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oopsitsstella · 3 years

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A Soldier Comes Home

Peter Parker x Mom! Reader, Sam Wilson x Reader

Fandom: The MCU

Parker-Wilson Family Masterlist: More stories in the same universe

Warnings: Some angst, but it’s not too bad, me not knowing things about being a soldier, so I most likely got things wrong

A/N: Peter is 11 years old in the first section of the fic, and 16 in the second one. Peter acts a bit younger than an eleven year old in the first part, but let’s just go with it. Also, Sam isn’t Peter’s actual dad, Y/N already had Peter when she and Sam started dating.

2012

It was five in the morning on a chilly November day at LaGuardia Airport. Y/N Parker was kneeling in front of her son Peter, wiping the tears off his cheeks, while her sister and boyfriend stood behind them, watching the interaction.

“I don’t want you to go.” Peter said quietly.

A sad smile crept onto Y/N’s face, and she brought Peter in so she could hug him properly.

“I know you don’t. I don’t either, but duty calls.” She tells him, pulling back slightly to look at his face.

“Mom has to go be a hero.” Sam speaks up, and Peter turns his head to look at him.

“Like Iron Man?” He asks, looking back at his mom.

“Yeah. Exactly like Iron Man.” Sam chuckles.

“I’m cooler though, aren’t I?” Y/N asks, and Peter cracks a smile.

“You’ll always be the coolest.” He says, before more tears slip down his face.

“Oh, my darling boy.” Y/N sighs, hugging him again. “It’ll be okay. Sam and May will look after you, and I’ll call, or write letters as often as I can.” She promised him, while Sam crouched down next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You trust me, right?” He asked, trying to lighten the mood. It seemingly worked, seeing as Peter let out a teary laugh.

“Yeah.” He said, and Sam also gave him a quick hug.

The two adults stood up again, and May came and put a hand on her nephews shoulder, while Y/N wrapped her arms around Sam.

“Promise you’ll be careful?” He asked.

“I always am.” She assured him, pressing her lips firmly against his. They kept their embrace for a while longer, before pulling away.

Y/N then moved to her sister, giving her a hug too.

“I’ll miss you.” May said quietly.

“I’ll miss you too.” Y/N whispered, tightening her arms around May for a moment before letting go.

“Think you’re ready to go?” Sam asked.

“Not quite.” Y/N said, crouching down to the ground. “Can I have one last hug, Pete?”

Peter didn’t hesitate a second, launching himself into his mom’s arms, one last embrace before she left.

When they let go of each other, Y/N stood back up, and gripped onto her bag.

“I’ll call as soon as I can after I land.” She promised.

One last goodbye from her small family, and off she went.

2017

It had been five years since Y/N saw her son in person. Five years.

Yeah, it came with being a soldier, she knew that, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Not being able to see her son, her boyfriend or her sister for such a long time was not a good feeling. So when Y/N received the news that her deployment was ending, rest assured she was over the moon.

She knew Peter would most likely be in school, so she instead decided to call Sam.

“Hi Sam.” She spoke into the phone.

“Hey Baby. How are you doing?” Sam’s voice greeted.

“I’m doing… spectacular, honestly.”

“Oh really? Any particular reason, or is it just a good day?”

“There is a very particular reason.” Y/N couldn’t help the giddiness seeping into her voice. “My deployment’s ended. I’m coming home.”

“What?! Seriously? You’re not messing with me?”

“Samuel, would I joke about this?”

“Touché, no you wouldn’t.” Sam said. “Do Peter and May know?”

“No, they don’t. I figured Peter’ in school, and May wasn’t answering, so I called you.”

“Well, don’t I feel special now.” Sam said, making Y/N laugh. “When are you coming back?”

“Well, me and the other soldiers who are coming back are getting a flight, it leaves Wednesday night, so two days from now, so if all goes according to plan I’ll be landing at around noon on Thursday.” Y/N explained. “Oh, but that means Peter will be in school when I get home, doesn’t it?”

“It does indeed, sadly.” Sam said. “But I’m sure we could get Peter out of school for the day so he could come greet you.”

“Is it bad I kinda don’t want to tell him so I can surprise him on Thursday?” Y/N spoke hesitantly, and Sam laughed.

“No, I don’t think so. You wanna surprise him?”

“I kinda do.” Y/N chuckled. She could hear the sound of fingers snapping, before Sam spoke again.

“I have an idea. Tony’s been wanting to have dinner with the whole team, May and Peter included, and I also happen to know, and I think you do too, that he’s been wanting to actually meet you in person.”

Y/N had met her son’s superhero mentor a few times when she had been on the phone with Peter, and Tony also happened to be around.

“Sam, are you saying what I think you are?” Y/N asked.

“I mean, great minds think alike, right?” He said, and Y/N laughed.

That day, Sam and Y/N, along with Tony and May made a plan. May would come pick Y/N up from the airport that Thursday, and they would spend some time together. Then Sam would come pick her up, and they would also spend time together, before heading to the tower. Then, later that night, Peter and May would come to the tower for dinner with the team, and there Y/N would be. Ready to see her son for the first time in 5 long years.

“I missed you so much. You don’t even know.” Y/N whispered, tightening her arms around Sam’s neck.

Sam had just pulled up outside the apartment complex where May and Peter lived, where Y/N had been waiting for him, and as soon as he was out of the car, Y/N had launched herself into Sam’s arms.

“If it’s anywhere near as much as I missed you, I think I have a pretty good idea.” Sam replied.

Y/N pulled back slightly to look at her boyfriend. Much like May, he hadn’t changed much, but she was almost thankful for that. It was nice coming home to familiar faces.

“Still as handsome as ever.” She said quietly, placing a hand on his cheek.

“And you’re still as beautiful as when I last saw you.” Sam replied smoothly.

“And you haven’t lost your charm.”

“I could never.”

“Fair enough.” Y/N whispered, before placing her lips on his.

“Peter, come on! We have to go!” May called to her nephew.

“Mr. Stark isn’t going to be mad if we’re a little late!” Peter called back.

“That doesn’t mean we have to be.” May responded as Peter walked into the hallway. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

The car ride to the tower was mostly filled with silence. The radio was on, playing music, and May and Peter talked a little bit, but it was mostly silent.

“May, are you okay?” Peter asked after a while. “You seem a little on edge.”

“I’m fine Peter.” May assured him, glancing at him before looking back at the road. “I’m just a bit nervous about meeting the team. I have only met Tony, Pepper and Happy before, you know. Other than Sam, of course.”

It wasn’t a complete lie. It was true that she hadn’t met most of the team yet, but it was most certainly not the reason she was a little nervous.

They soon arrived at the tower, and were greeted by Tony, Pepper and Sam standing at the entrance waiting for them.

“Hey buddy.” Sam said, giving Peter a hug, before giving one to May.

“Welcome, welcome.” Tony said, giving both Peter and May a hug as well, Pepper doing the same. “How are we doing on this fine evening?”

“I’m okay. I’m missing mom a little. Well, more than usual, I haven’t talked to her in a while.” Peter said.

“Well that’s okay.” Sam said, placing a hand on Peter’s shoulder as they all stepped into the elevator. “I’m sure we can make you feel a bit better.”

The five of them stepped out of the elevator, and walked through the kitchen.

“Mm, before I forget, I don’t know if May told you, but we have a special guest join us tonight.” Pepper told Peter as they stepped into the dining room.

“Oh really, who-“

Before Peter could finish his sentence, he stopped dead in his tracks. There, standing next to the couch, just a few feet away from him, stood his mom.

Her hair was a little longer than when he last saw her, and she looked a little tired, but there was no doubt about who it was.

“Mom?”

“Hi Peter.”

That was all it took before Peter was running towards her, and she caught him in a hug. Both of Peter’s arms wrapped around Y/N’s waist, while she placed one hand around his shoulder and one at the back of his head.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, tears in his eyes.

“I’m home.” She simply said.

“I missed you so much.” Peter whispered, tightening the hug.

“I missed you too.” Y/N replied, running her fingers through Peter's hair.

“Sam come here.” Peter said after a moment, reaching an arm out to him, making Y/N chuckle.

“Oh, I’m allowed to be part of the family moment?”

“You’ve been a part of this family for forever, now come here. You too May.” Peter said.

Sam let out a chuckle as May walked up to her sister and nephew, before he also joined the trio.

Y/N kept one arm around Peter, her other one moving to wrap around Sam. May had both her arms wrapped around Y/N and Peter, while Sam’s arms were encasing the whole group, Peter still in the middle hugging his mom.

Their family was finally back together again.

#platonic! peter parker x reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x mom! reader #sam wilson x reader #peter parker imagine #sam wilson imagine #avengers x reader

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anika-ann · 3 years

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3+1 (Un)Wanted Mistletoe Encounters

Type: One-shot, Reader Insert Word count: 4200

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Kissing under the mistletoe is one of the most famous Christmas traditions; so obviously, it is not Christmas without it at the Tower.

Unfortunately for the occupants, you are not fond of the tradition – at all.

...or are you?

Warnings: cliché trope, pushy Pietro, discussion of dub-con I guess, language, fluff

A/N: Idea born from this video where John Mulaney says: “If any decoration needs to be MeToo’ed…” and goes on.

Beatiful divider by firefly-graphics

You were no Grinch.

In fact, you actually liked Christmas and the Holiday season, you enjoyed both giving and receiving and you appreciated when people found time to spend it together, whether in their own family circle or with their chosen one.

But. There was one significant ‘but’.

And with this being your first Christmas with the Avengers, Sam Wilson was about to learn about the said but first-hand, because that sweet kind-hearted dumbass with a sass streak walked right into it.

Quite literally.

December 23th, you woke up well-rested, got breakfast, wrapped several presents and were on your way to hunt down a lunch in the communal kitchen, when a voice stopped you in the doorway, where you nearly ran into Sam. Nearly.

“Ah-oh,” he hummed, a shit-eating grin spreading on his handsome face and you stopped dead in your tracks, frowning at the ominous sound.

“What?”

And then came the fateful words: “You’re standing under a mistletoe.”

You see, here was a thing; the tradition of hanging a mistletoe and meeting people under it by chance as an excuse to get a kiss from someone was… stupid. Downright idiotic. Pushing people into something they didn’t have a chance to back out from. Forced affection.

Yeah, that was not happening even if Sam was a real swell guy and you did find a newly hung mistletoe above your heads indeed as you briefly looked up to check if his words were true.

“Okay. And?”

His eyebrows rose in surprise, his tone turning slightly wavering.

“…And so am I?”

“And?” you continued, crossing your arms on your chest defensively, already preparing a rant that would hopefully spread like wildfire and ended this dumb tradition altogether. Or well, at least spread around the Tower so no one would ever try to corner you again.

“Really?” Sam deadpanned and you stared right back at him, your face probably displaying precisely how you felt; unimpressed.

“Yes, really,” you emphasized and pointed up at the offensive plant for a good measure. “This is a stupid concept, objectifying people, women especially. It’s about people being forced into showing affection they might not even feel. It’s bordering on a damn dub-con if not non-con.”

Sam blinked a few times, instinctively retreating as he felt you heating up. He raised his hands in a no-harm gesture to show he got your point.

But you were already on roll and you glimpsed Tony in the kitchen, so you thought that there was no harm in him hearing your speech too, just to make sure that the smug loveable bastard of a billionaire got the message as well.

“It’s like all those poor kids being asked why don’t you give your granny a hug before we go and a kiss to your granddad— well, it’s because I don’t want to and it’s my choice to give affection to someone! And now this thing, this is the tip of the iceberg, really, the last fucking drop- it needs to be Me Too’ed, I swear.”

You found yourself panting as you finished, your hands on your hips now – not that you realized you had put them there – and your belly hot and angry for some inexplicable reason; maybe it was the fact that it was Sam, amazing, friendly and understanding Sam Wilson, who had to go and point this stupid poisonous plant out for you; and have the audacity to ask for a kiss.

Dammit!

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he apologized sincerely, voice kind and without any hint of hurt or mockery. “It won’t happen again. I see that you might have a point in this.”

All the fight instantly left your body, replaced by warmth of friendship, mingling with a shiver of shame for your quick judgement and outburst. You sighed, easing your posture and offering and apologetic smile in return.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make a big deal of that-“

“No, it’s fine. Like I said, you’re kinda right.”

“Damn right I am,” you hummed, feeling the corners of your lips rise automatically as Sam chuckled and shook his head at your antics.

But hey – you were right. You were not sorry for that.

Still snickering to himself, Sam sidestepped you in the door and patted your shoulder.

As you continued your path as well, you would swear you heard Tony mutter under his breath that you were a Grinch.

Jerk.

“Hey! Don’t I get a kiss?” Clint called out a complaint as you met both stepped into that damn doorway at the same time.

As he pointed up, all you could do was to sigh, close your eyes and count to ten.

It had only been like four hours maybe; perhaps the word hadn’t gotten to him yet that you were not a fan of making out with random people – even if they were family – just because it was Christmas; or as Tony had put it, that you were a Grinch.

Personally, you thought that his insult had been inaccurate; you had given it a thought. Maybe you were more of a Scrooge. Perhaps you should tell him next time you saw him, just to see his face; Tony did pride in his ability to come up with witty nicknames.

You almost spitted out Bah, humbug now, just because.

“No, you don’t,” you said flatly instead, causing Clint’s jaw to quite literally drop as he looked at you with indignation and horror in his eyes.

“But--- but- mistletoe!” he stuttered and you sighed, deciding to explain it to him too – patiently.

“Why should some stupid plant tell me when someone is worth my affection? Someone who allegedly deserved it by simply standing under the same plant as me, no less? Get. Out. Not happening.”

You winced a bit as you registered the snappy tone you used.

Well. Half of the task of explaining it to him patiently went right, you’d call that a success, you supposed.

The poor archer just blinked, staring at you dumbfounded and mildly hurt; as if you had just told him that Santa Claus was nothing but a trick. Phew, as if you were that heartless…

Just-- logic. In fact, you had given this tradition a generous amount of thought since your last encounter under it and you figured out where it came from, historical inaccuracy be damned.

“I mean, where did the idea even come from? I bet it was just because some dude saw another guy mouth-to-mouth a girl, who happened to eat some of this poisonous parasite, may I add, and she was dying, so he gave her rescue breaths before continuing CPR. And the dude thought, that’s a great idea! Let’s make this a habit, just without the poisoning! Yeah, no. You’re not getting a kiss, Clinton,” you finished, satisfied with yourself as you managed to sound calmer this time.

Also, you were kinda proud of yourself for coming up with this story; it seemed very likely.

“That’s, uhm… an interesting take on history,” Clint hummed, watching you with uncertainty and hesitance and your heart stumbled in your chest as you guessed he was about to say something… cheeky, and outraging, in his cute brotherly way. “I need a hug at least tho.”

There we go.

“Nice try.”

You smirked and sidestepped him to be on your way and almost bumped into Steve, quickly shooting him a smile and disappearing out of sight before a silly idea about him and the stupid plant could form in your head – that would be bad and highly inappropriate, as was your crush on him, not to even mention your feelings—bah -!

“What did you do to her?” you heard the sweet supersoldier ask, a hint of accusation in his voice. Your smile widened, heat rising to your cheeks. Always so chivalrous; your heart could fucking melt.

“I asked for a hug after she refused to give me a kiss under a mistletoe,” Clint ratted you out, still hurt and honestly confused.

You stopped in your tracks as you rounded a corner, chewing on your lip guiltily.

Poor Clint; perhaps you had gone too hard on him… he couldn’t have known. You had to be kinder about it next time – after all, you might have been with them for almost a year now and they made you feel like you fit despite being so-so late to the Avengers party, but all of you still had things to learn about each other.

“Ah, you haven’t heard from Sam. Sorry,” Steve’s voice reached your ear, a notch kinder than before, compassionate even.

Compassion; another quality of Steve’s that you loved-

Bah, HUMBUG, that is not that, the L word is a bit much, that is not what’s happening-

“Wait, you knew- oh… Yeah, a heads-up would be nice,” Clint grumbled and made a pregnant pause, the sign of another prefect line coming. You held your breath in anticipation. “So are you gonna give me a hug or should I just get coffee, aka the hug in a cup-“

You held back laugher and swallowed the fondness for the good-natured archer before you could rush back and give him the damn hug.

“Coffee’s always a safe choice,” Steve replied and you thought you heard a chuckle and a grunt, unable to supress a giggle as you jogged away before they could notice you were still within hearing range.

Clint’s following monologue faded away as you walked.

“Nobody likes me. Nobody. I’m gonna die alone, surrounded by people who are too emotionally constipated to give a man a damn hug…”

Yeah, maybe you should give him a hug next time you saw him… no mistletoe though.

You truly believed that that would be the end of it; after all, a day had passed since the first incident, the incident that was left without a kiss, and you doubted anyone was out of the loop at this point.

That was stupid of you. Naïve even. You jinxed it.

You were just after light breakfast, ready to get a little work out in – complete with tacky remixes of Christmas songs prepared to cheer you up – when the supposedly fastest man in the Tower, and possibly the whole world, pretty much bumped into you.

And he had to bump into you just as you were walking through that fucking doorway with that fucking plant which you were supposed to put down right after the encounter with Sam, dammit.

But no, you didn’t want to ruin everyone else’s fun; in fact, Clint had taken it his personal mission to meet as many people as he could under the mistletoe to get a kiss… or a hug. Wanda hapilly shared affection with others, either kissing their cheek of hugging them. People were having fun.

So, obviously, you let it be, confident everyone knew better than to corner you.

No good deed ever went unpunished, especially in the Holiday season.

Pietro grinned as he spotted you, downright delighted, and spread his arms almost as if creating a cage around you, leaving very little room to escape.

You did not like that.

“A kiss for a guy who caught you under a mistletoe?” he hummed warmly with a sprinkle of cheek and despite his cheery demeanour, you couldn’t help yourself and rolled your eyes.

“In your dreams, Maximoff,” you huffed, trying to duck under his arm, only for him to move it so quickly it was only a blur to you.

Quick to move, slow to take a hint. Yep, that kind of behaviour had Pietro written all over it… Okay, now you were being mean, but he was being an ass, grinning wider and adding a wink to the mix, so it was only fair.

“How did you know? I thought it was just my sister who was telepathic?”

“Pietro, leave her alone,” Wanda spoke as if on cue, eyeing her brother with a frown from her spot behind the counter where she was trying to figure out a recipe for a special Christmas pastry from her old country.

A hint of a pout appeared on Pietro’s lips as he reciprocated Wanda’s gaze; unfortunately for you, he was still aware enough of you attempting to escape his cage, so far without using force; though you were inclined to violence should it be necessary.

“What?! It’s tradition! I thought Americans loved that!”

“Well, not all of us, so-“ you explained with a sigh, catching a glimpse of Steve as he now looked up from his spot on the couch where he had been nestled with a sketchbook for the past twenty minutes.

“I could kiss you before you even notice,” Pietro argued smugly, his expression earning a wolf-like edge as you glared back at him.

Well, it seemed your workout was just about to start, you thought, as you balled your hand into a fist, subtly testing the readiness of the muscles of your leg, prepared to kick the damn man-child to his shin or worse.

“She said no.”

Both your and Pietro’s heads snapped to Steve, who was watching the other man with intense displeasure, all complete with the mildly adorable wrinkle on his forehead – a sign of disappointment and irritation – and a voice that carried the gravity of a Captain’s order.

Which in this situation stirred something in your belly, warmth swelling in your chest as he rushed to your rescue; one not needed, but still appreciated. You didn’t react to Steve’s words aside from giving him a quick grateful smile and shooting Pietro a childish told-you-so look.

“She doesn’t have to do things just because it’s considered a tradition. Leave her be, Pietro,” Steve added, less snappy and simply requesting from the speedster to have a tiny bit of respect for your wishes.

Pietro was most definitely pouting now, but he dropped his arms and released you, still blocking the doorway.

“This is ridiculous,” Pietro muttered under his breath, only for you to hear and you gritted your teeth, irritation spiking again.

“You are being ridiculous. Now move or I swear I’ll slap you.”

“I’d like to see you try, Eagle.”

Oh, we’re doing nicknames now? He could use your title earned by being fast and occasionally deadly all he wanted, flattery would get him nowhere at this point.

“Wouldn’t even see it coming, Speedyboy,” you challenged, chin raised in defiance.

It was ironic, really, how much everyone seemed to insist on following this stupid tradition, even with you. At this point, it was practically everyone but Steve; everyone but the one person you’d be willing to kiss – mistletoe or not, though the plant would at least give you an excuse.

But nope, you just had to get stuck in the doorway with this moron instead.

“Ooookay, you two,” Natasha sing-sang, as she was approaching you from the corridor; you completely missed her arriving, that was how much Pietro irritated you. “Maximoff, move, you’re blocking the doorway. And if you corner her like this again, I’ll kill you in your sleep and you’ll never see that coming,” she promised, voice icily serious despite the twinkle in her eye.

You had no doubt she would deliver just what she promised.

Which was exactly why you leaned over to kiss her cheek, earning a brilliant smile from her and a light brush of her lips against your own cheek.

“Thanks, kotenok,” she hummed just as Pietro gaped and complained.

“That’s so unfair.”

You smirked at him, throwing the smugness he had treated you with right back at him as you went to walk away.

“I give affection to whoever I want and whenever I want. Let your super quick brain process that. Happy Holidays.”

You completely missed the slow smile that spread on Wanda’s face at one point of the whole exchange.

You decided to stop walking through that damn doorway altogether – just in case.

But at the moment, no one was around, so you made an exception since you considered yourself safe. Though main part of the feeling of security was that you didn’t think there was anyone left of the Tower tenants (who didn’t pay rent at all, somehow) who wasn’t aware of your opinion on the dumb tradition. No one who would be stupid enough to try.

Yet, when you glimpsed a large figure about to walk through the doorway just as you were few feet from it, you halted in your steps, letting them pass first.

And then there was a gust of wind, a warning coming a second too late and a harsh push to your shoulder from behind.

“Running through!”

You, the newest addition to the Earth’s mightiest heroes, Eagle, known for her quick reactions and not losing her cool easily, only managed to yelp in fright as you were knocked over, unable to hold onto anything and falling straight to the ground.

Two strong hands caught you and pulled you back up before you could hit the floor and you gasped, head spinning from the swift movements-- only to blink your eyes open to meet the prettiest pair of eyes you had ever seen; determined, kind, compassionate, loveable. And so damn blue despite the drop of green in their irises.

Your heart was trying to beat its way out of your ribcage as Steve instinctively pressed his chest against yours, holding you close and secure, grasp firm but careful.

Your gaze couldn’t but wander all over his face as you found yourself in such close quarters with him, his own eyes and his lips – gosh, those lips – working as magnets, always alluring your gaze to linger.

“You okay?”

Mesmerized, you watched those lips to move, barely comprehending what he was asking. His voice was warm; honey sweet and rich in spice, delicious, causing your stomach to flip pleasantly, your heart stammer.

It might have taken you a while to stutter out a reply, but no one ever needed to know about that.

“Uhm… yeah. Thanks-- thanks to you… thank you.”

Steve graced you with a small but no less meaningful smile. “Of course.”

Torturously slowly – as if he didn’t want to let you go any more than you wanted him to – he helped you stand straight and let go of your arms.

The moment you lost his touch, you lost your sanity too. You must have.

Before you could change your mind – or to think anything through – you leaned back to him and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. And perhaps on instinct, you kinda aimed more for the corner of his mouth than the cheek.

He felt warm now too – the tips of his ears turned red in an instant and you, with horror, finally realized what you had done; and just how good it felt to finally show at least a little of what you had been trying to ignore and hide for so long.

Despite his apparent surprise and mild embarrassment, his smile widened a fraction, turning pleased.

“What was that for?” he asked lowly, gaze intense as he studied your face, a hint of a glow in his eyes, something brighter than hadn’t been there before. Hope, maybe?

You certainly hoped. Because you just made an ass of yourself, having acted without thought… and it never felt so good and so awkward at the same time.

Your brain had never been so quick and dumb to come up with a poor excuse either.

“We’re…. we’re under a mistletoe?” you offered reluctantly, your lips still burning after the brief contact with his, head once again nearly spinning due to the proximity – was it just the dizziness or was he leaning in closer?

“I thought you didn’t follow that tradition,” Steve hummed with a grin slowly spreading on his face and through the fog of lovesickness, it finally dawned to you.

You had done exactly what you scolded Sam, Clint and Pietro for – you just went and kissed Steve, no questions asked, no consideration of his possible discomfort.

God, you were such an idiot!

See, that’s why you have banned yourself for as much as imagining kissing Steve and meeting him under the mistletoe! Because when your brain went down that road, it stopped working altogether!

You swiftly retreated a few inches, horrified.

“I—I don’t. I mean. I-- I-I’m so sorry!” you blurted out, words spilling from your lips as the panic rose in your chest. And yet, there was warmth, a pleasant feeling coiling in your belly, breaths coming out short as Steve seemed to erase the distance you had created, his gaze studying you, landing on your mouth. “I shouldn’t have done that! What was I thinking—gosh, I didn’t want to make you-“

You stopped as Steve’s lips kept erasing the distance and ended up a breath from touching yours, tempting, his eyes shining bright with a simple unspoken question. You instinctively licked your lips, heart stumbling in your ribcage.

“---uncomfortable. Yes, please-“

And then he was kissing you, a little smile playing on his lips as they danced with yours, sweet and soft, hand moving to your nape, thumb caressing the side crook of your neck, drawing a content sigh from you as your eyes fluttered shut, letting you sink into the kiss you had been craving for almost a year.

Your hands sought out his shoulders as he cradled your face, gentle and guiding so he could take more and all you wanted was to give it to him, give him everything he asked for and take it from him too.

Your toes definitely curled in the thick fluffy socks you wore when his fingers squeezed your nape briefly before he withdrew – as if he once again didn’t want to let go for something so boring as oxygen. You wholeheartedly agreed with that sentiment, dizzy from the blissful turn of events.

As you inhaled nevertheless, you were grateful that Steve stayed close enough for you to breathe in him, relieved and delighted smile on your face as you licked your lips, savouring the sensation.

When you met his gaze, you saw nothing but fondness; and your heart could melt.

Steve liked you too. Steve kissed you like he meant it. Now you could die a happy woman but you rather not. You’d rather kiss him again if he was willing.

“Still sorry I did it without asking first,” you whispered an apology even though you were not sorry at all since it led to this.

“It’s okay. I just hope it wasn’t just the tradition that pushed you into kissing back.”

You chuckled and then chewed on your lower lip when thinking of a propriate retort, not missing that his eyes followed the action. Oh, he definitely liked to back, okay. Why had you never kissed before, again?

“I only give affection to whoever I want, whenever I want,” you threw back at him, the words that had a whole new meaning in contrast to when being told to Pietro; not a turn-down, quite the opposite in fact.

And you leaned in, greedy for at least one more kiss, Steve just watched you with a smile, eyes flickering to your lips.

“That’s good to know.”

He didn’t sound like he complained at being at the receiving end of your affection whatsoever.

Maybe, mistletoe wasn’t so stupid after all…

Three rooms over, the red-haired witch was smiling widely as she, thanks to her mental powers, caught a glimpse of what was happening in the kitchen doorway.

“It worked,” she announced, blinking to fully return herself to the present. “Nice work this time, brat moy.”

Pietro scowled at Wanda and couldn’t but wonder about the plan she had orchestrated and asked him to execute.

“How did you know, sestra?”

Wanda just shrugged.

“I had my suspicions before. But when you ran into her the last time, I checked her mind to see just how uncomfortable you made her,” she explained, giving one more scolding glare for his inappropriate behaviour. But well, it led to this and he helped now, so… he was good. “She literally thought she wouldn’t mind being under the mistletoe with the Captain.”

“Lucky bastard,” Pietro muttered, expression only half-sour.

“Shush. Be happy for your teammates. You just flirt anyway.”

The speedster pouted, but didn’t protest; he in fact was happy for the two members of the extended family him and his sister had found. And he indeed was only flirting, enjoying your reactions, talking back and teasing. It was all good fun and he did wish you and the Captain well…

But.

“Well, yeah, but now I won’t be able to do that or to look at her twice. Not without Captain having my head,” he grumbled and Wanda nodded with a grin, not feeling all that bad for him.

It wasn’t like he had his heart broken – more like had his ego tickled; and he had been needing some of that for a while.

“That’s true. Looks like you gotta be faster with the next girl you get your eye on, brat.”

The speedster gasped, shocked at her audacity. “I’ll show you fast-!”

Wanda laughed as she used her powers to freeze him on spot to get a head start.

Now, the Holidays felt truly happy indeed.

S.R. Masterlist

Thank you for reading!

If this fic feels like it’s written differently, then I guess that’s fair… I tried to make the style more drabble-like and failed epically, because I just cannot write short and without too many feelings :D

Anyway.

Happy Holidays to you all! May you be given love and affection!

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forasecondtherewedwon · 3 years

Text

3 Simple Rules for Dating a Centenarian

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes Rating: T Word Count: 2374

Summary: After seeing Steve's shield handed over to some stranger, Sam calls up Bucky, certain he's the one person who can properly commiserate. He doesn't really expect Bucky to answer though (the guy's become a bit of a recluse), or to hear the hints that he might be missing Sam as much as Sam's been missing him. Not that he'd ever say it straight out.

Sam is almost completely still as the feelings rattle through him like a roller coaster’s last run on a derelict track. He only lets it out—the blend of frustration, betrayal, and regret—in the way his fingers squeeze his knee through his jeans, skin damp against the denim. Keeping his hands clasped, and watching those clasped hands, was more grounding, but he needs one of his hands to hold the phone to his ear, and that activity is getting pretty damn tired.

Bucky’s voicemail clicks on for the third time in a row.

“Bucky,” Sam says, “I know you prefer calls to texting, so what are you doing ignoring me, man? Haven’t used your cell in so long that you’ve forgotten how to hit the answer button? At least it rang. That’s something, I guess.”

He sighs away from the speaker where it won’t be recorded for Bucky to hear later. Maybe he did divert his message from the snarky sarcasm he was planning to leave the guy, but Bucky doesn’t need to hear him sigh on top of that.

For a few moments, Sam taps his foot along with the muffled music of his nephews’ video game coming through the closed door. He knows the boys’ routine (and if he ever forgets, he sees the copy Sarah has on the fridge door) and that this isn’t their usual scheduled time for whatever they’re playing out there. Best guess: Sarah wants them hogging the TV so she won’t be tempted to peek at that government-sanctioned shitshow. Sam can’t blame her. Actually, he wonders if she blames him. The disappointment was so clear in her eyes before he stopped making himself meet them. He thought he was doing the right thing when he handed the shield over. Are there people out there who think he’s let them down, or just his sister? Just himself?

He can’t talk to Sarah right now and he’s thankful that she’s giving him some time to himself, but as soon as he got it, he realized he didn’t know what to do with it. Just like that shield. Dialing Bucky over and over—tapping in every number every time because that appears to be part of this pity ritual he’s performing—seemed like the thing he should do. Probably won’t answer. That asshole is terrible at staying in touch. Still, Sam’s heart feels a little heavier with every word closer he gets to the end of this message. Feels like he’s trying to keep the thing afloat in his chest, like his parents’ boat down at the dock. This is what he knows he should do when everything in him wants to sink—reach out, talk to people. Kinda self-sabotage when he picks the one person almost guaranteed not to answer.

Oh, he’ll hear back from Bucky eventually, probably a handful of choppy texts sent in the middle of the night two weeks from now. Sam knows his pattern; Bucky’s chattiest between 3am and 4am, so chatty that what are likely intended as longer blocks of text arrive in broken fragments because he wants to make everything into neat paragraphs, like he’s writing a damn letter, instead of just getting to the point, but he hits send too soon. Sam would teach him—with plenty of mocking and name-calling, but he would teach him—only while he’s been running ops all over the planet, Bucky’s shrunk his own world way down. He’s gone local to the extreme and it aggravates Sam, even though Bucky isn’t his responsibility, isn’t his other inheritance from Steve. It’s sorta just easier to feel like Bucky is a misplaced bequest than to acknowledge that maybe he misses the guy and his sharp-shooter’s eye and his caveman hair. He can’t keep calling him.

“Thought I’d give you a heads-up,” Sam says, voice weary with this half-true excuse. “Maybe you already saw.” He clears his throat and says quickly, “Anyway, guess I’ll hear from you when I hear from you.”

He’s pulling the phone away from his head and has barely ended the call when it’s ringing in his hand. He answers and catches Bucky’s voice saying his name before it’s even back up to his ear.

“Bucky?” Sam says. “You have a senior’s moment and forget where you left your phone?”

“Nah,” Bucky says. “I saw it was you and decided to ignore it.”

“But you called back.”

“You wouldn’t quit calling. Seemed like you needed me to tell you directly to knock it off.”

“Jackass.” Sam’s gaze darts to the door, but it’s still shut. No chance Sarah saw him grinning over this easy banter. Always the banter with this idiot. Always easy. He sniffs and turns his chair away from the black TV screen. “Did you see that joker on the news?”

Bucky’s either less self-conscious or more inept because he sighs right into the mouthpiece, an exhausted breath in Sam’s ear that has his fingers fleetingly digging into his knee.

“Couldn’t believe that shit,” Bucky tells him in a rough voice. He’s clearly holding back his own feelings about today’s events and, from the sounds of it, they’re more along the lines of anger, hurt, and a simmering desire to wrench the shield from the arm of the new Captain America. “You know that thing’s supposed to be yours.”

“You saying I should’ve done something to stop it?” Sam demands.

“Coulda.”

Sam forces his shoulders to drop, draws a slow breath in and pushes it back out.

“It wasn’t mine anymore, if it ever was. I gave it to the Smithsonian. They sealed it in this glass case and added it to the exhibit.”

“Not a very tight seal.”

“Guess not,” Sam agrees.

“You shouldn’t have turned it over,” Bucky says. Sam’s silent, frowning, and Bucky goes on. “Forget about the shield being given to somebody else—it shouldn’t have even been in a glass case. Doesn’t belong there.”

“I do just fine without it,” Sam assures him. The practicalities of carrying that shield around are more straightforward to discuss than his yawning uncertainty in the face of Steve’s legacy and his place relative to it. “The shield would only get in the way of the wings.”

“You and those wings.”

“Hey, they carried me over Tunisia recently. Show some respect.”

“Didn’t hear about that,” Bucky says in a tone that’s difficult to interpret, though Sam squints thoughtfully as he listens.

“Yeah, well, I shouldn’t even be telling the likes of you, but it was discrete. As far as the major players are concerned, I was never there.”

“So it was illegal?”

Sam’s head tips back as he laughs hard.

“Why, you wanna turn me in?” he jokes. “Working on the government’s trust? What’s the next level up from a pardon? Knighthood?”

“You are such a pain in the ass,” Bucky groans, which really does make Sam smile.

“I’m sure it would’ve been illegal if you were there,” he says automatically. Too fast, his imagination fills it in, a fictional alternative materializing in his mind. Him and Bucky, cocky in reckless freefall. Him and Bucky, fighting back-to-back in a plummeting aircraft. Sam screening Bucky from enemy fire with his wings. Bucky deflecting a stray bullet with his arm before it could hit Sam.

“Nah, I can’t do that no more.”

“Uh huh. I’m sure you’re an angel.”

“Anybody get hurt?” Bucky asks.

Sam glances through the window at the blue sky, the truck rolling unhurriedly past with the driver’s arm hanging out to catch the sun. Beautiful day. He remembers a kick that sent a guy through the door of the plane, sucked out into the sky, another guy tossed aside who tried to fight him in midair, and a helicopter aflame as it went down. He shrugs and figures Bucky’ll hear the gesture in his voice.

“Nobody who didn’t know the risks.”

“Of going up against Captain America?” Bucky probes. Sam rolls his eyes.

“You know, that would almost be a compliment if you got my name right.”

“Don’t tell me you’re not using the name just to avoid compliments from me.”

“I honestly can’t say which one would feel more wrong,” Sam says, passing a hand over his head as he leans back in his chair, “calling myself Captain America or hearing a little overdue praise from you.”

“I’m not really a words guy. Ask my therapist.”

Sam sits with that for a second. He’s happy that Bucky’s talking to someone. He needs it, badly, after decades of violence and being belted into the passenger seat of his own brain. It’s more than Bucky’s ever admitted to him before, but Sam would bet—and bet big—that seeing some stranger named as Steve’s successor today has gotten to Bucky as much as it’s gotten to him. Something like that is bound to open Bucky up a little. He’s the only other person Sam can imagine the news having such a monumental impact on.

“You could try words,” he goads, not wanting to leave Bucky hanging more than a few seconds after his admission. “What else do you have if you don’t feel like being a human action figure?”

“I have my system. My rules.”

“Oh yeah? What rules?”

“Three of ’em,” Bucky informs him. “Nothing illegal. Nobody gets hurt. Making amends for the actions of the Winter Solider.”

“You don’t have to make amends for something you—”

“Don’t. It… helps.”

And who is Sam to question what’s helping Bucky? After the multiple-lifetimes’ worth of hell the guy’s been through?

“Good for you, man,” Sam offers softly.

“Save it, Sam.” The words are clipped but light. Sam grins.

“No words for me either? You more comfortable with me sticking to actions? How are we supposed to talk to each other when you don’t come to Tunisia with me?”

“Wasn’t invited,” Bucky quips back.

“You mighta been if you answered your phone more often. I’m not gonna send you the details to a covert operation in a text.”

“You wanted me in Tunisia?”

“You get shit done,” Sam acknowledges simply. You wanted me in Tunisia? echoes in his head. His heart’s bobbing like a buoy now. You wanted me in Tunisia? You wanted me?

“Not like that.”

“‘Not illegal,’” Sam repeats. “‘Nobody gets hurt. Making amends.’”

“Right. Can’t do any of that.”

“Well, I’m glad this regime’s working for you, but you have to admit it’s weird that I saw more of you when we were fighting alien hordes.”

“What can I say?” Bucky asks in a tone that seems to consciously flatten the charm out of it. “I’m old-fashioned now.”

Sam snorts.

“You were old-fashioned then.”

“I assume you had a team on the ground.”

“I had to,” Sam says over the sound of a squabble in the other room. Immediately, he can hear Sarah’s voice rising slightly above, breaking it up. Just like that, there’s the looping music of the video game again. She’s raised those boys well. “Couldn’t wait around for you.”

“I might show up if you asked me on better dates.”

“It wasn’t a date, it was a goddamn op.”

It’s startling to hear the sound of laughter. Not hearty, deep, rich, or loud, but definitely laughter. Bucky laughs? Sam backtracks a minute. Bucky makes jokes? About dating? About the two of them dating? Evidently, that is something he’s capable of, along with returning calls during daylight hours.

Sam shifts in his seat.

“You could come around sometime,” he suggests, nervously rubbing a hand up and down his thigh. “If you like fish and you’re ever in Louisiana.”

“I do like fish,” Bucky says. “I’ve been going to this sushi place a lot lately.”

It’s not his taste that surprises Sam—it’s the readiness with which he responds to the invitation. He would’ve sooner guessed that Bucky would tell him to shove it up his ass. In a joking way, but still.

“On dates?” Sam asks, telling himself he’s providing some good-natured hassling and that it has nothing to do with the odd feeling he got when Bucky’s joke about them dating caught up with him.

“One. Mostly, I go with Mr. Nakajima.”

“And that’s not a date?”

Sam laughs and wishes he could shut his own mouth as firmly as he’s (many times) told Bucky to shut his.

“I’m pretty sure he’s in his eighties, so he’s more age-appropriate for me than most people, but I murdered his son,” Bucky says grimly.

“Amends?” Sam guesses, adjusting his tone to cope with Bucky’s emotional switchback.

“I haven’t told him yet, but, yeah, I’m working on that.”

They’re both working on something, Sam thinks. Both confronting something that feels too big to tackle—the decision not to announce himself as the new Captain America, guilt for assassinations Bucky had no control over but which span the better part of a century. Sometimes it seems to Sam that they go up against the easiest situations as a team and face the hardest stuff alone. But he called Bucky, and Bucky called back.

“You could bring some of those amends down here and trade them for a snapper dinner,” Sam proposes, aiming for irritatingly cheerful to pull Bucky back out of the dark.

“What do I have to make amends to you for?”

“Being a dick. I’ll text you my sister’s address.”

Sam swiftly ends the call. There are two possible sources to which he can attribute the small surge of adrenaline he feels: hanging up on Bucky and the fact that he might’ve just asked him on a date. When Sam dialed, he knew it was because he didn’t want to do this alone, but he thought that meant watching the appointment of an upstart Captain America. Although he believed he could count on Bucky’s understanding today and for the near future, asking him down to have dinner with Sarah and the boys (or tricking him into it, since he didn’t exactly say it’d be a thing with the whole family) lengthens the timeline. Near future? Inviting Bucky to meet his family and see where he grew up means recognizing that he’ll be in his life a little longer. Alone? Sam might forget the meaning of the word.

#my writing #tfatws #tfatws spoilers #The Falcon and the Winter Soldier #Sam Wilson #Bucky Barnes #sambucky #Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes

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whatcouldgowrong-ohthat · 4 years

Text

Between the Ink and Papers Ch. 4

Summary: Steve and Peggy have been divorced for a year and Sarah is still starting to find her groove in it. However, it becomes a lot easier when she and Typhanie realize it might be time for her dad to start dating again.

Pairings: tattooartist!dad!Steve x Reader, Typhanie x Sarah, Peggy x Logan, Bucky x Natasha

Word Count: 1806 words

Warnings: cussing? that’s about it!

Between the Ink and Papers Masterlist - Masterlist to Other Works

Previous Chapter

A simple creak and the door opened, casting a dim light from the hall. Their home was simple, tucked away above the shop. Steve slept on a pullout couch so that Sarah could have her own room. At her request, there were plants everywhere. A way to remind him that this was their home. Not just his.

Not that he minded one bit.

Steve quietly closed the door behind him. A small smile tugged at his lips when he saw her backpack on the cluttered counter and the mail on the floor. Poor kid had probably been so tired that she hadn’t even noticed. He scooped the letters up, tucking them back into place before grabbing her backpack. His eyes shifted briefly to the microwave, the blinking red 1:00 a.m. far too obnoxious.

He was definitely getting too old for these late nights.

Scratching the back of his head, he silently made his way to the back, cringing only when a floorboard squeaked underneath him. He paused. Surely that didn’t wake her. Steve gently opened the door.

Inside, sprawled out on her bed and half hanging off, was his daughter. That crazy teenager. She was half hanging off, her pillow already on the floor. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought that she’d gotten in a fight with the bed and that the thing won.

He gently tucked the backpack next to her dresser and crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. What a dork. It made him think back to that awkward woman that he tattooed earlier.

The gun was between his fingers, poised and ready to go. Brow arched and lips quirked, he found himself absolutely confused. “Uh…” He shrugged. “Okay?” Steve raised the gun, waving it around. “Can I get started now?”

Y/N’s head tilted, curiosity getting the better of her. “Really? You don’t care?”

Steve snorted as she extended her arm. The familiar buzz filled the air as he got to work on the piece. “Should I? She seems to be doing better, so safe to say you’re doing your job. I’m just doing mine.”

She hadn’t said anything else after that. Apparently the buzzing had been enough for them. Not that he minded. He actually preferred when his customers weren’t the chatty kind.

Shaking his head, Steve pulled the door shut and blinked away his own sleep. He hated how tired he was. It seemed his time with Sarah passed by too quickly for him to actually enjoy it and being exhausted never helped. Still…he collapsed on the couch, too tired to unfold the bed lying underneath. Just a few minutes…

Just a few and he’d get back up.

The smell of bacon and coffee woke him up. He jolted, blood rushing and pounding in his head as his boot scraped against the floor. Blinking, he ran a hand through his messy hair before pressing his palms to his eyes.

“Hey, old man.” The squeak against the floorboard made him look up, relieved to find she was holding a mug filled with black coffee. “I don’t want to deal with you being a grouch. Drink up.”

He groaned, taking the mug before she returned to their breakfast. “Is that how you’re supposed to talk to your dad?” Downing half the mug’s contents in one gulp, Steve immediately felt better. He rose to his feet, knowing his shirt was probably a mess and realizing he still had his boots on.

Definitely – he was definitely getting too old for the shop.

“How long’ve you been up,” he asked, noticing that she was almost done with his breakfast. “You could’ve kicked me or something.”

“Why?” She pushed the plate onto the bar, grabbing a fork and knife as he took a bite of bacon. “You work hard.” Sarah grabbed her poptarts, taking a bite as Steve froze mid-bite, shoulders slumped. “What?”

He snatched the pastry out of her hand, trading it for a piece of toast that was on his plate. “Do you think just ‘cause you’re here, you can get away with that?”

She smiled a little too innocently. “It’s just a poptart.”

“Yeah, and all the other crap you eat.”

“Hey!”

Streve smirked, gesturing to the food between them. “Eat up. We need to get you to school -- ” He glanced at his watch. “Fuck!” Looking up, he frowned when he saw that innocent look on his kid’s face.

She knew. Of course she did.

“Get your backpack. Now.” Shoving food in his mouth, he ignored the slight stomping that could only come from a teenager. “Hurry!” He snatched up a shirt, smelling it. For now, it would have to do. Changing, he shouted, “Sarah, come on!”

“I’m here.”

He spun around, tugging the shirt down. Ruffling her hair, he pushed her towards the door. “Stop huffing. You should’ve said something.”

“Maybe I just wanted to spend a day with my old man.”

Steve sighed, closing the door behind him. As much as he would love to spend the day with Sarah, he couldn’t. Not right now. “Later. We can go play pool or something. Sound good?”

Sarah hesitated, biting her lip. She knew she still needed to talk to her dad about everything she and Miss Y/L/N had gone over. And yet…the idea of just spending some fun time with him sounded too good to be true.

Yeah, talking could wait.

The bell’s shrill scream, though familiar, still managed to make Y/N jump out of her skin. She sighed softly, taking a much needed sip of her coffee. It was wonderful, warming her insides. Flipping open her planner, she grimaced when she saw who she had a meeting with.

How had she forgotten that was today of all days?

“Um…Miss Y/L/N?”

She looked up, massaging her temple only to stop when she realized who was standing in her doorway. “Hey.” Y/N stood, trying to hide her surprise. “Typhanie, right?”

She nodded, lip caught between her teeth and fingers fidgeting with the obnoxious hall pass in her hands. “I just – I wanted to ask you about something.”

Y/N smiled, gesturing to the chair. “Of course. Have a seat.”

Typhanie did, tucking a leg underneath as she looked around. “I’ve never actually been in here before. It’s…” She noticed the positive signs, the wall decorations, and all the bright colors. “Peppy.”

Chuckling, Y/N said, “I’ll tell my friends that’s how you described their decorating skills. So, what’s up?”

“I know you normally do like,” Typhanie sighed. “I don’t know, counseling sort of stuff? But I was wondering if you could also help with the whole future type thing. Y’know, with…” She bit her lip, doubts starting to creep in the back of her head. Why was she even here? This was a waste of time and –

“Hey.” Y/N watched Typhanie blink. Those negative thoughts were burying her, scaring her. “You mean colleges, right? The ‘after highschool’ path?”

Typhanie nodded, earning a smile. “It’s just me and my dad. We don’t exactly have a lot money wise and I just…I want to be prepared. Get the scholarships, do what I need, and…I…” She laughed, the sound coming across more as a nervous breath than anything else. “I really want to go to college, but I want to make sure it’s the right path.”

“What do you want to study?”

“Music,” she admitted with a determined nod. “And I know not everyone goes to school for it, so I just want to figure out where I’m going.”

Y/N nodded, scribbling down some notes. “I love how you’re approaching this, Typhanie. It’s mature and level-headed. Give me today to put some information together, okay? You can stop by tomorrow and we can go over it. How does that sound?”

She breathed, as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. “That sounds amazing. Thank you!”

“No problem. But…” She pointed to the hallpass. “You might want to go back to class before your teacher realizes it wasn’t the bathroom that you wandered off to.”

Typhanie grinned, jumping up. “Right! Yeah, of course! Um…thanks again.” She hurried out of the room, earning a far too amused laugh from Y/N.

Shaking her head, Y/N went back to the notes she’d taken. Scribbled: Typhanie Wilson. Music. College?? Needs to know her options.

She knew how overwhelming the future was. Especially at that age. At least Typhanie was seeking help. It was better than what she’d done at her age.

Knock knock

Y/N looked up. Peggy and Logan. Checking her phone, sure enough. It was time for their meeting. “Hey! Right on time.”

Peggy smiled. Weak, nervous. Like most mothers she met with. “Thank you for keeping these meetings, Miss Y/L/N.”

“It really means a lot to us,” Logan admitted. That shyness of being a new, eager stepdad was still there. Even after a year. He wanted to be good to Sarah and Y/N respected that.

“I know. Just repeating for everyone’s sake, but I cannot tell you anything Sarah has confided to me during our sessions. I’m just guiding you towards what could help your family transition best.”

“We know.” There was a hint of defeat in Peggy’s voice, a silent plea for her to bend the rules.

But Y/N wouldn’t. She cared about her students too much.

“Alright, have a seat then.”

Standing up, Y/N moved to the door. She started to close the door, pausing when she saw a familiar face.

And he saw her.

Steve raised a brow. “Uh…Y/N, right?”

She smirked. “Here, it’s Miss Y/L/N.”

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Fair enough.” However, his eyes had wandered, catching sight of who was inside her office. “Uh…” Steve grimaced.

Peggy caught his eye, blushing. “Steve.”

“Peggy.” He glanced past her, nodding. “Logan.”

“Hey.”

Y/N looked from mother to father and back again. She had been sure that when she started these meetings with Peggy, she had been promised that Steve was informed. He had the option to join and chose not to.

Now, it was clear that hadn’t been the case.

Peggy gave her a look, another silent plea for her to keep quiet. To not say anything and simply continue their meeting.

Y/N shook her head. Oh…hell on. She looked back at Steve, leaning against the doorframe. “We’re about to have a meeting to discuss how Sarah’s been handling the past year. Do you want to join?”

Surprise. Concern. An eagerness that only came from a loving parent. Those were the emotions etching Steve’s features. Practically shining in those pretty blue eyes of his. Relieved, he admitted, “I would love that.”

Y/N nodded, opening the door wider. “Come on in.”

He crossed the threshold and she closed the door. Lingering only for a moment, she turned to the three parents. Here goes nothing. “Coffee, anyone?”

A/N: Thank you for all the support with this fic!! I really appreciate it!!

Tag List:

@fullofmultitudesfullofshit

@abundanceofcarolines

@patzammit

@peaches-roses-sins

@thisartemisnevermisses

@works-of-fanfiction

@coldmuffinbanditshoe

@supernaturallover2002

@kaleahmikaelson

All Work:

@rinthehufflepuff

@the-captain-bambooty

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#steve rogers #chris evans #steve rogers x reader #dad!steve x reader #tattooartist!steve x reader #tattooartist!steve #dad!steve rogers #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #marvel #marvel au #tattooartist!au #singleparent!au

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marvelstarker-mha98 · 3 years

Text

Chapter 3: The Librarian, The pickpocketer and the map

I know you wanted ned to be jonathan but wade looks like to be a good candidate and he would be funny and cool bro for pete

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

Few months later

In the Cairo Museum Of Antiquities, a young male librarian name Peter Parker was on a ladder, filling out the Egyptians books in the “S” section of the library until he noticed a book on his arm that starts with a letter “T”.

“Tuthmosis, what are you doing here?” Peter said to himself with a light laugh before looking for the “T” section until it was behind him. He put some books away on the shelf in front of him.

“I am going to put you where you belong,” Peter said to himself again, before attempting to put the book back to its rightful category.

As he was about to put it back, the ladder tilted up like a pair of stilts, causing peter to stand upright ten feet in the air. “Woah!” Peter gasped in shock, holding the step of the ladder as he was trying to balance himself so he couldn’t die.

“Help” Peter nervously said before gasping when he falls forward towards the “S” section, causing the bookshelf to knock over the next bookshelf.

On and on, after the books were spread out and the bookshelves are on the floor, peter was slightly panting as he looked around him in shock.

“Oh no” He said, cringing for the accident that he had caused before hearing the sound of his employer and as well as the curator of the museum, Nick fury.

“Wha?!” Fury couldn’t utter another word as he was in shock. He was standing on top of a bookshelf that was already knocked down before looking around at the library then looked at Peter.

“Oh look at this!” Fury exclaimed, jumping from the bookshelf before walking to peter. “Son of the bitch, Give me guns, flies, locust, anything but you!” Fury pinpointing at peter a bit. “Go back to you, the nine plagues were a treat”

“I’m so very sorry, Mr. fury, it was an accident” Peter said, feeling bad about the library that he had accidentally caused.

“Come on, boy, when Ramses destroyed Syria, that was an accident. However, you on the other hand are a disaster!” Fury exclaimed. “Look at my damn library!” Peter looked around a bit with an embarrassing look.

“Why do I put up with you, parker!” Fury unintentionally asked before Peter looked back at him in slight shock.

“Well....well you, you put up with me because...um...I could read and write ancient Egyptian and I can...I can...I can decipher hieroglyphics and hieratic” Fury looked at him silently, letting peter continue.

“I’m the only one from the thousand miles, who knows how to properly code and catalog that’s why!” Peter said, defending himself.

“I put up with you because your dad and step-mom were our library’s finest patrons, that’s why!” Fury said. “May they rest in peace, though” He sympathetically said softly as peter looked down slightly, thinking of his parents.

“I don’t care how you do it, I don’t care how long it takes, pick up this mess or you’ll be fired!” Fury ordered angrily before leaving peter to clean the mess up.

When fury left, peter sighs before hearing a slight noise from the display area where the mummies and sarcophagus are kept. he hurriedly went there. When Peter was in the area, he took the torch from the room and starting walk before looking around.

“Hello, Abdul...Mohammed...Bruce?” Peter called out before hearing a slight sound from one of the sarcophagi. As he was about to go near to it, there was a rotted old mummy that jumped scare at him.

“Ah!” Peter scaredly screamed at it before hearing a laugh from non-other than his step-brother, Wade Parker Wilson, who sits up inside the sarcophagus while his arm was wrapped around the dead mummy’s shoulder.

“Hey, little brother! Do you love my little joke!” Wade said with a still laugh which made peter frown.

“No I don’t!” Peter replied, putting his hand on his hips. “And you have no respect for the dead!” He asked before putting on the torch on a handle.

“Oh of course I do, my little brother from another mother but sometimes I would like to join them,” Wade said, controlling the mummy’s arm to slam on the edge of the sarcophagus.

“I wish you should do it rather than later before you ruined my career the way you ruined yours” Peter statedly said was true for him and his stepbrother.

“Now get out of there, wade” he was putting the mummy down on the coffin before slapping softly on wade’s cheek. Wade childishly pouted, rubbing his cheek that his brother slapped on.

“Fine, fine my sweet baby brother but…” Wade was climbing down from the sarcophagus with the help from peter. “I’ll have you know that in this precise moment that my career is on a high note” Wade stated as Peter scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“High note, please!” Peter slightly mocked “But anyway wade, I am not in the mood for you right now, I made a huge mess in the library” Peter turned his head to look at the library.

“And not only that, the University Of Cambridge in England have rejected my application again because they say I quote and quote, I’m young and don’t have enough experience in that field” Peter disappointedly said as he sits down on a random statue’s plaque.

Wade looked at peter, knowing that his sweet little stepbrother is amazingly smart for his age that any college would accept his application. Wade then goes to him and kneels in front with a smile, holding his peter’s hand. “You always have me, little bro” He said before they both chuckled for a bit.

“And besides, I have something for you that I will absolutely cheer you up!” Wade proudly said before going back to the sarcophagus to find it. Peter sighs with a smile.

“Oh Wade, not another worthless piece of junk, if I have to bring that to my boss, he will…” Peter stopped as he looked amazed when wade sat next to him and showed a small golden puzzle box with eight key ends. Peter gently took the from wade before examining it.

“Where do you get this?” Peter asked.

“I was on a dig in Thebes” Wade replied, looking at his little brother still examining it. “My whole life, I never found anything like this, please Pete tell me I found something” He pleaded as peter pressed the bottom of the box and it opened, revealing a folded paper.

“Wade” Peter said in amazement, taking out the paper.

“Yes” Wade replied as they both looked at the map being unfolded, which revealed to be a map.

“I think we found something”

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

“You see the cartouche there, it is the official royal seal of seti the first. I am really sure of it” Peter said walking around the desk while his boss looks at the map that they found.

“Maybe” Fury said with no surprise and excitement that he was giving. Then wade walked around the desk as well.” Two things, who the hell is seti the first, and was he extremely rich?” He eagerly asked.

“He was the second Pharoah from 19th dynasty, said to be the wealthiest Pharoah of them all.” Peter replied.

“Good that’s good, I like this guy very much!” Wade replied with a smile in excitement after hearing that the Pharoah was wealthy. Peter looked back at fury.

“I have already dated the map, its almost three thousand years old and you look at the hieratic here…” Peter leaned slightly as points the place on the map for fury before removing it. “well its Hamanaptra” As peter said it, wade looked at his brother in shock and surprise.

“Don’t be foolish, we’re scholars not treasure hunters” fury said, leaning back on his chair as he looked up at peter as wade looked at the map again. “Humanaptra is a myth told by Arab storytellers to use them for tourism,” He said.

“Yes I know the silly ramble about the city to be protected by the curse of a mummy but my research has me believe that the city itself may have actually existed,” Peter exclaimed as wade looked up at him.

“Are we talking the same Humanaptra” Wade curiously asked.

Peter nodded. “Yup, the city of the dead, where the earliest pharaohs said to hid the wealth of Egypt” He replied as wade agreeably nodded slightly walking away from the desk.

“Affirmative but also added with a huge treasure chamber” Wade added as fury scoffed at them both.

“Oh come on, everyone knows this story, the entire metropolis was buried by pharaoh's command like a flip of switch…” While wade was continued to tell about the humanaptra and the treasure, walking behind the desk to his brother at the same time they noticed that fury lift up the map, near the fire.

Fury sighs. “Yeah yeah, Americans like us would say it all fairy tales and Oh shit!” the map began to burn and fell down from the desk to the ground.

Peter and wade hurriedly went to it and quickly patted on it until the fire was no more before the two carefully spread however the section with the lost city was burned off.

“You burnt it, you burned part of the lost city,” Wade said as he and Peter were in shock.

“It’s for the best, I’m sure” Fury said, putting his hands together on his desk as peter and wade looked up at him. “Lots of men wasted their lives in their foolish pursuit of Hamanaptra, no one has ever found it, most has never returned.

#starker #tony stark #ironman #peter parker #spiderman #wade wilson #deadpool #nick fury #mcu #mcuship #marvel #avengers #the mummy au

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chelsfic · 4 years

Text

Take Me Over - Bucky Barnes x Sam Wilson x Reader Smutty One-shot

A/N: Here’s the promised Bucky x Sam x Reader smut. And hoo boy, is it smutty. Hey, seriously--read the warnings.

Warnings: Smut!, M/M/F, Dom/Sub, Safeword usage, Frottage, Blow jobs, Thigh riding, Hand jobs, butt stuff, Dirty talk, PWP, some humil, I mean this is not for the faint of heart pls

Summary: The reader is being a brat. Sam helps Bucky put her back in her place.

Technically you’re Bucky’s girl but you learn pretty quickly that Bucky and Sam share everything. So when Sam walks into Bucky’s apartment in the middle of your punishment and you catch the sly, knowing grin on his face you know that you’re in for it.

He sees you looking and you snap your eyes forward once more. You’re kneeling in the corner, facing the wall, completely naked and waiting for Bucky to decide what punishment you deserve. Your cheeks burn as you listen to the two men discuss your behavior.

“Your girl acting up today, Buck?” Sam asks breezily--as if he doesn’t know that you’re straining to hear every word.

Bucky lets out a long sigh and you imagine him running his hands through his hair in aggravation, the muscle in his jaw jumping as his eyes turn in your direction. Maybe he’s watching you kneel, your shoulders rounded in supplication, trying to steady your breath as it hitches in anticipation.

“She’s being a little brat, Sam,” Bucky drawls, his tone is taunting and condescending. He’s putting on a show for you.

“Tell me,” Sam says and you suck in a breath at his stern, cold voice. Fuck, you’re really in trouble. Bucky likes to torture you a little...edge you, talk dirty, demean you...but he always ends up going soft on his girl before long. Sam is another story…

You can just imagine Bucky counting off your offenses on his fingers as he answers, “Talking back, whining, ignoring me, disobeying orders...the list goes on. She’s out of control today and she won’t use her words to tell me what’s wrong. So…”

“So…,” Sam echoes and you hear his footsteps as he approaches you. He stands over you, leaning one shoulder against the wall and looking down his nose at you. It takes all of your willpower to keep your eyes pointed at the blank wall. You can just make out his boots and jeans in the corner of your vision.

“What are you going to do with her?” he asks. He nudges your naked thigh with the tip of his boot and you let out a small squeak at his casual display of dominance.

“What do you suggest?” Bucky responds and he sounds closer although you hadn’t heard him move. Assassins…

Sam crouches down and regards you with a critical eye. He brings his hand up to your face and nudges his fingers against your lips, an unspoken command. You open for him at once and he plunges two fingers into your wet mouth, pressing down on your tongue and watching you salivate around them.

“She needs to be reminded of her place, Bucky,” Sam says dispassionately. He turns his attention back to you and asks, “You know this behavior is unacceptable, right?”

He shoves his fingers deeper into your mouth, nearly gagging you to emphasize his point. All you can do is nod your head, wide-eyed.

Sam sighs and takes his fingers back, wiping them on your cheeks and turning back to Bucky.

“See, she says she understands but if that’s true then it just makes her behavior even more disrespectful.”

You bite your lip to keep from saying anything to defend yourself, knowing you’d just be digging a deeper hole. Bucky was gone for two whole weeks on this last mission. How to explain the panic, the thought spirals, the shakiness you feel when he’s away? You need his firm hand to guide you now...you need him to take back control.

“She’s just doing it for attention,” Bucky explains and you burn at how close he is to the truth. “My little attention whore.”

Sam laughs and you hear a rustling sound followed by something soft and wet, and then a low, choked groan from Bucky. Oh god…

“If it’s attention she wants then you already know how to punish her…” Sam’s voice is deep and guttural. It’s the way he sounds when he’s looking at you like he wants to devour you. You imagine him looking at Bucky like that and the image starts heat pooling in your cunt. You squirm on the floor, desperately working to keep your eyes forward as Bucky moans again and you hear a loud thump. You imagine Sam pressing against Bucky, slamming him backward against the wall and grinding into his hips, their cocks straining through layers of fabric as he humps against him, all the while attacking his mouth with loud, sloppy kisses.

“Look at her,” Bucky huffs, sounding breathless, “...squirming and desperate just listening to us.”

“Mmm,” Sam murmurs between wet kisses. You hear Bucky gasp suddenly and you turn your head a fraction. You can just see the two of them entwined up against the wall now. Sam’s head immediately snaps up and he barks, “Eyes forward!”

You whip your head back around and feel yourself tingling all over as Sam keeps talking, “She really is a slut for this isn’t she?”

“You know she is,” Bucky answers with a laugh. “She’ll beg for it if we let her talk…”

“C’mere, doll,” Bucky suddenly addresses you and the sheer relief and affection that flows through you at being released from your corner is overwhelming. You turn and crawl on hands and knees towards the pair, looking up at Bucky with wide, innocent eyes--you never said manipulation was beneath you.

Sam snorts at your little display but Bucky goes predictably gooey and he gives you a warm smile as he pats your head with his metallic left hand, threading his fingers through your hair. You ignore Sam, leaning into Bucky’s touch with a little pleased mew.

“Man, she’s got you wrapped around her little finger,” Sam laughs, rolling his hips absentmindedly against Bucky and smirking at the super soldier’s hitched breath.

“Maybe…” Bucky admits. He gathers your hair into his fist and twists enough to elicit a wince as he continues, “but her punishment isn’t over yet.”

With that he pushes off the wall and leads you into the living room by your hair. You’re still on your hands and knees but arching upward in order to relieve the sharp pressure on your scalp. Bucky’s fingers flex and he loosens his grip a little to relieve the discomfort. That’s why he’s so perfect for you. In the middle of an intense scene he sends out these little life preservers to remind you how much he fucking adores you.

Bucky takes a seat on the couch, sprawling out with one arm along the back and his legs spread wide. He settles you on the floor between his knees and looks at you with lazy, hooded eyes. Sam sits down next to Bucky and rolls his eyes at how much space the guy is taking up. He nudges him with his hip so he can actually sit.

Bucky locks eyes with you as his hands move toward the waist of his jeans. He methodically undoes the button and lowers the zipper, reaching inside to finally free his straining erection. Your lips part involuntarily at the sight and you rock forward a bit but Bucky immediately shakes his head.

“Gimme your color, baby,” he says and his voice is serious, low, husky. It takes you a full minute to parse the words and find your answer.

You clear your throat a little before responding, “Green.”

“Good girl.” It’s Sam who says it and the split second of surprising warmth and approval from him affects you more than you’d thought possible.

Your eyes sting with unshed tears and you drop your head forward to nuzzle against Bucky’s knee, looking up at Sam to say, “I want to be good.”

Sam lets out a breath and shakes his head in disbelief, turning to Bucky, “Okay, I get it now. I see why you go so mushy for her.”

Bucky laughs and casually leans over to press a kiss to Sam’s lips, running his hand down the man’s chest and stomach, cupping his groin and smirking at the low groan that melts into the kiss.

“Please…” you whisper, reaching out to just graze your fingertips along the dripping head of Bucky’s cock.

Bucky grabs your wrist and you watch with hiccuping breath as the metallic fingers close around your delicate forearm. When he speaks his voice is mocking again, “You haven’t earned my cock, doll.”

You whine in distress and he tightens his hold on you just a fraction, his pouty lips thinning into a grim line as he warns, “Stop that. That attitude’s what got you here in the first place.”

He lets go of your hand only to seize you under your armpits and haul you up onto his lap. He settles you so that you’re straddling his muscular thigh. The fabric of his jeans brushes against your aching cunt and you can’t help but roll your hips, seeking more friction even as Sam gives you a withering look at your lack of self-control.

Bucky only smiles indulgently at you.

“Here’s what’s going to happen, baby,” he explains and his voice is suddenly hard. He brings his right hand up to your neck and wraps his fingers around your throat as he talks--just hinting at the pressure he could exert if he wanted to. “You’re gonna get yourself off on my thigh like the desperate little slut we know you are. No hands, no kissing, just you rubbing your sloppy pussy on my thigh. And Sam, here, is going to get to play with my cock because he hasn’t disrespected me and acted like a spoiled little brat all day. Is that clear?”

“Y-yellow,” you say and Bucky’s hand falls away from your neck at once. You crumble forward, burying your face into his chest and clutching his shirt in your hands as he rubs circles into your back.

“Should we stop?” Bucky whispers low into your ear. As much as you love playing with Sam, in these moments you’re entirely Bucky’s.

“N-no, I just need a minute,” you’re quick to answer. You can’t put into words how desperate you are to...atone...to prove yourself. And then, “I’m sorry I was bad.”

“Shhh,” Bucky hushes you and presses a soft kiss to your mouth. You’ll never get over how soft and delicious his lips are. “I love you.”

You smile into his chest and take a deep breath before sitting up again and meeting his eyes, “Okay. I’m good.”

“You sure?” Sam asks and you give him a little nod.

“Good,” Sam says. “Because once I’m done getting your man off, you’re getting on your knees for me.”

A broken moan falls from your lips at the image of you kneeling before Sam and taking him in your mouth. He reaches for Bucky’s cock and wraps his fingers around it, giving it a long, slow stroke.

“You better get going, baby. If you don’t come by the time I’m finished you’re not coming at all,” Bucky warns you and then laughs at the cry of distress you make.

You roll your hips eagerly, rubbing your soaking cunt against Bucky’s leg and blushing furiously at the mess you’re making of his pants. Bucky’s eyes flick between you and Sam. You can’t help but feel jealous when he leans his head on the back of the couch and turns to watch Sam with naked lust broadcasting from his eyes. But then he turns back to you and bounces his leg to give you more stimulation and you could almost cry with how much you love this man. Sam’s fist works furiously between Bucky’s legs and you can tell the man is trying to finish Bucky off before you have a chance to come. Sam’s a little sadistic like that.

You race toward your orgasm in a frenzy, not caring how desperate you must look, humping your lover’s leg while he takes his own pleasure with someone else. For his part, Bucky has let his head fall back and his eyes close as he moans with his approaching release. His right hand falls down to your hip and his fingers indent your soft flesh as he quakes with his orgasm. You feel the hot ribbons of cum spurt out and hit your thigh and you take advantage of both men’s distraction to increase your pace, frantically rubbing against the soaked fabric over Bucky’s thigh as you finally sob against the orgasm that shivers through you.

Bucky pulls you down and tucks you into his chest as he rains praise down on you.

“You were so good, baby. Such a good girl for me, aren’t you? I’m proud of you, baby.”

Sam reaches down to palm himself through the crotch of his pants and snorts, “She didn’t exactly follow the rules…”

Bucky shrugs and runs his hands up and down your ticklish sides causing you to giggle and squirm in his lap, “Ah, lay off, Sam. She did good.”

You hear the zip of Sam opening his fly as he replies, “She’s not done yet.”

A shiver runs down your spine at his words and you shuffle off of Bucky’s lap and onto the floor, kneeling between Sam’s legs and looking up at him with complete trust and obedience. You’re so deep into it right now. Sam looks down at you and smiles, running his hand through your hair as he takes out his thick cock. He guides you down onto it and you open your mouth, straining to keep your teeth away as he pushes inside of you. He lets you stop when you need to and you wrap your hands around the base of his cock as you start to suck and bob your head. Sam keeps his palm on the back of your head, a gentle force that reminds you who’s in control.

He’s not so into verbal praise as Bucky is when you do this for him, but the fierce moans from above let you know that he’s enjoying your attention. You let saliva pool in your mouth and dribble out onto your lips as you suck him off. Bucky shifts off of the couch and kneels on the floor behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle and whispering into your ear as you work.

“Look at you, on your knees for my friend, sucking his cock just to make me happy. You’re such a little slut for me. You’ll do anything, won’t you?” Bucky knows how much you get off on his dirty talk. He smirks as you moan an affirmative around Sam’s cock, squirming so your ass rubs against Bucky’s pelvis. “You little brat. Still trying to get my cock for yourself, aren’t you? Will you really let me do anything, then?”

He reaches down and swirls his finger around your delicate, puckered asshole. You let Sam’s cock slide out of your mouth with an obscene pop and you’re nodding your head furiously over your shoulder, “Yes, Bucky! I want it…”

“Cock slut,” Sam laughs and he leans back to watch as Bucky grabs the bottle of lube and starts prepping you. “You want all your holes filled up, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sam,” you answer with a gasp as Bucky slides one slick finger inside of you. He pumps it into a few times before adding another and you groan as he stretches you out.

“Okay, baby?” he asks, sounding breathless with anticipation. You can feel his already hardened dick bump against the backs of your legs as he fucks you with his fingers. You lean forward, clutching onto Sam’s knee for balance as Bucky opens you up.

“I’m good...I’m a good girl…,” you murmur, shutting your eyes and focusing on your breathing as Bucky pushes a third digit inside of you.

Sam has one hand around his cock and he reaches the other to pat your head as he says, “Yes, you are, baby.”

Bucky slips his fingers free and lathers his cock with lube, grabbing your hips and finally asking, “Ready?”

You’re on your hands and knees now and Sam sits forward so his cock is in your face, dripping precum onto your lips as you answer, “Ready.”

They enter you at the same time. You part your lips for Sam’s cock as he pushes back inside of you, taking more control this time and cradling your face in both his hands as he thrusts into your mouth. Bucky enters slowly, rubbing his hands into the small of your back as his cock fills you and stretches you to your limit. You cry out a little around Sam’s cock but you tap the floor twice with your hand to indicate to Bucky that you’re okay.

For all you’ve played together in the past you’ve never done this before, both men filling you up at once. Sam increases his pace, brutally fucking your throat as Bucky’s hips slap against your ass and you feel so deliciously full and used. You’re floating with the euphoria of it even as tears trickle from your eyes. Sam comes first. He pulls out at the last minute and shoots his load over your face, rubbing the head of his dick along your cheeks and lips and telling you what a good girl you were for him.

Bucky’s thrusts continue for another minute, his fingers digging into your hips and leaving bruises as he finally explodes inside you.

Afterwards they take you into the show and clean you off. You’ve gone mostly nonverbal at this point and you can only respond to Bucky in soft whispered monosyllables as he washes you and towels you off. They take you back to Bucky’s bedroom and cuddle up on either side of you as you drift off to sleep.

---

You wake up a little later and it’s only Bucky in bed with you. He’s still awake, looking at something on his phone and you snuggle up to his side with a contented sigh.

After a few minutes of silence you finally try to explain what had been bothering you earlier and causing your bad behavior. You worry when he’s away. Your anxiety takes over and you imagine horrible, impossible scenarios and there’s no one there to reel you in like Bucky does when he’s home. When he’d finally gotten home from the mission he’d had to leave almost immediately for a debrief and then he’d basically ignored you for a whole day because he was busy and...and you’d just needed him to be there for you and put you back under his control so you could let go of all of it.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Bucky finally says. “It’s been busy lately but it’s no excuse. I’ll make more time for you when I get back from missions…”

“‘M sorry, too,” you mumble and he tightens his arms around you and lays a kiss on your forehead.

“It’s alright. You were so good today. Let’s go to sleep…”

A/N: Well holy shit

Tags:

@watsonwise @1zashreena1 @theplumsoldier @i-the-hell-is-bvcky @scott-mccall-could-lift-mjolnir @justrunamok @sabinemorans

#bucky barnes x sam wilson x reader #bucky barnes x sam wilson #bucky barnes x reader #sam wilson x reader #m x m x f #smut #chelsfic

94 notes · View notes

siancore · 4 years

Text

Title: Take a Break

Summary: Sam’s been training too hard, to the point of frustration, and injures himself a little. Bucky takes care of him. BONUS: They were roommates!

A/N: *tosses this light-angsty-fluffy-domestic SamBucky one-shot at you*

Warnings: Language; Hurt/Comfort; Self-Doubting Sam

Word Count: 1,970

He’d been at it for the better part of the day; slinging the shield at the makeshift targets. It would whirr through the air and sometimes connect with what he was aiming for; other times, most times, it would end up in the bushes. He really wanted to get it right. He was practising with so much diligence and with such dedication, and was getting better, from what Bucky could tell; but he was also getting frustrated. And maybe over-working himself by pushing his body too far.

“Wilson, why don’t you take a break?” said Bucky from where he was standing near the house as he watched Sam jog to the place the shield had landed after missing its mark. Sam offered nothing in reply.

“Sam, c’mon.”

“No,” was all Sam said, causing Bucky to sigh.

“You’re gonna put too much strain on your arm –”

“You don’t think I can do this, either?” Sam interjected, as he walked back to his spot. “Well, you’re not the only one, ‘cause everyone else thinks so, too, so get in line.”

He didn’t mean to be so short with Bucky, but he was irritated. He and Bucky had been growing closer having spent so much time together the past few weeks. When they were finally afforded the chance to settle down and catch their breaths, Sam was intent on perfecting his skill with the shield. Things were going slow, but he was improving. He just needed to be more patient with himself and know when it was time to rest.

“Sam, come on,” said Bucky, as he walked closer to his friend. “That’s not what I meant. I’m worried you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“Don’t gotta worry ‘bout me,” Sam proffered. “I’m a big boy, Barnes.”

“I know,” said Bucky, stopping near Sam. “But big boys can injure themselves if they’re not careful.”

Sam saw the genuine concern in Bucky’s eyes. He felt something akin to fondness swirl around inside of him; had been feeling it more and more as of late whenever Bucky said or did something he found endearing. But he couldn’t let Bucky’s charms distract him from the task at hand.

“Thanks, Barnes,” said Sam, as he turned to ready himself for his next throw. “But I’ll be alright.”

…..

Later that evening, Sam Wilson was, in fact, not all right. He walked into their home and looked a little stiff; Barnes noticed.

“You okay, Wilson?” he asked, honest concern etched across his face as he took in Sam’s appearance.

“Yeah, dude,” he replied, not meeting Bucky’s gaze. “Just need a shower.”

Bucky nodded, but was still worried about the way Sam’s right arm hung limply at his side. He said nothing else as he watched Sam walk away. He listened, waiting for the shower to turn on, then figured Sam might want something to eat after his vigorous training session. He went to see what they had in the fridge, and then groaned; he would probably need to make a quick trip to town to pick up some take-out. He didn’t want to leave just yet, in case Sam needed him for whatever reason after his shower. Bucky closed the door of the fridge, ran his hand through his short tresses, and then made his way back to the living room.

While scanning the pages of a local agricultural magazine, Bucky was drawn from the article about eco farming by Sam’s presence. Bucky lifted his gaze to glance at Sam before his eyes went wide: He was shirtless. Shirtless with small rivulets of water running down his perfectly formed body. Bucky let his eyes roam over Sam’s broad chest and defined abs before gathering his wits and tearing his gaze away. He cleared his throat and placed the magazine down on the couch.

“Feel better?” he asked, trying not to be distracted by Sam’s state of undress.

“I dunno,” said Sam, trying to roll his shoulder. “Think I messed something up; pulled something. I couldn’t lift my arm properly to even get a shirt on.”

Bucky was concerned, but the reminder of the fact Sam was shirtless drew his eyes back to the other man’s body once more. He really needed to stop ogling his roommate and focus.

“And don’t say I told you so,” Sam added. “Can’t deal with you bein’ a smug asshole right now.”

“Lemme see,” Bucky replied, gesturing for Sam to come close.

Sam stepped over to where Bucky was standing. They locked eyes a beat longer than was necessary before Bucky placed a tentative hand to Sam’s shoulder.

“Does it hurt?” he asked while applying some pressure.

“Yeah, a little.”

“In the bone or muscle?”

“Muscle,” said Sam. “And the joint?”

“Okay, take a seat,” said Bucky. “Let’s try a warm compression. Wait here, and I’ll get a towel. Fix you up in no time.”

He gave Sam a small, reassuring grin, and then made his way to the bathroom. Sam sat down and tried to roll his shoulder once more, but winced at the discomfort. Bucky returned soon thereafter and set about alleviating Sam’s aching joint.

He held a small towel that he had submerged in hot water a moment.

“I’m just gonna put this here,” said Bucky, as he placed the towel to Sam’s shoulder. “Keep it on there until it goes cold.”

Sam nodded and then Bucky went back into the bathroom. He returned with a glass of water and two ibuprofen pills.

“Take these for the inflammation,” said Bucky, handing them over to Sam. “I’m just gonna do a run into town to grab some food for dinner. You stay here and rest.”

“Okay, Doctor Barnes,” said Sam jokingly. “But seriously, man, thank you.”

Bucky gave Sam a gentle smile, and said, “Don’t be stubborn. Sit here and take it easy until I get back.”

…..

When Bucky returned, he found Sam sitting with his eyes closed, and the towel still pressed to his shoulder. He was a sight to behold. Pretty and relaxed; angelic. Bucky stood admiring his good looks a moment. He could stand there for the rest of the night and take in the pleasant view, he mused, but his friend was probably hungry, too.

“Sam?” he asked softly, thinking the other man had dozed off to sleep.

“Yeah?” asked Sam, with his eyes still closed.

“How does it feel now?”

“Better,” said Sam, as he opened his eyes, glanced at Bucky, and removed the towel.

Bucky smiled and said, “Great. Sit tight, let me grab some plates for our food, and then I’ll have another look.”

He placed their take-out dinner on the coffee table and then went into the kitchen; before he could grab the plates, Sam followed behind him.

“I told you to sit tight.”

Sam rolled his eyes and said, “I’m fine, Barnes. I can help you grab a couple o’ plates. Besides, it’s only a little stiff now.”

“You’re such a stubborn ass,” said Bucky, as he abandoned his task at hand, walked over to Sam, and gently took hold of his left arm. “C’mon.”

“Barnes –” Sam protested weakly as Bucky led him back to the living room.

“What?”

“You don’t need to fuss,” said Sam, as he stopped and gently pulled out of Bucky’s grasp.

Bucky let out a huff, sat on the sofa and said, “C’mon. C’mere.”

Sam gave him a questioning look and raised a brow.

“Get your stubborn ass over here so I can give you a shoulder rub.”

“Buck, seriously?”

“Yes, now move, Soldier.”

Sam sighed, but there was no real irritation behind it. He actually found Bucky’s concern endearing. It was nice to have someone worry about him; to have someone care for him. Sam tried to ignore the fluttering in his tummy when he saw the soft expression on Bucky’s face.

“Sam, please,” said Bucky. “Let me take care of you.”

Sam relented and moved toward the couch. He took up a seat, and Bucky settled in behind him. When Bucky placed a hand to Sam’s skin, Sam leaned into his touch.

“Do you even know how to give a proper shoulder rub?”

“Basic training.”

“What about it?”

“That’s where I learned to give a shoulder rub,” Bucky explained. “Recoil on rifles can hurt like hell.”

Sam nodded in response, knowing that to be true. Bucky went to work, gently circling his thumb over Sam’s skin. Using his fingers to knead his tired muscles while applying pressure with his palm. He felt the other man relax under his touch. He smiled to himself when Sam let out a tiny, very delightful moan.

“Anyone ever tell you your fingers are like magic?” Sam queried, his voice low and languid; it did something to Bucky, hearing Sam sound like that. He had to stay focussed and not let the other man’s rich tone distract him.

“You got no idea,” said Bucky, immediately chiding himself for sounding too flirty with his roommate.

“So, you went out of your way to prove to me you got magic fingers?” Sam teased, and then grew somewhat serious. “Seems like we both want to prove ourselves in our own way. You with the magic touch, and me with the Cap stuff.”

“Hey,” said Bucky, as he stilled his massaging. “You don’t have anything to prove, Sam. You’re the right man for the job. Stop doubting yourself, and do what you do best; what you were born to do: Be a hero the people need. Don’t sweat the small things, sweetheart.”

Sam nodded his head and took in what Bucky was saying as he offered a sincere, “Thank you.”

Sam then focussed on the warm palm of the other man’s hand that lingered on his naked skin. They could each feel the mood shift in their quaint living room. The electricity between them was profound; Bucky swore he could feel it dancing across his skin.

“Y’know –”

“Sam, I –”

They both laughed at the fact they went to speak at the same time.

“You go,” said Bucky, as he began to massage Sam’s shoulder once more.

“I was gonna say,” Sam started. “That you bein’ all sweet with me is nice. But you don’t have to butter me up to cop a feel; all you gotta do is ask.”

It was playful and teasing and caused Bucky to let out a little chuckle as his face grew warm.

“It ain’t that. I mean, this sure is nice an’ all,” said Bucky, referring to the physical contact between them. “But I’m not tryin’ to butter you up. I care about you.”

The playful moment faded away as the seriousness of Bucky’s words settled in around both men.

“And I wanna take care of you,” Bucky added. “I don’t ever like seeing you hurt, Sam. So, stop bein’ so stubborn and pushin’ yourself past your limits. There’ll be plenty of fights in our future, so quit fightin’ yourself.”

Sam shifted away from Bucky a little so he could turn and face him.

“When did you get so smart, uh?” asked Sam, as he searched Bucky’s eyes. There was a softness there that made his breath hitch.

“I think all your smarts rubbed off onto me,” said Bucky with a coy smile. “You’re the smartest guy I know. Your brave and strong. You’re loyal. You can literally fly. You’re the best, Sam. The absolute best. And you’ll get the knack of that shield soon enough. Just don’t wear yourself thin in the process. I kinda need you.”

“You need me?”

“Of course I do,” said Bucky, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “So, look after yourself, okay? For me.”

“Okay,” Sam replied with a smile that lit up his face and caused Bucky’s heart to skip a beat. “For you.”

#sambucky #sambucky fanfiction #winterfalcon #sam wilson #bucky barnes

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minsimagines · 4 years

Text

green malice | prologue

Summary: Y/N is an avenger, and she can’t stand Steve Rogers. A powerful mage, able to conjure green deadly mists to use as she wishes. The public is horrified by her, so her private life is hidden by the name they gave her: The Green Malice.

Follow her as she tries to fulfill her destiny; to find both her place in the world and maybe love on the way there.

Characters: Y/N Y/LN / Green Malice. Steve Rogers. Sam Wilson. The Avengers. Warnings: Swear words, nothing else, I think? Words: 1.4k A/N: gifs and images are not mine, credit to owners!! I’m back with another fic. Woho.

Parts: MASTERLIST | next

It hadn’t taken more than five seconds for you to realize you didn’t like Steve Rogers.

He was bossy, old fashioned and so fucking stubborn. Every chick, every person in a room would all admire him as if he had single handedly saved the world with his pinky finger. You didn’t like Steve Rogers, and you were not about to let him tell you what to do.

“I gave you an order,” he said, glaring down at you.

“I don’t take orders,” you stated plainly, turning on your heel to walk out of the room.

Everyone always talked about Steve Rogers. Everyone asked about him. No one would ask about you. No, it was all Captain America. You, apparently, weren’t even a part of the team.

You were just another product of someone’s sick imagination, a project gone sour. Unnatural and dangerous. The others didn’t have to hide behind an alias, like you had too. No one in the building except the team- no, scratch that. No one in the world could know about you outside of the team.

Hence your alias. Green Malice.

It wasn’t given to you by the team or yourself, no. It was given to you by the public. By the people. The people had been terrified when they’d seen what you could do, and because no one had seen your face, your personal life was still safe.

You hated the name, yet Steve Rogers forced you to go along with it, so that your identity could be saved. The public wouldn’t change their nickname for you even if the team would formally send out a message for them too.

The team acted like they weren’t afraid of you. Kept having conversations about how they were all outcasts and different people, though you knew they were all constantly thinking about trying to not piss you off or flip you over the edge.

What edge? The edge of the knife you were at. The verge of becoming what people so badly wished you to be. A monster. A psychopathic murderer. You had never murdered anyone. You had paralyzed them, yes, but they woke up in prison where they belonged.

People didn’t see it that way.

Steve had hurt more people than you had, yet he was their hero.

You fumed as you made your way to the practice-room they had built especially for you. Especially for you, so that your powers couldn’t slip out and kill them when you trained. As if.

The door swooshed shut behind you as you entered. You wished they were regular doors, so you could slam them shut. You stood by the wall of the room and closed your eyes, trying to center your anger.

Your eyes opened; the glare glued to the mannequins at the other end of the room. You pressed a button on the wall and the dolls began moving.

Taking a deep breath, you took a few steps forward, your eyes on the moving dolls. Lifting your hand, green fog formed in your palm, floating around your arm in a calm waterfall.

You looked at your hand. A green sheen had laid over the world, your eyes glowing emerald. In the center of the fog, the deep green smoke took the shape of a dagger.

Throwing with your full might, you shot the dagger towards the dolls. Several daggers took shape in your hands, and you growled in anger as you threw each and every one of them with purpose. You threw until you could barely keep your hands up any longer.

Your hair was stuck to your forehead, the sweat was dripping down your back, the dummies were completely destroyed, and you were heaving for your breath.

You couldn’t stop.

“Y/L/N.”

You roared in anger and threw harder when you heard the voice. How dare he come after you? How dare he push you around like a kid?

“Y/L/N!” He demanded; his voice raised. You froze, your glare sat on the wall in front of you. Your arms fell to your side, the fog slowly subsiding.

“That’s the fourth time this week you’ve destroyed every target in this room, what has gotten into you?”

It was as if he just knew you despised his voice. He never shut up.

“Sorry. Thought it was built for me to practice,” you tried to sound compliant and somewhat sorry, even if you weren’t.

“Yes, practice. Not for destruction,” he said, and you could just hear the judgmental look on his face. The frown.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, trying to keep your voice leveled.

“Y/N,” he began, and you hated how he said your name. It made your skin crawl. “I’m your leader, you can talk to me.”

‘Yes, I fucking know you’re my leader, not a minute goes by without you reminding me,’ was what you wanted to say.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you tried sounding chirpy, yet of course America’s hero didn’t want to let it go.

“So why won’t you turn around?” He asked and you could hear he had stepped closer.

“I’m focusing,” you lied, not even bothering to make a good excuse.

“On what? There are no more targets to hit, you’ve practically evaporated them all.”

“So what? That’s my power,” you seethed, turning to look at him. “Or, did you forget?”

“That’s not-”

“Right, right, I keep forgetting they’re only useful to you when you actually need them,” you cut him off with a scowl as you headed for the door.

“Now, hold on a minute,” he said with a frown, holding his arm out in front of you as you tried to pass him. “That’s not fair. I’m the one who wanted you for the team.”

“Then why are you complaining about my powers?”

“There’s a difference between a battle ground and a practice field, Y/N. Do you see Wanda destroying things like this, when she trains?”

And he could never fucking stop comparing you to Wanda. You liked Wanda, you really did, but sometimes you couldn’t even stand to look at her. She was the perfect one. They loved her, even if she was possibly the strongest of them all.

“Well, I’m not Wanda, am I? I’m the bad one, remember?” You asked, glaring up at him as you pushed his hand down to pass.

He let you leave, looking after you with a troubled expression. He could never seem to get anything right with you, you were too stubborn to hear anything other than what you wanted. You practically jogged through the kitchen.

“Hello, sunshine,” Sam grinned at you as you rushed past him. “Hey, hey, slow down,” he yelled, and you sighed, turning to him.

“Come here,” he beamed and gestured for you to come over with his hand. You reluctantly moved towards him and sat next to him on a bar stool.

“What’s up?” He asked.

“I’m tired,” you stated, and gestured down to your sweaty and tired body.

“That’s all?” He asked, giving you a pointed look.

“Yes,” you lied. Well, it wasn’t actually a lie. You were tired, but not from the training. You were tired of Steve.

“So, you’re running around here,” he stated, drawing a circle in the air with his finger. “Because you’re tired?”

You pressed your lips together. Okay, that did seem a bit strange, but what did it matter? This was work, these were your supposed colleagues. It didn’t matter at all.

“I want to shower and take a nap,” you said. That was all true.

“You have some cleaning up to do before you go anywhere,” came the voice of the Captain behind you. You had to hold yourself back from slapping yourself in the face at the annoying voice.

Slipping down out of the chair, you spun around, ready to leave the room, only to bump into Steve’s chest. His arms held onto your upper arms to steady you, and you automatically looked up at his face.

He was so close you could feel his breath as he asked you if you were okay. Your breath caught in your throat.

But that wasn’t what freaked you out. What freaked you out was the undeniable butterflies that fluttered in your stomach at the feeling.

No.

“Let go of me,” you hissed, wriggling out of his hold and rushing away to your room, your face beat red.

No, that didn’t happen.

Fuck no.

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the-wintershade · 4 years

Text

— just like oil on my hands

pairing: sam wilson x f!reader x bucky barnes summary: you and sam having a myriad of bonding moments and the thought of falling for him becomes nearly unbearable, but, just when things get serious, there’s always something in the way. wc: 6.5k+ genre: flirting, good banter, heat, awkwardness and tension

Blue Shade: series — masterlist | 04

Sam makes sure to bring you to everything now. It’s as him disclosing his place of complete secrecy has opened up another side of him that you’ve never seen before. Dancing is more exciting, you laugh consistently when you’re together, and you meet up when class isn’t in session.

It’s as if the almost kiss was erased wholly from your memory.

You find out about his obsession with Marvin Gaye and the Trouble Man soundtrack. He’s got the whole album and listens to it almost everyday, but it took you a little bit to pry that slightly embarrassing detail from him.

“Oh, you must really like him.”

“Yeah, he’s pretty good.” He laughs into his coffee as you sit at the table you’ve officially decided to co-parent.

“To have over 300 listens to the same songs is pretty impressive considering that you only recently bought the whole album.” You wiggle your eyebrows and he tries his best to keep a straight face, sputtering into his drink. You grin at his momentary lapse in restraint.

“Well, like I said, Marvin Gaye is the best.” He watches you with a mirthful gaze and you squint your eyes at him, knowing there’s a part he’s not telling you.

“Well, Rachel knows that that’s only partially true.” You lean your head down and pretend that she’s agreeing with you, nodding your head enthusiastically. “That’s exactly right Rachel, he’s hiding something from us. He doesn’t love you like I do, Rachel.”

“Rachel, don’t listen to that. You know that I’ve been coming here consistently these past few weeks and we’ve been listening to the soundtrack together.” He folds his arms and leans back as if he’s won this battle. Ha.

“Everytime, huh?” You nonchalantly take a sip.

“Yep.” He purses his lips in triumph.

“Sounds like this is an everyday occurrence.”

“‘Cause it is.” He retorts and you point directly at him. He sputters through his drink, realizing he’s been caught, trying to scramble for a response.

“Ah—the truth finally comes out. He is legally insane.” You spread your arms in victory, sweet sweet victory. “He’s completely addicted to the soundtrack and cannot go a day without listening to it. Your honor, this case is officially closed; you have all of the evidence you need to convict this man.”

“You can’t prove that.” He chuckles, snatching his phone back to put it safely back in his pocket.

“If you were in love with Marvin Gaye, Sam, all you had to do was say the word.” You take a sip while grinning and he fakes annoyance and rolls his eyes before breaking down in laughter. You follow closely behind him.

…

He also takes you rollerskating. He tries to talk you through it and reassures you that it’s pretty easy. He just wasn’t aware that you used to hit the rink every Friday as a kid and although it’s been a while since you’ve gotten back on the rink, you used to be a pro.

This was going to be easy, but it wouldn’t be that hard to play a little prank on him.

He’d helped you lace your skates up tight enough that your ankles wouldn’t roll and you let him, pretending to be all dainty and unaware of the roller skating experience. You did enjoy taking his hands again as he hoisted you to your feet and held most of your weight, making sure you kept your balance.

He was extremely careful, walking you through the steps as you wobbled and shook heavily on phoney weak and unpracticed legs. His hands were strong and steady, a calming pulse about as soothing as his warm voice guiding you how to weave one foot in and out to create some speed.

“There you go, you got it.” His encouraging voice made you smile, a genuine display of teeth. Of course, it wasn’t because you were making small, fake steps of progress, but because he was willing to be patient with you as you moved through the steps. It made your heart soften and a warmth of pure adoration erupt in your core.

“I think I’m getting the hang of this.” Your legs shook violently and you pretended to stumble. He caught you, his hands gripping your forearms determinedly, not allowing you to even think of falling, drawing you into his strong chest.

He breathed a little slower, looking down at you with concern and laughter. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” You breathed shakily, laying your performance thick. “Let me try again.”

You stood up straight again and gently tugged against his hands. “I want to see if I can do it without you.”

“Okay, just be careful.” He didn’t look convinced that you could do it, but he slowly let go of you, keeping his hands out just in case you needed the security of them again. He made sure to stay close and you allowed yourself a small smirk at his protectiveness and concern.

You winked at him and spun around, taking off around the circle of the rink, sure that your legs and previous experience would be more than capable of supporting your own weight. You even ignored the stopper on the front and slowed your speed by dragging the side of your wheel.

His mouth hung open as you drifted right next to him, turning around to skate backwards. Then he let out a huff in disbelief. “You lied to me.”

“I thought it’d be a great opportunity to find out how good of a teacher you were.” You shrugged in false innocence and made sure to stay slightly out of his reach, even when he started to drift closer.

“And after I laced up your shoes, after I took all this time to walk you through all of the steps.”

“It was a nice added benefit.” You laughed.

“Oh, okay. I see how you wanna play this.” His eyes turned to something darker, losing the bright light they held and morphing into a deeper expression of humor and resolve.

You wasted no time in turning around and taking off, squealing as he rode fast on your heels. Giggles escaped you as his fingertips brushed against your clothing now and again. He eventually gained enough speed to pull you right next to him, forcing you to slow down and face him.

The vestiges of your laughter died down while you looked at him. He wasn’t mad at all. His chest heaved up and down, his teeth spread into a huge grin. “You’re not getting off that easily.”

The ensuing roller skating dance battle was epic.

…

“Keep up, Coffee girl. I saw the way you moved on those skates!” He called over his shoulder as he lapped you, the tall tower near the Lincoln Memorial loomed in the distance as you tried to catch up to him near the reflecting pool.

You huffed, your lungs squeezing with flame, and you struggled to take in air, your mouth crumbly and dry. You’d sweated through your exercise shirt and were about three seconds from passing out.

You should have expected this. Sam was in the military after all and it made sense that the regimen never really goes away that easily, but you hadn’t expected to get ran into the next century. Sure, you could move your way around roller skates, but the wheels did a lot more for you than you actually did for the skates. The running shoes you wore right now weren’t going to assist in keeping your pace. This was all manual labor.

And you hadn’t tried to run in years. Middle school P.E. was likely the last time you ever tried to pace yourself through a measly mile.

You saw him make his way around the halfway point and came to a stop, placing your hands tightly on your knees and taking in as much air as you possibly could in the moment. You closed your eyes, feeling the sweat creating small rivets down your neck and back, clinging to your hair and your clothes. You felt dirty, in deep need of a hot shower and three healthy gallons of water.

“On your left.” Sam huffed past you, but you kept your eyes closed and took in more air until you could feel like you would be able to form a response.

When you opened them, Sam was watching you with that mixture of mirth and worry. “You alright there?”

“Yeah,” You could barely speak the words, the syllables filled with air instead of the ringing of your vocal chords. “I’m okay. Just need a minute.” You closed your eyes again and took deep breaths until you could get your breathing under control.

You heard Sam tread over to you and crouch down in front of you. “Hey.” Your eyes peeled open slowly, and he was right there with a soft smile on his face. “Let’s take it slow.”

You nodded and stood up straight, ignoring the stabs of pain shooting through your side. Sam took his place beside you and started on what was undoubtedly a slow jog for him, but was a manageable pace for you. You ignored the pain, fighting to stay moving.

Sam didn’t treat you with pity or that you would crumble. He stayed right next to you, bringing up topics that you could bicker over or discuss to a deep enough degree to keep your mind off your jog. He was kind and supportive. He took breaks with you when you needed to stop and would slow your pace if you were beginning to struggle again.

He showed you time and time again that he was everything Bucky was not. He was giving you so many reasons why he was better. Why you should choose him.

And everytime, you thought you didn’t deserve him. He doesn’t deserve someone caught up in a relationship with someone else. The longer you dwelled on these thoughts, the sadder you became. A hole opened up, eating through your thoughts of him.

Because you wanted to be that supporting shoulder that he was for you, but you weren’t sure that would ever happen. By the time you got out, it might be too late for Sam. Besides, you had to prove that you weren’t boring, that you could be exciting too. That you could keep a man interested.

Sam picked up on your change in mood and slowed your pace even more. “What’s going on? Thinking about him, again?”

“No.” You shook your head and gave a sad smile. “Something else that’s more important.”

He nodded and smiled. “Well get your head out of the clouds, Coffee Girl. We got three more laps to do.”

You huffed in frustration and gave a sad attempt at a laugh. “People must really call you Falcon for good reason. You just fly around those corners don’t you?”

“You have no idea.”

...

Another day, another dance class. Sam spins you around as usual and dips you down, supporting you as you grab onto his arms. He whips you up and around with a flourish before pulling you back in, the both of you back to swaying to the beat. You let off a giggle as he wiggles his eyebrows at you.

You’ve all been learning choreography for the main dance that will take place pretty soon after the first dances. It’s been fun so far and everyone is picking everything up fast. It’s nice to feel like you’re part of something important.

It will all suck when he finally gets a replacement and he’ll get to dance with some other, more impressive girl. You just try to enjoy it all while you’re still here with him and he’s still willing to entertain your mess of a social life.

You and Natasha spin around each other, changing partners. Clint keeps you at a respectable distance while making sure you get your timing and steps right. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.” He grins as he spins you.

“Not at all.” You huff, twirling back to him as you glide around the dance floor. “I trust you and Natasha are having a good time?”

“As always.” He smirks and you dance in a good silence before it’s time to change partners again. “Have fun.” He wishes you with a subcurrent of intentional enthusiasm. You just laugh as he passes you back, Natasha’s red hair becoming a blur. You catch her eyes mid-turn and she winks at you. You grin back.

Sam catches you easily and pulls you back in, making sure you're comfortable before moving. You didn’t notice how close you normally stand while dancing, but the apparent gap between you and Clint made it that more clear. You’re nearly touching his chest and your toes are just a breath apart.

But it wasn’t unusual to you before. It’s comfortable, easy. You don’t bother to change it now, because you like it this way.

You shouldn’t.

But you do.

The instructor moves closer to you. “Great form. You make excellent partners.” She claps in excitement and you both grin abashedly at the direct attention. “I’ll bet you’ll be the next ones to get married.”

Your blood runs cold and your eyes widen involuntarily. The statement carries more weight than she probably intended, but the fact that you’re technically still bound to Bucky brings the world back into focus. Until you can get the current boyfriend situation figured out, there couldn’t be a you and Sam. Not permanently.

No matter what your heart wanted.

No matter how much that statement, as much as it took you off guard, excited you.

Sam sobered as much as you did and stopped moving entirely. He looked to you to gauge your reaction and when he saw your face open in shock, his own frowned, his light dying slightly. Then he steeled himself. “Depends on who catches the bouquet.”

She laughed and gestured for you to continue. You took a deep breath and looked up to him. You both didn’t say anything to each other, but you shared a look of deep understanding of how serious a statement like that was.

…

You step out at a beautiful building with glass doors and racks on racks of differing pants and shirts, ties and cuffs. It’s even more impressive inside. Sam waits for you in a chair outside of the dressing room.

“Hey.” You breathe watching him get to his feet and walk over to you.

“Thanks for coming.” He nods and glances over your outfit. It’s a casual glance, but it sparks a hum of electricity down your spine.

“Yeah, well, the bridesmaid’s were having a fitting and I’m not technically invited so it’s probably a good thing I’m here.” You shrugged, flipping your hair over your shoulder and he laughed richly, rolling his eyes at your show.

Sam shows you to your seat just inside the dressing room, leading you to a place with a good deal of mirrors and a pedestal for the model to stand on. You take a seat on the plush chair and scroll through some ambient notifications, catching up on social media, and sending a few text messages.

Sam asked you a few days ago if you’d come be “quality control” over his choice for a suit. The only stipulation that Steve put on his groomsmen is that the suit needs to be white. It seemed oddly out of character for a man that appeared traditional and old fashioned, but you welcomed the change. You’d heard the bridesmaid dresses were going to be red instead of the pale pink that was usually encouraged. But then again, Peggy did rock a red lip better than anyone else you knew; you had no doubt that her lip color of choice influenced her decision.

Why Sam really needed your help, eluded you. He was a perfectly capable man that was more than equipped to make his own choices and could definitely shop for himself, but you weren’t complaining. He was getting you out of a ridiculous dinner date with Bucky and whatever other work friend he was so hellbent on impressing. Not being there gave you all the energy you needed to focus.

When Sam steps out, your breath catches in your throat. He waves his arms out, letting you see the white suit in action as he spins around. He adjusts his red tie in the mirror before looking back at you. “What do you think?”

You can’t form words. Your brain is having a hard time catching up to what’s going through your mind. How handsome he looks, how the suit is fitted perfectly, how he looks outstanding and beautiful. It’s like you’re back at the boardwalk again.

The white stands out starkly against his chocolate skin and makes it even more heavenly. It’s like white was his color. The only one he should wear for the rest of his life.

��It looks fantastic on you…” Your mouth still hangs open as you speak and it takes effort to control your eyes, keeping them at a normal wideness. You know your tone is dreamy and slightly slurred, but you can’t help it. “You-You look amazing.”

Sam just stares.

“You like?” The tailor flutters around him, adjusting his suit jacket and his pants. It wouldn’t matter if the suit was ill-fitted. He’d still look fantastic and your breath would still have suddenly disappeared from your body.

You nodded absentmindedly, drifting closer to get a good inspection of him. Your fingers reached for his tie, fiddling with it in your grasp and feeling the soft, silken texture. He froze completely now, just watching you adjust his slightly crooked tie. You straightened it.

“Well, good thing quality control was here to fix it for you.” You breathed out, softly chuckling at the end. It helped cover up some of your nerves. Your fingers shook as you kept your hands closed.

His smile was delayed by a good few seconds, but it was followed by a timid laugh, shallow and not a deep as you were used to. He must have felt the same jittery anxiety that you were.

You knew the reasons that you felt this way, but his were even more muddy and less clear.

“You know how these things work, Coffee Girl?” His voice was low, but took on a light and joking tone as he gestured to the tie.

You shook your head with a smirk. “Yes, bell bottoms, I know how to tie a tie properly.”

His following laugh was covered in nerves. He then lowered his eyes so that they were almost leveled with yours, all dark and warming. A fire ignited someone near your core at his gaze. “You don’t have to worry about my tie so much.”

You cleared your throat and turned him around, letting him get a good observation of himself in the mirror. You let your hands linger on his shoulders for a second longer than necessary, feeling the strength of his arms underneath his suit.

The tailor hums in approval. “Yes. Very good. Doesn’t he look good to you?”

The question was a bit more direct than you were prepared for and you sputtered for a second, Sam’s eyes catching yours in the mirror and sending another wave of fresh nervousness pulsing through your system. “Uh, yeah. I guess.” You want to slam your head into the nearest wall. What was that response?

You scratch the back of your head and step out of the way of his continuing adjustments. “No need for bashfulness. I can see the way you look at him.” He flashes a dazzling smile your way as you pointedly duck Sam’s inquiring eyes.

There’s not a response in the world that would be able to fix the conversation or steer it onto a path that would allow you to be honest while ignoring the feelings inside of your chest. You’re really in it now.

You just settle for an, “oh”, as you turn and resume your place on the chair, far out of the reach of touching Sam and away from the tailor’s focused stare.

It’s not the answer that the tailor was expecting and he must have picked up on the growing tension and awkwardness in the room. He weaves around the lapse in conversation like it’s nothing, quickly asking another slightly personal question that’s only that much harder to answer with certainty.

“You two are going to the wedding together, right?” Sam catches your eyes in the mirror and the pressure of a response once again falls on you. You have no idea how to answer this question correctly. It doesn’t seem like Sam has anyone else in mind, but your spot hasn’t been solidified for sure.

Plus, Sam’s looking like he wants you to say yes. Like he knows that there’s no one else, but he wants you to agree, to confirm that you’d be willing to go with him.

You try somewhere in the middle, hoping to not to give anything away.

“We’re dance partners right now, at least until his date can step in.” Sam’s face falls half an inch and he looks away. The tailor doesn’t notice, nor does he catch how instantly you deflate.

He just hums and pauses, watching Sam for a reaction.

Sam shrugs, turning his focus all on the business of tailoring his suit. “More or less.” He concedes.

“The woman that comes to see the tuxedo is always the one that goes to the wedding.” The tailor winks and returns to adding pins where the suit needs material eliminated. Your face still feels heavy and you feel guilty, like you gave a wrong answer on a test.

You stand then, determined to find something else to do to take your mind off of overanalyzing the situation at hand. “I’ll be over here.” You point at the racks near the back of the store full of dress shirts.

You meet Sam’s eyes in the mirror and see all traces of hurt or disappointment are gone. He just smirks at you and nods. You return it the best you can, going over to see what shirts would look good on Bucky, but your heart isn’t in it. It probably wasn’t in it for some time now.

But if you could just prove to Buckty that you could be interesting, then maybe you’d finally be interesting enough for someone else. Maybe you would be good enough for Sam.

You shook your head sadly to yourself.

You could live millions of lifetimes and still never deserve him. He needed someone that wasn’t caught up with someone else or preoccupied with improving herself. He needed someone that knew who she was. You weren’t there yet.

…

“Thank you.” He brushes against your shoulder as he says it. It could be written off as accidental, you do have to be close together on the sidewalk to avoid getting pushed over, but it’s a bit too firm for that to really be the case. His tone is low and courteous. “I’m sorry the tailor was so curious. He likes to keep the conversation going so that it doesn’t become awkward. He has a habit of asking personal questions.”

You smile to yourself and try to ignore how easy it would be to reach out and take his hand. These thoughts are fickle and dangerous. It’s becoming harder and harder not to do the thing you shouldn’t be doing. “It’s not a big deal, Sam, really.”

He cocks his head to the side at your use of Sam. He doesn’t comment on it though and you walk side by side through the streets. At times, he gets a little ahead of you to warn off some of the people that are beginning to get too close for his liking. It’s like he’s creating a path for you.

Then his walk changes; it carries an agitation that it didn’t before. Something’s weighing on his mind. “What’s wrong?” You ask nonchalantly, but know that he’ll recognize you picked up on his subtle changes in body language.

He looks down as you come to a pause at a red light. He searches around the street before he looks at you, taking a deep breath. Your anxiety raises at his hesitation. “I have a preposition for you, Coffee Girl.”

He looks straight at you now and that responding jolt spreads through you again, like it always does now. You try to ignore it as you look right back at him. “Shoot.” You step near him and narrow your eyes, like he’s a criminal spilling his master plan.

He laughs and you breathe a bit better. It’s not too bad if he’s willing to crack a smile at your approach. “What if...I never got a date to replace you? What if you went with me?”

His eyes look so pure and pleading now, it’s hard to look away. But you take a few steps back because you shouldn’t be so excited at the notion of going with him at all. This electricity is wrong, but it’s still happening, regardless of what’s going on in your life right now.

Sam sees the war happening all on your face and tries to backpedal. “Sorry if that was abrupt. If you’re uncomfortable, I can find someone else...”

“No, I want to go.” You fire back the response fast and his shoulders stop climbing, like a weight has been lifted off of them. “I just think I should talk to Bucky first.” And you should, he doesn’t know that he didn’t get another partner and Bucky is your significant other. If you’re going to a wedding with another man, it would be right to let him know about it.

“Okay, so,” He leans in a bit further than necessary, but you let him. You like being in his space. You like being close to him. “If that conversation goes well, you’ll come with me?” His eyes twinkle with hope and you blush at how open it all is. He’s letting you see that, whether he wanted you to or not.

You pretend to think about it, raising your hand dramatically to your chin and stroking it with finesse and refinement. You tilt your nose to sky to emphasize the deepness and complexity of thought that should be going through your mind right now. The pro and cons, the good parts and bad parts of the conversation that you’re going to have to have with Bucky, but it’s all absent. You already know your answer. You knew when he asked.

“Yes, bell bottoms, I’ll go with you.”

…

A day later, you’re knocking on Sam’s door, standing outside pacing to yourself after getting a cryptic text message about getting some extra practice before the rehearsal dinner tomorrow. You don’t really know what’s going through his head, your moves are fine and you’ve both got the steps down to a science, extra practice shouldn’t really be a problem.

But you knew what jitters felt like and you could understand wanting to do it one more time to calm your nerves. Your heart rate flew and a tingling sensation lingered in your fingers and your stomach.

Sam swings the door open, a pleasant smile on his face and a glimmer wafting behind his chocolate eyes.“Come on in.”

His living room is illuminated by soft candle light and the golden glow from a floor lamp. Another Marvin Gaye song echoes gently around the space, its place of origin a boombox on his countertop. You wonder if this is a passtime or if this was something more special. You hope it’s more special.

“Woah, you didn’t tell me you were an interior decorator, bell bottoms.” You’re so in awe of your surroundings, you missed that he’s standing right next to you.

“Are you ever going to let the teasing over the Trouble Man album go?” You smirk at him as you turn, eyes squinted and goading.

“Where do you think the bell bottoms nick-name came from?” You bump his shoulder with yours, but he doesn’t move away or create space when you do; he makes sure to stay just close enough to keep your arms in contact.

“Uh huh.” He hums deep from the core. It sends a buzz through you and you fight down a blush. Then he moves, spreading his arms and taking a few steps back. “Shall we or is this too old-fashioned for your liking?”

You roll your eyes and place your hand firmly in his, putting your trust in him once again, knowing that he won’t let you down. He draws you in, your breath thinning out at the proximity. It’s becoming more tolerable now and doesn’t throw you off as much as it used to, losing your breathing rhythm around him. It calms you down, helps you focus.

He’s eyes are dark and alluring as he watches you, adjusting his positioning until he’s satisfied that you’re comfortable. “Are we going to be letting Mr. Gaye sing us through this one?” You inquire in faux innocence and watch as his face twists into a humorous disdain.

“You, Ms. (last name), need exposure to real music.” He takes a step which you take with him, already knowing where he’s going from here as you begin the spins at a slightly faster pace than you’re used to in order to keep up with the beat.

“Real music, huh?” He spins you outward before drawing you back close in again, another jolt shooting through your blood.

“Yes.” He says it with a seriousness that silences you, but then he’s all smiles and smirks again and you wonder what you were expecting from a man with the nickname of Falcon. “Now just listen.”

“I’ll try.” You sway together, waiting for your cue before the next performance of turns and spins occur. You like this. You like his warm hands and eyes and glowing personality. How you can relax around him and not feel like you have to watch everything you say. How you fit together, like two halves of a charm that only fit around each other.

You close your eyes and listen, catching a few lines before you’re twirling away from him in a mix of gold and brown.

Yeah, darling you're not wasting my time What I see baby is so hard to find

…

A lightheadedness from all the dancing put a pause on your swaying session and giggle marathon. There were numerous times that you had to completely redo moves from laughing so hard. You almost fell over each other at times.

A funny spasm moved through your chest as you leaned your neck against the back of his sofa, trying to cool off while Sam brought water over. He placed the glass in your hand, a stark contrast from the warmth that he always pulsed into your skin.

You thanked him before drinking a bit, nodding along to another soft Marvin Gaye song in the background. You felt him watching you as he sat next to you, downing half of his glass. “Never met someone who likes Marvin Gaye so much for a person who claims they don’t like old music.” He smirked knowing over at you.

You shooed him with your hand. “I never said I didn’t like old music; I just mention and frequently tease you about your addiction to the music from the 70s. That’s got nothing to do with the quality of the music.”

Sam grins widely as he goes to get another sip of water before setting the glass down and smiling. You cup your drink in your hand, letting the coolness of the glass keep your body temperature lowered.

He leans back, sighing with happiness and you can’t help the small smile of happiness that spreads across your cheeks at his contentment. He’s infectious. “You know, I haven’t had this much fun in a while, thank you for coming.”

You let your head roll back as you look over to him. “Me neither. Thanks for being such a gracious host.”

His grins at your goofy head angle and weirdly moving eyebrows. Then he looks down and sobers up, his face losing some of the glow it already had. You sit up. Something’s coming, you can feel it.

You set your glass down and lean forward. “Did you ask him yet?” He doesn’t look at you, even when you stare at him for a minute before responding. You wish he would. You just need him to look so you can know what he’s feeling.

You hate putting him here. You hate that Bucky’s such a problem between you two.

You sigh and run your fingers through your hair, angling your body away from him. You don’t want him to feel like you’re pressuring him to accept the response you’re going to give him. “No. He’s out of town right now. He has been for a day or two.”

Sam narrows his eyes and fixes you with a hard stare, his tone ice compared to his smooth and gentle character. “He’s gone a lot for someone who loves to watch your every move.”

“Oh, he’s cheating. But then again it was never really official to begin with.” Sam’s eyes bug out of his head, but you know better than to take that at face value. He already knew. He’s just trying to act shocked for your sake.

“He what?” His voice sounds dumbstruck, but it’s still not enough to fool you.

“You don’t have to pretend to be surprised. I know you know.” You reached down to take another sip of your drink and let the liquid cool you down, slow down your brain so you could give clear answers that weren’t riddled with anger.

Sam sits for a moment watching you. He sighs, looks away, and then turns towards you. His jaw works and no words come out so you fill the silence.

“I’m just waiting. I think this will go away at some point. I’m just trying to be more interesting and exciting. I think that’s why I lost him the last time.” You fiddle with your pants to keep from facing Sam’s pointed stare.

“So dancing with me is just to be more interesting?” He sounds hurt and starts to turn away, but you catch him.

“No.” You make sure that’s firm and look directly at him as you say the word. He freezes in place and has to look away. “I’m dancing with you because that was genuinely something I was interested in doing. That had nothing with trying to make him jealous or trying to get him back, that was completely my own choosing.”

He had to understand, this whole thing had nothing to do with Bucky. It had everything to do with your choice and what you wanted to do. It wasn’t something you felt like you had to do to win Bucky back. You wanted this.

Sam doesn’t seem completely convinced. You scoot closer and place a delicate hand on his shoulder, squeezing it to get him to look at you. His eyes cut, but you’re determined to make him understand. To make him believe you. “Do you think I would still be here if I didn’t choose this. If this was my strategy, obviously it’s doing nothing to get him back and it would be in my best interest to leave, right? Why am I still going to classes and hanging with you if I didn’t want to be here?”

He nods and you breathe out a breath you weren’t aware you were holding. You start to let your hand fall from his shoulder, but he catches it, pulling it closer to his chest and drawing your eyes to his sad and pleading gaze. “You deserve better.” He utters it softly and an emotional wall breaks at his words.

You feel tears start to form near your eyes. It’s been so long since you’ve heard someone tell you that you’re worth more than what you’re in. You have to look away, too caught in his eyes and the way that walls are starting to come down.

You take a breath and when you’re sure that there are no traces of sadness or pain, you gently draw your hand and it hurts. You don’t want to pull back, but you have to do the right thing. You have to do what’s right, even when it’s the most painful thing you could do.

“I think I should go,” You stand and Sam jumps up inhumanly fast before you, slightly blocking a straight shot to the door. You don’t feel trapped, more like he doesn’t want you to leave. “I don’t want you to feel any worse about the situation.”

“Wait.” He says in a soft whisper. He takes your hand again, slowly, curling your fingers together delicately. “Just one more dance.”

Sam doesn’t let your hand go as he clicks to another song, a sweet and simple guitar and vocal combination filling the room. He rests his hand on your hip, his warmth bleeding through the fabric of your shirt, tucks you close to him, and sets you to a sway.

You don’t perform any of the moves you’ve learned in class, no waltzes or spins, just you and him and a beat.

Eventually, from enough courage and fatigue catching up with you, you lean your head against his chest, wrapping your free arm around his torso and listening to his fast but steady heartbeat. You feel his head dip down to lean where your head lays, a hand splaying on your back to curl you into him. The tears almost well up again, but you just close your eyes and feel him, concentrating on his closeness and the caring way he responds to you.

Just like a song in my heart

A hand on your cheek pulls you back and your gaze flashes up to his, a deep fire simmering in your chest reflected in his eyes. You can feel the kiss coming this time and you know you’re not strong enough to resist it. You close your eyes and tense, waiting for his lips to meet yours.

But they never do.

Instead, a soft kiss presses against your temple and lingers.

When you open your eyes, your heart almost breaks from his open eyes and the adoration and sorrow in them. You hope he can see how sorry you are. Maybe in another place in a different time. It’s the only thing you can trust to do, silent communication. Anything else, and you’ll completely crumble.

Sam presses an invitation into your hand. Come, his eyes say and you smile and tuck it into your pocket for safekeeping.

The song ends bittersweetly and Sam walks you to the door, still holding your hand tightly in his. You stand on your tippy toes, the kiss still warm and pulsing from your forehead. He begins to lean down, knowing what’s coming and eager to make it easier for you. Just when you’re about to give him another kiss on the cheek, you get a text.

Bucky: It’s done. I broke up with her. You’re the one for me

Just like oil on my hands.

#wintershade #sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #blue shade #sam wilson fanfic #sam wilson fanfiction #ms:blue shade #sam:blue shade #this is probably my favorite part #besides the next one #we love some good fluff and pure hearted interactions

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chicgeekgirl89 · 3 years

Text

With a Little Help: Chap. 3

Fandom: 911

Characters: Eddie Diaz, Christopher Diaz, Bobby Nash, Hen Wilson, Evan Buckley

Read Chapters 1-2 Here

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Buck watches as Bobby pulls out of the driveway, fear making his throat tight. Bobby’s text had interrupted his lifting session and he’d literally run out of the gym without even racking his weights.

“Buck?”

Christopher’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts and he automatically turns on a smile. He’s barely had time to process and now he’s responsible for Eddie’s kid. He has to rally. “Hey bud.” He moves up the steps to sit next to him. “You doing all right?”

“Is my dad going to be okay?”

God, this is not Buck’s calling in life. There’s a reason he became a firefighter and not like a teacher or something. “Yeah, yes of course he’s going to be totally fine,” he says reassuringly.

“My mom went to sleep and she never woke up.”

That gets his attention. “What?”

Christopher sighs and adjusts his glasses. “My dad said my mom went to sleep at the hospital. And then she didn’t wake up.”

Shit. “Oh, Chris, this is…this is not the same as what happened to your mom. Your dad is sick, really sick, but they’re going to help him at the hospital I promise. Bobby and Hen, they’re going to make sure he’s okay.”

He hopes the words he’s saying are true. Eddie looked really awful, worse than Buck’s ever seen him. But Bobby had called Hen, not 911 reminded himself. So that must mean something. If he’d thought Eddie was dying he would have called for emergency services, not a second opinion.

“Do you promise?” Christopher asks.

Buck puts an arm around him and gives him a hug. “I promise.” He changes tacks. “How about some lunch? You want a sandwich?”

Christopher nods and they head inside. “Okay.” Buck checks out the fridge, impressed as always that there’s actual food in there. His own fridge is mostly beer, condiments, and whatever takeout he’s had recently. “How does turkey sound?”

Christopher shakes his head so Buck tries again. “Ham?” Another head shake. “Well I know you don’t want pastrami.” That must be Eddie’s.

“PB and J,” Christopher says.

“Right. That I can definitely do,” Buck says, reaching for the jelly and peanut butter. “You know it’s really weird that your dad keeps peanut butter in the fridge right?”

Christopher lets out a sigh. “I told him that. But he didn’t listen.”

“Sounds about right,” Buck says with a grin as he manages two acceptable PB and J’s. He slides Christopher’s over. “There you go kiddo.”

Christopher just looks down at it as Buck takes a large bite of his own. “Something wrong with it?” Buck asks, wondering how he could possibly mess up a PB and J.

“My dad cuts the crusts off. And makes triangles.”

Bucks nods and sets down his sandwich. “Got it. No problem.”

Within seconds the problem is fixed and both of them are munching contentedly on their sandwiches. Buck keeps sending what he hopes are subtle looks at his phone but there’s still no word from Bobby or Hen, despite several texts to both of them.

After their impromptu lunch Christopher settles in front of the TV while Buck finally goes to grab a shower. He borrows a pair of shorts and a 118 t-shirt from Eddie’s drawer, sending his fifth or sixth text to Hen on his way back out to his favorite little buddy.

But the TV is off now and Christopher is sitting at the table, staring at a pile of what look like craft supplies. “Hey bud, whatcha doing?” Buck asks.

“My dad was going to help me with my book report,” Christopher says. “I have to make a diorama.”

“They still do that?” Buck asks. “I thought everything you guys did these days was on a computer.”

“My teacher is old school,” Christopher says with a shrug.

“Well…” Buck picks up a Nike shoebox. “I could help you.”

Christopher eyes him suspiciously. “Did you get good grades on your book reports?”

“I’d say they were…passable.”

“I don’t think I want passable.”

“C’mon! It’ll be fun. Besides, how hard can it be?”

Half an hour later Buck adds the finishing touches to his creation. “There,” he says. “Perfect.”

Christopher looks up from gluing paper to cover the swoosh logo on the shoebox and stares at the small model in Buck’s hand. “What is that?”

“You told me to make a dog.”

“That does not look like a dog.”

“What do you mean? Look it’s got a face and ears…”

“Why does it have five legs?”

“That’s its tail.”

Christopher gently pats his hand and then picks up the dog model. “You tried your best. But I think I’ve got it from here. Gluing the paper on might be more your speed.”

“More my speed?” Buck asks, slightly incredulous. His phone buzzes and he picks up immediately, rising and walking away from the table. “Bobby, hey how’s he doing?”

“He’s doing okay,” Bobby says. “They’ve got him intubated for now but he’s doing all right.”

“Intubated? Bobby…”

“Its mostly just precautionary. He’s breathing much better now and they’re not planning on having it in any longer than necessary.”

Buck runs an anxious hand over his hair. “Okay well, that’s good I guess.”

“Listen I got in touch with his grandmother and aunt and they’re on their way here now. Any chance you can stay with Christopher tonight? If not I can call Athena—“

“No, no I got him,” Buck says.

“You sure?” Bobby asks.

Buck looks to where Christopher is making significant improvements to his dog model.

“Yeah. It’s no problem.”

“All right. His aunt said she can get him in the morning so you can still make shift.”

“Bobby, tell me the truth. Is Eddie going to be all right?”

Bobby pauses for a moment. “I think so. He’s young and in good health. The doctors fully expect him to come back from this.”

There’s some noise in the background and Bobby covers the phone briefly before coming back. “Listen Buck I have to go. If you or Christopher need anything call Athena all right?”

Buck hangs up and tries to swallow his own worry and fear. “Who wants to have a sleepover?”

They get the project finished and Buck orders a pizza for dinner, not giving in when Christopher practically begs for a soda. He made that mistake exactly one time and Eddie was beyond pissed, sending him texts at two in the morning that Christopher was still wide awake.

The kid falls asleep halfway through Zootopia and Buck helps him get ready for bed before sacking out on the couch himself. He’s woken a few hours later and at first he’s not sure why. Then he hears sniffling coming from Christopher’s room. He’s up in a heartbeat, stumbling down the hallway, heart pounding with terror. Eddie’s told him about Christopher’s occasional seizures and they definitely don’t need that right now in addition to everything else. “Chris, buddy, you okay?” he asks as he pushes the door open.

The light is on and Christopher is curled up into a little ball on his bed, stuffed dog clutched tightly to his chest. “Hey, what’s going on?” Buck asks, sinking down next to him.

“I miss my dad,” Christopher sobs, curling into Buck’s side. “I want my mom.”

Buck’s relief over not having to help Christopher through a seizure is short lived as the words tear straight through him. He wraps his arms around Christopher and hugs him close. “Hey, it’s okay. Your dad is going to be home really soon. He’s a tough guy. And I know all he wants right now is to be here with you.”

Christopher doesn’t say anything more but his tears slowly subside and soon Buck realizes he’s asleep again. He eases away, carefully extricating his arms and torso before pulling up the blankets and turning out the light. He hopes with everything in him that what he just told Christopher is true.

#911 #911 Fanfiction #Eddie Diaz #Eddie Diaz Whump #Evan Buckley #Buck Buckley #Christopher Diaz #Cuteness

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nerianasims · 3 years

Text

Billboards #1 1965

Under the cut.

Petula Clark – “Downtown” -- January 23, 1965

I love this song to bits. I don't entirely know why. Petula Clark obviously sings it wonderfully. There's that little bell that sometimes chimes in. There's a pattern to the song that makes it feel like Broadway, which is, of course, downtown. It's a fantasy version of a downtown in a big city. One thing I love about fantasy is a sense of place, and that's what this entire song is dedicated to. It's an unusual subject for pop music, and it's great.

The Righteous Brothers – “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling” -- February 6, 1965

How does one even talk about this song? It feels somehow eternal. This is Phil Spector's production at its best. But Bill Medley's singing is the point. This song is one of the greats.

Gary Lewis And The Playboys – “This Diamond Ring” -- February 20, 1965

Gary Lewis is Jerry Lewis' son. Unlike his father, he does not consist entirely of annoyance-producing molecules, but the song's not good either. In it, the guy's fiancee dumped him and he's selling the diamond ring. A boring, bland heartbreak song that belongs three years or so back.

The Temptations – “My Girl” -- March 6, 1965

My mom used to sing this song to me when I was a little kid. I think a lot of parents sing this song to their little girls; it's that kind of love song. Yet it's not irritatingly antiseptic. It's about true love. True love can be a lot of things. This song is every superlative you can think of. Brilliant in every aspect.

The Beatles – “Eight Days A Week” -- March 13, 1965

It's a good, but not great, Beatles song. Very fun, with a lot of interesting things musically, like the bassline (as usual) and whatever George Harrison does with his guitar.

The Supremes – “Stop! In The Name Of Love” -- March 27, 1965

Finally, Diana Ross actually sounds kinda pissed off. It's also got more of a rock edge. She's still begging, and not threatening to leave the guy's cheating ass. Yet, though there is no explicit threat, I feel like there is an implied ultimatum here.

Freddie And The Dreamers – “I’m Telling You Now” -- April 10, 1965

It sounds like this guy is exaggerating his English accent. Considering the British Invasion, probably. He cackles like a monkey on acid, which is the only interesting thing about the song, which is otherwise a bland love song. Though the cackle is interesting, that doesn't make it good. It's creepy. I don't like this one.

Wayne Fontana & The Mindbenders – “The Game Of Love” -- April 24, 1965

"The purpose of a man is to love a woman, and the purpose of a woman is to love a man." Whoo boy. Dated. But the song is 55 years old. Attempting to put that aside, the music is good. The lyrics sound pushy, though. Also it gets terribly repetitive at the end. Meh.

Herman’s Hermits – “Mrs. Brown, You’ve Got A Lovely Daughter” -- May 1, 1965

Was it once usual for guys to go to their ex-girlfriends' mothers to talk of their heartbreak after the girlfriend dumped them? This song is painfully "look how English I am! You Americans like to throw money at English pop singers, right?" It wears out its welcome quickly.

The Beatles – “Ticket To Ride” -- May 22, 1965

It's interesting how the Beatles seem to have matured five years in one. I can't imagine this group having performed "I Want to Hold Your Hand." The harmonies and rhythms in "Ticket to Ride" are far more complex, the sounds are more varied, and the lyrics are much more mature. His wife/girlfriend is absolutely determined to leave him, and he seems taken by surprise. Yet there are hints he shouldn't have been: "She would never be free when I was around." He goes on, "My baby don't care." Yet underneath there's the suggestion that she simply hasn't got it in her to care any more, because he's exhausted her. Layers of harmony and layers of meaning. It's an intelligent heartbreak song, and those are rare.

The Beach Boys – “Help Me, Rhonda” -- May 29, 1965

I know Brian Wilson was a musical genius but I usually don't like the Beach Boys. It's the lyrics. The narrator was dumped, now he's begging Rhonda to be his rebound. Lucky Rhonda. Then they sing "Help me Rhonda/ Help, help me Rhonda" about five dozen times. Not for me.

The Supremes – “Back In My Arms Again” -- June 12, 1965

Urgh. Don't listen to the Supremes' #1 hits close together. She's got her man back because she stopped listening to her friends' advice. In isolation, there's nothing wrong with that. After all the songs about rotten cheating assholes whom the narrator is desperate to keep, though, it's super uncomfortable. Also using the names of the two backup singers as the friends who give bad advice is in poor taste. And "Flo, she don't know, cuz the boy she loves is a Romeo"? You solely date Romeos! Taken alone, without the context of the other songs, it's good, though I still don't like the strange insult toward the backup singers. Taken with the rest of the Supremes' hits, though, I'm not happy. Especially considering these were all written by men.

The Four Tops – “I Can’t Help Myself (Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch)” -- June 19, 1965

The Supremes weren't the only people in Motown singing about being hopelessly in love with someone who treated them badly. That's what this song is about. I like it, though the line "I'm weaker than a man should be" is a bit wince-inducing these days. But it's an honest sentiment about how men often feel they're not allowed to be idiots over love, though that's a near-universal human experience. Anyway, good song.

The Byrds – Mr. Tambourine Man -- June 26, 1965

The original version of this song was by Bob Dylan, but the Byrds didn't like it, so they changed the sound and ditched a bunch of the lyrics. The lyrics they were left with don't matter at all. This is all about the music, especially the guitar. It's mellow without being soporific, groovy without requiring drugs to understand. It's nice.

The Rolling Stones – “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” -- July 10, 1965

The Rolling Stones were almost never nice. They went straight for the gut -- or gonads -- found all the nastiest things that people are afraid to say and embarrassed to feel, and hung them up on the front porch. "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction" sounds kind of silly today, since it's been played and overplayed so much. But that beginning riff still goes straight to the back-brain.

Two years before, pap like "Hey Paula" was clogging the airwaves. Funnily enough, it's the same subject matter: Goddamn I want to get laid. (The idea that Mick Jagger had trouble getting laid is pretty ridiculous, but anyway.) And then there's the critical bit about hating advertisements. They managed to stick a cultural criticism into a song that's about wanting sex. When you can't get no satisfaction, everything is annoying, and things that were already annoying to begin with start to feel unbearable. The Stones go harder in every way than any #1 before them.

Herman’s Hermits – “I’m Henry VIII, I Am” -- August 7, 1965

And here's the opposite. This song must be meant to be annoying, right? One of my friends and I used to sing it at our parents to drive them nuts, and that was before Ghost. It was their fault for exposing us to it in the first place.

Sonny And Cher – “I Got You Babe” -- August 14, 1965

Cher with Sonny is eternally confusing. Though their marriage didn't last, their love was real, and Cher was heartbroken when Sonny died. But anyway, the song. Sonny saying Cher has a "little hand" is goofy. Actually the whole song is kinda goofy, especially the beat that seems to be made of kazoos. Cher's got this powerful, deep voice, while Sonny has a squeaky little thing, but somehow they mesh. The sentiment is sincere, and a good picture of what it's like to be in a happy relationship. It's good.

The Beatles – “Help!” -- September 4, 1965

John Lennon was only 25 when he sang about being "younger, so much younger than today." But for the Beatles, that could have been two years before. They got so famous so fast and so young, I don't know how any of them lived through it. And that is what this song's about; Lennon called it a "public freak-out." But it's still universal. I love this song, and it helped carry me through some tough times.

Barry McGuire – “Eve Of Destruction” -- September 25, 1965

I remember when I first heard this song on the radio in the car with my mother, I asked her what "Old enough to kill/ But not for voting" meant. That's when I learned people used to not be able to vote until they were 21, though young men could be drafted at 18. I was absolutely stunned, and obviously it stuck with me. When you're a little kid, you tend to think the people in charge are generally fair. Then you find out that's not true at all. That's what this song is about, to me.

The McCoys – “Hang On Sloopy” -- October 2, 1965

Speaking of fair, I'm about to be totally unfair. I hate this fucking song. I had to play it endlessly in middle school band, and then I had to play it AGAIN in high school marching band. And the flute part in the arrangements was the most boring thing that has ever been conceived. I hate this song and I will not be listening to it or thinking about it more than this.

The Beatles – “Yesterday” -- October 9, 1965

Why do people in songs lose their significant others so often because they said something wrong and they don't know what it was? That can't be common. Anyway, this song is beautiful and sad. I'm kind of tired of all the covers of it though.

The Rolling Stones – “Get Off Of My Cloud” -- November 6, 1965

I'm listening to the original mono version of this, and mono sounds very strange these days. I keep wanting to check that my speakers are plugged in. Anyway, thanks to Jagger's marbles-in-mouth singing, I can't understand a word of this song except "Hey! you! get off of my cloud!" and I've never known the lyrics until now. And they're not important. Even the chorus isn't that important. This is all about the beat and the music, neither of which I find interesting for the entire length of the song. Not for me.

The Supremes – “I Hear A Symphony” -- November 20, 1965

A thoroughly happy Supremes song! I think Diana Ross is more suited to happy lovesongs than what she had been singing. She has a lot more emotion in her voice than she has before. The violins are lovely. I love this song.

The Byrds – “Turn! Turn! Turn!” -- December 4, 1965

I have always found this song slightly annoying. The Bible verse set to light pop thing doesn't do it for me. The music isn't anywhere near dramatic enough. This should be operatic, or heavy metal, or something else with serious weight. This is thin.

The Dave Clark Five – “Over And Over” -- December 25, 1965

This song is a bit of a throwback to three or four whole years before. It would have been good then. At this point, it's pretty boring. It's about going to a party he didn't want to go to, hitting on a girl, and getting turned down. The snare drum beat is very repetitive, and so is the melody. A big meh.

BEST OF 1965: "My Girl", with stiff competition. WORST OF 1965: "I'm Telling You Now"

#billboard number ones

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renaroo · 4 years

Note

Cass Cain vs the Bat Family for the last slice of Alfred's pie. "Is that a challenge?"

A/N: This became a more Batfam entirety kind of story and then a commentary on the madness of quarantine in my own family using Uno as a proxy. Regardless it was a lot of fun to do.

Four Walls and Attitude

Oracle places her hand against the map behind her. What was once a black and white scaled model of Gotham is now glowing a radioactive green with shades of green depending on the island, the neighborhood, and even the street.

Everyone, including Batman, stares in awe of the projection.

“In other words,” Oracle says, looking sharply over her glasses, “there is absolutely no way we can operate like normal without causing things getting worse.”

Silence spreads quickly throughout the cave. Most of them don’t even know what to make of the information.

Finally, giving voice to the general shock, Nightwing finally says, “Wow. Corona killed Batman.”

“It did not, the rest of you are staying in the manor,” Batman concludes, leading to an eruption of disagreement.

“Did you not pay attention to what I just said?” Oracle demands. “It goes for you, too, Bruce. No one in this cave can leave without it causing a major public health challenge. We patrol too many areas, cross-contaminate with each other too often, and, worst of all, we have immunocompromised family members of our own to worry about.”

It was an intentionally vague statement, but it doesn’t stop the meaningful glances toward Alfred and Red Robin.

Red Robin crosses his arms angrily. “I resent that statement.”

“Maybe keep better track of your spleen,” Red Hood snorts.

Black Bat is uncertain, shifting on her heels. “What do we do?”

“Social distance and adapt,” Oracle answers easily, straightening her glasses. “It’s possible to fight crime without punching people, you realize. That’s my entire M.O.”

The other vigilantes look at each other warily.

***

The size of the manor was enough reason on its own for them to make it their main base of quarantine. There are obviously more than enough supplies, more rooms than any of them could use independently, and access to equipment and the cave should emergencies arise.

Not to mention, the vast majority of them live there already.

Stephanie calls her mom, Barbara messages the Birds of Prey, and they all find solo activities for the first day, only really intersecting at the library, the kitchen, and the entertainment room during chance encounters.

That seemed to be a good call. And when there is a need for some social interaction, it’s almost always in their usual social groups however they naturally lie.

No one sees Bruce but that seems pretty par for the course.

It isn’t until the third day that things get slightly more challenging.

Stephanie, Duke, and Cassandra enter the mini-theater room with a giant tub of popcorn. The lights are off, but the projector is running and the main couch is occupied by Dick and Damian.

“Oh, didn’t realize you guys were in here,” Duke says sheepishly.

“SHH!” Damian hisses at them.

Dick arches back enough to look at the trio over his shoulder. “No problem, we’re watching Planet Earth. Want to join?”

Stephanie and Duke look at each other with mirrored grimaces.

Cassandra squints at the screen. “No,” she answers for them. “How long?”

“We’re marathoning,” Dick shrugs. “Started about an hour ago—“

“SHH!” Damian snarls at them again.

“We were hoping to watch a movie,” Steph says. Her gaze falls more on Damian than Dick, since he is no doubt the one to appeal to. “The Breakfast Club, it’s a classic. You’d like it.”

Duke looks at them all skeptically. “He would? Really?”

“Cass, you know there’s a different television set,” Dick says, pointing to the floor below.

“Tim’s playing,” Cass says in response, her hands holding up an invisible controller as she mimes Tim’s thumb movements.

“There’s a million places you can set up a laptop,” Dick continues to plea.

That earns a crossed look from Stephanie. “So? What do we need to do? Start putting signup sheets in all the rooms? Just share the projector with us after Planet Earth switches episodes.”

“No,” Dick and Damian say in unison.

The trio leaves the room angrily and, within the hour, clipboards with signup sheets begin being mysteriously adhered to all of the main rooms.

***

Jason has made it a point, nearly every day, to remind everyone that he will be the easiest adjusted to quarantine because he is the only true introvert.

The number of times the words introvert and isolated have left his mouth climb so high that, in secret, everyone is beginning to doubt the truth to them. If he is an introvert to the exponential extremes that he professes, surely he would not need to keep finding where everyone else is hiding to let them know it.

He has an alternating list of Zoom calls he is on each day. Hangouts he makes himself, making a point to inform the others quarantined to the manor than they are not invited to it.

The list of who is invited to it seems to grow by the day.

Kyle Rayner, Donna Troy, Ryan Choi. Then Roy Harper, Koriand'r, and Jade Nguyen. Then Artemis, Bizarro, and Miguel Barragan. Out of nowhere Duela Dent, Rose Wilson, and Suzie Su.

It’s halfway into the second week and Jason has the audacity to come into Tim’s room, pull off his headphones, and ask him if he’s bored.

“You know what I think,” Tim says, more than a little irritated. “I think you’re actually not an introvert. I think you’re not an introvert and you’re taking out your need for social contact out on the rest of us.”

Jason considers his comment, then breaks the expensive Beats in half before walking out the door.

***

Alfred begins making many desserts.

It starts with requests. Of course he will make whatever meal or whatever treat is asked of him, because it is nice to have all his loved ones safe, secure, and in the same location for once. Many of the desserts aren’t even difficult.

Then, somehow, they morph into bribes.

Despite the fact that Alfred has remained tight-lipped about his exact age for all these years, the quote-unquote children insist that he is too old to venture out of quarantine. Thus he must stay in the manor and rely on them to stock the pantry.

This doesn’t seem altogether terrible until it becomes obvious to Alfred that whoever he sends out will only get the foodstuffs they desire and not any of the important staples Alfred puts on the list.

Thus, the trades begin.

He can’t make his famous flan without evaporated milk. He positively will not make ginger layer cake without wine poached pears. And how can they snack on peach and pistachio tarts without honey?

Before Alfred has realized it, he has created monsters. Sugar craved, bored little monsters.

He puts a limit on the sweets he will cook in hopes of focusing instead on cooking favorite meals, but it’s too late.

Even Bruce is checking in on the kitchen at odd hours, looking curiously under the cake plate.

And cutting back the number of sweets Alfred is producing through the week also leads to another unforeseen circumstance.

They begin competing for what sweets are left.

***

Bruce looks in disbelief at the screen. Then he looks at the others. Then back to the screen.

“I distinctly remember us being on episode four,” Bruce says in a voice that edges on Batman.

“Last night, yeah,” Duke agrees, helping Alfred with everyone’s drinks.

No one else seems to find fault with the statement and are waiting for Bruce to continue. They pick at their independent devices lazily, only half attentive to any one thing.

It’s very dissatisfying considering the huge inconsistency that Bruce is detecting on their streaming service.

“Why is it saying that we’ve watched all the episodes already?” Bruce demands, voice sounding more hurt than he meant to let on.

Dick and Barbara simultaneously look up from their phones, toward each other, then back down. The others don’t even bother breaking their concentrations.

“You finished the entire series without me?” Bruce presses.

“Father,” Damian finally speaks up, sounding exasperated, “it is impossible to properly view things with you.”

Bruce squints at his youngest. “What does that mean?”

“It’s not just you, Bruce,” Stephanie says quickly, trying to smooth things over. “I can’t watch shows with my mom either.”

“Boomers just don’t know how to binge-watch,” Tim cuts with the final blow, not even looking up from his laptop.

Leaving the room in spite of protests, Bruce decides he is never going to watch the end of the show out of spite.

***

Cassandra has apparently made it a habit to not let others see her walk through doorways. As a result, she seemingly appears in rooms more than she enters them. Or, at the very least, she acts as though she just always has been and it is the other party who is intruding on her space.

As a result, it’s not altogether shocking when Duke looks up from his newly prepared plate and is met by his sister.

She is staring at his plate more than him.

“Oh, hey, Sis,” he offers her all the same. Then, instinctively, he shifts his shoulders to somewhat create a barrier between his plate and her. “What’s up?”

“Apple pie,” Cass announces as if it answers everything.

“Mmhmm,” Duke replies cautiously.

“Last piece?” she asks, her eyes gleaming.

“I’m sure Alfred will make another,” Duke says, then, slowly adding, “eventually.”

“Mine,” she snaps.

“No, you don’t even eat yours with vanilla ice cream!” Duke argues back, almost turning his back on her completely. “Just eat some of the cookies.”

“No!” Cass says, quickly shifting to be more aligned with the treat. “You eat them.”

“Cass, I got here first!” Duke snaps back, hooking afoot around the leg of the nearest chair. “Fair and square.”

“It was my pie,” Cass hisses. “I’ll take it back!”

“Is that a challenge?” Duke asks.

He sees her lunging and immediately kicks out the leg of the chair as he flips over it.

Cassandra is quick as ever and easily somersaults off of the falling chair to land over Duke’s shoulders. Her force is enough to send Duke’s body tumbling forward, but his body has proper instincts. He holds up the plate of pie above all else while using his free hand to find new ground, twirl his body out, and roll his head forward. Cass tumbles off his shoulders.

She hits the counters, but not before kicking off her shoe and sending it flying for Duke’s face.

He twists enough to lighten some of the impact, but the well-aimed shoe sends Duke into a tailspin.

The pie hits the floor with a sickening thud.

The siblings look crestfallen toward the prize, then each other.

Then they get angry.

By the time Barbara and Alfred burst onto the scene to break things up, the fight has utterly devolved and grown to the size of five Wayne heirs, three of which had no idea what the initial fight was even over.

Jason filmed it and sent it to everyone in his extended Zoom call list.

***

They are at each other’s throats. It turns out the Manor doesn’t have enough rooms.

Even Alfred’s treats are not enough to soothe the tensions anymore. Any little thing can set them off. So they spend the rest of the week finding solitary activities, barely communicating with words anymore.

Finally, some wounds begin to heal when Stephanie speaks to a room of others on their Switches.

“Hey, does anybody have an island with cherries?”

They play in harmony again, comparing villagers in hushed tones and sharing patterns for clothes.

Momentarily, there is hope that the peace will last forever, to the rhythm of island music and Blathers’ gibberish words.

It gives them twenty-seven hours of peace and nothing more.

***

“This absolutely will not work,” Barbara sputters as she pulls up to the table.

The others look at her with mild surprise, but they’re already seated. Jason is shuffling in preparation to deal. The arrangement from his left on is Stephanie, Cassandra, Barbara herself, Dick, Duke, Tim, and then Damian.

Damian is flanked by Jason and Tim. And only Barbara sees what the problem with this is.

“I am looking at a public safety hazard,” Barbara presses. “Dick, seriously, you’re going to let them do this?”

He thinks about it. “It’s a learning experience,” he determines.

“You dealing in or nah, Red?” Jason pushes.

She glares at them all, certain this is purposeful on at least some of their behalves, but she crosses her arms. “Okay, fine,” she says.

Jason deals out seven to everyone. Once he puts the deck in the middle, he turns over the first Uno card — green three — and with his free hand reaches in his jacket pocket for cigarettes. The others are already playing while Jason looks slightly miffed if not panicked when he can’t find the pack.

Under the table, Barbara can feel the shuffle of a pack of cigarettes being passed between other members of the table.

Shockingly enough, Jason doesn’t say anything verbally, but his eyes are already glaring at Damian as the pickpocket.

Stephanie puts down green nine.

Cassandra green Draw Two.

Barbara draws two.

Dick puts down a yellow Draw Two.

“No fair,” Duke chuckles.

Tim puts down a yellow Reverse.

Damian narrows his eyes. “You think you’re clever, don’t you, Drake?”

Duke yellow eight.

Yellow four.

Yellow two.

Blue two.

Blue three.

Blue Reverse.

Damian glares at Jason. “Is this planned?”

“How can they plan Uno, Dami?” Steph asks. Blue one.

Blue seven.

Barbara looks over her glasses at the table. She’s lost track of the cigarettes. “Don’t underestimate these people, Stephanie,” she warns as the ends up drawing five cards before finally laying down green seven.

Green nine.

Wild Card. “Let’s go with,” Duke looks through his hand cautiously, “Yellow again.”

There is a suspicious twitch to Tim’s lips as he puts down a Draw Four. “Let’s go back to red.”

Damian releases an explosion of expletives and leaps to stand on his chair.

“Ah, it was a mistake, my bad,” Dick says, rubbing a hand down his face.

***

Bruce is stone-faced at dinner, strangely fixated on his plate.

It’s not overly concerning, Bruce tends to be in quiet contemplation on most days regardless.

He finally looks up, though, and glares at them all.

“I finished it on my own,” he informs them.

They all stare back.

“Tiger King,” he clarifies. “They’re all guilty. But also. What the hell.”

Everyone collectively loses their minds again.

Alfred sighs and begins drafting a rotation for getting them all out of the manor more.

#Cassandra Cain #Alfred Pennyworth #Dick Grayson #Stephanie Brown #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #Duke Thomas #Barbara Gordon #Damian Wayne #Bruce Wayne #bafic #writing #crim bat #ask and you shall receive

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forlornmelody · 4 years

Text

Kord Center Mall: Out In The Rain, In From The Cold

Rating: E (the nerdiest smut you’ll read all week.)

Fandom(s): DC Comics, Jack Nought from Mass Effect makes an appearance, but familiarity with the game is not important

Ship: Rose Wilson/Jason Todd, mentions of Jason/Roy/Jack

Linkage: Ao3

Summary: Rose is finally ready to come clean with Jason, and admit the feelings she has for him. But is it too late?

Note: This is a cross over, mall-verse AU concocted by @scifi-ginger and myself. You’ve been warned. Also, I just want to state, for the record, that I wrote this before Titans: E.L._.O. hit the internet. I have the Tumblr snippets to prove it.

–>–>

The ground’s so dry when she leaves Cassie’s, Rose doesn’t even think to grab a jacket on the way. By the time she reaches Jason and Roy’s apartment, the sky’s dumping car-wash levels of water on the bus. Even though it only takes her five minutes to walk to the building, Rose’s clothes are sticking to her when she rings the doorbell. Lightning cracks in the clouds behind her.

Opening the door, Roy’s face flashes bright and dark as the thunder rolls around them. “Rose.”

“Roy.” Rose takes a breath. “Hey. Uh--”

“Fuck off,” Jack calls from the couch. “Jason doesn’t want to see you.”

Yeah. She deserves that. “Could you at least tell him I’m here?” Rose says it to Roy, not Jack.

Lighting flashes two more times before Roy sighs. “Fine.” He holds up a hand to keep Jack back. “But I swear if you hurt him again--”

“Fuck, Roy. I’m here to apologize.” Rose glances at Jack as she steps gingerly through the doorway. “Nice to see you, too. Jack flips a finger in response.

Just as Rose knocks on Jason’s door, the power goes out. “Oh come on!” Jason yells from the other side of the door, and she hears the crash of a controller hitting the floor and the rolling of batteries as they fall out.

Rose has perfect timing. She clears her throat, reaching to knock a second time when Jason opens the door. His cellphone casts soft grey light along his jaw and highlights the sheen on his nose. “If you’re an axe-murderer, I’ll--Rose!?”

“Hey,” she says softly, pulling out her own phone to cast some light---only to realize it died on the way here. “Shit.” Better not fuck this up.

Jason lingers in his doorway, his eyes roaming over her like she’ll vanish any second. “Didn’t expect to see you.”

“Yeah. Me either.” Rose dares to step closer, looking up at him. “Can I come in?” Jason hesitates ever so slightly, but it’s enough to kick Rose in the gut. She deserves that, too.

“Sure.” He steps to the side, swinging his arm wide. Jason never kept a tidy room. Rose would constantly remake the bed before she left. If she brought pizza, she’d have to clear off the beer bottles and carefully move the bong out of the way. But Jason always took care of his books--bookmarking them, closing them gently and sorting them on the shelves by genre, author, title, routinely cleaning them with a fucking feather duster. At this point, Jason doesn’t even have a bedroom--he has a personal library with a bed in it. Right now--it looks like a tornado had swept through the shelves.

“Fuck.” Rose muttered under her breath, frozen in the doorway.

“Did you come here to talk, or to judge me?” Jason folds his arms, and Rose notices the bags under his eyes for the first time. She’s reaching to push the hair from his eyes before she catches herself.

“To apologize,” Rose says quickly, ducking inside before Jason can change his mind. She finds a Complete Works of William Shakespeare lying open in the middle of his bed. Obviously, it’s too dark to read, but she’d know the size and thickness of that book anywhere. One of Jason’s favorites.

Rose sets it aside, sitting on the edge of the bed with one foot draped across her lap. Jason lingers by the door, but he does close it behind him. His eyes track the movement of the book before daring to glance at her again. “Why’d you come back?”

“I missed you.” Rose says. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, she chants over and over in her brain, but “sorry” doesn’t feel good enough right now. Jason deserves the world, and Rose is just a tiny island wracked with storms.

Jason’s eyes soften ever so slightly before they harden--cold as steel. “Missed what, exactly?”

Rose allows herself a small smile. Jason loves the big questions--meaning of life, origins of the universe, whether true love exists--he always has his head up in the clouds. Meanwhile Rose stands back on earth--rooted in doing things--going, doing, fucking, eating, breathing. The thunder outside nearly drowns out her words. “I missed the way your eyes change color when you’re angry, happy, or sad. The way you smile when you think no one is looking.” She itches to get closer to him--show him exactly how much he means to her, but it’s not her choice to make. “The way you forget the world around you when you’re reading.” Her voice thickens, with love or want--she isn’t sure. “The way your face lights up when Roy comes in the room.”

Is it still raining? Rose isn’t sure. All she can hear is the thundering of her pulse in her ears and the sound of their breathing. Jason still hasn’t said a word or moved an inch--him and his fucking poker face.

At first Rose thinks her eyes are straining to see him in the darkness, but then she feels a tear slip down her cheek. Damnit. This is why she doesn’t do this stuff. Love, real love, hurts. “I realized I didn’t want to live without that. I didn’t want to live without you. I don’t want to.” Jason probably can’t even understand what she’s saying at this point, with the way her breath keeps shaking her voice.

Jason finally looks away, and Rose nods to herself. Figures. It’s too late for them. It’s always too late. “Sorry,” she mutters, standing up and wiping her nose and eyes. It’s gonna be a bitch getting home in this weather, but she’ll manage. Rose always does. She’s halfway to the door when Jason grabs her hand.

“Where’re you going?” he says softly, squeezing her hand.

“I…” I’m going home, Rose says in her mind, but the words don’t ring true. She turns, daring to face him. “Not sure.”

“Stay.” Jason tugs her ever so slightly, and she falls into his arms like she just jumped off a building. He reeks. Always has. Like dank weed and cheap beer. Rose wouldn’t have him any other way.

“Jerk my arm why don’t you?” His laugh rumbles against her chest and she pulls back just enough to look at his face. Rose traces his features with her fingertips, reacquainting herself with the tip of his nose, the jut of his eyebrows, the firmness of his lips.

Everything’s so desaturated in the dim room, but Jason’s eyes shine the brightest blue. “I love you, too.”

Rose couldn’t tell who kissed who first. She’s too busy tasting his mouth and messing with his hair. Jason breaks for air, only to pay careful attention to where her jaw meets her neck. His hands roam her shoulders, arms, sides and stomach as if he can’t get enough of her. He has far too many clothes on. No zipper on Jason’s hoodie, so Rose lifts it to his shoulders, but he gets tangled in the sleeves. “Candles,” Rose says hoarsely.

Jason peeks at her blankly through the bottom of his hoodie.

“Please tell me you have some. Jack’s surely got enough to set the apartment on fire but I’m not keen on asking her tonight.”

“Be right back.” Jason frees himself of his shirt and hoodie, slipping out the door shirtless.

Rose sits on the bed, unable to sit still, still humming with the thrill of his touch. She glances back at the Tome, and switches Jason’s phone’s flashlight on so she can finally read it. Jason has it open to Sonnet 87,

“Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,

And like enough thou knowst thy estimate.

The Charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;

My bonds in thee are all determinate.

For how do I hold thee but by thy granting,

And for that riches where is my deserving?”

Rose swallows, reaching to close the book when Jason comes back inside--his arms full of candles. He freezes when he realizes what she's reading.

“Oh, hey. Lemme take care of that.” Jason sets the candles on his tv stand, reaching for the book.

Rose swats his hand. “Candles.”

Rolling his eyes, Jason replies. “Fine. Fine.”

Leaning back, Rose watches as the candles, lit one by one, cast a soft glow along the lines of Jason’s body. She doubts she’ll ever tire of the view.

Lighting the last candle, Jason whisks around, lighter still in his hand. He nods down at the book. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“Interesting choice. Real depressing.” Rose kicks her heels against his box spring.

Setting the lighter aside, Jason grins slowly. “Actually. Hold on a sec.” He kneels, clearing a space on the floor.

Rose stares at him. “No. Absolutely not. Your floor is a fucking mess.”

“Don’t worry. You won’t be touching it.” Space cleared, Jason glances up at Rose. “Hand me Shakespeare.”

“Whatever.” Rose hefts it over, eyes widening as Jason sets it reverently in the space he cleared. “You’re shitting me.”

Jason snickers, shaking his head. “C’mon. The book may be hard, but the pages are soft.”

“Oh my god. I’m couching you for that.” Rose chides, but she gets down from the bed anyway. She glances at him one last time before sitting gently between the pages.

“Better.” Jason’s eyes have darkened to a warm green. The fact that a dead playwright and poet makes him all hot and bothered never ceases to amuse her. “Lean back.”

Rose rolls her eyes, grabbing a pillow and stuffing it beneath her arms.

Jason makes quick work of Rose jeans, shucking them off and tossing them across the room. Rose snorts as they take down a couple bottles in their fall. “Tell me if you’ve heard this one before.” His grins as he lowers himself to her neck.

“What’s in a name?” Jason murmurs into her skin, his voice as reverent as a priest’s on Sunday. His fingers drag the zipper of her soaked hoodie down her chest, and goosebumps prick across her skin.

“That which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet.” Jason lavishes attention where her neck meets her shoulder, and Rose’s so caught up in his touch she almost doesn’t catch the reference. Almost.

“Romeo and Juliet? Really?” she snorts, pulling back to give him a look of disdain. “Most overrated play ever.”

“It’s a classic.” Jason pouts, his fingers edging underneath her t-shirt--a suitable challenge with the way the fabric sticks to her skin. He dives to kiss her collarbone. “And it has your name in it.”

“Jace, they off themselves because they’re impatient hormonal teenagers.” A moan slips from her mouth as he kisses from her waist to her chest, pushing her shirt up and out of the way. “It’s not romantic.”

Dragging the shirt and her bra up and over her head, Jason grins at her. Oh, he knows. “So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d.”

“Do you put Jack and Roy through this? Or am I special?”

Jason doesn’t linger on her breasts, just moves her damp bra off her skin, hanging it on one of his bedposts. “Retain that dear perfection with he owes.” He plants a reverent kiss in the valley between them.

“I am special, aren’t I?” Rose groans, for more reasons than one.

Instead of answering, Jason snickers against her skin, breathing her in. “Without that title. Romeo doff thy name, and for that name which is no part of thee,”

Rose has another comeback coming, somewhere, but it’s hard enough trying to keep her breathing steady the farther south Jason travels with his mouth. He stops just north of her thighs, grinning up at her. “Oh, come on, already,” she groans again, letting her head fall back.

Jason wets his lips and tongue, waiting for her to look at him again. Once he has her full attention, he whispers, “Take all myself.”

Then he plants a kiss against her clit, and Rose shudders despite herself. “Really? You think some, some poetry is gonna, oh.”

She can feel his grin as he toys with her licking gently around but never quite touching where she wants him most. His hair musses in her fingers as he kisses deeper, harder, licking her with nice, long strokes. Jason moans with her, the hum reverberating across her skin. Rose’s hips rise off the book and Jason holds her down with one arm. Pausing, Jason licks one finger, then another, and Rose can’t help but cry out his name as they thrust in and out of her while he lavishes attention on her clit. Fuck, she’s probably tearing his hair out, but she can’t help it. Now she’s so close she’s--

Jason pulls back, kissing her thigh, and Rose curses him and half his family. “I take thee at thy word:”

Fuck her, she’s pleading, pulling him back. “Jace, please. I need.”

Snickering, Jason plants a soothing kiss on her thigh before gathering her hands to her right side, holding them still. “Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptized;” he murmurs as he wets his lips again. Something in her belly roils as she realizes what he’s planning.

Mm, yeah, Jack and Roy definitely heard that scream. Let them, Rose thinks, until she can’t anymore, so focused on Jason’s feather light touch against her clit. She’s so close to falling right off the cliff when he pulls back again. This time, Rose bites her tongue, shaking as she waits for him to continue.

Jason watches her come down from the brink, his smile wide (and his lips covered in her slick), and his eyes bright. Part of Rose wants to hide from that look--she doesn’t deserve it--she’ll break his heart--he’ll find out what she’s really like and he won’t look at her like that any-- Squeezing her hands, Jason pulls Rose from her thoughts, and she swallows hard as she allows her walls to come crashing down. “Jason, I--”

“Shh. We’re almost there,” he whispers, kissing her hands, squeezing them again. Waiting until she’s relaxed again, Jason leans down one last time, his words barely audible, “Henceforth I never will be Romeo.” He brings her back slowly, using his fingers as well as his tongue, seemingly touching her anywhere and everywhere at once. Sliding one finger inside her, then another, he closes his eyes, gracing her with long, slow licks, pumping and curling. Rose isn’t even sure what sounds are coming out of her mouth anymore, as her hips rise and fall with his fingers.

Her world flashes whiter and hotter than lightning.

Maybe seconds pass, maybe hours, when Rose finally opens her eyes. The candles have nearly guttered out, and Jason lies, with his clothed legs intertwined with her bare ones. Rose should pay him back for that--when she finds the energy. She leans her forehead against his, murmuring. “Power still out?”

“Yeah.” Jason reaches out, trailing a hand down her bare back.

“You need to clean off the bed before the candles burn out.”

Jason groans, holding her tighter. “Fine.” He releases her standing up stiffly and reaching for the stuff scattered across his bed. “Love you too, Rose,” he muttered under his breath.

Rose sits up quickly, grabbing his hand. “Wait.”

Looking down at her in exasperation, Jason asks blankly, “What?”

“I love you.” The words feel so strange coming off her tongue, but Rose knows them to be true. “Meant to say it earlier but you were too busy going down on me and quoting lines to listen.”

Jason pulls her to her feet, and into a kiss. “You can say it whenever you want.”

Rose’s so busy tasting herself on his lips she almost doesn’t notice the hiss of the guttering candles. “Shit.”

“What?” Jason pulls back, looking around at nothing. “Fuck.”

#jayrose #dc comics #jason todd #rose wilson #au #mallverse #kord center mall #melody writes #jason is a nerd #I don't make the rules #and rose loves him for it

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