Once he reaches the door, he finds a card and keys on the entrance mat.

Wally had quit. Good, at least the kid had enough sense to bolt when told to.

Norman is the very first person the set foot back inside the studio.

As such, he's the very first target for one of two creatures still able to access the floors above.

His light catches onto an inky black figure in overalls and a grinning dancing devil mask, then catches the gleam of a blade.

Norman doesn't get the chance to scream as the axe buried itself in his chest, right through his heart. He wheezes out what little air remains in his lungs and it doesn't take long for him to slip away.

What makes it worse is how the figure cradles him gently and murmurs nonsense he can't understand. That voice... Why did it sound so familiar?

It all goes dark. It's too quiet.

-

The Projectionist screeches as it runs after the figure in overalls and grinning mask. It chases after the thief mercilessly, putting it's hands through the holes it crawls through in an attempt to flee from its burning gaze.

It gets cocky and ends up getting grabbed by the leg and pulled back with force.

The Projectionist may not be able to hear its screams, but it can feel the vibrations. It's terrified.

Good.

It roars in triumph as it plunges it's hand through the figure's chest, bursting it into a puddle and discarded clothing.

Never shall it try to steal it's hearts away, ever again.

The Projectionist carried on, unaware of the poetic justice behind its own actions.

An eye for an eye was just as popular a saying as curiosity killed the cat, after all.

[wonderlandmind4]

Bucky’s Bistro Dates: Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: A Bistro owner bares witness to Bucky Barnes’ bad dates.

Words: 9862

Warnings: Bit of a slow burn. Language. Fluff with a dusting of angst here and there. Mentions of End Game events. Self-doubt. Mentions of violence. Mild blood, a needle and stitching and wound care.

A/N: Just letting whoever reads this knows; I originally write OC’s, and because I’m afraid no one will read OCs, I attempt turning it into a reader; hence why this readers background is Italian.

Marvelous Thoughts Writing Challenge Prompt: If you don’t give me caffeine right now, I cannot guarantee your safety. // please just take your clothes off and shut up. (will be bolded in part two)

Y/N has to give it to Bucky for having moxie. The next two weeks brings Bucky back in with three other dates, all different girls. Each time something ends up going awry, but each time he keeps coming back.

The first of the three girls, a cute redhead, has her eyes glued to her phone for the majority of the date. Y/N keeps peeking over, and every time the girl’s fingers are flying over her phone. By then seventh time she looks, Bucky has a breadstick in his hand and catches Y/N’s eyes. She glares at him and the breadstick in warning. His sheepish smile turns into a begging look.

One that screams, “get me out of this please”.

Y/N motions slicing her hand across her neck to “cut it off, just end it.” He nods, shoulders slumping as he takes a rather pathetically sad bite of the breadstick. If she’s being honest, he doesn’t look that put out about it though.

Two minutes later, Y/N nearly bumps into someone as she exits the kitchen door.

“Seriously, you need to come with bells or something,” Y/N deadpans, her heart calming down from the scare.

“I’m cuter than a phone, right?” Bucky questions, the joke evident in his words. But Y/N is beginning to know him enough that his eyes betray his words.

“Eh, you’re alright, I guess,” She shrugs, then knocks her shoulder into his, so he knows she isn’t serious. “Of course you’re cuter than a phone. You just don’t have a keyboard across your forehead.”

Bucky rubs said forehead. “Busy?”

“Nah, it’s actually a slow night,” Y/N explains. “Hey, why don’t you call the others here? You can all have a great dinner, possibly desserts. They haven’t been here before, right?”

He quirks an eyebrow. “You sure you wanna do that, sweetheart? Have them run amuck?”

Another pet name, another ignored flutter of butterflies in her chest. Because Bucky had gone on another date.

“I mean, we have plenty of open tables. Plus, it gives me a break from having to see your old mug every other night.”

Bucky’s mouth drops in mock outrage. “I’m the one keeping this establishment in business! Old mug and everything!”

Y/N hears the laughter in his voice, and she has to press her lips together as he points to his, very attractive face.

“Hmmm, pretty sure it’s my other costumers,” She smirks. “Keeping my desserts alive.”

“Sure,” Bucky relents.

But he takes a small step forward and his pretty blue eyes darken with a sparkle. Suddenly, the restaurant feels very small and heated. Y/N holds her ground, meeting his mysterious gaze that has her throat running dry.

“But I’m the most satisfied by your...desserts.”

Her brain short-circuits for a moment, inhaling his light cologne and the soothing scent of leather from that damn jacket. She swears his eyes drop, appraising her, before they slowly move back to her own. She blinks and comes back to herself.

“Did you mean Sam Wilson?” Y/N quips, hating how shaky her voice sounds. “I hear I leave him more satisfied.”

Whatever smooth, core heating charm Bucky was putting on falls. His expression now flat. Y/N pats his chest and moves to step aside.

“With my desserts I mean,” She adds with a wink.

Then Bucky is laughing and pulling out his phone. “You’re something else, Y/N.” He sounds extremely fond.

A half hour later has old and new Avengers filling Rikki’s empty tables.

*

The second date stands Bucky up. He’d be more bothered by it, more hurt, if he hadn’t been distracted by Y/N. She’s a bit more dressed up tonight, different from her usual casual blouse and black jeans. Tonight, she’s wearing a black blazer over a white silk blouse, and a bright red lace skirt. He vaguely thinks Wanda called the style of skirt a pencil, but he still isn’t quite sure what that means.

It’s hard to keep his eyes off her, as Y/N calmly talks down an annoyed costumer. She has a polite smile on, red staining her lips, and a hint of glitter on her cheeks when she shifts in the light. Bucky has to remember he came to the bistro on the notions of a date, and not to stare openly, most likely creepily, at the beautiful owner.

He mentally curses Sam for convincing him to go on another date again, just one more...or two. He’s going on these dates because he promised Sam, even Wanda, that he would try putting himself out there, instead of just staying cooped up inside. He promised at least ten dates, and if none of them worked out, Wilson would leave him alone for good about it. Bucky also knows friend is coming from a place of genuine concern for him, and Bucky does appreciate that.

However, he hadn’t been very interested in dating in the first place, even after he was deprogrammed. What little interest he did have has been fading away within the past weeks. Whether that has to do with the fact that he’s feeling less lonely, less bitter or the conversations he’s had with Y/N, he isn’t quite sure.

All he knows is that he keeps coming back to Rikki’s. Bucky has grown comfortable here. He feels like the workers are all friendly to him, and he feels like he’s truly gaining a real friend in Y/N. Again, he isn’t sure if it’s the first friendship outside of the Avengers, or that he has been crushing on Y/N since that first night.

If that’s the case, why the hell is he still trying to date? It’s good to be social, to try and put himself back out there. To realize his life is his again, and he doesn’t need to have his world revolve around mission after mission. Even though these missions are helping other people and saving the world from Hydra, again. They just won’t give up, and the Blip didn’t help with it either, contrary to popular belief.

Y/N’s warm, sparkling laughter fills up the bistro, and the way she hides her mouth behind her hand snaps Bucky back to reality. She’s way too good for him. She’s so kind, and honest and she doesn’t ever seem fearful of him like some people still are. And after each disastrous date, she tries her hardest to make him feel better. With playful, warm eyes, pretty hair, gentle touches and funny remarks. She probably has someone in her life she goes home to every night.

Abruptly, Y/N is waving at Bucky, who nearly chokes on his tongue because he was caught staring at her. He awkwardly waves back, offering a small grin, but her expression falls nonetheless. Then, she marches over to him, black heels clicking against the tile. When she reaches his table - maybe it’s the table that’s cursed- she frowns.

“What’s a handsome place like this doing in a person like you?” She greets, frown twisting into a smirk.

Humor. Bucky has been remembering that he likes humor in women. So far, none of his dates have matched hers.

“You look extraordinarily beautiful tonight,” Is his - rather embarrassing- response.

Bucky picks up his glass of water to take a sip to calm the fire racing through his chest. And ears. And cheeks. He watches as Y/N’s smirk softens into a smile as she briefly glances down.

“Uh, thank you. I have to go to a fancy birthday party tonight. I don’t usually wear skirts to work.”

She’s going to a party. Not on her own date, and a strange wave of relief washes over him. Bucky shouldn’t be feeling that way though. He shouldn’t be taking other girls out, only to start developing a crush on Y/N. He swallows, and nods.

“Where’s your date?” She inquires, looking around the restaurant.

“Duped me,” Bucky shrugs, beginning to tear apart the breadstick on his plate.

“What?”

“She uh…stood me up, I guess.”

Y/N pulls out the seat, sitting across from him. “Seriously, where do you find these women?”

Her irritated tone has his lips twitching. “Internet. Sometimes Sam sets them up.”

“Why do you need-“ Y/N cuts herself off, winces slightly enough that Bucky still catches it. “Uh...are you okay?”

He frowns, wondering what she was about to ask. He thinks better of it and answers her second question instead.

“It’s fine. I’m surprised it hasn’t happened more.”

“Hey, what did I say about doing that.” She reprimands lightly, reaching across the table to squeeze his metal fingers. “Anyone would be lucky to date you. You just need to find the right person. Maybe...maybe move away from the online dating.”

Intrigued by her nervous lip biting, Bucky leans closer. “Speaking from experience?”

“Another story for another night,” Y/N smiles. “Did you order food for yourself at least?”

He shakes his head, flipping his hand over and playing with an unique ring she’s wearing on her middle finger. It’s bulky, glittery and swirls around her finger.

“Nah, why order just for myself to eat lone? That’s one hell of a pathetic man.” A nudge to his shin makes him pout at her.

“I said stop with that, Bucky. You aren’t pathetic.”

Bucky carefully studies her. The hint of distress in her eyes, the downward tilt of her painted red lips, her earnest expression. He can hear the slightly elevated rate of her heart rate, but he’s not sure if it’s from her passion or his hand touching hers. But his own skips a weird beat because Y/N cares. She honestly cares for him.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Bucky tells her in a low voice. He keeps saying that to her, but doesn’t know how else to say he appreciates her kindness towards him.

“I just don’t want you to be hard on yourself. You deserve better, Bucky.”

He squeezes her fingers for lack of better words. Her eyes flicker over his shoulder where he knows the vintage clock is. When she looks back at him, that little glint is back in her eyes. Her captivating, bright eyes.

“Would you want to come with-“

Her question is abruptly silenced by Bucky’s phone ringing. He cringes because he forgot to turn it off, before realizing its Sam calling. Sam won’t call him on a date unless it’s urgent. Another mission.

“Sorry, I think this is important,” Bucky explains, slowly taking his hand from hers. He ignores how strangely empty his hand feels when he leaves to step outside.

Sam informs him of a lead on a group of scientists the team has been following. It’s a location and Bucky has to leave immediately. He catches Y/N’s attention through the window, waving his goodbye. He messages her a better explanation as he mounts the motorcycle he actually drove this time. He feels bad for leaving abruptly.

Her “good luck, be safe” message warms his heart. All thoughts of being stood up forgotten.

**

Bucky has his third date that week. Or rather, his sixth date if Y/N is keeping track.

It seems to be going well and every time his date laughs Y/N looks over and ignores the strange heavy weight in her stomach. Bucky is laughing too, eyes crinkling at the corners and he even reaches out to briefly touch his dates wrist. They make it through a whole meal; no breadsticks being thrown.

Y/N even tried to catch his attention to check in, but Bucky is too wrapped up in the stunning woman across from him. So, she busies herself with prepping pastry dough in the kitchen, and double checking the desserts order for pick up in an hour.

By the time she exits the kitchen and serves behind the bar, she sees Bucky. He’s standing up, offering his hand to his date to help her as well. He places her jacket around her shoulders and his right hand is hovering over the small of her back as they exist. A bright, genuine smile on his face.

Simultaneously the smile on Bucky’s face makes Y/N happy and slightly bitter at the same time. She knew better than to have a silly crush on him. All the woman he’s brought on these dates have been stunning; maybe Y/N just isn’t his type.

She grits her teeth and pushes whatever she had been feeling for him down. Burying it where it belongs. She should be happy a date finally went well for him. She is happy. She ignores the gnawing in her stomach.

Y/N goes back to wiping down the counter and realizes they’re low on maraschino cherries. She goes into the kitchen to get more, grabbing the jar from the refrigerator. When she renters the bar, she stops in her tracks, startled by a breadstick close to her face. Bucky is standing just inches from the door, holding it up to her nose.

“You and these damn breadsticks,” She mumbles, moving around him to set the jar by the container of fruit. “Why are you still here and not enjoying your extended date?”

Bucky tilts his head, possibly at the tone of her voice. Her words did come out a little harsher than she meant.

“Hard to extend a date when she, what’s the term? Friend zoned? When she friend zoned me,” He finishes with a shrug.

Y/N stops trying to open the jar. “She friend zoned you!? I don’t understand, you both look like you were having so much fun.”

Bucky shoves his fingers through his hair, most likely forgetting he had it pulled back in a low bun. He shrugs again, almost nonchalant. He plops down on one of the stools.

“Mind if I sit here for a minute?”

“Stay as long as you like,” She offers. Y/N goes back to prying the lid off. Attempting, to pry the lid off.

“You sure? You don’t have another party or a date to get to yourself?”

“Ha!” She grunts after her dry laugh. “That’s hilarious.”

Bucky’s hand suddenly shoots out to grab the jar. He easily twists it open and slides it back to her.

“Okay, but I loosened it.”

“Of course you did, doll,” Bucky plays along.

Y/N pauses her tasks, appraising him. “Don’t mind me saying this, but you don’t look too put out by what just happened.”

“Didn’t really feel a connection. The conversation was good, but, no chemistry,” Bucky informs her lightly, reaching out to grab a cherry, popping it in his mouth.

No chemistry? Y/N could have sworn there was, from the way he was laughing. She decides not to question it. Not when Bucky is munching happily on a sweet cherry and sucking the leftover juice from his thumb. He suddenly peers up at her through his lashes and her heart stutters.

“So, what sort of Italian pastry will heal my broken heart tonight?” He muses, half standing up as to peek into the dessert display across the bistro.

“I’m beginning to think you’re just using this friendship of ours for free food,” She deadpans, dumping half the cherries in the container.

“Never, sweetheart,” Bucky grins coyly.

Towards the end of the night, Y/N pulls out a treat. They share the last piece of cannoli cake over cups of coffee once more. Y/N doesn’t fight him when Bucky insists on cleaning the plate, taking the dish, but not before his fingers brush against hers.

**

Nearly three weeks pass since Bucky has entered Rikki’s. Y/N realizes how much she misses the blue of his eyes, the crinkles at the corners, and the scrunch of his nose when she makes him laugh. Bucky had texted, informing her that they got called away for yet another mission.

He did show up before he left though, explaining they found another Hydra bunker, but this time, there was proof of human experimentation. Y/N had held his hand, sensing Bucky was on a verge of an anxiety attack.

“It’s just never going to end with them. This is why I have to do this. To spare anyone else from going through what I did,” Bucky had said to her in a small voice. “I have to stop it. We have to stop it.”

“You will. I believe you will,” Y/N told him vehemently. “Just…”

Her hesitation had Bucky lacing their fingers together, a silent encouragement meant.

“Please be careful,” She nearly whispered. He squeezed her hand after that.

And before he left, Bucky pulled her into a tight hug, Y/N burying her face in his neck. His hand held the back of her head, his own face pressed into her hair, his vibranium arm secure around her waist. Y/N could have sworn before he released her, that he pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head.

Currently, Y/N stares at the empty bar stool where Bucky usually sits after his bad dates. She hasn’t had much contact with him, other than the sparse texts here and there. At least every time she did get one, she knew he was safe at that moment.

**

When Y/N crawls into bed later that night with sore feet, she gets a text from Bucky. She responds, not fighting the smile spreading across her lips. His replies come quicker than they have in the past few days.

Somehow, they end up on the topic of his dates, and Y/N can no longer keep her question to herself. She finally ends up inquiring why he feels like he needs to go on so many. It’s something that has been vaguely brought before.

He doesn’t send anything back for nearly an hour. Y/N tries not to worry about his lack of response as she goes over the restaurants reports When her phone rings, flashing Bucky’s name, she internally panics, thinking she offended him.

“Um, aren’t you in Europe on a mission?” Y/N greets. “Is this costing me money?”

His low, throaty chuckle has her stomach and heart developing butterflies. Something that has been a new occurrence for the last several weeks.

“I got voted to stay behind tonight,” Bucky answers, sounding exhausted.

“Why’s that? Too many pizzelles give you a stomachache?”

The huffing noise sounds suspiciously like a hiss of pain. “No, although they’re all gone. Clint and Rhodes ate the last of them.”

“I told you to pace yourselves,” She chuckles, turning over in bed and snuggling deeper beneath her covers.

“It’s not my fault you make delicious desserts, doll.”

The little pet name makes her nose wrinkle, but the wings beating against her chest doesn’t stop. “That’s true,” She muffles a yawn.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” His soft voice in her ears is soothing.

“Nah, I was doing reports in bed.”

There’s a short pause. “You asked why I’m dating so much-“

She cringes. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to sound judgmental or that there’s something wrong with dating a lot. I was just honestly curious and-“

“Y/N,” His gritty chuckle cuts her off. “I wasn’t offended, I just felt like calling you to answer…and pass the time.”

She sighs in relief.

“I guess I’m just…” He trails off in thought. Y/N waits patiently. “I mean, my life has been a nightmare for so long. I’ve been given a second chance. Hell, I’ve been given more than enough chances, again after the whole Blip thing. And then Ste-“

He cuts himself off so abruptly, Y/N pulls the phone away to make sure the call didn’t drop.

“Bucky,” She says gently, “you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want.”

“I do,” He reassure quickly. “I do want to. Talk about it,” He sounds like his takes a deep breath. “With you.”

“Okay,” Y/N breathes, a slow smile gracing her lips.

“Okay,” Bucky chuckles quietly. The line turns static as he exhales. “Ever since Steve left- he talked to me about his decision. But it stings. Fuck, it doesn’t sting, it hurts still. It’s almost been a year, but I can’t help but feel bitter at times, after everything.”

“I just haven’t been able to shake this feeling of abandonment. He left me behind, the first chance he got, it felt like. I just came back. He wasn’t on the run anymore, I wasn’t hiding, the war was over. Then he decided to leave. Just like that.”

Bucky pauses for a few moments. “Is that selfish of me? I mean, I understood his choice, and I told him that. He deserves to be happy and he finally got the love of his life after so long. It just feels like his version of a happy life didn’t include me anymore. As if I’m a burden.”

Bucky falls silent. Y/N can’t help but feel sympathetic for him, but not with pity. She’s sad for him, because if anyone deserves happiness and love, it’s the man she’s talking to. The man who threw a breadstick at her as an unestablished signal. The man who seems to genuinely love her restaurant and desserts and feels comfortable enough to keep coming back. The man who seems comfortable talking to Y/N about something so personal.

“I think don’t that makes you selfish at all, Bucky” Y/N tells him honestly. “He was your best friend for so long. You guys been through so much together. It’s understandable how you feel. I think you are completely validated in your feelings.”

Another huff echoes through the phone. “Thanks, Y/N. I think I’ve just feeling…lonely. Don’t get me wrong. The team is great. I’ve gained this family who has forgiven me and put their trust in me. I’ve made these great friendships.

“I think Sam was starting to notice. He’s annoyingly attentive when it comes to others,” Bucky says it, but the softness of his tone betrays his fondness towards Sam.

“He convinced me to try dating. I wasn’t keen on it at first, but then I just wanted to see if there is something, someone, out there for me, ya know? If maybe…I don’t know.”

“If maybe you’re worthy of something akin to love?” Y/N finishes for him. She swallows thickly, turning onto her back. She’s an old friend of loneliness; she had struggled with it for the past 3 years.

“Trust me, hon. I completely understand that feeling.”

Bucky sighs heavily through the phone. “Yeah”

Silence settles through the phone once more. A heavy, yet understanding slience. Words of comfort aren’t spoke. No words of reassuring each other. No “that’s not true for you” and Y/N thinks maybe her and Bucky both just needed to hear the same feelings being shared. That they aren’t alone in the aftermath of the Blip, even if it’s in different ways.

“Y/N,” He calls her name in such a tender tone, As if her name was the most delicate thing to ever be said.

“Hmm,” She hums, not able to use to her voice at the moment.

“Thank you for always listening.”

“Of course, Bucky. Anytime. I’m always here for you, if you need me.” A long pause of silence stretching between them before her mind remembers something. “Why did you get left behind?”

He clears his throat. “Because I…got injured,” Bucky answers slowly.

She frowns. “Injured? How?”

“I am not, contrary to popular belief, bulletproof.”

“What!?” Y/N shoots up in her bed, worry flooding her bones. “You got shot!? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Y/N, I swear,” Bucky reassures her quickly. “Just a few holes, no big deal.”

“A few- A few holes!? Bucky Barnes, do not tell me that a few holes is no big deal!”

“It was mostly my thigh. And side. Maybe my shoulder.”

“What the hell,” Y/N whispers, horrified. “Will you be alright? You’re not- you’re not bleeding out? Are you-“

Bucky has to call her name a few times to get her to stop. “Seriously, I’m fine. Nothing a skin grafter here and there couldn’t fix.”

“You just really love giving me a heart attack, don’t you?” She scolds, blinking away the concerned sting of her eyes.

“Got ya really worried there, didn’t I, sweetheart?”

“Yes! You’re my friend and I’m allowed to be concerned.”

“In that case-“ Bucky suddenly groans in pain; very loud, overdramatic pain. “I think that only thing to make me feel better are those wedding cookies…and Nana’s Lasagna. Maybe some of those cream puffs.”

“Is that so?” Y/N challenges, flatly.

“Yes. It is very important to my healing process. Great desserts made by a great person,” He inhales through the phone. “What better way to heal the heart?”

Y/N is extremely glad Bucky can’t see her smiling through the phone. They spend another hour talking, transitioning smoothly from heavier topics to lighter ones. When Y/N drifts off, it’s with her phone still pressed to her ear, and Bucky’s soft, tender voice bidding her to sleep well.

**

Once the team arrives back from the long, grueling mission, exhausted and caffeine deprived, there’s three large white boxes sitting on the kitchen counter. A letter with Rikki’s Bistro logo in the top corner, with loopy handwriting, is addressed to Bucky.

Welcome home Avengers!

Inside you will find freshly made, home baked goodies of all kind. There are also two trays of Nana’s lasagna, that should be in the freezer (if the person who delivered these gifts to you did the right thing) with heating instructions as well. I know how tiring it can be after long works days to come home, and not want to cook anything. So, I made you a meal for that exact reason.

Hope you are all well and get the rest you deserve. Thank you for saving the worlds ass, time and time again.

Rikki’s Bistro Owner,

-Y/N

PS: Bucky, I really do hope you are healed, and if not, I hope those wedding cookies will fix you right up. I worried about you even after you reassured me. It resulted in baking three batches of cookies. Please enjoy, and please share with Spider-Man!

“Wow, Barnes, if you smile any wider you’ll blind us,” Sam teases, reading over his shoulder.

Bucky shoves him away halfheartedly. He notices the time, looks at the variety of treats, then back at the letter. He makes an impulsive decision.

**

By the time Bucky arrives at Rikki’s- stumbles through the door really- it’s five minutes to closing time. He didn’t expect the amount of traffic he hit so late at night, and he didn’t count on running out of gas halfway there.

The tower is still a good distance away from the bistro. Bucky is still exhausted, leftover from the long mission and the six bullet wounds of all types. Most of them have healed, except the one that embedded deep into his right shoulder.

To her credit this time, Y/N doesn’t seem startled to see him, as he nearly falls on his face. Mirth dances in her pretty eyes making them glitter beneath the soft lights of the restaurant. She helping flip chairs on top of the tables.

“Good evening, Sergeant. Shouldn’t you be resting?” She greets with a quirk of her eyebrow.

Bucky is struck dumb by how beautiful she is, not that he’s never noticed before. How warm her eyes are, how pretty her lips are whenever she smirks at him. The way her eyebrows twitch when she teases him, how open and seemingly trusting her body language is each time he’s close to her.

It’s probably just the fact that he hasn’t seen her face in two and a half weeks. The subject of loneliness they talked about made their rather new friendship bond deeper. He didn’t just miss the food; he missed her friendship. He missed her.

“I...uh, coffee,” Is his brilliant response. It’s definitely not what he was trying to say.

Y/N gives him a bewildered look, tilting her head. “What?

“Can I have a cup of coffee?”

He makes his way over to the bar, grabbing one of the stools off the counter and placing it on the floor. The bartender there looks a little startled, probably because the Winter Soldier just barged into the bistro, looking dead on his feet. Bucky’s also 100% positive there might be some blood on his person; he should’ve reevaluated coming here this late.

“It’s eleven at night, Bucky,” Y/N tells him, before addressing her employee. “You can go home, Amy, I’ll finish cleaning up.”

Amy nods, quickly grabbing her things and leaving. Bucky frowns, hoping the woman wasn’t truly afraid of him. It reminds him of the fear he sometimes sees in his date’s eyes. Y/N has never shown fear in her eyes though, not when she looks at him, like she is now. Appraising him, as if she knows him down to his very core already. She sets a glass of water down in front of him.

Bucky glares. “That is the opposite of coffee.”

“No shit,” She snorts, crossing her arms. She’s clearly enjoying messing with him. “You just got home, and you’re probably exhausted. I don’t think coffee is what you need right now.”

He narrows his eyes the best he can, giving her what he hopes is his most threatening glare. “If you don’t give me caffeine right now, I cannot guarantee your safety.”

Y/N arches one eyebrow. “Says the man who came home looking like Swiss cheese,” She counters coolly. “Is that your version of a menacing stare?”

Bucky groans in defeat, dropping his head to the counter, but hearing Y/N laugh brightly makes his bone deep exhaustion fade away. She must feel bad for him, because just a few seconds later, Bucky hears and smells the signs of coffee brewing.

“Hey.”

A soft tap of fingers against his right hand makes him turn his head up. Y/N gives him a gentle smile, hooking her fingers under his chin to lift his head, her touch causing his heart to beat a little harder. Her thumb carefully touches a healing cut on his chin.

“I’m glad you’re home safe,” She says, before releasing his chin and reaching for the coffee pot. “I’m putting it in a to-go cup, you should go home and get some rest. How do you take it?”

“I thought you had a specific drink skill set,” Bucky teases. Y/N sticks her tongue out at him as he laughs.

“You had a cappuccino last time, threw me off,” She winks. Then she studies him. “Black, one sugar. Just enough to cut the bitterness. Although, my coffee is never bitter.”

Bucky reaches for one pack of sugar to confirm her guess. He rips it open and dumps the crystals into the cup as Y/N pours the coffee and hands him a stirring stick. She also slides over an almond biscotti on a napkin with a smile.

“It’s on the house,” She quickly informs him as he reaches for his pocket. “C’mon, you big bad soldier, up you get.”

Bucky hops off the stool, placing it upside down on the bar top. He follows her out, frowning when he realizes she doesn’t have a mode of transpiration, again. He carefully grabs her elbow after she locks up the doors.

“Do you walk home every night?” He asks, concern for her safety. He does remember the office upstairs, but he’s never actually seen Y/N leave from Rikki’s.

“I take the subway sometimes, most of the time.” She shrugs, putting on her light jacket, causing him to release her arm.

“Alone?”

Y/N narrows her eyes. “Oh no, big boy. I get home fine every night, without someone protecting me by my side. I don’t live far from here, just ten blocks over, but when my feet are killing me, I take the train since the station is right there. And I can protect myself, you know that right?”

She softens her words towards the end, not meaning to start anything. Bucky realizes it’s just her way to telling him that she’s more than capable of taking care of herself.

“I don’t doubt it,” He tells her honestly, offering a friendly smile. “But, can I still walk with you?”

“What about your bike?” She points at his motorcycle by the curb.

“I’ll come back for it.”

Y/N rolls her eyes playfully. “Fine. Maybe it’s you who really needs protection.”

Bucky grumbles against the coffee cup. The six healing bullet wounds says she’s probably right. When he lifts the cup to take a drink, he winces at the tinge in his shoulder, nearly spilling the hot coffee on the floor. His motion makes Y/N halt, eying him closely.

“Bucky! You’re bleeding!” Y/N gasps in alarm, as she carefully grabs right bicep.

“Damn, the grafting tore,” He huffs, glancing down at his shoulder.

There’s a spreading spot of blood darkening his tact shirt. He didn’t bother changing before he decided to come here. Y/N hurriedly unlocks the door and pulls him inside. She rushes back towards the kitchen. She comes back with a clean red towel. She folds it into a square pressing it over Bucky’s wound. He can’t help but grin at her.

“Keep that there,” Y/N instructs. “Can’t have you bleeding all over my floor, it’s a health violation. Now come on, I’m going to clean that up for you.”

“Y/N, I’m-“

“If you say you’re fine to me one more time, I will smack you in the face with a breadstick. Now come on.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

It earns him a glare.

**

Y/N was right. The walk from Rikki’s to her apartment only takes around fifteen minutes. She kept checking on him, making sure he wasn’t going to bleed out on the sidewalk. Despite reassuring her plenty of times that he’s had worse; it doesn’t ease her worry.

Instead, Bucky distracts her with a story of having to recruit Ant-Man for this particular mission. He repeats the jokes and stories as best he can, and Y/N’s laughter has his chest filling with warmth, cashing away the pain and exhaustion.

They reach her apartment; two flights up in an apartment building. Bucky quickly looks around as she leads him through her home. An open kitchen, a surprisingly spacious living room with two blue couches, her room and a spare room with the door closed. It’s bigger than some other city apartments, but still cozy and warm.

Y/N brings Bucky to the bathroom, gesturing for him to sit on the edge of the bathtub. Half melted candles of all sizes line against the counter. Her shower curtain is an abstract array of different colors, and the teal towels on the rack look soft and fluffy.

“Really, Y/N,” Bucky attempts once more.

However, he can’t help the amused smile as she pulls a rather impressive first aid kit from under the sink. She places it within reaching distance after opening it, to which Bucky grabs a long pair of tweezers, carefully twirling the tool between his fingers.

“I’ve had worse,” He tells her, trying to dispel her concern. “Had my arm completely blown off before. Nearly drowned a few times. Had a gaping gash as the Winter Soldier on my leg. That one is a little fuzzier to remember; think I nearly lost my limb.”

Y/N’s narrow gaze snaps to his, not responding to his words. She grabs gauze and tape, some ointment and even sutures. Bucky continues, checking the blood on the cloth.

“Several months ago, I lost my arm again, had to slip through a vent, Clint gave me a boost, and one part of the vent gave out. Landed right in the middle of a heist- was nearly lit up like 4th of July night.”

“Bucky. Please just take your clothes off and shut up,” Y/N commands dryly.

His brain short-circuits. He can feel his ear beginning to burn, his face warming up. “What?”

“You need to take your shirt off so I can take care of your bullet wound,” She tells him slowly. Her lips spread into an amused smile. “Unless you need help with that.”

He swallows thickly. She’s flirting, he knows it. It’s what they do sometimes, slipping in little flirtations here and there. Her eyes are glittering with mischief as she holds up the sutures between her fingers. He can’t help but suddenly imagine what it would be like if Y/N was helping him out of his shirt; fingers leaving blazing trails of fire against his bare skin.

“Bucky,” Y/N now sharp voice snaps him out of his reverie. “You with me? You’re not bleeding out on me, are you?

He Bucky blinks, shifting on the tub. What the hell. “No, no. Sorry, doll. I’m good.”

He hands her the blood-soaked towel and carefully begins taking off his tact shirt. She looks relieved, waiting until he drops his dirty shirt into the bathtub. Vaguely he thinks that running over to the bistro wasn’t the greatest of ideas. He probably smells a little ripe, considering his only shower was the rain on the way back to jet.

None of this seems to matter to Y/N though, as she concentrates on cleaning his wound. Bucky just silently watches her, not doing anything to calm the rapid beating of his heart from her gentle touches. He only winces slightly at the pinch of the sanitized needle at his skin as she tugs thread through to close the wound.

“Sorry,” She murmurs. Her eyes flicker to his.

Bucky just gives her a small smile in return. He hasn’t been cared for like this in a very long time. Her eyes fall back to her task. She cuts the leftover thread and ties the end as close to his skin as possible. She opens a package of gauze next.

“You scared me,” Y/N confesses, carefully holding the cotton to his shoulder. “When you told me you got shot. It scared me.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” He whispers, reaching up to carefully wrap his fingers around her wrist. “I didn’t mean too.”

There’s a moment where they fall silent. The same moment that’s been settling them between more recently than not. It feels heavy, loaded with some unspoken thing, as they continue to stare at each other; eyes locked and searching. Y/N lifts her right hand, gently pushing stray hairs from his face behind his ear. The delicate graze of her fingers makes a shiver run down his spine, and warmth flood his chest, chasing away the cold void that’s been living in his chest for years.

Y/N is closer than he remembers her being. His nose picking up on the smell of powdered sugar, fresh baked bread, and an underlying note of a scent that’s uniquely just her. Bucky’s eyes suddenly drop to her lips, her mouth parting open in an exhale. He wonders if her lips are as soft as they look; if she tastes anything like the desserts she makes.

A pounding heartbeat fills his ears, Bucky can’t be sure if it’s his own or not. Slowly, he lifts his eyes back to hers. Y/N’s own shifting as if she just had the same thoughts as he did. Then Y/N blinks and the moment is gone, replaced by her ripping medical tape in half. Bucky’s touch lingers on her wrist as she finishes dressing his wound.

“There,” Y/N breathes shakily. “All patched up.”

“Thanks,” Bucky has to clear the roughness from his throat. He checks out the bandage. “You’re pretty good at this.”

“My grandmother had a few bad falls,” She informs him just as quiet, beginning to wash her hands. “I took care of cleaning any cuts and bruises she had. Plus, she was nurse in World War Two in Hawaii. She taught me how to properly wound care, even stitch. Comes in handy with working at a restaurant too.”

“She sounded like one hell of a woman,” Bucky smiles at her as he begins to put on his shirt.

“She was amazing,” Y/N agrees. She narrows her eyes at him. “Bucky, do not put that filthy shirt back on.”

He frowns. “I’m not going to walk back to the tower half naked.”

Rolling her eyes, she beckons him to follow her. “I should have some tee-shirts that will fit you.”

Once Bucky is in a rather comfortable tee-shirt, with the logo of the band Queen, he accepts the cup of water Y/N hands him. She claims he has to stay hydrated and refuses to give him more coffee as she settles next to him on her couch.

They end up quietly enjoying each other’s company more than talking, but Bucky hides his grin each time their fingers brush. Or when Y/N seems to press her thigh against his. Especially when Bucky’s exhaustion finally takes over and his head is suddenly against her shoulder, breathing deeply.

He’s aware enough to recognize the warmth of a soft throw blanket covering him. Aware enough to sigh contently when gentle fingers brush through is hair and makes his stomach tighten in the best way possible. As he drifts off, he fully accepts the utter crush he has on Y/N.

When he wakes up several hours later, the golden light of dawn is peaking through her window in the living room. Bucky carefully maneuvers himself from his position from the corner of the couch. They must of both moved during the night, for Y/N is now half curled up on the opposite side.

Bucky can feel how soft his expression is as he takes the blanket and places it over her. He can’t resist brushing a gentle finger along her temple and leaning down to place the lightest kiss to her head. He quietly leaves her apartment, sending her a text for when she wakes up.

When Bucky arrives home, Wanda is sitting at the kitchen island, a cup of tea in her hand. She likes to do yoga early in the morning, to which Bucky will never understand waking up before the sun rises. She raises her eyebrows at him as he waves, ignoring her knowing look.

“How’s Y/N?” Wanda inquires causally, taking a sip afterwards.

Bucky balks, but covers it up by quickly grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl. He does lift a hand to his shoulder, over the dressings covering his wound.

“Sleeping,” He ends up answering honestly.

Wanda hums. “Nice shirt.”

“Nothing happened,” Bucky defends.

“I know,” She pauses. “When are you asking her out?”

Bucky just waves, pretending he didn’t hear her. If he wasn’t so terrified of Y/N’s possible reaction, he would ask her. He just has to work up his courage first.

**

Y/N has felt light on her feet for the past two days some reason. Might be due to the other night, when Bucky allowed her to take care of him, and falling asleep on her shoulder. Currently she’s invoicing another pastry order behind the bar, trying to ignore Bucky waiting for yet another date.

“Y/N.”

The defeated voice behind her immediately raises her hackles. Her heart already aching for this sweet, sweet man. She abandons her task, turning to face him. Bucky looks…hurt.

“Alright. Whose ass am I kicking?” Y/N threatens seriously.

“She walked in. Saw me. Left,” He shrugs, placing ten dollars on the countertop. “That’s for the drinks. I’ll see you next time. Maybe, probably not. I’m done with this.”

“Bucky, wait. Let me-“

“No, Y/N, really. You’re way too kind for someone who’s way too pathetic. Undatable. Figured as much, just thought I’d give it a go.”

“Stop it!” She snaps fervently, grabbing his left hand as begins to walk away. “You are not pathetic or-“

“Really. I’m fine, you don’t have to take pity on me anymore,” Bucky snips, pulling his arm back and pressing it to his body.

“Pity? You think I pitied you?” A flash of hurt churns in her stomach.

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

Bucky barely looks at her as he says it, rushing out of the bistro. It stuns Y/N to her spot for several moments. Belatedly she knows that the entire restaurant is probably staring at her, having witnessed what just happened.

Y/N moves her feet, running towards the door and out onto the street. She searches for Bucky, his retreating back or even the motorcycle he sometimes takes. She sees nothing. No sign of him walking away, no people hastily avoiding his path.

“Bucky!” She shouts, just in case there’s a chance he can hear her.

But he’s nowhere to be seen. She’s about to go back into the bistro, crestfallen and hurt, when Y/N hears an overly fake laugh over the noisy street. She thinks nothing of it until the same voice starting speaking.

“I know! I should alert the media. The monster known as the Winter Soldier on a date! As if he has a chance of anyone loving that. How pathetic.”

Anger rushes through Y/N’s veins, making her fist curl into balls. She starts looking for the voice as her breath quickens. Maybe it would be a good thing for Y/N not to pinpoint them; might end with a fist to the face.

“I mean, sure, he is hot. I might have overlooked everything else just to fuck him, if it weren’t for that hideous arm.”

Found her. Y/N zeros in on a woman talking into her phone as if she didn’t just say disgustingly horrible things. She sees red, bumping into people as she speed walks over to the girl. She has cruses on her tongue and boiling blood in her veins, nearly close enough.

 “Hey! You fucking asshole!” Y/N shouts. Abruptly, Y/N is yanked into an alleyway next to the bistro.

“Are you out of your damn mind?” Someone hisses at her.

Y/N glares at Kyle, one of the bartenders and waiters. He has a bag of trash in one hand, her elbow in the other. He looks past her, making sure the woman isn’t investigating. He shoots Y/N a hard look.

“You’re the owner of Rikki’s,” He continues reasonably. “The restaurant she was just in. If you yell at her, it could backfire.”

Yanking her elbow out of his grip, she frowns. “You didn’t just her what she was saying about Bucky! It was…Kyle, it was disgusting. He doesn’t deserve for anyone to say anything like that about him!”

“Y/N”, Kyle drops the bag and puts his hands on her shoulders. “You’re right. He doesn’t deserve whatever she said, or being laughed at-“

“She laughed at him!?” Y/N makes to find the girl again, but Kyle holds her in place.

“Calm down,” He tells with her evenly. “Forget that horrible person. I know you like Bucky, but you can’t start a fist-fight in the middle of the street right in front of Rikki’s.”

Y/N inhales deeply. “You’re right.” Suddenly the anger drains out of her, and her heart breaks. Tears sting at her eyes when she remembers Bucky’s dejected expression

“Fuck.”

“It’s better to go after Bucky, then land yourself jail,” He says wisely.

“He left.”

“You have his number, don’t you?”

Once they go back inside, Y/N heads up to her office. She tries calling Bucky, but he doesn’t answer. She calls him three more times, and they all go to voice mail. Y/N’s heart sinks to her feet.

**

Six days pass. Six days pass without any contact from Bucky at all. Y/N has called and texted, all her attempts going unanswered. She even promised him two of every dessert in the display case if he would just let her know he’s alright.

Nothing.

Y/N is close to hiring a carrier pigeon to send to the tower. Her anger at the situation has dissipated, just sorrow and hurt stabbing at her chest and twisting sickeningly in her stomach. She just hopes that Bucky doesn’t truly believe the words he said to her.

She hopes that his friends in the Avengers tower are there to encourage him. To comfort him. To remind Bucky that he is worthy of so many things, and that includes love from another person.

As Y/N pours herself another glass of wine in her kitchen, she’s struck with an idea. The Avengers Tower. She abandons her wine in search of her phone and begins to change out of sweatpants into a pair of jeans. She finds the number she’s looking for and calls.

**

The new Avengers compound is just as impressive as the old one. At least this location is closer than the last one, and it only took her a thirty-minute cab ride and large dent in her pocket to get here. Maybe moving into the new building was what kept Bucky from responding to her. Somehow, Y/N doesn’t believe that’s true.

She was able to get a hold of Wanda Maximoff. Both women exchanged numbers after the Avengers came to Rikki’s that night. Wanda relays the message to Sam Wilson, who lets Y/N into the new building, bypassing any security protocols.

Sam greets her with a gleeful smile. Especially after her takes the three white boxes she has from her arms.

“Thank god! You’re all he’s ever talked about for the past three months,” Sam whispers.

“What?” Y/N asks bemused.

“Always about the gorgeous bistro owner, who is way too good for him. So he just continues to go on those dates, pretending like someone else was out there for him.”

She narrows her eyes. “Weren’t you the one that convince him to go on those dates anyway?”

Sam clears his throat as he leads her into the living quarters. “You got me there. We were just worried about him. I swear it was coming from a good place.”

“I know,” Y/N reassures. But then her attitude changes bitterly. “Could’ve found better dates though.”

“Yeah. I heard the last one wasn’t good.”

“She was horrible,” Y/N mutters under her breath. “Where’s-“

She stops in her tracks as they pass a wall. Except, it’s not a wall; it’s a mural. A beautiful memorial of Tony Stark and Natasha Romanoff. A sad reminder that they gave their lives to save the world and bring everyone back from the snap that changed everything.

Y/N lifts her hand and gently presses it against the wall, her own little notion of thanking them. Sam stands back, allowing her to have a moment. When she moves on, she sees another memorial mural of Steve Rogers.

His is a little different, considering he’s still alive and very old, living somewhere else. She wonders in the back of her mind, if Bucky even knows where he is. He’s never mentioned it before. Right. Bucky. She’s here for Bucky. She smiles at Sam and steps back, continuing to follow him.

“He’s taken to moping on the balcony lately,” Sam informs her quietly as they enter the living space.

He points adjacent to the kitchen to a set of sliding doors. Y/N thanks him and walks through the living room. She would be impressed with how beautiful the home is, with its sleek technology and cozy looking blankets. Not to mention the giant kitchen.

But as she sees a dark figure in the shadows through the doors, only one thing is one her mind. Y/N, as silently as she can, slides the door open enough or her to slip through. She closes it behind her.

Bucky must be distracted or lost in his own mind, because he doesn’t hear her approach. It gives Y/N an amazing opportunity for some payback. She opens the decent sized purse she brought with her, pulling out a breadstick. She lifts her arm, aims and throws it at him. The bread hits him perfectly on the back of the head.

Bucky spins around, glowering, probably thinking it was Sam or someone else. But his expression freezes in shock when he sees her. Bucky blinks. His eyes sparkle like the moon reflecting off the ocean, and it has Y/N’s heart racing. He looks so handsome, and so surprised to see her. She takes a step closer.

“I don’t pity you,” Y/N tells him, dropping her bag and crossing her arms.

“Y/N,” Bucky finally speaks. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“You ran out. You ran out and ignored each of my calls and texts. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

He wipes his metal hand down his face, guilt flooded in his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I just needed to- and we moved in here and I-“

He breaks off with a shrug.

“I do not pity you. I never have, Bucky.”

Now a flash of hurt crosses his face. “I know that. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Y/N takes a few more steps, standing two feet from him now. “You aren’t pathetic either. A glutton for pastries, sure. But not pathetic or undatable.”

He barely cracks a smile. “Y/N-“

“No,” She hold her hand up and shortens the space between them again. “You said goodbye to me like it was the last time you’d ever see me. You ran out. You ignored me.

“I know you were hurt, Bucky. That you were feeling horrible. She was an asshole, Bucky. You don’t deserve someone like that, to do what she did. You deserve someone who truly wants you and wants to be with you. Accepts you for every beautiful thing that you are.”

“Y/N,” He tries again. He suddenly pulls her into a hug, face hidden in her neck, arms tight around her shoulders.

“You know you could’ve talked to me, right? I never ever pitied you,” Y/N reminds him gently.

He nods. “I know, doll, I know. I just…I felt embarrassed that it happened in front of you.”

“What?”

Bucky pulls back, hands lingers on her shoulders before dropping them.

“I’ve had a few bad days. Got it in my head that if that’s how she reacted to me, would you-“ He inhales sharply, pushing his hair back. He’s looking at the ground.

“I thought that maybe, you might do the same one day. It’s horrible to think that of you, Y/N. It’s why I didn’t get back to you.”

“Bucky,” Y/N breathes. “Look at me, please.”

When he does, she gives him a gentle smile. “I would never make you feel like that. You should never feel like that from anyone. I just wanted to be there for you, even if you had those bad days.”

“I know, Y/N. I am deeply sorry about it all.”

“Don’t apologize, really,” She reaches out to squeeze his hand. “How are you feeling now?”

“Better, now that you’re here,” He says shyly. “I swear I was going to call you tonight. I think,” He breaks off to chuckles bitterly. “I think I’m done with dating.”

“That’s a shame. I think you’re just dating the wrong people.”

Bucky tilts his head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Inhaling and steeling her nerves, Y/N smiles brightly. “Bucky, will you go on a date with me?”

“Excuse me?” He breathes. Rolling her eyes, she cups each side of his face.

“I’m asking you, Bucky, Sergeant Barnes, the Winter Soldier. James. The man who loves wedding cookies and pizzelles with extra powdered sugar. The man who cheats at two-card draw, even though he fully knows I always kick his ass anyway. The one who thought being shot six times was no big deal.

“Will you, go on a date with me? Please?”

A small grin graces his pretty lips. Bucky lifts his left hand to her cheek, his thumb swiping over her bottom lip. Y/N closes her eyes, reveling in the feeling of the cool metal. He tilts her chin up slightly, her eyes opening to meet his. The tender look in those incredible gray-blue eyes make her heart race.

Bucky wraps his arm around her waist pulling her to his body. Y/N feels his chest rising in falling faster than usual, the anticipation matching her own. He searches her eyes for a few more moments. She hopes he can see how much she cares for him, how much she likes him, in her eyes.

Finally, Bucky closes the distance between them. His soft lips meet hers in an innocent, tender kiss. It’s like a fire sparks to life in her heart, racing through her veins and makes her stomach scream with joy. She hears a soft little sigh come from Bucky as she melts into him.

When they slowly break away, he presses his forehead against hers.

“Is that a yes?” Y/N quips, brushing her fingers through his hair.

Bucky chuckles, nudging his nose against hers. “Yes. I would love too, Y/N.” He pushes her hair back behind her ear.

Y/N beams at him, leaning in again to taste him once more. He kisses her with more passion, lips molding against lips, tongues tentatively peeking out to get a feel of each other’s mouths. Bucky turns her slightly to support her against the railing, gently squeezing her hip as she wraps her arms around his neck.

They break apart after a few seconds, minutes, maybe hours; Y/N doesn’t know. Too wrapped up in Bucky. His smell, his touch, his gentle yet thorough kisses, how soft and plush his mouth is. Y/N sighs in content, slipping her hand from his neck down to his chest. His heart is pounding.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” Bucky confesses breathlessly. “I started to think of you all the time.”

“You should’ve just asked me out, silly,” Y/N chuckles softly. “Clearly, I would’ve said yes.”

Bucky leans in to kiss her again, deeply, thoroughly. It makes the air leave her lungs. He steals the breath from his lung as he pulls back once more. Just barely.

“Does this mean,” Bucky whispers against her lips. “That I get Italian wedding cookies all the time now?”

Y/N laughs against his mouth, her kisses more like open mouth giggles. “Whatever you want, Bucky.”

He kisses her twice more before Y/N pushes him back. “No breadsticks though.”

“As if, sweetheart.” Bucky’s smile lights up the night

 The rest of the evening has Y/N exploring the tower, mainly Bucky’s room. Mainly Bucky’s bed, limbs tangled together as they fight over who gets the last cannoli Y/N had brought over. It ends with mini chocolate chips scattered in the sheets, and powdered sugar kissed lips.

****************************************************************************

The End.

Part 1

Tagging some of my readers:

@kat-lives​ @wintersoldierswhore​ @stressedasalways​ @moonbeambucky​@watchoutforfrostbite​ @keldachick​ @elatedmarvel​ @justreadingfics​

[anika-ann]

Traditions Kept Pt.1

Good Morning

Pairing: Steve x reader

Warnings: swearing, threats of violence, fluff

Summary: In which terrible morning turns out quite nice. Like really, really nice, considering.

You didn’t know why you had agreed. You hated night clubs. You had no freaking clue what the music should be like to enchant people and get their bodies moving. But here you were, showing your undying support to your sister’s business, because you simply couldn’t have let her go through the process of hiring a new DJ alone.

You didn’t mind it per se – hell, you would be delighted to help you sis, but god, this particular guy was such an arrogant d-

“Hey, my shit is fine, it’s your tech that’s broken or somethin’,” he insisted and for the fourth time, you had swallowed the venomous remark about the others having no trouble with it and you actually went to the huge speaker to check the cords and plugging.

It seemed to be just fine, but by the ultimate rule of tech guys, you tried to turn it off and on.

It didn’t help. You shot Jessica a desperate glance, while the guy – Finn, was it? – crossed his arms on his chest as if he was the fucking king of the universe. You gritted your teeth and reconnected the plugs once more.

All the power went out.

“You’ve gotta be kid-“ started the Finn guy, but he never finished.

There was a bang so loud it made your hands shot up to your ears, then it got impossibly louder and then – then there was silence.

And the next thing you knew, there were sparks flying right around you, unbearable pain erupting in your ears and a shockwave of explosion threw your body backwards. You had a fraction of second to feel as if there was everything and nothing around you, then you would swear you felt the crack of your bones vibrating through your body and finally you found yourself surrounded by screaming black.

You jerked awake, panting, your PJs soaking wet, a cry on your lips – you quickly swallowed it before you could trash a wall with the force of your voice.

Intrusive beeping of your alarm made you whine instead and you wanted to block the sound completely, falling back to the cushions, not feeling like raising your hand to actually turn it off, since you could do it without a single touch; one of the perks of your powers.

You could manipulate sound waves, bend them, muffle them completely, of simply change the amplitude enough to actually tear someone’s eardrums – or to bring down a building; which was why you had to swallow your scream, because when seriously stressed, your powers went still a bit haywire.

Or they didn’t listen when you were shot by some Chitauri Crap, something of the same origin that had given you your powers during the Battle of New York.

An alien Invasion. The unpleasant memory you had just dreamed through.

You whined again as the alarm wouldn’t shut up.

Right. Shot with Chitauri Crap. Temporarily (hopefully) dampened powers. No dangerous screams. No bringing down buildings. No silencing alarm simply by your mind.

You reached for the phone blindly and honestly couldn’t believe it was seven a.m. already. You felt like sleeping for a week or so.

Which wasn’t an option, so coffee it was.

Not bothering to brush your teeth or doing anything besides putting on non-sweaty clothes including an oversized hoodie, you made your way to the common kitchen of the Avengers Tower.

"Oh, wow. I would ask what kind of a bird you are, owl or lark, but I think I just got my answer," cheerful voice of Sam Wilson welcomed you in the new day and you just squinted at him, your eyes offended at the amount of light, now reflecting from his too bright smile.

"How about a say-one-more-word-before-I-can-get-my-hands-on-coffee-and-I-mute-you kind of bird?" you grumbled, shuffling to the kitchen isle, not keen on the thought of coming closer to him. But it was necessary evil, since he was between you and the coffee pot.

Thank god, someone had already made coffee. Bless them – unless they were Sam Wilson and his sassy mouth.

The man actually chuckled.

"Ah, empty threats…. Though then I could confess my undying love to you, Love Actually style, including cute pictures and all that."

You just growled what was supposed to be ‘shut up’ and poured yourself a cup.

"Aww, don't be like that, Tweety," he teased you, brushing your arm playfully.

You sat at the opposite side of the table, as far from him as you could, glaring while you sipped the god’s best creation after sleep (nightmare-free sleep, that was).

"Call me that again and I'll tweet your pictures from the last party for the world to see," you threatened, satisfied at the horrified face he made, the flashy smile gone instantly.

To be fair, they were terrible pictures. He was wearing bikini. In lovely pink colour.

"Ouch. Low blow."

You smirked into your cup, breathing in the heavenly smell as well, instantly feeling a bit better. You were so enchanted by the drink you didn’t even hear anyone enter until another voice greeted you only few feet from you.

"Morning everyone!"

"Morning, Cap," Sam replied gleefully, his grin returning as you almost jumped out of your skin at Steve’s voice.

You shot him a quick pathetic smile before returning to your drug. The one that had no blue eyes, disarming smile and dreamy body.

Anyway.

You set down your cup, wrapping your fingers around it, examining the pattern of the table… and just that very moment, a warm soft sensation caressed your left cheek, disappearing almost immediately.

“Morning, Warbler,” Steve whispered gently, quickly retreating and casually walking to the pot then.

You sat frozen, your eyes wider than ever, your heartbeat pounding in your ears, feeling the blood rushing to your cheeks. You blinked several times, wondering if… if you only imagined this or Steve had just kissed your cheek.

Steve Rogers’ freakin’ lips had touched your cheek, his voice stroking the tender spot and— he had called you a warbler, which wasn’t all that unusual, because his nicknames were always sweet and adorable, but-- what?

"Whoa, Steve. Loving much? Where's my good-morning kiss?" Sam complained and you honestly couldn’t care less about the annoying teammate of yours.

It was just another prove that it had happened. Steve had kissed your cheek. Your devastatingly beautiful friend had kissed you.

You were suddenly very awake, but also kinda awe-struck.

"Well...uhm...” the captain stuttered and you hesitantly raised your gaze to him, seeing the tips of his ears red as much as your face was. He gestured vaguely in your direction. ”Well, Sam, you don't have a mistletoe above your head-"

"She doesn't have it eith— holy hell, how did I miss that, I would have taken that seat!" he cried out, staring at something above your head and you couldn’t resist – while you were pretty sure there was nothing, but hey, your tonight’s sleep was shit, so… – and there was actually a tiny green thing, the sweet and annoying symbol of holiday spirit.

Well. That made more sense. You couldn’t help but feel disappointed – there was a completely different reason for your teammate to kiss you. No romantic feelings. You were on your own. Unsurprisingly. You tried to keep your face unfazed.

"Too late," Wanda hummed as she entered the kitchen, followed by Natasha and Vis. “Morning, everyone.”

You managed to return the greeting, your gaze escaping to Steve. He was watching you and hastily looked away when caught, his fingers fumbling with the teaspoon in his mug.

And for a second, you allowed yourself indulge yourself in the sight of him, fresh from shower after he had gone to the gym – probably at about 5:30, dork – tiny smile on his lips as if he was in love with the coffee in front of him.

Fixing yourself an actual breakfast consisting of milk and cereals, you sometimes caught his eyes over the table, both of you always shying away. When it happened for the fourth time, you were bold enough to charm a little smile.

He smiled in return.

The strangest thing was that when you placed your cup and bowl to the dishwasher and turned to leave, the mistletoe that had brought you the exceptional experience of Steve’s kiss was nowhere to be found.

You blinked once, twice, but it was still gone. You exited the room with an inconspicuous shake of your head, wondering if you had imagined the whole thing.

But the soft kiss was still tingling on your skin, telling you it had definitely happened.

-.-

Part 2

[havokangel]

Run Boy Run - Braxton Wolff x Reader [Chapter 2]

The last thing Braxton Wolff thought he’d be doing today was killing all of his men, killing half of Moreno’s lackeys, and practically beating an old man into giving him his old pickup to make a messy escape. His nerves and reflexes are on high as he grips his bloodstained gun with one hand, the other managing to stay in a single lane; much to his own shock that he’s actually capable of doing that at the moment.

He’s in the outskirts of Illinois now, and the first, coherent and rational thing that goes through his mind is: I gotta ditch this piece of shit.

Or, the one where an ex-hitman comes into your life and changes it forever - and you’re trying to decide if it was for the better or the worse.

CHAPTER ONE 

LINK TO A03

a/n; HELLO ALL! it’s me! karley! i’m not dead!! i promise! i’ve had this chapter sitting in my docs for literally over a year and a half and im so sorry it’s taken me this long yall. i love writing but my life has been INSANE and i’ve just been busy with school and my boyfriend etc. so please leave me some feedback, i would love to come back and write for you guys! enjoy <3

@alexsunmners

-------

The night of the massacre

It’s been less than 24 hours since the massacre in Chicago. Moreno hasn’t even changed out of his blood-soaked clothes, making him all the more terrifying than he normally is. His jaw has always been sharp, but the way the blood is spattered on it makes it look like it could slit a throat.

With his gun cocked in his hand, he paces slowly, like a lion in front of his pathetic excuse of a team. There’s not a lot of them left, but with their training from an expert like Moreno, he expects more from them than what they’ve given him.

His men watch him with a blank expression, all of them masking the underlying fear that lives deep within them. They watch as he paces quietly, eyeing them as if he was going to pounce any second.

“So,” Moreno finally speaks, voice low and hoarse. “You’re tellin' me that you let Braxton fucking Wolff kill half of my team-and you fuckin’ let him go?”

His brows rise in fury, a downright terrifying and sarcastic grin tugging at his lips. Moreno’s hair is in disarray, and his usual calm and collected demeanor is nowhere to be found. How could it be in a situation like this? His men are dead. Someone he trusted double-crossed him. The worst part? No one saw it coming.

“Huh? You fuckers ain’t got nothing to say, huh?” Moreno hisses, running a hand through his hair, the gun now raised. He doesn’t hesitate as he steps forward, pressing the barrel of the gun against the forehead of one of his men, Wilson. Wilson visibly turns white but doesn’t move. They know Moreno. They know that if one of them does one wrong move, he wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.

“Wolff has my money. He fuckin’ took all of it, and he killed half of you too. How the fuck does that even happen?” Moreno snarls, sweat beading down his temples.

“We didn’t expect it to happen.”

Moreno turns his head slowly at the voice that dares to say something. Barnes.

Barnes always was one of Moreno’s favorites, just under Braxton. Barnes is calm, collected, which Moreno has always liked. Not to mention, he’s one hell of a shot. Barnes knows he’s got some of Moreno’s favor. Maybe he’d listen to him.

“And how the fuck did none of us expect this kind of attack to happen?” Moreno questions, lowering the gun from Wilson’s head. He steps towards Barnes slowly, and Barnes swallows hard and maintains his level-headedness.

“You know Brax. You trained him, you mentored him. Everything he learned was from you, sir. He was always one step ahead. He knew how to keep everything under wraps before the attack. He knew how to lie. That’s why we didn’t expect it to happen.”

Moreno squints as Barnes explains himself, and Barnes can practically feel the pure rage radiating off of him because Moreno knows deep down that he’s right. If anyone else tried to pull off this big of a heist, let alone solo, Moreno would find out and shut it down. Moreno is smart, but Brax is smarter.

And there’s no way Moreno is going to admit that. There’s no way he’s going to let Brax live after stealing his millions of dollars. He’s going to kill Braxton Wolff if it’s the last goddamn thing he does in his life.

Moreno falls silent for a moment before he steps away from Barnes. He thinks for a second before he speaks.

“I want all of you to find Brax. I don’t fuckin’ care what it takes. Find his aliases, find his fuckin’ fake credit cards, fuckin-hack into security cameras-I don’t give a shit. I’m gonna kill that bastard. M’gonna kill him and anyone that gets in my way. You got it?”

Everyone nods, but no one expects Moreno to return the gun to Wilson’s forehead and pull the trigger. The sound of the shot reverberates around the room, and pieces of what was Wilson’s brain lands on the men next to him. Moreno doesn’t even blink as he shoves the gun into Barnes’s hand, and spits,

“Clean that shit up and get to work. We’re gonna find him.”

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

Braxton isn’t used to waking up to the sunlight creeping in slowly and the birds chirping. He’s used to hearing the horns of traffic and people with thick Chicago accents yelling at each other. Waking up like this feels like some sort of dream as he blinks his eyes, adjusting to the golden rays of light sweeping over him. There’s something that he hasn’t ever really done before that’s new, as well.

Waking up next to someone.

He tilts his head to look over at you, and the memories from the night before make him bite down on his lower lip. He hasn’t slept over after a hookup since he was in fucking high school. Brax can’t help but reach out to trace his fingertips ever so lightly over the curve of your waist, your lower half covered by his flannel sheets. Much to his surprise, you barely move. But he figures that’s from spending the night fucking relentlessly.

Brax gets up from the bed as up as quietly as he can, wincing slightly when the bed creaks. He scrubs a hand over his beard and pulls his sweats and shirt on and pads to the kitchen, grabbing a mug to make some coffee. As he waits for it to drip, he heads outside to lean against the patio railing, letting his eyes flutter shut.

Last night was amazing, but even fucking a pretty girl doesn’t stop the nightmares.

Every time he manages to sleep, all he can see is the blood, he can hear the screams, he can feel Moreno’s men stabbing him. Every scar on his body fucking hurts every time he thinks of it. Brax can’t help but to rub his hand over the most prominent scar on his neck and shuddering at the thought of how much blood came from it. His breath almost catches as the memories come back, and he knows he’s on the verge of an anxiety attack -- or something damn near close to that.

When Brax was a child, his older brother Christian was his responsibility. He was his responsibility because after their mother left, their father became a different man. And not for the better.

Christian always was different from the other kids. Their parents knew this. Their mother, who took the time to educate herself on Asperger’s, cared and loved Christian despite it. Hell, she even educated Braxton on it and made sure he knew how to be a good brother to Christian even when Braxton was too little to understand.

Their father was a different story.

After their mother left, Christian became even more sensitive to the world around him, which resulted in some episodes of overstimulation. Their mother always would hold him close, and say with him the nursery rhyme she always used to tell them as babies.

Solomon Grundy.

After she left, Braxton took her role. He memorized every word of that rhyme and uses it on himself to this day when he feels like he needs to grab hold of something to anchor him to reality.

So that’s what he does now, and he gets halfway through it before he can hear the slider open and he tenses before he feels your soft arms wrap around his waist.

“Morning, Brax.”

His eyes flutter open and Brax really can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of his lips. His large hands dwarf yours as he rubs your hand and turns around in your arms, and says,

“Morning, sweetheart.”

Your hair is in a lazy bun and you have a little bit of mascara smudged under your eyes, and somehow you look even more beautiful than you did the previous night. You almost smirk lazily as your chin rests on his chest.

“I sure hope some of that coffee is for me. I’m gonna need it.”

“Oh yeah? You got work or somethin’?” He teases, hands stroking your back slowly.

“Yeah,” you reply with a laugh, nose scrunching up. “Plus you fucked me real good, so that’s also another reason.”

He passes an easy laugh and he just squeezes your ass, earning a delighted chuckle from you as he says, “C’mon kid. I’ll get you some.”

By the time you both guzzle down your coffee, he’s grabbed your ass more than you would care to admit and you’ve kissed him between soft smiles. If you were squinting, you’d think that he was being soft. But in the fleeting moments when it’s quiet, it feels as if he’s not present; like he’s not quite here, but rather somewhere else. His eyes in those moments feel empty, distant.

You tell yourself not to overthink it. It’s not like you’re married to the guy.

When you’re pulling on your clothes from last night, Brax lies on his bed with his sweats hanging dangerously low on his hips and his hands behind his head, admiring your curves as you move around. After you’re done clothing yourself, he stands and walks you to the front door.

“You want me to walk you back to the bar? S’kind of a far walk.” He offers, hands going in the pockets of his sweats.

“Nah, I should be good,” You respond, arms folded across your chest. “But thanks for last night. It was a lot of fun.” The blush that sneaks past your conscience is enough to make you embarrassed, but Brax finds it sweet.

“No, it was my pleasure. Trust me. Haven’t had that kinda fun in a long time, sweetheart.”

You both just pass a small laugh, and you look at your feet before you look back up at him. You hesitate before you lean forward and kiss his cheek and say, “Neither have I. Give me a call if you’re ever bored, yeah?”

And before he can say anything, you’re leaving, smirking over your shoulder as you steal one last glance at him. He stands there with his hands in his pockets; and the only thing running through his mind as he watches you is, goddamn, he can’t wait to get his hands on you again.

You really don’t expect Brax to text you so quickly. I mean, come on, have you seen the man? He could easily get anybody he wanted to with one look, beguiling them to submission. Shit, he practically did it to you not even twenty-four hours ago.

Maybe it’s the self-deprecating thoughts getting the better of you, but regardless, you shave as soon as you get that text and you head over to his little cabin. After all, you did have a good time the previous night -- the handprints on your ass is more than enough evidence of that.

The porch light is on when you walk up the steps of his porch, and you don’t even get the chance to knock before he’s opening the door, curls awry and a smirk peeking through his beard.

“Just couldn’t wait, could you?” You tease, smirking as he tugs you in by the wrist. His hand goes to your ass and that smirk of yours vanishes just as quickly as it came.

“Nah, really couldn’t.”

If you thought the night before was incomparable, god were you wrong.

You weren’t even aware that your body was able to bend in the ways he makes you do, and you didn’t think you’d be into the rough way he handles you. His hands wrap around your throat, they smack your ass, and tangle themselves in your hair, making you gasp out his name as a fucking pornstar would. The best part? No neighbors can complain about the noise. Lord knows your nosy neighbors would be shoving an angry note under your door right about now.

By the time you’re done you’re on that high you were reveling in the previous night, Brax lying next to you- no doubt sharing the same feeling. Shoving your damp hair out of your face, you watch him as he stands up, pulling his boxer briefs on and muttering something about grabbing water. As he walks away, your eyes are drawn to his back. You squint as he exits the room, making out a huge mark on his back.

Huh. You hadn’t noticed that the night before.

He comes back with a cold glass of water for you, and you groan quietly out in relief after you gulp it down.

“Thanks,” you say softly, clearing your throat as you set the water down. He nods in acknowledgment and reaches down to grab his sweats in the process. You flick your eyes over again, and it’s no denying that it’s a huge scar across his back. It could be the dim lighting, it could be your tired state, but it looks fresh.

Lying back against his pillows, you hesitate before you ask him.

“What happened?”

“Whaddya mean?” He questions, voice gruff as always. He lies down next to you again, and you notice that he didn’t grab himself water. He got himself a beer.

“That scar on your back. It looks pretty fresh.”

Brax just takes another sip of his beer as he shrugs. If there’s one thing he’s always been good at, it’s lying on the spot. This situation is no different.

“Construction accident. Happened a few weeks before I got here.”

“Oh.”

Four years of a nursing program and one year of a master’s program in nursing taught you that a construction accident doesn’t look like that. A construction accident on that scale is rare. You know that kind of scar is something that’s more personal; more violent. But you don’t push it because, for all you know, it could be a freak accident. It could be true.

“Yeah, hurt like a bitch but I got some cash outta it. M’not gonna complain about some cash, y’know?”

He chuckles about it nonchalantly, and it eases your discomfort about it. So you laugh too. And just like the night before, he finishes off his beer and he pulls you back in for more, pretending like he’s normal again, and that this is normal for him.

[hazyheel]

WWE Raw Reunion Review

Ugh, of all Raws for me to have to watch late, I decided to miss this one. That is certainly unfortunate, but here I am now, reviewing the show late. Lets see how good it was. 

It started out on a pretty good note. John Cena came out first. He gave Stu the camera guy his classic shout out, which I really did miss, and he ran down into the ring. He poked fun at how they never used to cheer him, but they did now. He announced that Hulk Hogan, Ric Flair, DX, and Steve Austin would be there. Cena said that Raw is his home, and it always will be, no matter how long he is gone. He then threw it to the Usos, who came out to share some mic time with one of the best. They said that they could have a rap battle with Cena, which he seemed apprehensive about, but eventually decided to do it after the Usos insulted him for going Hollywood. He then said that they looked just like their mug shots when they got arrested. He then was about to leave, but Rikishi came out! That was certainly unexpected. Rikishi got in the ring, and tried to get Cena to dance. The four were about to dance, when the Revival interrupted with D Von Dudley. Then they cut away and said that there was a match between the Revival and Usos next.

Grade: B-. This segment got a little long by the time it ended, but it was great to see Cena back. His line about the mug shots was funny. Rikishi was good to see too, but it didn’t need to be as long as it was. 

As the Usos vs. The Revival started out, Booker T came out to the announce team. He was actually doing pretty well early on, so that was interesting. The Revival had the advantage early on, beating on Jey, and even pushing him off the top rope to the barricade at one point. At another, Jimmy went for a crossbody to Dash Wilder, but Scott Dawson pushed him away and got hit himself. The Revival then hit an awesome european uppercut into a german suplex combination, with the pin broken up by Jey. Jey then clotheslined Wilder out of the ring, which prompted Rikishi and D-Von to argue.

Grade: C+. We have seen this match too many times for it to be really enjoyable, so it was fine. It should have been a title match, because we don’t need to see this for the titles at Summerslam. The Good Brothers and the Usos would be a much more fresh match. 

Backstage, Alicia Fox talked to Dana Brooke and Kaitlyn about her hat, which was funny. Fox wanted a 12 foot tall hat. Tori Wilson and Santino then joined her, and they all were just laughing and joking around, until Drew McIntyre walked in, simply muttering “legends,” and then walking away.

Backstage, we had R-Truth and Carmella being interviewed about his time at comic con. The Hurricane showed up during one of his interviews there, trying to pin him, as did Drake Maverick. They then cut back to live Raw, where Drake Maverick’s wife showed up to yell at Carmella and Truth, but as they were arguing, Maverick pinned him and won the belt. As they all ran away, grandmaster sexay showed up and danced with Charly Caruso. How fun.

We went right into a rematch from last week. Cedric Alexander vs. Drew McIntyre. Before the match started, the two fought in the isle. Alexander actually had the advantage for much of it, but he sold his ass off when he had to. McIntyre beat the hell out of him, even giving Alexander an inverted Alabama slam into the apron. The match never actually started.

Grade: B-. This was fine, I wish that they would have an actual competitive match though. It could be great. 

Backstage again, Drake Maverick was running through the locker room to get his stuff, and found that one of his bags was filled with worms, and the boogyman showed up, and Maverick fell and Pat Patterson came in to beat down Maverick, winning the belt! I’m glad they had that, it was funny.

Then they had Christian come out for some commentary for a Viking Raiders match, awesome to see him. I don’t watch his network show, so it’s been a while. Lillian Garcia came back to be the ring announcer for this match as well, nice to see her too. It was Viking Raiders vs. Curt Hawkins and Zack Ryder. Hawkins and Ryder attacked right at the bell, and tried to beat down the much larger opponents. However, Viking Raiders quickly got the advantage and beatdown the faces. They quickly won with the Viking Experience. 

Grade: B-. Inoffensive squash. Christian was funny on commentary. 

Backstage again, Mike Kanellis was being yelled at by Maria. Eve Torres and Eric Bischoff were also there, as Maria yelled at him for not being the breadwinner and that he wouldn’t be able to care for their baby. Then Ron Simmons showed up and said Damn. I love Ron Simmons. But I hate this story. 

Then we saw the Club backstage, with their new “OC” shirts on, saying that they are the original club and the only one that matters. They said that they run Monday nights,  and no one else, especially not Seth Rollins. So now WWE is throwing shade at the Bullet Club OGs in Japan. God they are insecure lately. 

Then we saw Gerald Brisco was shown winning the 24/7 championship, only for Kelly Kelly to win it from him. Love this. Too bad Carmella wasn’t the first woman 24/7 champion though, she deserved it. 

Samoa Joe then came out. He talked about how Raw Reunion puts too much emphasis on the older talent. We need to move forward, not back, and let go of nostalgia. He basically just made a smark argument, and insulted Rikishi and the Usos, before Roman Reigns came out. The two stood toe to toe, and said that if he was gonna insult his family, then he knows what will happen next. Joe said that he knew, and they beat the crap out of each other in the ring and at ringside. Reigns came out on top, so Joe got back on the mic and said that he wouldn’t fight Reigns because he didn’t wanna give the fans what they wanted. He walked away, but Reigns called him a coward, so he accepted the challenge.

So, we went right into Samoa joe vs. Roman Reigns. Joe worked over the neck for most of the match. Reigns had a bit of a comeback, but Joe quickly put him back on the mat. Reigns threw Joe out to the floor in the finish, and then gave him a spear as he came back in the ring. 

Grade: C+. Fine, but I just didn’t care. This was a classic heel dominant match into a big comeback. Not enough back and forth. 

We then went right into Miz TV with Seth Rollins. He put over his show before welcoming Rollins out to the ring. Rollins made fun of Heyman and Lesnar a bit, which was funny at first but then became stupid the longer it went on. He called Lesnar a Seth Rollins wannabe. Heyman then cut a promo during the segment, and he tried to defend Lesnar, but Rollins was kinda owning him. Rollins then told him that if he was going to speak for Lesnar, he had to fight for him too. Heyman tried to talk him out of it, but ran away as Rollins started to approach him. Rollins then said that Lesnar wasn’t a beast or a conquerer, he was a man. And men can lose, just like he will lose at Summerslam. Then he mentioned his match with Styles tonight, and left.

Grade: B. Really good promo. It started out a bit shaky, but Rollins is great on the mic, and he did well to promote the summerslam match. Good stuff here. 

Then we went back to the backstage party, where Charly was gonna interview the legends about Summerslam, but Sami Zayn walked up and absolutely wrecked all of them on the mic, saying that they were all just around at the right time and were pathetic for coming back for one last pop. Rey Mysterio then showed up and said that he needed to respect those who paved the way. Zayn said that he was fully willing to beat down Mysterio, when Kurt Angle showed up and basically just made the match. 

Before that next match, Kelly Kelly ran around showing a bunch of people her new 24/7 championship, only to find out that Melina got her referee license, and Candice Michelle pinned her. Then Alundra Blayze showed up and tapped out Michelle, saying that if anyone had a problem with her being the champion, they should tell her to her face. 

Then we went right into Mysterio vs. Zayn. Jonathan Coachman joined the commentary booth, and they were having a pretty good match. They beat the crap out of each other, with Zayn hitting an awesome blue thunder bombfor a near fall. Zayn almost got hit by the 619, and was about to walk out of the match when Rob Van Dam, The Hurricane, Sgt. Slaughter and Kurt Angle showed up. They approached him and forced him back in the ring, so Mysterio gave him the 619 and the five star frog splash for RVD and the win. 

Grade: B. Pretty fun match, and I always like seeing Sgt. Slaughter. I’m shocked that RVD showed up, given his appearances on Impact lately. But the match was pretty good, and I liked seeing the legends. 

The Street Profits were backstage, singing about the Reunion. Montez Ford found Angelo Dawkins putting eye drops in, asking if he was skating with the pilots (smoking weed). Dawkins responded that he was hanging out with RVD, so he was smoking weed. He said that he hung out with Mark Henry, Kelly Kelly, and Ric Flair, but they had to leave cuz the Boogyman was there. And Dawkins had to leave because the Godfather gave him a call. As he walked away, Ford looked hurt.  That was funny. 

Then Alundra Blayze came out and tried to drop the 24/7 championship in the trash can, but Ted Dibiase came out. He offered to buy the 24/7 championship from her. He gave her a wad of cash, and she gave him the 24/7 championship. He cackled and left. This is the best 24/7 stuff yet. 

Jerry Lawler came out to commentary next. Styles had a new entrance thing, with the screen just saying “the only club that matters.” I was annoyed at first, but it really is great heat. The two started out with some striking and shoulder tackles, going back and forth in the beginning of the match. Rollins was in control for a bit, only for Karl Anderson to distract him and allowed AJ to get control. The OC’s were about to attack Rollins, but DX, Shawn Michaels and Triple H came down to back him up. As the match continued, Rollins was about to hit Styles with the stomp, but the OC’s tripped him up. They attacked Rollins, and caused a DQ. They then offered the too sweet to DX, but they gave them the suck it and brawled with the OC’s. The OC’s then grabbed chairs, only for the Road Dogg, X-Pac, Scott Hall and Kevin Nash. He said that Chyna’s spirit was with them, and that was about 7. Then he said “crap, I forgot Billy” and told the OC’s that they were the OG’s, and told them to get out of here. Road Dogg then gave Rollins the mic, and he gave the suck it. 

Grade: B-. This was fun. Road Dogg is still great on the mic, and even yelling at Billy Gunn, who I think is in AEW now, was funny. The Club wasn’t buried too much, and we saw a lot of people. The match was pretty good too.

Backstage, we saw the Dibiase get in a limo, where there was a bunch of commotion, and Drake Maverick walked out of the limo as the champion. 

Mick Foley then came out to talk about Raw, and put the program over. As he talked, Drake Maverick and the midcard ran through, and Foley vowed to win the 24/7 championship before the night was over. He then wanted to show his favorite moment, winning the championship on the big screen, but the Fiend showed up again, attacking him in the ring. Wyatt even used the mandible claw to take Foley down. 

Grade: B. Wyatt is still badass, but Foley didn’t sell all that well. I am really excited to see where the Fiend story goes from here, because there was no Finn Balor. Good stuff though, I love this revamped Wyatt character. 

Then we had a moment of bliss, with Alexa Bliss and Nikki Cross. They welcomed Becky Lynch as their guest. They were about to start the interview, when Natalya came out and said that Lynch should say what she needed to to here face. Bliss just kinda sat around and stirred the pot in this segment. They talked about how they had similar journey, but Becky didn’t respect Natalya at all. Lynch said that Natalya betrayed her by offering to train Ronda Rousey, but she beat her anyway. Lynch said that the Raw Women’s Championship was Rousey’s scalp, and she wont let anyone take it from her. She then said that she’d embarrass Nattie in her home country and the two brawled. 

Backstage, Natalya was interviewed about the brawl. Nattie said that Becky made this personal by saying that she built the women’s evolution rather than people like Nattie. 

Grade: B+. Not as good as last week, but they were still really good on the mic together. That should be a great match, and I’m really excited for it. 

Maverick was about to escape the arena in a limo with his wife, but Truth pinned him right outside of the limo. Renee was holding onto the belt and keeping him standing, but Carmella kicked her and he was rolled up for the win. Truth then jumped in the limo, and they drove off. Maverick was very upset that he lost both his wife and title. 

24/7 grade: A. This was everything that a 24/7 story on Raw Reunion should have been. It was funny, lots of big names. and very entertaining. This is the best part of the show tonight. 

Braun Strowman came out for a quick squash. 

Grade: B-. This happened, and it was fine.

And in the main event, we had a toast to Raw. Out here was Steve Austin, Ric Flair, Shawn Michaels and Hulk Hogan. All the biggest names. The rest of the legends came out as well, paying respect to flair. Also, Alicia Fox was out there with them for some reason. I really do not know why, but for some reason it was wonderful. Hogan cut a nice little promo, but Ric Flair did not. Michael Cole put over the show, and finally Steve Austin came out at the very end. Thankfully, he got on the mic and said some words. He got the what chant, but he is the only person that it is okay when they do that. He put over everyone on the stage, saying that they did everything for this business, and called them his family. He called all the WWE fans family. He gave a nice little promo talking about some nice stories from his stay. He then invited everyone to the ring to share beer. It was a nice speech.

Grade: B+. Just nice to see everyone together and talking. IT was a good promo, and a nice nostalgia ride through Raw. 

Overall Grade: B

Pros: Miz TV; Mysterio vs. Zayn; The Fiend; 24/7 stuff; toast to raw; fun nostalgia

Cons: not many good matches

[morganeuk]

The Doctor & the Librarian. (Sherlock AU)

Part 4: Want to meet?

(Read Part 3: The British Government interferes on Tumblr)

(Read Part 2: Brainy is the new sexy on Tumblr)

(Read Part 1: Kissing is not required on Tumblr)

Summary: After talking online with a flirty doctor from London, Sherlock - librarian at Oxford University - can't stop thinking about him! It won't do! Fortunately, Lestrade asked his help on a case. But poor Sherlock can't work with Anderson... don't worry, he knows the perfect substitute!

In his brother's private sedan, Sherlock remained silent for the hour-long drive back to London. His brother, content that he was back to a somewhat 'normal' version of himself whatever the reason, respected the privacy of his thoughts. He was overall satisfied with his younger brother's relationship with DI Lestrade. The NSY officer was now asking for Sherlock's assistance on a more regular basis, forcing the librarian to skip work on occasion.  Of course, as Mycroft was a schoolmate with the dean of the university, Sherlock's job would never be in jeopardy as long as he wanted it. The older Holmes' end goal was of course that Sherlock ceases playing at being a librarian! The thing with Doctor Watson may also become a positive influence in his life, possibly even bring him back to a more active role against our enemies...  

Once in front of Lauriston Garden, the crime scene where Lestrade is expecting him, Sherlock leaps out of Mycroft's car as soon as he can. Even though he wasn't expecting any thanks from his younger brother, the government man was irritated by his sibling's attitude. But, as usual, he brushed it off and instructs his chauffeur to continue to his club and let the DI deal with him.

A vast police perimeter was surrounding a disaffected building. Once beautiful flats, the edifice was now abandoned and surrounded by junk.  Passing under the yellow tape, Lestrade's assistant Donovan spots him at once.  "What are you doing here, Freak? Shouldn't you been sorting books in a basement somewhere?" Sally Donovan despised Sherlock to a fault. His condescending attitude towards NSY and the fact that he was nearly always bloody right, was a personal affront to her.

The hostility was cut short by the arrival of Lestrade who motioned the young man to follow him inside. "Hi Sherlock, thanks for getting here so quick... How's village life?" The DI, still wanting to convince Sherlock to return to the city, was always teasing the detective about Oxford.

"It's as charming as always, Geof, how's your adoring wife?" the amateur detective replied with an innocent smile.  He knew perfectly well that Lestrade's wife was having affair after affair, despite Lestrade's wish to save their marriage. Sherlock knew he was treading on dangerous territory, but the teasing about Oxford and his 'desk job' was getting old so... Fair game. Lestrade, not mentioning that he effectively found his wife with one of her co-workers a few days before and that his bloody name is Greg, turns on his heel and strides toward the entrance of the building. "Who's on forensic?" Sherlock asks before moving a step further.

"... Anderson." The DI sighs heavily "Could you please just this once try to ignore his shortcomings and work together!"  He knows that Anderson and Holmes are far from being friends, but he had hoped... But it was too late, Sherlock was already on the defensive, not wanting to deal with the man.

"He won't work with me, and you know it!"

"Stop nagging him about everything and he will!" An exasperated Lestrade retorted, finally losing his temper.

"He's useless, I can't use any of the photographs he takes, not a single one of his ridiculous analyses... His 'work' is utter garbage!" Of course, Anderson chose that moment to walk out of the building and overheard everything.  The loathing between them was mutual and obvious to everyone around them.

It won't do... Sherlock sighs internally.

"Do as you want, but you'll have to deal with Anderson, I have no one else." and the DI went inside, leaving Holmes outside.

Argggg! GOD! This is a good one, a serial killer I'm certain of it... But Anderson... I can't do it... But I have no other option, I need a medical opinion... A flash of a blond doctor, not remotely annoying, and cleverer than most passes in front of his eyes. Taking out his phone, he texts without even thinking.

I'm in London. Want to meet? - SH

The reply comes quickly.

Sherlock? - JW

Know anyone else with this phone number? - SH

Sorry, stupid question. ;-) - JW

When? - JW

Now. 3 Lauriston Garden. Ask for Lestrade. - SH

Lauriston Garden? Is this a restaurant? Who's Lestrade? - JW

Sherlock? - JW

But it was too late, Sherlock was already inside, following the DI up a circular staircase. A bickering Anderson tried to block the way and slow them down, not wanting Sherlock anywhere his corpse. After a few long minutes, they were finally able to access the third floor where an apartment was highly illuminated by huge spotlights. Before entering the room, Lestrade slowly and carefully puts on a coverall and gloves before asking Sherlock to do the same.  With an exasperated look, the young man advanced towards the corpse, being careful to not touch anything.

"I can give you two minutes," Lestrade explains, knowing that bringing an amateur consultant on a crime scene can cause him problems.

Ignoring the DI, the young man murmurs dismissively "May need longer..."

"Her name’s Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We’re running them now for contact details. Hasn’t been here long. Some kids found her."

In the middle of the room, Sherlock's focus turns to the woman in pink. Everything in pink. What an awful gaudy shade of pink, Sherlock mused, followed by I wonder if John, Dr. Watson, is coming... Distracted by the idea of John being there with him, he can't restrain his instinct to snap at the policemen around him."Shut up!"

An offended Lestrade protested, "I didn’t say anything!"

"You were thinking. It’s annoying." Sherlock, closing himself to anything outside the body in front of him, stays silent for many minutes while Lestrade checked his watch anxiously.

From the bottom of the stairs, they heard Donovan below. "Boss! Someone here, he said he's looking for you! It's about the Freak!"

Sherlock's heart somersaults... John!

Less than half an hour before, John was relaxing in his flat. Drinking tea and eating biscuits Mrs. Hudson made earlier. He was trying to focus on his book but it was at no avail. Last night conversation with William, no Sherlock!, was still fresh in his mind.  Oh My God... I can't believe it... He was actually there, at the end of whatever connects computer together! He texted with me and let me flirt with him without evaporating in the night. Sherlock... More precisely Sherlock Holmes. An unusual name, for an unusual man... He discovers little on the Internet, but enough to convince him that the name was real. He was listed as a librarian in the university directory. There he is, in black and white, 'Sherlock Holmes, BChem MLIS' . He found two blogs under the name, one about data mining - the concept of being able to program a computer to actually read and analyze a text if he understands it correctly! - and one about the science of deduction.  That was different... but he reminds himself how quickly the librarian deduced he was an ICU doctor.  John was wondering what else the man would be able to find if they meet. Curiously, he was unable to find an image of him, there was nothing that could tell him what the man looked like.

As he puts down his mug, his phone chimes with an elegant group of violin notes. Taken by surprise, his mug misses the table and crashes to the floor. It was Sherlock's ringtone! Putting away the thought of how pathetic to have a special ringtone for a man you never meet... He opens his phone.

I'm in London. Want to meet? - SH

His positive reply was instantaneous as a brilliant YES crossed his mind! He took five minutes to brush his teeth and refresh is after-shave, changed his t-shirt for a nicer shirt and flew down the stairs to find a cab.  The less than 5 miles trip to Lauriston Garden (Where the hell am I going?) was done in record time as John offered a generous bonus to the cabbie. Less than 25 minutes after Sherlock's mysterious text, he was in front of... an old decrepit building with half a dozen police cars and yellow tape everywhere.  He walks up to a woman who was managing the scene, phone in hand. "Excuse me, officer, I'm looking for..." John reads the text again, "Lestrade?"

"Who are you? Why do you want to talk to the DI? Are you a bloody journalist? We have nothing to declare for now!" She turns her back to John and starts to talk on her phone.

"I am Doctor John Watson. This was the instruction that I received, to ask for Lestrade. Maybe it would help you if I told you that I am here to see Sherlock Holmes?" John was unsure of what was happening, but he was certain that he would fight for the chance to meet the man he has dreamed of for the last three days!

"Holmes? What do you want with the 'Freak'?" Donovan was now surveying John with a curious gaze. "Do you know him? Are you a... friend?" The mere idea of Holmes having a friend brings a laughing tone to Donovan's voice.

Without knowing the woman, the doctor instantly hates her with a passion. What's her problem?  He decided to omit the fact that he has never seen the man and simply reply "Yes, I am a friend and he texted me to join him here. If you are unable to help me, I can talk with your superior, DI Lestrade?." He used what he called his captain voice to snap the woman out of her sarcastic attitude.

Donovan, out of arguments and under the influence of John's commanding voice, lifted the yellow tape and leads Watson to the base of the stairs, then yells for Lestrade. She shows Watson the stairs and simply muttered "third floor," before leaving him alone.  

Looking at the flights of stairs, John screams inside. Of course, it's on the third floor.  His leg was doing better and he had left his walking stick at home, but fifty-ish steps... that was a challenge. Putting his hand on the rail, he starts the ascension that will bring him to, he hopes, Sherlock Holmes.

At Donovan's announcement, Sherlock, to Lestrade's astonishment, was having difficulty containing himself. He jumped up from the floor where he was nearly sprawled on, removed any lint on his already spotless coat, passed a nervous hand in his curly hair, and withdrew further in the room. Not knowing what to do... What's happening? Is this the man Mycroft mentioned? If so, this is going to be funny!  

John, now on the landing of the third floor, inhaled and exhaled profoundly, trying to relax and compose himself. He walks in the room and, seeing Lestrade first, he was impressed by the stature of the man, his silver fox look, his smart and cocky smile but... he was also disappointed.  The man, disregarding the protective kit he was wearing, didn't have the elegant and posh demeanour he imagined. He was a nice looking man and seemed friendly but John's gut didn't react at all. He was a regular bloke with whom he can go to the pub for a beer or two, but nothing more... no 'sparkles'. Kind of sad, his expectations were maybe too high, he extends his hand to the man. "Hi, I'm John Watson, nice to meet you...".

Lestrade politely takes John's hand before putting the poor man out of his misery. "Hi, John, nice to meet you, too.  I'm DI Greg Lestrade... You're here to meet Sherlock if I'm right?" and he turns towards Sherlock who had frozen in a corner of the room where the doctor can't see him. John, following Lestrade's gaze, understands his mistake and finds Sherlock's eyes that were gazing at him reverently. Hypnotized by the grey and blue eyes that were watching him, he registered unconsciously the tall elegant frame, the soft curly hair...

Oh God, I'm in deep trouble.

Read the rest of the story here! http://archiveofourown.org/series/770607