#but hear me out okay buck is a tumbler

[smallandalmosthonest]

falling so in love with 911 sports aus but can never write one because the only sport i know anything about/have any experience with….. is cheerleading

[schoenpepper]

Breakfast (Dove Cameron)

Intro: Trey spends a night with you, knowing full well he'll regret it all in the morning when he's left staring at empty sheets.

Warnings: bad writing, awful grammar, not proofread i just wanna get these over with tbh, one night stands and kinda shmexy times, cussing im not a good gurlypops, reader kinda a hoe ngl

A/N: Good boy Trey yes yes yes yes

Masterlist

Your smoke in my hair

Hot and dirty like the L.A. air

That face, baby, it ain't fair

But you don't know what you don't know

What you don't know, uh

"You look so cute like this, right underneath me, hm~?" When you coo so softly in that sweet voice of yours, Trey is gone. His mind blanks and his bones soften into the mattress. He focuses on everything but you; the sound of cars honking down the street by his shitty apartment, the smog clouding his window, the feeling of linen sheets crumpled in his clenched fists, the smell of cooling blueberry muffins on the countertop. It's overwritten by you, and now your beautiful face is all he sees, your scent is making everything hazy, your hands are slowly gliding down his bare chest and he wants to either hold you close or push you off. He's not left with much of a choice when you straddle his lap and trail your lips from his neck up to his ear, nibbling on the skin.

"Good boy. Stay still for me."

Fuck, your praise gets him impossibly hard, but he's too stubborn to let his voice leak. He doesn't want you to know the control you have over him. When you grind down on him so ridiculously slow, his hips buck up uncontrollably, and there's so much shame tinging his face when he hears you laugh at him. "So impatient. It's okay baby, I'll take real good care of you."

Ooh-ooh, so you wanna talk about power?

Ooh-ooh, let me show you power

Passivity has brought him to the best midpoint of life. As long as he keeps to his close-knit circle of friends and studies hard, he'll be able to get through college with normal grades, get a normal job, find a normal lover, live a normal life. He doesn't like the stress that comes with being extraordinary, no, he's seen enough of that just from Riddle alone. Trey keeps his head down because passivity is his only way to survive.

You stumbled into his Psych class one day and ruined him.

You and your sexy clothing and that tumbler you pretend is filled with coffee but reeks of alcohol. There's something about the way your eyes shine under the LED lights that makes him want it on himself. You're drunk, obviously, when you almost trip twice just trying to get to a seat, the one in front of him. He forces himself to look away from you.

You're trouble incarnate, that he could tell.

I eat boys like you for breakfast

One by one hung on my necklace

And they'll always be mine

It makes me feel alive

It doesn't come as a surprise when he finally hears about you from his friends.

"Y/N? They're like a total player, it's insane. Pretty sure they've slept with half the school. They spend one night with someone then up and leave, but they have like, raving reviews, if you know what I mean." Cater comments offhandedly one afternoon when they're crowded around a cafeteria table, off-white plastic trays in hand. Riddle nods at the statement before stabbing his fork through a chunk of meat. "Yes, they are quite infamous. They're also friends with those two troublemakers, the red and blue ones."

"Aren't you red too, nya?"

The shorter redhead huffs and glares at Chenya who had popped up out of nowhere. "I wasn't using it as a slur, it was just a description."

Chenya giggles. "That Y/N is no joke, Trey." He says as he taps on the edge of Trey's glasses. "A nice guy like you should steer clear, okay~?"

I eat boys like you for breakfast

And I know that you tried your bestest

I never said it's right

But I'm gonna keep doing it

"Is this seat taken?"

Trey looks up to see you, a charming smile on your face as your hand pats the chair next to him. "It's all yours." He replies. He leaves the conversation there because he wants nothing more to do with you. He focuses back to the professor and his notes.

"And thus, this assignment will have to be done in pairs."

...No.

"Whoever is next to you will be your partner, and remember, it's due next week."

No. No, he can't, he doesn't want to.

He turns to the person on his left, only to find them already chatting up someone else. "Guess you're stuck with me, huh?" You chuckle.

"Ah. My name is Trey Clover." He introduces himself because it's correct, because it's the polite thing to do even though he's aching to just up and leave rather than spend another moment with such a problematic soul—a person who's assertive and actively goes after what they want is not a person he matches too well with. Especially not in the context used for you.

"Y/N L/N. You're cute." He feels something in him shrivel up and die when you're talking. "I think I'll like working with you."

Trey barely restrains himself from physically cringing at your flirtatious wink.

I'm sick, yeah, I'm sick

And honestly, I'm getting high off it

Do you wanna see a magic trick?

'Cause you don't know what you don't know

But I know

You're not completely awful.

You're surprisingly smart, and your comments and opinions about the topic of your shared assignment hit all points dead center. He can find a way to peacefully coexist with you and be just another side character in your life, fade away in the background and be forgotten. He likes it better that way. He treats you as a decent study partner.

"Hello? Earth to Trey?"

You wave your can of cold brew in front his face. Perhaps because you'd noticed his distaste towards your favorite beer (or alcohol in general), it seems you've swapped it out for egregious amounts of coffee. It's a step in the right direction, he thinks. At least you won't be drunk in public anymore.

"Yes, sorry, where was I?"

The pen in your other hand taps on a word in the book laid out in front of him. Trey nods and pushes down the urge to push you away (or pull you closer), opting to type away in his laptop as he used the book as reference. "The library's going to close soon, we should meet up again tomorrow."

You nod and reply. "Okay, I'll see you at 10, will that work for you?"

"Sure, and..." He doesn't understand why he's doing this. "If you want, I can give you some pastries as snacks for our study session? I like to bake whenever I'm free."

You smile at him cheerfully. "I'd love that."

Ooh-ooh, so you wanna talk about power?

Ooh-ooh, let me show you power

Trey watches you snap up another macaron from the plate, and he flicks your forehead harshly. "Hands off the cookies, L/N."

"But Trey~ They look so yummy!" You pout at him very convincingly. He holds onto the last of his sanity and shakes his head, but he pops a biscuit in your mouth as consolation. You seem satisfied enough and get back to decorating the cupcakes with sparkly little heart sprinkles. After the assignment, you refused to let him play wallflower and called out to him in the halls as you passed by. He never ignores you. Eventually, greetings turned into coffee into studying together into watching movies and now he's in the kitchen of his small studio apartment baking things with you for Cater's birthday party. You're a good friend. The fact that your body count is likely in the triple digits doesn't matter when you two are just friends.

"You wanna go to mine this weekend? Some of my roommates are planning to throw a wicked party, and I want you to be there."

"I don't know, Y/N, you know parties aren't my thing."

"Oh lighten up, Clover." You laugh, picking up the piping bag to get to work on the next batch of cupcakes. "If you really don't vibe at the party we can just chill in my room. That new movie you like just came out, wanna watch it?"

He raises an eyebrow. "It's not on streaming platforms yet, is it?"

You shoot him a grin.

"Not legally, no."

I eat boys like you for breakfast

One by one hung on my necklace

And they'll always be mine

It makes me feel alive

The party is just as he expected; loud, dark, and boring as hell. He does his best to swim his way out of the sea of slick and sweaty bodies grinding against each other, promising himself mentally to take a thorough rinse in your room's shower to get back to feeling himself. Because right now, he feels like a new, unworn lost sock inside someone's pile of dirty gym clothes. He finally spots you at the edge of the crowd, like you're light at the end of the tunnel.

But you're not alone.

Some girl is all over you, practically drooling while you're nursing a cup of iced coffee.

Why does he feel awful, all of a sudden?

When your eyes find his own, you give him that signature charming smile, shrugging the scantily-clad girl off your shoulder and tackling him in a hug that made some of your coffee spill on the floor. "Trey, you made it! Oh, you look winded. Let's go to my room and get you settled."

"Excuse me?" The girl you left behind has a voice reminiscent of a fork being dragged across the surface of a balloon. You turn towards her and he catches a glimpse of an expression he'd never seen on your face before. One of cold annoyance, of freezing apathy that seemed generally unfit for someone like you, someone who's usually so bubbly and perky. "Do you have a problem?"

"My problem is that you're setting me aside for this nerd, baby, don't you miss me? What, is he your new target? You know he won't even be a good fuck."

He watches the cold anger bubble into lava-hot rage in your irises, spilling out through your lips as you glared at the lady. "First of all, I don't miss flings, darling, you're one of far too many. Second, Trey is not my target. He's my friend, you useless fucking bimbo! And third!" You look at Trey, pointing at his face. "This man is definitely a good fuck! I bet he's absolutely packing and you only wish you could get a taste of this fucking hunk!"

He blinks. Once. Twice.

He's still frozen in place when the girl runs off in tears, and you sigh as you place one hand on your hip, the other bringing the cup of coffee up to your mouth.

"Sorry Trey, past mistakes, you know how it goes. Anyway, let's go watch that movie."

I eat boys like you for breakfast

And I know that you tried your bestest

I never said it's right

But I'm gonna keep doing it

The little wallflower is wilting.

Trey thinks he might be sick. Literally? Figuratively? He doesn't know. But he's probably sick. He has to be. Golden hazel eyes flit back to you. You're sleeping so soundly atop his chest, cuddled up to him with your arms splayed out on your sides. He has his own arms wrapped loosely around you with one hand reaching up to play with your hair as your face smooshed into his chest. He wonders if you can feel his heart beat. It's a little faster than usual because he's thinking about how easy it would be to lean down and...make a mistake. It would be a mistake. You would be upset. Would you assume that he also saw you as nothing but a sex fiend if he tried to kiss you? He knows you've been making an effort to change bad habits recently, and he's been spending enough (too much) time with you that he knows you haven't had sex with anyone in a long while.

He leans his head back on the pillow.

When did this friendship start to rot and burn in his heart? When did it start to regrow and bloom into something so very not platonic? He wants to kiss you. He wants to hold you tighter. He wants to strip off all his clothes and reservations about you and find out why all the people you've slept with once upon a time keep crawling back, and he wants to have that for himself for the rest of forever.

It would destroy your friendship.

It would destroy him.

He settles for kissing the top of your head. For now, it's enough. But he knows it won't be enough for him forever.

He wants to love you.

You've been treated too roughly by the world, won't you let him take care of you? Be kind to you, the way you deserve? 

Would you let him love you?

Passivity has always brought him to the best midpoint of life. But fuck, he doesn't want to be at the midpoint. He wants you. And you, you're not in the middle, you're never there. You're out of his reach because he knows you're always moving forward, while he's always been stuck at the same place. If he throws away the ideals he's held for far too long, can he reach you?

Would you love him too?

I eat boys, I eat boys

I eat boys, I eat boys

He knows his friends disapprove of you. He can feel Riddle's stone cold glare, Chenya's dumbfounded gaze, and Cater's blank stare. "What? Are you serious, Trey?!" Cater snaps out of his daze and immediately gets to shaking Trey by the shoulders. "We told you Y/N's bad news! So you buddy up with them and then—" He lowers his voice to a hissy whisper. "—Then fall in love with them? Are you crazy?"

"This isn't like you." Riddle adds with a sigh. "You're usually more rational than this. Mature."

Yes, but there was never anything rational about love, right?

"Mya, you're really serious?!" Chenya breaks out into fits of laughter, patting Trey's shoulder. "That kinda person is really bad news for you. They'll swallow you whole and spit your bones out clean."

Trey pushes off Cater's hold on him as he finally replies to his friends. "I didn't mean to do it. It just kind of happened. And now I need advice."

"Block them."

"Ignore them."

"Avoid them."

"Advice on how to get Y/N to fall in love with me." He says, glaring at the trio.

"If you want my honest thoughts, I think Y/N is just not the kind of person made for commitment. They'll likely sleep with you for one night and then never show up again, like all the times they've done so before." Riddle takes a sip of his tea.

"Y/N isn't like that anymore."

"Oh no, Trey's down bad." Cater shakes his head. "We all assume we're the exception in the Wattpad love story and think we can fix that person. But what if that person doesn't want to be fixed?"

Chenya nods. "Or what if they can't be fixed?"

"They don't need to be fixed." Trey stands up and packs his bag. "Whatever, I should've known you guys would be no help."

"Hey, calm down!" Cater raises both hands, as if in surrender. "How about this, we will help you out, okay?"

Your smoke in my hair

Hot and dirty like the L.A. air

That face, baby, it ain't fair

But you don't know what you don't know

What you don't know

So how did he get here?

Sparkly eyeshadow and tiny rhinestones on the corner of his eyes, an emerald green low v-neck silk shirt with bubble sleeves, black slacks and a black leather belt. His finger scratches at the layered silver necklaces dripping down his clavicle and he shoots the three a questioning look. "What is this?"

"We're going to the club!" Chenya replies cheerfully.

"And how is this meant to help with my Y/N problem?"

Cater raises up his phone. "You pretend to be drunk at the club, we call them on your phone to pick you up, you can tell them your feelings when you're alone and if they reject you, you can pretend it's just drunken rambling. But if they accept your feelings, then yay!"

"Okay, but why is Riddle here?"

Riddle shrugs. "Moral support. I won't touch a drop of alcohol, though."

Thus, the plan was settled.

He's still uncomfortable with all the bodies grinding on each other, and he's forced to turn away far too many people coming onto him. His friends tell him it's because his charm was out on full swing tonight, but he still thinks they're just blinded by the spotlights and inebriated by the amount of alcohol they'd already consumed. He orders a drink at the bar to at least be tipsy when the plan is in motion.

"Hello? Trey?"

Your voice on his phone speaker echoes through the vandalized tiles of the club bathroom. Cater giggles. "Hi, this is Y/N, right? We're in the Deck of Cards club with Trey and he's like, silly drunk. Can you come pick him up please? We're calling an Uber but his apartment's in another direction and he might be kidnapped with the state he's in." Trey knows you care too much to say no.

"I'll be there in ten."

When you arrive at the club, he thinks you're as mesmerizing as the day he first saw you, even though you're only in a set of black sweats. But maybe that's just the tequila talking. "Trey, are you alright?" You cup his face and he nuzzles into your touch.

"I'll take you home, okay?"

I eat boys like you for breakfast

One by one hung on my necklace

And they'll always be mine

It makes me feel alive

You drive him back in silence. He's worried that you don't find him attractive in the getup  his friends had forced him into, but he's satisfied enough by the way you help him up the stairs to his apartment and settle down on his bed. He can hear you clinking away in the kitchen and coming back to him.

"You're gonna have a nasty hangover tomorrow." You chuckle softly while popping a pill into his mouth, followed by lifting the glass of water to his lips. He takes small sips and watches you put it away. "Why were you out clubbing tonight? That's not like you."

"I needed to get drunk."

"Why?"

Trey looks at you. "Because I did something stupid."

"Oh? And what's stupid enough to get a goodie little two shoes like you drunk?"

He takes your hand and tugs you closer to himself. He can hear loud, fast heartbeats, and you're too close for him to tell whether it's his or yours. "I fell in love with someone who fucks and runs." You burst out into laughter, and he's fearful that you're taking his words as a joke. The fear fades away when your hands wander down the dip of his shirt, a mischievous smirk forming on your pretty lips. "Lucky you, I guess. I'm a changed person now."

Trey finally understands Cater's words about you having raving reviews from your previous nightly escapades.

I eat boys like you for breakfast

And I know that you tried your bestest

I never said it's right

But I'm gonna keep doing it

When he wakes up the next day, he's sure you're gone. The side of the bed you'd borrowed for the night is still slightly warm, so you must've escaped just a few minutes ago. He lets out a sigh and runs a hand through his short green hair, patting around to try to find his glasses. His movements stop when he hears something sizzle in a pan. The smell of bacon reaches his nose the same time he puts his glasses on. Trey only has to sit up to see whether it's a hallucination or not.

He doesn't really want to.

When his hopes are dashed, what's left?

It's you.

In his stupid, frilly Hello Kitty apron, humming a stupid pop song under your breath as you swayed your hips and bobbed your head. You're mixing what he assumes to be pancake batter while his broken-down espresso machine is whirring on its last legs and making coffee for two. You stayed. That's strange, it's weird, it doesn't fit your player persona but fuck he's so glad you stayed. It rekindles the hope in his heart that maybe, just maybe, you saw him differently from all your other flings. You notice he's awake and bounce over to him in a bubbly manner he thinks it's too early in the morning for.

"Good morning, sunshine!" You beam at him and lean down to kiss his lips, still mixing the batter. "You woke up at the perfect time. How about you get your plates out and set the table? I'm making bacon, pancakes and eggs."

Somehow, he doesn't know how, he can see a future with you by his side. Just like this.

An 'I love you' was never said, but he can taste it in your pancakes.

[billlydear]

pairing: billy hargrove x steve harrington / WC: 4501

summary: based on this post by @ariesbilly (i was anon), el shops rather creatively for billy's birthday and steve has some things to say about his new look

this will be crossposted on AO3 as soon as i've got the time to set up a new account there. i hope you enjoy, and please consider leaving some feedback! also, i've got a harringroveson spidey/venom au in the works, so please let me know if you'd like to see that :-)

Billy’s genuinely, truly concerned when Jim pulls him aside at his little birthday dinner, and not just because he’s still a tiny bit wary around the man. He hasn’t done anything awful yet, so far there’s not a bone in his body that resembles his dad’s, but Billy’s lived with Neil all his life, and Jim only a few months. He’s getting better, but he’s not there yet.

“Listen,” Jim murmurs, taking the hand he’d used to usher Billy into the kitchen off of his arm. Billy appreciates it, it’s like Jim knows he doesn’t like being grabbed; like he pays attention to Billy’s comfort.

“She’s come a long way,” Jim praises El, “-but gift giving for anyone but Max is… hard. She just shops for herself, it’s like-” Jim rubs an exasperated hand over the scruff on his chin, leaned up against the kitchen counter while Billy leans in slightly to hear his low voice, “It’s like she finds something she likes. And since she likes the person she’s giving it to, she equates the two. ‘Thinks that whatever she likes, they’ll like too. That’s why I drink out of that glittery cup every morning,” Jim gestures to the tumbler currently drying on the rack, ‘BFF’ written in white loopy letters on the plastic, “She’s got the spirit, just not the know-how. And I was really trying to get her to branch out for you, I took her to the mall but she beelined for Claire’s, and-” Jim sighs, shooting a cautious glance back to the living room where the girls are waiting with their gifts, “Just- please act like you like ‘em. If you want, I’ll give you the receipt, and you can return them for cash, just- humor her. Please.”

“Okay,” Is all Billy says, really all he can think of saying, and Jim reaches out to pat his bicep.

“Thanks,” His shoulders slump in relief, “Alright, birthday boy, let’s get going.”

Billy’s used to birthday gifts, but not nice ones. If he was lucky, he’d get gas money for the week from his dad, but that’s only because Susan insisted on acknowledging the day. Gifts have always been an obligation, never a gesture, so sitting on the couch in front of three tissue-paper-stuffed bags is a bit daunting for the man.

“Mine first,” Max demands, pushing her bag forward. Billy sends her what he hopes she perceives as a smile, a small twitch at the corners of his lips. They’ve gotten a lot better with each other now that Neil’s not goading Billy anymore, and Billy’s glad for it.

Inside there’s a gift card to a surf shop he’d worked at one summer back in California. He doesn’t even know if there’s anything on it - for all he knows, she found it in a box of his old stuff - but just seeing the logo of the place makes him nostalgic, and his barely-smile blooms into an unbridled one. The gift of memory is one he didn’t know he’d appreciate this much.

“Damn,” He huffs out a laugh, plucking the thin plastic out of the tissue, “Where’d you find this?”

“I wrote to my grandma,” Max confesses, “There’s 50 bucks on there, but for the record, all I sent her to put on there was 20.”

Billy remembers Max’s grandma; they’d visited her once. She was awesome, but the kind of awesome that made parents distrust her, and contact was lost after the move to Hawkins. The old lady had crammed Billy and Max into the back of her cluttered bug to get ice cream after Neil and Susan had gone to bed, and it was nice for Billy to hear she was still doing well.

“Thanks,” Billy laughs, almost a scoff as he reaches out to ruffle her hair. She pretends to hate it, maybe she does a little, but she lets him, which is like another birthday gift: Annoying Privileges.

He sees a flash of black as he puts the gift card back in the tissue, and it explains why the tiny plastic was wrapped so excessively.

Don’t show Hopper, the note reads, with an arrow down, so he discretely peels away the paper to find three cartons of cigarettes beneath it. He’ll worry about how she got them later, for now he shoots her a smirk that she returns.

“Alright, mine’s kinda-” Jim fumbles for his bag, “-tied into hers. Here, kid.”

The tissue crinkles under Billy’s fingers, and he peers down into the blue bag to see a paper.

He pulls it out, squinting at the fine print.

It’s a hotel booking. A hotel in California, shit, right by the beach.

“I already called you off of work,” Jim smiles at Billy, “It’s about a month from now. Only condition is you take the girls with you, they’ve got their own room and we’ll send ‘em with gas money.”

Max’s grin is bright, and Billy knows this is just as much of a gift for her as it is for him. His chest feels tight, like each word on the page had sucked air out of his lungs until there was none left, and now he’s struggling to breathe. He’s wanted to go back since the moment he left, but his dad never would have let him, and moving in with Jim and El then immediately fleeing the state seemed rude, so he’s grateful for the push. He doesn’t even know how to begin thanking Jim, so he starts with the words themselves.

“Thank you,” Billy croaks, trying not to let a gush of emotions overwhelm him. “Seriously, I-” His voice wavers and he clamps his mouth shut, looking down and pinching his fingers along the folded crease of the paper to thin it down even more, “Thank you, Jim.”

“Don’t mention it,” Jim reaches out again, gives him that little pat pat to the bicep instead of trying to hug him. Billy thinks just for that, he will let Jim hug him next time.

Once Billy’s regained his composure and only let one gruff sniffle slip, El is handing over her bag.

“Mine was not as much money as theirs,” She looks serious, like Billy’s going to backhand her for not renting them an RV for the trip, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Jim starts, ready to console her and teach her an etiquette lesson, but Billy lets out a weak chuckle.

“Don’t worry about it, El.” He tugs at the tissue paper, “One time I wrote I.O.U. on a piece of paper for Max’s birthday.”

El’s brows furrow at the unfamiliar phrase, and Max leans in, “It means I owe you, like, ‘I owe you one’. He didn’t get me anything.”

“I offered you something,” Billy gripes, pausing in his unwrapping efforts, “Not my fault you chucked it out.”

“Oh, no,” Max laughs, “I still have it. But I wasn’t gonna waste it on arcade tokens. I’m gonna make it count, you’re gonna bail me out of a bad party or lie to the cops about-”

She reconsiders, looking at Hopper who’s stiffened slightly, his eyes narrowed at her, “-Nothing. Lying to cops is bad.”

“Nice save,” Billy deadpans, ducking his head back down towards the bag. The tissue inside is messy, he can tell El did it herself. 

Beneath the first layer of tissue, the stuff crumpled up to give the present volume, there’s six individually wrapped packages. Billy’s stomach does a little flip; call it nerves, call it endearment, but whatever it is, he reaches for the first package without paying it any mind.

His fingers peel at the tape sticking it all together, and his strong grip rips the tissue. He goes with it, tearing into the gift, and a purple plastic card falls into his hand. It’s punched in two places near the middle, and inside each hole is an earring. They’re- not his style.

They’re studs, little balls of gel in rainbow colors with squishy spikes sticking out of them. They honestly look like something a kindergartener would make with a hot glue gun, but there’s an expectant smile on El’s face and Billy finds himself smiling back at her, genuinely so.

“Thanks, El,” He flips the package over, price tag ripped off messily and silver backings staring at him, “These are cool.”

“I know you like earrings. There’s more,” She prompts him, the section of her hair that she’s tied up bouncing as she leans forward enthusiastically, “Open them.”

“Okay,” He laughs, setting the earrings aside. The second package yields another pair, this time two pieces of bread with little smiley faces on them, one painted brown for peanut butter and the other purple for jelly.

“That’s cute,” Billy laughs breathily, “That’ll go good with my purple button up.”

“Mhm,” El nods, hair once again bouncing, “That’s what I thought.”

As Billy expects, each package contains a pair of earrings. He gets tiny springs, a gradient of pink to purple to blue covering the curved metal, and they look like they’d be permanently damaged if he stretched them out even once. Then a pair of jellyfish-inspired ones, a clay head with a smile on its face connected by metal rings to all of the tentacles dangling below. Next are lollipops, stiff sticks leading into plastic that’s swirled in design and shaped like a bear’s head with yet another smiley face. Each little black curve on the earrings’ faces only makes his own grow. The fifth pair are meant to look like goldfish, suspended in resin that fills the bowl to make it look like they’re swimming in water. It’s the most intricate pair of earrings he’s ever seen, he’ll give Claire that. The final pair is much bigger than the others, and when he unwraps it, a pom-pom sticks out.

They’re big puffballs, tie-dyed pink and purple, connected to a peace sign stud that goes through his ear. They’re obnoxious, something you’d only see on a child whose grandparents had bought the biggest pair of earrings they could find because their vision was too poor to appreciate any smaller designs. Nevertheless, Billy pops the squishy backing off of one of them, and sticks it between his teeth. He slips his own earring out of his ear, and tucks it into the breast pocket of the shirt he’s wearing. He sticks the puffball into his ear right then and there, and El’s grin is almost unbearably wide.

“It looks pretty,” She gushes, and Billy laughs.

“Thank you, El.” He gives her the obligatory brotherly hair ruffle as well, but she looks honored compared to Max’s exasperation. In leaning forwards to reach her, the metal point of the second earring digs into Billy’s palm where he’s holding the card still, and he glances down at it thoughtfully.

“Here,” He thinks fast, plucking the backing off of it and handing it to El, “Let’s match.”

She looks at it wide-eyed, caught off guard, “You want me to wear the other one?”

“Duh,” He nods, hand still outstretched, “How else are people gonna know who bought them for me?”

She’s more than happy to snatch the second earring from him, sliding it into her own pierced ear and shivering slightly at the feeling of the fluff brushing against her skin. 

“Alright,” Jim claps, a loud, striking sound, “You guys look great. Cake time?”

“Cake time,” Max agrees, already rising to her knees to stand and head for the kitchen, “Chocolate, Billy, your favorite.”

Billy’s all Thank you’d out. Not because he’s not thankful for this, because he’s more than that, but because he’s said it so many times today that the words are starting to lose their meaning, and he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to be insincere, so he’ll save the ‘Thank you’s for when they really count.

Max and El settle on the floor in front of the tv to watch the movie they’ve picked out, clearly one that Jim hadn’t seen until now.

“Oh, not Terminator,” He reaches for the television to shut it off, but both girls scramble to fight him off, “It’s rated R, girls!”

“It’s Billy’s favorite,” Max huffs, and that’s not true, but he knows nothing in the movie will shock her, and El grew up being bounced around dimensions, so she probably won’t lose any sleep over a bit of blood.

“It’s true,” Billy drawls settling back on the couch with his cake and his beer (that Jim only reluctantly handed him because it’s his birthday), “But it’s fine, Jim, we don’t have to watch what I want, they can turn on My Little Pony or some shit.”

Jim wonders briefly how he’s been outsmarted by two tweens and a teenager. If he says no, he’s the asshole that ruins Billy’s birthday. If he says yes, the girls are going to see gratuitous shots of naked Arnold Schwarzenegger that he’d rather them not witness.

“You cover your eyes for the first scene,” Jim finally concedes, narrowing his eyes at Max and El, “I mean it, no peeking or I’ll do it for you.”

“Okay,” They agree, already far too amused for Jim’s liking, and Max turns to grin mischievously at Billy. It’s nice, he thinks, to do dumb shit with her. Like real siblings.

The movie starts, and Jim’s a bit too preoccupied eagle-eyeing the girls to make sure they’re not seeing anything raunchy to notice that Billy’s paying more attention than he ought to be. But once the man straightens back up so does Billy, mentally so, and turns his attention to Jim when he leans over towards Billy.

“Hey,” Jim’s whisper is gruff, but El doesn’t hear, “Thanks for that. She’s really happy.”

“No problem,” Billy admits, “They’re… different, but they’re kinda cool.”

Jim laughs, and Billy gets the sense that Jim doesn’t think he’s being sincere, but really, he is. The earrings themselves aren’t kinda cool, a year ago he’d rather have pitched himself into the quarry than wear rainbow-colored springs dangling from his ears, or a smiley piece of peanut butter toast, but what’s kinda cool is that someone gave them to him because they thought he’d like them; because they like him. 

What’s kinda cool is love, Billy figures out that night, and his cake tastes a little sweeter because of it.

--

El doesn’t usually accompany Billy to work at the auto shop, but that’s only because he leaves too early for her to be awake yet. She’s recently discovered sleeping in, and sometimes she’s not awake before two in the afternoon. Now, though, she’s bursting with excitement for the California trip, even though it’s not for another month. Billy hadn’t slept with the puffball earring in, but he’d put it right back on this morning, and so had El. They’re sitting behind the counter now, planning an itinerary for the trip he’s not too stressed about, because he knows El will lose the paper before they leave in a month.

“And we have to go to In-n-Out,” She decides, “I know those are in California.”

“Yeah,” Billy laughs, “They’re not that good. I mean, I like ‘em, but there’s good burger places everywhere. They have these palm trees though,” He moves  his hands to cross over each other, “They cross like an ‘x’, it’s pretty cool. My friend tried to climb one once, we got kicked out.”

El giggles, and her eyes wrinkle at the corners with the expression. Billy likes it, he wonders if his own eyes scrunch when he laughs. But he doesn’t do it very often, and especially not in front of a mirror, so he might never know.

She excuses herself to go to the bathroom, so Billy turns his attention to their customer log instead. There’s a man coming by in two hours to pick up his car, but the repairs are complete, so Billy doesn’t have to do anything about it. And there’s another customer coming at five for an oil change, but it’s only eight in the morning. He hears the scrape of wheels on gravel, and he cranes his neck to see over the reception desk and out the door.

Fuck. It’s a red beemer, one he knows almost better than his own car because of how frequently he’d crammed his camaro in beside it in the high school parking lot. It’s Steve Harrington’s car, and that means Steve Harrington came with it.

Billy tugs on the hem of his tank, tightening the shirt over his chest. It’s not that he wants to look good for Steve, it’s just- well, no, that’s it. The banter he’d shared with Steve over their time at Hawkins High was the most tension he’d felt in his entire life, and it came at a time when he sought thrill and excitement the most; apparently being sweat-covered, shirtless opponents on the basketball court does things to a man’s head. He’s not naive enough to think he’s gonna be able to sweep the guy off of his feet with one suave remark, not when just last week Max had somehow convinced the man to give her a ride back home from Jim’s place after a sleepover, and Steve had seen Billy bleary-eyed, messy-haired, and pajama-clad. He’d tried to own it, leaned back on the couch with his legs spread, one arm up on the back of the couch and exposed by the shirt he was wearing as he nodded with a lazy grin at Steve, ‘Morning, Harrington’. If he’d squinted, he could see a bit of pink coloring Steve’s cheeks. But a success or not, the experience was embarrassing, and he’s glad that he’s a little more put together today. 

Billy forgets just how put together he is today. He feels the soft brush of the fuzzy earring against his neck right as Steve starts towards the store, and his stomach drops.

He has a very important choice to make.

He can take the earring out, giving him a better chance at this coy little game they have going, and subsequently insult his new sister, or, he could leave it in, puff up his chest with pride, and greet Steve with confidence, ultimately risking his win.

He almost tears his ear from how hard he rips the earring out.

“Harrington,” Billy drawls, “Car trouble?”

“Battery’s dead,” The man huffs, and there’s sweat beading at Steve’s hairline, “I had to push’er down the street, I was getting groceries.”

Billy feels like a cartoon character; he almost audibly gulps at the thought of Steve muscling his car down the road. He wonders if Steve could see his Adam’s apple bobbing if he really did dry swallow. He wonders if Steve would watch.

“Tough luck,” Billy sends Steve a lazy grin, passing the sign-in book over the counter with a pen, “Just fill that out, I’ll get your service started.”

“Thanks,” Steve mumbles, “Got an estimate?”

“Depends,” Billy shrugs, “I might do you a favor and replace those ugly seats you’ve got, too. That’ll cost extra.”

“Like your car’s hot shit,” Steve scoffs, but his tone isn’t demeaning, and Billy’s chest does that weird tight thing again when he realizes they’ve advanced to friendly banter, “Do you know how ugly that blue and yellow license plate looks against the blue of your car?”

He laughs, but before Billy can quip back, say that it’s California grade, that he’d rather die than replace it, the door to the back opens up, and El comes out.

“Steve!” She smiles sweetly, “Is your car broken?”

“Yeah,” He laments, eyeing her accessory, “Woah, crazy earring.”

“Billy has one, too.” She brags, then notices it’s missing from his ear. Billy’s stiffened where he’s rifling through the desk drawers for a form to give Steve, and before he can make any excuses, El spots the puffball where it’s fallen to the floor.

“Oh!” She lunges for it, handing it to Billy with a sweet smile, “It fell out. Here it is.”

Billy has another choice to make.

Scoff at her, say ‘nice one’, and tell her to put her earring back in. Or, take it from her and embarrass himself in front of Steve.

This time, he decides she’s ultimately more important.

“Thanks, El.” He grins at her, taking the puffball from her hand and hooking it expertly through his ear. It dangles against his neck, and he passes the form over to Steve who’s looking between the two of them with some sort of guarded amusement.

“Fill this out, too.” Billy instructs, “And I’ll start on your car.”

“O-kay,” Steve complies, more of that amusement painting his features as he ducks his head to fill out the form, “Pink looks good on you, Hargrove.”

Billy shuts the door to the back room as a response. He feels like punching the wall, because did that mean ‘good’ as in good? Or good as in ‘ridiculous’? He’s well aware Steve had a mean streak in high school, and Billy isn’t interested in being bullied.He’s never worried about being bullied by his peers before, he was always on top. Now it’s different, this isn’t high school and he doesn’t have backup boys to make his posse. It’s a one-on-one fight, and Steve’s got the advantage. And- and if it did mean good, what’s he supposed to do with that information? Wear a pink shirt the next time he sees Steve? Go as Pink Panther for halloween? He considers just about everything but dying his hair, mind swirling with possibilities.

He starts on Steve’s car to distract himself, and he barely manages to gather the courage to take his shirt off to push Steve’s beemer into the garage like he’d originally planned. He still does, of course. But it’s a hard decision to make.

--

“Steve,” El steps out from behind the counter, walking over to where Steve’s flipping through an old Highlights that Billy’s boss keeps there for kids, “What did you get Billy for his birthday?”

The man flounders, “Uh, when’s his birthday?”

El’s brows furrow, “It was yesterday. You didn’t get him anything?”

“No,” Steve shakes his head, “Sorry, El. I’m sure he didn’t expect me to, though, ‘probably didn’t hurt his feelings.”

“But friends give each other birthday presents.” She insists, “Why didn’t you?”

“He’s not my friend,” Steve grimaces slightly, but backtracks when El only gets more scandalized, “We- I… Ugh,’ He groans, rubbing a hand down his face, “We, like, hated each other in high school or something. I think he’s only nice to me now ‘cause he has to be, we’re all friendly, y’know?”

“Billy likes you,” El promises, “That’s why he comes out of his room when he knows you’re coming over. And why he always takes us to get ice cream. He likes seeing you.”

“Uh, I think-” Steve stammers, heart pounding so viciously he can hear it, “That’s probably… not what that means. Hey, um, do you have any water I could have? I’m really thirsty from pushing my car.”

He’s out from under her scrutinous gaze for long enough to compose himself, tamping down any hope she might have given him. It doesn’t help that he’s first heard Billy’s genuine laugh today, and the vision of the man’s bright eyes, scrunched and wrinkled at the corners have been plaguing him ever since. Things need to stop piling up, he decides.

When she gets back she sits in the chair beside him, one leg bent beneath her and the other firmly planted on the floor, “You should get him a birthday present.”

Steve hums, bringing the cup she hands him to his lips to buy him time to respond. Eventually, he settles on, “I’ll try to find something,” and she seems to like that answer, so she lets it go.

“I got him earrings,” She explains, and pieces of the puzzle start to fall into place in Steve’s head, “The ones that he’s wearing now. And five other pairs.”

“Wow,” Steve nods, feigning awe even though he knows Jim probably paid for them himself, “That was nice of you. He liked ‘em?”

“Yes,” She nods, “He likes earrings. And he said he’s going to wear them with me when we go to California.”

“California,” Steve echoes, brows raised, “That’s nice. When are you going?”

“In a month,” El recites, “Billy’s from California.”

“Yeah,” Steve nods, eyes drawn to Billy’s framed employee picture on the wall, noticing the tan adorning the smooth skin of his handsome face, “I know.”

--

“Okay,” Billy turns to look at the girls in his backseat, bright smiles on both of their faces, “Gas money?” 

“Check,” Max slides him a wad of cash, and so does El.

“Snacks?” Billy pulls his wallet out, stuffing the bills inside.

“Check!” El takes over this time, a plastic bag in her hand that’s filled with enough ziploc bags of goldfish to last them halfway through the road trip. 

“Bags?” 

“Check,” Max jabs a thumb towards the camaro’s trunk, “We didn’t forget our suitcases, Billy.”

“If you did, and I hadn’t asked, you would have blamed me,” Billy narrows his eyes at his stepsister, “Don’t make me push you out of the moving car.”

What can he say: things are better, they’re not perfect. She knows he’s joking, though, she sticks out her tongue in response.

“I have one more thing,” El calls, effectively breaking up Billy and Max’s banter. The two look curiously at her, and she passes Billy an envelope, thick towards the bottom left corner.

“It’s a late birthday present.” She informs him, “Open it. It’s for the trip.”

“El,” Billy tears at the envelope with a confused furrow in his brow, “You got me stuff for my birthday. Why more?”

“It’s not from me,” She admits, “Just open it.”

The envelope was sealed well, by whoever sealed it. Billy all but mangles the paper to remove its contents, and when he does, a pair of earrings falls out, mounted on a purple plastic card. Claire’s.

There’s a pink and white striped surfboard on the left side, and a glitter-covered palm tree on the left. There’s a note inside too, and Billy peels it apart much more cautiously than he had the envelope.

Billy,

Happy birthday. Enjoy California.

- Steve

P.S: I wasn’t kidding. You look good in pink.

Billy nearly rips the earring card trying to wrench the surfboard off. Once he gets it out, he slides it into his ear, passing the palm tree back to El and grinning at the girls through his rear-view mirror. He admires the way that the earring looks against his tanned skin, and- oh, look at that; his eyes do scrunch when he smiles.

“Ready?” He raises a brow, sunglasses perched on his head and lost in his curls  in wait of the California sun.

“Ready,” They confirm, and El’s nod sends the palm tree earring swinging beside her face.

Billy revs the engine, and it’s never been a happier sound, “California, here we come.”

[scoonsalicious]

Reminder: I am on a posting break for new content until May 23rd so that I can focus on writing WFLT...

In the meantime, please enjoy this fourth and final installment of Unwanted: Unusables, or, chapters from the original story that never made it into the final draft. Today, we're looking at the discarded remnants of Chapter 8: (what would become) Unexpected. As a reminder, Jade went by Jewel in those early days, lol. This version of the chapter never got finished, so it ends abruptly and isn't nearly as long as the last two Unusables.

Enjoy!

The morning of Jade's move-in day, you woke up with a pit in your stomach. It wasn't remotely Bucky related-- he had done an excellent job of calming all those fears over the last week (and it certainly helped that his erection was currently pressed into your backside as he nuzzled at your neck); the girl was just mean and you couldn't shake the feeling she'd be a giant pain in your ass.

"What 'cha thinkin' 'bout, doll?" Bucky asked, his voice still thick and coated with sleep. "Can practically hear your teeth grindin' together."

"Sorry," you murmured, turning around in his arms to face him. "Just mentally gearing myself up for the arrival of our new teammate later this morning." You practically gagged on the word "teammate," and Bucky let out a low, rumbling chuckle. Leaning in to kiss the tip of your nose, he said "I'm hopin' it won't turn out as bad as all that, but if it does, I promise I got your back, 'kay? I'll help you beat the shit outta her, 'cause no one messes with my girl."

"Barnes, that might be the sexiest thing that's ever come out of that mouth of yours," you murmured as you leaned in to kiss him.

"Even sexier than this tongue?" he asked, sticking the appendage in question out for your review. "'Cause I know that gets you making all kinds of pretty noises for me."

"Hmm, might have to remind me again what that tongue can do, then I'll let you know if it's sexier than what you just said," you told him with a sly grin.

"Gladly." His smile was feral as he rolled you both over so he was hovering on top of you. He slowly began peppering your face and neck with kisses, working his way down your body. When he'd finally settled himself between your thighs, he looked up at you, blue eyes like sapphires in the morning light. "Better make yourself comfortable, Baby doll. We're gonna be here for awhile."

*

You were the last two to arrive in the common room for Jewel's welcome party, because of course Tony had to make it party. Bucky's arm was wrapped around your shoulder, pulling you in close to him as you whispered something silly and flirty into his ear, causing you both to laugh before sharing a quick kiss.

"Oh, are finally publicly acknowledging this, then?" Tony asked, giving you a knowing look. "Pepper owes me $100 bucks."

You cocked your head. "Not you, too, Boss," you groaned. "Has everyone been placing bets on us?"

The corner of Tony's mouth cocked up in a smile. "Literally everyone. We have a board in one of the lesser-used conference rooms to keep track of the odds and everyone's wagers," he said, raising his tumbler of whiskey to you in mock salute. "Only one who never bet was Rogers, which was odd, because we all figured he'd have an advantage with inside information."

You felt Bucky's arm tense around you and a quick glance to your left showed you his jaw had tightened at the mention of Steve, as well. "Everything okay, Buck?" you asked him.

He looked at you and smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, 's all good, Pocket." He pressed a quick kiss to your temple.

Before you could press the issue further, however, FRIDAY announced that Steve was on his way down to the common room with Jewel.

"We had Cap show her to her suite," Tony offered, "so she could drop off her stuff before heading back down. And my God, did she have a lot of stuff. You'd think we'd invited her to take up permanent residence, not just a three month probie position."

You raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing. You didn't like that she was here, but you were intent on playing nice. It was only three months, after all, and you doubted she'd be able to hide her true colors from the rest of the team for that long. You could get through it, especially with Bucky's support.

The elevator doors opened with a ding and soon enough, Steve was leading Jewel into the common room. You had to admit, she looked stunning, her raven hair flowing in loose curls down to her waist, her tight jeans accentuating a figure you'd been previously sure was unobtainable outside of Jessica Rabbit. For a moment, you wished that people could wear their inner ugliness on the outside. Bucky's arm tightened around your shoulder.

"You got this," he whispered into your ear before pressing his lips to your temple. You leaned into him, the press of your body expressing your gratitude, speaking for you when you couldn't find the words to voice your emotions, when the words weren't enough.

You watched Jewel's eyes span the room, as though she were searching for something. Her eyes lit up when they landed on Bucky-- someone-- and she made a beeline straight toward where the two of you stood.

[inkinmyheartandonthepage]

Tight T-shirt and Busted Pipes

Day 14 of flufftober: "I hate it." "No you don't." Read it here on Ao3

“I hate it,” Buck said, eyes narrowed into a glare.

Maddie, the traitor, just laughed. “No, you don’t”

Buck huffed, forcing himself to look away from the Grant-Nash backyard where Eddie Diaz was flaunting his new, very tight, t-shirt. It hugged every curve of his muscles, the seams straining against his biceps that flexed with every lift of his beer to his pink lips. Buck didn’t know whether to kill or kiss Karen for taking Eddie shopping with her the other day.

Buck does know that he regrets spilling his crush (and could he really call it a crush when he was hopelessly and pathetically in love with Eddie?) to his sister over dinner the other night. Ever since, Maddie had been trying to get Buck to confess his feelings.

He wanted too. It’s just, he was scared. His feelings for Eddie were so much deeper than what he had for Abby, for Ali, for Taylor. There was a lot more to lose if things didn’t work out and Buck wasn’t even sure if Eddie was inclined his way. No, he was happy to Eddie’s best friend and have Chris in his life in any way.

Except, Eddie made it extremely difficult when he was wearing tight t-shirts that made most of Buck’s blood pool south.

Buck tore his gaze away from Eddie, shifting his whole body so his back was to the man, so he wasn’t tempted to stare anymore. This just made Maddie giggle into her wine glass, and he stuck his tongue out her.

“Awww,” Maddie cooed, reaching up to pinch Buck’s cheek. “You’re so cute when you have a crush.”

Buck rolled his eyes and gently slapped her away. “I’m not cute. I’m adorable. Get it right.”

“Of course, me bad,” Maddie sniggered, eyes sparkling with mirth.

And the sight made Buck’s heart tumble in his chest, his shoulder’s relaxing. It was nice to see her this happy, even if it meant her teasing him. He would let her do everyday for the rest of his life just to watch her smile.

Buck ducked his head when he heard Eddie laugh loudly from behind him and he took a swig from his beer. Even Eddie’s laugh had Buck’s stomach acting like it was tumbler in a circus act. It sparked along his veins, lighting up his blood and set the two braincells he had on a course of Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Being in love had never felt like this and Buck was beginning to go slightly insane with how much he wanted Eddie. How much he wanted them to be a couple, to be a family.

There was a loud squeak and a gasp and Buck turned just in time to see Eddie drenched in what had once been a pitcher of lemonade.

Denny held the pitcher in his slack hands, staring at Eddie with wide eyes.

“Oh no. I am so sorry!” Denny cried.

Eddie laughed, peeling the now drenched t-shirt from his body. It clung tighter to his skin; his abs now very visible through the shirt. “It’s okay. It was an accident.”

“It was,” Denny pleaded with a rush. “I’m so sorry!”

“Why don’t you go ask Athena for a towel,” Karen suggested, gently nudging Denny.

Denny nodded and sprinted towards Athena, calling out her name.

Buck could only stare at Eddie, his mouth suddenly dry. He could hear Maddie choking on her laughter, the others joining in teasing Eddie, but it was all drowned out by the rushing in Buck’s ears. Buck bit back the whine that was building in his throat as Eddie started working the drenched t-shirt off his body, revealing miles of tanned skin that Buck just wanted to drop to his knees and lick –

The sharp ring of his phone had Buck jolting out of his fantasy. He caught Eddie’s gaze then and he quickly dropped it, cheeks flushing hot. He answered the call, whirling around so his back was to Eddie again and brought the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” he managed to choke out.

Maddie snorted and Buck didn’t even have the mental capacity to glare at her, his mind still firmly on all of Eddie’s skin that was behind him.

“Buck, its John, your neighbour.”

“John, uh, hey.” Buck blinked, trying to get his brain to focus. “What can I do for you?”

“Sorry to bother you, I’ve just come home but there’s water leaking from your front door, and I can hear water rushing,” John explained. “I think a pipe might have burst.”

Buck swore and shoved his beer into Maddie’s startled hand. “Thanks. I’ll be there in about fifteen.”

“I’ll call the landlord and get the water shut off,” John said.

“Thanks, I’ll be there soon,” Buck said and hung up the phone.

“Buck? What’s wrong?” Maddie’s teasing smile was gone, her eyes now shining with worry.

“I think a pipe burst in my apartment,” Buck said as he shoved his phone into his pocket and pulled out his keys. “I have to go. Can you apologise –“

“Go,” Maddie said. She lifted her cheek and Buck pressed a quick kiss to it before he ducked around her.

“Call me later!” Maddie’s voice carried after him as he jogged up the front steps and disappeared out the door.

All thoughts of Eddie were put on hold as he rushed to make his way back to the loft.  He managed to make in the fifteen minutes he told John, and he skipped the elevator, running up the stairs instead.

John was hovering by his door, wet floor signs blocking off a section of the hallway. He spotted Buck, looking relieved to see him. John was around his age, handsome, and had moved into the building about three months ago. The two of them had slowly gotten to know one another and Buck was happy to have made another friend. "Hey, Buck.”

“Hey, thanks for calling,” Buck said. He took his key, inserting it into the lock and turned it. Pushing open the door, Buck was met with some resistance before water was cascading over his shoes.

“Oh shit,” John muttered behind him.

Ice spread through Buck’s veins as he stepped into the apartment, eyes widening as he took in the damage. Water was everywhere. It covered the downstairs area, enough that it lapped at the edges of his shoes. Lifting his gaze, Buck watched as water dripped down his staircase and over the edge of his loft. Tilting his head back, Buck looked to the ceiling where a thick pipe was now hanging out, dripping water over his bed.

Buck’s shoulder’s slumped and he could only stare at the mess that was his apartment. Of course, it had to be his apartment that a pipe burst. He blinked at the pipe, a shudder running through his body. What if he had been home and not at the Grant-Nash home? What if he had been still in bed?

“Buck?”

John voice snapped Buck out of those thoughts. He cleared his head, turning to face him. “Do you think something stayed dry?”

John let out a snort, giving Buck a hesitant smile. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Buck sighed and ran a hand over his head. “Man, what a mess. I don’t even know where to start.”

John clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll help you out. First, let’s get the landlord up here and see if he can answer some questions.”

~*~

A knock on the spare bedroom door had Eddie looking up. Karen leaned in the doorway, giving him a sympathetic smile. “Are you okay?”

“I’m not covered in lemonade anymore,” Eddie said, flashing a fake smile at his friend. Bobby had been kind enough to lend him a clean t-shirt and a washcloth to wipe up the stick lemonade from his skin.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Karen said softly.

Eddie sighed, shoulder’s slumping. He looked down at his lap, twisting the wet t-shirt in his hands. It had been Karen’s idea. One wine night, a little tipsy, Eddie had confessed to Karen that he was in love with Buck. She had immediately been giddy with excitement, begging Eddie to tell Buck how he felt.

“He doesn’t feel the same way,” Eddie had shaken his head.

Karen had scoffed loudly. “Eddie! Buck is head over heels for you! He couldn’t be more obvious.”

Eddie blinked. “Really?”

Karen had grinned, almost manically. “Yes! And we are going to prove it! Tomorrow, we’re going shopping and we’re going to get you your man.”

And Eddie hadn’t really been sure how that was going to help but that’s how he found himself at the Grant-Nash home in the tightest t-shirt he had ever owned. And, okay, seeing the heated look on Buck’s face when he first seen Eddie, he understood what Karen had been saying.

The look Buck had given him had set Eddie’s insides a light. Karen had given him a knowing, smug look, Eddie ducking his head bashfully. Okay, so Buck may have had the same feeling as Eddie did. And maybe Eddie had tried to draw Buck’s attention to him over the afternoon (and by glances Buck had given him, he had succeeded).

“See,” Karen had hissed. “I told you. Now, go and tell him.”

Nerves had struck Eddie, but there had been a linger excitement that maybe finally the two of them be together.

And Denny’s timing with the lemonade, while an accident, couldn’t have been more perfect. Eddie had seen the way Buck’s gaze had darkened, eyes firmly on the outline of his abs. But then, Buck had all but sprinted out of the Grant Nash home.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Eddie huffed, shaking his head.

“Don’t say that,” Karen admonished. “We both saw the looks he gave you; like he was about to devour you right then and there.”

“Then why did he run?” Eddie pouted.

“Let’s go find out,” Karen said.

“Wait,” Eddie hissed as Karen pushed off the doorway, whirling out of Eddie’s sight. He hurried after her, following her through the house until he caught up with her in the living room.

“Maddie,” Karen called.

“Karen,” Eddie hissed, cheeks flushing.

Maddie whirled around, flashing them a bright smile. “Hey Karen.” Her gaze shifted to Eddie, her smile becoming smug. “Eddie.”

“Where’s Buck?” Karen asked.

The smug smile vanished from Maddie face. “He had to run. His neighbour John called.”

A flash of jealously had Eddie clutching his wet t-shirt in his hand. John, Buck’s good-looking, friendly, neighbour who had just moved into the building. Who had wasted no time introducing himself to Buck and having him over for a drink.

“He said a pipe had burst in Buck’s apartment.”

“What?” Eddie started, nearly dropping the wet t-shirt from his hands.

Maddie nodded. “Oh, Eddie, do you think you could –“

“Already on it,” Eddie said. “Karen could you –“

“We’ll take Chris for a sleepover,” Karen promised. She gave Eddie a light push. “Go.”

Eddie flashed her a smile and then he was spinning, rushing towards Buck.

~*~

“Buck?”

Buck looked up at the sound of Eddie’s voice, a little frown pulling at his brows. “Eddie?” He dropped the garbage back he had been throwing his saturated clothes into. The bed was a loss, as were most of his things. He moved to the railing, peering down.

Eddie relieved face looked up at him. “Hey. Maddie said a pipe burst. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” Buck nodded. “Uh, stay there.”

Buck finished stuffing his wet clothes in the bag and then carefully made his way down the stairs. Eddie was waiting impatiently for him and when he reached the floor safely, Eddie was gripping his elbow tightly. His eyes roamed over Buck’s face, leaving a pleasant warmth in the pool of his stomach.

“Thank god you weren’t home when this happened,” Eddie said.  

Buck huffed. “Yeah. It’s going to be a bitch to clean.”

“Well, you’ll be staying with me until it is,” Eddie stated.

“Ed’s-“ Buck tried to protest but Eddie cut him off.

“You’re staying, Buck. Come on. Do you want to grab anything, or can we get out of this before something else comes crashing through the ceiling?”

Buck gave a choked laugh. “Yeah. Yeah okay.”

Eddie grabbed the bag from Buck’s hand and released his elbow. Buck watched as Eddie hefted the bag over his shoulder, flashing him a grin.

“You changed your shirt,” Buck blurted out, finally noticing that Eddie was no longer wearing that tight t-shirt.

“Disappointed?” Eddie asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Buck blurted out and his cheeks immediately heated up. He blamed the shock of his apartment flooding for the way his mouth was speaking before his brain could tell him to abort.

Eddie’s grin widened, cheeks flushing pink. “I have more at home. If you want to see.”

Buck swallowed thickly and Eddie’s smile grew triumphant.

“Coming?” Eddie asked, heading for the door.

And Buck was hopeless but to follow after him. His apartment flooding; best thing that ever happened.  

[affectiondeficitdisorder]

SECONDS AND INCHES: Dodging the love addiction bullet.... maybe

Okay, this is going to be very reductive. Below is a column I just published on my Substack, which is where you go now when you click on www.AffectionDeficitDisorder.com. It is all about the fact that people still find the blog on Tumbler, which surprises me, and still respond to it, which delights me. I did, however, put fresh art on it, so you do get something new if you've read all 12 1/2 years of this Tumbler. (12 1/2 years? Jesus...) It is, however, a picture I took backstage at the US Festival in 1983. So... nostalgia all around, today.

Here ya' go:

I just got a ping from my old Tumbler page, which for some reason is still active. Zoomer nostalgia, maybe? Someone liked a blog post that I wrote in September of 2011. It has aged remarkably well, considering... right down to the unreliability of AT&T. Here ya go. Enjoy all over again.

(The illustration is a picture I took of Steve Nicks at the US Festival in 1983, because I just found a pile of forgotten stuff from my rock journalist days and also because she’s kind of a patron saint of love addicts.)

The original post:

This newswire story landed in my inbox a few times, as you can imagine:

AMSTERDAM (AP) — Dutch prosecutors are charging a 42-year-old woman with stalking after she allegedly called her ex-boyfriend 65,000 times in the past year.

The 62-year-old victim from The Hague filed a police complaint in August due to the persistent phone calls. Police arrested the suspected stalker Monday, seizing several cell phones and computers from her home in Rotterdam.

Hague prosecution spokeswoman Nicolette Stoel said Thursday the woman argued to judges at a preliminary hearing she had a relationship with the man and the number of calls she placed to him wasn't excessive. The man denied they had a relationship.

The court ordered her not to contact him again.

It’s the kind of story that makes a love addict wipe her brow and exclaim, “See!  I don’t have a problem.  She has a problem.” It’s analogous to the feeling of relief a closet drinker has when a Skid Row wino cleans his windshield with a dirty rag. “See!” he smiles through the streaky window, “I don’t have a problem.  He has a problem.”

Old joke:

Him: “Would you have sex with a stranger for a million dollars?”

Her: “A million dollars? Sure I would.”

Him: “How about having sex with me for fifty dollars?”

Her: “Are you nuts? What do you think I am?”

Him: “We already established that. Now we’re negotiating price.”

The point is… it’s all matter of degree. Fifty bucks is a whore; a million is a Demi Moore movie. Sixty-five thousand phone calls is a stalker; 65 is an episode of Gossip Girl. Where do you draw the line? Can you honestly say that you never called someone a second (or third) time when they didn’t return your call the first time? After all, they might have accidentally deleted your message. Or the cell phone might have cut out -- it’s AT&T; it happens. Or maybe they lost your digits. Or lost their phone. Or they did call you back, but you didn't get it because... um, it's AT&T. It’s amazing the excuses the addict brain will come up with and the urgency to which it attaches making that call.

I feel that Dutch woman, unable to go ten minutes without at least hearing the sound of his voice on his voicemail. I relate to that urgency; it's like drowning and suffocating at the same time. Withdrawal in love addiction is as physical and palpable as a nicotine fit, and she had a three-pack-a-day crush.

You might only smoke half a pack a day — that doesn’t mean you’re not a nicotine addict. Just because you don’t make 65,000 phone calls but only peek at his Facebook page sometimes… or occasionally drive past her house… or just happen to join the same gym… don’t think that none of this applies to you.

[lsvdw-blog]

Mistakes

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings; Rating: Angst, Some curse words; Teen (to be safe)

Premise: MC confronts Ethan about standing her up.

Author’s Note: Thank you to everyone for the lovely feedback on Already Here - this is Part II! This is very angsty and I'm so sorry 😭 I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading 😊

As soon as the name hits his ears, the maître d' subtly tenses. Lifting his eyes away from the notebook in front of him, he plasters on a fake smile, and levels at the man.

"I'm sorry Mr. Ramsey, but your table has been given to another party."

Ethan's brows furrow slightly. "Dr. Ramsey and I don't understand."

The maître d' inwardly rolls his eyes. "My apologies, Dr. Ramsey. However, your date has left and instructed us to put your table to good use."

Ethan runs a hand down his face.

"That's preposterous, Joshua. She couldn't possibly have left. Are you certain she didn't just excuse herself to freshen up?"

Joshua emphatically shuts the notebook in front of him, causing Dr. Ramsey to jump slightly.

"Yes, I'm certain, as is the rest of our staff here tonight. In fact, any one of us would have been honored to spend our evening with someone as charming as her, but instead, she was waiting for you. And, in spite of her lousy evening, she made ours, by leaving a very generous tip."

Halfway through Joshua's speech, a hush fell over the nearby clientele, who were now all watching the scene unfold.

"Do you think that guy is gonna punch Joshua?" Someone whispers and is immediately shushed.

Ethan's heart rate picks up as it dawns on him that the entire restaurant, personnel included, is gossiping about him.

"I—"

"You may be a medical professional, Dr. Ramsey, but that doesn't make you any less of an asshole for standing up such a lovely young woman. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more pressing matters to attend to."

Ethan is left standing there, dumbfounded. After a few seconds, he clears his throat and straightens the front of his suit jacket. As he turns to leave, the other patrons quickly avert their eyes and begin to whisper.

~~~~~~

She pounds on his door with her closed fist.

BANG BANG BANG!

"Ramsey, if you're in there, open the door right now!"

She probably should have just gone home, but she couldn't help herself; she needed some answers.

She hears Jenner barking on the other side of the door, but no one comes. For the second time that night, she's left waiting. The anger she conjured up on the ride over quickly dissipates.

She leans backwards against the wall by his door, inhales and exhales deeply, and slowly slides to the ground.

Am I pathetic? She thinks, as she rests her head on her knees by her chest and tightly shuts her eyes.

She doesn’t know how long she’s been sitting there when her eyes snap open at the sound of footsteps approaching.

"What are you doing here?" His baritone voice asks.

She gives a disbelieving laugh. "Really? That's what you're going to open with?"

Ethan coughs awkwardly and goes to unlock the door. He looks down at her and asks softly, "Would you like to come in?"

She's still sitting on the floor, head turned away from him. As he swings the door ajar, she slowly rises and enters.

Jenner immediately trots towards her. "Hey boy," she whispers as she stoops down to pet him.

Ethan drops his keys in a bowl and makes his way to his bar cart. "Would you like something to drink?"

"The strongest thing you have."

His large hand nearly spans the bottle as he pours them both a glass of scotch and walks back over. She glances at him, taking in his loosened tie and unbuttoned collar, hair in disarray, and how his cologne mingled with the faint smell of alcohol. His tousled state is almost enough to diffuse her completely. Almost.

She snatches the drink from him, downs it, and finally makes eye contact. To any other person, her eyes are ablaze with anger, but to him, he can see it for what it really is: a mask to hide the pain she's in.

"What the actual hell, Ethan?"

He looks away guiltily and takes a sip of the amber liquid.

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Okay, then I’ll talk. You could have called, or texted, or freaking emailed for all I care. You cancelling would not have been ideal either, but it would have been better than me sitting there, by myself, for almost an hour! 45 minutes, Ethan! If you weren’t going to show, why couldn’t you have picked a place friendlier to my resident salary? I could’ve saved myself a couple hundred bucks! I know this is new for you, but I asked for a date night, not to ride off into the sunset with you!”

Chest heaving and staring daggers at him, she was yelling, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. He stays quiet for longer than she would have liked, which only frustrates her more.

“Oh, for the love of—”

“I don't want to make the same mistakes.” He interrupts her.

She freezes. “Mistakes? What exactly is a mistake here, Ethan?”

It may be the bright lights of his apartment, or her shouts of desperation piercing his heart, or the liquor he had before he left finally catching up to him,* but he snaps.

“This! All of this! This conversation, this date night, us!”

His eyes widen in horror at his malicious words and even Jenner barks at him to stop talking.

She mirrors his horrified expression and gasps. The crystal tumbler she forgot she was holding falls to the floor and shatters into a million pieces, reminiscent of her heart.

It feels like time has stopped and honed in on this specific moment. She sees everything in slow motion as Ethan opens and closes his mouth a few times, failing to make a sound. She lowers her eyes, blinks a few times, and begins to turn to collect her things.

As she grabs her purse, time resumes. She makes a beeline for the door, but Ethan is quicker. He steps in front of her and gently cups her face.

“Baby, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean that at all. It was said in the heat of the moment and it is the furthest thing from the truth. Please don’t go." He’s gazing at her earnestly, but she keeps her eyes glued to the hardwood floor beneath them.

She registers that he’s speaking, but doesn’t hear his pleading. Everything in her is screaming to get the hell out of there.

"Please look at me." His voice, barely above a whisper, quivers and she is brought back to her harsh reality.

She snaps her head upwards, coldly staring at him, tears welling in her eyes. His heart cracks when he realizes that he’s never seen her cry.

Until now.

“Ethan, if you make me stay here right now, the next time I walk out your door, I am not coming back.”

The resolve in her statement is nearly tangible and grips him with fear. He swallows thickly and gives a slow nod of his head. She breaks free from his grasp and the last things he hears are the loud thud of the door and Jenner’s whimpers.

~~~~~~

*Disclaimer: No pixels drove to or from the restaurant as our man had been drinking. He may be an asshole, but is responsible and called a cab.

[whisperlullaby]

Just Say It and I’m Yours- Ch. 6

o

Banner by @dreamslikeaheartbeat

Summary: Steve’s POV. Steve and Bucky attend a dinner party you and Connor are throwing and Steve get’s a bad feeling about your boyfriend.

Words: 1990

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, controlling behavior, explicit language, angst

A/N: Thank you as always to @river-soul for her wonderful beta work. Minors please DNI. Please let me know if I missed any warnings!

Tags: @bestofbucky @syntheticavenger @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @libbymouse @sweeterthanthis @purselover2 @loveyou5everr @freyagreyson​

////////////

“I can’t believe she’s still dating that defense attorney,” Steve grumbled to Bucky as they walked to your apartment. “It’s been three months; She’s way too good for him.”

Bucky sighed. “Well, Stevie, you could have told her not to when she asked.”

Steve looked at Bucky with his eyebrows pinched. “I couldn’t put her in danger like that Buck. If she was with me she would never be safe. She has a whole life ahead of her and I’m just a man out of time.”

Bucky clapped his shoulder. 

“You’re a fucking idiot,” he said, knocking on your apartment door.

Before Steve could say another word, you swung open the door and his breath caught in his throat. You were stunning, he could look at you all day. 

“Hey, guys! I’m so glad you could make it. Come in, everyone else is already here!” You stepped aside to let them in.

Bucky gave you a quick peck on the cheek after he hung up his coat. Steve pulled you close and breathed you in. He always thought you melted perfectly into his arms and he could hold you forever if these were different circumstances. 

At the sound of a voice clearing, you pulled away and Steve immediately missed your warmth. He looked over your shoulder and saw Connor. His clothes all perfectly pressed and he chuckled at the thought. You swatted at him and walked over to Connor pressing a soft kiss to his lips, Steve’s heart stopped beating until you pulled away. He didn’t miss the way Connor gripped your hip and you tried to push his hand away. He gave you an intense look and your gaze shifted to the floor.

“Hey, Connor, how’s it going?” Steve stuck out his hand and waited for Connor to return the gesture.

Connor let go of you to shake Steve's hand and he saw you sigh in relief. 

“Glad Captain America could make it to our little dinner party,” Connor gestured to you. “This one has been excited about it all week.”

You huffed, straightening when Connor sent you a glare. “Well, honey I haven’t seen Steve in a month. Between his missions and our plans, it’s been hard to carve out time.”

You pulled Connor in close and whispered, “Please, he’s my best friend, be nice.”

“I don’t trust the guy,” Connor looked over at Steve and narrowed his eyes. “Go finish dinner.”

Steve was grateful and furious for his super hearing. He searched the crowd for Bucky, and when he spotted him he could tell he heard the way Connor spoke to you too. With a swift pat on your butt, you made your way to the kitchen to fulfill Connors request as he led Steve into the dining room. There were a few of your co-workers sitting around talking and Connor introduced Steve and Bucky to everyone. It was a few minutes before you returned with tears in your eyes, Steve started making his way to you.

“Hey, doll is everything okay?” Steve rubbed your shoulders voice laced with concern.

You took a shaky breath. “I, um, I ruined the roast and it just, it is one of Connor’s favorites and it’s ruined.”

Steve hated that you looked like you were going to burst into tears over a ruined roast. Why were you so nervous over a simple mistake? Before he could ask, Connor made his way over with Bucky close on his heels. 

“Is everything okay over here?” Connor looked pointedly at you.

“Honey, I’m sorry, I ruined the roast. I have some pasta I can make with a simple sauce,” You offered.

“But sweetheart, everyone was really excited about the roast. Is there anything we can do to fix it?” Connor asked exasperatedly. 

Bucky placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder and he realized he was clenching his fists and moving forward to intervene. You were clearly upset, how couldn’t Connor see that? 

“I don’t think I can fix it Connor, please, can I just make the pasta?” You looked at the ground and stiffened when Connor pulled you into a hug. 

You didn’t melt into him like you did with Steve. You seemed stiff, but you let him place a kiss on your lips and lead you back into the kitchen.

“Easy, Steve. Just because he’s curt doesn’t mean you can act like a hero. She isn’t a damsel in distress.” Bucky gently warned.

Steve shook his head. “She’s the strongest person I know, Buck. Something’s not right here.”

Bucky nodded in agreement. “Let her tell us that Steve. Just be her friend.”

Steve clenched his jaw and took in a deep breath. When Connor returned to the dining room Steve craned his neck to look into the kitchen where he saw you crying chopping an onion.

“There’s been a slight change in the menu tonight, we had a little snafu with the stove so how does Pasta Primavera sound?” Connor asked, clapping his hands together.

“If Sparky is making it, then I’m sure it’ll be the best thing I’ve ever had,” Bucky grinned.

The rest of the group clapped and Connor made his way over to the bar to pour himself a drink.

“Hey Buck, can you keep Connor busy? I want to check on-” Bucky cut Steve off.

“Go, I’ll handle him,” Bucky cracked his neck and walked over to Connor.

You were sauteing vegetables when Steve came up next to you.

“Is everything okay, doll?” 

Steve placed a gentle hand on your back and you jumped.

“Jesus, Steve, I didn’t hear you. Can I get you something?” You gave a short chuckle.

“I’m worried about you. Is Connor treating you right?” 

Your eyes snapped to his and he saw anger flare in your eyes. He took a step back as you pointed a wooden spoon at him.

“Connor takes care of me just fine Steve. He loves me and he shows me as much. He’s not afraid to tell me what he wants.” Tears fell from your eyes and you angrily wiped at them.

“Doll I just want you to be happy.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry Steve. I am happy. Just a little stressed, and you would know that if you were around more.”

Steve felt his heart fall into his stomach. He reached out and pulled you into a hug, rocking you back and forth, rubbing soothing circles on your back. He felt you grab a fistful of his shirt and breathe in his cologne. Your body relaxed into his touch and soon you were pulling away smiling.

“Well, Cap. I have vegetables to sautee so get out of my kitchen and let me work.” You smiled at him. A real one that reached your eyes.

“Alright, alright. I can’t wait to taste it, smells delicious.” Steve kissed your forehead.

He walked back into the dining room and saw Bucky’s vibranium death grip on Connor’s shoulders as he told a story. Steve made his way over to the two and grabbed a tumbler off the bar cart.

“Hey, what are you two talking about?” Steve poured whiskey into his glass.

“I was just telling Connor about our Howling Commando’s days. Remember when I took out that guard from 100 meters away? In the rain?” Bucky forced a laugh.

“Yeah, no one ever did see you coming,” Steve added.

Connor gulped down the rest of his drink and stood up. “Well that’s fascinating but I should go check on my girlfriend.”

Connor gave Steve a pointed look before walking away.

“Were you spending that time scaring him?” Steve laughed.

“I wanted to make sure he knew what we were capable of,” Bucky stated. 

Dinner went off without any more issues. Steve swore pasta Primavera was his new favorite dish. After dinner people started filtering out until it was just the four of them enjoying cocktails. Steve and Bucky were sitting on the couch while Connor sat in his chair with you on the arm. The more you drank the louder you got. Steve thought it was so cute how animated your face became while you were trying to tell a story through tears of laughter. After restarting the story for the third time Steve saw Connor tap your thigh while keeping a steady gaze on you. When you brushed him off, continuing with your story he did it again, hard enough that you jumped. Your drink dribbling down the side of the glass.

“Darling, you’ve had a bit too much to drink, why don’t we call it a night?” Connor urged.

Your smile dropped and you stood quickly. “You’re right honey I’m sorry. You have court in the morning.”

You placed your drink on the table while Steve and Bucky stood. You started moving to the door on unsteady feet. Steve watched as Connor remained seated, finishing his drink as you grabbed Steve and Bucky’s coats.

“You didn’t have to do that doll, we could have gotten them ourselves,” Steve said, grabbing his coat from your hands.

“Don’t worry about it Steve, what kind of host would I be if I wasn’t accommodating,” your words almost sounded rehearsed.

Steve took in a breath to speak when Connor walked up to you and put his arm over your shoulders pulling you close.

“Like she said, I do have court pretty early tomorrow. Thanks for coming, always a treat to have real Avengers slumming it with us regular folk.”

“Connor enough,” you stated pointedly.

Steve watched Connor squeeze your shoulder causing you to look down. Bucky grabbed Steve’s arm before he could react.

“Thanks for the delicious meal Sparky. It was one of the best I’ve ever had,” Bucky praised as his gaze shifted to Connor. “I hope we get a chance to continue our conversation. I have a few stories that I’m sure you’re dying to hear.”

Connor visibly gulped. 

“You’re an amazing cook doll, we are very happy we came. It’s like we got to see a whole different side of you,” Steve stated sadly.

Bucky and Steve left your apartment and started walking home.

“Steve I know what you’re gonna say and don’t,” Bucky warned.

“Buck, he's not treating her right. She should be with someone who knows her worth and makes sure she remembers it. Not him,” Steve fumed.

“You can’t make these decisions for her. She’s smart, she wouldn’t do something that makes her unhappy,” Bucky reasoned.

“I’m going to talk to her again,” Steve resolved as Bucky sighed. “When I can spend some time alone with her.”

“Steve. You are my best friend and I love you but you are also the dumbest person on the planet.” Bucky lamented.

Steve scoffed and stopped walking. “I’m dumb because I want to make sure she’s happy? Being treated right?”

Bucky shook his head and sighed. “No, you’re dumb because you could have been her reason to be happy and you threw it away. Now you’re going to confront her, again, for dating someone you don’t like.”

“I can’t stand around and do nothing. He’s not right for her Buck.”

“I know. You do what you think you need to do, but I’m warning you. It’s not going to go how you expect it to.” Bucky continued walking.

Steve caught up to Bucky and continued walking in silence. He knew what he needed to say to you. Bucky didn’t see you in the kitchen, he didn’t catch the way you flinched at Connor’s touch. He didn’t hear the way you said you were stressed as if you had been this whole time. He knew you better than anyone else and could see through you. He couldn’t just sit back and watch the fiery person you are being replaced with this someone he barely recognized. He was going to talk to you again when it was just the two of you. You were his best friend, you’d listen to him.

[feralthoughtdump]

Sign of The Times

Part One: Kiss With A Fist

Part Two: Only Angel

Part Three: Arsonist's Lullaby 

Bucky and his Angel’s time in Riga is coming to an end and possibly their little fling.

CW: violence, slight angst, John Walker being rude, fluff, slight smut, nightmares, slight allusions to religion and maternal trauma, crying, Sign of The Times by Harry Styles, time jump

Word Count: 6.6k

Angel wakes up next to Bucky and her heart is filled with regret.

No, not regret over the sex, rather what happened after the sex.

You’re the only one who’s made me feel human.

Why did she say that? Why did she admit to that?

She hopes that he didn’t hear her. She hopes that he’ll forget what she said to him. 

Never in her life, even after the sex that she’s had, had she ever admit to something so stupid. Something so personal.

But then again, she’s never had sex with someone like Bucky until now. 

He’s made her feel something. He’s made her feel full in more ways than one. 

He’s made her feel good, and never in her life, has anyone made her feel good. 

Bucky stirs next to her, pulling her body close to his. 

He’s warm, and his embrace makes her feel warmer. 

She turns around, careful not to wake him, so she can see his face.

She can’t stop thinking about him. He had managed to crack the hard shell that was ingrained into her. He had managed to reach into her and pull out someone else. Someone she was unfamiliar with. 

Someone human. 

Thirteen years ago, when she would study the blurry images that were put in front of her, She would have assumed that they were cut from the same cloth. But now? As he is lying right next to her, holding her in his arms, they couldn’t be more different.

Bucky killed because he didn’t have a choice. He wasn’t in control.

But her? That wasn’t the case. Violence was a part of her. It ran through her blood.

She needed it like a shark needs to swim.

As for you, you seem to have this, how do I say it, a compulsion to kill. It will always stick to you.

She thinks about Zemo’s words and a bitter taste fills her mouth. 

He’s right. She was ruled by anger and compulsion.

She knows that when this is over, she would go back to killing. She wouldn’t be able to stop no matter how hard she wanted to. 

Bucky’s metal hand clasps over hers, pulling her from her thoughts. 

“What are you thinking about sweet Angel?” 

She quickly paints on a smile and kisses him. 

“Nothing, Buck. Just admiring you.”

How could she, a monster, have pulled a man as good as him, she thinks, staring into his bright, blue eyes. 

“Well, I’ll lie here and admire you too.” He smiles. 

His words improve her mood, practically melting her stress away. He doesn’t mention her confession at all and it fills her with relief. 

She basks in his warmth and gentle gaze until a knock on the door startles them.

“Alright lovebirds, it’s half-past ten,” Sam remarks. “We’ve got some work to do.”

Angel smiles and gives Bucky one final kiss. 

“I’m going to get dressed. So get out.”

She closes the bedroom door and sits in front of the mirror, quietly dabbing concealer around her under eyes. Her tongue slightly pokes out from between her teeth as she meticulously fills in her brows. She turns her head to the side and grins. 

“Pretty.” She whispers to herself. 

Pretty made her feel nice. It made her feel sweet. Feeling pretty made her feel slightly less monstrous. 

As she twirls in front of the mirror, she grins at her appearance. Sure, the pink puff-sleeved dress was obnoxious and the volume and ruffled hem made it slightly impractical, she thought it was lovely. A cute little number she bought the second she saw it in a store window in Paris. A reward for herself. A little ‘good job’ gift after her twenty-fifth kill. 

It almost made her look angelic. 

She grabs her white heeled boots and opens the door, lacing them up as she hops through the entrance. 

“Nice dress.” Sam notes, peering at her outfit.

“Really?” Angel grabs a Turkish Delight from the counter and pops it into her mouth. “Thanks. I got it in Paris.” She chirps.

“You’re in such a good mood today,” Sam mutters. “Does it have anything to do with your wild night with Bucky?”

Bucky chokes on his water and coughs. 

“You heard us?”

“Of course I did. You two need to learn how to control your volume.” 

She walks over to the couch and sits down, the dress poofing around her. 

“Bucky needs a good lay anyways.” She ties the laces of her boots into a bow. “It’s good stress relief.” 

The sun casts a colorful light onto the floor and Angel admires him, bathed in reds, blues, and greens. 

“Well, I saw a crepe place nearby.” She stands from the couch, balancing on her boots. “I’ll be back soon.” 

… 

Sam and Bucky were deep in conversation when she walks through the door, a bag of crepes in tow. 

“Something’s not right about Walker.” Bucky says. 

“You don’t say.” Sam replies. 

“Well, I know a crazy one when I see one.” Bucky looks down at his plate. “Because I am crazy.” 

“Oh hush.” Angel giggles, passing him a box of crepes. “You’re a little rough around the edges but that doesn’t mean you’re crazy.”

Zemo chuckles and leans against the dresser, a glass of whiskey in his hands. 

“You’re an assassin who kills with no hesitation”

“Baron, just because I kill with no hesitation doesn’t mean I’m crazy.” She laughs, placing another box in front of him. “I’m able to stay cool and calculated and need I remind you, it’s my job.” 

She walks past Sam and hands him a box. He mutters a quick ‘thank you’ and shuts his laptop closed. 

The four of them have a long-overdue debrief of the events that happened the day before. They go over what went wrong, and what went right. 

When the conversation shifts to the serum, the mood changes. 

“Hypothetically, if you were offered it,” Zemo asks Sam, “Would you have taken it?” 

“No.” Sam says.

“No hesitation,” Zemo notes. “Impressive.” He turns to Angel. “What about you?”

“No.” She sets her fork down. “I don’t like the idea of becoming, you know, more of myself.”

“What do you mean by that?” Bucky questions.

Her mood is quickly soured when John Walker kicks his way through the door. 

“Alright.” He commands. “That’s it. I’m ordering for you to turn him (Zemo) over.” 

“Here we go again.” She mutters, standing up to pour herself a tumbler of whiskey. 

“Hey,” Sam stands up. “Slow your roll. Shield or no shield, the only thing you’re running is your mouth. Now, I had Karli and you overstepped. He’s actually proven himself useful yesterday. And we need all hands on deck for whatever’s coming next.”

“And what exactly has Princess Peach over there done to help?” John scoffs. “How does strutting around Latvia in her little outfits and playing with knives help?”

“Hey!” Angel snaps. “Shut your mouth. At least I have more than one outfit to wear while sauntering around Europe.” 

John speeds over to her and raises his hand, but she catches his wrist.

“Ooh,” she chastises. “Hitting women, huh? Not very Captain America of you.” 

Bucky stands from his seat and crosses his arms. 

“Don’t you dare touch her, Walker.” He seethes. 

“I can hold my own, Buck.” She narrows her eyes. “Step away John, or I’ll break your fucking wrist.” 

“Listen here, John.” Sam walks over to him as John pulls his arm from Angel’s grip. “She’s been helpful this entire time, keeping an eye on Zemo, helping us track down Karli, and defending us when our lives were put at risk. Yet, you’ve been nothing but hostile to her. If you want us to work as a team, I expect you to at least show her some decency.”

She bites the inside of her cheek, trying to push away her anger. All she wanted was to punch him in the face, maybe stab him in the neck, but she knows she shouldn’t. At least not when Bucky and Sam are around. 

“Thanks, Sam.” She mumbles. 

“If a fight is what you want, why don’t I put down the shield huh?” John fumes. “Make this fair.” 

As the shield touches the ground, a spear whizzes past Angel, the momentum fluffing the edge of her dress. 

She turns around to see a woman clad in red. 

The Dora Miaje. She’s heard the stories about them. The female warriors of Wakanda who had fought the titans after the blip. 

Angel had always been one to prepare for any outcome, but this? She wasn’t expecting this. Not that she didn’t mind.

Her head whips around as two more walks past the doors, brandishing spears. 

One speaks in Wakandan, and Bucky looks down in shame. 

She may not understand her, but she knows that they were not happy with him.

“Release him to us now.” The woman demands. 

“Bucky?” Angel turns to look at him. “What did you do?” 

He doesn’t answer her, he only looks at the table, avoiding her eyes. 

She sighs and takes a sip of whisky, scowling at the taste. 

“Hi. John Walker.” 

Angel quirks a brow as he walks up to the Dora Milaje, holding out a hand. He receives no handshake nor a verbal reply. 

“Well, uh,” John holds out his arms. “Let’s put down the pointy sticks and we can talk this through, huh?” 

“Hey, John, take it easy,” Sam says, a frustrated smile on his face. “You might want to fight Bucky before you tangle with the Dora Milaje.” 

John rolls his eyes. 

“The Dora Milaje don’t have jurisdiction here.”

Angel internally winces. She may not have expected this, but she knows this won’t end well.

“The Dora Milaje had jurisdiction wherever the Dora Milaje find themselves to be.” 

“Okay.” John scoffs. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“John,” Angel warns. “You really should shut up right now.”

Her warning falls on deaf ears as he places his hand on the woman’s armor. 

Within the blink of an eye, a fight ensues. 

She observes from afar, deciding it was best that she doesn’t involve herself. 

 Her drink is placed on the counter as she walks over to Sam and Bucky.

She stands back with an amused look while John faces off with the Dora Milaje. 

Sounds of clanging metal and fighting echo throughout the room. 

“Do I have your permission to join them? Any excuse to fight Walker is a good excuse.” 

She whispers to Bucky. 

“Best you stay out of it and enjoy the show.” He whispers back. 

Sam turns to them. 

“We should do something.”

“Looking strong, John” Bucky yells over the fighting and Angel claps a hand over her mouth to stifle her laugh. 

“Bucky.” Sam scolds. 

In the corner of her eye, she spots Zemo reaching for his coat. 

He’s making a run for it. And she’s not letting him get away. 

Before the doors of the bathroom close, she wedges her foot in between them. 

“You’re not going anywhere.” She glares at him. 

Zemo sighs. 

“I really liked you. So please don’t take this personally.”

He pulls her through the doors as they close and slams her head against the edge of the tub.

She tenderly touches her forehead and winces.

“You son of a bitch.” 

“I need to visit my home.” He says as dark spots form in her vision. “Just one last time. I hope you understand.” 

All she can do is lie there, head on the tile, as her vision fades to black. 

… 

She wakes up with a concerned Bucky hovering over her. 

“Oh, doll,” He murmurs, brushing his fingers over the developing bruise on her forehead. “I shouldn’t have strung you along.”

“It’s okay, Bucky.” She murmurs, pain rushing through her head. 

“Now I’ve dragged you into this… this mess-”

“Hey, hey.” She sits up and cradles his face in her hands. “If I didn’t want to be here, I would’ve gone back to Amsterdam right after what happened in Madripoor.” He looks down, refusing to meet her eyes. “Bucky,” She lifts his chin with her finger. “Look at me. I’m here on my own accord. I want to be here. With you.” 

Sam walks over to them and hands her a wrapped ice pack. 

“Are you okay?” He asks. 

“Yeah, yeah.” She accepts it and places the cool towel against her head. “What time is it? How long was I out?”

 “For a few hours,” Sam answers her. “You hit your head really hard.”

“What’s next, what else do you need me to do?” 

“No,” Sam shakes his head. “You aren’t going anywhere. You need to rest.”

“I’m fine.” she stands but Bucky places an arm on her shoulder, pushing her back onto the bed. “Guys, I let Zemo get away, I need to-”

“Hey,” Sam crouches down next to her. “I meant what I said, about you being helpful. And Zemo getting away isn’t your fault. Stay here and rest. I just don’t want you to be putting yourself in danger.”

“He’s right.” Bucky agrees. “You need to take care of yourself, doll.”

“I can handle it.” She struggles against Bucky’s hold on her. “I promise. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Hey,” Sam places his hand gently on her forearm. “We don’t know if you had a concussion, but concussion or no concussion, we’re not letting you endanger yourself.”

She lies back down on the bed and shuts her eyes, giving in.

“Fine. Just don’t get hurt.” 

… 

She lies there for what feels like hours, staring at the ceiling, reading her book, drawing in her sketchbook. But when she turns to the clock, it’s only been twenty minutes

She’s bored. And nothing good comes out of being bored. 

You’re the only one who’s made me feel human. 

God, why did she say that? 

Why was she feeling this way?

Despite their hostile reunion 

An angel? Sure. But not the angel Bucky thinks she is. 

She wasn’t like the beautiful angels hanging in the Louvre. Ones who brought peace and lights. She was the angel the world had painted her to be. One of death, rage, and destruction. 

How could he ever see her as an angel? How could he show her this gentle, tender love that no one else has? 

Does he love her?

Does she love him?

“Love.” She mutters to herself. “Such a funny word.”

She doesn’t even know what love is. How could she know what Bucky has been showing her is love? The gentle touches, calling her Angel, holding her close when they fall asleep. That was love, right? 

Deciding that her thoughts have gone too far, she reaches into her bag to find an orange bottle of sleeping pills. She changes out of her dress and reaches for Bucky’s dark red henley that was bunched up on the floor.

Her nose buries into the fabric as she inhales his woodsy smell. 

With a sigh, she pulls it over her head and walks to the bathroom to wash off her makeup. 

Her fingers roll the pale pink pill between her fingers. Deciding whether or not sleep was worth it. 

Finally, she just decides to take the pill, swallowing it dry and a grimace crosses her face at the bitter taste. 

She lies down, covered in Bucky’s smell, and closes her eyes. 

… 

Angel doesn’t know where she is. 

Well, she does. The house is still the same, only this time, it was up in flames. 

Screams echo around her.

“Look at what you’ve done!” They tell her, voices distorted. 

“Monster!”

“Devil!” 

“Evil!” 

She turns around to face a woman in a black dress, her face obscured by a matching veil. 

“Oh, my dear.” She says, voice croaking and broken. “Why didn’t you save me? Why did you leave me there to die?”

“I-” Angel stammers. “I’m sorry.”

The woman sinks to the ground and Angel runs after her, crouching down to see where she went. 

When she stands, she sees that she’s surrounded by broken mirrors. 

No matter where she looked, she was faced with her distorted reflection.

“Look at yourself!” The voices return. “Look at what you are!” 

“No!” She screams back. “No! No! No!” 

A force knocks her onto her knees and she sees that the floor has turned into a mirror as well. 

The fire burns her, making her skin peel. 

She claws at her face, trying to peel the reddening skin away and she scrambles back when it reveals the cracked gray skin. 

“This is who you are!” They scream. 

“Stop!” She sobs. “Shut up!” 

Angel looks down at her hands, fingernails growing into long black claws. When she looks up, she screams at her appearance.

Her soft, glowing skin and peeled away to reveal a pale, ghostly face. Her eyes, once bright, are now pools of black. 

“You’re a monster!” A different voice booms throughout the room.

“Mama?” She whimpers. “Mama, is that you?” 

“You were always the bad seed. You were always filled with darkness. Evil.”

“No Mama!” She cries. “Mama, please! I’m sorry!” 

The mirrored floor cracks around her. 

“I never wanted you! I should’ve killed you the second you came out of me!”

Angel scrambles around the mirrored room, avoidant the cracks around her feet.

"And I stood upon the sand of the sea, and saw a beast rise up out of the sea,” 

“Stop!” Angel covers her ears.

But her mother’s voice is louder “having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns, and upon his heads the name of blasphemy."

“Angel?” 

“Please stop!” She begs her mother.

“Angel! Wake up!” 

“Angel!” 

She screams, batting her arms, trying to push anyone and anything out of her path. 

“Get away from me!” Her voice is hoarse from screaming. “I’ll only hurt you.”

“Angel,” Bucky places his metal hand against her heated skin. “Angel, you’re okay, you’re safe. You aren’t going to hurt anyone.” 

Tears stream down her face as she meets Bucky’s gentle, blue eyes. 

“Bucky?” She shakily whispers. 

“Yeah, it’s me. It’s Bucky.” He gently rubs at her cheek with his thumb. “You were having a nightmare.” 

She reaches out with a shaky hand and places it against Bucky’s cheek, rubbing at his stubble. 

She needed to know he was actually there. She needed to know that he was real. 

As her sleep-clouded vision clears, she sees the bruises and cuts on Bucky’s face and she starts crying again.

“Oh, Bucky,” She pulls her hand away. “Did I do this to you?” 

“No, no you didn’t, doll.” He gently smiles at her and presses a soft kiss to her forehead. 

“Then who did this to you?” She whispers.

“Sam and I had to get the shield back. John decided to get a little scrappy but I’ll be okay.” He moves her sweaty hair out of her face. “I have enhanced healing, remember?”

Angel gives him a shaky nod and burrows her face into his chest.

A loud sob leaves her lips as she shakes in his arms.

“Oh doll,” he coos at her, reaching his flesh hand under her (well his) shirt and tracing his fingers up and down her back. “Shh. It’s okay, honey. You’ll be okay.” 

When her sobs subside and she’s left a shaking form in his arms, Bucky presses a kiss on the top of her head. 

She looks up and sees Sam peaking at them from over his shoulder.

He’s got a look of sympathy in his eyes.

“Nightmare?” He asks.

Her throat hurts too much to speak so Bucky answers for her.

“Mhm.”

Sam walks over to them and places a glass of water on the nightstand. 

He takes a seat next to them and places a supportive hand on her shoulder. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Angel shakes her head. Talking wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t want to burden them further. 

“Sam?” She quietly asks. “Can I have a hug?”

“Of course.”

Sam wraps his arm tightly around the both of them and rubs Angel’s back. 

“I don’t know what you’re dealing with, and I don’t know what you’ve gone through, but I just want to let you know that it’s okay to feel weak.” 

He gives Bucky a gentle look.

“I’m, uh, I’m headed back to Louisiana in a few hours. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

Sam gives Bucky a soft pat on the back and turns to Angel.

“And if you ever need to talk, I’m here for you. So is Bucky.” 

When Sam leaves, the crying returns. She’s much too tired to sob, but silent tears stream down her face, wetting Bucky’s soft t-shirt.

“Come on, doll. Let’s sleep.”

She vehemently shakes her head. Not wanting the nightmares to return. 

“No, no.” Her breathing quickens. “I- I don’t want to. I’m scared.” 

“Okay, okay.” He strokes her back. “Let’s just stay like this for a while.”

They sit in silence, holding onto each other. She feels vulnerable, weak, and tired. Oh, so tired. All the years of building up her walls, pushing people away, destroying anything good in her path, had finally caught up to her. 

She wants to strip her skin away and emerge as a new person. She wants to open up her body. Take out all of the ugly, the evil, the darkness, and stitch herself back up. She wants to destroy herself. 

And maybe, after she pays the price in her own blood, she can finally be good. 

This world wasn’t made for her, she thinks, and though she gave up on faith a long time ago, she thinks that after all the things she’s done, she’ll never end up in heaven.

And having Bucky here? Having him hold her, and caress her, and call her his Angel?

That was the closest to heaven that she’ll ever get. 

Bucky pulls her back to reality when he lifts her chin up.

“I have an idea.” He smiles. “Now, I haven’t done this since 1943, but why don’t we dance?” He helps her stand up and brushes her hair back. 

Angel looks away from him bashfully. 

“I- I don’t really know how to dance.” 

“Here.” He hands her his phone, Spotify open on his screen. “You pick the music and I’ll show you how. It’s really easy.”

“Should it be a 40s song?” She mumbles. 

“No.” He smiles and shakes his head. “It can be any song that you like. I just wanna make you feel better, doll.”

She quietly browses through his song library and then, turns to the search bar. 

“Here you go,” she hands it back to him. “I think you’ll like this one.” 

“Sign of the Times.” He chuckles. “Can you dance to it?”

She shrugs. 

“I hope so.”

Bucky places his hands on her waist and pulls her close to him.

“Okay, Angel, so I’m just going to hold your right hand like this.” He intertwined his right hand with hers and raised it to his shoulder. “And your left hand goes on my life shoulder.”

As she places her left hand against the metal of his shoulder, Bucky keeps his left hand on her waist. 

“Now what?” She quietly asks. 

“Now, we just sway.”

He quickly unlinks their fingers to press play on the song. 

As the sounds of a piano fill the room, Bucky starts swaying and Angel follows along. 

Just stop your crying

It's a sign of the times

Welcome to the final show

Hope you're wearing your best clothes

“You were right, I do like this song.”

“You do?”

“Mhm.”

You can't bribe the door on your way to the sky

You look pretty good down here

But you ain't really good

If we never learn, we been here before

Why are we always stuck and running from

The bullets?

The bullets

Angel closes her eyes and allows herself to rest her head on his chest. Even with the music playing, she can hear the quiet thumping of his heart. It calms her. She relaxes her shoulders and smiles, humming along to the song. Bucky holds her tighter as the chorus approaches.

Just stop your crying

It's a sign of the times

We gotta get away from here

We gotta get away from here

Just stop your crying

It'll be alright

They told me that the end is near

We gotta get away from here

Just stop your crying

Have the time of your life

Breaking through the atmosphere

And things are pretty good from here

Remember everything will be alright

We can meet again somewhere

Somewhere far away from here

Peace. She feels at peace in Bucky’s arms. He is her sanctuary and she hopes that she can be his. 

We never learn, we been here before

Why are we always stuck and running from

The bullets?

The bullets

We never learn, we been here before

Why are we always stuck and running from

The bullets?

The bullets

She hopes that this won’t be temporary. She hopes that this moment can last forever, being held by him. 

Just stop your crying

It's a sign of the times

We gotta get away from here

We gotta get away from here

Stop your crying

Baby, it'll be alright

But even though she can hope, she knows it won’t last forever. Bucky, this man, this man who is filled with good, even with all he’s been through, never let that good fade away. He will see her for who she truly is, how she was never good. He will see how she was born with darkness and he will see how the darkness overtook her. 

They told me that the end is near

We gotta get away from here

We never learn, we been here before

Why are we always stuck and running from

The bullets?

The bullets

We never learn, we been here before

Why are we always stuck and running from

The bullets?

The bullets

We don't talk enough

We should open up

Before it's all too much

Will we ever learn?

We've been here before

It's just what we know

“I’m…” Her voice wobbles. “I’m a monster.”

“You’re not a monster.” He places a kiss on the top of her head. “You were never a monster.”

Stop your crying, baby

It's a sign of the times

We gotta get away

We got to get away

“I’ve killed a lot of people, Bucky.”

“So have I.” 

We got to get away

We got to get away

“But you didn’t have a choice. I did.”

We got to, we got to, away

We got to, we got to, away

We got to, we got to, away

The music comes to an end and Angel pulls Bucky over to the bed. 

“Have you ever thought about what you’ll do after you stop?” He asks her. “You know, when you retire, I guess.”

She sighs. 

“I’m not sure. I have enough money to live a quiet life in Paris. That’s the closest I have to a retirement plan.”

“When will that be?”

Angel lies down. 

“I’m not sure.”

Bucky braces his arms around her head. 

“We’ll figure it out. Okay?”

“Okay.” She pulls him in for a heated kiss. “But first, I want to feel you.” 

Her hands cradle his face and she kisses every cut and bruise on his face. 

“My sweet Angel. You’re too kind to me.”

He litters kisses down her neck, onto her collarbones, down her sternum, and onto her scar. 

“So beautiful. So, so beautiful.” He murmurs. 

Angel cards her hands through his soft hair as he rests his head on her lower stomach. 

She giggles when he nuzzles at her tummy. 

“Tickles.” 

“Can’t help it. You look so pretty in my shirt. I just want to make you feel pretty.” 

He places his fingers along the waistband of her panties. 

“Can I?” 

“Mhm”

As he pulls them down her legs and kisses along her thighs, she reaches out with her free hand and links her flesh fingers with his metal ones.

He’s gentle with her this time. 

She can’t speak, only gasping his name. She arches her back and pushes her hips closer to him, silently begging for more. 

Instead of teasing her, he gives her what she wants. Never forced her to beg. 

He handles her delicately like she’s made of glass. 

He calls her sweet names, doll Angel, honey, as he licks into her. Her moans are soft and sweet. 

He coaxes an orgasm after orgasm out of her and she lays back, relishing in the pleasure, in the love he gives her.

It feels like heaven. 

He feels like heaven. 

And when he unbuckles his belt and pushes inside of her, he is still gentle, slowly rocking himself back and forth. 

Though she’s still sore from the night before, the pain never overpowers the pleasure. 

She wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, silently telling him that he is hers and much as she is his.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” He groans into her neck. “I never stopped thinking about you.” 

“I can’t stop thinking about you too.” She pants. “You make me feel human. You’re the only one who’s made me feel human, Bucky.” This time, she wants him to hear her. She wants him to know. 

The skin on skin contact, feeling his body pressed against hers, it’s all everything she’s ever wanted. It’s everything she’s ever needed.

“You’re mine.” He rocks his hips faster. “You're my Angel. Say it to me.”

“I’m yours. I’m your Angel.” 

She doesn’t think she can cum one more time, but she does. Walls clenching around him, making him gasp with pleasure. 

“I’m…” he murmurs against her lips. “I’m gonna cum.” 

She presses her lips against his.

“Come on, cum for me, my love.” 

… 

Bucky quickly fell asleep. Tired from the fighting and tired from the fucking. 

Angel spends the rest of the night caressing his face and playing with his fingers. 

They spent only a few days together but she’s been able to fall for him in this short time. 

Though she doesn’t know what love feels like, she thinks she loves him. 

Being with him, it’s changed her.

She knows that she’ll eventually have to leave, go back to Amsterdam. He’ll go back to New York.

They will be apart again for who knows how long. 

But she doesn’t want that to happen so now, all she can do is live in the moment, and pretend that they can live in this moment forever. 

“I love you.” She whispers. “I love you, James Bucky Barnes.

… 

On the drive to the Sokovia memorial, they’re quiet. But it’s a comfortable silence. They listen to Bucky’s 40s music and admire the scenery. 

She’s decided that she doesn’t want to kill anymore. At least not kill as much. 

She’ll settle down somewhere. Somewhere on her own. In her fantasies, it would be with Bucky, but realistically, she thinks, it’s best that she’s on her own. 

“I’ve been thinking, when this is over, we’ll go back to Amsterdam.” He says, breaking the silence “You can pack all of your things and you can stay with me. In Brooklyn.” 

Her heart stops. He wants to go home. He wants to go home and take her with him. 

“I’ve never been to New York.” She says over the sound of Dream A Little Dream of Me. 

“I’ll show you around.” He turns to look at her. “We can start a new life together. I- I know someone you can talk to. Someone who can help you work through whatever you’ve been through.”

It’s too good to be true. Yet every part of her urges her to accept his offer. 

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

“You don’t need to give me an answer now, and you don’t have to come back with me immediately, but know that I’ll be waiting for you.”

She sighs.

“Bucky, you have so much in you. You have all this love, this kindness, this goodness. I don’t want to be the person that ruins it all for you.”

He pulls the car over. 

“Sweet Angel,” he caresses her face. “You could never do that. You-“ he looks down and takes her hand. “I believe that you have the same good inside of you. You just don’t know it yet.”

She looks away at him, eyes finding the memorial in the distance. Maybe he’s right. Maybe she does have that goodness inside of her. She just needs time to find it. 

“You sound so sure of yourself.”

“I am sure. Yes, you actively chose to kill, but the people you killed? They aren’t good people. They’re people who had no qualms about harming others to get their way. Do I agree with killing them? No, but you did what you thought was right.”

She shakes her head. 

“It’s not the fact I kill people for money that makes me a bad person, Bucky. It’s what I did that got me that job.” 

“So what did you do then?”

Angel gulps, not wanting to meet his eyes.

“I don’t remember much because I was a kid. I… I don’t really like talking about it.”

“Hey,” He tilts her head towards him. “Look at me.” 

She averts her gaze, shame bubbling inside of her. 

“Angel,” Bucky’s tone is more authoritative now. “I need you to look at me.” She finally allows her eyes to meet his. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s alright. There are things I’ve done that I don’t want to talk about either.”

Angel nudges her cheek deeper into his hand, wanting to feel more of the contact. 

“I want to believe that I’m good, and I want to believe that I won’t hurt you.” She bites her lip, no longer wanting to discuss the subject. “We can talk about this later. Right now, I think you have some unfinished business. 

… 

Angel went back to Amsterdam alone. 

The two had gone to the airport together, bags packed, and hand in hand, but after Bucky had gone to buy a cup of coffee, she disappeared. 

She didn’t leave him empty-handed. She went to the airport toy store and bought a small brown bear. When the stomach was pressed, Bucky could hear her voice say “I’ll come back to you. I promise. Love, your Angel.” 

He had found it in his duffel bag along with a small bottle of apple cinnamon body wash and a note written on a napkin. 

I hope you won’t be mad that I left you, but if you are, I understand. 

I need to figure things out, tie up some loose strings before I find a lasting home. Maybe a lasting home in New York. 

But I promise you, I’ll see you again. And I never break my promises. 

I hope you’ll wait for me.

I love you, Bucky

He felt his heart shatter, but he understood. She needed time. 

So he went home, back to his Brooklyn apartment. And he waited.

When he woke up, he waited.

When he’d listen to the voice in the bear, he waited.

When he’d go get lunch with Yori, he waited. 

When he went to Louisiana to help Sam with the boat, he waited. 

“Did you find your Angel?” Sam had asked him, looking out into the sunset. 

“Not yet.” Bucky had replied. 

Even after the events in Lower Manhattan, he still waited.

For days on end, he waited. Constantly checking his phone, calling Sharon, scouring through European newspapers, looking for any sign of her. 

But he found nothing. 

He wanted to give up, but a small part of him knew that Angel would come back. He could feel it deep within him. 

She made him a promise.

Five Months Later

Angel stares at the red water rush down the shower drain, the metallic stench of blood permeating throughout the bathroom. 

There was so much of it, not even her body wash could cover the smell. 

She had said ‘one last kill’ three days after she stepped foot back in Amsterdam. And then she had said it again three kills later. 

And now that her body count had reached a perfect two fifty, maybe this would be her last kill.

Two fifty was a good number, she thinks as she pulls Bucky’s red henley over her head. A good number to stop at. 

The buzzing of her phone turns her attention away from the soft fabric.

She picks it up, brow furrowing at the ‘unknown number’. 

Cautiously, she answers. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey, it’s me, Sharon.”

Angel stands.

“Sharon? How did you get my number?”

“I was a hustler in Madripoor. I have my ways. Don’t worry though, I’m using a burner phone.”

“Why are you calling me?”

There’s the sound of a refrigerator opening and closing from Sharon’s end of the line. 

“I just want to let you know I’ve been pardoned.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“And I’m back in the CIA.”

“Congratulations.” Angel’s voice is tinged with sarcasm. “Now you’ve got an entire database of American government secrets at your disposal. Have fun with that.”

Sharon laughs. 

“You know me too well. Which is surprising considering that we spent less than twenty-four hours together.”

“Well, knowing how to read people is a part of being an assasin.”

There’s a sigh on the other line. 

“I don’t want you to panic, but there’s word that MI6 reopened your case.”

Angel closes her eyes and pulls the top of Bucky’s henley over her nose. In the beginning, when she had left him at the airport, she had taken the shirt with her. After a really bad job, or when she needed to feel okay, she'd bury her nose into the fabric and inhale, clinging onto the only piece of him she had with her. 

But his smell had started to fade away and it filled her with sadness. 

“So you’re telling me that they’ll come for me.”

“I doubt they’ll find you. After our talk in Madripoor, I managed to erase almost all of their progress. Still, I just wanted you to know.”

“Thanks.”

Silence fell in between them. 

“So, what are you going to do now?”

Maybe it was time. Time to put her weapons down, pack her bags, and start over. 

She thinks about Bucky’s offer. How he said that he would be waiting for her in Brooklyn. Maybe he’d still be waiting for her. Plus, she had made him a promise. She never broke her promises. 

“I think it’s time to retire.” 

... 

Bucky had come home from late-night grocery shopping when he could smell the unmistakable scent of apple cinnamon body wash. 

It could’ve been him. He found himself using it regularly. But this time, the smell was stronger. Sweeter. 

He opens the door to his dark apartment, the only light coming from the city lights peeking through the curtains. 

He quietly sets his bags down and turns on the lights. There, sitting on his kitchen counter is a cake box. 

The fancy gold script indicated it was from one of the expensive bakeries in Midtown.

He hesitantly approaches it and gently opens it, revealing a fancy white cake covered in delicate piping and rosettes. 

In the center, iced in simple pink script were the words ‘Miss Me?’

She’s here. She kept her promise.

The sound of his front door closing made him jump. 

He whips around to see Angel. His sweet angel, wearing the same pink dress from their last day in Latvia, leaning against the door, arms crossed, and a wide smile on her face. 

“Hey, Bucky.” She chuckles. “Thanks for waiting.”

... 

Once again, a huge thank you to @sojournmichael for being my beta read, check out her writing, it’s amazing <3

[quillingyousoftly]

life is far away from fair

Written for Day 1 of Rumrollins Week! The prompts are: Deception/”The sooner we forget what happened, the better.” "Deception" is only there if you squint 😛

AO3 link for tags and whatnot.

Jack quickly became one of the patrons Brock had learned to recognize from far away. Tall and wide-shouldered, with sharp cheekbones and deep green eyes, he was rather memorable. He first came to The Hydra on last year's Halloween with a group of friends, and Brock immediately noticed him. After that, he would show up every week, alone, take a seat at the bar, and ask for a scotch.

What Brock didn't immediately notice was his scent: herbal and fresh, delicate and clearly omega. It was rare for an omega to not smell like a flower garden or a bakery, but looking at Jack, who appeared so much like an alpha he passed the selection at the alpha-only club, it fit him. Still, it was annoying whenever another patron smelled him, looked around, and then gave Brock a suspicious look. It sucked to be mistaken for an omega with the actual omega sitting nearby, clueless. It didn't bother Brock enough to kick Jack out, though; his job was tending to the bar, not selection. As long as Jack didn't cause any trouble, Brock had no reason to call security.

Despite Jack showing up consistently for a year and spending a night at the other side of the bar, sipping casually on his blended scotch, Brock didn't get much more than his name, approximate age (early thirties) and line of work (IT). Brock had a handful more patrons he knew better though shorter. People tended to open up to strangers about their problems. Jack was the opposite; most of the time, he'd sit turned away from Brock, people-watching. He'd also look at the stage whenever they had exotic dancers over, and Brock decided perhaps Jack preferred other omegas--which still didn't explain what he was doing, drinking in an alpha-only club. It wasn't like he was going to pick up an omega here.

Brock spent months pretending he wasn't curious about Jack, but even when he finally admitted to himself--and his various friends--he was fascinated by his person, it still wasn't enough to actually ask. At the end of the night, all that mattered was he paid for the drinks he ordered. The loud EBM filling the club didn't make it easy to converse anyway.

Things changed one Friday before Christmas; the club would close early, and Brock expected it to be a quiet night. The DJ wasn't in, a softer music seeped from the speakers, and the lights were on. Brock liked those kinds of nights the most, when he could just relax behind the bar and occasionally pause Netflix and take out one AirPod to pour someone a drink.

Only a handful of people came, and Brock wasn't sure if he should expect Jack, but he saw his tall figure soon after opening. He poured him a scotch before he even reached the bar and sat down, ready to go back to watching Prison Break when he heard, "The cheapest bourbon you have."

Brock paused, looked at Jack, his unusually unruly hair, reddened and circled eyes and five o-clock shadow, then at the glass he'd already poured him.

"If it's simply about money, we can pretend this is the cheapest bourbon I have. Just this once," he said, sliding the glass closer to him.

Jack nodded in an awkward thanks and sat down.

"Money's tight before the holiday, huh?" Brock asked, taking advantage of the music being quiet for once. "Want me to open your tab as usual?"

"Yeah, but I have only like, fifty bucks." Jack opened his wallet and gave him the bill. "Here. Pour me all the bourbon you have for fifty bucks."

Brock raised his eyebrows at that; Jack used to leave much more in his cash-box on a night. He tried to convince himself it was more amusing than concerning.

"Wow, you must be a generous Santa," he joked.

Jack snorted mirthlessly. "Quite the opposite; I was fired."

Brock winced in sympathy. "Damn. I'm sorry to hear that."

Jack leaned back with his drink, shrugging. "It happens all the time to omegas in the typically alpha lines of work. I thought it would be a good idea to call someone out on their inappropriate behavior, then was blamed for it and dismissed on disciplinary grounds." He scowled, downed his scotch in one go, then set it down on the bar, hard. "Another."

Brock looked around to see if anyone heard Jack's admission to being an omega, but the only people nearby were the group playing poker at a round table next to the bar. They had already caught on who Jack was and didn't have a problem with it.

Brock took a bottle of Wild Turkey 101 and refilled his glass. "You were blamed for someone's inappropriate behavior?" he asked, leaning in so less people heard.

Jack scoffed. "An alpha's inappropriate behavior is always an omega's fault. Don't act like I need to explain it to you."

Brock shrugged. "Sorry if my question was insensitive. I don't really hang out with omegas."

"Yeah." Jack looked around meaningfully. "Could guess as much. No omega to come home to either?"

"Nah," Brock replied and with that their uneasy conversation came to its natural end. Jack turned away to watch the other patrons play poker and Brock went back to watching Prison Break, occasionally pausing to make someone a drink or to refill Jack's glass.

They didn't talk again until two hours before closing when Jack's fifty bucks ran out.

"That was the last one," Brock said, taking Jack's empty glass away.

"Fuck." Jack dug out his wallet, his hands sloppier from the booze in his system, and looked inside. He pulled out another fifty. "Make me another."

Brock eyed the bill and Jack's now empty wallet. "Is that all you have left?"

Jack shrugged and shoved the bill farther in Brock's direction.

"What will you eat tomorrow?" Brock pressed, leaning away.

Jack scoffed. "Fuck tomorrow. Pour me another bourbon."

There were glances thrown at them from the poker table, and Brock finally took the bill. In the end, his job wasn't to worry about his patrons’ personal lives, his job was to pour them drinks and collect the pay. He set the bill down behind the bar, took a clean glass, and filled it with ice. Pleased, Jack leaned back in his stool and greedily cradled the full glass once Brock slid it to him.

They haven't talked again until the closing. The poker club left first, and that was Brock's cue to poke Jack's arm. He was leaning on the bar, his bleary eyes fixed on the empty poker table, the hand that wasn't supporting his tired, drunk face cradling his empty tumbler glass close to his chest.

"I'm closing."

Jack hummed in acknowledgement but didn't move.

"Want me to call you a cab?" Brock asked just before realizing Jack couldn't afford a cab because he'd just drunk all his money. He sighed to himself. "Fuck it. I'll give you a lift."

It wasn't something he'd ever done before for any of his drunk patrons. But then, neither had ever drunk all of their money, and Brock felt partially responsible.

And neither had been an omega.

Brock tried not to think about it, but he wasn't so much in denial not to acknowledge it played a part in making that decision. Jack stirred at his words, and gave him a prejudiced look like he was very much aware of it as well. Or maybe Brock just imagined it.

"Oh, yeah?" he asked. "What a Good Samaritan you are."

"You're welcome to take a walk," Brock shot back, shrugging. "But do so right now. As I said, I'm closing."

Jack stretched his long body and covered a yawn with a back of his hand. His shirt rode up his stomach, uncovering a stripe of tanned skin, and Brock turned away from the sight to lock the cash-box. He would just be giving him a lift. He'd known the guy for a year and he wanted to make sure he'd get home safe. That was all there was.

"Fine," Jack said finally, sliding from his stool and putting his leather jacket on. "I live on 542 Freedom Lane."

Brock nodded, grabbing his jacket as well and turning off the music and the lights. He could come in the next day to wash the tables and sweep the floor; he didn't have any Christmas plans anyway.

A couple minutes into the quiet drive, it became apparent ignoring the fact Jack was an omega would be hard. Locked in a small space, sitting so close to him, Brock could smell him better. His scent still was light and unoppressive, but now Brock could discern sweeter undertones, perhaps of peppermint, and something invigoratingly fruity--grapes? It was all he could focus on, and it took all his willpower not to lean in and scent him. He shifted in his seat, gritting his teeth, and kept his eyes fixed solely on the road. He could feel his body freaking out with hormones, could almost smell the change in his own scent. It seemed it'd always happen to him, no matter if he was seventeen or forty-seven.

Despite that, the drive passed fast, and soon enough Brock was parking at 542 Freedom Lane. He looked out through the window to check out the tall apartment building.

"You okay getting home by yourself?" he asked, feeling his heart beating like crazy. His skin was warm and clammy like he was drunk himself.

Jack raised his head from where he was leaning it against the window to look at him with glassy eyes. "Ya can help me if you wanna."

"Okay," Brock murmured more to himself than to Jack, and licked his dry lips. He was just going to walk him to his door, make sure he was safe. He wiped his hands on his jeans and got out.

The air felt cool on his skin as he trailed behind Jack to the apartment block. Jack punched in the code with a trained hand and let them both in. He led them to the closest door, and Brock suddenly felt stupid when he realized Jack didn't need his assisstance at all. He wanted to say goodnight and leave, but instead he watched Jack pull out a key and struggle to fit it in the hole.

And struggle.

"Let me?" Brock asked finally, and Jack gratefully handed him the key.

Brock unlocked the door and pushed it open. "Here you are," he said as Jack brushed past him inside. "Make sure to lock behind you--"

He reached out with the keys, but instead of just taking them, Jack grabbed his wrist, pulled him inside the apartment and pressed his mouth firmly to Brock's.

Brock's mind went blank for a while, barely registering Jack pushing the door close behind them and pressing Brock against it with the length of his hard, muscular body. The sour scent of his arousal overwhelmed him, the feel of his warm, bourbon tongue prodding at his lips made him arch up for more. Jack's big hands ran down his chest, mapping out the hard muscles beneath his black shirt, and paused at his belt.

Brock wished he could just throw all the caution to the wind and go with it with his conscience clear. But the taste and smell of alcohol on Jack prevented him from it. He grabbed his wrists and pushed him away.

"Jack, I can't. You're drunk," he barely whispered, breathless.

Jack rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, got it. Yer a real nice guy." He leaned in, reaching for his lips again. Brock stopped him with a hand on his chest.

"Jack, I'm serious. I don't know what asshole alphas you've been running into so far, but I ain’t like that. Let's... Let's meet after Christmas and talk, m'kay? Then we can... figure stuff out," he finished lamely. Jack watched him, looking lost. Brock squeezed his hand reassuringly and let go. "Go to bed. Goodnight."

He slipped out the door before Jack managed to stop him. He almost ran out of the building, taking deep gulps of cool air and willing his semi-erection to go away.

The next week, Brock nervously awaited Jack's arrival, and he couldn't tell if he was more disappointed or relieved when he didn't show. He wasn't sure what he really wanted from Jack, and apparently, Jack wasn't either.

Two weeks later, he wasn't the only one who noticed Jack's absence.

"I haven't seen Jack around lately," Sharon pointed out, nodding at the stool that would normally be taken by Jack, but was occupied by someone else. Brock only hummed in acknowledgement as he prepared her drink. "Doesn't it worry you?"

"I'm sure it's nothing serious," Brock murmured, pouring a mixture of vodka, blue curacao and grape juice into a chilled martini glass. The smell reminded him a bit of Jack's scent.

Sharon took her drink, but she didn't get back to her poker table yet. "He's been here every Friday since I can remember," she said, raising her eyebrow slightly.

Brock shrugged. "Here's to hoping he developed a healthier lifestyle."

Sharon rolled her eyes. "Ouch. Anyway, I'd check on him if I were you."

She walked away with her drink, and Brock shook his head to himself. He didn't know Sharon any better than he did any other patron, and here she could somehow tell he liked Jack. He must have been more obvious than he thought.

Her advice wasn't a bad one, though; even if Jack was purposefully avoiding him, it'd be healthier for Brock to just clear that up instead of worrying every Friday. He could handle the truth, however bad it was, but being ghosted? That absolutely sucked.

He drove to Jack's home next afternoon before his shift. He didn't remember his room number, but he got lucky; an elderly lady was just walking out, and kept the door open for him.

"Thanks," Brock breathed over his shoulder, striding for Jack's door. He knocked loudly, wondering nervously what he wanted to say and coming up empty.

The door cracked open and a moss green eye looked at him.

"Fuck, Brock." Jack turned his head inside, presumably to check for something, and chills ran down Brock's arms and chest as he saw an angry red bite mark on the back of his neck. He was almost sure it wasn't there when they... When they last saw each other.

Jack slipped through the door and closed it behind himself. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his words colored by slight panic.

Brock took a step back. "'M sorry... Just wanted to check up on you, after--"

"The sooner we forget what happened, the better,” Jack snapped, laying his hand back on the doorknob.

Wanting to stop him from leaving and unable to help himself, Brock nodded at the back of Jack's neck that was now out of his sight. "I didn't know you had someone."

"I didn't," Jack said bitterly. "I do now. I'm not allowed to go to alpha-only clubs anymore. You should go."

Deep in his bones, Brock could feel there was something very wrong there, that Jack was unhappy. But it wasn't his place to snoop. He wasn't Jack's lover, not even his friend. He was a bartender; his job was to pour drinks and collect the pay.

"Okay," he said soothingly, wanting Jack to lose his guarded stance. He didn't. "I'll go. You know where to find me if..." He shrugged, not knowing how to finish that sentence. He eyed Jack up and down, looked into his eyes that last time. Jack averted his gaze, then opened the door and slipped back inside.

With his shoulders slumped, Brock turned on his heel and left.

[jawritter]

Living With Regret

Summary: Death can be hard to deal with in any aspect, but when you’re in the life, it's something you deal with all to often, and carry with you until it's your turn to burn.

Warnings: Angst, Drinking, mentions of OC character death, swearing, hints of depression. I think that's it.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2387

A/N: This is a Patreon Exclusive that I’m bringing to Tumblr as a way to celebrate the return of my electricity! LOL! Please do not copy my work! This fic is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine!! I hope you all enjoy this one!!

Want more? Check out my Masterlist! Not on Patreon yet? Check the link below and for just two bucks a month you can get exclusive stories and make request!

**MASTERLIST**     **BECOME A PATREON**

The hunt was bad, very bad. You had lost a friend, another piece to the puzzle of your heart now gone permanently from you, leaving a new hole to form a hard callous over. You wondered ideally as you pulled your duffle off your shoulder, and dropped it onto your bed if you would ever get used to losing people, or would ever one hurt as bad as the first time?

You knew hunting was hard when you’d gotten into it, but how could you live in a world that monster existed in, and not try and fight back? To you that would have been just like rolling over and giving up. 

 When that Werewolf back in your hometown had killed your parents, you had readily joined the Winchesters. Much to Dean’s dismay, he would have rather you go on to try and live a normal life, but how were you supposed to do that after what had happened to you? Nothing had ever been fixed by anyone burying your head in the sand, and pretending that it didn’t exist in hopes it would all go away. 

You had been with the boys since John had died. So it was safe to say that you had been with them long enough to know that no matter how much you were hurting right now Dean was hurting that much worse. 

He didn’t know Ben very well, but he carried the same name as Lisa’s son. That alone had opened up some bad memories for Dean anyway. Tonight though, as you watched your friend’s body burn, you could see it in Dean’s eyes, regret. 

He didn’t open up very often to anyone. Dean had walls that would have made the architects of Jericho jealous. Marching around those bad boys for seven days wouldn’t have done shit, because you had been marching around them for years and to no avail. 

You had always carried a torch for the elder Winchester. Even though you weren’t dumb enough to tell him that. If Dean thought anyone was getting too close to him he’d push them away as a way of “keeping them safe,” because he believed that he had some target painted on his ass that would doom anyone he cared about. 

The two of you had somewhat of a “friends with benefits” arrangement that worked out well for the life that you lived, and you were determined that if that part of him was all you could have, then that would be enough.

Dean had two settings after a rough hunt, he’d either be in here tearing your clothes off, and using you as a way to erase some of the pain he felt for just a little while, or he’d shut down completely for days and not let anyone in. Looks like tonight was going to be the latter. 

You rummage around in your special stash of whiskey that you keep for special occasions, and a couple of tumblers before heading to Dean’s room. If Dean wanted to shut down and block everyone out then you knew the only way to stop it was to force your way in, well as far as you could anyway, and try to pull it out of him. 

Dean was the kind of guy that carried things with him. He never let it go. Never. He held onto things better than a nun with a grudge. He carried every loss, every mistake, every failure, and he would take it to his grave. You attributed that to John Winchester’s A+ parenting. 

Dean was always to be the perfect son and in turn the perfect soldier. Even though you know Dean as an adult now realized that John was nothing but a narcissistic, abusive asshole, he was his dad, and it still hurt, and he still carried the way he raised him. 

You didn’t bother knocking on the door of Dean’s room. It was cracked away. So you just pushed it open, and Dean barely even turned to look at you from his position on the bed with his headphones in place. You could faintly hear the classic rock music blaring through them. Probably hoping it would be loud enough to drown out whatever voices in his head that was screaming at him tonight. 

He pulled the headphones off with a sigh, and set them on his nightstand next to his bed, giving you a weak smile as he shoved over to give you sitting room, and taking one of the tumblers and the whiskey from your hand. 

“Spill Winchester?” you said, flopping down next to him dramatically, trying to keep this conversation as light as possible so that Dean wouldn’t just shut down, and stop talking. If you could even get him to start that is. 

Dean let out a long exasperated sigh as he poured a healthy three fingers to each glass. 

“Just… I don’t know. I guess I’m just tired tonight, sweetheart. I'll be fine in the morning.” Dean said, taking a generous drink from his glass. You stared at him with narrow eyes until he snorted a sarcastic laugh, and shook his head. “Okay, so you didn’t buy that then.” 

“How long have we known each other, De? I think I can tell when you're bullshitting me by now,” you state matter of factly, watching him closely as you take a sip of your drink.

Dean licked his lips before pulling his plump bottom lip between his perfect white teeth, eyes a thousand miles away from this room. 

“I guess I’m just tired of losing people, Y/N/N. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there fast enough to save Ben. I’m sorry you had to burn your friend’s body tonight.”

You watched him closely, knowing full well that wasn’t even a scratch on the surface of what was really going on with Dean. You had known him too long. You decided to play along anyway, and see if you could get him to open up to you a little.

“Dean, it’s part of the job. Ben knew the risk, and it didn’t matter how fast we got there it was too late. He drew the short straw. It could have easily been any one of us. At least now Ben can rest, at least now he doesn’t have to fight anymore.” 

You hoped you sounded convincing because right now you weren’t even sure about how much rest people got in death. You had killed enough ghosts and fought enough Demons to know that you didn’t always get a white robe, and a beach house on the shores of paradise when you died.

Dean nodded his head, and took a long drink from his glass, polishing it off, and refilling it before settling into his pillow that was propped against his headboard. His eyes looked distant and dark, and you knew that even if you got him to open up just a little tonight, it would scratch the surface of horrors Dean had seen in his life.

“I have lost so many people. Friends, family, other hunters that died way before their time like Ben. He would have been pretty close to Ben’s age by now, he may have been only a few years older than the Ben I knew.” 

Dean’s eyes shifted over to you carefully. You sat quietly and just waited for him to continue. Determined not to push him in any way.

“I will never not regret exposing them to this life, even if Cas did erase their memories,”  Dean said, shaking his head, and playing with the string on his sweatpants. 

“You mean because you still love Lisa?” you asked, mentally slapping yourself before for not keeping your mouth shut, and asking him something so personal. Dean chuckled at the shocked look on your face, knowing damn well you didn’t mean to say that.

“No, I never loved Lisa. She was… Comfort when I needed the distraction after Sam went to the cage. Then, when I found out Sam was back, she was a burden. She never supported me. No matter what I never fit into her perfect little Stepford husband, picture-perfect family. 

You must have had a shocked look on your face because Dean chuckled again into his glass before he refilled yours.  “Don’t look so shook, sweetheart.” 

“Sorry,” you mumbled, looking down at the brown liquor in your glass, and avoiding Dean’s watchful gaze.  

“I guess, I just always thought that you loved her because you told Sam to never bring her up again.” 

Dean nodded his head thoughtfully. “That was regret talking. I felt like shit because I felt like I ruined their lives. When I should have just left them alone. If I would have just left them alone, then Lisa wouldn't have gotten possessed, and almost died, and Bed would have maybe had a real dad.” 

You thought about that in silence for a long time before taking a sip of your drink again. Letting it burn all the way down to your toes, warming you, pushing the cold you felt inside away for just a little while.

“I guess I haven’t really ‘loved’ anyone, since Cassie,” Dean said. Now that a crack in the dam had formed, it all seemed to be waiting to flood out, and you were more than willing to listen. 

“I told her things about me no one else knew. I trusted her, and she ripped my heart out. Not once, but twice. After that, I’ve never really been able to let go again. Never really could trust another woman. I wouldn’t let myself get close to anyone. Well, anyone except you.” Dean said, giving her a half-hearted smile before turning his attention back to his spot he’d been staring at on the wall. 

“I carry so much regret. Things I could have changed but wasn’t good enough or fast enough to change. Joe and Ellen died because of me. Ash died because of me. Bobby died trying to save me. I left Jack alone with mom knowing that he was unstable, so that’s on me too. Kevin is somewhere staggering around a ghost that I will probably have to hunt and salt and burn one day. That’s because of me. I let myself get close to one woman, and she fucked me up so bad that I can’t get past it, and that’s because of me.”

Dean let out a dry laugh before his eyes turned to meet yours. “I can’t look back on one damn thing I’ve done in my life that I can say I’m proud of. Except for maybe the fact that Sammy turned out okay. Other than that I was never good enough, and I never will be.” 

If your heart could have stopped beating, and you still be breathing, at that moment you were almost sure that’s what had happened. The truth in his little declaration, or at least the truth as he saw it, was enough to break your heart into an unfixable, shattered mess. 

If only he could see what you saw. Someone who was smart, handsome, funny, charismatic, talented, strong, a hero. One who had endured more hurt and heartache than any one person should ever have to in their life. Someone who was constantly cut down, and underrated. Someone who deserved so much better than what this life had given him. Someone who deserved love, whether he believed it or not.

In a momentarily fit of bravery, you reached across the empty space in between you, and grabbed his hand in your own. Dean looked down and smiled a little, lacing his fingers with yours before bringing the back of your hand up to his lips, brushing a quick peck across your skin. 

“Dean, you can’t blame yourself for everything that goes wrong, John was an asshole, Cassie was a bitch, Lisa was an unsupportive moron who didn’t realize what she had, Jo? Well, Jo died a hero, just like she always wanted. Ash and everyone else knew the dangers of this life, just like Ben did, and you can’t carry all that with you all the time. Dean, you’ve saved so many people. The good outways the bad, trust me.”

Dean’s eyes searched yours for a moment before he leaned in and closed the distance between you, brushing his lips lightly over your own before kissing you slowly. It was a tender thing, one that was laced with fear, and hurt, and regret, something that Dean would always live with no matter what you say to him. 

This life comes with some form of regret to everyone, but no one should have to shoulder it all alone. If he’d ever just let you, you’d gladly help to shoulder some of his burdens, but tonight was not the night to talk about that. 

Tonight, tonight Dean just needed you to be close to him. So that’s what you intended to do. 

When Dean finally broke the kiss he leaned his forehead against your own, taking a deep breath before pulling the covers back, offering her a spot next to him. “Stay with me tonight baby girl?” he said in more of a plea than a question. You smiled and nodded, making yourself comfortable in his arms as his lips brushed over your own again after he flipped the lights off on the old lamp sitting on his bedside table.

Dean didn’t know how to tell you yet, but you made him feel things he never thought he’d feel again. Having you this close to him right now, made his heart feel like it could beat a little easier. He could feel himself falling for you as you fell asleep in his arms. He wouldn’t tell you though, not right now. He did vow that it would be soon because tomorrow wasn’t promised, and he was determined that this time, this time he could finally have that thing he was missing the most in the shitstorm of regret, hurt, and scars, and that was you. The piece that had been missing all along. He may have lived his whole life with regret, but that didn’t mean he had to die in it, and whether you knew it or not, you gave him something he never thought he’d have again… Hope.

Forever Tags: @deanmonandnegansbitch​ @hayleeharling​ @flamencodiva​ @coldmuffinbanditshoe​ @bxbyizzy​ @rain-dance-goblin​ @itmejado​ @supernatural3002​ @teresa-67​ @deanwanddamons​ @rvgrsbrns​ @bi-danvers0​ @onethirstyunicorn​ @i-love-superhero​ @akshi8278​ @lyss-dw79​ @magssteenkamp​ @lemondropirwin​ @squirrelnotsam​ @hobby27​ @spnbaby-67​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @defenderrosetyler​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​ @thecreatiivecorner​ @aflamboyanceofgays @vicmc624​ @busy-bee-angel-misska​ @justanotherwinchester​ @brilovesdeanwinchester​ @idksupernatural​ @lyarr24 @amandamdiehl​ @love-jackles-37-blog​ @miraclesoflove​ @Waywardsistershy @emoryhemsworth​ @dean-winchesters-gardian-angel​ @softsebastian​ @tatted-trina6​

[bandwagonhockeyfan]

I’m Always Here for You - André Burakovsky

Summary: Burky coming to your rescue at the club and being absolutely adorable after!

Warnings: Drinking, alcohol, grabby men, cat calling, one minor swear

Word Count: 1.3k

REQUESTS ARE CURRENTLY OPENED

@kristenyascur​ here you go!

You were absolutely buzzing for tonight. The season was starting soon so it would be one of the last weekends where you could truly let loose and have fun with your boyfriend André.

Pulling your hair into a complicated updo, you were determined to look like a million bucks tonight. You had found a dress in the back of your clothes, totally forgotten about, but fit you like a glove. You had even managed to make two pretty decent wings with your eyeliner!

André was set to pick you up in a couple minutes, so you rushed around to finish getting ready. You grabbed a tumbler and filled it with water, setting it out on table with a bottle of Tylenol so you’d see it when you came home. As fun as tonight was going to be, tomorrow didn’t need to be ruined because of a hangover.

The door alarm pulled you away from your current task, scrounging around the floor of your closet for your nice sneakers. André was right on time.

Ordering an uber as you opened the door, you pulled him into your place.

“You look great,” he breathed, eyes wide as he glanced up and down. The dress was a simple wine color number falling to mid-thigh, but it did highlight your chest marvelously in your opinion.

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” you teased, drinking him in. He was wearing his go-to black club slacks, white button-down shirt tucked in, just how you like it. He had popped a couple buttons at the top, teasing you with a peak of his chest.

You swallowed hard, blinking a couple times as you refocused yourself. André smirked as he caught your eye, grabbing your elbow to pull you closer to him. His hands rested on your hips, beginning to absent mindedly running his fingers over your hips.

You fixed his hair just a bit, tugging on his curls just a bit. He smiled and pulled you into a kiss, swaying slightly in your kitchen.

Your phone buzzed signaling the uber was here. Again, you were giddy with excitement. Tonight was going to be great.

------ 

When you pulled up to the club, André statement when he first suggested tonight rang true: this club was POPPING.

Your jaw went slack at all the people lined up around the brick warehouse, desperately trying to get in.

“I told you, minskatt.” You could hear André gloat in front of you, tugging you out of the car.

You shuffled once you got out, accidently tugging your dress down too much, showing off your chest a little bit more than you wanted.

“Aye! Babyyy!” Someone from the line shouted.

Your head snapped up and locked eyes with the stranger who was leering at you. He actually liked his lips!

You were disgusted, blinked back tears as you ran to catch up with André.

“My name’s Mark! Just so you know whose name you’ll be screaming later!” You took one last look over your shoulder and saw Mark staring you down.

However, you determined not to let him ruin your evening. The season was just around the corner and you wanted to celebrate accordingly. You brushed it off and didn’t mention your encounter to André who was busy talking to the bouncer.

You tried to focus on what André was asking, something about whether the rest of the Avs were here or not. You slipped under his arm and buried your face into his side, now desperate to get into the club and away from the creep on the sidewalk.

André mistook your fear as excitement and hurried the bouncer along, skipping the line and getting you into the club.

For a while you forgot about the creep outside, having a good time with André and the rest of the team and their partners. You said danced for a while with Mel, eager to live it up while they had a babysitter back home with Linnea.

Everything was great until you had to go get a drink. André had run off the restroom while the line was short, so you ventured to the bar by yourself.

“I’ll be right back Mel. Won’t be long, just getting a refill on my drink.” Mel nodded at you, her alcohol tolerance long gone since having a kid. Though, you didn’t look much better, always being somewhat of a lightweight yourself.

Elbowing people aside, you leaned against the cool bar top and flagged down the bartender.

“Another vodka cran please!” He nodded and took the cash you had fished out of your purse.

“Well, fancy seeing you here. I knew you couldn’t get enough of me.” Your blood ran cold.

It was Mark.

You tried to ignore him, but he tugged your elbow and pulled you into his chest, a gesture André had just done hours early. Except this wasn’t André. From his blonde hair to his slight Southern accent, nothing about this man was your loving boyfriend.

“C’mon, sweetheart, don’t play hard to get. We both know you want me.” You shoved away from him, leaving your drink on the counter in an attempt to get away. You eventually moved around the corner to leave this potentially messy situation.

You tried looking over people’s heads to find your beloved Swede, but you could only see Mark. He was dodging people as quick as you were in order to get back to you.

He had trapped you against the bar and you began to cry alone in this dark corner of the bar.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed Mark’s shoulder and ripped him away from you. It was Gabe Landeskog. Behind him you could see André shoving his way through the crowd and Mel holding hands with another WAG, hoping everything would be alright.

You knew you were shaking as André finally reached you, Gabe issuing threat after threat to your assailant. André pulled you into chest , turning you away from Gabe’s tirade.

“I’m gonna get you out of here, okay minskatt?” There was the pet name you knew and loved, not any of this sweetheart crap that Mark had laid on.

You just nodded and let your boyfriend wrap his arm around your shoulder and lead you out of the club and into a cab.

You began to fully cry in the safety of the car, so scared by the nights events.

“It’s going to be okay Y/N, trust me. I’m here for you.” André rarely referred to you by your first name, preferring pet names and ridiculous nicknames instead. You could tell he was shaken too, glancing out the window as the cab pulled up to his building.

Soon, you were sat on the edge of the couch, just trying to get your breathing under control.

You pulled on your now ruined hairstyle, a nervous habit since you were little. Strands of hair stuck to your face, mixing with the steady stream of tears. The night was supposed to be nothing, but excitement and happiness and it turned into anything but.

You pulled on your now ruined hairstyle, a nervous habit since you were little. Strands of hair stuck to your face, mixing with the steady stream of tears.

André trod over, his shirt untucked and unbuttoned. He had a fleece blanket bundled up in his arms and he began to wrap it around you, gently sitting down next to you on the couch.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” he repeated over and over again. He gently took your shoes off and pulled you into his lap.

“I’m here for you, I’m always here for you. It’s going to be okay.”

You nodded and closed your eyes as you leaned against his chest. You were going to be okay.

[samsexualdeancurious]

Lucky (NSFW)

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Words: 1,533

Summary: After a night out, the reader wants to have a little fun.

Warnings: public sex, unprotected sex, creampies, slight dom/sub, dirty talk with some name-calling.

A/N: Written for Always Seeking's May 2020 prompt.

Betaed by @manawhaat​

---

A giddy giggle bursts from your throat and you lean heavily on Sam’s arm as he leads the way down the dark small-town street towards the motel. It’s been a long day, between finally taking out the vamp nest that had been terrorizing the citizens of Carefree, Arizona, and now a few hours of celebration at the bar. You’re not drunk, but you’re definitely leaning more towards tipsy than buzzed. Sam is less drunk than you, having cut himself off sooner so he can keep an eye on you.

Sam’s such a good boyfriend.

In your haze, you’re feeling adventurous, but Sam being the straight-laced good boy that he is just doesn’t fit into the plan that started forming in your mind when you hit the bathroom to adjust your skirt and makeup.

The air is warm and your body heat mixes with Sam’s as you walk, but you bat your lashes up at him and coo, voice sweet and airy, “Saaaaam.”

“Yes, Y/N?” he asks, ever patient and a little amused at how loose you are even as you tug insistently his arm.

“I’m horny.”

That’s not what he was expecting you to say, apparently, because he jerks and stumbles a little. “Okay?” he glances down at you. “Well, we’re still a couple of blocks from the motel…”

“Who says we have to wait till we get to the motel.”

Sam clears his throat and glances around. There are people on the street but no one near enough to have heard what you said. “Y/N,” he hisses. “What the hell?”

You lean into him, looping your arm around his waist and nudging him towards the closest alley. “Don’t be a prude. It’s nothing we haven’t done before.”

Sam stammers and his cheeks are turning an adorable shade of pink. You only get a glimpse before the darkness of the alley envelopes you. “Yeah but-”

“Sammy-” you slide your fingertips into the waistband of his jeans and guide him to where you want him- “I want you.”

He’s towering over you and when your back hits the brick wall he groans, leaning down to press his face into the curve of your neck. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

That’s all Sam needs. His hands curl around your hips, pulling your lower body against his, and you can feel how much he likes your plan. “You’re gonna have to be quiet. Can you do that for me?”

A shiver runs down your spine and the potential of getting caught has you keening and pushing yourself into Sam’s body. The thrill of public sex is always the best part of it all. “I’ll try.”

Sam’s teeth catch on your collarbone. “I’m going to fuck you, baby. Right here against this dirty wall like the slut you are. I’m going to lift your skirt and fill that sweet little pussy, first with my cock and then with my cum. Understand?”

You nod, words lost to the heat coiled in your belly.

“Then, when I’m finished-” he moves up to leave the mark of his teeth just under your jaw- “you’re going to walk back to the motel with my cum dripping down your thigh.”

Your knees practically dissolve beneath you at the idea. You cling to his arms to stay upright, nodding frantically.

“I need to hear your voice, sweetheart. Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” you whine. “Sam, please, I need-”

“Shhh.” He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, silencing you.”I’ll give you what you need. What I need is for you to be quiet while I do it.”

“Yes, sir.” You obediently lower your voice to a whisper. “Please, fuck me.”

Sam doesn’t reply - not out loud. Instead, two huge hands slip under your skirt and yank your panties down. Your cunt clenches at that alone, hungry for more. Instead of leaving your panties around your ankle as you expected, though, Sam crouches to guide them over your shoes before straightening up and very clearly shoving the lacy item in his pocket.

“You won’t be needing those,” he informs you with a smirk.

You’ve awoken a monster and you love it.

Sam wraps his hand under one of your knees, drawing your leg up to hook around his thigh, spreading your pussy open with his questing fingers. You hide your face in his shoulder, biting your lip to muffle your moan as two thick fingers slide into you. You can feel Sam laugh softly, a gentle rumble in his chest, and then the invading digits crook just so.

“Sam,” you gasp, grinding against his hand to try and get more attention on that spot. He avoids it, though, focusing instead on prepping your pussy for something much bigger than just two fingers.

“You’ll get to cum,” he promises. “But only if you’re quiet.”

You nod, pressing your face against his shoulder again as his thumb flicks over your clit. The slick sound of his fingers pumping in and out of you seems impossibly loud in the quiet night air. Someone on the street is sure to hear it.

“Think you’re ready for me?” Sam asks, breath hot on your ear.

“Yes, sir,” you whisper.

You bite back a whine when his fingers slide free of your body, knowing something much better is going to follow.

Sam shoves his fingers in your mouth, silencing any sound you could make by spreading the taste of your own arousal across your tongue. “Open my jeans,” he orders.

You have to pry your fingers from their grip on his arms but you manage it. Sam is hard as a rock and throbbing beneath the denim. You only go as far as he’s instructed, though.

“Good girl. Take me out of my boxers.”

Your breath catches in your chest when you get your fingers around him, velvet heat against your palm.

“Put me in you.”

You’re going to explode with arousal. There’s no way you’re going to survive this experience, not when you hear the sound of a group of men laughing right outside the alley at the same time Sam’s precum slick head slides between the folds of your pussy. You squeeze your eyes shut and Sam rolls his hips.

Your leg is still held in the crook of his elbow when he enters you in one smooth push, no hesitation and no room to let you get used to the pure size of him. Any noise you could have made is choked back by his long fingers pressing down on your tongue. Your head falls back against the brick wall and that hurts a little but it works in your favor, helping to stave off the orgasm that’s threatening to take over you.

When you open your eyes, Sam is staring down at you with a knowing smirk on his lips. His hips are pressed tight to your pelvis, skin on skin with his cock buried to the hilt. He slowly pulls his fingers from your mouth, wipes them off on your skirt, and then kisses you.

“Such a good girl,” he says against your lips. “I’m going to fuck you now. Keep all those pretty little sounds inside.”

That’s easier said than done with Sam’s monster cock churning up your insides, hitting all the places that no man had ever touched before him. Your hands settle their places on his biceps once again, clinging to him like that’s the only thing keeping your body from breaking into a thousand pieces, and at some point you find yourself with a mouthful of his flannel. The smack of his hips against your pussy echos in your ears, just as clear as the sounds of people walking by on the sidewalk, and someone’s going to hear you - someone’s going to see you like this, balancing on one leg and spread wide for your boyfriend in a dirty alley in Carefree, Arizona.

No one stops, though, not even when you let out a sound you’re helpless to keep in and not when your orgasm finally crashes through you. It’s a full-body experience that has you writhing and bucking against him like a woman possessed. The leg barely holding you up gives out beneath you and suddenly he’s the only thing keeping you from falling to the ground as you tremble in his arms. He murmurs words of praise in your ear until they dissolve into animalistic grunts that make your cunt clench around his throbbing cock. You can feel him spilling warmth inside you and that drags your orgasm out longer, little aftershocks that make your whole body shiver.

“Holy shit,” Sam breathes when his softening cock finally slips from your body. You feel the cool dribble of cum that follows it out. “Fucking hell, baby girl.”

You grin up at him, leaning on him for support even more now than before.

He drops your leg and smooths your skirt, taking a moment to just look as you feel more cum escape your folds.

“Shall we go?” Sam asks, offering his arm like a gentleman at a ball and not a boyfriend who just fucked you senseless in a dark alley.

You’re one lucky, lucky girl.

---

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—

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[stusbunker]

Siblings

A Supernatural Fan-fiction

Featuring: Dean, Sam and Cas

Written for @risingphoenix761​ for my 800 Words or Less 800 Follower Celebration

    They really were too old for this. But somethings are unforgivable and even more things deserve retribution, which is why Castiel found Dean and Sam at each other’s throats one Thursday afternoon in the bunker library.

“What is going on?” Cas broke in, trying to figure out who was in the wrong.

“Sam’s being a fucking diva about his hair,” Dean rolled his eyes and plopped down into a nearby chair.

“That shampoo was a gift from Eileen, it costs like fifty bucks, Dean. It’s not okay just to waste it because your butthurt over breakfast.” Sam tried to flatten his hair, but it was static charged and not complying despite his fidgeting.

“Oh shut up about the damn shampoo, I’ll buy you another one!” Dean’s voice rose. “You fucking filled my danish with mayo, freakin’ psycho. You don’t mess with a man’s sustenance!”

“Nobody made you eat the whole thing!” Sam spread his arms in challenge, bending at the waist to reiterate the height difference between him standing and Dean in a chair.

Dean stood up and got back in his brother’s face. Sam’s lip curled menacingly.

“You’re the one who started this, debauching my baby like that.” Dean’s voice was so low Castiel was only able to hear him as an angel.

“I told you, that wasn’t me!” Sam licked his lips and rolled his eyes.

“Oh yeah, who else was here?” Huh?! I don’t think Cas suddenly decided to take her for a spin and a fucking lube job,” Dean gestured to the angel and Cas became increasingly uncomfortable.

“Guys?” Cas’s deep voice tried to iron out the tension in the air.

Dean cocked his jaw and fisted his hands, the sight of Sam and his poofy hair almost unbearable. Sam had his hands on his hips and sighed, glancing over to Cas to hopefully get past this argument.

“What’s up, Cas?”

“What happened to the Impala?” Cas seemed overly alarmed.

“I don’t know, Samuel? What did you do?” Dean sassed, lips pursed.

“I didn’t do anything! But, apparently Dean couldn’t keep his hands on the wheel and nearly crashed on the way out of the garage.” Sam explained.

“When did this happen?” Cas pressed.

“Day before yesterday?” Sam looked to Dean who just sneered.

“Oh,” Cas replied, looking to the floor. “I think I knew what happened. Jack said he wanted to do something nice, so I suggested he wash and wax the car for you, before the next hunt.”

Dean’s jaw hit the floor and Sam had to bite back a blinding grin.

“You gave permission to a three year old to touch my car?” Dean sputtered.

“Told you I didn’t do it,” Sam said out of the side of his mouth.

“Fuck off, I’m not done here,” Dean muttered and turned back to Cas. “Thanks, but no thanks. Now I need to figure out what he used and where else!”

Dean stormed off to find Jack, leaving Sam quietly chuckling and Castiel in resigned guilt.

“Well, I hope this at least clears things up between you two,” Cas offered.

Sam weighed his head from side to side, frowning in consideration. “Maybe, if he isn’t still pissed when he finds what else I left for him.”

It was Cas’s turn to roll his eyes.

Prompt #6 of 8

How about Sam and Dean having a prank war in the bunker until Cas gets fed up enough to intervene?

Tags: @flamencodiva @dolphincliffs​​ @dontshootmespence​​ @thoughtslikeaminefield​​  @fangirlxwritesx67 @dawnie1988 @mrswhozeewhatsis​​ @cosicas-cuquis​​ @foxyjwls007​​ @tumbler-tidbits​ @defenderrosetyler​​ @ericaprice2008 @princessofthefandomrealm​ @wingedcatninja​​  

Special thanks to @there-must-be-a-lock​ @cracksinthewalls​ and @mskathywriteswords​ because I am not at all a prankster. xoxo

[waywardnerd67]

TFWB - Chap 26 Family Gathering

Summary: The family gathers together for a long overdue celebration. Characters: Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, Misha Collins, Rachel Sanderson (OFC), Molli Sanderson (OFC), Reader Pairing: Jensen x Reader / Jared x Rachel (OFC) / Misha x Molli (OFC) Warnings: Fluff/AU Word Count: 1010 Squared Filled: Free Space A/N #1: This is for @spnfluffbingo​ card

Check out: The Family We Built Masterlist

The music was thumping throughout the old barn. Laughter could be heard echoing through the cool night air. Drinks were being passed around along with slices of cake. (Y/N) was sitting on the back of an old Chevy pick up watching all the members of her family having a wonderful time.

“You know the Bride is supposed to be in there dancing and drink the night away.” Rachel hopped up on the truck next to her with a bottle of champagne.

“Move over sis, I’m joining the bridal party.”

Molli sat next to Rachel as the three of them passed the bottle between them. They watched the guests dancing and the kids starting to fall asleep at various tables.

“I never thought this day would finally come. It took you two so damn long to get together then two years to get married. Talk about your slow burn.” Rachel chuckled, taking a drink then passing it to Molli.

She took a drink, “I lost five bucks to Misha saying we would be married before them.”

“Alright, alright. I’m married now and if you remember we had to postpone our original wedding date because Jensen released another book. Then another Padababy came along.”

Rachel stole the bottle from her, “Once again, Jared’s little soldiers are just too strong for any kind of resistance.”

“Ugh!” (Y/N) and Molli groaned.

“Fellas, I do believe our ladies have decided to have their own little party without us.” Jared climbed over the side of the truck sitting behind Rachel.

Misha stood between Molli’s legs while Jensen helped (Y/N) off the truck, “Oh yeah. Rachel was just telling us all about Jared’s little soldiers breaking down her defenses.”

“(Y/N)!” Rachel yelled as Jensen led her away from the group laughing hysterically.

“Where are we going handsome?”

He was leading her out past their barn into the middle of their empty land. They had decided to move out from Austin thirty minutes to the west in Dripping Springs. Jensen had a house built for them that included having a barn with the intent of one day having some animals on their land.

He wrapped his arms around her waist resting his chin on her shoulder, “Remember, the first conversation we ever had on this property?”

***

“What do you think?” He asked as they stood in the middle of hundred acres of land.

“I think it’s perfect. The house could be over there and a path to a barn. One day we could have horses and goats.” She wrapped her arms around his waist as they looked out over the land.

Jensen pointed to a large tree, “I could build a treehouse there for when we have kids.”

She sucked in a breath stepping away from him. It was a conversation she had been trying to build up the courage to talk to him about and never finding the right time. Seemed life created a moment pushing her to tell him the only secret she ever kept from him.

“Jensen, about that…” she started as he started to walk towards the tree.

He chuckled, “Pretty girl, we don’t have to have the kid conversation yet. Let’s get through the house build and the wedding whenever they may happen. We can just keep on practicing to baby making steps.”

“There’s something I need to tell you that… that could make you change your mind about the whole house and marriage thing.”

He stopped turning towards her, “There is nothing you could say that would make me change my mind. I want to spend the rest of my life with you no matter what.”

“I can’t have children.” Saying the words out loud held such a finality for her.

“W-What?”

The tears she was trying to hold back fell down her cheeks, “My body doesn’t produce the eggs to have children. If… if you marry me then we will never have our own children.”

Looking up, her heart broke seeing the disappointment in his eyes. She should have told him way before now but she did not want to admit she was broken, damaged goods.

“You mean when I marry you.” Jensen reached out taking her hand and pulling her to him, “Where that news is shocking and I’m going to need some time to process that. There is no question as to if I’m going to marry you. It’s only a question of when I’m going to marry you.”

(Y/N) could not believe what she was hearing, “You’re really okay with never having your own biological children?”

“Will you be in my life?” She nodded, “Then yes, I am okay with not having my own kids.”

A sob escaped her lips as she hugged him tightly, “You’re truly an amazing man.”

***

“Yes, I do. Why?” She turned in his arms clasping her hand behind his neck.

“During our honeymoon in Europe, I would like to begin the process of adopting a child from the Ukraine. I’ve already started the process here but we had to be married before going over there.”

(Y/N) stood there stunned as Jensen nervously chewed on his bottom lip, “Say something.”

“Just when I think you can’t possibly surprise me with something, you do. Yes. Yes, yes, yes!”

Jensen picked her up and twirled her around, “Oh my god, I was terrified to ask you about it. I love you.”

“I love you too. Now let’s go tell the rest of our family.”

They walked back to the barn where Jared, Rachel and their two kids along with Misha, Molli and Zalyn were all huddled together outside.

“Everyone, we would like to tell you something.” Jensen announced catching all of their attention.

(Y/N) smiled widely, “We’re going to adopt a child!” Everyone started cheering and hugging them.

That is when their photographer came by asking to take their picture together, “One, two, three, Family!”

“Family!”

That was exactly what they were. Not by blood or by marriage, but a family they chose. A family they built.

The End

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[etherealwaifgoddess]

One In A Million - Chpt.5

Summary: In the wake of Rose’s discovery, the trio figures out how to move on together. Rose’s growing feels throw a wrench in their plans however, making them reassess what they are, and what they want to be, to each other.

Word Count: 3.1k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! Did ya’ll like the twist last chapter? You didn’t really think I’d just *poof* her back to modern times, did you? She still has a long way to go with our boys and we’re just getting started. XOXO - Ash

Chapter Five

Neither Bucky or Steve seem to know where to start. Steve brewed some truly terrible coffee for the three of you and you’re thankful for the warm cup in your hands helping to steady your nerves. Bucky and Steve are seated on opposite ends of the sofa while you occupy the padded chair across from them. It’s divisive, you and them, and you hate it but don’t want to push boundaries for this conversation.

“I’m not going to tell anyone. You have to know that I would never do that to you guys.” you assure them. 

Steve lets out a shaky breath, “Thank you, Rose.” 

“You’re not nearly as sneaky as you think you are either. I’ve caught those sweet little looks you give each other when you think I’m not looking. You’re adorable, the both of you.” 

Bucky cringes slightly, “Told ya, punk.” he chastises Steve who just rolls his eyes.

“You’re just as guilty.” you point out.

“Yeah, but you see how pretty Stevie is. How’s a guy supposed to keep his head around him?” 

Steve’s whole face lights up at his words and he fidgets for a minute before gathering up the nerve to move seats to sit next to Bucky. Tucked under Bucky’s protective arm, Steve seems to fully relax for the first time since you all sat down. You dare to move over to the empty sofa seat next to him, hoping he doesn’t shy away from you. He doesn’t and you give him a grateful smile.

“So, how long have you been together?” you ask, curious. 

Bucky chuckles, “Since about the second this one turned those gorgeous blue eyes on me the first time. I didn’t know what to think about it then but as soon as I was old enough to know what it was to really want someone, I knew he was it for me.” 

“Buck.” Steve preens under Bucky’s affection, “I love you.” He huffs a laugh, “Never said that to you in front of anyone else before.” 

“I love you too.” Bucky presses a soft kiss to Steve’s temple and pulls him even closer. “Rose, I have to ask. Why are you so okay with this?”

The truth burns in your chest but know you can’t share it. “I just don’t see why someone’s gender should matter when it comes to love or attraction. We’re all just people.” 

“Do you… have you…? You don’t have to tell us, but do you like other girls?” 

“No, I like men. I tried being with a girl in college but it wasn’t for me.” 

“You really are one in a million.” 

“So, now that it’s out of the way, you two can stop asking me out dancing.” you tease.

Bucky and Steve share hesitant glances. “Uh, well, we don’t have to.” Steve says quietly.

“I’m fine on my own. I don’t need you two taking me out on a fake date.” 

“It helps though, being seen out with a pretty dame. People talk less. That’s why Bucky has earned such a reputation as a ladies man down at the docks.” 

“Oh! Of course. I’d be happy to go out and be seen with either of you then.” 

“I’d really like to take you. Bucky never has trouble finding a dance partner but it’s been a while for me.” 

“Well you just haven’t been asking the right girls. I would like nothing more than to go dancing with you, Steve.” 

“Tomorrow night?” 

“It’s a date.” 

You take extra time to do your hair and make up before your date with Steve on Saturday. It’s silly since you know he’s not attracted to you in that way, but you want to look your best for him. You’re thankful that he has Bucky who loves him so fiercely despite having to hide it from the world. Adjusting your lipstick one last time you hurry to the door to find Steve waiting patiently on the other side, bouquet in hand. It’s a handful of beautiful white daisies and you’re delighted he put in the effort to bring them for you despite it being a ruse. You thank him, letting him come inside while you hunt for a vase. Steve tugs on the lapel of his tan suit nervously while he waits. It’s the best one he owns and even still it hangs on his slight frame, unable to afford a tailor to adjust it for him. His hair is slicked back like Bucky wears his and it’s glossy in the light of your kitchen. How he has trouble finding dates is beyond you but the other women’s loss is your gain. You will happily be his fake date any night he needs you. 

Bucky is already at the Stork Club when you arrive, sipping a drink at the bar with a date of his own. You wonder how they can stand seeing each other out with another person but when it comes down to life or death, you suppose they don’t have much of a choice. 

Steve really is a terrible dancer. You had expected him to at least be competent but he’s a mess on the dance floor, having stepped on your toes several times before the first song is over. Embarrassed and blushing Steve leans forward to whisper in your ear, “Bucky usually leads when dance at home.” 

“Why didn’t you say so?” you whisper back, “I can lead, no one will be the wiser.” Having enjoyed dance classes at the rec center as a teenager you can just as easily lead as follow. You set the pace to the floating instrumentals that fill the dance hall. A trilling of French flows through the speakers and you recognize the song. La Vie En Rose. It’s impossibly romantic and you lose yourself in the dance. A quiet baritone interrupts your reverie and you realize Steve is singing softly. His voice is beautiful and you’re speechless listening to him as he sings. The song ends and you’re standing still on the dance floor. “The pain and bothers fade away. Happy, so happy I could die.” Steve translates softly, “When he takes me in his arms, he speaks softly to me, and I see life through rose colored glasses.” 

“Steve.” your voice is hushed, breathless with wanting what you can’t have. 

“You’re my rose colored glasses.” he whispers as he moves even closer in your arms. You’re the same height but the small wedge of your heel has him tilting his head up when he leans in and captures your lips with his own. 

It’s as close to perfect as a first kiss could ever get but you find yourself pushing him away. He’s in love with Bucky and you’re just their cover. It’s too much, too painful for your traitorous heart to bear. His name is a harsh admonishment on your lips. You flee the dance hall, stumbling out into the chilly December air, unsure of where to go. You take a minute in the entrance of an alleyway next to the dance hall to clear your head. The clattering of shoes on pavement skid to a halt as Bucky spots you leaning against the brick wall of the alley. 

“I’m sorry.” you sob as Bucky takes you into his strong arms, “I can’t do it. I just… I can’t. It’s not fair to Steve and I’m sorry. But I can’t.” 

“Shh.” Bucky soothes you, rubbing a hand along your back. “It’s alright, Rose. You don’t have to do this for us. Neither one of us will hold it against you.” 

“I’m sorry.” you apologize once again, “I know you’re together and I love that you two are so perfect for one another but Steve is… And I…” you sniffle, unable to piece together the words you need to explain your outburst to Bucky. 

He knows though. “He really is something, isn’t he? It’s impossible not to love him once he lets you really see him. But Rose, this doesn’t have to be a problem.” 

“How can it not be?” you snap, frustrated, “I can’t do this fake dating thing. Not when I’m fighting off very real feelings.” 

“Oh, sweet girl, who said Stevie was faking a thing back there?” 

You blink at him myopically. Your brain struggling to process his words. “But he loves you.” 

“He does. But he’s been smitten with you since the day you saved him in that alley.” 

“I don’t get it.” you shake your head, too stressed and upset to follow what Bucky’s telling you.

“Why not? You can handle two men being together just fine, but someone wanting to share that love with more than one person is too much?” Bucky’s tone is light, teasing, but the weight of his words hit you hard. 

“You want to… share?”

Bucky’s slow, easy smile is back and your knees are weak under its radiance. “Yeah, doll. Stevie and I share nicely. It hasn’t happened very often but when it does, well, we both like dames too. And we always come home to each other in the end. You’re the first we both wanted to pursue though.” 

The last admission has you swaying on your feet. “Both of you.” 

“Yeah, both of us. But you seemed so sweet on Steve, I didn’t push the issue. He deserves a little extra loving, if you ask me.” 

“But what if I wanted… both.” 

Bucky raises his eyebrows almost to his hair line in shock. “You were interested in us both? Before you knew about me and him.” 

“I couldn’t have picked if you held a gun to my head.” you admit with a shrug and a helpless chuckle. 

“Oh, doll, that changes everything.” he murmurs pulling you back into his arms.

You let yourself breathe in the comforting scent of him, basking in it until he pulls away again. “We need to go find Steve.” he tells you gruffly, “Then we can finish this conversation at home.” 

You let Bucky lead you by the hand back to the Stork Club where Steve is talking with Bucky’s date over a tumbler of whiskey. “I found your girl, Rogers.” Bucky calls out cheerfully. 

You smile nervously at Steve, unsure of what to do next.

Bucky pulls his date off to the side for a minute and you can hear him telling her that he’s going to have to call it a night. That his best pal is about to be dumped and he needs to be there for him afterwards. The girl nods sagely, telling him he’s a good man and that maybe she can find a friend for Steve the next time they go out. She hurries off, leaving Bucky, you and Steve staring at each other over the small club table. “Come on you two. We have a lot of talking to do.” Bucky announces, throwing back the rest of the whiskey in one gulp and heading for the door. Steve waits until you move to follow and then falls line a step behind you. 

The walk back to the guys’ apartment is quiet, tension thick in the air. You know of polyamory, it’s not a completely foregin concept in your time, but you never expected to be considering it yourself. If that’s even what Bucky was hinting at. Back inside the safe seclusion of their apartment Bucky heads for the kitchen, rustling around the cupboards until he comes back with a mostly full bottle of scotch and three low tumblers. He pours doubles for you and Steve but a single for himself. “You two need to catch up so we can talk about this.” he instructs, pushing the glasses at you. 

You drink yours down quickly, disliking the burn of cheap scotch now that you knew what the good kind could taste like. It helps though, after a few minutes of idle chit chat you can feel the loosening of your limbs as it takes effect. Bucky fills your glasses again before he finally speaks up. “First things first. Rose, please tell Steve why you ran off so he stops looking like you kicked his dog.” 

You force down your nerves, “I’m sorry for running off. I couldn’t keep pretending to like you when I really did. Like you, that is. I would never do anything to disrupt what you and Bucky have, I care about you both so much. But being out with you tonight was more than I could bear, thinking you were just pretending while I was falling for you for real.” 

“Steve,” Bucky resumes his role as moderator, “Please tell Rose that you weren’t pretending.” 

“Not for a minute.” Steve says earnestly. “Rose, I really do like you. And you wouldn’t be hurting what Bucky and I have at all. We’ve talked about this and it’s not the first time one of us has dated a girl since we’ve been together.” 

“Now for the reason we’re all sitting here. Steve, Rose can’t choose between us.” Bucky sits back with a smug smile as he watches Steve try to process what he’s telling him.

“She can’t choose?” he parrots back.

“She likes us both, pal. Equally.”

“We’ve always hoped we’d find a girl…” Steve trails off, stunned. 

“I know, I know. I never thought we’d get so lucky.” Bucky leans over Steve on the sofa, pulling your hand into his. “So what do ya say, Rose? You wanna give us a chance? You could still only date one us in public but we could all be together behind closed doors. We could still hang out in public as a group, just with one of us as a third wheel.” 

You hate that you’ll have to limit your affections to behind closed doors but it’s the times you’re living in. Steve and Bucky have been doing it their whole lives and yet they’re still happy together after all the years of hiding. You give yourself a minute to think if it’s worth it. Especially knowing the risk you’re running with the timelines. Looking at the two of them, wanting them more than anyone else you’ve ever been with, it seems your heart made up your decision long ago. You nod, your heart and brain aligned. “I want to try.” 

Both men’s faces light up like the sun, “But,” you warn, “the second I think the three of us being together is hurting what the two of you have, I’m out. Permanently. Your relationship comes first no matter what. As much as I want to be part of it, I won’t risk what you have.” 

Bucky and Steve both nod, glancing at each other nervously. 

“Can I…” Steve starts and stops, looking between you and Bucky hesitantly. “Can I have a do over of that kiss?” he asks finally. 

You fight back a laugh. Sweet reckless Steve, always jumping head first into things despite how nervous they make him. “Of course.” you tell him leaning in closer. 

Steve looks back at Bucky one last time before meeting you halfway. He’s less hesitant this time, eagerly slotting his lips with yours before deepening the kiss and slipping his tongue tentatively in your mouth. You’re breathless, dizzy from the kiss and intrusion of his tongue. He tastes like cheap scotch and something deeper, something undeniably Steve. When he pulls back and leans into Bucky’s waiting arms you can’t even think. “So this is happening.” you say lamely before your brain can catch up to your mouth.

Bucky laughs, “Yeah, doll, it is.” he shifts out of his seat and Steve moves into it, leaving the spot next to you open for Bucky to occupy. Bucky brushes a stray lock of hair away from your face, cupping your cheek gently in his hand. “My turn.” he murmurs before moving in to claim your lips for himself. Where Steve was all rush and excitement, Bucky is delicate and slow. He presses his lips to yours like a question, waiting for you to respond before continuing. You meet his kiss happily, lost in the tenderness he’s showing you. It’s impossible not to compare the two, but neither is better than the other, just different. You feel like you’re made of glass the way Bucky is so painfully careful with you, tasting your lips gently, letting you steer the kiss where you want it to go. He tastes like sugar and you giggle a little, it figures with the sweet tooth he’s got. There’s a rawness under the sweetness though, like a campfire and you want to lose yourself in him forever. Bucky pulls back at the sound of your giggle, studying you curiously. 

“You taste like sugar. I should have known with the giant sweet tooth you have.” you explain with a smirk.

Steve nods, knowingly, and Bucky just laughs it off seeing Steve’s agreement. “You’re both crazy.” he tells you. 

“Do you have the whole day free tomorrow?” Steve asks you.

“Yeah, I do. I don’t want to mess up whatever plans you guys have though.” you tell him. 

“Well, you’ve already seen what our day off plans normally are. Walked right in, in the middle as a matter of fact...” Steve grins, the feisty little shit that he is, “But we didn’t have any plans for tomorrow yet. We’re probably just going to stay around here and relax.” 

“Stay with us, darlin’.” Bucky pleads, pulling you into his arms. 

“How can a girl say no to that?” you concede, “But, I insist on taking my guys out properly. I have a spare dollar or two and I want to see that new Wolfman movie that just came out.” 

“You don’t have to do that.” Steve starts to protest.

“I know, but I want to. I would spoil the pair of you rotten if I had my way.” 

“You already do so much for us though.” Bucky chimes in looking concerned.

“I have old family money to fall back on.” you bluff easily, “It’s not a hardship on me and you two deserve a break for once. Let me do this for you.” 

“What d’ya say, Stevie? Want to go see a film tomorrow?” 

Steve nods, smiling, finally getting on board with the plan. “Do we get popcorn?” 

You return his smile, “Of course! And sodas. And red licorice. Maybe snow caps, too.” 

“Sounds perfect.”