#y’all making him way too soft and understanding towards sam. that’s not how he is in canon!

[lambmotifz]

sam would be the one to make a move and offer himself to his brother and dean wouldn’t hesitate to take what is so willingly being offered and wouldn’t ask if sam’s sure (but he would say ���god, can’t believe you’re letting me” when he’s inside sam). he canonically treats sam like he owns him in every sense of the word and he’s pretty much selfish, too, when it comes to making sure sam knows who he belongs to. also he never hesitates to hurt sam physically, why would he hesitate when it comes to fucking him?

[howdoyousleep3]

where’s that hc about bucky learning to touch 🤲

I was hoping someone would notice that tag and hit me up. Thank you, sweet pea. This one is special to me, one of many. ❤

Bucky doesn’t say much about what happened to him after the fall and before Steve was miraculously given a second chance at a life with him. Steve is thankful for that. The details he does know come from Bucky’s therapist and from files that have been scrounged up over time, ones Steve can’t stomach through, ones he hands to Natasha and asks only for the information she finds pertinent.

Steve is sure he’d die of a goddamn broken heart if he knew every detail of Bucky’s 70+ years of brainwashed torture.

What he needs to know about Bucky is constant and will never change: this is James Barnes, the one in the same Steve spent his entire life falling in love with, Steve loves him now more than ever, and he is going to live every day he’s gifted with in this life for Bucky.

There are things Steve expects after Bucky joins him and the others back at the Tower, things Bruce has helped him comprehend in such a volatile predicament.

“It could take months, years even, for him to come back to you in full. And honestly, Steve...I would be ready for the possibility of him not returning to you in full. This may not end up being the Bucky you knew and grew up with. He needs therapy, needs patience, needs reminders of his life before, of who he was and is. This won’t be easy, Steve.”

Anything for Bucky.

There are things Bucky took to right away and other things that took much longer for him to enjoy or remember. Steve is with him every step of the way.

Sleep was one thing that Steve thought would be a struggle. After only one month of sleeping on the floor in the corner of his bedroom, Steve able to hear him tossing and turning and breathing heavily through his own bedroom wall, it took one afternoon nap on the couch to make him want to move to his new bed. While nightmares continued, Bucky slept albeit in small increments and sometimes through the day, but he slept.

Steve thought that would take years.

Crowds were another story. Crowds came with trust and Bucky rightfully didn’t trust others easily. He barely trusted Steve at first. It took time to get him out of the apartment, baby steps, one step forward and two steps back. They started with walks at dawn, fewer people, gave a shot at stopping for coffee on the way home a few times.

“It’s a Venti here, Buck,” Steve had tried to explain and Bucky huffed. “Why are things so goddamn complicated now? Just want a coffee, a—”

“I know— a black coffee with too much sugar. I got it.”

They’re working on interactions with others and the anxiety that comes with crowds. That one will take time.

What hadn’t taken time, and what startled everyone in the tower beyond belief, was Bucky and affection.

Steve may not know much of what Bucky has spent most of his life enduring but he at least had the assumption that what Bucky went through shouldn’t make him want any kind of touch from another person. Steve wrongfully assumed that any sort of gentle or soft touch wasn't something Bucky would like.

Bucky had spent the past 70+ years walking this earth as a killer, a robot, a machine, an assassin. He surely spent decades thinking he wasn’t worthy of anything, let alone love. He had been touch-starved, void of the tenderness and closeness Steve knows Bucky deserved and craved underneath the brainwashed parts of him.

It took time for Bucky to remember who Steve was to him. While he had recognized him immediately, remembering him but not how, it took months for Bucky to remembered the capacity in which he did so.

And Steve waited.

And waited.

Steve was gifted with small moments along the way, on this journey of Bucky remembering both himself and who Steve was to him:

“You...you were real small once,” Bucky said, factual with no trace of a question, hands in soapy water as he handed Steve a plate to dry. Steve had merely hummed. “Yeah, was...was maybe half the size I am now. Real small.”

“Could fit both’a my hands right around your middle…”

It had been a long while since Steve blushed like that.

Bucky standing over Steve’s sleeping form, heaving chest visible by only the filtered moonlight, Steve mumbling out a, “Buck, wha—?” before Bucky whispered, “You...you’ve been inside of me.” Steve sat up.

“I have,” Steve breathed, on cautious ground, shakier when Bucky then whispered, “But you like it better when I’m inside’a you.”

When Steve had swallowed audibly, nodded his head wordlessly, Bucky had turned and left the room.

It took months of moments like those to compile together, to form the picture of what Steve once was, what he yearned to continue to be, to Bucky. All of these moments, these memories, came to a head so unpredictably during yet another movie night. Knees knocking, fingers brushing, small touches that Steve absolutely soaked in, had gotten used to, had relearned.

When a glance towards Bucky had the wind knocking its way out of Steve’s chest, the familiarity of that look a bone-deep ache—

Bucky was going to kiss him.

A look full of determination and want, lips parted, eyes a bit glassy. Steve didn't dare move, had let Bucky come to him for fear of scaring him away. The moment their lips touched was the moment Bucky started crying. It had only been a short brush of their lips but Steve barely breathed, barely moved. Bucky had pulled back with wide, wet eyes, shaky breaths. “Buck, it’s okay. It’s okay. Everything’s alright, sweetheart,” are the words that easily slipped from his mouth, unable to stop them in a moment of progress that satiated his entire being.

That was the moment that changed everything. It was a startle to everyone involved. Steve had been ready to wait years, this entire life, for the moment he could touch Bucky again, could show him that physicality he knew his Buck craved. After that night on the couch it was as if the floodgates had opened—

Bucky remembered and wanted.

Regardless of where they were or what was happening, he wanted to be touching Steve: soft kisses on the cheek and lips, laying his head in Steve’s lap as he read, lacing his fingers between Steve’s during meetings, an arm wrapped around Steve’s waist between bouts of sparring. He’d trace patterns onto Steve’s thigh as he watched Steve draw, press against the line of his back while he cooked dinner.

Steve was floating on a cloud, was in heaven, never happier. It was perfection.

But what Bucky wanted, Steve couldn’t provide, couldn’t meet. Steve was only one man, couldn’t provide Bucky, whom touch had been stolen away from for decades, with everything he wanted. And that was okay, something Steve accepted, because there were other people Bucky could turn to that Steve trusted.

“I’m sure you all know why I asked you to meet with me,” Steve started, choosing a time Bucky was napping to meet with the rest of the group that either lived in or frequented the Tower. “Bucky has shown us a new side of him, has made some progress I think it’s worth discussing with everyone, since we’re all...we’ve all been affected...”

“Uhh, yeah— your Barnes-y boy has been all over me lately. I’m almost offended that everyone else is here to talk to Cap though. Thought he was just comin' onto me.”

“I have to tell you, I didn’t...I know we talked, Steve. But I’m honestly shocked at Bucky’s progress. It’s baffling.”

“I haven’t minded it. He lets me braid his hair.”

“Wait— y’all are getting touches?”

It was a group effort, supporting Bucky in this way. It was an adjustment, Bucky never prompting and questioning before touching or requesting touches— he just went for it. He was quiet still, not shy, merely observant. And just like he nudged at and leaned against Steve until his hands were on him, he did the same to others.

“I just ask that you show Bucky grace during this time. It’s a delicate situation. I need to know if you don’t want his touch or don’t wish to give him any kind of touch. I think it would be best if it came from me instead of from you in the moment.”

Natasha was who Bucky went to for scratches. Steve thinks it’s the nails. Steve also thinks Nat is Bucky’s favorite to go to for touches, even over him, but Bucky refuses to admit it.

When Bucky wants mindless touches, when he wants tickles and scratches, he goes to her. She naturally took to Bucky’s need for touches, the first occurrence one that came without hesitation. She’ll braid his hair, let him turn his head right where he wants her head scratches, naturally reaches for his back or shoulders to run her nails across when he saddles in close to her.

Thor is one of Bucky’s favorites too. Steve isn’t sure if it’s because of his strength or because of his warm and accepting demeanor but Bucky gravitates towards Thor often, mainly for neck and shoulder rubs. One, “James, my friend. You musn’t be afraid of asking for touch with me. I will always be willing to assist,” and that was all Bucky needed to feel comfortable walking over to Thor and nudging at his hands.

He puts his head on Bruce’s shoulder as soon as he can, likes sparring and playing hide and seek with Clint, enjoys putting his feet in Sam’s lap. Tony took some warming up to, but even then Bucky spent many hours in Tony’s lab, Tony guiding his hands, showing him what to do and how to work different machines, the two of them tinkering on his own arm.

Bucky kinda turns into the Tower kitty cat, wandering around quietly, napping in the sun, snacking, demanding affection from anyone he crosses paths with and trusts.

Everyone had their form of touch they shared with Bucky and Bucky absolutely blossomed under this form of support. Steve is forever grateful to be surrounded by a group of understanding individuals.

And every night when he lifts the comforter and feels the solid line of Bucky’s warm form against his side, the arm that now easily and inevitably slips around his waist, the familiar lips that always press against his temple, shoulder, and cheek, Steve is reminded this day was for Bucky and that the one they’ll wake up to will also be for him.

"I love you, Buck."

"Mhmm love you too, pal."

Steve doesn't even mind that Bucky spends his nights snoring in the crook of his neck, hot breath wafting over Steve's skin, hands grabby even as he dreams—

This is heaven.

[staticscreenwriting]

HOME // Bucky Barnes

Request: Could you do a Bucky Barnes imagine where he blips but the reader is pregnant so when he comes back he meets their daughter? If not that’s totally understandable and I hope you have an amazing day/night 💕

A/N: Look, I love writing angsty Bucky. But I also love writing happy Bucky. Hope y’all love reading this ♥  Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated.

Join my taglist here! [additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

Thanos being defeated was not the end of it all. It seemed like it. The grand heroic solution to all problems. The ultimate test before things got better. Before they got easier.

That was a lie.

Bucky looks across the vast area of the Stark’s estate as people, all dressed in black, mourn the loss of a dear friend, an idol, a husband, a father.

That word sends a wave of anxiety and fear through him. He knows he can’t run forever and really, he doesn’t want to. He just doesn’t know how to deal with — everything. How to be the man he needs to be. How to step up and not fuck this up.

Sometimes fear makes you do stupid things, really stupid things. Like avoiding the love of your life because you are too afraid of what she might think of you.

His eyes find (Y/N) as she leans against a tree, lips pulled into a sad smile as Sam rambles about one thing or another next to her. This isn’t right. Sam shouldn’t be the one cheering her up and trying to get her to smile. It should be him. If only he wasn’t such a coward.

People don’t talk about these things though. They only talk about those that had been gone now being back again. They talk about the joy of being reunited but not the fears, the sadness, the disappointment — and they sure as hell don’t talk about the guilt.

The guilt of coming back after 5 years to find out you missed so many important moments in the life of a child you never knew you had.

His eyes wander down towards the little girl holding on tightly to her mother’s hand. She has his eyes, his dark hair, his lips. She’s a spitting image of his younger sister. A Barnes through and trough.

Every time he looks at her his heart beats out of his chest in a way he’s never felt before. When they say that the love for your own child is an instant emotion, they are not wrong or exaggerating.

The moment he came back from oblivion and first laid eyes on her, it felt like his heart had known her all his life. He wanted to hold her and shelter her from all the bad things the world might throw her way. Wanted to kiss her little nose and read her stories and sing her silly little songs. He hated singing but for her, he wanted to do it. Just because that’s what dads do.

But fear is one hell of an emotion and above all, it’s terribly convincing.

He’d never had a particularly good example of a father. It was different times then. Different ways of raising your child. Fathers weren’t meant to show affection, they were meant to enforce rules and order. How could he ever be good at this? He doesn’t have a single clue how to do any of this.

And then there’s the fact that he’s left (Y/N) alone to deal with all of this. Every first has been forever taken from him. First breath, first cry, first word, first steps. Every little thing.

Would she resent him for it? For not being there when it mattered?

So he ran. He came back and he ran.

She doesn’t deserve this and neither does (Y/N). They deserve so much better.

“ It’s time Buck. “ Steve speaks up as he leans against the porch railing next to his oldest friend.

“ Are you still sure about this? “ Bucky asks, not taking his eyes off of his girls. His stomach feels like he’s swallowed a bag of bricks. Life was supposed to be easier after Thanos. This isn’t easy. This is just scary. And sad.

“ That, “ Steve says and nods his head towards (Y/N) and the girl “ that’s your second chance. I gotta take mine. “

Bucky turns to look at his friend trying to figure out what to say next but coming up empty. What do you say to that? Steve deserves to be happy. He deserves to be where his heart always has been. Does it mean Bucky thinks it’s the right choice? Not necessarily. But he understands. Had it been him and (Y/N) he would’ve crossed time and space to be with her.

Which is ironic to think because now all he does is avoid her. Because that’s the coward he is.

“ Alright let’s go. I’ll grab Bruce you do — whatever you gotta do. “

He dares to send one last look towards (Y/N) and this time she’s looking back with a soft eye and a timid little smile on her lips. None of which he is deserving of.

Steve let's go of Sam, parting with one last friendly slap on the back before turning towards Bucky.

Bucky's throat feels dry and rough and while his head is swirling with words he wants to say, none of them really make it past his lips. He's known about Steve's idea for a few days now, has had time to let it settle and come to terms with it. It still breaks his heart but sometimes that's what you do for the people you love. You support them on their path to happiness even if it hurts you in the process.

"I'll miss you," Bucky finally manages to say and he wraps his arm around his friend's shoulder. "You'll always be my brother."

"I know. I'll miss you too. But I know you're in good hands." Steve responds and lets his gaze wander towards the house, no doubt talking about (Y/N) and the kid.

"Promise me something, Buck." He says as he pulls away.

"Anything."

"Talk to (Y/N) and get to know your daughter. She's a Barnes through and through. And she loves you so much, they both do. Let them. Love 'em back."

"Kid doesn't even know me," Bucky murmurs, nervously glancing at the floor.

"What? You really think that? Buck, all we did for the last 5 years was try to keep your memory alive. For us but especially for her. We showed her pictures and videos and (Y/N) told her so many stories. She knows you and she loves you and for the first time in her life, she's living in a world where her dad is alive and present. Go, be with them. You guys need each other."

He's right. Of course, he's right. Steve has this fantastic ability to be right when it matters.

“And don’t do anything stupid until I get back!” Steve adds, making a small smile appear on Bucky’s face.

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you. “

They embrace each other one last time before Bucky whispers another “I’ll miss you” and Steve tells him that “It’ll be okay, Buck”.

And then everything happens so fast. One moment he’s living in a world where his best friend is by his side and a minute later all of that has forever changed.

Bucky wipes his eyes with the back of his hand one last time before looking at himself in the mirror. He knew this moment was coming, Steve told him. He had time to come to terms with it and yet it’s a completely different situation now that it’s done. Parting with the only family you’ve ever known breaks your heart in ways you’ve never known are possible.

As he steps out of the bathroom something solid crashes against him and as he looks down, a pair of identical blue eyes stare back at him. He’s not been this close to her since he found out about her, keeping her at a distance. To protect her.

His arm was made to kill how could it ever hold a child and keep it safe?

She stares at him for a moment before a small “Hi” falls from her lips. It’s shy and timid and adorable and all Bucky wants to do is cuddle her to his chest and never let her go.

He doesn’t get the chance though as another little girl rushes past them and calls out to his daughter to follow her which she does.

“Who is that?” Bucky hears Morgan question.

“That’s my daddy, but I don’t think he wants to see me. Mommy says he needs time but —“

He doesn’t hear the rest of her words as the girls round the corner and get swallowed by the sounds of the other guests still mulling around sharing stories about their fallen hero.

But it’s enough. He doesn’t need to hear more. Those words are enough to rip his heart out of his rib cage, crush it up into a million little pieces, and spread it in the winds, never to be able to be put together ever again.

“Hey have you seen — oh Bucky are you okay?”

He doesn’t deserve her tenderness, her kindness, and her care, and yet she still exudes the same love she’s always held for him. Love he was never deserving of from the beginning.

It doesn’t matter at that moment though, who deserves what and who doesn’t. He’s too caught up in the breaking of his own heart. So he falls into her arms as silent tears slowly but surely make their way down his cheeks.

“She thinks I don’t want to see her.”

“Who does?” (Y/N) says as she gently combs her fingers through his long hair.

“My own daughter. “

(Y/N) pulls away slightly, holding onto his shoulders and looking deep into his eyes.

“Are you ready to talk about this now? Ready to stop avoiding me ?”

Bucky only nods and lets her lead him outside past the guests and down to the lake where it’s quiet and serene and life seems to slow down a little. She keeps holding on to his hand, his vibranium one, as they settle on a bench facing each other.

“ I missed you, Bucky.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

He’s been told those words so many times and it’s still hard to believe in them. Even when he knows they’re true. There will always be a hint of doubt since him. Always.

“I don’t — I don’t want her to think I don’t love her. Or want to be with her. I do love her very much. More than I have ever loved another person, including you, and you are my everything. I’m just overwhelmed and — and scared.” He admits. It’s the first time he says those words to anyone but himself. It feels good. It feels right. But it doesn’t take the fear away or the guilt.

“James, she knows you love her. Not a day went by that I didn’t tell her how much her daddy loves her and wants to be with us. And it’s okay to be scared. I was scared and I only had to deal with a baby, not an opinionated 4-year-old. It’s okay to be scared but you can’t let the fear hold you back. You’re the bravest man I know. You laugh in the face of danger. What changed?”

“Stakes are higher this time. What’s losing my life compared to ruining my daughter’s?”

“You’re not gonna ruin anyone’s life, Buck.” (Y/N) exclaims and softly pets the side of his face. She’s always been so gentle with him. Such a contrast to the touches he was used to.

“I don’t know the first thing about being a dad. Mine wasn’t a very good example. I have been trained to kill, to cause pain. My arm is a weapon.”

“Your arm has shielded me from bullets and harm so many times. It’s held me close at night and wipes my tears when I was sad. Your arm is only a weapon if you use it like that. And all the other stuff, that’s not you anymore. You know this. “

He can see the treads now welling in her eyes too and it makes his heart twist and constrict in many painful ways.

“And I left you alone during all of it. Missed the last 4 years of her life and the entire pregnancy. How am I gonna make up for that, for leaving you alone?”

It feels like once he’s started talking he can’t stop. All his fears and worries flow from his lips like tidal waves in an ocean. Crashing against the shore of truth.

“You didn’t leave us Bucky. You were taken from us. We never blamed you for that. I know you wanted to be there. I never doubted that for a second. Look, I had 9 months to come to terms with my fears, you didn’t have any time to face them. I get why you are freaking out but uh — it’s time to step up. You know what makes a good dad? Being there when he can be. Showing he cares. Can you do that?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I can.” Bucky promises and smiles a smile of content. One of hope. His fears and his guilt aren’t gone. But maybe if she believes in him and Steve does, maybe he can be the man and the father he needs to be.

“Good. We really do love you, Buck.”

“As in present tense?”

“Of course. We never stopped. Now can I ask one more thing of you?”

“What’s that?” In the end, it wouldn’t really matter. Whatever she asks he’ll do it. For her, he’ll do anything.

“Can you kiss me? I’ve been waiting for 5 years to finally kiss you again. I can’t hold out much longer. “

He grants her not one kiss, not two. In fact, he loses count as they get lost in many many loving kisses. Maybe, Bucky thinks, soulmates really are a thing. Maybe there are people on this earth meant to find each other. Meant to go through hardships together and still find their way back to one another in the end.

Whatever one chooses to believe in. Bucky is certain she is his person in this life and the next and through whatever might come their way.

He’s sitting on the big red couch in (Y/N)’s apartment, nervously fumbling with the tassels on one of the throw pillows as his eyes wander around the room. There are so many pictures, hung on the walls and placed on side tables and shelves. His child’s entire life up to now, caught on film for him to relive if only in his mind.

There are pictures of him too. One of him and Steve in the 40s, laughing and leaning against each other in support. (Y/N) always said it was one of her favorites. “You’re so happy in it. That’s how happy I want you to be all the time.” She’s told him once.

Next to a picture of (Y/N) and their daughter is a picture of him. He’s sure it’s placed there deliberately. To remind everyone he is a part of this family, even when he wasn’t there.

He is here now though. The next picture put up will be one of all three of them.

The front door opens and a melody of voices echoes through the place. (Y/N)’s laughter and the sweet giggle of his little girl. It’s his favorite sound in the world, he decided then and there. Nothing will ever compare.

The girl rushes into the room then comes to an abrupt stop in front of him.

“Hi,” she says in the same small voice as she did at the Stark’s house. Only this time Bucky doesn’t just stand and stare at her, unable to move or speak.

This time he holds out his arms and speaks up.

“Hi, I — I'm sorry it has taken me so long. I don’t know what I was thinking. I love you, Darling. Can I hug you?”

She doesn’t say yes or no, doesn’t glance at his vibranium arm with hesitance of fear. She falls right into him, wrapping her little arms around his neck and cuddling into his chest. It feels like this is where she belongs, like this is where she was always meant to be. Like his arms were made to hold her and never let go. And maybe, Bucky thinks, maybe they were.

“I love you too, daddy.”

He liked being a sergeant. It’s a title that has always filled him with pride. It has nothing on the title of being a dad. That one means so much more. Fills him with a pride and love he’s never previously known.

For the next few moments, he gets lost in the feeling of holding his child. A perfect little girl who is part of him. The good. Only the good. It all comes together in her. No nightmares or guilt or fears. Only love. So much love. He holds her close to his heart, wishing he could’ve done this when she was just a baby. Feel her heart beat in rhythm with his. He places little kisses up and down her small face. On her chubby little cheeks and her cute bottom nose, making her scrunch it up and let out soft giggles.

It’s strange to be the man he is and act so gently with another human being. But it feels so right.

His eyes find (Y/N)’s across the room, filled with tears though this time they are happy ones. With an outreached hand he beckons her over and pulls her onto the couch and into the hug.

This is right. Nothing has ever felt this real. This happy. This perfect.

His girls cuddle into him with nothing but love filling their hearts. This is the life he wants, the one he has always wanted. The life he fought for. The life he will never stop fighting for.

Steve was wrong. They aren’t his second chance.

They’re his only chance.

His destiny.

His family.

His home.

TAGLIST:  @stayherefor-evermore  - @booksb4looksstuff​ - @captainofallfandoms - @charmed-asylum​

[rebeccccccaaa]

𝚃𝚠𝚘 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙳𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚢

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𝙱𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚢 𝙱𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚁𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍: ANON Hey you ❤️ Could I request an imagine with Bucky where you are his non-avenger girlfriend but you got really distant towards him lately as you found out you're pregnant and you're scared of his reaction? But then he finds out and is all happy and all other avengers are happy for you and insist on taking care of you and it's just all fluffy ? Thank you a lot ❤️

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: really fluff smut 18+ (praise, daddy kink, slight mommy kink?, breeding kink, oral fem!rec, age gap, etc), slight angst, cw: mentions of eating disorders (no one has one but bucky thinks this)

𝙰𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛’𝚜 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜: listen…. The idea of kids and having kids getting pregnant all that jazz, yeah. It fucking terrifies me! LOL! But nonetheless I really do see the appeal and sometimes i catch myself reading these kinds of fics so i really hope you like it anon! :)

PS: updates are going to slow down cuz i don’t have any drafts ready for upload and also things are a little crazy personally so yeah hope y’all understand :)

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“You like that baby?” Bucky groaned in your ear.

“Yes daddy! Oh my god,” you moaned.

“You’re being such a good little girl for your daddy. Fuck, daddy. You're gonna make me a daddy. I’m gonna come inside you and you’re gonna get all swollen and round with my baby. You want that? You wanna be a mommy; make me a daddy?” 

Bucky and you both expressed in the past that kids were something you both wanted but with Bucky still heavily involved with missions and the avengers, and you were in college studying to get a PhD in biomechanics and computer engineering, something that would let you understand and work with Bucky specifically very closely. You were too young to have a baby but that didn’t stop you from playing into fantasies of having a family with the man you were so in love with. 

“Daddy,” you moaned.

“Give it to me, baby,” you looked him into his eyes.

Bucky kissed you hard as you both came and after cleaning yourselves up you had showered together, ate dinner quickly, and soon went to bed. 

That was two months ago. 

Three weeks after that night, Bucky was gone for about two weeks on a mission with Steve. You and the girls were drinking wine but you opted out for the tempting glasses feeling nauseous that entire week. 

As a joke, the girls were saying you were pregnant but you were sure that you and Bucky were always cautious when having sex. It wasn’t a good time to have a baby. So you joked that all three of you should take a pregnancy test and when yours came out positive you freaked out. 

“Oh my god! Bucky’s gonna kill me!” you panicked.

“Hey, relax. It’s ok,” Nat comforted you.

“We can get through this. Now did Bucky explicitly say he doesn’t want kids?” Wanda asked.

“No, we both want kids it’s just, ugh, life is so fucking crazy right now and I’m still in school, Bucky’s going on missions all the time. It’s just not a good time to have a baby.”

“Ok think about it this; if life for us was normal, as boring as that is, would Bucky be upset if you were pregnant?” Nat reasoned.

“No, he would be so happy. He wants to be a dad, it’s just so sudden,” you said in distress.

“It’s always sudden with this situation. But what’s more important is that you have support. Whatever your decision is in the end we'll all support you, even Bucky,” Nat told you.

Bucky came back home and immediately knew that there was something that was upsetting you. You promised him that you were alright but you were conflicted. You tried to tell him, you really did, but there wasn’t a good time. 

One night Bucky tried to initiate sex when you two had the tower to yourselves. You were instantly distant with him afraid he’d take one look at your naked body and know you were pregnant and that freak you out. 

“Baby, are you ok?” Bucky asked that night.

“Yeah, I just don’t feel good,” you didn’t actually lie, the pregnancy did affect your appetite drastically and many foods you used to adore before were repulsive to you. 

“Oh ok, do you need anything?” he was concerned.

“No, I think I’m ok.”

Now present day, you and Bucky hadn’t had sex since. It’s been a little over two months and Bucky wasn’t frustrated per say but he missed you; he missed having his hands on your warm and soft skin. He missed the way you squirmed under him and the little whimpers you made. How good your walls felt as he thrusted in and out of you torturously slow. 

You two were in the kitchen sitting with some of the other team members. So far only Nat and Wanda knew about your pregnancy as hard as it was to not tell Vision or Steve or literally anyone. You stared at the breakfast sitting in front of you; it used to be your favorite but looking at it and smelling it was making you extremely nauseous. 

“Baby?” Bucky rubbed your back.

“Hm?”

“Why aren’t you eating? It’s your favorite,” he said.

“I’m not too hungry,” you said.

Bucky wasn’t convinced but because you were in front of other people he didn’t want you to feel embarrassed like a father scolding a teenager. His hand rested on your thigh and immediately felt your leg tense up. 

You retracted and stood up walking away without saying a word and Bucky was confused and followed you quickly shoving as much food in his mouth as he could and tossed his plate in the sink. 

“What’s going on with them?” Steve asked.

“Oh no are they gonna break up?” Sam asked with genuine concern, as much as he fucked around with Buck he did admire your relationship. You are really good for him and he loved you unconditionally.

“No, it’s just-” Wanda started.

“Wanda,” Nat warned. 

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” she rolled her eyes, “There fine. Y/n’s just not feeling well and she doesn’t want to be bothered.”

Bucky walked into your shared room and found you changing into yet another hoodie. That’s when he started piecing things together; or at least he thought. You were always wearing very big clothing and covering your body; that he thought was the most beautiful he’d ever laid eyes on. You were constantly nauseous and refused to eat even some of your favorites dishes and meals. You wouldn’t let him touch even though he’s initiated a couple of times.

“Y/n?” Bucky asked.

“What?” you played dumb.

“Y/n, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, I told you I don’t feel good.”

“That seems to be your excuse a lot.”

“What does that mean?” you asked.

“Y/n, be honest with me. Are you starving yourself?” he had tears in his eyes; he couldn’t even think about you doing this to yourself.

“What! Bucky no! I’m not, ugh, just,” you stuttered.

“What is going on, please tell me, baby?”

“I’m pregnant!”

Silence. Bucky was shocked. You were pregnant? How long? Why didn’t you tell him? 

“I’m so sorry, Buck,” you started crying.

“No, no, no, no, don’t cry babygirl,” Bucky hugged you tightly while you sobbed into his chest.

“I’m happy, I’m really happy and excited for us. We’re gonna be a family,” he smiled.

“You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?”

“I don’t know, I know we talk about this and having a family but not now. I thought you’d be mad at me.”

“Well, I’m a bit bummed that you didn’t tell when you found out but no; I’m so happy. I love you from the bottom of my heart and I would do anything for you. I’m gonna be here every step of the way and we’re gonna get through this together, ok?”

“Ok,” you sniffled. 

“Are you ok? Do you need anything?” Bucky already started going into protective dad mode and he just found out.

“No I just need you,” you whispered. 

“God, I love you,” Bucky picked you up and laid you on the bed littering your face in kisses.

“Does anyone else know?” he asked you.

“Well, uh, the girls,” you said.

“You told the girls?”

“Well, they were drinking and i declined because I was feeling sick and they joked that I was pregnant so we all took pregnancy tests as a joke but mine came out positive. I took two more and they were all positive,” you started tearing up.

“Hey don’t cry, it’s ok.”

“Sorry,” you laughed.

“We’re gonna be ok, right baby?” he whispered.

“Yeah, I love you.”

Bucky leaned down again and pressed kisses to your neck making you giggle. His warm hands trailed under your shirt making your skin burst into chills. Bucky’s lips continued their assault on your neck and before you knew Bucky started lifting your sweater over your head.

You did the same to Bucky and your chests were pressed against each other instantly as he kissed you hard. Bucky trailed kisses down your body slowly, hands rubbing your skin softly, lips staying longer than usual around your stomach for obvious reasons. 

Bucky peeled your sweats from your body and didn’t hesitate to dive in. His tongue licking a long strip against your pussy. You moan softly and your hips wiggled under him. He pressed down on you to keep you from squirming but you were getting very close to your orgasm and it just felt too good. 

Bucky brought his fingers and circled your entrance before inserting a finger slowly. He looked up at you moaning at his fingers and this encouraged Bucky to insert another one. His fingers slipped in and out with ease with your arousal practically dripping from you. 

Bucky leaned forward and circled his tongue around your clit. The obsecene sounds of Bucky finger fucking you echoed in the room and you finallly climax, cumming all over his finger. Bucky crawled up your tired body after taking his pants and boxers off. 

Bucky didn’t bother putting a condom considering you’ve been his only partner the past couple years and he got you pregnant. He pumped his cock a few times before grabbing your legs to wrap around his waist and easily slipped between your folds. 

“Fuck, baby girl. You feel so good,” Bucky moaned in your ear.

“Oh shit, yes,” you whimpered.

“Oh you’re gonna be so beautiful when you're all big and swollen, shit. You’re gonna be the sexiest mommy in this whole fucking world.”

“Ugh! And you’re gonna be such a sexy daddy,” you smirked and cupped his face.

He leaned down and kissed you passionately. He thrusted into you harder and your back arched into his chest, moaning high pitched and loudly. Your hands tugged on his hair and Bucky groaned in your mouth. 

“Oh Buck, I’m gonna come,”you said against his lips.

“Let go, baby. Come for me, mommy,” Bucky said. 

You came hard; your body contracted and trembled, your stomach tightened, your toes curled, and your legs pulled Bucky deep inside you, hot spurts of his cum coating your walls. Bucky settled on you but bounced back afraid he was crushing the baby.

He went to the bathroom, well practically sprinted, and returned with a warm towel to clean you up. Your body laid still while you were cleaned and you just watched Bucky with adoration. He left again and returned wearing boxers and held a bottle of your favorite lotion that you usually saved for special nights or for Tony’s parties.

You smiled and got comfortable as Bucky poured some lotion in his hand. His hands spread the lotion evenly on your body; thumbs skimming your sensitive nipples, gently caresses all over your stomach, teasing grazes along your inner thighs. You closed your eyes and felt euphoria. 

The love of your life was really pampering you and you felt so good. 

“I love you,” you whispered.

“I love you, too,” Bucky kissed your forehead, crawling into the bed with you.

“Let’s stay in all day. My girl is pregnant and she’s gonna need all the rest she can get,” Bucky joked.

“But what about-”

“No, who cares,” bucky interrupted.

“But-”

“No buts.”

“What are we gonna tell the rest of the team?”

“Oh, well. It’s your body, your comfort. You tell them when you feel it’s best. But I do hope it’s soon because I’m so happy and I don’t think i'd be able to keep this a secret for long,” Bucky dived his head in your neck making you laugh.

“Ok,” you whispered.

“Man, I’m gonna be a dad,” Bucky sighed happily.

“You’re gonna be daddy,” you said innocently.

“I’m already your daddy,” he playfully growled.

“Then you’re gonna be two types of daddy,” you smirked.

“Two types of daddy.”

=======================

TAGLIST:

@mathletemadison 

[inkbyajm]

Bottled Up

pairing: C.H. x fem!reader

category: angst, fluff

warnings: yelling, crying, insecurities

word count: 2.2k

notes: apologies for the tardy post, i wrote and rewrote and re-rewrote the whole angsty scene because i didn’t know if it was written well enough, i wanted to make sure you guys could feel the emotions that i vividly visualised and tried my best to put into words  :( i did send it to a friend to check and she seemed to like it, so let me know how it goes for you, my loves. the angst for this one was inspired by 2 different songs - hold me while you wait by lewis capaldi and i will run from you by cemeteries. it’s not necessarily about the lyrics, but more about the melody and the mood you get into listening to them (they go in order). give those a listen :) also, beware of the upcoming philosophy references, i did study philosophy last year, hopefully no one gets triggered lmao

< previous    next >

Is a person’s scent something a normal human being picks up on before taking into account the rest of their features? Would a normal human being remember said scent and be able to recognise it in a crowd full of strangers? Corpse wasn’t too sure about the answer, but one thing he did know, is that she smelled delicately sweet, like cherry blossoms, and that ever since he had noticed it during their game night a few weeks ago, he simply couldn’t let it go. It was intoxicating, but in a calming way. 

━

Corpse and (Y/N) each lay on their beds in their own homes, going into the third hour of their call. He couldn’t exactly fall asleep, so he had decided to see what his dear friend was up to, and even though she was this close to succumbing to sleep, she said nothing and stayed up to keep his busy mind company.

“Okay, hot topic: what do you think about soulmates? More specifically the romantic type?” the girl asked, not knowing how much of a risqué question it was. How was he supposed to answer?

“I don’t really have an opinion on it. Why?”

“I read Symposium by Plato the other day and it presented an interesting concept about human beings. Basically-” Of course she fucking read philosophical books. How were they even having a conversation with each other? Why were they even friends? She was on a whole other level of smart. “-so this guy says that humans were like androgynous blobs, so they’d come in two sets of everything a normal person has. But those humans were so powerful, the gods were literally shaking in their robes, so Zeus decided to cut everyone into two to weaken them. But then humans became so miserable, they spent their entire lives searching for their other halves. In the end, Zeus kinda felt bad and said fuck it, I’ll give y’all dicks and vaginas for every time you wanna hug each other. And that’s the oldest explanation there is about the idea of soulmates.” she sighed, finished with her rant.

“That was...not at all the story I expected to hear.” she heard him mumble on the other side of the call. “Yeah, Greek philosophers were up to some reeal freaky things, you would have loved them,” he laughed at her joke, “I honestly think it’s cute. Not the whole cutting people into two thing, but like, longing for someone and then finding them because you finally feel complete. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a strong independent woman who doesn’t need a prince in shining whatever to sweep me off my feet. But it does sound nice, that ideal comfort, a person you’re just...meant to be with, I guess.”

There was a moment of silence that neither of them really minded, before it was Corpse’s turn to ask the second bold question of the night. “Have you found that person yet? Your soulmate?”

She’s never thought about it before, but she hasn’t really thought about soulmates that much either, it was a spontaneous thought she had said out loud. “I’m not sure, actually. (B/F/N) could be one, I guess.” (Y/N) shrugged in return. Wasn’t she going to ask him about it? She probably didn’t care that much. Understandable.

“My favourite quote about love is «You come to love not by finding the perfect person, but by seeing an imperfect person perfectly.». It’s by Sam Keen, the American philosopher. It maay be the hopeless romantic in me shining through, but I do very much agree with his statement.” Did this mean anyone could have a chance with her despite their fuckups? So if he were to try, would she-?

“Obviously, there are some things that just can’t be ignored or avoided, but at that point it’s preferences and personal tolerance. Depends on the person, ya know?” she swiftly added, unaware of the effect it had on him. Sick. Some people were just meant to rot alone.

The final question was posed by (Y/N). She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t at all curious. This little crush of hers had been steadily growing with every hang out, every laugh, every hug and every glance. There are rarely ever moments where one could casually discuss a topic this personal with friends, at least there weren’t with friends one had feelings for. This was the perfect opportunity.

“Corpse?”

“Hmm?”

“Have you ever been in love?” her voice was soft, her approach gentle.

“Well, I’ve been in relationships before, so I guess, yeah? It’s been so long, I don’t even know what love feels like anymore.” he let out a breath resembling a chuckle. Lamest fucking answer ever. But it was true. He hadn’t thought about love in that way in quite a while.

“A lot of people describe it as having an intense range of overwhelming feelings. Lightheadedness, slight shakiness, heart palpitations, some people have even reported losing their appetite. Crazy how human bodies work, huh? Oh! Speaking of chemicals-”

She had continued on to ramble about...chemistry? Eyes? Corpse couldn’t really hear what she was saying anymore, let alone concentrate on her words, as he pieced everything that’s been happening for the past few months together. The nauseating feeling. The pounding of his heart so fast it felt like he was about to die. The urge to make as little eye contact with her as possible, because otherwise he’d turn into a furnace. The obsession with her perfume, like he was some fucking creep. The fool was falling in love. And it was at that moment that everything had come crumbling down.

━

(Y/N) and Corpse hadn’t talked for a couple of weeks. Or rather (Y/N) messaged the 23 year old many times, but he’d either claim to be busy or just not answer at all. There were two possible reasons for the sudden lack of contact: he was indeed busy with his musical projects and couldn’t allow himself to be distracted; or something much more serious was going on. It didn’t matter, for she was already in her car, on her way to his apartment.

Arriving at her destination, she used the spare key he gave her months ago, a sign of absolute trust, and allowed herself into his humble abode. Silence reigned in her friend’s residence. She thought maybe he had gone somewhere, and though that was unlikely, it wasn’t unprecedented. The door to his recording room was closed, and while she was tempted to check if he was in there, she refrained from doing so, knowing that specific room was not to be entered unless he was around to give permission.

“Corpse?” she called out just to make sure. There was no response for a few minutes, which made her assume she had the place for herself, until she heard a door open behind her. Turning around, she saw his figure emerge from said recording room in a white t-shirt and black sweatpants, his curly hair disheveled.

“Hey, how are you d-”

“Why are you here?” he spoke flatly, interrupting her. “Well- You weren’t, um, answering your messages or any of my calls, so I thought something had happened.” she replied, suddenly nervous, fiddling with the rings on her fingers. “Nothing happened. I told you I was busy.”

The air around them seemed colder as tensions rose. (Y/N) could tell he was irritated, but she couldn’t exactly figure out why. She had never seen this side of him before. “Okay. Tell you what, I assume you haven’t had dinner yet, so why don’t I go ahead and start cooking something up while you-”

“Get out.”

She blinked a few times, not quite registering the words that had just left his mouth. “Sorry?” Her voice was quiet. She was taken off guard.

“Are you deaf? I said get. the fuck. OUT.”

Corpse shouted the last word, making her flinch in what appeared to be fear. Good. Run away while you still can. Heart pounding, (Y/N) took a second to remind herself whom she was speaking to. “I see that you’re angry, but at least give me a reason why-”

“You want a reason? I just don’t fucking WANT you here!” Anger grew inside of him like a tumor, but it wasn’t intended for her. She had simply been caught in a storm that had been building up for years. “Do you understand that?! I can’t fucking be around you without feeling like I’m going to EXPLODE.”

His words hit her like paintballs. They were only words, plain and simple, but they dug deeper and deeper into her skin with each hit, until, eventually, it broke. Eyes burning, she felt the tears slowly welling up in them.

“Why are you doing this to me?!” her own voice grew louder with frustration, but mostly, confusion.

“Maybe because I can? Because I’m a goddamn asshole?” 

“Don’t say that.”

“How?! How can I not say it when it’s the truth!” He wanted to stop. His mind told him to cease whatever it was that he was doing. However, blinded with resentment towards himself, he only spilled words he would regret after it was too late. 

“I can’t function like a normal fucking human being. I can’t be a good friend, son, or whatever the fuck else, and I sure as hell can’t love you.”

The paintballs had turned into a singular sword. A very long, very sharp sword that had found itself plunged deep inside her chest. How did he found out? When? Had she been too obvious? Had she been pushy? Clingy? Way out of line? The woman before him was unable to conceal her shock, as tears came rushing down her hot cheeks. Her voice brittle, she tried defending herself. She couldn’t leave it at that. She had to try. Try to have him see reason. “You don’t love me, that’s fine. But you didn’t have to deliver it this way-”

“But I did.” breathless with fury, Corpse clenched his fists so tight they had turned cold, yet they were still trembling. “You can get so naïve and dumb, you won’t understand things unless they’re spelled out nice and fucking bold for you.”

He closed with (Y/N) until their noses nearly touched. He noticed the way she silently shook, her eyes which shed endless tears never leaving his gaze. Unable to make a single sound, she felt the man’s hot breath on her face, his aura domineering.

“Now get. out.”

Her body wouldn’t cooperate as she just stood there. Staring back at him, her inner brows raised. Corpse wanted to hug her. Envelop her trembling figure with his and tell her he was sorry, that he meant none of it, that he had lost his mind. But he couldn’t bring himself to do anything. And with his own tears threatening to spill, he created a distance between them. He needed her gone.

“Leave! GO!”

His yelling was enough to jolt (Y/N) out of her trance, and, in a hurry, she sprinted towards the entrance. The door closed behind her, she felt a sudden urge to fill her lungs with much needed air. She jumped at the resounding scream that emanated from deep within his soul, letting out all of his pent-up rage.

Feet carrying her all the way to her car parked outside of the building, the young woman managed to climb in, and this was the queue for her body to break down. The night was young. The street empty. No one around to hear her long-lasting wailing. She clutched the steering wheel for support, fingers wrapping around the leather in a tight grip. A headache was creeping up from the back of her skull. Her ears pulsated in response to the heavy pounding of her heart. Clumsily, (Y/N) inserted the key into the ignition, felt around for the gear stick, and drove away. She didn’t know where she was going or how long it was going to take to get there. She needed to get out.

What went wrong? When did it go wrong? She couldn’t help but feel guilty, feel at fault. She had never seen that side of him before. He had never treated her that way before.

It was the hugs, wasn’t it? He had to have noticed the way she held on for a second too long to enjoy the smell of his cologne. Her vision blurred as she resumed softly weeping, her salty tears staining her top. Or it might have been the touchiness, she would practically glue herself to him during their movie nights. Unaware of both her actions and surroundings, (Y/N)’s breathing quickened, becoming ragged. Maybe he didn’t like the way she called him three times a week. Her hands were slowly losing control over the wheel, over the vehicle she was driving. She invaded his privacy. That was definitely it. Fuck. How could she have been so damn blind, selfish, ignorant, FUCKING STUPID.

Lights. Something was moving towards her- MOVE.

With a sharp turn, she dodged the approaching car just by a hair’s breadth, but as she had avoided one accident, another came just as quickly. 

[haidyn-reeves]

Lie to Me

Summary: The classic truth spell trope with a wicked twist.

Pairing: Dean x Female!Reader

Word Count: 4948 

Warnings: Dean’s an asshole. Angst makes the world go ‘round. Insecurities briefly mentioned. Did I mention Dean’s an asshole? Fluff if you squint.

A/N: I’m back! This is my entry for @jawritter‘s Make Me Cry challenge and @deanwanddamons 2k Celebration! My prompts are in bold. I hope y’all enjoy!

It was no secret that Dean had changed since he took the Mark of Cain. He was more reckless than normal, which only progressed after taking out the entire Stine family for what they did to Charlie and almost did to Y/N. Y/N was in the bunker when the Stines invaded, resorting to hiding in one of the trunks of the classic cars in the garage to stay safe. Once Dean left Castiel bloody and battered in the library, he raced to the garage, having told Y/N not to move until he came for her. When he found her, his features only softened once he saw how terrified she was of him; the amount of blood covering his clothes and hands was enough to turn her stomach. Y/N, as usual, did her best to clean up the older Winchester, using it as a way to distract her from what happened only hours prior. When it was time to say goodbye to Charlie, Y/N separated herself from the brothers, the tension between them so thick you needed a chainsaw to cut through. Dean tossed some heated remarks to Sam and Y/N sank to the muddy ground, furious that this was happening in front of the pyre that held their dear friend. Dean stormed off and Sam came around to help her up, the pair watching the bow-legged hunter climb into his Impala and drive away.

Dean was angry, and the only way he knew how to release that anger was to hunt and kill whatever he could. He scoured the news, desperate to find something he could take down, preferably alone. He couldn’t look at Sam, blaming his brother for the death of his surrogate sister. He didn’t want to bring Y/N with him, he just wanted to drive, hunt, and kill.

Dean found a case, one that would hopefully settle the Mark’s need for blood and his own anger. The fact that it was a witch was an added bonus.

He left in the middle of the night when Sam and Y/N couldn’t try to stop him or tag along. He felt a little bad leaving Y/N behind but the Mark stung too badly for him to care at the moment. He wouldn’t be gone long, the case was only two states over, he’d back soon enough. 

In the bunker, Y/N was pissed that Dean was ignoring her calls. Sam expected it, he knew how angry Dean was, so he expected for his brother to ignore him, but Y/N? He adored her, for Dean to ignore her was unlike him. Y/N was confused, she wasn’t part of the plot to save Dean, Sam explicitly kept her out of the loop because he knew asking her to sneak behind Dean’s back was out of the question. She was loyal to the older Winchester, to a fault, and asking her to go against his wishes was more than even Sam could muster. 

Ever since the Stines invaded and killed Charlie, Y/N was thinking about her feelings for Dean. She called him immediately when they broke the door down and he’s the one who instructed her to hide in the garage; it was a plan the two agreed on for these situations. While she was hiding in the trunk of one of the vintage vehicles, all she could think about was that she could die and never be able to tell Dean how she felt. She decided then that she’d tell him, and soon. That’s why she was so upset that he left without telling her, it just prolonged her getting everything out in the open.

While the two waited in the bunker for Dean’s return, Dean handled the witch with ease. She tried at the last minute to hit him with what he assumed was a spell of sorts, but the witch killing bullet was in her before she could finish the incantation. He felt better, the Mark’s hunger was satiated, and there was one less witch causing trouble. A win all around, in his book.

Y/N was sitting in the library researching when the bunker door opened three days later. She was trying to keep the hurt and the anger at bay, still upset that Dean was ignoring her for reasons she couldn’t figure out while she was ready to tell him how she felt. Sam was out grabbing dinner, she assumed it was him.

“That was fast,” she remarked, getting up to help him unpack, until she was face to face with Dean. “Oh, not Sam. Welcome home.” She moved to greet him with a hug, only for him to step back out of her reach. Her face fell, Dean never rejected her touch, even with the Mark. “Dean?”

“Don’t touch me,” he growled, “I hate it when you throw yourself at me like that.”

“You…what? Since when?”

“Since forever. Just shows how clingy you are.”

Y/N stared in shock before letting her eyes cast to the floor, the heat in her cheeks so warm coupled with his venomous glare that she was growing physically uncomfortable before him. “I’m s-sorry. I didn’t realize…I thought we…I thought you and I…“

“What? You thought there was something here?” Dean motioned between the two of them. “Far from it.” He looked her over, his eyes running over her figure. “You think I’d ever want you?”

“I…I thought m-maybe…”

“Well I don’t. I don’t even want you here.”

“That’s not true,” she whispered, knowing if she was really that unwelcome, he’d have no problem kicking her out.

“True? You want the truth? Oh, sweetheart, you can’t handle the truth. But I’ll give it to you. Don’t you think if I wanted you, I’d have done something by now? You’re just another burden that was dumped on me that I didn’t ask for.” He paused, circling the war table, Y/N visibly shaking before him as she tried to keep herself composed, though it was obvious she was already broken at his words. “You’re always in the way, you know? You’re one more person I have to protect on hunts, since you’re not exactly reliable these days. Maybe if you were in shape you’d be less of a liability, then I wouldn’t have to constantly be saving your sorry ass-“

“Dean!” Sam barked, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Y/N hadn’t even heard him come in, the blood was pounding in her ears as she fought back tears, refusing to cry in front of Dean for fear he’d throw that in her face, too. He already implied she was fat, using her biggest insecurity against her, she didn’t need him throwing another one her way.

“What? I’m just saying,” Dean shrugged.

“You don’t just say that,” Sam glared before shooting a knowing look to Y/N, nodding his head towards the kitchen. She took the hint and all but ran out of the room. “What the hell could she have said to make you say that to her? She didn’t do anything to you.”

“She’s just annoying, another mouth to feed, a cockblock at the bar. We don’t need her here bringing us down. I wish she’d just leave.”

“Do you even hear yourself? That’s Y/N. She’s done more for us than anyone else has. She takes care of us when we’re sick and hurt, she puts up with our shit, specifically all of your shit and you…what the fuck Dean?”

Dean rolled his eyes, picking up his bags and turning to leave the room. Sam watched in disbelief before joining Y/N in the kitchen finding her with her head in her hands at the table. “Hey, hey, shhhh,” he whispered, sitting down next to her and pulling her into his arms. She sobbed harshly into his flannel. 

“He h-hates me,” she cried, the words muffled against his shirt. Sam shook his head, furious with his brother.

“He doesn’t, he couldn’t.” He rubbed her back soothingly, gently rocking her from side to side. “That wasn’t my brother.”

“I…I d-don’t understand,” she whimpered, sniffling.

“What exactly happened? Can you tell me?”

Y/N sat up slightly, wiping the tears off her cheeks and taking a deep breath to steady herself. “I thought he was you, I said hello, went to hug him. He backed up and when I tried to see what was wrong, he just started in on me.” She looked down. “I was finally ready to tell him, Sam.”

His eyes widened, knowing exactly what she meant. “Oh fuck no,” he muttered, pulling her back into his embrace. “Something must’ve happened while he was gone…but even then he had no right to talk to you like that. For everything that he’s been through, even with the Mark, he’d never, ever, talk to you like that. If it was anyone else, they’d be dead. If he could’ve heard himself…“ Sam stopped, shaking his head in anger. “Something’s not right.”

“Am…am I clingy, Sam?” Y/N asked quietly, Dean’s words echoing in her head.

“God, no, Y/N. You’re not. A few hugs and cuddles here and there doesn’t make you clingy.” Sam smiled sadly, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You are one of the best things to happen to Dean and me. You look after us, keep this place running, you help with hunts and research. You’re incredibly important to us and you’re a part of this little family, regardless of what my brother said. I love you, he loves you…hell, the real him adores you. You’re the little sister I always wanted, I always want you around. You’re not a cockblock or another mouth to feed and you certainly don’t bring us down. You build us up and help us keep going, every day. And before you say anything, no, there is nothing physically wrong with you, so please don’t get back into that headspace. You’re doing so well, don’t let this bring you back into that dark place. I’ll talk to him.”

Y/N smiled weakly, eyes brimming over with tears at Sam’s reassurance. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“You’re welcome,” he smiled, placing a soft kiss to her forehead. “How about you go take a bath and relax a bit while I try to figure out what’s going on, okay?”

She nodded and he squeezed her in another hug before letting her go, watching her leave the kitchen and make her way towards her room, which was unfortunately next to Dean’s. Y/N tiptoed passed his room, terrified of doing anything to set him off on her again. Once in the safety of her bedroom, she gathered her comfiest pajamas, slippers, and her favorite bath soap to bring to the bathroom. She set those items aside, rummaging for her duffle. She didn’t like being so close to Dean after what happened, so she decided to throw her necessities and some clothes into the bag, topping it with her favorite pillow and blanket. She knew the bedroom next to Sam’s was empty, for now she’d make that her room until she felt comfortable being around the older hunter again.

On the way to the bathroom, Y/N dropped her bag, blanket and pillow into the spare room, closing the door behind her before heading into the private, smaller bathroom in the bunker. She turned the water on in the tub, adjusting the temperature before plugging the drain and adding her bath soap before shedding her clothes and sinking into the water below the bubbles.

Down the hall and a few twists and turns away, Sam was making his way to Dean’s room, having already sent a quick prayer to Castiel in hopes he could help him figure out what was wrong with his brother. 

“Sam,” Castiel greeted with a flutter of his wings, “what’s going on?”

Sam sighed heavily. “Something’s wrong with Dean, I don’t know what but the way he just lashed out at Y/N tells me it’s bad.” They stopped outside Dean’s door, Sam knocking hard three times before opening the door, not bothering to wait for an invitation.

“Get out,” Dean growled, ripping his headphones off his ears. 

“Not until you tell me what happened when you were gone to make you come back a grade A douchebag,” Sam shot back.

“Nothing happened, now get out.”

“Dean, you’re not yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Dean glared, his eyes on Castiel. 

“The Dean I know never would’ve said what he did to Y/N, so that’s bullshit,” Sam argued.

“She had it coming,” he shrugged. Sam’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared with anger. “Oh, calm down.”

“You know what Dean? Maybe you should leave for a while,” Sam started, advancing towards Dean, “sort your shit out.”

Dean rose from his bed, glowering at his little brother. “You’re really gonna kick me out? For her?”

Before Sam could respond, Castiel took the opportunity to move around Sam, placing his fingers to Dean’s forehead to see if he could use his grace to identify the problem. “He’s under a spell.”

“A spell? What kind of spell?” Sam asked, looking between the angel and the thoroughly pissed off hunter.

“I’m not sure, but it’s there, clinging to him.” Castiel pressed his fingers to Dean’s forehead again to try and ease him a bit to get him to cooperate better. Dean sat back down on his bed, a little more relaxed.

“Dean, you have to tell me what happened when you were gone,” Sam pleaded.

“I was on a hunt, it was a witch.”

“Do you remember anything that she said?”

“She was chanting something but I killed her before she could finish.”

“Or maybe you didn’t,” Sam sighed. “I’ll call Rowena, see if she can maybe give use insight as to what kind of spell the witch used.” He pulled out his phone before looking at his brother again. “You stay the hell away from Y/N, got it? You’ve done enough damage.”

“I’ll watch him,” Castiel offered, Sam nodding in agreement before shooting his brother one last look and heading to the library, dialing Rowena’s number.

“Samuel,” she answered.

“Rowena, I need your help.”

“You seem to be needing a lot of that lately, Samuel. And yet you’ve done nothing for me in return.”

“I’m working on it,” he responded curtly, “the quicker you get to the bunker, the faster I finish the deal. It’s about Y/N.”

The witch sighed, having developed a soft spot for the girl. “Fine, fine. I’ll be there soon.”

After her bath, Sam informed Y/N that Rowena was coming and that there was some sort of spell involved. Y/N cringed at his brother’s name, her body tensing. Sam explained that he knew the spell wasn’t an excuse for what Dean said to her, but it helped piece a few things together. Y/N just wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to look at the hunter the same way again.

Until Rowena arrived, Y/N stayed in her new bedroom, locked away from everyone but Sam. He brought her meals, knowing she wasn’t up to wandering the bunker halls and risking the chance of running into Dean. As strong as he knew she was, even he didn’t think she’d be able to handle another run-in with the older hunter. 

Two days later, Rowena made her way down the steps of the bunker. Sam did his best to fill her in on what little information he got from Dean, which was a terrible pronunciation of whatever the young witch chanted at him, plus the crap attitude he’d been exhibiting ever since, including what he said to Y/N.

“But here’s the thing, I know my brother and I know how he feels about her, and it’s…it’s like everything he said to her is the exact opposite of what he’s ever said to me about her. He’s said some pretty fucked up things in his life, even to me, but to her? He’d never. It doesn’t make sense, he said the witch didn’t even finish the spell.”

“Perhaps your brother changed his mind.”

“Rowena, no. Cas was able to detect the remnants of a spell that seems to be stuck to him. That’s why I need your help, I don’t know what spell it could be.”

“Your brother, he possesses the Mark of Cain, correct?” Sam nodded. “Then whatever spell she cast…the Mark in a way protects the person who bears it. The person can’t die, as you know. In this case, it sounds like the Mark warped the spell that was thrown at Dean and it’s now sticking to him instead of wearing off like it normally would after a few days.”

“But what kind of spell? A truth spell wouldn’t make him say all that…”

“No, but the Mark could twist a truth spell into making him lie, instead. Do you know anything about the witch?”

“She was casting truth spells and tearing couples apart around town,” Dean answered, making his presence known as he entered the war room. “She was angry that her husband had an affair and she took it out on everyone else.”

Sam groaned. “So that’s it. It was a truth spell but the Mark made you lie instead of actually tell the truth.”

Rowena rolled her eyes, “and turned you into quite the dick.” Dean shot a glare at the red-head, ready to bark a nasty reply when Sam stepped between the two.

“You don’t speak unless we ask you to,” he ordered, staring down his brother. Dean’s eyes widened before he cocked a brow, smirking.

“You don’t think there’s more I could say to you this time?”

“I don’t care what you say to me, I know it isn’t you. But Y/N? She’s off limits.”

“Too late for that-“

“ENOUGH,” Rowena yelled, both hunters jumping in surprise, “now, Samuel, you can fetch me these ingredients and Dean, well, you can sit down and keep your mouth shut.”

As Sam went to the storage room to gather the ingredients needed for the spell to reverse the one stuck to Dean, Rowena followed him to Y/N’s makeshift room, knocking on the door. 

“Go away,” Y/N answered pitifully.

“Someone’s here to see you, honey,” Sam answered, “its safe, I promise.” He unlocked her door and left her and Rowena alone while he went to find her supplies. Y/N sat up on her bed, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the witch.

“Hi,” she smiled weakly, moving over on her bed to make room for the witch.

“Oh darlin’, Auntie Rowena will fix it,” she soothed, sitting at the foot of the bed. “You see, Dean was hit with a truth spell, but because he bears the Mark, the spell backfired and made him lie instead. Sam’s fetching me the ingredients I need for a reversal to get rid of the spell that’s clinging to him because of the Mark.”

“So…all the things he said…”

“I’m guessing whatever he wanted to say, he said the opposite. Apparently the witch was cheated on by her husband and due to her anger she took it out on everyone, especially men, and cursed them to tell the truth. But in Dean’s case, he was cursed to lie.”

“And be a douche,” Y/N muttered. “He said some awful things, Ro.”

“The man’s not exactly kind on a good day if you’re on his bad side,” Rowena noted. “I’ll fix him. He’s going to remember everything and run in here and apologize, you’ll see.”

“I’m not sure I can look at him, I mean, he was so cold…so brutal. If I look at him that’s all I’ll see.”

“I think once he realizes what he said and how badly he hurt you, you’ll see a side of him you’ve never seen before. Dean’s very protective of you, we all know it, so once he realizes he’s the one who hurt you, he’s gonna be devastated. You just have to remember, it wasn’t him.”

Y/N nodded, though still apprehensive. Rowena smiled warmly, patting her legs before leaving the room to see if Sam found everything. Y/N curled back up under the covers, thinking about what Rowena said. Knowing that a spell made him say those things made her feel the smallest bit better, but it was still replaying in her head since it happened. She could still see Dean’s look of disgust and hear the hatred dripping off his tongue. The idea of facing him, even after he was cured of this spell, still terrified her.

In the library, Dean was sitting at one of the tables nursing his whiskey while Rowena and Sam worked on the spell. Cas was on standby, ready to intervene if Dean got out of hand somehow and also to see if the lingering spell faded. 

Minutes later, Rowena was chanting the incantation for the reversal, Sam and Cas on either side of Dean as a precaution. A beat passed before Dean’s stoic expression faded and his eyes glowed green. Rowena sighed with relief and Cas pressed two fingers to Dean’s forehead, nodding. The spell worked, Dean was back to normal.

And oh, what a crash it was.

Dean blinked a few times, looking around at their worried faces as he registered what had happened. When he realized who was missing in the room, his eyes widened as it all came flooding back like a movie scene in his head. 

“Where is she?” He choked, a wave of panic washing over him as he realized the magnitude of what he said to her.

“You remember?” Dean looked at Sam, shame and regret on his face.

“Everything.”

“She’s in the room next to mine, just go easy on her, Dean. You really did a number on her.” Dean nodded, hastily leaving the library and racing down the bunker halls until he got to the room Y/N was in. He took a deep breath before knocking softly.

“Come in,” she called, voice quiet. Dean turned the knob slowly, opening the door to find her curled up on the bed. The blatant fear on her face didn’t go unnoticed by Dean, the grimace leaving a sharp pain in his chest.

“Sweetheart,” his voice was barely above a whisper, “we need to talk.”

“I think you’ve said enough,” she answered, less bite in her reply than she would have liked.

“That…that wasn’t me, you know I’d never-“

“I thought I did, Dean. But that…even with a spell…,” She looked away from him, shaking her head. Dean’s face fell, eyes filling with tears. He really fucked up and it wasn’t even his fault this time.

“Y/N, I swear on Sam’s life, I didn’t mean a single word that I said to you that night. That wasn’t me talking, that was the spell. It’s like everything I wanted to say to you came out the complete opposite, the Mark completely took over and I’m so fucking sorry.” Dean paused, slowly making his way to her bed. When she didn’t object, he sat down by her feet.

“Sweetheart, I need you to look at me,” he begged. Y/N looked up from the spot she was fixated on on the floor, her eyes meeting his teary ones. “I wouldn’t change a single thing about you, you are perfect exactly the way you are. I wouldn’t be able to go on day after day without you supporting me. You aren’t a burden and I never want you to leave even though I think you deserve better than this life. Selfishly, I can’t let you go. You make this place feel like a home and I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re not clingy…you mean so much to me, Y/N. I can’t tell you how sorry I am and how much I hate that I’ve hurt you. I’m supposed to protect you and you’re…you’re scared of me.”

“You looked at me with such hate,” she whispered, cringing. “I can’t unsee it no matter how hard I try.”

“Sweetheart, I could never hate you,” Dean breathed, “not when I’m too busy loving you.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, “You…what?”

“When I got back that night you said you thought there was something between us and I told you there wasn’t because of the spell’s influence. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve agreed with you. There’s always been a different connection between you and I. I don’t see you as a little sister the way Sam does. I know what I said, but Y/N, how could I not want you?”

Y/N blinked, trying to process what he was saying. “Uh, well, for starters, look at me.”

“I’m always looking at you. I think you’re beautiful exactly the way you are. You take care of me, you put up with my shit, and you’re my best friend. I can’t see myself with anyone else.”

“Dean…I-“

“You don’t have to say it back. I put you through hell, I don’t expect you to feel that way about me anymore.”

“No, I do, and that’s been the hardest part.”

Dean smiled sadly, reaching out to cup her cheek. “If you let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life, however long that is, proving to you that I mean everything I just said.”

“It wasn’t you,” she whispered, “you don’t have to.”

“But I’ll do it if it means you’ll forgive me.” He wiped a few stray tears off her cheek, his thumb grazing her cheekbone. “Can I hold you?” He asked meekly, biting his lip. She nodded into his palm before getting scooped up in a hug, her face buried in his neck as Dean finally broke, tears landing in her hair. “I’m so sorry,” he cried, squeezing her to him.

“Dean,” she mumbled, her lips against his skin sending shivers down his spine. “Please don’t cry.” She rubbed his back softly, trying to soothe him. She didn’t expect this. 

“I hate this thing so much,” he muttered, her eyes casting down to his forearm where the Mark was hidden by his henley sleeve. “All it does is make me angry and it’s getting harder and harder to control it, especially after…”

“I know,” she nodded, knowing he meant Charlie and the Stines. “That whole thing…that’s what made me want to tell you how I felt about you. Waiting for you in the trunk of the car felt like an eternity and I knew I would be okay as long as you got to me. I always feel safe when I’m with you, Dean, always. But I was so scared that they’d find me first and I’d die before getting to tell you. You were so angry and it felt wrong to tell you right after we lost Charlie, but I gathered the little confidence I had while you were gone-“

“And then I came home under a spell and said what I said.” Dean sighed, his grip tightening on her. “When you called me and told me the Stines broke in, Y/N, I’ve been in awful situations like that before with Sam but this…this felt so different. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, not until I saw you and knew you were okay. Everything felt like it was going in slow motion, no matter how fast I drove.” Y/N shuddered at the memory, digging herself deeper into Dean’s chest, face pressed against his neck. She inhaled deeply, relaxing as his scent that can only be described as Dean calmed her senses. “You’re okay, you’re safe,” he whispered, kissing her hair. He laid them down on her bed, tucking her under his chin.

“Dean,” she whispered, fisting his henley. 

“Yeah baby?”

“I do love you, you know.” She could feel the chuckle rumble through his chest.

“I maybe had a small feeling, or at least hoped I was reading everything right.” He ran his fingers through her hair gently, breathing in her shampoo. “Will you give me a chance to make it all up to you?”

She pulled back to look up at him, cupping his cheek. He nuzzled against her palm, eyes locked on hers as his stubble tickled her skin. “Of course, handsome.” He grinned, pressing a kiss to her palm as she blushed. She couldn’t stay mad at Dean, never was able to. But knowing how he truly felt about her, that everything that happened was the work of a witch, she knew she couldn’t hold a grudge. That wasn’t her Dean, the man who sang her back to sleep when her nightmares took over even though he hated singing to anyone but Baby’s steering wheel. The man looking at her so intently, holding her so tightly, this was her Dean. “And Dean?” 

“Sweetheart?”

“I forgive you,” she smiled, Dean’s eyes softening as he let out a breath of relief he didn’t know he was holding. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, pulling her impossibly closer. He kissed her forehead and her nose before softly kissing her lips, pulling back and brushing his nose against hers. Dean knew what happened wasn’t his fault, and Y/N may have forgiven him anyway, but he fully intended on spending the rest of his life, however long it may be, making sure she knew just how much he loved her, and doing his very best to deserve someone as incredible as her.

[stardew-saloon]

Could I have the framer with Sebastian in a rainy day? Pleaseee

Y’all tryna make me cry?? I love asks like this,, they’re so cute I can’t.

But I gotchu!!!

I’m just gonna assume they’re married here, but I can do one with them dating if you want!

Also sorry this is so late, I’ve been swamped with schoolwork lately. Should be back on a regular schedule soon!

Sebastian and the Farmer on a Rainy Day

When you woke up, it had been raining. Absolutely pouring. You could ever hear claps of thunder every few seconds. Your first thought was about the trees and the crop. Not to mention the animals, too.

Slowly, you sit up, glancing around the room. Huh, that’s weird. Sebastian wasn’t in bed with you. It takes an embarrassingly long time of wondering where he could be on a rainy day at the crack of dawn before it hits you.

Sebastian loves rainy weather. He loves walking around in storms, blasting music in his headphones and ignoring the world. You smile to yourself, the thought of him filling your heart with love.

Eventually you clamber out of bed, changing into your normal outfit, now with a raincoat and matching rain boots. You noticed Sebastian’s rain boots (yellow ones with frog faces) were gone as well, so he’s obviously outside somewhere. You figured you could find him later. Checking on the animals is more urgent. Your chickens always got scared during storms.

After all the chores on the farm are done, you walk towards the beach, where you suspect he’s at. Sebastian was allowed to be independent, obviously. You made sure to let him know that you don’t need to know where he is every second of the day. He has as much free time as he wants, even though a lot of it is spent inside with you or hanging out with Sam and Abigail. Marriage didn’t change a thing about their friendship.

Once you arrive at the docks, you walk over, spotting your husband sitting down, legs dangling over the edge. His boots are on, waves occasionally crashing in to them, the water not reaching very far. He feels rather than hears you call him, the boards underneath him vibrating as you walk over.

He perks up, taking out his headphones. You can hear music blaring through them, despite being a few feet away. You smile as you take a seat next to him, placing a kiss on his cheek.

“Morning, Seb,” you say happily, smiling at him. He wraps his arms around you, despite both of you being soaking wet, and mumbling a soft “good morning” back to you.

“How long have you been out here for?” You asked, after waiting a pause. He thinks for a minute, staring off into the sea. You only began understanding how pretty it was when you were out here with him the first time. Or maybe you just realized that you associate the sea with Sebastian, and that was what made it so beautiful.

“Couple hours. I stopped at Sam’s to say hi. Well, I wasn’t allowed in. Jodi just cleaned the floors and she didn’t want any mud here.”

“I swear she says that everytime I walk in. Almost like she doesn’t like us.” Sebastian laughs at your comment, leaning back with an arm loosely around you.

“I dunno, I wouldn’t be too happy if you marched in with your muddy boots if I had just cleaned the floor-“

“Since when do you clean the floors?” You ask, nudging his shoulder playfully.

“I do! You just get dirt all over!” Sebastian’s face flushes as he turns away, clearly embarrassed. He’s so cute when he’s like this.

“I know,” you say, wrapping your arms around him.

Sebastian turns to you after a moment, leaning in to place a kiss on your lips. He rarely takes the initiative. When he does, you almost always feel your heart jump out of its chest.

“I love you.” He mumbles, arms wound around your waist.

“I love you too,” you reply, a smile on your face to match his.

You’re both soaking wet with mud on your boots and water dripping down your face, but there’s no where else you would rather be. You know that you’ll probably end up with a cold after, but at least you and Seb will be sniffly together. It’s romantic, in a way. Probably.

[childrenofthenightt]

That’s The Way (Chapter 2)

Pairing: Jimmy Page x Reader

Word count: 3.3k

Warning(s): mentions of cheating, cursing

Author’s notes: Hey y’all, welcome to Chapter 2! Thank you so much for all your positive feedback and responses. A little heads up: Jimmy is not in this chapter...since this is a slow burn, he’ll be introduced in Chapter 4, but it won’t be long, I promise. Just sit tight! As usual, please enjoy, happy reading, and send us messages if you have theories, comments, music recommendations for the playlist, or if you want to be added to the tag list :)

Chapter 1

---------

Evening of 4 May 1965

Walking into the kitchen, Y/N slid into a seat between her brothers, Tommy and Charlie, just as her mum was placing platters of that night’s dinner on the table. A sinking feeling in her stomach plagued her all day, as she knew that she would be interrogated  intensely by her family about the previous night. More importantly, she knew that if they felt that any of the musicians had viewed her as a possible love interest, she’d be in big, big trouble.

“Dad, can you pass me the vegetables, please?” Y/N asked her father, sitting a few seats down from her. If the girl hadn’t been glancing down at her plate to avoid eye contact, fighting the gut feeling that the inevitable would soon occur, she would have seen him glance at her from over the frames of his glasses.

“Sure, dear,” he replied, briefly looking up from the newspaper he was reading as he gave Y/N the dish. The clanking of utensils on plates was all that could be heard until Charlie broke the seal by asking the dreaded question.

“So Y/N, how was the concert last night?” he asked, raising the glass of water in his hand to his lips.  Y/N couldn’t blame Charlie for asking, because he had no idea what had happened, but she knew that this conversation could go south fast. Tommy’s hums of laughter quietly escaped his lips, and Y/N nudged his arm from under the table, giving him a glaring look that sent daggers from her eyes. It screamed, “Shut up!”, and another bout of giggles was the only response.

Tommy knew the outcome of last night because of what Carolyn had babbled to him on the car ride home, and was doing everything in his power to tease his sister.

“Why are you laughing, Tommy?” Y/N’s mum asked, finally taking a seat between Charlie and Lillian.  Silence settled over the table as all eyes locked on to the oldest daughter, and Tommy evilly smiled at Y/N, who only glared at him again. “No reason. Actually, I think Y/N should tell you instead.”

Y/N huffed as she put the dish of roasted chicken, generously seasoned and herbed, back in the middle of the table. She painted on a smile before answering, “It went pretty well. Brilliant show.”

“That’s it?” her dad asked, folding up the newspaper, knowing his daughter was downplaying it.

“Yeah, Y/N, that’s it?” Tommy added. Y/N knew he was taunting her, but the rest of the table did not pick up on it. From under the table, Y/N’s leg begins to bob up and down, and she bites her lip, debating whether or not to tell the whole story. It’s obvious they’re not going to be happy…

“My God, Tommy,” With an exasperated sigh, Y/N, very annoyed at her brother’s pushing, throws her hands up in unwilling acceptance. “Fine, Carolyn and I were invited backstage, and we met the band.”

The table audibly gasped, the loudest of course being Lillian, who looked disappointed, almost devastated at the revelation. Her lips turn down in a sulk, and she rests her cheek, almost permanently flushed with youth, on a fist. “You promised me you wouldn’t let any boys mess with you, Y/N!”

Y/N reached her hand across the table to hold her sister’s in an attempt to coax her. “They didn’t, Lil. We just talked for a while. I just made some new friends last night, that’s all.”

Lillian’s frown turned upside down, content that her sister was safe, a naïve smile that Y/N felt a little guilty about. She, along with Charlie and their parents, didn’t know that most members of the band had shamelessly flirted with her and invited her back to see them again. Tommy was the only one aware, and Y/N made him promise to keep the whole rendezvous a secret. Carolyn had brought the flirting to Y/N’s attention on the car ride home, because in the moment, she didn’t think much of it.

“If they’re mean to you, I’ll be mean to them, just for you!” Lillian exclaims through a mouthful of mush, and the table burst into laughter, shaking their heads in amusement.

“How did it go?” Y/N’s mum asked, cutting into her chicken with a knife and fork. For the first time over the course of the whole dinner, Y/N broke into an unadulterated smile at the memory. “It was really nice, genuinely. They  were all so sweet to us, and we just bonded over music and stuff.”

Y/N’s mother quirked her brow. “No ‘you know what’?”

“No Mum, nothing explicit. It was good, clean fun. Seriously.”

“Alright, I hope you’re telling the truth… I’m happy you had a great time.”

“She is telling the truth, Mum,” Tommy quipped through bites of roasted potatoes, “I can attest to that.”

Y/N’s mum smiled, but her dad piped up with some two-cents of his own. “Musicians are a tough crowd, Y/N. Very fickle blokes, their attractions change all the time. You can’t get too attached to them, dear,  you’re just a small fish in a very big sea.”

“I know, Dad,” Y/N replied, trying to sound understanding. She couldn’t lie to herself, though. The Yardbirds made her feel very special last night, and disappointment was lurching in her stomach at the comment. As much as her father’s words stung, she harbored a small feeling of hope that they truly enjoyed her company and meant what they said.

After everyone finished dinner, and Charlie and Lillian left the table to go play in another room, Tommy, wallet in hand, walked over to his mum, who was washing the dishes with the help of her husband.

“Hey Mum, I’m gonna take Y/N for ice cream,” he whispered, glancing at Y/N who was sitting in a chair in the living room, almost unconsciously playing with her fingers and staring out the window with a pensive countenance.

“Okay, love. Just bring something home for Charlie and Lillian,” she replied. Tommy walked over to Y/N, tapping her shoulder. The girl looked up at him, confused.

“I’m taking you for ice cream. Let’s go,” he said, already walking towards the door. Y/N grinned, then chased after her brother to the car.

~~~~~~~~

27 June 1965

Y/N and Carolyn weren’t able to attend as many Yardbirds gigs as they would’ve liked in the end of May and beginning of June, as they had exams at school. Now that they were over, Y/N could be fully immersed in the travelling British rock and roll circus for the greater part of the summer.

The girls agreed to make a venue change tonight: instead of going to the Marquee, as they usually did, they decided to go to the Crawdaddy Club. Y/N hoped Jeff, Chris, Paul, Jim, and Keith would remember them by their faces instead of just their clothes, because there was no need to wear school uniforms anymore.

Carolyn decided to drive to this particular gig, probably because she was expecting the two of them to go backstage again, as having her own car would grant them more time with the band then that first night at the Marquee.

The Crawdaddy Club was architecturally and aesthetically different from the Marquee; there were no chairs or booths, so standing was the only option, and the boundary between the stage and the audience was virtually nonexistent. The ceilings were low and beamed, and the stage backdrop had a painting of a measure of music. Y/N thought that particular touch was a bit cheesy.

Carolyn and Y/N walked in together, squeezing past the army of fans already hoarding the front of the stage. They managed to find a spot by Jeff’s side of the stage, his amps towering a few feet from where they stood. Thankfully, they were able to see most of the stage, including Jim’s drum riser in the back. The conversations among all the audience members were deafening, but Y/N heard a loud whisper within her periphery that she could just make out.

“Pssst! Y/N!” a familiar voice whisper-shouted, which was followed by a wave.

It was Jeff, widely smiling with his guitar slung over his shoulder. He was walking out the backstage door, meticulously making sure the door wouldn’t harm his guitar in any way. He then waited near the stage steps to go on, which the girls discerned could be any minute now.

“Oh my God, Jeff!” Y/N replied excitedly as she walked over to the steps. She made her way through the crowd, a lot more ungracefully than she would’ve hoped.

“It’s so cool to see you at some place other than the Marquee,” Jeff said. He looked genuinely happy that she was there. Maybe Y/N’s dad was wrong about these “fickle musicians”.

“We’re happy to be here! I’m so sorry I couldn’t make any more since the last time… exams and school and all.”

“Oh, that’s where you were! I hope you got good marks,” Jeff playfully grinned, “because you ought to mind your studies, Miss Y/N. Sam was starting to think he scared you off and that you didn’t want to come back.”

Y/N scrunched her nose in a confused way, as if to say “who?”, which resulted in a soft chuckle from Jeff.

“‘Sam’ is Paul’s nickname.”

Y/N nodded in understanding with an endearing smile. “Oh, okay. That’s definitely not it, then. I was just stuck with exams and graduation, that's all. Be sure to tell him that.” A wink punctuates the end of her sentence, and, gearing up to respond, Jeff is interrupted by a sharp noise next to him. Mere seconds later, another familiar face entered the scene, walking out of the door. Chris Dreja, also with his guitar slung over his shoulder, warmly smiled at Y/N as he closed the door behind him.

“Hello, Y/N. It’s so lovely to see you again,” he greeted. She noticed that he had a substantially deeper voice than the other four, something she hadn’t the last time they met since he was talking with Carolyn and Keith.

“Hi Chris! Same to you,” Y/N grinned.

“No uniforms this time I see,” he teased, discreetly scanning how stunning he thought she looked.

Y/N laughed. “Yeah, I’m off from school for the summer so there’s no need anymore, thank God. Now I can attend your shows more frequently, and wear a decent outfit too!”

“That’s great to hear. We do love your company.” Y/N beamed at his comment, unconsciously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Chris’ eyes track the movement, and he couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. He thought Y/N was beautiful, but he had a wife and a child on the way. He also felt a little jealous that Paul and Jim had their eyes on her, but there was not much he could do about it. If he was cunning and quick enough to steal Y/N before they had the chance, though, and if his wife never found out…

Quickly regaining his wits, he remembered why he was sent out. “Jeff, Keith needs you backstage again.”

Jeff groaned. “What? I thought we were starting, like right now!”

“I know, I know. We were supposed to, but he wants everyone backstage again for some reason.”

“Ugh, this is why he can’t fucking be in charge,” Jeff replied, clearly annoyed. Then, as Chris was heading backstage once again, Jeff pulled something out of his pocket, a knowing smile on his face.

“Here, love, have this. You’ll be needing it after the show,” he said, placing a card with a lanyard attached to it into Y/N’s hands. Y/N smiled giddily.

“Thank you. Good luck with that meeting, and good luck in the show, even though you don’t really need it,” Y/N replied playfully.

“Oh, I think I need it more than you think I do,” Jeff smirked, disappearing behind the door.

~~~~~~~~

Just minutes later, The Yardbirds came out and played their set, which lasted a couple hours, and didn't fail to stun the crowd. Y/N and Carolyn received a lot more smiles of recognition than the last time at the Marquee, since the boys knew who they were now. The only similarity to last time was the electrified fans who were completely immersed in the music.

Jim McCarty, in particular, looked at Y/N a lot more often throughout the show than he did last time. She caught him a couple times, which was really embarrassing on his part, but not the entire time, much to his pleasure. He didn’t think it was possible, but it seemed that she had grown even more beautiful than last time.

Was it absence that made his heart grow fonder? Possibly. Was he in love? Yet another possibility. Did he know for certain? Perhaps, but he wasn’t exactly sure yet.

Besides focusing on the music, Paul’s mind was elsewhere. He was planning on asking Y/N out on a date with him sometime this coming week. He hoped she’d accept, since she did an awful lot of blushing and giggling around him when they met in May, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up. Paul was concocting the perfect formulation of words so that she couldn’t refuse the offer. She looked like the type of girl who would enjoy a nice dinner date, and he would do anything to make that a reality for her.

Chris’s mind was the opposite of Paul’s: he didn’t want to think about Y/N because in the event he did, he knew he would mess up a chord or two on the guitar.

God, he thought, she was perfect. Purely enchanting.

Jeff was just happy, almost giddy, that he’d found a new friend in Y/N. He knew she was special, and he hoped she trusted him, because some people in this business could be very sleazy. She was different from all the girls a lonely musician would find on the road. Y/N was the type of girl that Jeff wanted to see after a thousand and one nights touring, catching up and sharing stories over a pint. Sure, he had a steady girlfriend, but something about Y/N was comforting, friendly, and trustworthy. Just what he needed in a friend.

The set was similar to the one at the Marquee, but with little variations here and there, still holding the audience under a trance. After the performance’s conclusion, Y/N rummaged through her pocket and showed Carolyn the backstage pass given to her by Jeff, to which Carolyn squealed with delight. Y/N took Carolyn’s hand and walked with her to the door, showing the security man her prized relic. At once, they were granted access, and they skipped and trotted and leapt down the hall in excitement.

When the pair got to the correct door, Y/N took a deep breath and knocked a couple times; momentarily, they were greeted by a smiling, but sweaty, Jeff Beck.

Y/N didn’t care. “Brilliant show, my friend,” she gushed, giving Jeff a congratulatory hug.

“Thank you,” he replied gratefully, reciprocating it with a beaming smile, “security didn’t give you trouble I hope?”

“No, we were fine, thankfully.”

“Good to hear, good to hear. Well, come on in!” Jeff exclaimed, getting out of the way of the doorframe, “do you fancy yourselves a drink?”

Y/N and Carolyn walked into the room, starstruck once again by all five of The Yardbirds being in one place. This time, some members of the road crew, management, and lighting company were there as well, chatting and planning among themselves. They all greeted the girls amicably, and grabbed some chairs and arranged them in a similar formation to the Marquee.

“Um, yeah, sure, if you don’t mind,” Y/N accepted as she sat down, throwing a kind “thank you” over her shoulder at the roadie that had brought her chair over, voice a little lost in amazement at the current happening.

“Here, I’ll get it,” Jim said with a smile, “you stay put.”

“Thank you, that’s so sweet,” Y/N grinned appreciatively. She could feel herself warming up to these guys, as she didn’t feel as nervous as the last time. But a little twinge of it was still there, rippling through her stomach.

Jim was turned away from Y/N getting the drinks, so she wasn’t able to see him blush. He found it unbelievable, the effect she had on him.

The whole group was sharing conversation and laughs over drinks for almost three hours, but it was almost as if time did not pass. They talked about music, books they liked, restaurants they recommended, places they’ve travelled to, philosophy, history, the environment, conspiracy theories...you name it.

Y/N and Carolyn stood up from their seats, as a cue to the party that they had to leave soon. Paul, who again was sitting next to Y/N, tapped her shoulder. Turning to face him, Y/N could see the flush on his cheeks, and the way he was almost curled into himself.

“Hey Y/N, can I ask you a question really quick?” he asked, much more nervous than he sounded a few seconds ago.

“Yeah, sure,” she smiled. Y/N, taking his outstretched hand, found herself being whisked away by Paul to a corner of the room, near a row of vanities attached to the wall. She hoped that the others were all too distracted talking, so that no one would notice her and Paul’s absence.

Looking at each other, face to face, the two smiled happily, as though there wasn't a care in the world.

Paul then took a deep breath, his expression turning more anxious. “Okay…” he exhaled, “here goes.”

“You don’t have to be nervous,” Y/N chuckled, “it’s just me.”

Paul’s face softened a little, gazing down at her. “But you see, that’s the whole point. It’s you. I have every reason to be nervous.”

Y/N’s face cascaded into a red flush, her lip quivering in the hopes of concealing a foolish grin. Paul reached down and grabbed Y/N’s hands, holding them in his own as Y/N’s heart started racing at what felt like two thousand miles a minute.

“I just wanted to preface this by saying that I, uh… I have been absolutely bewitched by you, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since the night at the Marquee,” he began. Y/N melted with every word, but at the same time, she felt as if she had been electrically shocked. When she looked into the twinkling depths of his eyes, she couldn't help but swoon.

“So,” he continued, “I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me sometime. If you’ll let me, of course.”

Y/N was at a loss for words, composure, and any sort of rationality. She never thought, in her wildest dreams, that a musician in a world-renowned band would fancy her. Just able to restrain an awestruck grin, she finally gave in.

“Yes,” she replied, happily breathless and dazed, “I would love to go out with you.”

Paul, ecstatic with her answer, beams down at her as she launches into his arms in a sweet embrace. He asked for her phone number and address, and, spotting a nearby miniature legal pad, she wrote everything down, signing it with a cartoonish smiling face and a heart.

~~~~~~~~

After Y/N and Carolyn had said their goodbyes and left the Crawdaddy Club, the five musicians were left alone in the backstage area, to relax after such an electric show. Jeff and Keith approached Paul, who was collecting his belongings in the corner of the room.

“Did you do it?” Jeff asked, face a picture of feigned nonchalance as he took a sip of his beer.

“Yes, I did it,” Paul grinned, bending down to grab something of his that had fallen on the floor.

“I guess she accepted by the look on your face,” Keith observed, a sardonic smirk on his handsome features.

“You’d be correct,” Paul replied.

“You wanker,” Jeff shook his head disapprovingly, “why would you bloody do that? You’re gonna break her heart!”

Paul’s expression quickly turned unimpressed. “Because if nobody here tells her, she’ll never know.”

What Paul had failed to tell Y/N was that he had a wife, with whom he shared a home. He felt bored, with all the travelling and the touring and the nonsense, so he wanted a lovely, intelligent young woman like Y/N to “keep him company”.

He knew he wasn’t in love with Y/N. Sure, he fancied her immensely, thought she was ethereal, but his heart truly belonged to his wife.

“Congratulations, Sam,” Keith said sarcastically, “you just potentially ruined a friendship with a very pretty bird.” It was clear that Jeff and Keith cared very deeply about Y/N and her happiness, because she was a great girl.

Paul rolled his eyes, annoyed. “You lot have to do me this solid and don’t say anything to her. It’ll work out fine. Oh, and spread the message to Chris and Jim so they don’t spill the beans either.”

“You fuckin’ owe me, Sam,” Jeff warned, already walking backwards towards Chris and Jim, “you owe me big time.”

---------

Taglist: @blood-on-blood @reincarnated70sbaby

[dearest-bucky]

One kiss is all it takes (One Shot)

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Requested by @softcobain - Where reader who’s Bucky’s best friend ask him to teach her how to kiss bc she really wants to impress a guy she’s going on a date with? But Bucky is totally in love with her, at first he doesn’t want to but then he agrees.

Words: 3.8K

Warnings: angst, fluff, one first detailed kissing scene lol

A/n: Because tumblr is apparently dumb I can’t tag the sweetheart that requested this, but @softcobain I really hope you like this love! 💕 Guys I got goosebumps while writing this, I hope y’all like it too.

Feedback is greatly appreciated! xx

The door of her small apartment made a small squeaky noise as she pushed it open. She wasn’t all that surprised to find it open, her key once again useless. The only noises in the otherwise quiet apartment were coming from the TV that was left on, some detergent commercial playing in one random channel. She turned on the small lamp next to the couch that she usually used to read at night, and smiled as the figure that was sleeping on her small and uncomfortable couch was illuminated by the soft light.

She crouched down next to him and softly touched his hair, making him stir in his sleep. “Hey sleepyhead, what are you still doing here?”

He opened one eye and when he was met with her face, a small smile crept onto his lips. “Hey, you’re back. Thought I’d wait up for you but apparently I failed at that too.”

She chuckled at his words and patted his cheek lightly. “Don’t worry about it. I’m here now.”

Bucky offered her a shy smile and got up in a sitting position, making space for her to sit on the couch too. “So, how was it?” He asked after she sat next to him.

She remained silent for a moment, as if she was thinking hard about the answer, but there was a smile plastered on her lips and a dreamy look on her eyes that kind of told Bucky everything he wanted to know. The answer, despite it not being said, was shown, written in her every feature. She finally turned her head on the side to face him, and then replied. “It was great. He asked me out again on Friday.” Her smile never faltered, but as she looked at Bucky’s reaction her eyes narrowed a little in curiosity.

He nodded at her words and fixed his stare down, unable to look her in the eye anymore. He cleared his throat once and then without even looking at her again, got up from the couch. “That’s great, if you’re happy then I’m happy too. It’s better if I go back to my apartment now. Good night Y/n.” He didn’t even spare her another glance and left her apartment in a hurry, not even allowing her the time to wish him good night too. He slammed the door closed behind himself harder than he intended to and that made him wince, but he wasn’t about to go back and apologize  for that.

With short but quick steps he arrived at his door on the other side of the hall and when he entered his apartment, without even realizing, he slammed his door shut too. He knew he had no right to be mad at her for going out on a date with somebody else, but he simply couldn’t talk his broken heart down. He’d been head over heels with Y/n for years and now having to see her date someone that wasn’t him, it was damn painful.

How could he even begin to explain what he felt for Y/n? Truth is he didn’t even remember how it all started.

After the Avengers defeated Thanos and Steve went to the past to get his second chance in life, Bucky chose to not stay with the rest of the Avengers at the new Avengers’ compound. Instead, with the help of Sam he bought a small apartment in Brooklyn where he’d been living for the last four years.

Y/n moved in her apartment on the other side of the hall only a couple of months after Bucky. When she was moving her furniture in, Sam, just like the perfect wing man he is, managed to introduce Bucky and Y/n, claiming they’d be neighbors so they needed to know each other if one of them ever ran out of sugar or flour. Bucky had scowled at Sam in annoyance but Y/n had only giggled at the new Captain America’s words and shook Bucky’s hand. “He’s right.” She had told him. “You’ll never know when one could need the help of a superhero.”

He had blushed then, at her words, and a smile had replaced the previous scowl.

That day they had both helped her move in, carrying the heavy boxes and the furniture. After everything had been put inside her new apartment, Sam and Bucky excused themselves and wished her a good night, seeing it was dark outside already. She had thanked them both for their help and when they were on the hall, she called out to Bucky. “Don’t be a stranger.”

He had smiled at her and nodded his head.

Ever since that day they’d spend many more days together, hanging out at each other’s apartments, but mostly at Y/n’s because she, as Bucky put it, had the better couch, despite the fact that it was smaller than his, but he enjoyed sitting close to her and watching movies and eating chinese takeout  almost every night. Eventually those nights became an every night occurrence, and without even realizing, Y/n and Bucky had become best friends, helping each other with everything, relying to each other, taking care of each other whenever one was sick, mostly Y/n. She even managed to help him calm down after a nightmare when he had knocked on her door at 3 am sweating and crying in pain.

In the last four years they had become almost family to each other.

Despite her very friendly nature, Y/n was actually very shy when it came to romantic relations. So whatever feeling Bucky started developing for his neighbor/best friend, he buried deep inside his heart, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable. Because he knew there was no way someone as perfect as her would even like back someone like him.

Now he had to stand by and watch someone else take her out on dates and make her happy, when that could’ve been him.

With a heavy heart Bucky laid down on his bed and closed his eyes, a long sigh escaping his parted lips.

Bucky didn’t see Y/n the entire upcoming week. She was busy with her work and he spent most of the days at the compound, training for the next mission.

Days had been passing slowly and he missed her so much every passing  minute, especially on the evenings when they’d be almost cuddled up next to each other on her couch and binge watching whatever Netflix series was on his “to-watch-list”. He wanted to knock on her door but he couldn’t find it in himself to do so. After all she had started seeing someone now so he didn’t know if she still wanted him to go over.

It was almost 6 pm on a Saturday when he heard the hesitant knocks on the wood of his door and he moved lazily through his apartment to answer it. He was surprised to find Y/n on the other side of it.

She was wearing a nice dress, perfect for the warm weather of May evening and even more perfect for her. She looked absolutely breathtaking, but the almost panicked expression written all over her face made him break out of his stupor sooner than he would’ve wanted.

“Hey, Y/n. What’s up?” He spoke a little awkwardly, not knowing how to act around her anymore. It seemed as if it had been an eternity since the last time he saw her. Usually when she came over, she never knocked and she would always greet Bucky with a hug or a kiss on the cheek, but that seemed like a long time ago, and somewhat an inappropriate thing to do now.

She greeted him with a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes and asked him if she could come in.

“Uhmm, yeah yeah, sure.” He said, a little confused, but moved on the side to let her inside his apartment and closed the door again.

He saw her move towards the living room, but she never sat down, standing awkwardly in the middle of the small space between the couch and his coffee table.

“Is everything alright Y/n?” He asked then, unable to bare the silence anymore.

She picked her head up and looked at him, a look Bucky couldn’t quite understand. “I need your help.” She finally spoke. Her voice was unsure, even a little shy when she spoke, but he heard her loud and clear.

“Sure, doll. What can I do for you?” Always the hero. Always trying to help. Always helping.

She remained silent for a moment, as if wanting to organize her thoughts well and then she finally started speaking again. “So you know I’ve been talking to this guy for the past month..” she began and Bucky noticed how she was picking up at the skin of her fingernails, a tick of nervousness he knew she had. He moved closer to her and placed his hands on hers, stopping her assault on the fragile skin that had started to bleed a little already.

“What about him? Is everything okay? Is he bothering you? Do I need to kick his ass?” His mind was running a million miles per minute, thinking of the worst case scenarios, but she only shook her head lightly in response.

“Everything is okay with him. He’s great. It’s just…” She hesitated a little before she continued again. “Last night we went out and at the end of the date he walked me home and when he was saying goodnight he leaned in and wanted to kiss me and I turned away so he ended up kissing me on the cheek.” She explained, blushing a little and Bucky was listening to her every word intently.

“Tonight we’re going out again, to the movies this time and this is the third date and I’m thinking we should kiss, right? But I don’t know.” She concluded and let go of his hands that were holding hers, moving to the couch and finally sitting.

Bucky followed her lead and sat too. “You don’t know what?” He asked. If she were unsure about this guy she shouldn’t feel obligated to kiss him. She didn’t owe him anything. She should know that.

But Y/n surprised him with the next words she spoke. “I don’t know how to kiss.” She said and a crimson red painted her cheeks after the words had left her mouth.

Bucky could only stare at her, a little shocked at the confession and that only made her feel more embarrassed than before. “Forget it, this was a stupid idea.”  She said when he took a moment too long to reply and she tried to get up from the couch, but Bucky finally came to his senses.

“No, please doll.” He spoke softly and she sat down again. “I’m sorry.” He continued. “You took me by surprise, that’s all. I mean, how is it possible that you don’t.. you know.. know? How to kiss?”

The entire situation was embarrassing and awkward and they both were wishing the ground would open and swallow them whole.

Y/n felt her cheeks aflame by the embarrassment she was feeling. She knew it was a crazy idea to come to Bucky about this, but he was her only friend.

Despite the fact that she was 26 years old she was an introvert and she didn’t have many friends. Except for Bucky who was her best friend, she had another childhood friend back in her hometown but she was too far to come and help Y/n with her situation.

Her entire life she had avoided people as much as possible, especially boys and men. She never had a boyfriend in her life and she never even kissed a boy before. That’s why she was in  Bucky’s apartment now, asking him for help.

“I just..” she stuttered a reply. “Never kissed someone, so I don’t know how..” Her words were spoken in an almost hushed whisper, still mortified from the situation at hand.

“Okay, so you need me to…?”

“To teach me how to kiss.” She said matter of factly but she regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. They had sounded better in her head than they did when she said them out loud, but there was no way she could take them back now.

Bucky’s eyes widened at her request but he composed himself quickly. He was a highly trained assassin for God’s sake, he knew how to mask his  emotions, but apparently not around Y/n. “I can’t do that!” He finally exclaimed and he watched her face fall after those words. “I mean, it’s not fair to you.” He was quick to add and Y/n looked back up at him. “It’s your first kiss and it should be with someone you have feelings for. Not with me.”

“But Bucky…” A sound of protest left her lips. Those rosy and pillowy lips that he had wished so many times to kiss and that were now asking him to do so. “I’m going to be so embarrassed when he tries to kiss me again and I just stay there. It will be terrible if I just froze in the spot, you know.” She was trying to reason with him as much as she could. “Please? I kind of like this guy and I don’t wanna look stupid in front of him.”

“Doll. You could never look stupid.” He replied, still not saying anything about her request.

He wanted to give in and kiss her so much, but he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop once he started. His heart and his mind were in war at the moment.

“Please Buck?” She tried again. “You know I wouldn’t ask this of you if it wasn’t really important to me.” She pleaded and Bucky knew who won the battle inside of him. How could he refuse those lips that he had dreamed of for several years now? How could he refuse her pretty eyes, giving her that sad puppy dog look he absolutely adored? He simply couldn’t. That’s why he found himself slowly nodding his head in response.

“Okay, okay doll. I’ll help.” He said and she nodded back to him, a small smile forming on her lips. “Just one kiss to show you how it’s done.”

“Okay.” She replied and he let out a long breath at the sight of her looking so hopeful now, and beautiful, always.

They turned their bodies to face each other and Bucky cupped her cheek with his flesh hand. Ever so slowly he started closing the distance between their faces, until their noses were almost touching.

Y/n had closed her eyes and was waiting for him to place his lips on hers, but she could only feel his soft breath tickling her lips, but not touching them.

“Relax, doll.” She heard him say and her shoulders sagged a little, finally free from the tension she’d been holding in. “Just go with it and let it happen.”

She was ready to say something when she finally felt his lips touch hers, so softly she thought she must be dreaming it. With the same softness he started kissing her lips, slowly, gently, just like a breeze touching the leaves on the trees. He slowly coaxed her lips to part and she quickly complied, allowing him to deepen the kiss a little, feeling the kiss a little more. He was caressing her lips with his, happy to finally be able to do so, his flesh hand holding her cheek while the metal one moved to her hair, carding through her silky locks.

Too soon for his liking she ended the kiss, but she didn’t back away from him. Her eyes were hooded and her lips still parted when she whispered his name. “Buck..”

It was all he needed to delve in again for another kiss, this one more passionate. He couldn’t hold back anymore, coaxing her mouth open with his tongue, kissing her lips with a passion that was about to burn him entirely. He had been holding back for too long.

The hand in her hair gripped the locks tightly in between the fingers and he felt her let out a small moan against his mouth at the action, which only spurred him to kiss her more. Tongues hugging each other and teeth clashing with each other, biting and kissing and licking lips, starved for each other.

Her hands had found home in his shirt, bunching the material in her fists as she reciprocated his kiss with everything she had.

They had been so lost in each other, not even considering about stopping, until the phone in her pocket ringed and she whined lowly in Bucky’s mouth in annoyance.

“Forget about it.” He spoke between kisses but the device continued ringing until they were forced to part away from each other. Y/n had an apologetic look in her eyes as she fished the phone out of her pocket and she visibly winced when he saw the name on the screen.

She waited a moment until she fixed her breath before answering. “Hi, Andrew.” She spoke, not looking at Bucky anymore. “Yes, I’m ready. I’ll be down in 5 minutes. Okay.” She hung up the phone and finally looked at Bucky again.

He had an unreadable expression in his face while he was still trying to catch his breath from the mind-blowing kiss they just shared.

“I’m sorry. My date is here, I have to go.” Y/n said and waited for Bucky to say something, anything, but he just nodded his head and got up first from the couch, moving to the front door and opening it for her.

She got up too and walked out of the apartment, unable to say another word to him. When she finally reached the door of her own apartment and was entering it, Bucky finally decided to break the silence.

“You’re a quick learner Y/n. Kiss him like that and he’ll be yours forever.” She wanted to laugh at his words, but she just turned her head back and smiled sadly at him.

“Thanks Buck.” She said before he closed the door and entered his apartment again.

This is it, he thought as he sat back on his couch. The same couch where less than 5 minutes ago he was kissing the woman he loved. He should’ve stopped her. He should’ve said something. Asked her not to go on that stupid date with stupid Andrew. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Because he was a coward.

Besides, if Y/n felt something for him, after that kiss she sure would’ve said something too. But she didn’t. She just got up and left to go on her date with another man, leaving Bucky behind with swollen lips and a broken heart.

It was less than three hours later that she finally came back. Bucky heard the keys jingle out in the hall and he knew she was back. She was probably coming back home with her date, he thought, but he was shocked to see her open his door and enter his apartment instead.

She seemed hesitant as she walked inside his place, finding Bucky slouched on the couch, a half finished bottle of whiskey in his hand.

“Bucky?” She called his name cautiously and he picked up his head to look at her. The same dress from before, except this time she was wearing a denim jacket over it too. He stared at her for a while, simply admiring her beauty, cursing himself for not being enough for her.

“Are you drunk?” The question left her lips without thinking. She knew he couldn’t get drunk, but when she saw him like that it was the first thing that came to mind.

“You know I can’t get drunk doll.” His reply was court and composed. “How did it go? Where’s your date?” He then asked her, despite the fact that he had no interest in knowing the answer to either of those questions.

She moved to sit on the couch next to him, the same spot he had stolen her breath away with one kiss a couple of hours ago, and she couldn’t think of nothing else except for that kiss. “It was okay.” She spoke mechanically, staring at his face. In her mind she was still kissing him.

“Did you kiss him?” Another question he didn’t want to know the answer of but he couldn’t help but ask it. Her only reply was a nod, but it was enough for Bucky to understand what she meant.

He slouched his head, dejected, broken, not wanting to be near her anymore. He had lost her.

“Yes, I kissed him.” She spoke a second later and Bucky wanted to tell her he understood that from her nod. “But I realized his weren’t the lips I wanted to kiss me, the lips I wanted to kiss.” She added a little breathlessly.

Bucky fixed his eyes on her, this time waiting with curiosity for her to continue. That she did. “I never wanted to go to that date after the most amazing kiss of my life, but I didn’t want to be rude to Andrew, so I thought I’d give him a chance, because he was a really nice guy.” She let out a small breath before she continued to speak again, Bucky patiently and curiously listening to her. “The entire time we were out I was still thinking about a certain set of lips that managed to set me on fire. And I thought to myself, it’s just because it was my first kiss. I’m sure if I kiss Andrew it will be even better, because I like Andrew. So I kissed him, but there was nothing. I was still searching for a different kiss in him. I was still asking to feel another man’s lips on mine.”

The bottle of alcohol he’d been holding in his hands, he placed it carefully on the coffee table before turning his body to the side to fully face her. “Doll, what are you saying?”

She let out a small sigh before answering, looking him dead in the eye. “I’m saying I don’t want to kiss anyone else beside you.” She confessed and it seemed that the world came to a stop.

He moved to get closer to her, this time both of his hands cupping her cheeks, inching their faces so close to each other once again. “Are you sure?” There was a slight tremble in his voice when he asked the question, but there was none in hers as she answered “Absolutely.” before locking her lips to his and kissing him like there was no tomorrow.

Their mouths continued the exploration and their hands found homes in each other’s bodies.

Bucky was so happy he could die. He kept kissing her like his life depended on it and between kisses he managed to speak. “Good, because I’m planning to kiss you for the rest of my life.”

[fuckallthegood0nesweretaken]

New World CH. Three

Title: The Barn

Words: 1,887

Warnings: Strong language, canon-typical violence, SOFT Daryl

A/N: Chapter three is here! Hope y’all enjoy!

If you’d like to request something, send me an ask. I’d love to write for you!

If you’d like to support me, I have a Ko-Fi!

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~~~~~~~

[Y/n]

Once Sam and Rick got back from talking to Hershel, you started talking about where to look for supplies.

 “Where have you looked so far?” You asked.

 “All over this area here. Maggie says the town has basically been picked clean but there are other houses and farms we can search too,” Rick said.

 “Are you going with us?” Andrea asked.

 “I’d like to.”

 “Rick,” Hershel said, approaching you.

 “Hershel. We just have our guns out because we’re planning on going on a run,” Rick said.

 “Before you do that, I could use your help with something. Sam too. Shouldn’t take more than an hour, maybe two.”

 “Count me in,” Andrea said.

 “Just Sam and Rick. But thank you.”

 “I’ll be down at the barn, keeping watch until you’re ready,” Andrea said.

 “I’ll keep looking at the map. See if there’s anywhere else we can look,” you said to Rick.

 “Don’t go wandering off,” Sam said to you.

 “Don’t worry. I won’t.” You bent over the map again after kissing Sam’s cheek.

 ---

Sam

 Sam and Rick followed Hershel and Jimmy through the woods and to a little bog. Two walkers were stuck in the water and Sam frowned as he walked up.

 “That’s Lou Bush,” Hershel said.

 “You knew him?”

 “Lou as in Louise. She has a farm just up the road and grew sweet corn mostly. Worked at the bar in town on the weekends. The man I don’t know, but I recognize the coveralls he’s wearing. I’ve been to where he worked.” Hershel looked at Rick and Sam. “How many have you killed?”

 “Too many to count,” Rick said.

 “Me too,” Sam said when Hershel looked at him.

 “Could you stop?”

 Rick and Sam shared a look, Rick making eye contact with Hershel after. It was clear that both the men were hesitant in saying something and Hershel knew it.

 “There are people out there who haven’t been in their right minds. I think that they can be restored.”

 “You’re not talking about the walkers, are you?” Rick asked. Jimmy handed Hershel a snare pole, getting it ready.

 “It doesn’t matter if you don’t think the same or if you even see them as human beings anymore. But if you and your people are going to stay here, that’s how you’re gonna have to treat them. My farm, my barn, my say.”

 Hershel handed Rick the pole and after glancing at Sam, Rick took it.

 ---

[Y/n]

It had been a few hours and the two of them still hadn’t gotten back from the errand with Hershel. You were getting a little worried and was pacing around the porch. Adeline and Sophia were sitting with Carl and Beth, Beth playing a game of chess against Patricia. Andrea, Dean, and T-Dog were walking up from the barn. Looking up when you heard them, your brow furrowed.

 “What’s going on?” T-Dog asked. “Where is everyone?”

 “You haven’t seen Sam or Rick?” You said, worry in your voice.

 “They’re still somewhere with Hershel. We were supposed to leave hours ago,” Andrea said.

 “Yeah ya were. What the hell?” Daryl said, coming up to the house, Carol in tow.

 “He said they’d be back soon, two hours at most. It’s been almost four.” You were chewing on your lip and Carol rubbed your back soothingly.

 “Fuck!” Daryl said. He was upset and when he looked out towards the field, he spotted Shane. “Oh here we go.”

 You looked up too and saw that Shane had the gun bag in his hands.

 “What’s all this?” Daryl asked.

 “You with me, man?” Shane said. Daryl nodded and took the rifle Shane handed him.

 “Time to grow up.”

 “What’s going on?” You asked.

 “I thought we couldn’t carry?” T-Dog said.

 “We can and we will. It was one thing sitting around, picking flowers when we thought this place was safe. But it’s not.” Shane looked at Glenn. “How ‘bout you? You gonna protect yours?”

 Glenn took the gun with a nod and Shane turned to Maggie.

 “Can you shoot?”

 “Can you stop? You do this, my dad will make you leave tonight.”

 “We have to stay, Shane,” Carl said. Lori came bounding around the corner of the porch and you made eye contact with her. You shrugged your shoulders, just as confused as she was.

 “We ain’t goin’ anywhere. Now, Hershel, he’s just gotta understand. He- He’s gonna have to.” Shane knelt down in front of Carl and held out a gun. “I want you to take this. You take it and keep your mother and the girls safe. Do whatever it takes.”

 “What the fuck are you thinking?” Lori seethed, grabbing the pistol and getting in between Carl and Shane. “You can’t just give a gun to a twelve year old! And Rick said no guns. This is not your call! This is not your decision to make.”

 You were looking between Lori and Shane before T-Dog said something.

 “Oh shit.”

 Looking where he was, you saw your brother, Rick, Hershel, and Jimmy leading two walkers towards the barn. Shane took off running, you and everyone else close behind.

 “Shane!” You yelled. You were hot on his heels, trying to catch him before he did anything stupid.

 “What the hell are you doing?” Shane yelled as he crashed through the gate.

 “Shane, back off!”

 “Why do they have guns?” Hershel asked Rick.

 “You’re kidding me! You see what they’re holding onto?” Shane was in an angered frenzy.

 “I see who I’m holding onto.”

 “No, man, you don’t.”

 “Shane, just let us do this then we can talk,” Sam said, raising his hands.

 “What is there to talk about, man? These things aren’t sick and they’re not people. They’re dead! Ain’t gotta feel nothing for ‘em ‘cause all they do is fucking kill!” Shane was basically frothing at the mouth and you put your hand on the gun in your waistband. Looking behind you, you saw Lori had a hold of both Adeline and Carl.

 “They killed Amy! They killed Otis! And they gonna kill all of us.”

 “Calm down, Shane!” You said. One of the walkers got a little close to you and you pulled out your gun, pointing it at the walker.

 “Hershel, lemme ask you something. Could a living, breathing person survive something like this?” Shane cocked his gun and proceeded to shoot one of the walkers in the chest.

 “Shane, stop!” Rick yelled.

 “That’s three rounds to the chest. Could someone who’s alive take that? How is it still fucking standing?” He shot again, and again, before shooting it in the head.

 “Enough risking our lives for a ‘safe place to live’! Enough living next to a barn full of things that are trying to fucking kill us! Enough!” Shane walked closer to the barn and turned to Rick. “Rick, it ain’t like it was before! If y’all want to live, to survive, you have to fight for it! Right here, right now!”

 Shane ran to the barn and cut the chain holding it shut. Rick was begging Hershel to take the snare-pole, but he was still on his knees on the ground. He seemed to be in shock. Everyone was yelling at Shane to stop, but you knew he wouldn’t listen. When Shane threw away the last thing holding the walkers back, you readied your gun, standing next to Daryl and Dean.

 When they started walking out, you started shooting them down. Even though you knew this was the wrong way to go about it, you wouldn’t let anything hurt your family. Behind you, you could hear Maggie and Beth sobbing. You felt bad for killing their family a second time, but if you had to do it to make sure your daughter stayed alive you would do it again in a heartbeat.

 After the final shot rang through the air, you heard Beth let out a sob as you approached Lori to grab a crying Adeline from her.

 Beth had managed to get out of Jimmy’s arms and had ran to her mother. You heard voices tell her not to go near them, but she ignored them all. Crying, Beth turned her mother over and knelt by her head. She wasn’t dead yet and Beth screamed, trying to get away. The walker had her by the hair and everyone went to save her. Andrea stabbed it in the head and Beth was safe in her father’s arms.

 “I can’t believe Shane did that,” you muttered to Dean while you calmed down Ada. “It could’ve been handled differently.”

 “You’re right. But what’s done is done. You should get some rest.”

 “Can’t. Need to make sure Adeline’s okay.” You looked at your big brother. “I’m worried about the kids growing up in this new world. Ada already would’ve grown up with carnage around her, but Carl, Sophia, and Beth shouldn’t have. This isn’t a good world for children to grow up in.

 “It’s not. But what can we do?”

 “They need to be able to act like a normal kids. Their childhoods are being stripped away and I feel helpless in knowing there’s nothing I can do about it.”

 Shaking your head, you walked off towards the house as your brother watched you go, worry in his eyes.

 ---

 Later that day, you had a small funeral for Annette and Shawn. You had helped dig the graves and when it was time, you had the service.

 At the funeral, you stood in by your brothers, hand held tightly by Sam. Adeline was in your arms, head tucked into the crook of your neck. When it was over, everyone went their separate ways. Adeline stayed with Carol and Sophia, and you found yourself walking to Daryl. He had started setting up his camp away from everyone else and you couldn’t say you blamed him. Things were getting hectic and you found peace in the quiet away from everyone. You sat down next to him and the silence was broken after a few minutes.

 “Thank you,” you said softly. Daryl looked at you.

 “For what?”

 “Bringing me back to my family. I really appreciate it.” The atmosphere was slightly awkward, but you looked at him nonetheless.

 “It was nothin’.”

 “But it was something. I’m practically just a stranger to you but you helped me out anyways. So, thank you.” Hesitating slightly, you kissed his cheek and stood up. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

 As you started walking away, he grabbed your wrist. Stopping abruptly, you looked back at him. Daryl stood up and cupped your cheek. Eyes fluttering shut, you basked in the softness of his touch. He got closer to you and he kissed your cheek softly.

 “The same ta ya.” With that, Daryl walked away and you knew the conversation was over. Smiling to yourself, you walked back to the house and about half way there, you saw Lori running towards you.

 “Daryl over there?” She asked you.

 “Yes, why?”

 “Beth collapsed from shock and Hershel’s missing. Rick took Dean and Glenn to go get him but they’re not back yet.”

 “Beth in the house?”

 “Yes.”

 “I’ll go see what I can do to help.”

 “Thank you, hun. Now I gotta see if Daryl will go out to find them.”

 “Alright. Good luck.”

[kashimos-hajime]

cookies and rings and things | b.b.

summary: “What do you want for Christmas?” “I’ve got everything I want right here.”

WARNINGS: swearing, but it’s all soft, cute and just love!!! lots of love :) pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader word count: 8.3k 

a/n: written for @sunmoonandbucky for no particular reason other than i saw that she needed fluff and i was more than happy to provide. make sure y’all show her some love bc she just ACED AN AUDITION and literally,, i love her,,, so much,,, NOW HAS A SEQUEL TITLED: POSITIVELY PERFECT

“How much do you love me?” she asks, winter gleaming on her bare skin and firelight playing in her eyes. It’s Boxing Day of 2024, the first truly normal one after the Blip, and Bucky watches as snow falls like feathersoft stars outside his window at the compound.

“Count the snowflakes, multiply by a million.”

“Big number,” she muses and he can feel her nails scratch at his waist lightly as her socked feet nudge against his. He wonders what kinda insane person wears socks without any clothes on, but then decides that it’s the kind of person who’s fallen in love with him.

“Well, I love you more than that,” he replies. She wrinkles her nose and snuggles in tighter against him. The fur lining of those ridiculous reading socks tickle the inside of his calf as she curls against him and he doesn’t think he should be able to love a girl this much. Then, he can feel the cold metal of the ring she slid onto her own finger less than twenty-four hours ago and realizes that he had thought a lot of things shouldn’t be possible, and yet they still are.

“Dork,” she murmurs against his neck.

“Lover,” he replies against her ear.

.

Bucky doesn’t mean to notice her. He’s running laps around the newly rebuilt compound, she has a whistle in her mouth as she shouts drills around the metal thing. Sharp cracks of ‘Pick up the pace!’ and ‘Move it, kids!’ nip at his ears when he runs by and Sam says something about how he’s getting distracted. He hadn’t realized at all.

“Who’s she?” he asks, wiping the sweat from his brow. He’s just finished five laps and he stands on the inner edge of the track, watching as recruits run past. A towel is slung over his shoulder and Sam skids to a stop in front of him, stepping in beside the soldier. The rookies’ shirts are soaked and they pant as they whip past, but none dare to slow down when she stands waiting just a few metres away.

“New trainer.” Sam’s got a glint in his eye Bucky thinks he knows when he says her name. He’s just getting to know the guy but he’s a pretty easy book to read anyway. “Heard she’s a hard ass on the newbies but it’s ‘cause she has a rep.”

“Then they’re getting what they signed up for,” he says shortly. Despite the cool autumn breeze brushing against the thick heat of his neck, his heart burns into his chest as he heaves another breath. 

“Alright, walk it off. We meet by the pool in fifteen.” She catches their attention again, and Bucky notices she’s wearing a half-zipped up windbreaker and joggers, and nothing underneath. Not that he intends to notice. Her hair is tied up back, and he kinda can’t help but look at her neck and her collarbones and, oh, no, he’s looking at her black sports bra—

“Dude.” He blinks at Sam’s amused snap. “You’re staring.”

“Shut up.” Bucky’s voice roughens up as his cheeks begin to flash red and he hides his face in his towel when Sam nudges him with a sweaty elbow. 

“She’s cute. I can get you her number,” Sam says but Bucky lets out such a strangled sound that both Sam and the cute trainer look at him. 

If it were possible, Bucky’s skin would melt off.

“Hey,” Sam calls her over by a name Bucky can barely hear because he’s too busy staring at his feet and wishing the ground would swallow him up. “You’re the new trainer, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Her voice is so much softer than before. Guess it’s like that when you’re not yelling at recruits and talking to Avengers. Bucky raises his head, absently running a hand through the few strands of hair that’ve fallen from his ponytail. “You’re Sam, right? I feel like we’ve met before.” She cocks her eyebrow and tilts her head. “Did you use to live in Washington?”

“Yeah, I did.” Sam’s smile pinches his cheeks and Bucky’s lips press together in a displeased frown when a grin flickers across her face. “Did you work in the VA? ‘Cause you’re starting to look familiar.”

“Yeah.” When she smiles, it morphs her face into something startling warm and lovely. Bucky dips his head low, trying to act like he’s not really part of the conversation—a mere bystander—because if he looks at her for too long, he knows it’s just too intense to be anything but creepy. “I think we used to bump into each other at the gym. I was a physical therapist at the office, and—”

“You made cookies any chance you got, I remember now!” Sam exclaims and she laughs loudly. “You always made my vets’ day when your cookies came in, so thank you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m here now. It’s funny how life works.” She shrugs and Bucky can feel her gaze land on him. “Hi, I don’t think we’ve met.” Her name slips off her tongue like poetry and Bucky, midway through a swipe of sweat down his neck, looks at her with narrowed eyes. He doesn’t mean to glare, but he’s caught so off-guard by the sudden change in direction of their conversation that he isn’t even a part of that his face reverts to something less than friendly.

“Bucky,” he says stiffly, although he doesn’t know why she doesn’t know the names of every Avenger. She probably does and is just being polite, a stern voice in Bucky’s head reprimands and he can feel Sam almost sigh in disappointment. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too. You haven’t tried my cookies yet, so I haven’t proven my worth but I promise they’ll change your life,” she says, completely unphased. Bucky guesses she’s more than used to grumpy guys. “Fall equinox is tomorrow, so wait just a tiny bit longer?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Bucky doesn’t understand the question at the end of her sentence but she seems satisfied with his answer as she shoves her hands into the pockets of her windbreaker. “You probably have to get back to work,” he adds lamely and she turns to look at the compound. The autumn breeze curls hair against her cheek and Bucky bites his lip to resist the urge.

“I’m free later tonight,” she says, eyes squinting a bit when she turns back to Bucky and Sam clears his throat when Bucky himself doesn’t say a word. It’s like he’s drowning in her eyes. There’s something so effortlessly patient and warm in her gaze that Bucky can’t help but just… rest. It’s almost as if he can rest in her presence.

“So is Barnes.”

“What?” He snaps back to reality harshly, as usual. “We’re supposed to—“

“Actually, I can handle it on my own. She, however—” At this, Sam gestures wildly to the trainer who stands there, the beginnings of an amused grin growing on her face—“needs help with cookies.”

“I can’t,” he croaks after a minute of stuttering, and he simply clamps his mouth shut, averting his eyes. She’s too pretty for him. 

“I mean, company is always welcome,” she says, but he shakes his head.

“I’ll just get in your way and I don’t wanna mess up your cookies.”

“You can’t mess them up. I always think of something and it always works out.” She reaches over to take hold of his flesh arm and despite the coolness of the day when they’re not running their lungs out, her hand burns against his skin. She gently squeezes his elbow. “Don’t worry so much, okay? I’ll be in the kitchen after dinner in the mess.” 

She lets go too soon and slips her hand back into her pocket as Bucky opens his mouth to reply. 

“I’ve got to go to the pool,” she says, jerking her head towards the compound. Her eyes flicker to Sam whose grin nearly splits his face. “Bye, Sam. It was nice seeing you again, although I suppose we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other now.”

“Big building,” he says with a shrug. “Who knows?” She chuckles lightly, and then her gaze slides to Bucky.

Her eyes just seem to find his so calmly. It’s magnetic, and if he believed in love at first sight, this would be it.

“See you later, Sergeant.” She magpie salutes and he can’t help but mimic like a monkey, a lazy swipe of his finger from his brow. It’s so relaxed, so slow and he’s slouched on one hip, his metal hand on his towel, that he thinks he’s never felt so light. It’s almost routine—he could get used to this.

Man, it’s so easy with her. 

Her smile brightens remarkably and she heads back to the compound with a little spring in her step.

Sam waits until she’s inside before grabbing Bucky by the neck and giving him a noogie.

.

“You gotta dress up nice, man,” Sam advises like he’s on the same level as Tan from Queer Eye. Bucky stares at his reflection in the floor-length mirror and frowns in response. 

“We’re baking, not going to a gala.” Maybe I should take her to one. Get invited to enough of them as it is, a part of him muses, but he quickly chases that thought of his head. “Besides, she just saw us earlier today sweating like dogs so I don’t really think she’ll care if I show up in a t-shirt and shorts.”

“But this is your first date, man. You gotta dress to impress.” Sam shuffles through Bucky’s closet whilst its owner gapes at him.

“It’s not a date.”

“Yeah, and I’m not Captain America.”

“Shut up, Sam.” Bucky catches the pair of dark washed jeans and a cozy little sweater Wanda said would be cute on him. Glancing at his reflection in the mirror, he sighs. The warm white and the dark blue are so not his style. His style is black in different shades and fabrics and he is going to kill Sam. “This? I’ll look like—”

“Husband material. You’ll look like a straight up husband. She will cuff you on the spot,” Sam declares much to Bucky’s annoyance. “Are you gonna wear the photostatic veil Banner programmed for you?” He glances over to see Sam holding the mesh of tech, and he frowns thoughtfully.

“Should I?” He hasn’t had the opportunity to try it on, and although he knows everyone is used to his metal arm… He sighs. This is way more complicated than the forties. “Yeah. Good impression, right?” he says lamely and Sam claps him on the back, helping him seal it to his metal arm. As the nano-sized cells connect to the metal plates, a fleshy color blooms from the shoulder down and he feels like silk brushes against the tiny fibers of his arm. He can feel every single little cell, buzzing in a way that’s barely even noticeable. Bucky hopes that when he doesn’t focus on it, it’ll fade into the back of his mind.

“Atta boy. Come on. We’ve got dinner and then it’s time for your date! Wanda made paprikash.”

“Great,” Bucky intones dully, nerves biting at his stomach. He has no appetite for this. “I love paprikash.”

“We don’t sulk on first dates, Barnes.”

“It’s not a fucking date!”

.

After a dinner full of questions from Dr. Banner on how the photostatic veil was feeling and from everyone else on why, Bucky volunteers to do the dishes and clean up to make sure everything is spotless for when she comes in. Despite confusion among the rest of his colleagues, Sam assures them that ‘this is the plan, guys. Barnes’s got a hot date coming over.’ 

This, of course, only results in Bucky threatening to throw a skillet at him.

He wipes down the countertops, cleans the sink, and reorganizes the fridge while he waits for her, and he absently wonders what kind of cookies she intends to make. Chocolate chip, jam, sugar, shortbread…

Ingredients! His eyes widen and he turns to look at the dark pantries in slight horror. I should probably get them out for her. And measuring spoons, that’s what she needs, right? His stomach is in knots as he runs around the kitchen island, trying to find all the tools they might need. He tries to think of when Wanda had last made something sweet—what had she used? He ducks to pull out the biggest drawer, relieved to find three metal bowls of different sizes.

“Small, medium, large,” he murmurs under his breath, and he puts them all out beside the other instruments he thinks might be needed. A whisk, a bunch of different spoons, a glass cup and metal scoops… He glances around and tries to figure out what he’s missed before deciding to just open up every possible drawer and cupboard, and see what pricks his imagination.

He only gets to the second set of drawers when a soft chuckle catches his attention. 

Whipping around, he feels his heart drop into his stomach when he spots her leaning against the doorframe. Her hair is pulled away from her face, and she has a book and aprons hugged tight to her chest. 

“I didn't want to disturb you,” she says, an impish curl to her mouth. Bucky steps back from the kitchen island as she walks around and her gaze sweeps his collection. “It was cute.”

“Not many people can sneak up on me,” he says, a bit defensive as a flush makes its way up his neck. He doesn’t mean to sound like it, but maybe it’s the embarrassment of being caught that makes him oddly proud of his work.

“Not many people help me bake cookies,” she replies, standing next to him. She sets down the book and aprons down and he can catch the faint whiff of dinner at the mess hall clinging to her t-shirt. His heart hammers hard enough he’s sure even the deaf would be able to hear it as she gently plucks at different tools, thinking about what they will and won’t need. 

Not the thing that looks like a weird wire version of brass knuckles, got it.

“Uh, pastry cutter,” she names, returning it to its place without a mistake. “We won’t really need it since we’re not cutting up big portions of fat.”

“Good to know.” He nods and writes that down in his head. “Anything else we don’t need?”

“We can use it all if you want,” she says with a laugh living in her voice. “It doesn’t really make any difference to me.”

“Okay, well, let’s just get started, then.” 

“Aprons first.” She unfolds the two things, one white and navy, and the other black. The black one says Kiss the Cook and Bucky feels a flash of heat at the print. “Which one?”

The white and navy striped apron has a blue pocket with tiny white polka dots, the same pattern frilling the bottom and on the shoulder straps. The black, it’s clearly larger and for a man, and Bucky wonders if these were truly the only aprons she had or if she only bakes with guys she’s interested in. A flicker of jealousy runs through him. How many guys cooked with her before him?

Stop it. Not a date. Bucky shakes his head and shrugs.

“Whatever looks best on you,” he says. “Not that either of them would look bad or anything, but—”

“Thanks, Sarge.” Her eyes crinkle when she smiles big enough and she slips the black apron over her neck before sticking out the white and navy one to him. He stares at the piece of fabric for a moment before slipping his arms through and twisting his arms to tie a tight knot. She does the same and it’s pulled tight against her, Kiss the Chef smack in the middle of her chest.

“So where do we start?” He swallows because he thinks he’s just signed up for more than he bargained for. He looks at all these raw ingredients, ingredients he’s pulled because he thought it might be useful and doesn’t even know where to begin.

“First, we have to decide how many cookies and which type,” she says, pulling over the book and making space for it. She opens it up and his eyes widen at all the tabs poking out, different colours surely meaning different things. It’s an organized mess.

With a piece of scrap paper and a pencil, she writes down the number of required cookies. “Around there,” she says with a swift circle around a number bigger than Bucky had thought. “And these are the cookies we can make that everyone can eat,” she continues, writing a list down one side and then sectioning it off with a line, “these include nuts,” another section, “and these will have icing on them.”

“That’s a lot of planning for the fall equinox, ma’am,” he begins, trying not to sound daunted. She laughs, her eyes darting to his face. Her stare burns into his cheek as she shrugs.

“Hope I’m not scaring you away.”

No. Never. “Maybe a little.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll do the math and teach you a few tricks, and you’ll be a natural. Promise.” He’s surprised by how easily he believes her. As she talks about all the different types of cookies, the textures and ingredients one can use, Bucky finds himself slipping. He lets her scoot closer as she shows him how to sift the dry ingredients.

“Just tap it against your hand like this,” she says and Bucky copies her. She shows him how to prep the pan, and he preheats the oven. They mix the dough with their hands, and Bucky watches as her skilled hands manipulate the oily dough she’s created like it’s second nature. He glances down at his own pile in a glass bowl that doesn’t look too shabby, and almost smiles. “Yours looks really good, Bucky.”

“Thanks.” His eyes stick to the chocolate chips and he pokes it with a half-proud smile. “I had a great teacher.” She laughs again. She’s easy to laugh and smile, and every time she does either of those things, something in him feels like it’s going to burst with light. He wishes he was like that, but at the same time, he feels brighter than he has in days. Maybe it’s something about how she treats him like any other guy, or maybe it’s that she makes him smile more than anyone has in a while.

“Well, this is only batch one and two out of like, twenty billion,” she says as they begin to shape their cookies. Bucky had ripped the parchment paper for their trays and laid them flat and while they roll these balls of chocolate chip cookie dough, he can’t help but listen to her go on and on about things she wants to talk about. Life since the Blip, the recruits, hobbies and childhood memories. He can’t help but give his two cents too, and she tilts her head as she listens, a soft smile on her face.

“You’re a great listener,” she comments as he sets the trays in the oven and closes the door. She sets the timer on her phone and begins to prepare for the next batch.

“It was all I could do for a while,” he says with a shrug. “You get good at stuff you do for a long time.” Her actions slow and she turns to stare at him. He focuses on cleaning up his work space, swallowing down the smell of butter and sugar. “Guess something came out of it,” he adds uncomfortably when the silence grows. He looks beside him, at her, where there is a smear of flour across her cheek, where she merely stands there in silence, and sighs. He’s ruined it. “Sorry.”

“Is that why you hid your hand?” she asks softly and his eyes widen noticeably. “I didn’t want to ask to make you uncomfortable, but I did wonder.” She looks down to make sure she’s measuring enough sugar and she closes her eyes for a moment, clearly cursing herself. Bucky wishes he could say something, but his mouth doesn’t click with his brain. “Forget I even brought it up. I’m sorry, I—”

“I wore it for tonight,” he blurts out and she looks at him, eyebrows furrowed together. “It’s a photostatic veil Banner coded for me and… and I wore it for you.”

“Why? It’s not like I’m afraid of it.”

You should be. “I guess I just wanted to be normal for a night,” he sighs and she stops sifting for a moment to really look at him. Setting down the sieve, she leans on the counter and places the other hand on her hip, waiting for him to explain patiently. “Sam called it a date, and I think it got to my head.”

“Oh,” she breathes. He tears off the photostatic veil carefully, letting the mesh crumple in his hands and she swallows. The air is thick with an emotion neither of them can quite name and Bucky is quite sure she will never want to see him again. God, is this what it’s like to flunk a date? He sets down the mesh on a clean countertop, watching the hologram flicker as he flexes his metal fingers. They gleam in the artificial light and he hides it behind his back, shame pooling in his chest.

“I’m so sorry. I… I didn’t want to make it awkward for you,” he mutters and she reaches to touch his metal wrist tentatively. Kiss the Chef wrinkles against her chest and his gaze falls to the floor. He doesn’t quite know how to describe how utterly disappointed in himself he is when she steps closer, fingers curling over his. No pity in her eyes, she squeezes his palm carefully.

“I don’t want you hiding yourself away,” she murmurs, tilting her head so he is forced to look at her. His eyes stare dejectedly into hers and she smiles, using her other hand to cup his face. Powder dusts against his eyes and he squints. The smell of dough clings to her skin and she smiles fondly at him, fingers stroking his cheek. “I like you just as you are.”

“You like me?” he asks, confused, and she chuckles. “All I’ve done is help you make cookies.”

“‘Course I like you, dork. You’re hot.” A teasing bite in her tone, she taps his nose with her thumb before returning her palm to his cheek. “And I know you didn’t have control of anything in your past, and you’re trying your best, Bucky. That’s all any of us can do, now that we’re back.” Her eyes avert for a moment, and then find his again. There is a gooey softness that reminds him of molten chocolate and snow on Christmas eve. “I really do like you, you know. Have a big ol’ school girl crush on you, to be honest.”

“On me?” Why not anyone else? He’s bewildered. Sam, or that new receptionist on two, or even some other trainer because… 

Frankly, Bucky thinks he’s lost all appeal to those who know him since 1945.

She takes his silence as rejection and it shows in the uncertainty that mars her face. Bucky wishes he knew how to articulate that he is insanely attracted to her and how the way she laughs makes his heart believe it can jump mountains, but instead he is stunned into a quiet that fills the kitchen. He only met her a few hours ago. How can he even begin to explain it?

“We have cookies to make,” he says instead, eyes flitting to the open ingredients and he turns his head against her hand. She springs apart from him, cold rushing to fill in the space she’s left behind as she draws her hands towards herself.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess we do.” Her face falls and she grabs the sieve, a wobbly smile built on her lips. “Forget I brought it up, then.” She begins to sift her dry ingredients once again and he mentally groans to himself. Why is he such an idiot?

He mumbles her name softly, and she pauses, turning just so to look at him.

“I like you, too,” he says with a difficulty that shouldn’t be there, because it’s true. “I know I just met you today, but you’ve already made me feel… different, I guess”

“Different?” A tentative, stronger smile begins to curl the corner of her mouth and he nods, his lips twitching upwards. His hand, flesh and warm, settles on her hip all on its own, a fluttering touch that he is completely unsure of as he gently turns her to face him fully. She’s so damn gorgeous with flour on her face and eye bags beneath her eyes that he’s sure she will inevitably make his heart burst. It pounds in his head as he tries to grab at reasons he needs to step away, to stay away, but his heart battles his head ferociously. 

I’ll hurt you and I can’t stand the thought. I’ll hurt you or kill you or lose control and you can’t stop me and I don’t want to hurt you ever. His brain screams the words H.Y.D.R.A had thrown at him, the looks handlers had tossed at him flashing in his head—terrified, wild dog, monster.

I want to protect you, I want to love you, you light me up, I can protect you. I won’t hurt you. I’ll be better for you, if you could love someone like me. His heart whispers, louder than the silence. It’s the forties boy in him, the son his mama raised and the brother Rebecca loved, and he can recall the faces he’s adored—Steve, Ma, Becca.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Bucky murmurs and she hesitantly touches his face. His eyes flutter at her gentle touch and she takes it as an invitation to cup his face once again. “It’s just… you.”

“I’m not special,” she tells him bashfully, words brushing against his lips as he closes his eyes for a moment against her hand. When he opens them once again, he finds her watching, transfixed. There is a new serenity in her eyes, one that tells him she is completely enchanted on something that cannot be him—he is anything but an angel.

“You really are.”

“Now, now, Sergeant Barnes.” Her voice is warm as whiskey and he can get drunk off the sound of her laugh. He can feel her smile just by how her energy shifts and Bucky falls, for the first time in his life; he falls harder than he ever has. “Go on like that and you’ll get anything you want from me.” 

“Even permission to kiss the chef?” Bucky’s words, thick and hot, jumble in his mouth. Her nose brushes his, sparks tingling in his veins as her hand trails to cusp the back of his neck.

“That permission will always be granted without question.” 

He kisses her softly, hesitance laced through his lips and it is only when she crushes him against her does he bury his hand in his hair and kiss her like she is meant to be kissed: feverently, reverently, forever reminded that Bucky Barnes is lucky enough to be completely in love with her.

.

Bucky is quite sure Sam is in love with his girlfriend in the fact that he’s in love with the fact that his girlfriend is possibly in love with Bucky. Bucky himself doesn’t think that she could possibly be in love with him, but Sam is more than eager to prove otherwise.

“Sam asked what I’m getting everyone for Christmas.” She’s on the shoulder press, the muscles in her back flexing and waning in a slick sheen of sweat while Bucky completes his set of push-ups. 

“He’s thinking too far ahead,” he mutters. “It’s only the start of November.”

“Well, you know him. I think he just wants an opinion on what I’m getting you.” Standing up, she grabs her water bottle, squirting a stream of ice-cold water into her mouth before laying down beside him. “What do you want for Christmas?”

He pauses mid-way up from his two-hundredth push-up. “You don’t need to get me anything, doll.” The nickname is still a bit strange on his tongue but he thinks he can get used to it.

“Yeah, but I wanna get you something.” She juts out her bottom lip in an adorable pout, a telltale sign she wants him to kiss her and he leans on one hand to press a quick kiss onto her lips before resuming his workout. He knows the signs on what she wants fairly easily now. He’s grateful she’s spelt it out so many times for him. 

Playing with his fingers means she wants attention, a pout is a kiss, suctioning kisses to the neck means she’s feeling some sorta way and he’s more than happy to oblige that feeling. There’s a long list of little tells that Bucky’s starting to think it’s a whole other language.

“How about cookies?” he deflects and she rolls her eyes, getting up and sucking down some more water. 

“I make cookies for everyone. You deserve something special,” she argues and he sighs. “I really want to make our first Christmas special.” He lies down and pushes on his palms, stretching out in a cobra pose while she rolls over into the splits. He pulls back into child’s pose while she leans forward and he’s thankful for the silence.

What do I want? he wonders. What do I want that I don’t have already? His eyes drift to her form only a few centimetres away and he thinks, Nothing. 

“I’ve got everything I want right here,” he intones seriously, crawling forward and she turns to him, eyes wide. Sitting upright, she changes legs. “I guess I want nothing to change.”

“Dork,” she mumbles, and a sticky heat pools in his face as she pokes his cheek. He sits down and she offers him his water bottle with a shake. He shakes his head, the argument that his own is only in the locker room. “Come on. Locker room’s too far away from me.” A sweat drop tracks down her jaw and he smiles softly, brushing it away. Legs crossed, he takes it without taking a sip. “Besides, I told you you can take what you want. I don’t mind.”

“Okay,” he says, knowing full well it just doesn’t feel right to take back the hoodies she’s stolen from him. Maybe one by one, he’ll take them back and wear them for at least twenty four hours before giving them back. Then, his scent will stay with her. “What do you want for Christmas, then?”

“I—” Her sentence is cut off by an alert on his phone, one they both know not to ignore and she sighs. There is disappointment, their little bubble popped with a simple text. He sets down her water bottle to get it, gut dropping at the message displayed on his screen. “How long is it?”

“Emergency response in Cairo, I don’t know,” he murmurs. Pocketing his phone, he grabs his towel and rushes back to her. He grabs her face and presses a desperate kiss against her mouth, eyes squeezing shut and she mumbles words he can’t decipher against his grieving lips. Her fingers touch his jaw gently, a reminder that he must go, and he pulls away. “I’ll text you as soon as I can.”

“Stay safe.”

He smiles shakily and promises that he will.

.

“Barnes. We got a package for you.” Sharon Carter’s voice catches his attention from his sniper post and he blinks away the winter sun from his eyes. No movement still. “Merry Christmas.”

The blonde extends a box towards him, a slight smile curling her lips and he frowns at the stark bleakness of it. Black, and absorbing no light, it feels heavier than he thought it’d be. 

“Thanks.” He shifts, his bones clicking as he glances out the tiny slit of a window. There hasn’t been movement for weeks. Crossing his legs, he sets the box before him and a tiny blue hologram pops up from a tiny hole in the center. His eyebrows furrow together as it scans his face and he squints.

“Facial scan complete: Hello, James Buchanan Barnes.”

F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice echoes in his small little perch and he still thinks it’s weird without having the side effect of Stark in his suit chasing after him to hear the A.I. but he shoves that uncomfortable feeling of the dead man out of his head. That is too much regret to unpack right now on a mission.

The box unfolds, the mechanical whir humming in his ears and a waft of sweet sugar rushes into his face as he peers within.

Cookies. Sugar cookies, butter cookies, frosting and crystal sprinkles, gingerbread, snickerdoodle, a note in her writing.

“She requested I ask you to read her note before eating the treats,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. says and Bucky pulls out her note. “She also requested that you stay safe, despite not being home for Christmas.”

Taking the blue cue card, he sighs at the mere sight of her writing. His heart aches much more than he realized and he wonders if she misses him half as much as he misses her.

Buck,

Times may be tough while we’re apart, but absence only makes the heart grow fonder. Stay safe, Sarge, and come back to me.

Merry Christmas. Forever thinking of you. 

When he bites into one of those cookies, he melts into the wall he’s leaning to and closes his eyes, just imagining her standing in the kitchen with that Kiss the Chef apron tied tightly around her. The taste brings back memories, and brings him back home to New York, to her. Home, he muses wistfully, home is waiting for me with her laugh and smell and eyes. Home.

.

Bucky drops his bags as soon as he’s off the quinjet because he spots the dark blur that is his girlfriend in a track pants and a big poofy parka running down the road towards him. He barely gets his arms up in time before she’s flying into his arms and he lets out a grunt, stumbling back as he flings his arms around her waist and holds onto her tightly. Her legs squeeze his waist as she burrows her head into his neck and Sam laughs as he unpacks the equipment.

“Bucky,” she says, pulling back and his arms hold her to him still, gently supporting her back and her bottom. Her hand cups her face and she brushes hair out of his face, tracing a healing cut on his lip. “You’re home.” She embraces him again, thighs tightening as if she’s afraid to see him leave again and he merely closes his eyes, letting the first day of 2024 snow against his skin. “You’re home.”

“I’m home, lover,” he promises, and she laughs, face wet when she steps back onto solid ground again. He opens his eyes to admire her, a vision; a sight for sore eyes from the arms length he holds her at. The snow melts as it lands on her skin but it nestles in her hair, a frame of white for her pretty face that he’s missed far too much. “God, I’m home.”

She laughs, a watery smile surfacing as she leans up to kiss him. They are rapid, wet with emotion and she smiles against his lips, just laughing in relief. “I love you so much,” she whispers and he blinks, drawing back. Her face is the epitome of happiness as he gawks at her and she wipes at her eyes. “You don’t have to say it back, but I just… I love you.” She doesn’t look afraid, only confident in her feelings for him and he scoops her up, his heart bursting with sunlight.

“I love you, too,” he whispers into her ear, embracing her tightly. She lets out a tiny exhale at his strength but hugs him back tightly anyway. What is love if not hugs that barely allow you to breathe and kisses until you’re dizzy? Bucky doesn’t know. “God, I love you.”

.

Bucky learns a lot dating her.

She hums when she cuts his hair—which she does every so often—and likes to cuddle in her sleep. She bakes for every occasion she can think of and likes to spoil Bucky rotten. Although their jobs often keep them apart during the day, Bucky likes to just watch her in her environment, ordering the recruits around.

She has a different sport she favours for every season. Jogging in the fall, hockey in the winter, tennis in the spring and swimming in the summer. More often than not, she drags a happy Bucky with her to the rec centre and he’s more than happy to participate, whether he shows it or not.

She expresses her feelings through cooking, which Bucky has learnt the hard way. One time, they got into an argument over something stupid—he can’t even remember what started it—and came to the kitchen at 2AM to see her sitting at the kitchen island crying her eyes out and surrounded by baskets of muffins.

“Lover,” he had called out softly, already too loud for the eerie time between midnight and morning. “You’ve got a bit of a muffin problem.”  

“I know,” she had replied dejectedly. “I don’t know what to do with all of it, Buck.”

They had donated it to shelters around the city, going on their own from street to street with baskets full of muffins. It becomes ritual, to have days where they bring baked goods and homemade meals to those who need it.

She doesn’t really know how to take care of herself, based on how she treats herself during assessment season, so Bucky has to pick up her slack and feed her more than caffeine. He feeds her diets that are balanced and healthy, and makes meals that he learns in his spare time to share with her while she shouts herself raw at the soldiers. 

He remembers her favourite foods and music, and knows just how to put an exhausted girl to bed with makeup and bra off. He remembers to write when he’s gone for too long during missions, and he remembers her birthday, favourite colour, and which show she’s currently obsessing over. He always downloads the seasons to catch up so he understands what she’s talking about.

It’s safe to assume he knows when to propose, hell, he’d been ready the night they first baked together, but he just has to remember to catch her ring size. There’s so much of his mind cluttered with these useless yet utterly adorable facts about her that he can’t bring himself to delete, that it’s always the one thing he forgets to do.

Here is where his friends come in.

.

They’re all hanging in the lounge on a lazy autumn day. Their one year anniversary is coming up and Bucky and Sam are watching football while she talks to Wanda about potential plans.

“Popcorn,” Sam says without tearing his eyes off the screen, shoving the bowl in their general direction. Bucky grabs it unceremoniously, popping a few into his mouth while she twists in his grip to pass the bowl to Wanda. 

“I have cookies cooling, boys,” she warns them and Wanda chuckles. The witch puts the bowl back on the table next to the empty nacho plate while Bucky’s girlfriend decides to curl against him, and his arm around her waist squeezes her close. His hand trails down to her thigh, hoisting her legs up while she peppers kisses on the underside of his jaw. 

“I don’t understand anything about this game,” Wanda intones once commercials hit, amused when Sam lets out a shout of disappointment. Beeping from the kitchen, a timer, breaks whatever retort he was prepared to throw back at the Sokovian and Bucky lets out a whine when his girlfriend unwinds from his lap to get up.

“Sorry, babe, but I gotta get them before they get too cold,” she says and Bucky frowns before nodding. He cups the back of her neck, and she kisses him quickly before pulling away and skipping to the kitchen. Wanda immediately crawls into the space on the other side of Bucky on the couch, pulling out her phone while Sam leans over to whisper.

“She sends me pictures all the time,” Wanda begins nefariously and Sam pulls out a strip of paper, a line in pencil across it. As he rolls it up into a ring, Wanda leans over to show Bucky pictures of the girls’ conversation. “She adores all of them, but she cannot decide.”

“And here you go, man.” Sam gives the paper ring to Bucky. “Got it while she was taking a nap.”

“She wants silver rather than gold,” Wanda says.

“And she doesn’t care about a venue.”

“But she likes the idea of a seasonal wedding.”

“Dude, she wants your babies.”

“She wants two or three kids.”

Bucky’s head begins to spin as they continue to bombard him with facts or proof that she actually wants to spend a life with him, and he blinks, staring at the commercials that still flash in his face. Grabbing Wanda’s phone, he focuses on the images that his girlfriend had sent the witch, gorgeous silver rings with diamonds, some with less, some with more, and simply tunes the two out, trying to internally decide what he should buy her. Meanwhile, Sam and Wanda have fallen into some argument about whether or not Bucky’s wedding is going to be a summer or winter wedding, when a new voice pierces the air.

“Who wants cookies?” 

Immediately, a hush falls over them. Bucky tears his eyes away from the phone just as Wanda snatches it back just in time for her to appear, striding into the room with the smell of cookies rushing in after her. She sends them an odd glance, and the trio of Avengers merely separate as she sets down the plate. A fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies are stacked ontop of a porcelain plate and Sam lunges forward to grab one while she picks one up delicately and resumes her place on Bucky’s lap.

“What were you three talking about?” she asks, amused, and he takes the cookie with a click of his mechanical arm. She tucks her head underneath his chin while his hand goes back to her thigh and he bites into the cookie.

“Nothing you gotta worry about,” he says. The game starts again and she can’t pipe up to argue without Sam telling them to shut up, so she doesn’t. Instead, she rests her head on his chest and Bucky hopes she doesn’t hear his heart beating like crazy in his chest. 

By the tiny smile he can feel against his chest, she can hear it.

.

Bucky holds the ring in his pocket for four months.

He had bought it the very next day after the football game because if he had let it sit, the nerves would’ve gotten to him, but now, new nerves are causing him to become paranoid: waiting for the perfect moment, scared that she’ll find out.

He thinks the proposal should be grand and all about how much he loves her and how much she’s shown him and loved him and it needs to be perfect. It is anything but that.

“Morning,” she whispers as her eyes flutter open. She’s laying against him in their comfy, toasty bed, and he doesn’t want to move for Christmas festivities except they both have to—a charity breakfast for veterans where Bucky is speaking, then a novice hockey game because his girlfriend just had to teach the cutest little seven year old boys how to utterly destroy their opponents, and then dinner. 

He traces shapes along the slope of her back lazily, craning his head to look at him and she smiles dazedly.

“Hey, lover.” He grins easier now, and when his smile splits his face, her own does too. “We’ve got a day ahead of us.”

“A day that’s way too long for Christmas,” she mumbles, closing her eyes and pressing her cheek against his chest. “Convince me to get up.” It’s still dark outside, a blissful 5AM full of snow delicately fluttering outside their window. He wraps a leg around her waist, pulling her close while she dozes and she lets out a contented sigh at his arm draped over her side.

“Don’t want to,” he replies, eyes closing. “Want you to stay right here with me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Kinda want to stay here forever,” he continues drowsily, eyes fluttering shut and she shakes in his arms with a silent laugh. “Wish everyday could be like this.”

“You wake up earlier, and maybe it could be,” she retorts. Of course the early bird in her is perfect for her morning drills with her recruits, but Bucky prefers to sleep in like the owl he is, and he lets out a snort, kissing her hairline. “Just saying.”

“I’m too busy catching up on your shows.” His arm tightens around her.

“Catching up. Liar. I know you were up at 2 AM this morning binge-watching.” She tilts her head up, eyes opening. A spark lights up her face and a mischievous curl of her lip tells Bucky she’s about to say something that’s going to make him blush. “Just admit you like Gossip Girl and go, babe.”

“Alright, I like it.” Rolling his eyes, he pecks her forehead and she smiles victoriously. It’s so adorable that Bucky, with less than three hours of sleep, adds, “God, I want to marry you.”

“What?”

Oh.

Shit.

Bucky is suddenly more awake than if someone had thrown him into an ice bath. She almost throws herself off of him, sitting up and he follows her with his eyes as she twists to turn on the lights. Golden light paints her a goddess, and her hair is messy atop her head as she stares at him with wide eyes.

Bucky sits up slowly, the blanket pooling around their waists, and she blinks at him as he chews on the inside of his cheek.

“Do you not want to get married?” he asks slowly, almost afraid. Although he’s nearly 100% certain she wants to be with him, a part of him still bites at his stomach with doubt. “Have… have I been looking at this wrong?” He doesn’t tear his eyes away, holding this staring contest as she continues to stare at him, lips slightly parted and he reaches over to touch her hand. “You okay, lover?”

“You wanna marry me?” she asks, and he nods slowly, fire rising in his stomach and crawling up his neck as he makes a mental note never to keep secrets from her because when he’s been running on three hours of sleep, he likes to spill his guts where he feels safe. 

“I… I got a ring and everything.” He turns to open the drawer on his nightstand and pulls out the dark navy box, velvet brushing against his sleep-numb fingers. “Wanda and Sam helped, and I was going to make this a big thing, but—” He’s tripping over his words as he pries it open, and he watches as her gaze falls to the silver ring, the exact one from one of the pictures Wanda had shown him—”I know I don’t really deserve you, and god, you deserve better than a proposal at 5 AM but I really do want to marry you.”

“Buck—”

“I love you. I love you so much it’s crazy because I didn’t think anyone could love me, or that I could open my heart to someone like you, and I know you deserve more than this, a better man, but—”

“Bucky—”

“All I’m trying to say is… thank you. For loving me.” His sleep addled brain tries to scramble for more things to say, and he smiles, almost sad but so, so, very much in love. “Thank you for bringing laughter into my life again.”

“Bucky, you fucking dork,” are her first words and he blinks as she lunges into his body. The blankets twist and her warm muscles wrap around him as she peppers kisses all over his face. “You wonderful, wonderful man. I love you so much. I love you, I love you, I love you.” His arm props him up against her body as he holds onto the box and she straddles his waist, twisting to look at the box. Her smile is tender as she takes out the ring and slides it onto her finger and he smiles bashfully when she shows him the fit. He lets the velvet box slip from his hand to cup her waist and he sighs blissfully when she leans to kiss him.

“Remember when I asked what you wanted for Christmas last year?” she murmurs against his lips and he smiles as the cool metal of her new ring trails down his neck to his shoulder. “And you said you wanted nothing to change…”

“I guess I just didn’t want anything more than you,” he whispers fondly and she smiles, eyes closing as she knocks her forehead against his. “But this one change I can handle.”

“Yeah?” She opens her eyes to stare deeply into his and he smiles, a warm curl to his lip.

“Yeah.”

[justanotherfanfic]

Talking to the Moon

summary: steve and reader are not in a good relationship right now and the recent mission did not help that out. arguments have started and insults have been thrown... steve and reader gain reassurance from fellow teammates

pairings: mentor!steve rogers x reader & platonic!peter parker x reader

word count: 3k+

warnings: none?

author’s note: hey y’all! it’s been ages, i know, but i’m back! it’s been intense lately but i’ve been trying to bring myself to upload again.

THE JET REMAINED silent as your leg bobbled around. You tried your best to ignore the glare coming from your mentor, Steve. You decided that it would be best to distract yourself by adjusting the equipment strapped to your thigh. A moment passed before you looked up and accidentally made eye contact with Peter. You looked away before he could react. You and Peter never really talked, but you could still feel his judgement whenever you messed up during a mission. A sigh came out of your mouth as the tension grew. You can feel eyes from the other team mates as they tried to make sure Steve did not start an argument.

After what felt like an eternity, the jet finally began descending into the Avengers Headquarters. As the hanger began opening up, you immediately got out of your seat and made your way down the ramp. A few agents were ready to greet the team for updates and medical inspections. Out of the whole team, Steve needed the most attention but he only brushed them off, much to the medics protests.

You, on the other hand, only had a minor cut on your chin. You looked over to the side and noticed how Nat and Wanda were discussing the updates with high ranking agents while Bucky and Sam listen intently from the side. It didn't take long before they all began walking towards the building. You flinched when the alcohol made contact with your cut, the medic apologized before continuing.

You shifted your attention to Tony and Peter who were quietly talking to one another. You can see Tony's concern in his tired eyes, he truly cared for Peter as his own son whether he would admit it or not. Before you looked away, you saw Tony pulled Peter in for a hug.

"You're good to go," the medic nodded as they began cleaning up their mess.

You thanked them then made your way into the building. Hundreds of agents were maneuvering around you as they tried to finish their own objectives.

It did not take long before you heard heavy footsteps following you. You felt chills running down your spine as you tried to make your way into the common area.

After a few moments, you were face to face with the elevator. You walked in and swiftly turned your heels. You mentally screamed in annoyance when you saw Steve walked in as well. You pressed the button that would take you to the common room.

The elevator door closed and a bright laser immediately scanned you and Steve. It was a daily task; since you were going into the Avengers' personal area, FRIDAY is required to scan all individuals for clearance. Basically, the Avengers, Fury, and Coulson are the only ones allowed in.

"C-0418, cleared. Y-0402 cleared." FRIDAY's voice announced.

Suddenly the elevator began moving and a soft hum was heard from the machine. The ride was painfully silent for a good minute. Although the tension was thick, you were glad Steve had the common decency to wait to talk to you until you made it to-

"[Y/N]," Steve began before you sighed loudly.

"Steve, I really don't want to talk right now..."

A scoff came out of his mouth, "You're joking, right?"

You turned your attention to the wall and remained silent. Your fear in the jet turned into anger when you remembered what truly happened at the mission.

Before you could say a word, the elevator began slowing down into a complete stop. A ding rang before the doors opened.

You were the first to get out and make your way to the media room. You were about to grab the TV remote before you heard Steve behind you.

"Go to your room," Steve stated.

You scoffed and turned your attention to him, "I'm not a kid."

"You're sure acting like one." Steve fired back. "Once you're ready to act like an Avenger than I'll treat you like one."

"What did I even do?!" You shouted as you noticed Tony and Peter coming around the corner.

"You put yours and Peter's life in danger!" Steve shouted. "How many times do I have to tell you how deadly Hydra is?! You were selfish and ran straight into the fight when I told you to stay put!"

"I was trying to save your life!" You defended. "If it wasn't for me you would've been dead!"

"I don't care!" Steve shouted back.

"Are you serious right now?!" You shouted. You felt your hands shake. "You are so ungrateful!"

Steve snapped, "You see what I mean?! That attitude will get you no where!"

"Fine! If you hate me so much I'll just quit!" You spoke in anger. You felt your blood boiling at how Steve couldn't see your intentions. You were trying to save your mentor's life and he was yelling at you for it. Yes, you made a mistake but you were willing to save the team and risk your life for it.

"Great! I'll finally stop wasting my time on you!" Steve responded back as his eyes darkened.

Tony and Peter widened their eyes at Steve's response. They couldn't believe what came out of his mouth as you stared in disbelief. Your face softened at his response. You took a step back and felt tears pooling around your eyes.

Without another word, you turned around and started speed walking towards your room. You wiped your tears that finally fell the moment you lost eye contact with your mentor, or ex-mentor at this point.

Tony and Peter noticed your state and looked at each other. Tony motioned for Peter to follow you as Tony started talking to Steve.

You couldn't believe it. No matter what you did, Steve was always breathing down your neck and finding something to complain about. You really thought that being an Avenger would have been different. Of course there would be moments where things got intense, but this was too much.

You felt your lips trembled as you continued down the dimly lit hallway. Your footsteps echoed off of the wall as you tried to calm yourself down.

Take a deep breath.

Take a deep breath.

Take a deep breath.

You repeated the phrase to yourself as you walked up to your bedroom door. Your tears blurred your vision as you entered your room. You silently shut the door and pressed your forehead onto the frame.

All the emotions that you were holding back were now brought up to the surface. You silently cried as you moved away from the door and made your way to your balcony. You wiped your tears and started to climb over the railing and make your way to the roof top that was hanging over your balcony.

Once there, you closed your eyes and tried to focus on the noise coming from the city. A few secondes passed, your body soon began to relax. It had worked before you remembered why you were upset in the first place. You sniffed before staring at the night sky above you.

You dazed at the moon. You admired the way it was perfect, how it was able to cast a ray of light that illuminated the city beautifully. You felt your eyes pooling with tears once again causing you to close them. The tears trailed down your cheek

"What am I doing wrong?" You whispered to yourself.

"Nothing, honestly." A voice spoke.

You immediately whipped out your knife, ready to attack the intruder. Your eyes adjusted to the fearful Peter Parker. His hands were up in surrender, not sure what to do.

You sighed and put your hands down and turned your attention back to the stars.

It was silent for a few moments before Peter spoke, "Who were you talking to?"

You never really spoke to Peter so it was odd having him sitting with you as you allowed yourself to become vulnerable with him. You didn't understand why, but you didn't hate the idea. It was different, but you were glad someone actually cared.

You cleared your throat once you realized Peter was staring at you and waiting for a response, "Umm... I always talked to the moon whenever I feel upset," You whispered.

"Oh," Peter nodded. "That's cool."

You didn't respond as you stared at the moon once again. You allowed the silence to consume the two of you.

"She's not one of your soldiers Steve!" You both heard in the distance. "She's a kid!"

You turned your attention to your hands, tears starting to form again.

"Hey," Peter whispered. You glanced up at him. His heart broke seeing your eyes desperate for comfort. "Don't listen to them."

"How could I not?" You sighed as you wiped your tears away. "Didn't you hear a moment ago? I'm a disappointment. Steve wants me gone."

Peter shook his head, "You know that's not true."

It was your turn to shake your head, "Yes it's true."

"No it's not. Trust me." Peter tried to reason.

You scoffed, "How would you know?"

"I've... had my fair share of lecturing with Mr. Stark." Peter admitted shyly.

"Whaaaat? Perfect Peter Parker?" You sarcastically questioned as you mockingly put a hand over your chest with a gapped mouth.

Peter smiled lightly, "I'm serious [Y/N]. Mr. Stark has screamed at me countless times and it honestly sucks sometimes but from what I've learned about all of those lectures, it's that Mr. Stark cares. Steve cares about you."

You scoffed, "If him screaming at me all the time is his way of showing how much he cares then I don't want it."

Peter sighed, "He just wants you to be the best you can be."

"This isn't 1940, times have changed. His head is still in the war."

Peter shrugged his shoulders, "I mean... Hydra is still trying to take control so I wouldn't consider the war being over."

You glared at him, "Did you come to defend Steve? If this is what it is then I suggest you leave."

"No!" Peter frantically shut down the thought. "Sorry, I just... I just think he's stressed out because of Fury giving him the director position."

"That doesn't give him the right to lash out at me," You defended.

"I'm not saying that," Peter soothed. "I just think that you both need to take a step back since you're both spending too much time together."

"No, I quit remember?" Your voice broke.

"We both know you don't want that," Peter insisted. "You love this life too much to let it go because some boomer is in the way."

You laughed loudly at Peter's nickname for Steve. You nodded your head in agreement. As quick as the smile came, it disappeared.

Peter noticed, "What's wrong?"

"It's been hard, you know? Having Steve breathing down my neck all the time."

Peter nodded, "Yeah I know what you mean. Tony is talking to him right now."

You nodded and remained silent. It wasn't an awkward silence, it was a calming one. One that you wished you could stay in forever.

"[Y/N]? Peter?" A voice called from below you. You and Peter looked down to see Tony standing on your balcony. He looked up to see you two sitting at the roof. "Can you both come down please?"

You and Peter looked at one another. Peter smiled in reassurance before making his way down. You sighed before following behind.

Once you made it to your balcony, Tony was there waiting for you. You quickly noticed that Peter was no where to be seen.

You quirked you're eyebrow, "Umm-"

"Steve wants to talk to you," Tony began speaking.

You shook your head, "I don't think that's a good idea."

He sighed before putting his hands on either side of your arms. He smiled warmly at you before continuing, "Dont worry kid. Everything will be fine."

You felt at peace with his statement. You slowly nodded before leaving your room. You jumped in surprise to see Peter waiting outside your room.

"Do you want me to be there with you?" Peter questioned in concern.

You smiled, "No thanks. This is something I have to do alone."

Peter sighed, "Just remember, Steve cares."

You stared at Peter before you quickly pull him in for a hug. Peter widens his eyes as he is taken aback.

"Thank you Peter..." You whispered as you feel his arm slowly wrap around your waist. "Thank you for caring."

Peter felt his heart race, "[Y/N] you are special. Don't let yourself push away this family. We love you."

"I love you guys too..." You whispered as a tear fell down. You both remained silent for another moment before pulling away.

"You're not bad Parker," You smirked. "Why haven't we hung out yet?"

Peter shrugged, "Been busy I guess..."

"Busy kissing Stark's ass," You concluded.

Peter laughed out loud, "Wow!"

You both laughed before a voice interrupted you.

"I apologize for the interruption. [L/N], Mr. Rogers is requesting for you in the common room." FRIDAY announced.

"Thanks I'll be there," You called out. You looked back at Peter, "I guess I'll see you around."

"Yeah, we could train together or something." Peter suggested.

You agreed, "Bet. See you tomorrow."

You both waved before going your separate ways. As your footsteps echoed through the halls, your heart began racing again. You hated fighting with Steve. You admit, you did have great memories with Steve but you felt like he was taking his job as a mentor too seriously. You just wanted the old Steve back.

Once the door opened you noticed the TV was turned on you can see a movie was

"I was thinking we have the morning off tomorrow so we can have a movie night right now," Steve smiled at you. He patted the seat next to him as he shook a bowl of popcorn in his hand. "I made popcorn!"

"Wait wha-?" You questioned.

Steve sighed, "Can you please sit? I want to apologize."

You complied and found yourself slowly sitting down next to Steve. You can see him mute the TV as he turned his attention to you. You began fidgeting with your fingers once again as you felt like you were about to throw up. You hated when things were tense. You already regret screaming at Steve earlier and you especially regret how you threatened to quit the team.

"I'm sorry [Y/N]..." Steve spoke. You looked up at Steve and saw he was disappointed. The difference now was the fact that he was disappointed with himself, not you. "I never realized how hard I've been on you. I didn't mean what I said earlier, please know that. I want you here with us."

You felt yourself start tearing up once again as you thought about the mission and all the pressure you've been receiving from Steve.

"I-It's just hard. You are always mad at me. I miss you. I missed how we used to be. For the mission... I only wanted to save you. I'm sorry I didn't mean to put Peter in danger, but I didn't know what I would do if you were gone. I care about you Steve..." You cried.

Steve immediately hugged you as you cried into his chest. You released all the tension and allowed yourself to become vulnerable.

Steve felt terrible. When you left the common room upset earlier, Tony gave him a heart-to-heart on what it's like to mentor young ones. Tony made Steve realize that they just needed bonding. Having a mentor doesn't always mean giving orders and following them, it's not always about fighting. The point of a mentor is to have a bond, to have someone to lean into when they make a mistake. It's to have someone be there to listen when they feel overwhelmed.

Steve only wanted you to be the best you could be. He knew your potential. What Steve didn't realize is that he was driving you away with his persistence of your perfection. He was treating you like a soldier and that's not how it should be.

Steve breathed out as he pulled you away so you could look at him, "I promise from here on out things will change. I just need one thing from you..."

You stared, waiting for his request.

"Don't you dare put your life at risk," Steve requested. "You scared me to death seeing you in the line of fire. I care about you too, [Y/N]. I don't know what I would do if something happened to you."

Your heart fluttered, you knew Steve cared but your relationship has been blurred lately. It was nice hearing things clear up. You didn't feel the tension like you did earlier today. You mentally thanked Peter and Tony for reassuring you that everything will be fine.

"I'm sorry..." You whispered as you looked down. "It is my job to put myself at risk though..."

Steve quickly picked your head up and smiled at you, "I'm so proud of you [Y/N]. I know you will do great things in the future. Just don't do things that are risky and without our consent. We have done this far longer than you can imagine. When things don't seem fair, they are only there to make sure everyone is as safe as possible. I'm sorry for making things hard on you. I only want what's best, but I promise to change the way I've been acting. You are family, you deserve to be treated like it."

"Thank you..." You smiled. "I promise not to be a jerk also."

Steve laughed, "Don't worry about that. I'm the one who's been a jerk."

After his statement, you reached over him and stole the popcorn and TV remote from him, "Good. Now I can do this." You smirked as you unmuted the TV and shoved a mouthful of popcorn in your mouth.

You heard his laugh ring in your ears making you feel at home. You both started yelling and throwing popcorn at each other as the TV played in the background. Your laughters echoed down the halls and continued for the rest of the night.

This is what being a family is. Playing around, being there for one another, realizing when you make a mistake and apologizing. It's about love and compassion. It's about unity.

[afictionaladventure16]

Remember Me (Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff x Daughter!Reader)

Chapter 11

Remember Me Masterlist

Previously on Remember Me...

Warnings: Oh boy. Y’all aren’t ready... Thank you to @rae-is-typing​ for editing this for me! LOVE YOU!

Word Count: 3,070

Bucky traipsed into the common area. Steve and Natasha stand next to each other, they had been speaking in hushed voices full of concern. Natasha was soft-spoken, and her arms crossed; it was a tell-tale sign that she was closing herself off. 

“What’s going on?” Bucky frowned, concern growing as he stepped further into the room. 

Natasha sighed. “One of my student’s homes just got broken into.” 

“What?” Bucky questioned.

“Fortunately, nothing was taken,” Steve added. 

“Which is the weird part about all of this.” Natasha shook her head. “It just doesn’t add up,” she let out a frustrated sigh. “What kind of person breaks into someone’s home and doesn’t take anything?” 

“I have a bad feeling about all of this.” Bucky cut in.

“And you should,” The three of them whipped around. Fury emerged from the shadows, stalking towards the small group. “I need you all in the conference room right now.” 

“And where the hell have you been?” Steve demands.

“From what I recall, you don’t like that sort of language,” Fury responds, holding the super-soldiers aggravated stare. Steve rolled his eyes. “Conference room. Now,” Fury barked before walking back out into the hallway. 

“He disappears for god knows how long and comes back like nothing ever happened,” Steve commented. 

“That’s Fury for you,” Natasha snipes as she made her way into the hallway, Bucky and Steve following a few steps behind her. 

“What’s this all about, Fury?” Natasha demands as she sits down on one of the chairs. Sam had been sitting there when she walked in, along with Bruce who gave her a small smile. Bruce had finally gone back to his normal self. Although he had finally figured out how to control the big guy, being big and green all the time was taking a toll on him. 

“I want to know why you disappeared,” Steve stated, standing next to Fury, arms crossed and face hard. There was no way in hell he was going to let Fury’s disappearance go so quickly. Steve always had a hard time trusting him. There was always a reason for each of Fury’s actions. 

Bucky let out a soft sigh, knowing very well that he couldn’t tell Steve to back off; it’s how he has always been. He sat next to Natasha, placing his arm around her shoulders. He doesn’t miss the small smile gracing her lips. 

“That’s none of your business, Rogers,” Fury replied. “Now sit down.” 

Steve narrows his eyes in response, marching over to the chair next to Sam. There was black and white footage on the screen in the room. It had a time and date in the corner. 

“This is surveillance footage of a break-in last night.” 

“That’s the home of one of my students,” Natasha says. Her eyes widen at the surveillance footage. Her heart rate spikes. She never thought that her students would be in harm’s way because of her status. Now she was beginning to rethink everything.  

“I believe this is the work of Hydra.” Fury states.

“What?” Natasha asked in disbelief. “I knew something was off about the whole thing.” 

“Thankfully the family wasn’t home when it happened, but what caught my eye was that they entered with what looks like a full bag, and left with an empty one,” Fury zoomed in on the footage, showing the masked men entering the house with a full bag and then leaving with an empty bag. It all seemed as if they were amateurs, but Fury knew these men weren’t amateurs. They knew exactly what they were doing and it was up to Fury to find out. 

“Meaning that they planted something rather than took something,” Bucky says. 

“Exactly.” Fury put up some files onto the screen, “this is Zemo’s new asset. To him, she’s the new and improved Winter Soldier.” 

He clears his throat. “He calls her Widows Bite.” 

“Widows Bite?” Natasha repeats, befuddlement lacing her voice. 

“That’s all the information I have on her so far. Sharon is currently trying to hack into the system, but for now, I need all of you to break into Hydra’s base.” 

“I’m assuming we’re breaking in for some intel?” Sam asked. 

Fury nods. “Wheels up 36 hours.” 

“36 hours? Why so long?” 

“It’ll give me and Sharon enough time to get more information on Zemo’s new asset. Can’t go into battle with someone without knowing what they’re capable of.” 

Natasha chuckles, shaking her head. “We do it all the time.” 

“I feel different about this one… call it a hunch.” Fury offers before walking out of the conference room and leaving the heroes confused by what transpired. 

“A hunch,” Natasha scoffed. 

Steve examined the screen that still showed the files, crossing his arms he pondered over the files. 

“This is all just feels off to me,” He mumbled softly to himself. 

“You and I both,” Natasha commented. 

Steve shook his head; he couldn’t shake the feeling off himself. There was something that he was missing. It didn’t add up. Why is Zemo targeting kids? He let out a heavy sigh, leaving the conference room without another word. Sam noticed that Steve wasn’t in his right mind, sp he gave the couple beside him a soft smile and followed the super-soldier out of the room. 

Wanda and Bruce followed not too long after, leaving Bucky and Natasha by themselves in the conference room. Bucky had his eyes trained on the photo of the young assassin. 

Widow’s Bite. 

He couldn’t help but wonder what the origin of the name was and why Zemo chose to name her that. His mind trailed back to the mission they had a while back, the words Zemo said to him when he first laid eyes on the young assassin. 

“Look Familiar?”

He still didn’t understand why Zemo said that. His mind came to a couple of conclusions. One being that maybe that he had trained the young assassin before or that maybe, and he hated this conclusion, Widow’s Bite is his daughter. He was unable to understand them whether they proved to be true or not.

A hand caresses his shoulder, snapping him out of his trance. Natasha smiles at him gently. She squeezed his shoulder as he let out a heavy sigh, leaning into her touch. 

“Are you okay? You seemed like you were deep in thought for a minute,” she whispered, concern trailing in her voice. 

“I was thinking,” he replied, turning to face her. 

“Where’d you go for your walk?” 

“Down to the park,” he cleared his throat. “I saw JJ there by herself.”

“What was she doing out all alone?” Natasha asked. 

“She got into an argument with her dad. I spoke to her and then walked her home.” 

Natasha placed a small kiss on Bucky’s lips, “that was nice of you.” 

“Well, if she were my daughter I would have wanted someone to do the same” the couple remained quiet after Bucky’s comment. It’s been a couple of days since they mentioned their daughter, and it was beginning to get harder and harder for them to think about her, knowing very well that she was their only chance at happiness, their only chance for normality. 

“Roger invited us over tomorrow for dinner, sort of as a thank you for everything we’ve done for them,” Bucky said, breaking the silence.

 Natasha gave him a small nod. “We should probably head to bed then, it’s been a long day and I have a feeling we’re going to be having a few more long days ahead of us.” Bucky let out a chuckle before intertwining his hand with Natasha’s, leading her out of the conference room. 

~ 

The next day dragged on. Natasha had canceled class sessions for the rest of the week due to the fact that Fury was sending her on a mission. So, she spent her day training with Steve. 

By the time six o’clock rolled around, she was exhausted and all she wanted to do was put on comfy clothes and relax in bed with Bucky and some movies. Bucky strolled into the room, a towel wrapped around his torso. Letting out a heavy sigh, Natasha got up from her position on the bed. 

“I know you’d rather stay home,” Bucky started. “But-” 

“I know this is important and honestly, I’d rather get out of the house than stay home moping around.” 

Bucky sighed. He wrapped his arms around Natasha before placing a soft kiss on the top of her head. “Do you want to mope around because of what I mentioned yesterday?” Natasha let go of Bucky, giving him a confused look. “When I brought up Y/N.” 

Natasha knew he hadn’t exactly brought her up, but it was implied. 

“Not really,” She said as she leaned back into the embrace. “It did get me thinking about her.” she stayed silent for a moment. “And about how much I miss her.” Bucky held onto her tighter. As she trembled in his embrace, Bucky ran soft circles on her back with his hand. “And I had this crazy idea last night, that maybe Widow’s Bite is her.” 

“What?” Bucky asked, recoiling. 

“Just think about it, Bucky!” Natasha exclaimed as she let go of the embrace. “It’ll explain why Zemo asked you if she looked familiar!” 

Bucky shook his head, walking over to his drawer he began to put on his clothes. “No,” he said sternly. 

“Widow’s Bite is what Zemo calls her! I’m the Black Widow! He’s trying to make her the new and improved Winter Soldier! It can’t be a fucking coincidence that Zemo combined us two into this random teenager that he picked off the streets!” Bucky looked over at Natasha. Her eyes glistened with tears, of course, he had thought about it. It was one of the many conclusions in his head. Yet, he didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about it because he knew that meant that his daughter had suffered. 

In Bucky’s mind, he dreamed his daughter had survived from Hydra’s capture, maybe even found by a family and lived a somewhat normal life. It was the only thing that kept him sane when thinking about his daughter. 

“Bucky, if it’s her… I need to know and tomorrow we might have to face her again and I’m going to do everything-” 

“Natasha, stop.” 

“-in my power to find out the truth!” she continued.

“Stop!” Bucky snapped. “Just stop!” 

Natasha’s breath sped up as she focused on Bucky and the way his jaw clenched with his fists tightened. 

“You said we would do anything to find her.” Natasha accused. Bucky closed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh. This wasn’t the way he wanted to find her, though. “You said we wouldn’t stop searching for her, Bucky!” 

“I know,” he whispered. “I thought of it,” he paused. “It was one of the only things that made sense, but I had this idea that maybe she was out there living a normal life and that we’d find her and we’d be this happy family again. Knowing that she might be under Zemo’s control,” Bucky felt tears begin to appear in his eyes as he sits down on the bed. “I can imagine the torture he put her through.” 

Natasha made her way over to Bucky, sitting down next to him. She leaned her head against his shoulder. “We can save her,” she whispered. “Like I saved you.” Bucky remained quiet, knowing that Natasha was right, he placed a soft kiss on the top of her head. “I should get ready, we have to be Jones’ in twenty minutes.” 

“I thought you were ready!”

“Does this look ready to you?” She gestured towards her sweats and a make-up stained shirt. 

Bucky let out a groan, “Hurry up, woman!” 

“Don’t tell me to hurry up, I know how to make your murder look like an accident!” Bucky let out a soft chuckle as Natasha got off the bed. She leaned over towards Bucky, placing a soft kiss on his lips. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” he placed another kiss on her lips. “Now please, would you go get ready?” 

~ 

The smell of the food Roger was making wafted through the small apartment, almost making your mouth water. Bucky and Natasha were going to be there in a few minutes, and you were still confused as to why this dinner was happening in the first place.

“What is the purpose of this anyway?” You as, hopping on the counter. Roger gave you a small glare at the sight of you sitting on the counter. 

“This is a way to get closer to Natasha and Bucky.” Annoyance seeps into his voice, but you pay him no mind.

“Our mission was to destroy them and find a new recruit, not get closer to them.” You counter, looking at him expectantly.

Roger remained quiet as he stirred the pasta. His plan wasn’t what Zemo had in mind. No, his plan was to try to get you to remember who you were, that meant to get close to Natasha and Bucky, bring up their past and hopefully spark a memory within you. He hopes that his plan will work. “Mind helping me with the garlic bread?” 

Sighing to yourself, you jumped off the counter. You placed the garlic bread that was set on the counter on a baking sheet. 

“They just need to be reheated,” 

You gave Roger a nod. He moved out of the way so you could place the baking sheet into the oven. “They should be here any minute so why don’t you go ahead and set the table, hon.” 

You noticed how Roger quickly dismissed what you said, you made a mental note to bring the subject back up later, but for now, you had to focus on getting into character. You set the table like how Roger had done many times before. Roger always liked to set the table before dinner, even if you guys were eating take-out. You never questioned it. Yet, you always found it odd. 

A knock on the door made you snap to attention. Roger gave you a small smile before letting out a deep breath. “Ready?” he asked as he wiped his hands on his apron. You gave him a nod, and he walked over to the door. Roger cleared his throat before opening the door, greeting the couple with a smile. “Hey! Just on time, dinner is about done!” He welcomed them inside the apartment. 

“Hey, JJ!” Natasha exclaimed as she gave you a small hug when she saw you. 

“Hey, Nat,” you smiled as you returned the hug. 

“Hey, Kid!” Bucky gave you a hug as well. 

“JJ, why don’t you show Bucky and Nat to the table while I bring the food over?” You nod, leading Bucky and Nat over to the small dining area. 

“This all looks amazing,” Natasha commented as Roger brought the food to the table. “Thank you so much for inviting us over, Roger.” 

“No, no, thank you for helping my little JJ. You guys have helped us out so much, you have no idea how much you both mean to us.” Roger beams while serving himself. 

“So, how is school for you, JJ? I’m sure it’s been a big adjustment since the move,” Bucky asked

“Um, it’s good,” you mumbled as you twirled your pasta with the fork. 

“Just good?” Natasha piped in. 

You shrugged. Roger let out a soft chuckle. 

“Sorry, school isn’t one of JJ’s favorite subjects. Never has been. She used to fight with her mother about schoolwork,” Roger forced a somber smile on his face as the couple glanced over at him. “After the fire, school seemed to be worse for her.” 

“The fire?” Natasha questioned. 

“Yes, the fire,” Roger glanced over at You. “The one we lost JJ’s mother in…” 

Natasha didn’t quite understand. She was sure that JJ’s mother died of cancer. She had heard Roger mention it a couple of times before. Natasha focused on the plate in front of her, her eyebrows furrowed together, a small frown growing on her face.

You noticed the confusion written on Natasha’s face, she gave you a small glance and quickly changed her expression.

“I hear class was canceled tomorrow,” you say, changing the subject. 

“Oh, yeah,” Natasha rolled her eyes. “Avenger things.” 

“Don’t worry, kid, we’ll get back to our training sessions next week and you can continue to kick my butt,” Bucky commented. You smile in response. Natasha initiated a conversation with Roger about his work, Bucky, on the other hand, began to distract himself with the interior of the apartment.

It was empty and grey, almost as if no one lived there. The only sign of life was the people that spoke inside the walls.  Bucky couldn’t help but notice the absence of photos on the wall, photos that he would’ve thought to be hung with pride, yet the wall was just an empty canvas. He gave the family a benefit of the doubt, they had just moved in not too long ago. Yet, there were no signs of boxes, no signs that they were still in the process of moving. 

The night continued on with conversations of some of the missions the couple had been on. You let out a small yawn. “That’s our cue,” Bucky said with a small smile. “We should head home, we have an early start tomorrow.” 

“Let me walk you both to the door,” Roger said as he stood up from his chair. 

“Bye, JJ” Natasha said as she gave you a small embrace. 

“See you next week, kid,” Bucky said as ruffled your hair. 

Roger walked the couple over to the door, opening it for them. “Thank you again for everything,” he said, glancing over at you as you began to pick up the plates. “It means a lot.” 

Natasha formed a smile on her face, although, she was starting to grow suspicious of Roger. “It’s no problem, Roger.” 

Bucky and Natasha walked down the hall, Roger waited until they were on the elevator to close the door. 

“It’s Zemo,” you say as soon as Roger closed the door. You walked over to him, handing him the phone. 

Roger gave you a small glance before taking the phone from your hand. “Yeah?” 

“It’s time for the pet to play.” 

Permanent Taglist (CLOSED): @otomefan @dejaazaro @culturebay @kpopishilarious @fireproof-heaven @iloveyouthreethousand-o6  @weappreciatepower @whereyoustand  @white-wolf-buckaroo @spider-woman22 @coffee-habit @supernaturallover2002 @barnes-parker @therealmrshale @myinternetissoslow  @celyndavies @xzowiex @ximaginx @wooshytooshy @ellaorelizabeth @rororo06  @chloe-geoghegan1 @hdthdthdt @sophie-barnes26 @thamuddagirl @scarletmeii @ssebstann @fangirl31415 @thepeggyann @lauren-novak @reerrrrskillz​ @cassmoreiraxo @snarky--starky @unapologeticallymimi   @glitterquadricorn @lady-of-lies  @just4muggles @mellorine-paprika  @agirlruinedbybands @yougottalovefandoms @avngrsinitiative @lizlil

Remember Me Taglist (CLOSED): @fabinaforever11 @eclipwzee @whitelotus13 @yourwonderbelle @blackbannerx @hollandsaetre @hailqueenconquer @mellxander1993 @iwamaye2 @cookies186 @tywys @princessizzy36 @boney-and-skinny @fmb158581 @vapingisntmything @widowbitessting @marvelsswansong @stat89posts @abswritesfandoms @feminist-fan-girl @royale-trash-slytherin @jupiterspoet @blancastans @brckenmemories @lovefairytailforever @witch-of-letters @rdjparker @sebastiansmadden @benhardyseyes @sakourim @fools-fallforyou​ @s-p-a-c-e-g-a-l​ @thatsuperherosidekick​ @bethany-z​ @all-fandomthings​ @shikshinkwon​ @majorlyextra​ @werenotloverss​ @mottergirl99​ @delicatefirespyplaid​ @sweetcarolinestudies​ @lazyoswald​

Natasha Romanoff Taglist:  @the-lady-cersei-lannister @hollandsaetre @infinity-saga​ @marvelsexlol @fortunatelynerdylight​ @thesuitelifeofafangirl​ @sleepylunarwolf​ @alicat-life @noobmaster63​ @Ballerboobitch @kayleigh2703 @xiumin-girl99​ @adriennechavez​ @becauseilovebooks​ @supermoonchildbroski @beepbeepmarie​

Bucky Barnes Taglist: @multifandomwriter121​ @charismas-world​ @marrgaux​ @biss-stuff​ @fortunatelynerdylight​ @acalmandquietplace​ @sleepylunarwolf @alicat-life @captaiinameriicasass @Noobmaster63  @pleasantlysecretdream​ @xiumin-girl99 @thejourneyneverendsx​ @thewintersoldier1124​ @scarletmeii @imjusthereforsupernatural​  @latsyrc85x @dyckvindyck @dumblani​ @vapingisntmything​ @viarogers​ @supermoonchildbroski @beepbeepmarie​  @notice-me-tc​ @cooflix @hollandsaetre @infinity-saga @marvelsexlol

[barnesandco]

The Greater Good

Carrying the shield isn’t an easy job; it often requires a great deal of sacrifice, and that can be difficult for Bucky to come to terms with. 

Based on the “Where’s my supersuit?” scene from The Incredibles.

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo​​ 2020. Word count: 2044. Square filled: “Free Space”

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes

Warnings: Mentions of injury, wounds, blood. Mentions of drinking alcohol. Mild angst, slight separation anxiety.

A/N: Idk what to say, y’all. I wish I had the decency to apologize for writing a fic I’ll probably regret posting instead of working on my WIPs, one of which is on hiatus bc I’m a lazy jerk, but such is life. Blame The Incredibles (which I’ve never seen -- I’m not sorry) and @samingtonwilson 's anon. Also, while you're there, go check out Taal's masterlist because she's an incredibly (pun intended) talented, amazing, fantastic writer and every. single. one. of her stories is a must-read.

Honeysuckle and mango, the scented candles on each bedside table flicker in the light breeze drifting through the open window, a sea of dark ink dotted with stars visible beyond. Late summer is cooling into autumn, and the leaves of the tree that shades their bedroom on hot days is slowly turning into an early shade of yellow-orange, that glints in the glow of streetlights to remind Bucky of the specks of gold that set Sam’s eyes alight like a September sunset. It’s been two weeks since Bucky’s seen those eyes, two weeks he's been awake before dawn with more worry than he knows how to run off.

He’s due back today, his husband, after a fortnight of radio silence thanks to a stake-out in the Canadian wilderness, in wait for a lucrative arms deal to occur, and for the team of Avengers to prevent. The mission had been called a day after Bucky broke -- no, shattered -- his arm during a drug bust in California, thereby disqualifying him from participation, and sentencing him to this torturous wait. A wait that has now, finally, come to an end. Almost. 

Bucky lets out a quiet sigh on his way back to the kitchen. Placing a second plate of homemade ravioli and the necessary utensils on a tray table, he returns to the bedroom, putting his food next to where Sam’s waits patiently. Wrings both hands, one made of metal, and the other with a cast on it. Any minute now, he thinks, pulling out the first aid kit from under the bed and putting it on the dresser, ready to use under the bright glow of the lamp next to it. The room is filled with soft light, the smell of pasta, and the ache of Bucky’s heart as he tries to quell the unreasonable nerves that tug at his diaphragm.

Nearly a year of falling asleep with the feel of Sam’s wedding band under the stroking of his thumb, nearly two of being intimately familiar with the texture of his lips, and nearly three of being perfect partners in combat and good friends out of it, yet Sam still makes him nervous. A good nervous, the flutter of nerves in his belly, Bucky determines as he paces the hallway, stopping in front of the mirror to push his hair back. Maybe he’ll ask Sam to cut it tomorrow, once he’s recovered. From his wounds and Bucky’s... affections.

The thought has only just crossed Bucky’s mind when the tap of boots alerts him to someone’s presence at the door. Keys jingle, but he’s too quick, already unlocking the door and throwing it open as Sam lifts his hand to the lock, where it, and the rest of him, freezes at the sight of Bucky, cheeks dusted with a rosy pink already. 

Words stay unspoken, and the sentiment of longing, of unimaginable relief is transferred directly from Bucky’s mouth to Sam’s. His metal arm rises to grip Sam’s suit-clad waist, and Sam’s gloved hands cradle Bucky’s head gently, so at odds with the pressure with which he seeks to draw forth pleasure. Soon, the kiss turns to open mouths, just resting over each other, elevated breaths colliding in the margin of air between them. Bucky breaks away with a sigh, arms around Sam, and forehead against his, eyes closed.

“I missed you, too, Bucky.” Sam smiles, split lip rasping over over Bucky’s, and he pulls back to look at him. Keeps ahold of his hand as he leads him to their room -- taking note of his limp -- and silently begins to peel the suit off his husband’s tired, burdened shoulders. Sam’s sees the trays on the bed and raises an eyebrow at him in question, but Bucky’s spotted the gauze covering the lower left side of his ribs.

“You were shot,” Bucky says lowly, kneeling, and bringing the first aid kit with him to the floor, unfortunately too used to this sort of thing to really be fazed by it. Besides, he doesn’t want to waste any time chewing Sam out for getting hurt, not when he can be sitting next to him with good food and even better laughter, something sorely needed after ages of quiet. He’ll allow the delay in those plans for their evening just enough to redress the wound that has started to bleed through the bandages.

Sam shrugs with the confident nonchalance of someone who knows he isn’t getting told off. “It happens,” he says with a grin. “What’s with dinner in bed?”

“Thought you’d be more comfortable,” Bucky answers. “And we can get down to business quicker,” he quips, ignoring the scoff elicited, as they’re both well aware that Sam’s in no condition for such at the moment.

While Bucky starts cleaning the blood that has seeped out through his staples, Sam takes off the light chain that carries his wedding band, and puts the ring back in its rightful place, on his fourth finger. By the time he’s reached for a shirt in the dresser next to him, Bucky’s done, and he stands so Sam can lean on him while he puts on his favorite pair of sweatpants.

“Hurry up, old man, the food’s goin’ cold and I worked real hard on it,” Bucky says, getting Sam settled in so he’s leaning on the pillows against the headboard, and pours him wine. 

Sam’s eyes widen, shocked. “Old? You’re one to talk.”

“At least I can walk straight,” Bucky retorts, and Sam gestures towards his stomach.

“I was shot.”

“And whose fault is that?” Bucky jokes, and Sam’s mouth snaps shut, his shoulders shudder to contain the building amusement, until they both burst into laughter. Bucky watches Sam’s eyes scrunch tightly shut as he laughs, and he lets the sound spill into his soul like an essence of life. It’s been a while since he heard it, and it sounds just as sweet, as effulgent, as he recalls. 

Recovering from the outburst, Sam breathes slowly, trying not to laugh again. “Okay, alright, I’m sorry. You’re not old, you’re just--” he bites his lip, and Bucky tries not to wince in anticipation of the wound on his lip reopening. “-- mature.” He smirks at him, and Bucky rolls his eyes, putting another piece of ravioli in his mouth. The room goes quiet, and they relish the food and each other’s company. Bucky drinks in the content, relaxed features of Sam’s face. He’s radiating goodness, and that energy that can only be described as unapologetically Sam. 

The golden, shining bubble of a moment is burst by Sam’s phone ringing outside, from the chest of drawers in the entrance, and Sam gives him a look, before going to retrieve it. Bucky recognizes the Captain-voice Sam’s using on the phone, making the gears start to turn in his head, a process that results in him going to pick up the shield lying next to the bed, and hiding it behind their tuxedos, the ones they wore to their wedding, in the closet. Luckily for him, Sam’s call ends just as he’s gotten back to bed, half-eaten plate of pasta in front of him like he never moved.

Bucky’s gut instinct was right. Nobody could have any reason for calling Sam at this hour with the exception of Nick Fury. “Robbery on 9th ave. They’re using Chitauri energy cores,” he says, pulling off the loungewear and putting the suit back on. Zip, boots, gloves, and then--

“Where’s my shield?” He asks, turning to look around the room. “I put it right here.” Sam looks at Bucky and he averts his gaze.

“I don’t know,” he says, entirely unconvincingly, and Sam clenches his jaw in understanding, putting his hands on his hips in wait.

“Bucky.”

Bucky traces the gold veins running along his metal arm. “What?”

“I need my shield,” Sam says softly, stepping forward.

“Why?” It’s Bucky’s turn to put his hands on his hips, and Sam throws his in the air in frustration. Bucky tries to avoid thinking about the veins that protrude along his neck at the movement. This is not the time, Barnes, focus. 

“Why? What do you mean, why?”

“Ask them to send someone else! I've been waiting to see you for two weeks. You can't just leave again.” But Sam’s already on his way to the closet, rummaging, searching first through an unhealthy amount of running shoes -- Bucky’s new vice -- and then his outrageous collection of compression t-shirts. 

“The public is in danger, Bucky,” he says, voice muffled from the closet. 

"My evening is in danger," he replies, crosses his arms and leans in the doorway. 

“Come on, man. I have to go. For the greater good and all.” He looks up from the underwear drawer to send a pleading expression Bucky’s way, and Bucky fixes his glare on a spot on the wall above Sam’s head. Aims his next words at that spot, too.

"”I'm your husband. I'm the greatest good you're ever going to get,” Bucky responds sharply, but Sam continues searching, and soon, Bucky drops the act. “You're injured, Sammy. You're not well enough to go,” he says, pushing off where he’s leaning and stepping forward. Somehow, he lets his arms uncross and clench slowly at his sides, fists that he works to reopen, feeling the stretch of tendons accompany the strain in his voice. Sam helps, taking a hand in each of his, thumb sliding over the base of each of his fingers. The knuckles of his broken arm are covered in plaster, and the metal one whirrs, almost purring. 

“Bucky, look,” Sam says, voice so quiet it’s like he’s relaying a secret in a crowded room, rather than an explanation in an empty one. “I know it's hard, and I'm sorry, but you know that this is what the job takes.” Bucky watches Sam press his mouth thinly together, tries to ignore the logic he knows is present in his partner’s words, but Bucky was never one for ignorant bliss. He’s making an ineffectual effort to suppress the natural conscious that’s telling him to send Sam off, and it isn’t sustainable. “I'll be back before you know it.” Sam’s smooth, low timbre pierces the conflict Bucky is striving to resolve, and the turmoil, the unreasonable bid to restrain Sam from leaving settles like dust after a sandstorm.

Sam’s hands tighten around Bucky’s and he can feel the pulse in them, in the safe, warm skin the touch of which is his home, the surface that brings him back to Earth no matter where his head is going. However, now, Bucky lets go, and retrieves Sam shield. Gives it to him without another word, and accepts the grateful nod of thanks.

He’s almost to the door, Bucky trailing a few steps behind -- resolutely brushing aside the analogy of lost puppies -- when he stops and turns. Gives Bucky a look that would be abstruse if not for years of conversation, of moments that enable Bucky to tell that Sam’s frown, the shine of his eyes, that anxious hand running along the edge of his shield, means only that he’s reluctant. Bucky’s hunch is proven right when Sam comes forward to stand toe-to-toe with him, eyes locked on his.

“Thank you. I’ll be home soon,” he says, leaning to place a kiss on his forehead. Just a touch, a whisper of reassuring force, before he’s moving away again, eye contact only broken when he leaves the threshold of their house, stepping outside.

Bucky holds the back door and watches him deploy his wings. Sam traces a flight path on his arm panel as Bucky looks on, watching the lights shine on his skin like shimmering topaz, beautiful, glowing, alive, and prays that he’ll return to him that way. Again. 

Once he’s done reading mission details and ready to go, Sam looks up again, eyes dancing with mirth and adoration, the former of which he voices in a joke that is meant to disguise his concern for Bucky, even though he’s the one leaving for battle. “Don’t wait up for me. You need your rest, grandpa,” Sam calls, laughter trembling in his throat, taking off in a flash of red, white, and blue. 

[cajunquandary]

Whispers of the Desert

Pairing | Reader, Sam, Dean

Summary | When the reader takes time for herself in the mountainous desert of far-west Texas, the last thing she expected was to have to fight for her life.

W/C | 6100

Warnings | Canon-level violence, blood, drowning and nightmares. It’s angsty.

A/N | Several years ago, I took a trip to Big Bend State Park, which is the setting for this tale. While there, my better half shared some folklore from his heritage. This was written in part for @supernatural-jackles​ SPN Bi-Weekly Writing Challenge. Prompt is in bold. Happy spooky-season, y’all.

The can of beans bubbled gently over the open fire. You stirred them carefully, as not to spill the contents or allow them to burn on the bottom. Little else is worse than burned beans. Using a well-worn cotton kerchief, you reach quickly to remove the can from the flames, cussing to yourself as the smoldering metal burns straight through the thin cloth to your fingers. The can lands next to you on the ground in a whap, a few rebellious beans jumping overboard as the can tipped and wiggled to a stop. You place the burned digits in your mouth one at a time in an attempt to suck the zinging pain away quickly then give up, wiping them on your dusty jeans with a sigh of resignation.  

The sleepy spotted hound to the left of you continued to snore, exhausted from the heat of the day and the journey thus far. You’d been hunting for months straight without so much as a full night of rest and decided to take a weekend to yourself, far away from humans and monsters. You smile at the dog, glad to have such a loyal companion. Training him had been surprisingly easy, you reminisced while blowing on a spoonful of dinner-in-a-can to cool it.

You don’t quite remember when you stopped being a “normal” kid, if ever you were, and became a hunter. There was no dramatic intro, no amazing story—only a few ghosts and some salt. You sniggered at the thought, recalling how you’d been hooked on the Supernatural books as a kid, reading well beyond your grade level. So, when the time came that you actually confronted the supernatural in real life, you already had the answers. It was easy. You still weren’t sure about all the larger plots, like apocalypses and the Winchester boys, but the basic lore was solid.

Just a few years ago, you remembered being so lonely that it was throwing you off your game. Even though you craved human contact, you could never give more than a one-night stand on occasion. Loving me is a death sentence, you replayed over and over in your mind.

After a not-so-great hunt, you limped into a shelter, asking for the dog least likely to ever find a home. A puppy was unceremoniously thrown into your arms, the staff begging you to take it and go, as they were already struggling and couldn’t afford to keep a dog like this for long. Walking back to your old blue truck, you looked down at the small, fragile thing. Spotted all over, ears floppy and forlorn eyes that broke your heart. “A mutt,” they’d called it. One that just wouldn’t be wanted in that town. A runt and only surviving pup in a litter from a mix of a large, skinny hound dog and an even bigger, meaner pit bull.

As he’d grown, you trained him to hunt as well, bringing home bits of monster so he could learn the different scents and be able to tell you what may be approaching before you were caught off guard. The mutt grew up strong and confident with a huge loving heart.

On the rare occasion you make a public appearance in a town—any town—young children would come running to him, pulling on his ears and shoving their hands down his throat. He loved the attention. You couldn’t help but to smile, thinking that he would have been the perfect family dog, then sink into heart ache, realizing that the life you led would never allow for such a thing… that the two of you would likely both perish bloody at the hands of beasts.

You were scraping the bottom of the can now, grateful for the nourishment, when a shadow crept closer, curious of this new thing in its home.

Mutt sensed you stiffen and slowly turn your head to the midnight intruder. His hackles raised as he sniffed the air, a low, nearly inaudible rumble beginning deep in his chest as a warning. The waning light of the fire cast short, fleeting glimpses of the visitor. You dropped your shoulders and relaxed. It was only a coyote. Most people would be frightened by the animals if confronted in such a way, but you were familiar with them and with their mannerisms. You gently laid a hand on Mutt to reassure him that all was well. He trusted you fully, hackles lowering slightly, standing down.

The coyote lowered his head, sniffing towards your discarded can. You locked eyes with the scavenger, mirroring its movements. Its jowls drew back slightly, revealing short, sharp teeth in a smiling sneer. You drew back yours as well, baring your teeth and adjusting your features until your brows furrowed and eyes dared it to move closer. After a moment, the wild dog went back to a resting face, blowing from its nose and licking the air in peace. On swift, silent paws, it turned and trotted away in defeat, using the light of the Milky Way to guide it to its next meal.

You smiled and shook your head. Though during the day, the mountainsides and valleys looked barren and empty except for cactus and an occasional pile of wild grasses, the nights were always vibrant and teeming with life. Off in the distance, a chorus of howls echoed off of the cliffs and across the canyon below, rising and falling, sounding off in one direction, then another, then both. Cool winds of night lifted the solemn song through the air, carrying it for miles as if it were a raptor weightlessly gliding over the terrain.

Mutt released a tired huff, a bit of caliche dust stirring in a small curling puff in front of his nose. You killed the now flameless glowing embers with a swift kick of dust and your boot, smooshing it until the ash was cool. You climbed into the front seat of the truck, Mutt right on your heels. He laid next to you on the faded carpet as you sprawled across the bench seat and kicked off your boots. Folding your arm under your head, it was merely seconds before your mind fell to black.

 The largest owl you’ve ever seen haunted your dreams. It was persistent and aggressively following you, swooping and diving towards your head. As if being shrouded in a spell, where you could only move sluggishly as if in water and your mouth could fall open but emit no sound, was terrifying enough, the owls face would morph continuously between that of the animal and of a young woman whose face twisted in unnatural ways. More than anything, you were angry—angry at the being, angry at yourself. Frustration pushed at the seams of your sanity as your mind and body fought each other when they should have been unified and fighting against the feathered behemoth. The shape-shifting head seemed to whisper a steady string of words you couldn’t understand.

The more you labored, the heavier your limbs grew and a thick fog began creeping at the edges of your brain, poisoning every thought and emotion until there was almost nothing left. Nothing but absolute, bone-chilling, illogical fear. Quick, panicked breaths drew fire-hot air into your lungs, but you could not longer even writhe in the pain with your body completely paralyzed—suspended high above the black silhouette of desert. Every cell in your being began to swell and pull, tearing apart. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you felt it being ripped from your body.

Your soul.

With the last bit of strength left within you, you forced your eyes open.

Mutt whined as you came to, suddenly upright and back in the safety of your truck. The first rays of sunrise were creeping up over the horizon. You looked down, feeling coming back to your body in waves of numb tingles. You were soaked in sweat and nausea overcame you. Barely opening the door in time, you leaned out over the step and released your stomach violently, heaving for some time until there was nothing left. Right then and there, you swore off canned beans for the foreseeable future. Mutt laid his head on your shoulder, licking the beads of perspirant off your temple in concern.

When the retching and trembling stopped, the stars had been all but chased away and replaced by the soft, subtle rainbow hues of morning. You groaned and rolled over, staring at the cab roof and planning your recovery quickly. Starting a day out here already dehydrated and weak could be a death sentence.

The wind kicked up, blasting a sweet relief of fresh air into your lungs. Whistles and other unexpected noises on the breeze were fairly normal, especially during daylight exchange, but you could swear you heard the distant hoots of an owl. Mutt didn’t seem to hear anything, so you shrugged the spooky feeling off and put the keys in the ignition, ready to head into the nearest truck stop for a shower and a sports drink.

 About an hour later, you pulled your sputtering, rattling truck into the stop and parked next to a shiny black car. With windows rolled down for Mutt, you stepped out and around to get a better view of the old beauty. It was an Impala, probably a ’67 if you were to guess. You loved old cars, always wanting an El Camino for yourself one day. Even your truck was old—a faded and mildly rusty baby blue Ford. Your eyes traced and admired the curves of the car, the shine of the chrome and the matching leather interior. Everything was in perfect condition, as if it just come off of a show truck. You knelt down until you were on hands and knees, peeking up under the front of the car, taking note of the lack of rust underneath and original suspension. In all, you were impressed.

You straightened back up on your feet, adjusting your wide-brimmed hat back in its place. You went rigid, suddenly feeling a presence too close behind you for comfort. You spun on your heels, feet spaced and ready to defend yourself. It wasn’t often you had to, but once in a while, a particularly ignorant man would try to get a little too fresh with you—the small woman travelling alone.  

You weren’t prepared for this.

Only inches away, a very tall, very handsome man in flannel stood cockily, a bag of donuts in one hand, beer and jerky in the other. You slowly lifted your gaze from his chest up to his face. Shaded green eyes caught yours like a spider would a fly—you were ensnared and unable to focus on anything else around you. The rest of the world fell away bit by bit as you performed in this staring contest. He slowly popped a little donut in his mouth, the pastry filling his cheeks and dusting his lips and collar with white powder. He chewed slowly with a poker face.

“Nice car,” you managed to choke out.

The tension between the two of you was palpable now. The freckle-dusted man continued to chew, responding with a throaty, mumbled “Mhmmph.”

The door to the building opened with a ring-ding, startling you from the awkward competition. You took a step back, breaking the stare and following the alert towards an even larger man walking towards you, face buried deep in a local map. “Hey, Dean, get this—”

His eyes snapped up, assessing the standoff before him, and he shook the hair out of his face. His eyes were nothing like the other man’s—they were softer, drawn together inquisitively, the sun highlighting the different shades of green, blue and brown folded and swirled around black pupils. He stopped next to the passenger door and cocked his head to the side. “Uh, Dean. Everything alright?”

Without so much as wavering his intense regard, Dean answered the taller man. “Yeah, Sammy. She’s just admiring the car.”

Sam rolled his eyes and huffed. “Dean, we don’t have time for this. Let’s go.” He waved amicably in your direction and settled into the Impala. You crossed your arms and turned back towards Dean after shooting a smile at Sam.

A little more confident now, you returned back to your game of glares. “Can’t take a compliment, Dean?”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Yeah, it’s my baby. I put a lot of work into her. Thanks.”

The man continued to stand there, looking you up and down and eyeing you warily as if you were about to explode. You shrugged off the strange encounter and turned away, throwing a “have a good day” his way before you entered the welcome air conditioning of the store.

As you pre-paid for your shower and sports drink with the clerk, you could still see the man standing there out of the corner of your eye, watching you cautiously through the window.

You took the key and headed off towards the back of the building, ready to wash away the night terrors and bizarre encounter.

When you reached your private bathroom suite, you closed and locked the door then set down your backpack and turned on the hot water in the clean, sand-colored tiled shower. Steam started to fog the mirror, but you glimpsed yourself before it went completely white. Horrified, you wiped at the mirror. Your eyes were bloodshot and there was dried blood, almost black, that had trickled down your nose. Your veins were prominent and unnaturally blue, spiderwebbing across the thinner areas of skin. Your pupils were blown wide. You reached up to touch your face, confused, but your hand wandered to an itch under your ear. You leaned in closer and angled your head to see that blood had seeped from your ears as well.

You hastily stepped into the drumming water and tried to scrub away the knowledge that the nightmare may have been more than just that.

 Back at the Impala, Dean watched you through the window, unmoved from the spot he’d caught you sneaking around the Impala. When you were out of sight, he slipped into the driver’s seat, hinges protesting with a squeak.

“You okay, dude?” Sam asked.

Dean set his snacks down between them. “No, Sam. Did you see her face? I found her creeping around the car. I didn’t see any hex-bags, but I think she’s a witch.”

Sam shook his head in disbelief. “Dean, she just looked like she had a few too many last night and maybe got in a fight.”

Dean shrugged, not willing to argue with his brother. One of his favorite things about Sam was also the worst—he always saw the good in people and, all too often, was blinded by it.

He turned up the music and peeled away from the truck stop, ready to put some distance between them and you.

 You walked back to your truck, fully refreshed and looking much more like your normal self. Mutt stood up in the front seat, tail wagging and you couldn’t help but grin back at him. As you popped up next to him, you pulled out your phone to search for the nearest library. It was time to figure out what the hell happened last night.

 The library wasn’t too far—another town over about a half hour away. It was a relatively small place, with only two computers and a few rooms. What it lacked for in size, it certainly made up for in quality and quantity for the research you required. Mutt walked silently by your side through the long, narrow passages between bookcases. Just before you reached the end, one book caught your eye.

Folklore of West Texas

You pulled it from the shelf, a familiar green eye arresting yours once more where there should have been another book on the opposite shelf. Startled, you took a stumbling step back, spine crashing into the full bookshelves behind you and digging in uncomfortably. Mutt stood at attention then, low growl emanating from bared teeth towards the stranger on the other side. You dropped your free hand to him, knowing that if he made a ruckus, you’d both be kicked out. He quieted, but still leaned into you, rigid and on high alert.

Dean rounded the corner quickly, looking down at the hackled dog and drawing his hands up quickly, as if mildly scared. “Mind calling off the attack dog?”

“Only if you tell me why you’re following me.”

“Following you—what? You’re following us!” He hissed, barely above a whisper.

Sam trotted up behind you, footfalls heavy on the old hardwood floor.

He looked from you to Dean to Mutt then to the book you were holding. Ignoring his brother’s strange demeanor, Sam asked kindly, “Hey, uh, mind if we borrow that book from you? The librarian pointed us towards it. It for research—important research.”

You gripped it tighter, suddenly feeling quite cramped in the small space and wanting to run the other direction, away from these crazy people. “Sorry, uh… Sam, is it?”

He nodded, small, thin, friendly smile coasting his lips.

“Sorry, Sam, I need it urgently. I uh… I have a paper for my college class due in like four hours and I haven’t even started. Maybe come get it tomorrow?” You hoped they would accept your lie and let you be.

Sam sighed. “Maybe we can share? There’s seating over by the computers. You can write and when you’re not using the book, maybe we can?”

You had to hand it to him, he was thoughtful and it would have been a good compromise. Unable to think of another excuse, you nodded in agreement.

 After a few hours of searching through the book and the internet, through the library computer, you found a promising lead. Something called a Lechuza bruja, a type of witch or spirit well-known around the Texas-Mexico border.

The whole time, you could feel the eyes of the men as they bore into you, watching your every move.

You stood quickly, numb legs stretching and ready to carry you away from the situation. You smiled and tipped your brim at the men and quickly walked back through the maze of shelves and to your truck. The afternoon heat hit the parts of your face not shadowed by the black hat. Once in the vehicle, you opened the cooler to check your provisions. Hmm, running low. Next stop—the market.

 Sam and Dean whispered with each other, huddled so close that their heads were nearly touching.

“A lechuga?”

Sam huffed. “No Dean, a Lechu-ZA. We aren’t fighting lettuce.”

Dean hung his head in his hands, dragging them across his hair and back down, rubbing his temples. “Frickin’ witches man,” he mumbled. At least for Dean, lettuce and witches were held in the same regard—both revolting.

 You were glad to be back out in the wide-open human-less landscape. You cracked open a cold beer from the cooler and let the fizz glide down your throat, both cooling and warming you in delightful ways. Sunset was fast approaching and painting wildfires through the sky. Atop your plateau, you could look down and see Texas to the North and East, Mexico to the South and West, and the Rio Grande snaking between them, forming an oasis along its banks. You were close enough to hear the constant, deep rumble of water. You closed your eyes, imagining people from a thousand years ago listening to the same sound.

Letting the peaceful daydream fade away, you set the beer on the hood and went to rifle through the tool box in the bed of the truck. You pushed aside the smaller items of necessity and heaved a large bag of salt over your shoulder with a grunt. You painstakingly dug a shallow trench with your heel all the way around the vehicle, filling it with an unbroken line of salt along the way.

After you prepped the truck for a sleepless night potentially fighting away ghosts and witches, you climbed into the bed of the truck with the cooler and opened a bag of jerky. Mutt enjoyed his kibble and curled up next to you, happy and relaxed, innocent of the danger that would likely find you tonight.

As the temperature dropped and the familiar refrains of coyotes filled the air with music, your eyes grew heavy. You curled into yourself, pulling the rough blanket over your shoulders. You looked up at the stars, trying to tally the larger ones to keep yourself awake. There were so many that the dark sky was not truly black anywhere—everywhere you looked there were more. Every time your eyes adjusted and focused on a dark spot, you could count even more of them as they appeared.

 Everything was true black and silent, as if you’d gone blind and deaf. This was not the desert you knew. You turned and felt the ground with your feet, trusting that your tall boots would block any cactus or unfriendly critters. You shuffled forward and tried to call out to Mutt, but the words caught in your throat. It began to constrict, as if something had you in a vice grip, crushing your windpipe from the inside out. You reflexively tried to breathe deeply, but fell to your knees, scratching at your throat, panic rising. Your eyes bugged and strained, desperate for any miniscule bit of light. You blinked hard, just to verify that your eyes were indeed open. Gasping for breath, your lungs burned and you fell onto your side, convulsing as if drowning. As numbness creeped its dark tendrils through your body, and you began to sense gravity fall away.

You continued to struggle, allowing fear to set in. Off in the distance, a light appeared. Like a shooting star destined to destroy worlds, it hurtled towards you. In mere seconds, the bright, glowing owl was there, once again sporting the glitching face of a woman contorted in sickening ways.  The owl dwarfed you, calmly flapping its wings and whispering those strange incantations that drew such agony from your breaking body.

It floated closer to you, and in the light, you could see your hair suspended as if you were fully submerged under water. When the monstrosity got within arms reach with open beak, you reeled back and punched it right in the eye.

 You woke with a start, Mutt pawing at you and barking violently. Urgently.

Shaking off the nightmare, you could taste blood in your mouth. Tears had run down your face at some point, and you hurriedly wiped them away.

The blinding light of the full moon revealed otherwise—blood. You were bleeding tears?

You withdrew a kerchief from your flannel pocket and wiped your face as you scanned the salt line. The wind had blown away several areas. You looked up at the sky and tried to calm Mutt, who was trembling for the first time since he was a small pup. The full moon snatched the breath from you, and your chest heaved. It looked exactly like the eye you’d just punched in your dream.

The night was far colder than you’d expected, the chill reaching down to your bones. That was it.

It was time to leave. This was not something you could fight on your own. You jumped from the bed of the truck and Mutt joined you in the cab. You tried to start the truck, but the engine just sputtered. You tried a few more times, then nothing—as if the battery had died.

“No no no no no,” you cursed, hitting the steering wheel with both fists.

Time seemed to slow to a stop, Mutt frozen mid-bark and facing the windshield.

A large gray owl landed on the hood and its striking yellow eyes sent shockwaves through you—overwhelming pulses of anguish. You screamed, mouth falling open and eyes shutting against the spell, trying to break its hold. A vision of a small child drowning in the river filled your mind. It was screaming, choking, begging for help.

When your eyes opened, the screams of the child urged your feet forward faster, now running full speed through the desert.

You were not in control of your body anymore, but merely a hapless passenger. Your feet betrayed you and you went tumbling down the side of the cliff, catching every sharp rock and thorn on the way down. If you had your wits, you wouldn’t have been able to move, too broken to continue. The rush of the water nearby caused your veins and arteries to constrict and pulse at a dangerously high rate. Adrenaline coursed along with your blood and you rolled and stumbled towards the river once more. In a kicking leap, you crashed into the frigid waters searching for the screaming child. The shrieks were so loud that they rattled your brain and hurt your ears, threatening to consume you. You thrashed against the strong current.

The owl screeched and swooped down, tearing at your drenched hair. The freezing black water helped ground you enough to realize that there was no child—only the horrid cries of the bird.

The Lechuza, you reminded yourself. Just as you reached for the vial of salt in your pocket, the witch-owl dove into the water, catching the back of your collar in its sharp beak, dragging you to the depths with it. Its eyes glowed, the only visible thing in the dark waters.

 Dean pulled the Impala slowly up to your truck, eyes locked on the salt circle. “Shit!” He shouted as he threw Baby into park. He bounded from the car towards the abandoned vehicle. He whipped back around towards Sam.

Sam picked up the blood-soaked kerchief in the bed of the truck and gave it to Dean. “I think we’re too late,” Sam noted, his voice faltering with the worry rising in his throat.

“I didn’t know she was a hunter! How did we not know?! The signs were all there!” Dean cursed and kicked the tire violently, throwing firsts in the air as he gripped the soiled kerchief. Of course, he blamed himself. In fact, the only reason they were out there was to gank you. Until this moment, they’d had no idea that you were another victim and not the bruja herself.

Mutt whined and cried a high pitched imperative. Dean ran back to the Impala with a long string of creative curses, retrieving two shotguns and extra witch-killing bullets. Sam opened the truck door and Mutt spilled out.

“Here boy, here,” Sam called to the frantic dog. “Take her to us. Go get her!”

Mutt seemed to understand and took off towards the southwest, nose close to the ground and paws practically levitating across the rough earth. Dean tossed the extra gun to Sam and they raced off, following the dog’s brays. They carefully descended the cliffside, sliding partway down and narrowly missing a large crevasse. The men watched in horror just as the large owl drug you beneath the waves.

 You thrashed violently against the authority of the currents and the essence of pure evil leeching into you through osmosis. Once you were fully saturated in the foul concentrate, the Lechuza Bruja reared its ugly head back, screeching at a decibel that whales would envy, resounding through your entire being and threatening to shred you to pieces. Whether it was the spell or hypothermia kicking in, your limbs grew stiff and immovable. Your lungs screamed for air until you couldn’t fight it anymore.

In that moment, you felt your very soul being stripped away, and in the void, water filled your lungs. The pain only lasted a moment more before you started to sink towards the rocky bottom, bits of freshwater weeds outstretching soft, welcoming arms. You blinked slowly one last time, looking up at the disappearing monster above you as it emerged forcefully from the opaque waters. With the fading light, you closed your eyes, ready to greet your reaper. Your limp body fell to rest with a soft thud into the bed of river grass.

 Sam dove into the water immediately, shoes and shirt flying off in a frenzy along the way. Just as he submerged, Dean angled the shotgun full of salt pellets and hit the fleeing bruja like a game of skeet. The nasty beast crumpled at his feet but did not stay still long. Dean dropped the shotgun and withdrew his pearl-handled pistol. The man-sized owl stood and flared its wings, beak agape in a blood curdling scream. Without hesitation, Dean aimed carefully and shot it center mass twice then between the eyes once in rapid succession.

The creature exploded in a ferocious affair, leaving only dust and feathers behind. Dean held his arm up, coughing into the crook of his sleeve. When the particles settled, he rushed towards where Mutt dug at the bank, barking and whining, careful not to touch the water.

“C’mon Sam,” he prayed, pacing impatiently. Just as he thrust off his own shirt and shoes to rescue both of you, Sam broke the shallow waves with a loud gasp. He held you in one arm, treading towards shore with the other. With a waterlogged body, you were more than a typical deadweight. Dean grabbed onto you when he was close enough, about waist deep in the river, feet sliding on the slippery stones. He traded a glance with Sam to make sure he was okay. Sam nodded between coughing fits.

He would be alright, but he couldn’t say the same for you. Your eyes were half open and far away, likely lost on this plane. Dean set you down on a sandy patch devoid of sharp protrusions and slammed fists on your chest. You were cold and blue.

“No no no, shit! Come on!” He yawped into the waning night. He started CPR. In desperation, he rolled you on your side and slapped your upper back hard. Your lungs rejected the water, projecting it up to a few feet away. Shallow, agonal breaths shook you furiously, your limbs going into straight, fixed positions. He sighed a minor breath of relief then picked you up and slung you over his shoulder, hoping more water would drain that way. The boys scrambled back up to the plateau where they reached the Impala in record time. Your body still racked and spasmed, trying hard to intake oxygen but still unable to expel all the water on its own. Dean handed you to Sam and jumped in the driver’s seat, breaking his “no dogs in the car EVER” rule as Mutt joined him in the front. Sam slid into the back, still pumping your chest when needed.

Dean grimaced as he flew as fast as he could down the winding, bumpy excuse for a road through Big Bend. He checked his phone, waiting anxiously for a bar of service since the nearest hospital was almost three hours away by car. “Sam, is she—?”

“Drive faster, Dean.”

The car gained air a few times, until at last Dean slammed the breaks to a sliding halt, atop a peak near the park exit. He dialed 911, pleading with the operator to send a helicopter to them like yesterday.

Minutes passed.

Dean paced outside the car, searching the sky and spinning in circles, the first rays of morning shining in his eyes. Sam pulled you from the car to the ground when you stopped breathing again. This time, he started CPR and you didn’t react.

Ten minutes.

Sam sang the Bee Gees under his breath, struggling to hold tempo and arms shaking in exhaustion. Mutt lay by your side, eyes closed and whining softly.

Dean kicked and punched at the world around him, screaming curses into the sky and towards himself, tears coming freely now as he felt the full weight of his guilt. He’d allowed another hunter to die because he couldn’t see past his own pig-headedness.

Fifteen.

Sam collapsed, arms shaking with exhaustion. Dean picked up where his brother left off with torturous thoughts raging rampant through his mind.

The long-awaited sounds of a helicopter in the distance graced their hungry ears. Sam jumped to his feet, waving wildly. He helped guide the crew to a clearing just a few yards away. Dean shielded you from the flying debris.

Two medics quickly wrapped you and continued CPR. In seconds, the helicopter was pulling away towards the rising sun.

Dean’s hands were clasped together atop his head, but internally, he was imploding.

 Your eyes opened slowly, blurred vision confusing your already muddled mind with distorted images. You winced against the cool, damp cloth brushing against your temple. You groaned as your body woke in stages, each one more painful than the last.

A solid, warm hand wrapped around your forearm. You clenched your fist in response, a sharp sting in the top of your hand. “Shhh, shh shh. You’re okay. You’re at the hospital,” the soft yet gravelly voice whispered reassuringly.

Bringing your other hand to your eyes, you roughly wiped and rubbed until you could see more clearly. You started to gag and heave at the tubes connecting your lungs to a breathing machine. You pulled and flailed, panic striking fight or flight into you once again. Nurses rushed in and your eyes followed them wide open and wild. They carefully withdrew the apparatus and strapped your limbs down, replacing it with a much gentler nasal cannula, and lastly lifting the bed so that you were sitting up slightly.

You tried to choke out questions, but the more you tried, the more it hurt. You gave in to frustrated silence and took in your surroundings. Dean was there, hovering closely, tears at the corners of his red-rimmed eyes and an apology already spilling from his mouth.

You shook your head, confused, and motioned for something to write with. He handed you a small whiteboard and expo marker.

Who are you?

“Dean Winchester.”

You looked at him, unbelieving that it could be that Winchester—the one from the Supernatural books. It was only a story, right? Yet it was all right there—the character description, the car, and even Sam. Erasing your last question, you sloppily wrote a new one.

‘The’ Dean W.? SPN Legend?

He chuckled lightly. “Yeah, that one.”

You took in the view of your body—wrapped nearly head to toe in bandages, some of them still bloody.

What happened?

“You don’t remember?”

You shook your head no.

He recounted his version of the night, looking over his shoulder to make sure there were no prying ears.

You could tell it aggrieved him—the whole thing. You didn’t blame him of course; you’d almost wondered the same about him and Sam, suspecting that they may have been the evil bewitched spirit.

Sometimes, hunters die.

He placed his palm over the scribbled words, eyes cast down. “No. Not like that, not when we can stop it.” You squeezed his hand then shoved it away lightly.

I forgive you.

The words brought the large hunter to his knees. When he found the strength to lock eyes with you once more, you gave him a thin, strained smile. Looking at the band on your wrist, it was obvious he’d guessed your name and age. You jotted the correct information down and showed it to him. He smiled back.

“Nice to formally meet you, Y/N.”

You, too. What now?

Making sure the room was still clear, he leaned in. “Now, we get you out of here. Sam has your dog back at the motel. You owe me a deep clean for my car, by the way,” he quipped.

Teaming up with the Winchesters wouldn’t be the worst thing, you considered. It sure as hell beat living this empty, lonely life.

Mutt could finally have a family.

As Dean expertly snuck you out of the hospital, you weighed the pros and cons of associating with the two most wanted men on the planet. Your decision came when the Impala pulled up to the door of the first-floor room where Sam stood out front, Mutt by his feet looking happy and well fed.

Through everything, we found each other. That’s all that matters.

Come Heaven, Hell, or Beyond. You owed them your life.

FOREVERS:

@carryonmywaywardcaptain​ @manawhaat​ @supernatural-jackles​ @jensen-jarpad @wheresthekillswitch​ @bummblebeeblue​ @nothin-after-79-blog​ @docharleythegeekqueen @fangirl-writing-fiction​ @inmysparetime0​ @impala-dreamers-mainfrigginblog @impala-dreamer​ @arryn-nyxx​ @idk-life01​ @attorneyl​ @deathtonormalcy56 @xwing-baby​

ALL ABOUT THAT DEAN:

@akshi8278​ @will-winchester​

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[smashing-teacups]

Missing J/C goodbye scene, 5x02

A/N: Hi y’all! Just scribbled down a quick goodbye scene between Jamie and Claire in 5x02, as I feel like we were missing that in this episode, hm? Their reunion is coming up in 5x03 and Sam has mentioned it’s one of his favorite scenes in the entire season, so I’m not touching that one! I’ll let the masters do their thing. But on the front end, here’s a wee thing I wrote this evening. All mistakes are my own; it’s quick and simple, didn’t even run it by a beta (or title it for that matter, haha)

____________

Jamie rose before dawn, early enough that the rustle of quilts and sag of the mattress didn’t fully wake me. I was still heavy-limbed and lethargic after spending the night entwined with him, unhurried and savoring, burning the feeling of one another into flesh and bone to take with us when we parted. Rolling into the warm depression his body had left behind, I breathed in the scent of him (of us) and drifted off again with a low hum of satisfaction. 

He was purposefully quiet as he moved about the room, dressing in the pale grey light of pre-dawn. It wasn’t until I heard the repetitive clink of the metal buckles along the length of his boots that I stirred in earnest, lifting my head with a snuffling breath. 

“You’re up early.” I squinted across the room at him in confusion, knowing full well that he didn’t plan to leave until after his men had filled their bellies with a warm breakfast.

“Aye,” Jamie agreed huskily, his morning voice an octave deeper than usual. “Thought I should see to my chores ‘fore I go.” He finished the row of buckles along his left boot and switched to the right while I stretched languidly, arching my back and toes into the cool sheets before coiling back into my ball of warmth. 

“You didn’t have to do that. I would have taken care of it.”

My husband glanced up at me with a throaty Scottish noise and a shrug. “Ye’ll already have to take up my slack while I’m gone. Dinna want to burden ye wi’ today’s work as well.” He finished the last of his buckles and crossed the room to me in a few strides, bending to capture my lips in a soft kiss. He smoothed a thumb over my cheekbone and down my chin, his eyes half-closed and trained on my mouth. “Go back to sleep, a nighean,” he murmured, and kissed me again.

Admittedly, I was tempted. It was still dark, the air beyond my cozy huddle of blankets discouragingly cold, and as we’d spent very little of the night actually sleeping, I was still plenty tired. Left to my own devices, I might have hunkered down and dozed blissfully until noon. The only thing preventing it was the recognition of how precious little time remained for us to be together before Jamie left for God-knows-how-long on Tryon’s bloody crusade. Savoring every moment afforded to us had been a hard-earned lesson, carved painstakingly into the shells of our hearts over the course of twenty long years.

Pushing the quilts back, I shook my head and swung my legs over the side of the bed, a prickle of gooseflesh rippling over my bare skin at the exposure to the stark morning air. “No,” I insisted, fumbling in the darkness to find the shift that had been hastily discarded on the floor the night before. “I’ll come with you.”

He waited for me to dress (I was quick about it, eager to bundle myself against the bitter chill), then wrapped an arm comfortably around my waist as we strolled out into the quiet, unfinished house. 

“Some tea first?” I asked softly as we walked by the kitchen. 

Jamie’s steps faltered for a moment as he considered it, but he shook his head. “Nah, I’ll bide for now. The animals’ll be restless for their breakfast, and I want to turn that new colt out for a bit ‘fore I go.”

I nodded, laying my head in the crook of his shoulder as we walked out onto the porch and down the path toward the barn. He was right, of course; heedless of our nocturnal activities and the ungodly hour of the morning, I could already hear the stamping of hooves and blowing snorts from the horses. Clarence began to bray excitedly when he heard us approaching, and that set off the chickens and the goats and the white sow. By the time Jamie lifted the bolt on the barn door, the whole bloody lot of them were in a cacophonous uproar.

The two of us exchanged knowing, exasperated smiles, then wordlessly set about our individual tasks: I filled grain and water buckets, Jamie climbed up in the loft to begin to heave down bales of hay. Once all of the animals were munching contentedly, I set to work milking the goats while my husband groomed the horses. With my cheek resting against a warm, bristly black belly, I listened to Jamie murmuring to one of the mares in Gaelic, smiling at the phrases I did know (“be good for the mistress, aye?” and “there’ll be apples in it for ye” and “bite her and I’ll tan yer bonny hide”) and closing my eyes to simply listen to the lilting cadence of his voice through the parts I didn't understand.

The comfort of it, the utter tranquility of the morning dawning golden and crisp and beautiful around us as we worked, was enough to fill my heart to the point of aching. After all our years of strife and suffering, sacrifice and separation, I finally had everything — we had everything — we’d ever wanted. We delighted in the simple pleasures of the farm, the land, the community, our family, each other. I had a booming medical practice where I finally felt useful, and Jamie had blossomed effortlessly into the role of laird that he had been born to fill. 

But of course, fate simply couldn’t bloody well let us alone. 

There was always another fucking war. Another battle, another conflict, another reason to tear Jamie from my arms and into the line of fire. It seemed these moments of tranquility would forever be fleeting for us. 

Perhaps that was the price we were meant to pay for challenging history, bending time itself to accommodate our love. 

Peace, after all, had never been part of the bargain Jamie and I had struck. 

So be it. I’d said it once before, and meant it: I would have him any way I could.

Setting the milk bucket aside, I went to Jamie in silence and wrapped my arms around him from behind, bowing my forehead into the valley between his shoulder blades. He paused at once with the brush at the horse’s withers, turning his head slightly toward me in silent inquiry. 

“Keep working,” I murmured against his back. 

I just need to hold you.

I didn’t need to say it for him to understand. He did as I bid him, and resumed his characteristic quick darting flicks as he brushed the horse. I closed my eyes, moving with him, memorizing the way his scarred skin stretched beneath my cheek, the way the powerful muscles of his shoulders rippled as he worked.

After a moment, he abandoned his task altogether, letting the brush drop softly into the hay at our feet as he turned to face me and wrap me in his arms. 

I need to hold ye too, Sassenach.

I didn’t cry, and neither did he. But we ached together in silence, swaying gently from side to side, my face tucked into his neck and his into my hair. 

In the distance, I could hear the stirrings from the other cottages; tenants waking to the new day and starting chores of their own. Within a few minutes, I knew we’d hear the telltale squealing of our grandson in the cottage just down the path. 

The world around us was waking. 

Which meant my time with Jamie was quickly running out.

We’d say goodbye here, alone. Later there would be people everywhere; we’d exchange nods, smiles, pleasantries, a quick and chaste kiss before an audience.

But here, I could say what I truly meant, and so could he.

“If you do find him,” I whispered against his skin, “make it quick, Jamie.” I pulled back just far enough to look him in the eye, and swallowed the lump in my throat. “For both your sakes.”

His eyes burned red for a moment, and he sniffled hard, dropping his forehead against mine. “Christ, don’t let it come to that,” he prayed, his voice barely a whisper.

“You told him to be hard to find,” I reminded him, squeezing his shoulders. “And the mountains are vast. You’ll make your excuses. Hm? Lead the wild goose chase as long as you can.” He nodded against me, and exhaled shakily. “But if…” I swallowed again. “If you do find him...”

“It’ll have to be me,” he agreed hoarsely. “I’ll no’ let him hang.”

“I know,” I whispered, and smoothed my hands over his stubbled cheeks. My husband stared down at me, earnest and terrified, and I drew him in with a soft, desperate sound, kissing him with everything in me. I stood on tiptoe and pulled him close, wishing I was big enough to wrap around him, make him feel protected, the way he did when I needed his comfort. The best I could offer was tenderness, understanding; shared affection and history with the man he was forced to hunt, defying every last one of his instincts. 

I loved Murtagh too. Jamie knew that. I don’t know if it helped him, but it was what I had to offer. 

When at last our kiss softened into grazing lips, I nuzzled the tip of my nose against his and murmured against him, “Ride slowly, Jamie. Wander. Take the long road around the mountain. Buy whatever time you can.” I drew back to look at him, to make sure he saw the honest permission in my eyes. “We’ll be alright here. I promise.”

“Aye,” he breathed, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. “Ye run a tight ship, a nighean. I dinna worry about the Ridge wi’ you at the helm.”

“Good,” I said, and gave him one more firm kiss on the lips. 

Jamie held fast though, tightening his grip on my waist. “I do worry about you, Claire. Ye get so deep into tendin’ yer patients that ye forget to tend yerself. Be mindful, aye? Dinna do anything reckless wi’ yer own safety while I’m no’ here to grouse at ye for it.”

I smiled, swaying my hips with his and humming faintly in amusement. “I promise to imagine your most disapproving face every time I get a bright idea, hm? We’ll see if it makes any more difference than when you’re here to give it in person.”

He fixed me with his best exasperated glare, and my smile softened. “I’ll be careful if you will, soldier,” I offered quietly, rubbing my palms over his shoulder caps. 

Jamie made a decidedly Scottish grunt; caution and self-preservation were not either of our strong suits. Still, he nodded as he leaned in to capture my lips one last time. 

“For your sake, then, my Sassenach,” he vowed, “I will.”