#cut over to cyrus furiously trying to hide his blushing

[thedragonagelesbian]

silly!!!!!!

[crewhonk]

Don’t Call Me Angel

AN: I meant for this to be sexy but then I thought about it more and now its..... sad. this also isn't edited so like, sorry about that 

Trigger Warnings: allusion to sexual assault (multiple occasions), PTSD, touch sensitivity, prostitution, exploitation of minorities for profit

Songs: “It’s Nice to Have a Friend”-- Taylor Swift / “Don’t Call Me Angel”-- Ariana Grande, Lana Del Rey, Miley Cyrus / “Work”-- Charlotte Day Wilson / “Bad Dreams-- Piano Version”- Faouzia

CURRENT SERIES

___________________________

You’d never expected your first mission for the Avengers would be such an intense one. The images on the screen in front of you sent a chill down your spine, and a fire rise in your heart. To say that what you were going to be headed into was a disgusting, immoral thing would be the biggest understatement in the world. 

The pictures both on the screen and in the file folder in front of you on the briefing table made your blood run too-cold and too-hot at the same time. It was a prostitution ring, but not one that you would usually imagine a prostitution ring to be. You’d gotten tips from those in the pictures which told you that the women and men in the pictures were anything from happy. 

Mutants of every shape, colour, size, gender, and sexuality were in front of you. Some, covered in fur— pupils shaped like a cats or a goats as they made eye contact with the camera and wore a devious smile of nothing but sharp teeth. The heady lights of the strip club they were paraded at was dark enough to hide the accounts of bruising and broken bones. There were shape shifters, and elementals, and those who could warp minds and material and it broke your heart knowing that they were likely being exploited. 

You were the only one fitted for the mission. Wanda was out with Strange in Tibet currently, Bruce Banner was too well known, Nebula wouldn’t have qualified and frankly, Rocket was less than suitable for playing the submissive naive role. 

You however, were trained for this— two semesters at Julliard before being inducted with SHIELD and working directly with a revived Natasha Romanoff gave you that.

The wings sprouting from your back didn’t hurt either. 

You’d been born with them and then ultimately rejected to live with Charlie at XSGY, and were raised by him and Storm. You’d grown up alongside Jean Grey and Scott Summers and thankfully, they had turned out to be the only family you ever really wanted. 

Then, you had joined the Avengers— a tight knit team who had saved the world from the largest threat in the universe and had opened the doors to new recruits. You had felt the need to spread your wings (pun intended) after 22 years of living at the School and had scored the interview. It wasn’t long until you were living in the compound on the top floor with the majority of the team— you’d trained with Natasha and Wanda, practiced flying and air combat with Rhodey and Sam and sat across the couch from Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers. 

Eventually, however, Steve had left your weekly movie nights with poor excuses every time. ‘Natasha and I need to head tot he lab— Bruce needs us’, or ‘I’m volunteering at the Humane Society (yes, at 8pm)’, or your favourite ‘yeah— I adopted a dog. Her name is Cap’. Bucky and You had watched him make excuse after excuse until he had just stopped showing up altogether. 

What followed was an instance of one too many times falling asleep on him. One too many times of reaching for the popcorn at the same time. One too many times that he would wrap his arm around your shoulders and brush your wings with his fingers and make you moan against him before pulling away with a hot blush on your cheeks. When he had found out that your wings were the most sensitive part of your body, he had taken advantage of it— Steve commented every time he would flirt with you how much the old Bucky was coming back— touching them as he passed you in the kitchen, tugging the tips of your white feathers when you were in training and catching you off guard. 

You eren’t all that subtle with your actions either. You’d steal his knives from his holsters during training— stepping too close to him and sneaking your hand over his hip and down his thigh before stealing his favourite knife (Rebecca) and throwing it dead centre over his shoulder and into the simulated target. You’d make his coffee in the morning and fan him with your wings after a particularly gruelling training session with Sam or Nat. 

The instances of you and Bucky flirting had come to a head one night— no special night in particular— but you had been baking cookies in the kitchen late at night and he had joined you (‘Why’re you up, Buck?’ ‘Nightmare.’ ‘Wanna talk about it?’ ‘Nah, I just want a cookie.’), taken a handful of cookies and had kissed you gently goodnight. 

His lips had been soft on yours— nothing like the hairy bull of assassin in front of you. His calloused hands were gentle on the side of your neck and waist, and his tongue had barely teased your bottom lip before he pulled away, backed up with the cookies in hand and a small smile on his face, raised the cookies in salute and turned to leave the kitchen. 

The following days had been full of talks in the dark of the kitchen— trying to figure out grounds and rules and limits for a relationship until you’d figured everything out and showed up to the family Sunday breakfast holding hands and blushing furiously. There were no hollers of joy, Steve was the only one to say ‘I’m happy for you’, but their relationship was obviously received well due to everyones knowing and satisfied smirks. 

That had been six months ago, and now it was time for you to become a real Avenger and have your first mission. 

You walked into your room where you knew Bucky would be curled up in the middle of your nest and took off your leggings, leaving your sweater on and climbing into the bed with him. He hummed, just waking up from his nap and opened his arms, sighing dreamily when his fingers found their place deep in your feathers. You shivered against him and threw a leg and a wing over him and pulled him closer. 

“How was the meeting?” He mumbled and you let out a long breath. 

“I leave tomorrow for three months.” You stated and his head lifted, looking at you through squinted incredulous eyes. 

“For your first mission?” He grumbled and you shrugged. 

“It’s a crime against mutants, and Wanda isn’t available.” You said and ran your hands through his long hair. 

“Someone needs to do something, Buck. The way these girls are being treated should never be allowed in the first place.” You mumbled and Bucky propped himself on his elbows and towered over you. 

“Girls? YN what are you getting yourself into?” He asked lowly and you sucked in a breath. 

“You know I can’t tell you, Buck.” You whispered and his face tightened. 

“Is it what I think it is?”

“Probably.” You replied and his head fell into the crook of your neck and moaned. 

“I don’t like it but you’re much more stubborn and brave than me and Steve were at your age. I know you’ll kill it.” He sniffed and you cooed at him, pulling him on top of you and wrapping both wings around him, hiding him from the world for your own selfish reasons. 

“I love you. Have I told you that today?” You whispered and he snuck his arms under your back and nuzzled your breastbone. 

“Only this morning when I gave you your coffee.” He joked and you giggled. 

“Well, I love you. I love you always, James.”

_____________________

That had been three months ago— your last truly happy memory you could remember. The mission had been worse than the briefings and therapy sessions had prepared you for. Your wings had grown sparse with stress and abuse, and your thin hands shook as they glued dollar store feathers into the sparse areas. Your show was up in an hour, and your wings had to be beautiful but this— gluing fake feathers onto yourself— felt dirty and shameful. You had lost about fifty pounds in three months— the Ringleader (he never showed his face or said his real name) was sure to have all his girls as small and dainty as possible so they would be easier to control by the men who paid for your services. Less of a fight if there was less calories in you.

“You missed a spot. Hand me a feather, please.” A small voice piped up from behind you. You lowered your wing to reveal your closest friend here. She was nothing more than 5’1— small, petite stature, but the reason she was such a main showgirl was the tiger fur covering her body. She had normal human hands, but her fingernails were made to be pointed to better represent claws. Her tail had been broken by the Ringmaster in many places so it had a handful of cricks alone the meter long appendage. Her eyes were the most beautiful thing you had ever seen— sparkling gold (jaded by years of this place) and impossibly black slits down the centre. You were always nervous when those same eyes landed on her, but one night when Ringmaster had rewarded them with the highest quality narcotics, you had giggled mercilessly over how much the slits had dilated. 

“Thank you.” You whispered, turning back to the mirror and beginning to brush on concealer over the cut on her jaw. 

“You’re nervous.” Sasha whispered and you let your shoulders drop. “Why?”

“There’s something I should have told you the second you took me under your wing— no stop laughing— but I’ll have to tell you after tonight.” You sniffed and winced when the bristles of your brush caught the edges of the newly formed scab. 

“Why can’t you tell me now?” Sasha asked and just as you were about to respond, there was a ‘places’ call for you— the finale. 

“I promise. After tonight, no more secrets.” You tried to smile reassuringly as you rose to your feet. Your platform stilettos made it so that you were at least a foot taller than Sasha and you wrapped your arms around her neck in a tight embrace. “I’ll come back for you.”

Tonight was it— you had finally gathered enough evidence about who the Ringmaster was and evidence of the abuse that went on with his girls. Bucky and Sam and Steve and Nat and Tony were here and your hands shook as you asked towards the curtains and waited for the Ringmaster to announce you. It wasn’t long until he did. 

“Now, please allow me to introduce to you my gem. My life and love and my favourite prize. My favourite treasure that I share with you when the sun sets. Please welcome, My Angel!”

____________________

Bucky hated everything about this situation. He hated the smoke in the air fo the bar. He hated the cracked fake leather fo the couches. He hated the dirty stained curtains that covered the walls. He hated seeing girls parading around in nothing but their mutations as men and women alike slammed them down on there laps and had their way with them right there. He hated how he could see bruises, and ribs and hipbones and limps in some of the dancers. He hated the man’s voice who announced every dancer as /his/ as if these victims were a collection. 

He hated most that you were last. He hated that you were /his/ angel. He hated how much his breath left his lungs as the heavy curtains were pulled back to reveal someone who looked like you. 

You’d lost a lot of weight very quickly— it showed in your face and hips. You’d very obviously had your nose broken— and he knew better than the drunk patrons that the places on your cheekbone, jaw and lip were heaviest— likely due to the abuse you’d endured. He knew you were too young for this but he had never been one to tell you how to do something. 

He wish he had chains you to your bed until you forgot about doing this. 

You began to walk under the lights on you, leaving you exposed in nothing but a silk robe, kneepads, impossibly high heels and likely a lingerie set. You eyed the pole as if it was the sexiest thing you’d ever seen and grabbed it, stroking it as if it were the prettiest cock in the world while making eye contact with some sweaty overweight man in the front row. He, in kind, threw what looked like a hundred dollar billet you and you winked, reaching under the hem of your robe and tucking it into your bra. 

You dropped and bounced while the pole remain between your legend smirked, undoing the fabric belt holding your robe closed and pulled it open, revealing a deep red lingerie set that matched your kneepads and heels and a sudden explosion of money landed on the stage. You threw your head back and laughed, spinning on your knees and backing your ass against the pole began to twerk. 

“Bucky—“ Sam tried, but it was too late. The tumbler in his hand had already exploded and Bucky found it suddenly very hard as a man in a business suit slapped the stage excitedly. You crawled towards him on your hands and knees and raised your wings wide and proud and the crowd lost their mind. 

“I can’t fucking watch this anymore.” Bucky snarled into the comms and he could hear Steve huff. 

“Buck— we corresponded with her last night. She has a plan. In the folds of the curtains on the stage there’s a pistol. When the Ringmaster comes down and closes the night she’ll shoot him in the knees and we’ll take it from there. Stay calm. She’s stronger than she looks.” Steve warned cautiously and Steve could feel his heart break for his best friend. He never did like seeing Natasha sell her femininity to complete a mission, and he voiced it multiple times as the two would get ready for bed together. 

“She’s doing… really well, Ice.” Tony tried and Bucky cut him off with a snarl as you leaned forward and kissed the Business Man who gave you a large wad of cash. You smirked and shouldered your robe off, pushing it into his hands and winking. The man fell back into the chair as if dazed. 

You stood again, hands squeezing your breasts as you flapped your wings and flew to the top of the pole. There was a pause, and then a red bra falling from the roof followed by you who slid down the pole head first and breasts bared. Your wings flapped cautiously as your head almost touched the stage, but you’d clenched your thighs in time, stopping in time. Your nipples were hard due to the anxiety and chill of the room but a raging monster which had ignited in Bucky’s whole body roared loudly. No. This was something only /he/ should be able to see— that was /his/ best girl. You put your hands on the ground and let one leg fall down, slipping it past the floor and landing in the splits where you once against began to twerk towards the edge of the stage. You rolled over onto your butt and lay back, lifting her legs in the air and shimmying your underwear over your thighs and calves and leaving your body wholly exposed for the crowd. You rolled over and faced leaned against the pole, spreading your legs and exposing your sex as you flung the underwear right into someone wearing a ‘Bride to Be!’ Sash’s face. 

He had to give her credit, you did know how to work a crowd. 

You were crawling through cash— writhing for the crowd and shaking your body for anyone with a dime in their wallets for who knows how long. Bucky had stopped watching, tears welling up in his eyes as he thought about the pain you had endured these past three months— without him or any of the team you called family. 

Eventually the music stopped, and the crowd stood, applauding and yelling nasty things they would like to do to you. You stood, and pranced over to the man who had walked on stage. His face was covered by a balaclava and your wings flapped nervously as his placed a hand on your ass and pulled you to his side. He grabbed your face roughly and slammed his lips onto your own and your wings went stiff— the same way they did when you were about to cry or when you were in an emotional low. 

His mouth dipped down to harshly bite your nipple and you tend your head away from the crowd as they screamed happily. His free hand not holding a microphone cupped your sex eagerly and Bucky saw red when the Ringmaster dipped to fingers into your cunt, pulling them out and sucking them into his mouth. 

“You did just as well as you taste, Angel.” He crooned into the microphone and you didn’t make eye contact as you turned towards the stage entrance, hand landing on the curtain as you looked back over the crowd. As if it were natural, your eyes landed on him and Bucky could see your chin wobble and a deeply relieved smile spread across your face. 

“Doors are locked, and the feds are waiting. Whenever YN is ready.” Tony informed and Bucky stalked towards the stage with Sam beside him. Before he could hop on the stage, you had turned around, closed one eye and pointed the guns hat had appeared in your hands at the back of the Ringmasters knees, shooting both of them out. Bucky couldn’t hear the screams, then because you had broken character, dropping the gun and running downt he stage to your man. 

You jumped off the stage and into his arms and Bucky nodded at Sam who threw a shock blanket over your wings and shoulders. Bucky curled his arms around your waist and pulled you close, nosing your neck and holding you as you sobbed— great heaving sounds that shook him to his core. 

“I’m here, Princess. I’m here. Always and forever, baby.” He crooned, continuing to whisper sweet nothings as you buried yourself in him and he watched as the Feds and MPD arrest anyone and everyone they could get their hands on. 

Justice had never been a greater relief than having his girl in his arms and the man who had tortured her for three months being slammed into he stage and handcuffed. No punishment would be enough, but the seventeen life sentences he had been told about seemed good enough. 

“I love you.” You cried and he held you closer, his head breaking over how tiny you’d become and over the state of your wings. He could see the fake feathers, now and how small the muscles at the base fo them had become. He pulled back and held your cheeks in his welcomingly hot hands and your glistening eyes looked at him. 

“I love you, YN. I love you so much.” He pressed his lips to your gently, and you flinched lightly before warming up to him again. You had had to remind yourself that this huge, hulking man would never lay a finger on you. You were safe. You were safe with Bucky. 

“I’m not— I can’t do much more than kissing for a long time, I think.” You said, sniffling and he pulled you closer, tucking you under his arm as you toed off your heels and slipped them into he sandals Steve had brought you. 

“You were brilliant, YN. Not up there— well, yeah up there but that’s not what I mean, you know? I meant that you did something amazing doing this.” Steve had fumbled and you rolled your eyes and laughed slightly. 

“Nice to see you too, Steve.” Steve had shown himself out when Bucky glared particularly hard at him nd you turned back to Bucky. 

“I have a request.” You asked and Bucky nodded immediately. 

“Anything.”

“I have a friend who needs a home.”

“Done.”

____________________

It had been a week since the team returned from Miami. A week since Ringmaster— Victor Doom— had been arrested. A week since the Avengers welcomed their new teammate, Sasha. 

A week since Bucky had seen you. 

You’d shut yourself in your room as soon as the med bay had ceased you. You didn’t attend the debriefings— you’d sent in all of your files by e-mail, and had left voice memos on the parts which were unclear. Your voice was empty and soft and nothing like the boisterous, outspoken woman you had been before you had left. 

Sasha had found Bucky in the gym late at night and she had perched herself on the bench by his things until he had beat the shit out of several leather punching bags. He turned and saw the feline woman waiting and sighed, trudging over to her and sitting on the bench next to her. He thanked Sasha for the ice water bottle she handed him and hunched over, holdings head in his hands. 

“Why is this happening?” He whispered and she sighed. 

“You want the real truth or the fluffy truth?” She replied and Bucky looked over at her, resting his cheek in his hand and asking for the first option. 

“He treated her the worst. In the three months he’d known her, he totally attached himself to her. She was forced to sleep in his room, and she was the finale every night. She was his prized possession. I have a theory since she has those beautiful white wings he thought she was an angel of some sort— and if you had an angel under your foot it made you a God. Ringma— Victor was drunk on that power. She needs time, and she needs to relearn that men aren’t going to hurt her.” She shrugged and he rubbed his wet eyes with his fists. 

“I should have never let her go on that mission.” He whimpered and her hand was warm as it rested on his forearm. 

“I also know she was the strongest. Out of all fo us she was the strongest, and the bravest and the kindest. Whenever he would want one of us she was there with her gentle hands and her smile and she was there. I think that’s what she needs. Is someone to just show her kindness with no alterior motive.” Sasha mumbled and he stood, looking down at her. She handed him his bag and offered a small smile which showed her tiny fangs. 

“Thank you, Sasha. I’m happy you’re here.” He said and the fur on her arms rose. Bucky nodded at her and she smiled at her hands as he left her to go to his girl. His beautiful girl who needed him. 

____________________

The room was dark when he opened the door. The black out curtains and windows were shut and there were no lights on— even the alarm clock on your bedside table had been unplugged. Bucky wasn’t even sure if you knew what day it was as he crawled on the bed towards you, hand falling on your shoulder as he turned on the soft warm light on your headboard. 

You jumped when you felt his touch, wings flapping up and launching you instinctually across the room. Your eyes, usually warm in colour had turned an ice white, and your stance was immediately offensive. You looked wild and it broke Bucky’s heart. 

He kneeled on the bed and held his hands open non-threateningly, slowly walking towards you. 

“YN, It’s me, James Buchanan Barnes. It’s September 22nd, 2024 and we’re in Northern New York. Your best friend is Natasha Romanoff and you’re safe here.” He said immediately, making his chest rumble as he spoke to make his voice sound rounder and warmer. Your wings unruffled slightly and lowered until his hands touched yours and you shoved him away from yourself, launching him back onto the bed. He had forgotten how truly powerful you were— you were always gentle with him. 

“Your favourite colour is yellow. Not the primary colour version, but a warmer version of it— like a dark sunflower. Your favourite movie is the Zookeepers Wife because you love Jessica Chastain and because it’s genuinely an amazing movie. Your favourite music is pop, but you pretend to be cool and say alternative music. You love leg day at the gym but you hate arm and ab day.” He tried again, shaking himself off and walking back towards you. This time, he was able to touch your arms, and brush back your hair from your face. Eventually, your irises came back, and you blinked up at him as if you hadn’t known you were in the defensive. 

“YN?” He whispered and you shook your head, swaying and falling into his arms, wings limp behind you. He picked you up easily and put you on the bed. 

“What— why’re you in here? I locked the door and I’m not really in the mood—“

“You need someone, YN. You’re not alone and you’re safe. I’m not going to touch you anymore unless you want it, but you need help and I’m here for you.” He whispered and you sucked in a big breath, laying back down and turning your back on him. 

“I don’t need help.” Your voice was small and unsure and Bucky nodded. Instead of leaving, he walked to the window and pushed the curtains open slightly so he could unlatch the windows and push them open. He closed them again and turned to the mess of the floor, beginning to clean it up. He took a washcloth from your bathroom and wiped the dust off of the flat surfaces of your room and lit a candle— your favourite— so the room could smell better than it was right now. 

“You do.” He said finally, and he was unsure if you were awake to hear him. “You do, and I’m not going anywhere. You got me until you don’t want me anymore, baby.” He said, opening the door and leaving once more. He wasn’t sure you had heard him until he got three feet from the door and heard one, heaving sob from your room followed by silence. 

God, he hoped you’d want him until the end of time. 

______________________

The plates of food were hot in Bucky’s hands as he toed open your door. It was a quick recipe that his ma had taught him (the only dish he’d remembered— even back then), and just so happened to be one of your favourite meals. 

“YN?” He called, noticing that your sheets were rumbled and empty. The curtains were still closed, but the window had remained open and the light had remained on from when he’d visited early int he morning- or late last night. 

There was no response but Bucky put the dishes on your desk and noticed the the light from under the bathroom door was peeking through. He walked across the room and knocked, calling your name once more. When he was greeted with a small cry and a sound of frustration, Bucky’s mind went to the darkest place and he slammed the door open, expecting to see the worst. 

Instead, he saw you facing the mirror, a garbage bag half full fo broken or dead feathers. He’d frightened you again, but insured of becoming defensive like you had last night, your eyes spilled over with tears. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in and call. I’m sorry, please.” You begged and Bucky’s heart went to his throat. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you, baby. I thought you were hurting yourself so I got scared. I’m sorry I scared you” He whispered and YN’s chin wobbled as she nodded. 

“Do you— do you need help?” He asked you, noticing that the place where feather met flesh was left untouched. You’d never been able to reach that part of your wings, and always had himself or Natasha help you. 

“What?” You asked, looking at him through the mirror. 

“Do you need help? Preening, I mean?” He asked again and you breathed in a large breath and nodded, watching as he slowly moved towards you, making his movements obvious as to not frighten you. “I’m gonna touch your wings now, okay?”

You nodded and sniffed and his fingers found their favourite place in your feathers. He picked out the soft downy feathers that had turned brown, and then moved to the larger feathers, apologizing profusely when it hurt or he pulled too slowly. It was another half hour before he finished, and he ran his fingers in the direction the feathers naturally fell. 

“Can I kiss your shoulder?” He whispered, looking at you through the mirror. Your wings twitched and he swore the tips of your ears got darker. 

“Yes.” You breathed and he didn’t break eye contact as he dipped his head and placed his lips on your shoulder, holding them there for a few seconds before kissing it again quickly and rising to his full height. 

“Want to shower and I’ll set dinner up? We can watch something on Netflix— we don’t even need to touch or talk if you don’t want to.” He said, fingers on your wings again, making you shiver. 

Your bottom lip trembled and you nodded slowly, turning to him and placing your hands on his chest. You flattened the wrinkles in his t-shirt and didn’t look into his eyes as he kissed your forehead and turned to go. 

“Call em if you need me, babe.” He said softly and he turned back to look at you, averting his eyes quickly as you began to pull off your clothes despite him seeing it all before numerous times. 

___________________

So, Bucky waited quietyl, listening for you to call him but he waited and waited until you came out fo the bathroom forty minutes later with your hair sleek and clean (for the first time since you’d left) and skin shaved and scrubbed raw. Your skin as pink from irritation fo your exfoliator and cloths and scrubs and heat rashes patterned your body due to the boiling water you’d used. 

“You okay?” Bucky asked, voice quiet and gruff. You looked at him and seemingly remembered he was there. You hugged your robe closer and he looked at his hands to give you the privacy you’d had taken away from you in Miami. 

“I— I will be. Maybe one day. I’m sorry I took too long, I needed to get /him/ off of me.” She replied, shifting her feet. She moved to her dresser and pulled out the softest clothes she could find, pulling them on and slowly moving toward her bed to sit two feet away from Bucky. 

“I’m sorry, Bucky. I— you shouldn’t have to feel you need to hang around. You deserve someone good.” You said and he looked at you sharply, making your gaze fall quickly to your shaking hands. His hand moved to cradle your chin and lift your gaze to his own. His eyes were warm and soft and nothing like the men you’d encountered in that god forsaken club. 

“Hey, you hung around me when I had my nightmares. You told me I was more than my trauma and more than the things I’d done. I’m here for you who you are now. Not who you were before.” He murmured and your eyes filled with tears. 

“But I’m— I had to do /things/ with other men. What if im all used up, or broken or something.” You cried and he scooted closer, petting your cheek. 

“I love you for who you are now. That’s the broken and the dark and the light.” He reaffirmed. 

“But what if I never want to have sex again? What if I can’t do that for you?” You whispered. The very thought of intercourse right now made you want to vomit for years. 

“Then I don’t want it. I don’t want sex if you don’t want it. I only ver want to be with you for the rest of my life, YN.” He continued and you sobbed, hands falling to your hands and shaking with grief and relief. You believed him— it was hard not to when he spoke to you like that or when he looked at you like that. 

“Do you want me to straighten out your feathers so they don’t dry wonky?” He asked and you felt yourself blush involuntarily. You wings flapped lightly and Bucky’s hair moved in their wind. 

“You’ll— you’ll stop if I ask you to?”

“Immediately. In a heartbeat.”

“Promise?” You asked. You’d been promised men would stop before— they never did. 

“Pinky swear.” He held out his pinky and you smiled softly, wrapping your own pinky around his. If Bucky Barnes followed any rule in the world it would be never breaking a pinky promise. He pulled your hand to his lips and they were warm and soft against your knuckles. His gaze made your cheeks flush pleasantly, and maybe, you would be okay one day. 

Pushing back the anxiety in your heart and chanting mantras of affirmations in your head that Bucky wouldn’t hurt you, that Bucky loved you, that Bucky would be here for some time you sat still as he crawled onto his knees on the bed behind you and began tugging your feathers gently. You fell into a half-dazed state— the feeling of someone you knew you could trust combing through the most sensitive part fo your body was something you truly missed. You missed the gentle intimacy that came with good men, and you were grateful you had managed to fall in love with the best one of them all. 

[andimackshitposts]

Can you write jyrus at cyrus’ house and they are acting all couply in his room and someone comes in. I just want to see Jonah’s reaction.

I’m back from the dead! I’m sure no one will read this, but I feel like I owe it to myself to finish my jyrus prompts….Anyways, I hope you enjoy the story! I turned this into a secret relationship fic. 

It was late on a Saturday afternoon, and lazy late summer sunlight flooded Cyrus’s bedroom. It lit the room in shades of orange, and warmed his skin, as he sat on his bed. His head was leaned on his boyfriend’s–boyfriend, his heart thudded at the thought–shoulder. He leaned up, suddenly, and pressed a kiss to Jonah’s cheek, because that was something he could do now, and grinned. The sunlight caught in Jonah’s eyes as he smiled back, illuminating flecks of gold among the green.  

“What was that for?” Jonah asked, still beaming. 

Cyrus shrugged. “I dunno. Because I can? Because I’m so happy?” He wanted to say because I love you, but he knew it was too soon. They’d only been together a few weeks. Just because Cyrus had been falling for Jonah since the day they met, didn’t mean Jonah was necessarily on the same page. 

Jonah blushed an adorable shade of pink. “I’m happy, too.” And then Jonah moved, pushing Cyrus off his shoulder, so he could lay back on the bed, and motioned for Cyrus to follow. Cyrus did so, nestling his head in the crook of Jonah’s neck, which they’d recently discovered was the perfect fit. Jonah smelled like apricot shampoo and fresh cut grass and it took every ounce of Cyrus’s self control not inhale as deeply as humanly possible. He reminded himself that his pillow would still smell like Jonah later. 

Jonah put his arms around Cyrus and pulled him close. Cyrus loved this, this simply existing in the same space, cuddling and kissing and just. Being. He would’ve stayed in Jonah’s arms forever, if it was possible. But at least they had this time together. At school, things had hardly changed between them, save for secret hidden looks, because Jonah wasn’t out yet. And that was fine, Cyrus knew that coming out was different for everyone, and he was more than happy to give Jonah the time he needed to do it on his terms. But it was still hard. It was hard that he couldn’t talk to his best friends about his new boyfriend, about his relationship. It was hard that he couldn’t hold hands with his boyfriend while they walked down the school hallways. It was worth it, he knew, because Jonah was an incredible person, and being with him, really, truly being with him was the best thing that had ever happened to Cyrus. And it was these moments that reminded Cyrus of that. 

They were lucky, Cyrus knew, that their parents were all accepting and supportive. That was the only reason they had this time together. Cyrus knew he could tell his mom that Jonah was coming over an hour earlier than Buffy and Andi, and she would know exactly what he meant, and she wouldn’t bother them. He was extremely grateful for that. He wished his friends knew, but for now, this would have to do.

Cyrus checked his watch and sighed. They only had about 5 minutes until the girls showed up, or at least, until Andi showed up. She was irritatingly early to everything. Cyrus sat up and started to straighten his hair and clothes, to hide any sign of what they’d been doing for the last hour. 

“Why’d you stop?” Jonah asked, frowning. 

“We don’t have much time before the girls get here,” Cyrus explained. “And if we want plausible deniability that we haven’t been, you know, canoodling, for the last hour, we have to look presentable, alright?” 

Jonah snorted. “Canoodling?” He shook his head. “God, you’re adorable.” 

Cyrus blushed, but stood his ground. “You will not flirt your way out of this. You’re the one who wants to keep this a secret, anyway.” 

Jonah sighed. “Yeah, you’re right, but,” he reached forward and grabbed Cyrus’s wrist, pulling him backwards so he was on top of Jonah, chest to chest, and nose to nose. “Right now, I want one more kiss.” 

Cyrus rolled his eyes, but propped himself up on his arms, and complied. Their lips met gently at first, sending a warmth rushing through Cyrus’s entire body. Cyrus expected it to be a short kiss, but as he tried to lift his head back, he felt Jonah’s hand on the back of his head, pulling him down again, and while he could’ve resisted and pulled away, he didn’t really want to stop, and the more Jonah kissed him, the more he forgot why he wanted to stop in the first place. Jonah’s lips were soft, but firm, and eventually they parted, and he bit down on Cyrus’s bottom lip, eliciting a moan. One of Cyrus’s hands found its way into Jonah’s free hand (the one that wasn’t cradling the back of Cyrus’s head), and he interlocked their fingers. If Cyrus could’ve lived in one moment forever, it would’ve been that. 

“What the hell?” A voice, more than a little irritated, broke them apart. It took Cyrus’s fuzzy brain a moment to process the source of the voice, and once he had, he wished he hadn’t. Because there was Andi, standing in the door to his room, with a hand on her hip, looking…not angry exactly, but confused and maybe a bit hurt. 

“Andi!” Jonah practically yelped, trying furiously to smooth the wrinkles out of his clothes, to fix his hair, as if he could somehow hide what was just happening. 

“Please don’t be mad,” was all Cyrus could manage, anxiety gnawing in the pit of his stomach. 

Andi rolled her eyes and stepped further into the room. “I feel like I just walked in on Jonah cheating on me or something. But I didn’t. Jonah and I haven’t dated for years. I don’t own him, or whatever. He’s a person with agency.” She turned to Jonah. “If you want to makeout with Cyrus, that’s okay. You know that’s okay, right?” 

Jonah nodded, still completely frazzled. “I know, I know. I just, things were always so messy between us, and I didn’t… I didn’t know how to bring it up. I haven’t even told you I’m bi yet! And I just…It was easier to keep it a secret.” 

Andi nodded. “I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me, Cy! You have a boyfriend! And it’s Jonah freakin’ Beck!” She was smiling now, which was a relief. 

“So…you’re okay with this?” Cyrus asked, not ready to believe it just yet. 

Andi rolled her eyes again. “Even if I still had feelings for Jonah, which I really, really don’t, we haven’t dated in years. My feelings about your relationship wouldn’t matter. As it happens, all I feel about this development is happiness for two of my best friends!” 

Jonah and Cyrus let out simultaneous sighs of relief. “Thank God.” Cyrus said, at the same time that Jonah said, “Buffy doesn’t know yet, either.” 

Andi raised an eyebrow. “I’m impressed that Cyrus was able to keep that from her. He must really like you a lot.” 

Jonah blushed. 

“I do,” Cyrus confirmed. “But mostly I just don’t want to take his coming out away from him. It should be his decision.” 

“That’s fair.” Andi nodded. “More than fair, even.” 

“So…” Jonah hesitated. “You won’t tell anyone?” 

Andi made a motion of turning a key over her lips, and then throwing it over her shoulder. “My lips are sealed, I promise.”

“Thank you.” 

“Now, tell me,” Andi grinned. “How the hell did this happen?” 

Cyrus laughed. “Buffy’ll be here soon, so how about we give you the short version?” 

Andi sat down next to Cyrus and nodded. “Short version is good with me.” 

“Well, a little over a month ago–” 

“I’m sorry, it’s been over a month?” Andi broke in. “Are you kidding me? And you’ve been keeping it a secret this whole time? Do your families know?” 

Jonah nodded. “They do. I’m just not ready to be out at school.” 

“You know your friends won’t care, right? Me, Buffy, Marty, Gus, Amber–we’re all here for you. None of us would out you, or judge you, or be anything but over the moon happy for you, for both of you. You both deserve to be happy.” 

Jonah smiled slowly. “I’m starting to figure that out.” 

Cyrus squeezed his hand gently, and returned to the story. “So, long story short, remember when I had to bake all those cupcakes for that charity bake sale?”

“Oh my God,” Andi grinned. 

“Jonah offered to help me, and we finished around midnight, and we were both exhausted, and we all know what Jonah is like when he’s tired.” 

Jonah flushed. “Shut up.” 

“Aw,” Andi chuckled. “Don’t be embarrassed that you have zero filter after 10 PM, it’s endearing, I promise.” 

“So, anyways, he just slipped up and called me ‘cute’ and I didn’t let it go until he admitted that he had a crush on me,” Cyrus felt himself blushing at that. “And I obviously felt the same. So here we are.” 

“That’s so cute.” 

Cyrus blushed further. “I guess it kind of is.” 

At that moment, there was a knock on the door, and they all knew Buffy was there. They heard Cyrus’s mom letting her in, and telling her to head to Cyrus’s room. 

“Hey, Cy?” Jonah said. 

“Yeah?” 

“I think I want to tell Buffy.” Jonah looked at Cyrus nervously. “I think I want to tell all our friends.” 

Cyrus smiled and pressed a kiss to Jonah’s forehead. “Whatever you want.” 

And then Buffy was there, in front of the three of them. 

Cyrus looked at his boyfriend. “You ready?” 

Jonah nodded. “Ready.”

[you-get-to-exhale-now-cyrus]

#3 of the winter prompt for tyrus

((you got it!! 3. “You. Me. Snowman. Now.”))

Word Count: 1,463

At precisely 5:34 AM, all the phones in the Goodman household starting ringing. Cyrus groaned, putting a pillow over his face before realizing what that meant. As quick as his tired body could manage, he leaned over and answered his phone.

“Hello, this is a prerecorded message from Jefferson Middle School. Tomorrow, there will be no school due to the weather. School will reconvene the following day,”

The other phones were turned off after a minute, followed by a string of complaints from his parents (”Why can’t they just send a text the night before,” he heard Norman grumble).

Sighing happily, he grabbed a blanket from the foot of his bed, wrapped it around himself, and padded towards his window. Was it a bad idea for him to be opening his window at 5:37 AM just to see some snowflakes? Probably. Did he do it anyways? Yes.

It was beautiful. Millions of white flecks dotting the sky as they hurried towards the ground. One landed on his finger, and he pressed it into his palm, allowing it to melt. Ever since he was a little kid, his parents had told him that all snowflakes were wishing opportunities. He pressed his palm to his heart and made his wish.

I wish TJ would like me back.

The next time Cyrus woke up, it was almost nine o’clock. Morning sun rays spilled through his blinds, causing him to squint as he got up. His lawn, along with his neighbors’, was covered in a thick blanket of snow. The wheelbarrow that held leftover dirt was nowhere to be seen, probably engulfed by the snow. Beaming, he grabbed his phone and texted TJ.

[Me]: did u see the snow??? its crazy

He scrolled through some older conversations he’d had with the other boy, and they made his heart soar. He counted every heart emoji that TJ used (13 within the past few days), and every keyboard smash (30, again within the past few days).

[TJ

[TJ

Cyrus smiled, flopping back on his bed.

Thirty-one.

“Make sure you come inside when you get cold! I’ll have cocoa ready!”

“I will!”

Cyrus waddled out of the house in a thick parka, a scarf, a pair of bulky gloves, snow pants, a knitted hat, and boots. One wrong move and he’d go tumbling down and wouldn’t get back up.

“Hey, Underdog!” A familiar voice chirped, kicking some snow out of his way, “ready to make a snowma–what are you wearing?”

Cyrus rolled his eyes playfully. “Snow attire, something you are clearly not cultured in,” he pointed out. TJ sported a thin hoodie, with finger-less gloves and a beanie. Sneakers were where his boots should have been, and no snow pants were seen.

“How you wound me,” TJ sighed dramatically, placing a hand over his heart, “but seriously, you look like a store than ran out of mannequins, so they put every thing on one,”

Cyrus would have crossed his arms, but his jacket was too bulky, so he opted for putting them on his hips. “I came outside to build a snowman, not to be ridiculed for the fashion efforts of my parents,”

TJ put his hands up in mock defense. “Okay, okay, you got me. Now,” he took a breath, a silly grin splitting his face, “do you wanna build a snowman? C’mon let’s go and play,” he sung, flailing his arms dramatically in an attempt to dance.

It took a moment for Cyrus to process the sheer amount of cuteness before him, but when he finally came to his senses, he gave in to TJ’s singing.

“I never see you anymore, come out the door, it’s like you’ve gone away!” he continued, his voice cracking near the end, ducking his head.

“We can’t all be talented singers like me,” TJ commented, earning him a shove from Cyrus.

“What happened to building snowmen, Kippen?” Cyrus joked, narrowing his eyes.

“I’d rather just listen to you try to sing. It’s cute,” he replied smoothly, silently cursing himself for not bringing a scarf to hide his blush.

“…shut up,” Cyrus responded quietly, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“I’m serious,” TJ told him, grabbing a handful of snow from the ground and forming a little ball, “you look so cute when you-” he cut himself off, throwing the snowball at Cyrus and watching it fall apart, allowing it to dust his face.

“Hey, no fair! You can’t distract me like that! You didn’t even start a formal snowball fight!” Cyrus pouted, a few loose snowflakes falling from his eyelashes.

TJ shrugged, smirking at the shorter boy. “Life’s not fair, Underdog. You just gotta get used to it. And it hurts like hell sometimes, but you get the cards you’re dealt,”

“…are we still talking about snowball fights?” Cyrus asked, tugging at one end of his scarf.

TJ merely shrugged again, walking over to one of the benches the Goodmans had. “I mean,” he started, dusting off the seat so he could sit down, patting a seat for Cyrus, “sometimes I feel like the odds are stacked against me,”

Cyrus frowned, slipping off his gloves and shoving them inside his pockets. “Why do you say that?”

TJ scoffed, absentmindedly taking Cyrus’ hand in his. “Well, considering I’m gay, I feel like I’m starting at square negative five,” he mumbled.

Cyrus squeezed his hand. “Hey, we’re talked about this. It doesn’t matter what other people think about you. There are so many people that care about you and–”

“Wait,” he interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, “it gets worse because…shit, why is this so hard,” he grumbled, puffing out a breath of air.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me,” Cyrus assured him, meeting TJ’s icy blue eyes with his warm brown ones.

“See that’s the thing, I can’t tell you. I can tell literally anybody but you,” he sighed, releasing Cyrus’ hand and rubbing his temples.

Hurt. That’s how Cyrus felt. “Wh-how come you can’t tell me? But you can tell other people? Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” he replied quickly, “I mean…sort of. Not on purpose,” he supplied, a frustrated breath coming out of his nose and creating a small white cloud.

Cyrus willed himself not to cry; it was too cold and he was worried that his tears would freeze. “..I’m sorry, I guess,” he whimpered, pressing his bare hands onto his eyes and rubbing at the furiously, “for whatever it is I did,” he muttered, standing up.

A few snowflakes landed in his hand, and he clenched it into a fist. I wish TJ would tell me what’s wrong. I wish that whatever I did wrong I could correct.

As if TJ could read his thoughts, he sprung to his feet. “There’s nothing you can to,” he started, bracing himself, “it’s not your fault that I fell for you,”

Silence. The worst sound of them all.

Cyrus glanced up at TJ, trying to meet his gaze, but the boy’s eyes were shut tight. “…like-”

“I like you, dammit,” TJ huffed, opening his eyes and kicking at the snow under his feet, “and you make it so hard for me not to do so. Every time you hold my hand, or tell me that I’m enough, or cheer me on at my basketball games, I just fall harder and harder. And I sucks, because yeah, I know you like guys, but why on earth would you like this guy,” he pointed to himself, sighing dejectedly.

“TJ,” Cyrus began, taking his scarf off and placing it around TJ’s neck so he could still pull on the edges. He tugged him closer, nearly stumbling over his boots that were too big for him.

“I like you too…dammit,” he whispered, a tiny breath of moisture appearing between them. Giving the scarf one last tug, he pressed his lips against TJ’s eliciting a squeak from the taller boy.

Cyrus could audibly hear TJ take in a breath after they pulled back. His cheeks were a deep shade of red, and that was definitely not only because of the weather.

“Wow,” he murmured, taking Cyrus’ hand and intertwining their fingers, “I can get used to that,”

Cyrus smiled warmly, nodding over to his house and beckoning for TJ to follow. “Me too,” he replied.

As they walked, a few snowflakes accumulated in Cyrus’ free hand. He almost made another few wishes, but he took a look to his right. Seeing TJ there, holding his hand, and smiling because he was happy to be with Cyrus, he wiped his hand on his snow pants. He didn’t need any wishes; he had everything he ever wanted right here.

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