#fucked with Sam's head in a way that engrained it in

[suncaptor]

Honestly, I think that without Sam's hell trauma there would have been a way for him & Dean to repair how toxic their relationship was.

#lucifer rising is like. Sam's point of complete loss of trust in himself. and in sam interrupted i do feel like that victim blaming #fucked with Sam's head in a way that engrained it in #but Dean HAS brought up how Sam is not at fault for the apocalypse AND swan song WAS a moment of respect from him #in s7 Sam DOES still fight back against Dean in moments and He Does Leave. #does Sam trust himself after lucifer rising to ever advocate in the way hed need to to try to fight against Dean's most toxic behaviours? #question of all time to me tbh. but there ARE things that make me believe it possible #especially in that Dean is in Such A Bad Way in s5 and I think he Could Reassure Sam about what happened #because like. their dynamic did NOT rest on Dean Being Healthy or Capable Of Healthy Relationships. #nor is their earlier relationship nonabusive 😭😭 #but like. Sam's loss of trust within himself hinges the change in their dynamic #but it's like. after Hell he's Terrified. hes Traumatised SPECIFICALLY in an intimate partner type way. he can't trust his sense of reality #itself. anyways. anyone else obsessed with the mentalists. #spn #incoherents #sammy #supernatural #dean #sam winchester #dean winchester #sam and dean

[gutsby]

Trigger Tease

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Your honeymoon from hell takes you straight to a strip club south of Madripoor, where Bucky teaches you how to give a lap dance, shoot a gun, and kill a man all in one night—and maybe agree to have his baby, too.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Oral (m! & f!receiving). Sex in a sauna. Sex in a strip club. Praise & degradation. Breeding kink. Daddy kink. Double homicide. Dickriding. Beefy, mob boss Bucky hates birth control and bad men—loves babies and killing HYDRA operatives for his wife.

Descriptions of violence throughout

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

Roleplay was fun—even vital for a marriage like yours.

Only instead of assuming the role of sexy masseuse, strong and strapping CEO, hands-on handyman, or some naughty professor with a knack for after-class punishment, Bucky got to play a bloodlusting assassin.

‘Winter Soldier’ didn’t have quite the same ring as most pornographic tropes, but that was no matter. What counted now was making the shot, and getting it right.

You sincerely hoped you wouldn’t fuck this up.

It was no secret that the Barnes’ bloodline was steeped in dealing, stealing, gunslinging, and laundering cash. Staggering privilege, too. From the sandy shores of Curaçao to Luxembourg and Guinea-Bissau, any living heir to the dynasty could have expected to find safe refuge and respect just about anywhere that they went. It was all but engrained in their DNA at this point.

All that is to say, Bucky had no trouble finding a foreign hideaway in a pinch. He liked the Swiss Alps the best.

After your short and sweet conversation with ‘Joey’ over the phone—HYDRA hijacking the intercom system—he and Sam and Steve had made the split-second decision to reroute the plane to Zürich, and now you were here.

72 hours into a four-day ticking time bomb and totally clueless as to how you might stave off impending death, and mitigate other casualties, the best that you could.

The stress fucking with Bucky made it worth it, though.

In between breakfast and the start of your husband’s early briefing that day, you’d found yourself situated in much the same way you’d been spending a lot of time lately: pinned against the wall of a wood-paneled sauna, Bucky’s broad shoulders supporting both of your legs as he buried his face deep between your thighs. You sighed.

“Hold still,” Bucky grunted, voice muffled as he tried to keep your slick, squirming body in place above him.

You yelped and seized a fistful of his hair when he wedged his tongue even further inside you, nudging your clit with his nose almost too teasingly and deliberate.

“I can’t…help it,” you bit back, ignoring the brief glare you earned from your husband as soon as you said it, “Your tongue’s just so— s— James!”

This time, Bucky let out a full-throated groan when you yanked on those poor wet locks of his—‘Gonna make me bald by next Christmas if you keep doin’ that, honey’—and he pried his head from your legs just long enough to knock you flat on the sauna bench close by.

The western red cedar seared hot on your skin, already flushed from the exhaustion wrought by Bucky’s tongue; you hardly had the strength to hold yourself up when he pushed you onto your back and crawled over your body.

“How ‘bout my fingers, doll? Can you take a couple’a those for me?” Bucky crooned above you as he stroked your hair, bathed in pure sunlight pouring in from the windows. His voice was a touch more sympathetic now.

After all, this was your third orgasm of the morning. It really wasn’t fair for him to use that biological weapon of mass destruction he liked to call his tongue when he knew how sensitive your clit would get from just one ‘O’. Even his hands might be too much in your current state.

Bucky was busy peppering your skin with kisses, working his way from the base of your neck to the crown of your head, when you whimpered and tried to fight a smile.

“Finger,” you corrected him, “Just one finger, Barnes.”

You would’ve thought you’d just thrown your wedding ring in his face and told him to eat shit. Just one?

“How’s one finger s’posed to stretch you out for my cock, huh? Practically had you screamin’ when I stuck it in last night,” Bucky wasn’t one to hide his amusement, grinning even bigger when you swatted him on the arm.

“Who said anything about your cock?” You tried to keep cool as Bucky’s fingers trailed right back down to the place you felt yourself throbbing, aching for his touch, “You have a meeting in ten minutes.”

“Meeting doesn’t start until I say so, my love,” Bucky reminded you just as his index ghosted over your folds.

In truth, he was willing to play this game any way, and for however long, you wanted it done, so long as he was the one bringing you pleasure all the while. Be that his cock, his finger, or all fucking five on one hand, Bucky just wanted to get you off. It was far better sustenance to him than the whole fucking meal he’d eaten that morning.

Bucky kept it down to one digit and lightly circled your bundle of nerves when he sensed you were ready.

You gripped his forearm and shot a quick look between your legs, still in disbelief as to how he could make you feel this good so soon after you’d cum twice before. You felt his lips drift over to yours and steal a few kisses.

“Always doin’ so good for me,” Bucky praised, moving his finger in circles. When you whined against his mouth, he pressed it even harder, “Such a good girl for daddy.”

“James,” you breathed, clenching your legs together.

“Everything OK?”

“Uh-huh.”

More than OK, in fact. That delectable coil of sweet, euphoric release was already swelling gently in your tummy. Bucky moved his finger even faster.

“Tell me how it feels,” he murmured low in your ear.

Bucky loved seeing you try to articulate your feelings—relatively fresh and new to your world, still—while he was giving you pleasure. Adored the way you winced and whined and arched your back into his touch as a whole blustering hailstorm of sensations crashed over you.

He sank his tongue in your mouth as he kissed you, as if trying to extract the words from between your lips. Your response, in consequence, came somewhat stifled.

“Mm— feels so, oh—” Your voice broke off in a moan when Bucky tightened his circles, “—so good, daddy.”

“Wanna show daddy how good and cum for me?”

Bucky knew by the way you were whimpering under his hand that the tendril in your stomach had almost tripled in size. It wouldn’t take much to tip you over the edge.

“My sweet girl,” he said, rubbing your cunt at the same time he was stroking the back of your head, gently, “Feels so nice down there, doesn’t it?”

You rolled your hips against the bench and nodded. Your breaths were short and ragged, panting helplessly into Bucky’s mouth when he adjusted his hand just a little: pressing the pad of his thumb to your clit, with his index moving down to your entrance. Pushing inside you.

“Another,” you choked, not thinking.

Bucky met your desperate gaze and nodded, knowing this was exactly what you needed to make it over the precipice.

Still, he wouldn’t be Bucky if he didn’t tease just a bit.

“I thought my wife wanted one finger,” he hummed, brow pinching inward.

“No, no.” You could’ve shrieked when he curled the digit, “Want more— Bucky, please, please, I need more.”

Again, your husband appeared to nod in understanding, but his fingers didn’t budge. He worked his thumb a little faster and watched you writhe on the seat beneath him.

“How many, honey? Don’t wanna hurt my baby.” His words were all kindness, it seemed, but his tone laced with shameless condescension—the kind that said, yes, I know you need this, and no, I won’t indulge you just yet. Bucky was the worst when he wanted to prove a point. You could’ve ripped at his clothes and torn them in two if you weren’t both stark naked and shrouded in steam.

You opted to pull at his hair instead.

Bucky winced, but the smirk never left.

“I said how many?” he pressed again.

“Three. Four.” Fuck if you knew.

Your husband raised both eyebrows and hummed, a single finger still plunging in and out of your cunt at a rapid-fire pace. He teased the tip of another at your entrance and smiled even more when you whined.

“Needy little thing, isn’t she?”

“Bucky—”

“Just wants to fuck daddy’s hand to get herself off, hm?”

Bucky didn’t bother to mask his sweet, degrading tone any longer as he talked down and teased you to no end. It drove him half-insane to see you squirm around, rut your hips, let him say the filthiest fucking words he could conjure up, and just bob your head to whatever he said. His impeccant wife and her insatiable needs—Bucky couldn’t even begin to express how turned on the sheer dichotomy got him. He stared in your eyes, all glossy and soft, and felt his cock stand even more rigid on his belly.

He didn’t give a shit if he’d taunted you enough or not; he just shoved his middle and ring fingers alongside the first and clenched his jaw to start fucking you hard with all three.

Your whole face contorted with pleasure, tinged with the faintest shade of discomfort at the tail end of it. You’d forgotten how big his fingers felt all together.

“Bucky,” you whined, mindlessly clawing at the wrist that was moving back and forth, fast, between your legs, “B-Baby, slow— slow down a little.”

But Bucky was deep in the zone. He knew you wanted it too—sensed that you liked to play it safe when it came to your pleasure and grew a little timid at times it got to feel too much—and he needed to talk you through it.

Rather than turn his head and keep to himself as he got you up to your peak, Bucky pressed his face down to yours and nodded again—this time with a tender sincerity.

“Feel a little stretch down there, huh?”

You didn’t have to say anything, just whimpering in time. Bucky kissed your forehead and let you fold into him as his fingers wreaked havoc down below. He kissed you again, and again, and in between kisses, mumbled,

“That’s daddy’s sweet, needy little slut.”

“My perfect fucking wife, so good at taking my fingers.”

“Gonna be nice and stretched out for my cock, hm?”

Every syllable spoken aloud was like a brand new catalyst for your impending release. You barely nodded your head, opened your mouth and whined pathetically, but that’s exactly how Bucky wanted you. Exactly how you needed to be, bucking your hips in time with the cadence of his fingers fucking inside you, and soon, those whimpers were turning to moans as that soft little helix inside you reached its breaking point.

Bucky brushed once or twice more against your sensitive spot, and suddenly you were coming undone all over him—crying his name, clawing his skin, squeezing your legs so tight around his wrist you feared you might snap it in two, and then getting kissed again, over and over. Bucky soaked in your every sound, and the few tears that would inevitably spring to your eyes, like sweet nectar.

You were still moaning, curling your tongue feebly against his own and leaning into him as far as you could, when your husband slipped three fingers up between your mouth and his and pushed them past your parted lips.

“Suck,” Bucky said, clenching his jaw as he watched you, “C’mere, honey, taste your cunt on my fingers.”

You took him in and sucked your arousal off his fingers just like he asked. Took him by surprise and dragged a mindless, lazy, half-crazed and careless tongue all over his hand, where your juices had no doubt collected too.

That slutty, fucked-out look you gave him—like your brain had all but fallen out of your head with the orgasm he’d given you—was everything Bucky could’ve wanted.

He climbed on top of you and took the base of his cock, rock-hard and weeping tears of precum from the tip, almost drunk from the feeling himself. His mouth hung open as he dragged himself over the seam of your cunt.

“I need to fuck you now.”

Bucky’s words couldn’t have hung in the fog-infested air for more than a millisecond or two before he had you back in his arms and carried to the far end of the sauna.

At the door—or, rather, on it—with your back flush against the wood, you felt Bucky pin you in place with his hips and press his erection to that soft, cramped space between your bodies. You tightened your legs around his middle and sucked in a breath when you felt him pulse.

Then the head of his cock was circling that slick, taut ring of muscles like all hope for his future happiness lay there: right between your legs in the softest and sweetest recesses of your body he could reach. His eyes could’ve been engulfed in flames and still not betrayed a fraction of the smouldering desire that lay behind them now—he drank you in with a single look and sighed.

“Can I— do it, now?” The term ‘fucking’ swiftly lost all lustre when he was an inch from your heat and ready to press in; he just needed to be in you, a part of you, now.

“Yeah,” you breathed. You pressed your forehead to his.

Bucky ran his tip once more down your slit and had just begun to ease his hips forward when a moan snagged in his throat. He braced you firmer against the door, letting your arms drape over his shoulders, and was just about to slide his length inside of you, then—

Thump, thump, thump.

Three knocks in quick succession.

You jumped, the sudden raps reverberating up the door.

Bucky held you to him, tight, and planted a hand beside your head as if to hold the whole frame still. Then, through gritted teeth,

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Need you downstairs. Now.”

It was Sam.

“Can it wait?”

“No.”

Bucky frowned. Scratched the wood surface reflexively.

“Can it…wait?” he tried again, tone laden with a silent but pointed, ‘Is it urgent enough to drag me away from my wife when I’m less than an inch away from being seven inside her?’ Evidently, Sam got the gist, or was just keen to get him out, because he returned, quick:

“Yeah. Legal’s here.”

‘Shit’ was Bucky’s wordless expression below you.

Then a ‘Shit, shit, shit, just shoot me now’ kind of look that raised an eyebrow on your own frazzled face.

Wasn’t the arrival of Bucky’s legal team a good thing? He’d been agonizing for days, badgering Sam and Steve to no end over when they’d hear back from his retinue, and here they were. You couldn’t ask just yet, as your husband was lowering you to the floor and stepping back from the door, chest racked with a shuddering breath, but you wanted to know. You reached for a towel.

“Fine. Fuck. I’ll be right out.” As it was, Bucky had chosen to forgo the dry-off altogether and just started chucking clothes on his body, eyes roaming all over.

You turned from the sound of Sam’s retreating steps and found him moving fast, graceless—shoulders hunched, head bowed, pants wrestled almost angrily up his legs. He found his balance, barely, bracing his weight against the sink, then nearly tore the porcelain fixture off the wall with how hard he kicked it trying to get his left shoe on.

He muscled into his dress shirt and flushed bright red.

In a second, you had either side of the crisp white button-up between your hands, frowning.

“Any reason why we’re so upset?” you asked after a beat.

Bucky puffed a short breath over your head as you secured the first button. Then the next. Then the next.

“What? Apart from the fact I’m not balls deep and about to give you your fourth orgasm?” he grumbled.

You shot him a look.

“I mean it’s— not ideal, getting a visit at a time like this,” Bucky continued once he’d sufficiently contained half a smirk and could don a more serious look, “If we were getting any good news they would’ve just called.”

Hell, great news could’ve made it in an email. The whole aggregate of his legal team taking the trip from Brooklyn to Zürich meant that shit had most likely hit the fan in a big way. Bucky wasn’t thrilled to learn the ‘how’ just yet.

Instead, he cupped your cheek in one hand and brushed his thumb along its curve once you’d made it to the last button of his shirt. He started to lean in, hoping to delay the briefing downstairs with a quick diversion to your lips, but he stopped about an inch away from your face.

You’d lowered your touch, slipping it under the band of his boxers. He was still as hard as you’d felt him last.

Bucky let out a grunt when your fingertips grazed the soft tufts of hair adorning that part of his abdomen. He sucked in a breath when they sank even further.

“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” you said, voice dulcet and slow as you wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft.

Again, a sound rumbled deep inside Bucky’s chest, and the thumb resting on your cheek stirred. In fact, it had no other choice—your head was starting to move.

Descending, slowly. Sinking to the floor in front of him. Positioning yourself right above the bulge in his pants.

Now Bucky’s palm was laying flat on your head, resting light as it ever had while you drew him even closer.

“Baby—”

“Yeah?” you hummed, just then tugging him out and bringing your mouth to the swollen, leaking head. Bucky gripped a good handful of your hair and rutted his hips without meaning to, and you smiled, “Can’t have my husband showing up hard as a rock to his meeting.”

You were right. There was no way Bucky was getting rid of this wood without the help of his hand or one of your holes. And, under any set of circumstances, he would’ve much preferred the latter to the former. He groaned when you took his tip to your lips and stroked him softly.

You made remarkably quick work of the man with just a minute or two, your mouth, your hand, and a tiny bit of spit—a record-breaking feat, Bucky had thought to himself with some embarrassment. But you weren’t concerned with his stamina in the slightest, focusing instead on the ways in which you might maximize his pleasure in the same way he’d done for you. Stretching your lips, loosening your jaw, and taking him down as far and as frequently as you could manage without gagging around him, you had him good. Deep. All but aching for release as he took a firm hold of the sink behind him.

“That’s a—fuck, that’s a good…fuckin’ girl.”

You bobbed your head once or twice more, flitting your gaze to his face, and felt the warmth unload in ropes—glazing your throat and every soft, square inch of your mouth as he did. Practically flooding your tongue with his cum. Bucky groaned and made a fist in your hair.

“Baby…shit,” came the sound of disbelief under his breath when you pulled off just enough to breathe.

You were careful how you took in air; flaring your nostrils the slightest bit, feeling a twitch at the corners of your lips as you tried not to smirk. Then, with an obscene sort of precision and purpose, you gave something else a try.

You stuck your tongue out at Bucky to show him the warm, oozing load he’d just left in your mouth.

Your husband’s response was immediate: evidently, he loved nothing more than a show of himself inside you, displayed like a prize between your two rows of teeth. You watched him grit his own to suppress a moan.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he seethed. Still reeling from his high.

Then he paused, in awe for a second, before dropping one finger to your mouth and swirling his touch along the sticky, opaque puddle resting over your tongue.

You closed your lips around him, snug, and held his gaze.

A weaker man might have come undone. Bucky just let out a breath and smiled.

“If you wanna play show-and-tell with my cum I can find someplace to put that, doll,” he said, low as ever, then,

“C’mere.”

You didn’t need the powers of telepathy to understand what he’d meant. Should’ve known better than to dip your toe in the cumplay game with a man who arguably harbored the world’s biggest breeding kink and really wanted to knock you up. The realization had you back on your feet in an instant. Having swallowed fast, pried your lips off his digit with a pop, and licked the corners of your mouth, you rose without the threat of a second thought.

Your pale yellow dress was the first thing you grabbed—the first thing Bucky tried to yank off of your body when you’d slipped it up your legs and staggered backward.

“Not happening, Barnes,” you giggled, pretending not to see him advance when you stepped back.

But Bucky had never been big on civility in times like these. He lunged forward and nearly tore the barely-zipped frock off your frame, eliciting a shriek and another arch look from you as you started toward the door.

You were amazed you made it through—your husband had had to stop to tuck his dick back in his pants before stumbling after you—but when you took off down the hall, you knew it was only a matter of time before you heard his footsteps thundering fast after your own.

The tips of your toes had just barely grazed the first step down the stairs when hands seized your hips. You yelped.

“BUCKY!”

Whether on account of your own practiced agility, or the fact that Bucky’s palms were still sticky and slick with his sweat, you managed to wrest yourself out of his grip just long enough to get a start down the stairs.

“COME HERE!” Bucky boomed loud, trying his hardest not to laugh as he chased after you.

You screamed without meaning to. Yanked your wrist out of his reach when you’d made it to the bottom of the stairs and felt your husband close the distance in quick. You tried to be firm, insistent, primed with the kind of fine and unfuckwithable attitude that signaled you meant business. You didn’t, though—the series of giggles bubbling up in your chest said as much.

You descended the last step with a hitch, almost losing your shit within a foot of the landing, when Bucky scooped you up in his arms and held on tight. His lips were at your ear in a second, breaths coming in quick.

“Hell, I’ll give you one right here, honey,” he sneered before flipping you back around to face him.

He pressed you flush to the wrought iron railing, then over it, pushing you back bit-by-bit until you had no choice but to jump and latch your legs around his hips.

“James Buchanan Barnes, if you don’t—”

“Give you a baby right now?”

“—get off of me!” You were laughing now, squirming when he nipped at the space just below your ear.

One more second and he might’ve convinced you. Your Bucky was persuasive like that, too smug and self-assured for his own good but one hell of an advocate when he wanted to be. At length, he opened his mouth to take an even bigger, teasing bite, when a voice cut in,

“Barnes.”

He stopped. You froze. Together, you reluctantly turned your heads in the direction of the sound and found a keystone conference table situated at the far end of the room—seating a dozen-odd faces with identical, muted expressions of surprise. Mild discomfort, for some.

Wild discomfort for your mother and father, you saw.

Bucky set you down and simultaneously yanked the hem of your dress back into place. Flashed a smile for the ages and snaked an arm around your waist as he started to lead you over.

“Nat! Hi,” he tried, far too casual, “Long time no see.”

You bit the inside of your cheek hard and hoped like hell your husband had remembered to zip up his pants.

The woman at the head of the table—the source of the voice you’d heard—raised a brow. One cherry-red curl from her sleek, cropped bob threatened to fall out of place as she tilted her face to regard you both. The smile Bucky proffered had done nothing to repair her glare.

Some wordless exchange passed between the two of them, and next, you felt a hand directing you to a seat across the way—Steve. Smug as ever. Smirking just then.

The empty chair beside your mother. The horror.

You were dimly aware of some introductions being made on your behalf and a round of awkward, disjointed congratulations around the table. Greetings from Nat, Sam, Steve—conceited little shit—a few you knew as Bucky’s groomsmen, a couple members of the security detail, and several more friendly, unfamiliar faces, including a smartly dressed blond named Sharon. Your husband had taken a seat by the latter at the end of the table.

“Momma.” You weren’t sure why you felt the need to whisper when the attention had turned back to Natasha and other matters, but you did, “Where have you been?”

Your mother and father were perched in their chairs like prisoners. There were no shackles to be seen but an air of discomfiture and compulsion bound to their every feature. You couldn’t be sure if it was humiliation on your behalf—they had just witnessed their son-in-law promise to put a baby in you for all present to hear—or something more.

For once in your life, you hoped it was just the prudish, sex-averse tendencies of the two rendering them silent.

You tried your mother again when she hadn’t responded.

“Momma.”

“Now is not the time.”

Her voice was clipped. Abrasive.

You knew better than to test that tone another time. You sank back in your seat and let your gaze roam the table, flitting between your father and Bucky a few more times than it probably should have. Surely, your dad, who had screwed Bucky over to hell and back, obliterated your wedding, and jeopardized your lives for a few more million in his pocket would have warranted some sidelong, hateful look from your husband. A glance or a stare, certainly something to show that he knew, and hadn’t forgotten.

No—Bucky was occupied with Sharon at the moment.

You watched your father twist his signet ring on his pinky, jerking the gold back and forth as if hoping for it to break, or save him. He didn’t look at Bucky, either.

“Natasha Romanoff is the Barnes’ retained legal talent for all things maritime crime and narcotics trade-related. Some estate planning, too,” a voice rumbled beside you.

You made a low ‘Hm’ to feign understanding of whatever the fuck Steve had just said, and nodded.

Then, when your eyes wandered left again,

“Sharon Carter, criminal liaison and kingpin informant. Been in bed with the Barnes’ as long as I can remember.”

He really couldn’t have used a worse string of words if he had tried. You cocked your head just slightly and stared at the pair. You considered holding your tongue.

“And she’s been in bed with Bucky how often before?” You’d decided against self-restraint for the time being.

Steve blinked a little harder.

“What do y—”

“I’m not asking if, but when, they fucked,” you interrupted.

Steve blinked again, as if to clear a string of cobwebs from his eyes, and couldn’t quite find the words to answer your question. Either the truth or some half-baked crock of bullshit—there was no in between.

“Once,” he answered, at length. Honest.

You figured as much.

In any other situation where you were faced with one of Bucky’s former fuckbuddies, you probably would’ve felt more than a twinge of jealousy. Might’ve even cast a dark look in the girl’s direction and willed her not to even breathe the same air as him. Then you remembered you weren’t fourteen years old and could behave with some modicum of maturity when it came to some old flame of your husband. They weren’t even sitting that close.

You winced when Bucky gave her shoulder a playful squeeze, though. That facial tic you couldn’t control.

“So to recap,” Natasha announced, having just plodded through a few dull formalities up front, “Barnes got the intercom call from Schröder at 1500 hours, Friday.”

Every head nodded.

“Schröder gave Barnes exactly ninety-six hours to recover the $90 million lost in the…mishap, in Brooklyn—” Natasha’s eyes flickered to your father no longer than a second, “—and today is Monday. We have twenty-four hours to come up with the funds, or face the…penalties of Schröder’s exploding offer. Whatever those may be.”

You knew what ‘those’ were. Ms. Romanoff was either too kind or too diplomatic to say it, you reckoned, but the threat Joey Schröder had made to Bucky had been patently clear: procure the cash or your wife’s family dies.

That was why you’d been so surprised to see your mother and father seated at the table that morning—Schröder had further stipulated that there was to be no contact between you and your parents in the time it took to come up with the money. You’d been completely cut off, in the Alps, since the day of the attack, left to wonder without reprieve whether HYDRA’s bloodless henchmen had taken hostages of your parents, let them abscond to Brooklyn, or simply killed them both and sent the rest of you all on a wild goose chase to get hold of the money.

Now if they’d only had sex once, why was she looking at him like that?—The intruding thought couldn’t be helped when you peered over again—Surely the most platonic and professional working relationships didn’t call for looks like that.

Shut the fuck up. Shut the entire fuck up, please.

The lives of those closest to you were on the line and all you could think now was how well you compared to this random woman in giving Bucky head? Brain fucking rot.

You scrunched your nose and turned back to Natasha.

“…and up until this morning, Schröder’s whereabouts were unknown,” she continued, careful as she spoke.

It seemed that part had caught Bucky’s attention, too, because he was tilting his head away from Sharon and shifting his gaze to the woman at the head of the table.

“And now?” he cut in.

“I’m getting there, James.”

Sharon smiled a little at that, tracing her nail on the notepad in front of her. She muttered something to Bucky, who disregarded her remark entirely.

“Do we know where Schröder is?” he barked.

Across the table, Sam shifted in his seat. He glanced to Natasha, then Sharon.

“I believe we have modestly reliable intel—” he began, only to have his speech mowed over by an impatient, increasingly irate Bucky.

“No. No— we don’t do ‘modestly reliable’ for this, Sam. We either know where the fuck the guy is or we don’t.”

That last fragment seemed to hang in the air a couple seconds longer than needed, and a tense silence fell over the table. It took a new voice—one you hadn’t heard much at all yourself—to reignite the conversation.

“I know it,” Sharon said, “I know he’s in Madripoor.”

Madripoor? The make-believe safe haven for terrorists? You couldn’t tell if she was kidding at first. Then Bucky flitted a look to the side, and his expression was grave. Natasha’s, too. Maybe there was a Madripoor after all.

“Or he will be there, most likely, tomorrow night,” Steve interjected. The hands that had been folded neatly in front of him were now tapping a light and mindless beat on the table, “He’s got the Foxy Den rented out for a…thing.”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Where else but a titty bar would Joey host his ‘things’?” he muttered just loud enough for everyone to hear.

So Madripoor was real, and it had strip clubs. Wonderful.

It seemed Natasha was keen to regain control of the conversation, because she presently broke in,

“Keep in mind that time is of the essence—a private flight from here to the Indonesian archipelago is sixteen hours minimum. We most likely can’t afford to fly private, b—”

“Since when the fuck can’t I afford to fly private?” Bucky spat.

You hated how short and plainly nasty he was being to all those around him. If you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve thought these folks were at fault somehow, but they weren’t. Your father, the real culprit, was sitting right under Bucky’s nose, and he wouldn’t even look in his general direction. Your husband flared his nostrils with a new surge of indignation, and Sharon patted his hand.

“She’s not talking finances, bub,” the blond started, “She’s saying your jet is on a no-fly list, we don’t have time to charter a new plane, and there’s a hefty fucking bounty on your head if you ever set foot in Madripoor. We need to get you on a commercial flight, undercover.”

“Fuck that.” Bucky’s response was reflexive. He rose fast.

If your parents could have appeared any more stiff and uncomfortable you might have mistaken them for two charming, thoroughly terrified wax figures. Your father continued to fiddle with his ring as he watched Bucky.

Natasha tensed as well. As soon as Bucky was up on his feet, pacing around at the end of the table, she was urging him to relax, Buck, this isn’t anything we haven’t done before—sit down, please. Bucky didn’t sit, and he most certainly didn’t relax, but he did kick a stool across the room.

“I am not going back to that shithole.”

The stool tumbled onto its side, one leg splintered in half. You made a mental note to look into some anger management classes. Your parents, along with most of the table, flinched at the crashing sound, while your husband stood, supremely agitated, and did not even regard the broken chair. He turned away from Natasha.

“Yeah, well, that ‘shithole’ is our only hope of getting Schröder behind bars and you out of custody, Bucky,” Natasha called as he started to pace away.

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

Bucky tilted his head to the side. He contemplated snagging a bottle of Macallan 25 off the bar cart by the window but decided against it.

“Have you been listening to a word of what I’ve said all weekend?” Natasha returned, almost as biting, “Turned on MSNBC or CNN or any other news outlet in the last forty-eighty hours?”

She dropped her own notepad on the table and scanned the area in search of something else. Sam and Steve took that as their opportunity to jump in.

“Bucky,” Sam started, calmly, “There were over a dozen foreign attachés and two heads of State at your wedding, half of whom are now being hospitalized for injuries they sustained in the attack.”

“So?” Bucky snapped.

His eyes were already trailing back to the cart.

“So you think the U.N. Security Council was just gonna let that slide?”

“Two-thirds of its members have been up in arms, practically chomping at the bit to get someone pinned for the fucking thing—that leaves you or Schröder on the chopping block,” Steve chimed in.

“So one more federal probe. What’s the big deal?” Bucky hardly realized he’d taken a tumbler in his hands.

Just as he’d turned to pour himself a drink, guided more by bare muscle memory than anything else, Natasha raised a manila folder—the item she’d been looking for. He’d filled his glass half full when the folder was flung his way like a frisbee. He narrowly saved himself a papercut—or ten—by ducking his head, almost spilling his drink.

“The fuck, Nat?!” he bellowed.

“Extradition, Bucky. Search warrants for your Brooklyn residence, all your money service businesses up the Eastern Seaboard, and a whole hell of a lot of other financial records that we do not need dredged up in this mess.” Natasha pointed to the folder on the floor, which had just spilled a litany of documents at his feet.

“Let them.” Bucky wasn’t fazed by the warrants, walking over them as he drank, “I’m not going to Madripoor."

This time, it was Sharon's turn to roll her eyes as she swiveled in her chair to face Bucky. She was turned from you now, but you could almost smell the smug, knowing look she raked over your husband as she uncrossed her legs and leaned back.

"We don't have time for this," she said, coolly, "If you have any hopes of getting the Counter-Terrorism Committee off your ass and Schröder in custody, you'll listen to Nat."

Bucky paused, weighing her words in his mind before meeting her gaze again. He brought his glass to his lips and drained it.

Then, perhaps feeling a bit emboldened by the idea that she was the only one to have shut Bucky up—to have made him listen, as it were—Sharon piped up again. You didn't need to see her face to know for certain there was a smirk etched across it,

"Don't look so glum, honey. We have no choice here."

It startled every last soul at that table, yourself included and Sharon especially, when the cup in Bucky's hand sailed across the room and shattered on the edge of a cabinet close by. Before the glass had so much as splintered and scattered half of its jagged shards along the floor, your husband was stalking, then stopping, then looming over Sharon with an implacably dour look. And a jaw set tight as you'd ever seen it.

"My choice," he seethed, so low the words almost came out in a murmur, "is to protect my wife. Whatever you, or Natasha, or anyone else has in mind comes second to that. Do you understand?"

Sharon nodded that she did.

A hushed silence fell over the room once more, only now its duration was greater, and the cause of it—your red-faced, fuming husband—had turned his back to the group and was retrieving from the bar cart another glass. Another drink. Natasha followed his path with a vigilant eye.

"Bucky," she said.

Bucky didn't answer. Filled his new glass to the brim.

"Bucky," Natasha tried with a little more volume and vigor.

Your husband lifted the cup to his mouth and started to guzzle, against every shrill and helpless plea from his liver, you guessed. You wanted to object, to take leave of your seat as quick as you could and knock the thing out of his hand before he could finish, but Natasha had you beat—not with any physical act but a word to slow him down: "Barnes."

Then, a few more to get him to stop entirely:

"Look. Over there."

She pointed to a slip of paper somewhere at the top of the shuffle.

Bucky shifted his gaze to the floor. You saw him lick both corners of his mouth, bathed in whiskey residuum and a light, nascent spatter of stubble. He looked almost menacing in spite of the grin that kicked up.

"What's this?" he murmured.

"The terms of Schröder's newest offer. The one he made this morning."

Bucky's second glass was discarded in an instant.

He dropped to his knees, seized the paper in his hands and pored over the bare, 11-point Times New Roman typeface like it was the single most precious set of words in the world to him. There were several mountains of text, and you sensed he couldn't begin to under the legal jargon with just one cursory look.

"What? What's'it mean?" Bucky wouldn't tear his gaze away, even as he shouted to Natasha.

Your own eyes probably should've been fixed on Bucky, or in your lap, or out the window, reflecting in silence on what the fuck could be going on and why it felt as though things were suddenly coming to a perilous head. Instead, you pivoted to Natasha. Her face was tilted to you.

Then she spoke to Bucky, still crouched on the floor a few feet away from her, but she kept her focus on you. She spoke carefully.

"Schröder won't take the money, Bucky."

"What?"

Bucky's gaze combed over the page, desperate to make sense of what was printed in front of him—"The hell's this all mean, Nat, tell me what it means and what he wants, for fuck's sake."—and he flipped the document. Read some more. His eyes flitted from line to line in a full-blown terror.

Then the eyes stopped in one spot.

Bucky stood.

Fisting the letter in one hand and making a wild, inarticulate gesture with the other, he probably could've seared a hole in Natasha's head with the force of his stare. She refused to meet it.

"This is a joke, isn't it?"

All of a sudden, your father leaned over your mother to you,

"We can make it work. We can keep you—"

"Hey. Don't talk to her. Don't fuckin' look at her. Is this—"

"—safe. We'll keep you safe, darling, I swear."

"—some kind of sick fucking joke?!"

You stared at your dad in disbelief. Bewilderment. Then you chanced a look at Bucky, who had all but gone blue in the face as he approached your father from the opposite end of the table, letter still crushed in his hand.

Your father averted his gaze.

He knew.

You saw him flick the gold signet on his pinky once more, and for reasons you didn't yet understand yourself, you couldn't look away from it, or him.

Surely this scared-shitless son of a bitch could speak to you now. He'd have to. There was no way he wouldn't when the problem was staring him right in the face and his son-in-law was practically apoplectic with rage in front of him.

Something clicked in Bucky's brain.

He knew.

Your husband’s breath caught with the full weight of the realization, and he blinked. He didn’t hesitate; he simply sidestepped Sam and Steve—who had stood as soon as they saw the look of understanding cross over his face—and he seized your father. You heard a scream, most likely from your mother, and you saw Bucky swing, but the act barely registered as real until his fist first cracked against your dad’s skull. Again. And again. And again.

Somewhere in the raucous din and sounds of punches, kicks, and muffled groans, a discharge of blood, and the dim recognition that some of the stuff was dousing you, too, you managed to make out several words, disjointed:

“—FUCKING KILL YOU—SOLD HER—SOLD HER?!”

Roleplay was fun—even vital for a marriage like yours.

Only instead of assuming the role of sexy masseuse, strong and strapping CEO, hands-on handyman, or some naughty professor with a knack for after-class punishment, Bucky got to play a bloodlusting assassin.

‘Winter Soldier’ didn’t have quite the same ring as most pornographic tropes, it was true, but it was an alter-ego he’d been given from his earliest days as a made man. A caricature of himself that was to represent everything he did and was capable of doing in places like Madripoor.

You didn’t know that side. You didn’t like that side.

It was Bucky, and it wasn’t—pummeling your father’s face in the ground after learning that he had offered you up, again, in satisfaction of a debt. Sparing no feelings when he spoke to Natasha, Sam, Steve, Sharon, or anyone, making clear his wife’s safety was paramount.

Maybe you were meant to feel proud. Or flattered. Or safe. But oddly, the longer you’d stared at the bloodied, bruised fist he held above your father’s face and the half-deranged look of anger on his own, the more you began to wonder if the fury was for your protection, or simply a knee-jerk response to the thought of losing a possession. A mere object that he couldn’t bear to part ways with.

You had thought long and hard about where the Soldier stopped and Bucky began. No matter where you landed, you were far from comfortable with the conclusion.

Now, even as you stood two feet away from the man in an upper-level lounge of the Foxy Den, roughly half a day removed from the whirlwind turn of events that almost sent your father to hospital, you hardly knew what to say.

“Zip me up?”

The closest thing you’d had to conversation in hours. Bucky obliged.

You viewed your new dress in the mirror from the side and made a face. Pretended to examine the tight black number but were really just zeroing in on the sight of Bucky’s knuckles as he dragged the zip up your back. He hadn’t bothered to mend his hands, and you hadn’t thought to offer to bandage them up. You tried not to stare.

The hands paused at the top of your dress and froze.

Then crept back slowly, taking the zip along with it.

“Wanna—?”

“Bucky!”

One low groan, followed by a palm to his worn and wearied face. When you spun around, he didn’t move.

“Are you serious?” you bit.

“Will you talk to me now?” Bucky retorted.

To be fair, neither he nor his Winter Soldier persona knew how to solve the silent treatment from a pissed-off wife. This was brand new territory—being ignored for hours on end—and frankly, he had thought a playful request for sex might make you more amenable to conversation.

He had thought wrong.

You stared daggers at his handsome face and raised a finger as though to warn him, then stopped. Opened your mouth as if to speak, then appeared to decide against it. A steady, pulsing bass from the floors below was all that could be heard, and momentarily, you were reminded of why you were all here in the first place:

Locate Schröder. Corner Schröder. Capture Schröder. Bring the bad man to justice—or else just pump the motherfucker’s head full of lead and be done with it.

You weren’t too familiar with the particulars of the plan, but that had seemed to be the heart of it. Bucky never intended for you to stray from the safety of the lounge upstairs, where half of his team were casing the club through dozens of surveillance cameras, and he would likely take off with Sam and Steve the second you’d finished dressing. Now would be the time to talk.

And you planned to. Eventually.

For now, though, you’d let him sweat it out.

You had long envied women with effortless sex appeal and charisma. The kind that seemed to be made for the stage, capable of transfixing any audience, or individual, with little more than their aura alone. You’d never felt a fraction of that allure emanate from yourself before, personally, but looking at Bucky now brought you as close as you’d ever been. He was enthralled by your every move, he was intrigued at all times, you could see.

He was visibly aroused before you had even touched him. You knew it was cruel and unkind before you were even fully conscious of what you were doing, but you did it.

Someone had to teach this man how to control his anger—and his urges—somehow. Who better than you?

You drew closer to Bucky until your fronts almost touched.

“Baby,” you murmured. Simple, nearly plaintive.

Bucky blanched. Could it be? Had his bullshit gambit actually paid off and made you want to talk, or possibly do more? His hands immediately went for your hips, but you were quick to shove them off. You poked one finger to his chest and shook your head.

“We can talk,” you said, measured.

You pressed into his sternum and pretended not to see a short-lived look of defeat, followed by confusion, cross Bucky’s features. He let you walk him back a step or two.

“Okay. What about?”

Where the hell could you even begin?

“Sit first,” you urged him.

It was then that he realized you’d been walking him toward the plush sectional couch behind him—a cozy little touch to the VIP room only marginally diminished by the fact that it was coated in liquor, coke, and glitter. Bucky sat down anyway.

You didn’t follow, choosing instead to stand as you appeared to…scratch something on your back? Your husband looked on in muted curiosity as you reached behind yourself and tilted your torso just slightly.

Then he heard a zip. A hitch. Another, longer drag.

Bucky knew he was fucked before you ever slipped the dress off your body. You were to make quick work of it, eyes never leaving the man in front of you as you peeled the fabric down your legs and off of your frame entirely. When you were down to just your underwear, you hadn’t even needed to see his face to know exactly where his gaze was likely to land—this part was new to him. You kicked the dress aside and let him stare.

To be fair, it wasn’t every day he got to see a Ruger LC9 strapped to your thigh. Hidden in plain sight now that you were stripped bare before him in just your bra, panties, and garter-like holster across the top of your leg.

“Where’d you get that?” Bucky nearly choked, eyes wide.

“TJ Maxx,” you huffed, “Where the fuck do you think?”

“I never said you could— And Sam and Steve—”

Bucky paused, suddenly aware of how indignant and stupid he was starting to sound. He had given orders to the rest of his team not to let you carry a gun under any circumstances, but here you were. If he weren’t so violently aroused by the sight of you wearing the thing, he probably would’ve been fuming.

“A couple guys from your security detail were kind enough to make an exception,” you smiled, words verging on smug, “And who’s to say what I ‘can’ and ‘can’t’ do, hm?”

Bucky looked as though he were priming himself to stand when you lifted one stiletto to rest between his legs on the seat. A silent and quasi-sweet threat in one gesture.

“I didn’t say you can’t— well—” Bucky faltered at the last.

“You just said you never gave me permission!” You threw your hands up in exasperation, “That doesn’t sound very equitable to me, James.”

Bucky let out a frustrated sigh of his own.

“C’mon. You know what I mean, honey…I just…want to keep you safe. You know that.”

“Self-defense is a pretty integral part of safety.”

“No one’s ever taught you to shoot!”

“You never bothered to ask!”

This was getting a little too aggressive and Jerry Springer-eqsue for your liking. Not nearly sexy or seductive enough to be heading in the direction you wanted. Bucky always brought the bickering out of you, but you had to stay strong. Slow and steady and all that bullshit.

So, before he could respond to your last remark, you lowered yourself over him. Brought both legs to bracket his hips and hovered carefully in place above the bulge in his tactical pants. When he swallowed beneath you and raked his gaze over your body, you felt a twinge of relief.

You sank further down. Dragged your lower half over his own and earned a groan from deep within his throat. Again, his hands flew to your waist to get a good grip, but you pried them off before they could ever fully sink into the flesh.

“What?” Impatience palpable in Bucky’s tone.

“No,” you answered simply.

“No?”

“No, you don’t get to touch me. You don’t own me.”

Your husband shifted under your body, hands helpless at his sides and masseter muscle visibly clenching beneath the skin as he gritted his teeth. He shook his head.

“I never said that I did,” he managed, after a pause, “Baby, I love you.”

“And beating the shit out of my dad was your special way of showing that?”

“That wasn’t—”

“Or snapping at Natasha. And Sam. Steve. Sharon,” you added emphasis to the last name without really meaning to, and Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. I…lost my temper, I—”

“Couldn’t control your anger. Or wouldn’t. All because my dad made some stupid deal with a man and offered me up as collateral.”

“Because Joey wants you for himself!” Bucky snapped, voice suddenly raised to a near-deafening pitch. He shifted his hips and inadvertently grazed the heat between your legs, drawing a subtle pinch in his brow at the friction, “The deal your dad made was to give you over to Schröder in satisfaction of his own fucking debt—you think I was just gonna sit by and let that happen?!”

In spite of the animosity, you pressed your body to his even harder and watched him fold—if only slightly. He breathed a sharp inhale through his nose and flexed both his hands, as if wanting to make fists. However, he knew better than to move himself around at a time like this.

“What? Like the deal you made with him?”

Your words were clipped, almost cruel. You knew it would hit a nerve in Bucky, and sure enough, he met you right where you wanted him: enraged.

“That’s fucking different,” he seethed, “I would’ve paid your father’s debt without— without anything in it for me.”

“But you didn’t, and you got me.”

“And I love you. I don’t wanna lose you.”

The abrupt vulnerability in his voice was all but agony to hear. For a second, it seemed the anger had fled—or at least been eclipsed by some softer, sweeter shade—only for Bucky to blink again, shake his head, and wear that stupid, hardened look that said, ‘I am not losing this.’ Your hands reached for his belt and started in on the zip.

“You have a real fucked up way of showing love, James.”

To your surprise, Bucky let you continue, unhindered. Blue eyes meeting yours in a cold look.

“Makes two of us,” he mumbled, shrugging his boxers and trousers out of the way anyway.

That was probably true. No person in their right mind would think fucking their husband was the safest, most surefire way to let him know they were pissed at him, but both you and Bucky were working on communication skills, still. You’d get to healthy, non-sex-fueled fights at some point.

As it was, Bucky was fumbling around your thighs, trying to pry them open even wider for better access through your panties. That you allowed, but the second he tried manhandling you over his crotch, you pushed back.

“I wanna do this— without your help,” you said, firm.

Somewhat begrudgingly, Bucky agreed. He let you line yourself up with his length, brace your weight against his shoulders, and when you paused, he made a soft, ‘Hm?’ and glanced down where you looked. Before you could remove the pistol from its holster, he set his palm atop the cool metal.

“Leave it,” he murmured.

His eyes flashed with desire. It was almost more than you could bear, despite the plain fact that riding someone with a firearm strapped to your thigh probably violated every NRA gun safety rule known to man. Whatever.

You lowered yourself onto Bucky, slow, and sucked in a quick breath as he filled you. Your husband groaned.

“Fuck,” followed shortly thereafter, almost timid to crawl out of his mouth as you sank to a fully-seated position on top of him. He gripped the armrest beside him.

When your hips first stirred, you thought the man might burst a blood vessel trying not to move right along with you. You pressed a hand to his chest and reminded him, gently but with purpose: let me fucking do this, Bucky, and he relented. Fisting the couch cushion in something close to a death grip, he nodded his head and heaved a short breath and watched you all the while, grinding on him.

“My pretty…pretty girl,” he managed through his teeth.

He was doing better than you expected. You watched his face contort with pleasure when you lifted yourself up to the tip of his cock and slide back down. You squeezed his shoulders, and you let out a low whimper yourself, and dammit all, you felt that pesky fucking knot already forming in the pit of your stomach. You glanced down and frowned, wanting this to last so much longer.

Fortunately, when your eyes found Bucky’s again, you got the sense that he was in the same boat as you: brow furrowed tight in concentration and lips parted slightly, panting in time with each one of your movements.

“Baby,” he said, the single word treading close to a plea. He paused, dropped a glance to the spot where your bodies were coupled, and swallowed. He cursed aloud, then continued, quietly, “Baby…’m’sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” You bounced a bit faster.

“For— fuckin’ hell, honey— for being a…dick.” The last part of his sentence was pierced by a grunt and a moan, but you heard it just the same.

You clenched around him and tried to keep steady. Manage a small, shit-eating grin above him, even.

“Being a dick?” you repeated, pretending not to know what he meant. When his cock grazed over a particularly sensitive place inside you, you just swallowed the moan and kept going, fingers taking hold of some short tufts of hair at the back of Bucky’s head as you rode him.

“Possessive. Controlling. Kind of a—” Bucky paused to grunt when he bottomed out inside, hands aching to hold you, “—piece of shit.”

Finally, you were getting somewhere. Not nearly close enough to cure the rage or the dark, grating impulses churning inside of him, but good enough, for now.

You reached for his hands and set them over your hips.

The next most natural thing was to lean down and kiss him—let his tongue invade your mouth as soon as he’d caught your lips and show you, with a wordless and fast-moving show of affection, that he missed you. And meant what he’d said. With his hands moving quick to cup your cheeks, hold you to him while he kissed you and stroked deep inside your walls, he gripped you tighter than he had in a while. You could feel strips of tension and desperation bleed through his every fingertip.

“Wanna…fuckin’ kill anyone who even thinks…of— fuck,” Bucky’s words were almost slurred at this point, so close to the point of release it seemed every wild and wanton thought that crossed his mind was likely to dance off his tongue, unchecked. You loved to see him in it this deep.

You also had to remind the murderous alter ego that violence was not the answer…always. You let him pull you closer, bodies pressed flush against each other while you fucked, but you made sure to tilt his chin up to yours so he could see the expression on your face as you spoke.

“Hey,” you pinned him with one stern look, “No murder.”

Bucky frowned.

“Yes murder,” he retorted.

You sighed.

This shit was worse than teaching a dog not to bite.

Instead of pulling back or being strict this time, though, you decided you’d give positive reinforcement a try. You squeezed his short locks of hair, gently, and rolled your hips even tighter to his, eliciting a stuttered groan. You bounced up and down on his cock, pulled him into your chest, and brought your face within an inch of his.

“Promise to be good, and I’ll let you cum inside me,” you murmured into his lips. Not the wisest offer you’d made to date, but one that Bucky seemed to want more than the air in his lungs the second the words escaped you. He pulled you in for a kiss, immediately.

“Fuck, you mean it?” he breathed, in between each sloppy, frenzied movement of his mouth.

“Yeah,” you tried not to grin at how eager he seemed, “You’re gonna apologize to everyone, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

Bucky barely seemed to register anyone or anything but you and your pussy at the moment, yearning for the go-ahead to let himself free inside you. With a nod of your head, you’d let him start meeting your motions with gentle thrusts of his own, and both of you were teetering precariously close to the edge with that added pressure. In spite of both your hot and heady, near-anoetic states, you endeavored to hold out a little longer, legs aching.

“Gonna try and talk to Schröder first?” you panted.

Bucky rutted into you hard, lips twitching into a frown.

“Doesn’t…deserve it,” he grunted, barely able to get the words out as he grabbed your hips and thrusted harder, “A fucking bullet between the eyes is what he needs.”

You eyed him soberly, or as serious as you could manage with the force of his strokes nearly sending you into a spiral. You fought back a moan and gripped him tighter.

“Bucky.”

“Bunny.”

Damn, that name.

“Promise me you won’t kill him—or anyone—tonight.”

“Baby—”

“Promise.”

His thrusts were getting sloppier; with his hands hoisting you just above him and his cock practically drilling into you now, speech and coherent thought were some of the toughest things to accomplish, but he tried it, anyway. Bucky would swallow his pride and accede to his wife, no matter how fucking badly he wanted to cum—and kill that Russian mob boss with both his bare, bloody hands.

He could be better than the Winter Soldier. He would.

With a rough, labored breath, Bucky pulled you in for a kiss and felt you squeeze around his cock like a vice. Still thrusting, clutching you, kissing you hard, he saw both of your releases coming in fast and had to act even quicker.

“I— I promise,” he stammered.

That was all either of you needed, or could bear, quite frankly. In the next second or two, you felt a cord snap in your lower half and a deep, punchy flurry of pleasure follow shortly thereafter, fingers sinking deep in Bucky’s shoulders as he bounced you on his cock and held you close. With your walls still pulsing around him, you felt him chase his own high at a breakneck pace, shooting his load inside you a moment later. It was bad, it was brash, it was a really fucking dumb idea to be playing around with the odds of making babies at a time like this, but it also felt good. Exhilarating, even, feeling him empty his balls in that space between your wet, aching walls and filling you up with his seed.

Maybe just one little mini-Bucky wouldn’t—

STOP.

You barely had the energy to acknowledge, much less arbitrate that bone-crushing conflict between your brain and reproductive organs, so you shut the thoughts up with a quick, messy kiss to Bucky, whose chest was still heaving from the peak of his release, holding you to him.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Maybe even two—

FUCK YOU.

The internal war wouldn’t go away that easy, it seemed.

You kissed Bucky long and hard regardless, hoping the shit would sort itself out before you really had to think. Or worry. Or plan. It was dumb and a bit short-sighted, but feeling that hot, erratic pulse between your legs did a pretty good job of making it seem just fine for right now.

Bucky’s expression was lax. Soaking in the feel of your cum-painted insides still squeezing around him, gently. Had he been anywhere but the heart of Low Town on a covert mission in a strip club, hunting down the head of HYDRA with a whole troupe of trained assassins, he probably would’ve liked to stay that way a little longer. But, as it was, he could already hear folks filing in and out of the lounge, footfalls growing heavier as his team loaded up with guns, grenades, and whatever other weapons they could fit beneath their formal attire.

“Don’t look so sad,” you said as you lifted off of Bucky. Carefully pulling your panties back into place as your husband watched you do it, practically forlorn.

“Too late,” he returned in half a groan, yanking his own clothes where they needed to be and trailing a look up your legs, “Might feel better if we tried it again, though.”

“I bet.” You pulled your dress over your head.

Your husband had just tightened his belt and was rolling his shoulders to get a knot out of his neck, it seemed.

“What are your thoughts on ‘Bucky Jr.’?” he asked casually.

“Don’t start with this shit.”

“Jamie for a girl, maybe?”

“I’ll kill you.”

Your baby talk and death threat tête-à-tête continued for quite some time—just a couple minutes, but they felt like years to you—and before long, you were rubbing the gun under your dress and casting a glare in Bucky’s direction, and he got the sense that it was time to head back to the group. He looped an arm around your waist and led you out into the main space.

The living room was little more than a makeshift headquarters at that point. You’d been expecting to see more faces, but the only ones you found were Sam, Natasha, and a few silent, beefy individuals you assumed were part of security. Where Sharon and your parents had gotten off to was anyone’s guess. You took a seat on the couch.

“Anything yet?” Bucky questioned, approaching the panel of surveillance screens with a wary eye.

“We’ve had intermittent visuals on the second floor for forty minutes or so—” Sam motioned to one screen on the left, “—but Schröder hasn’t moved. Hasn’t done anything but bullshit and booze and buy rounds for his group. Won’t even talk to the dancers, which is weird.”

From what you’d been told, the goal was to get Schröder off the second floor, up to one particular private suite on fourth, then send in an agent dressed as a bottle girl to make entry as soon as the rest of the party had arrived, keeping in contact with HQ, and Sam, via PTT earpiece all the while. The details from that point were hazy, but you’d gotten the sense that someone—or, more likely, a sizable and duly-equipped group of someones—was lying in wait somewhere in the suites surrounding them. Steve had been tasked with leading the incursion, though where he could be found, or whom he was with, remained largely a mystery to you. Recon in a bustling, crowded area with music blaring on all four sides was a formidable undertaking, and you could tell both Sam and Natasha had been having trouble keeping tabs on every player. They seemed on edge, monitoring the screens.

“Won’t talk to the dancers?” Bucky’s brow pinched in.

“Won’t talk to anyone outside of his inner circle,” Natasha said, grim, “Which leads me to think he’s not staying here long. Probably called his associates in for a speedy-quick deal because he knows he’s being tailed.”

“Hasn’t engaged with any of our undercovers?” Bucky pressed.

Natasha and Sam shook their heads. Your husband groaned.

“Then how the hell are we getting him upstairs to the champagne room? If he hasn’t budged and doesn’t look like he’s planning to stay?”

The looks on the faces in front of him said there wasn’t one readily available answer—or any answer at all. Bucky turned back to the screens and seemed to survey the whole panel, gaze cooling with the first inkling that this operation may be classed a failure in the very near future.

He barked some half-coherent babble about strategy, security, and failsafes, then barked for Steve.

And, as if on cue, Steve appeared at the threshold of the room a moment later, breathless and slightly flushed.

“Rogers, you’re suppos—” Sam started, eyes widening at something you couldn’t quite discern from his arrival.

“I know, I know,” Steve cut in, fast, “Want the good news or bad news fir—”

“Just spit it out,” Natasha said, preemptively unnerved.

“Schröder’s headed to the suite right now—”

Bucky raised both eyebrows at Steve as he continued.

“—but they won’t let Wanda in.”

‘Fuck’ was the first audible word from your husband, then Sam, in short order. Wanda must have been the agent playing bottle girl upstairs. This didn’t sound good.

“Why the fuck won’t they let her in?” Bucky snapped.

“Someone might’ve tipped his security off. Or else they’re just being extra cautious about who’s let in.”

Steve fiddled with one cufflink on his suit and tried not to appear too despondent, but the implications of this single event were huge, you could read on every face in the room. Wanda had been meant to do something important before the rest of the brigade mobilized—take some key step that couldn’t be omitted from the plan.

“So we retreat.” Natasha was not one to mince her words, per usual, “Get your guys out of the suites now.”

Bucky’s fingers twitched at his sides.

“No,” he said, sharply, “We’re not doing that.”

“Bucky.”

“We’ll get someone in there. We’ll find another way.”

Your husband was already pacing the space in front of you, and you looked on with uncertain eyes. You chanced a look to Natasha, Sam, and Steve, all of whom shared similar, albeit slightly more wearied, expressions as they watched and murmured among themselves.

“None of our people are getting up there, Barnes. Schröder’s got a goddamn sixth sense about our agents or something,” Steve said, at length.

“They’re all in masks—for a fucking masquerade—and we can’t get one person in?! In-and-out, that’s all it needs to be,” Bucky growled.

“We can’t get in there, that’s the point,” Sam sighed, “Masks or no masks, they know our people too well and won’t let us through.”

“We can at least try, for Christ’s sake. That’s what we came this whole fuckin’ way to do, right?”

When no one said a word in response, Bucky scowled,

“Right?”

There was a lull in the conversation that seemed to last for minutes, when, in reality, couldn’t have been more than ten or fifteen seconds. Tensions were high. You could tell from the look in Bucky’s eye he was trying not to lash out as he normally would, but in no time at all, you saw a fractional break in his resolve. You feared he might fly off the handle, or else compromise something that couldn’t be spared at a time like this. You swallowed.

“I’ll go.”

It was stupid.

Every face turned to regard you as if you were stupid, you assumed as soon as the words had left your mouth.

But then, much to your surprise, Steve was perking up, eyes suddenly brighter as his gaze tilted to you.

“She could,” he said, shortly.

“Should she?” Sam seemed to murmur at once.

“Sure, why not?”

“I can think of plenty reasons why not,” Natasha was quick to counter, but beneath that pensive expression, you could’ve sworn you saw the smallest degree of contemplation. Even hope, from the looks of it.

‘NO’ was Bucky’s wordless, immediate, and resounding answer as he kicked whatever furniture—a footstool, this time—was closest to him and sent it flying toward the door. It seemed that self-control of his had worn off fast.

“No,” he affirmed in a word a second later, jaw clenched, “She is going nowhere near that suite.”

He didn’t even spare you a glance while he spoke. He was too busy eyeing the others, Steve specifically, as his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths and a light, blooming tinge of pink rose the length of his neck. If it weren’t for that staunch and menacing look on his face, he would’ve almost looked cute, you mused to yourself.

But, pretty man be damned, you wouldn’t stand for being ignored. Fuck that noise.

“I will,” you returned, a little more resolute this time.

Now Bucky had no choice but to pivot to you. His expression softened some, but not by much.

“No,” he said, again.

“Yes.”

“Baby—”

“Don’t fucking ‘baby’ me, Barnes. You said someone who wasn’t an agent could make it up there, and I can do it. Or try, at least, like you just said.”

If your attention hadn’t been fixed on your husband, you probably would’ve caught sight of more than one thinly veiled smile from the group around you. Natasha, in particular, all but tickled to see someone stand up to Bucky and give him a taste of his own shit—and live to tell the tale. The sight of her boss’s eyes almost glossy in the first tender look she’d seen from him in years was almost too much to bear. Steve stood grinning beside her, and Sam narrowly stifled an exhale of amusement. Neither you nor Bucky flinched from your positions.

“We can’t risk you being around him. They’re already all on high-alert,” your husband said after a calming breath.

“As are all your trigger-happy comrades waiting just ten feet outside the door, right?” you replied, “What is it, like, five, ten of them in total?”

“Twenty,” Steve interjected. Bucky shot him a look.

“I don’t care. I don’t want you up there when that fucker was just trying to— to kidnap you last week. I’m not—”

“Right. Right. Trying to kidnap me, not kill me. If Schröder wanted me dead, he would’ve made pretty quick work of that before,” you cut in, tone a touch more deliberate, “Even if he sniffs me out, he’s not gonna screw this whole deal by hurting me now.”

But the mere suggestion of harm to you had seemed to raise every hair on its end for Bucky, and then he was shaking his head, evidently more stubborn than ever.

“No, fuck. Don’t start,” he snapped with his newfound indignation, then, quieter, “Please…don’t, honey.”

You wouldn’t bow that easily.

“Why not?”

Truly, Bucky couldn’t be certain if it was the lilt in your voice, the pinch at the sides of your lips, or simply the sincerity consuming your eyes as you spoke to him, but the man could not stomach the thought of you, his own wife, being a stone’s throw from mortal danger and beyond his protection—or control, he wasn’t sure which one of the two was more dominating. Some cruel and unforgiving knot inside him came to tighten, and twist, and, nauseating as it was set on escape, the white-hot surge rose like bile in his throat. Before he could stop it, the words were spilling out through his teeth like froth:

“Cause I fuckin’ said so, that’s why. That’s it. It’s settled. You’re not allowed anywhere near him, you hear me?”

What Bucky hadn’t expected was the swift ascent back to your feet. The cool and almost careless expression as you rose, as though his words hadn’t registered at all.

He certainly hadn’t expected you to check him with your shoulder as you passed, knocking him slightly off-balance as he turned, in shock, and watched you give him one manicured middle finger over your left shoulder.

“Rogers, I’d like you to escort me upstairs.”

Worst of all, Bucky hadn’t expected Steve to listen.

Fortunately for him, the night was still young and with it, more than ample opportunity to be proven wrong again. And again.

“And again,” Steve murmured low in your ear as you walked side-by-side down the corridor on fourth floor, “If you get even the slightest bad feeling, you leave.”

“Might as well dip right now,” you muttered, adjusting your mask. Your attempt at humor fell flat with the man.

“I’m serious. We’ll be right outside and listening in from headquarters, but HYDRA is not a faction to fuck around with, or underestimate—as I assume you know by now.”

You did. Or would, eventually.

After the mask, you were busy trying to yank the back of your cocktail waitress dress to cover the full swell of your ass, not just the upper two-thirds. Unsurprisingly, it was a tougher task than you had been prepared to handle. Your new heels were tight and impossibly high, your new dress a mere scrap of pink fabric riddled with sequins and glitter, and your mask—holy fuck, were you glad Mardi Gras was not a year-round affair. Bucky had insisted on the fluffiest, stuffiest, full-face covering to ensure that no one would be able to recognize you, but in exchange for your anonymity, you had had to give up breathing, it seemed.

And then there was that vial of poison between your tits.

Sam had assured you that it was a nonlethal dose before handing it over; Steve had urged you, discreetly, to pour Schröder two for good measure. Natasha had overheard the latter and threatened legal action if he ever tried killing a target without her permission. You hadn’t spent much longer getting ready in the bathroom after that. Then you’d brushed past your husband the second you’d stepped out and strapped that last, semi-lethal ‘accessory’ to your bra before taking the lift upstairs.

As it turned out, you weren’t able to escape him entirely.

While you walked with Steve, Bucky was in your ear.

Literally—the man was talking nonstop through your earpiece and clearly had no intention of shutting the fuck up anytime soon. You silently wondered if there was a way to adjust the volume on the gadget as you ambled along.

“Honey.” There was a slightly more mechanical buzz to Bucky’s voice over your private line. You ignored it.

“So just find the cup he’s drinking from and pour the serum in?” you reiterated to Steve for the third time in the last ten minutes.

Your companion nodded, rattling off a few extra precautions while Bucky’s tone rang out a bit louder:

“Honey? You there?”

At last, you stuck your finger to the tiny flesh-colored device in your ear and snapped, “What?!”

“I love you.”

This fucker.

“I love you too. You’re still high on my shit list, though,” you answered, low and begrudgingly.

“Did I hear ‘hit list’? You’re gonna let me tap that later?”

If you didn’t have about fifteen different reasons to hate the man’s guts, you almost would’ve chuckled. At length, you muttered a quiet, ‘Kiss my ass, Barnes,’ and turned back to Steve, who was just then leading you closer to a room roped off and marked ‘EXECUTIVE SUITE.’ Your stomach did a flip as you paused around the corner.

“Right there. All you gotta do is knock and say a guy named Zemo sent you,” Steve spoke slowly, as if he were teaching arts and crafts to a five-year-old and not a woman about to embark on a high-risk sedation mission.

You nodded and took the silver tray from him carefully.

All the platter contained was an oversized bottle of Brut and a silver bucket, but damn if it didn’t feel like you were carrying the world and some change on that thing. You shifted your weight from foot to foot and turned in the direction of the door just a few yards away.

The time for painstakingly descriptive instructions and pep talks was long past you now. You nodded to Steve one last time and started to wobble over.

The entryway was flanked by two muscle-bound men. You approached with a smile.

“Hi. Zemo sent me.”

You didn’t know who the fuck Zemo was.

You hoped they wouldn’t ask, or notice how stilted and awkward you’d sounded just then. You swallowed a peach-sized lump in your throat and smiled again.

The one on the left grunted. The one on the right gave a nod. Without a word spoken between them, the former opened the door and made way for you to step over the threshold. You couldn’t help but notice both with their eyes trained straight on your tits as you passed by.

There was no way that had just worked. No pat-downs or harrowing threats? Not a single, searing interrogation into your identity or what you might be there to do?

Men were dumb, you decided, far too easily deceived by a decent pair of tits—HYDRA security personnel or not.

But you already knew that. You stepped inside.

The fetid stench of half a dozen blazing cigars and booze spilled on every surface were the first to greet you. A wave of smoke, then a bone-jostling bum bum bum to the beat of what sounded like a Don Toliver song came next. You almost couldn’t bear to make your feet move.

But then, shortly, you had to because a shrill, shimmer-doused beauty was waving you over toward the kitchen.

“Ba-by!” she shrieked, gesture growing frantic, “Bring it over!”

You walked with the tray out in front of you, careful with your steps across the sticky floor. When you made it over, where one other girl was stirring wildly at some concoction on the counter, you stopped, and had only to stand for a second longer, because the redhead that had beckoned you was taking the tray, setting it down, and grabbing something thin and pointy. You’d barely even registered it as an ice pick until the thing was thrust in your face.

“Crush it up,” she ordered, one curt nod toward a block of ice nearby. Evidently not giving a shit who you were or where you’d come from either. You guessed Wanda had just gotten unlucky, or they’d all stopped giving a fuck once Schröder’s men had really started drinking.

And drinking they had been, as your eyes surveyed the scene. Half-naked women with fully-clothed men, dressed head to toe in the finest of suits that were probably soaked through to the bone with sweat and Stolichnaya. You almost shivered at the sight of all the masked, wildly gyrating pricks, fumbling desperately through one verse of ‘After Party.’ You could vomit.

But where was your prick? That grimy little shit, Joey.

“Back of the room by the couch,” Bucky said, as if he’d read your mind.

Then a beat.

“Wait. Shit. That isn’t him. Schröder’s over by the door.”

How many tall, lanky blonds could there be in this place? You cast a sweeping look across the room and received your answer in less than two shakes of a lamb’s tail—there were a shit ton of Joey lookalikes all around.

“Careful. Mr. Schröder’s been on edge all night. Might bite your head off if you stare too long.”

The girl that was stirring had apparently caught you looking. She set the spoon aside and turned, but not before chancing a quick glance at the man Bucky had identified to you as your target. The man lifted his gaze.

You chipped away at the ice even faster.

Crush the shit, make a drink, pour the serum, and get it in him. Now. Don’t draw his attention just yet, though.

Something in your head told you to steal another look. You knew it was a bad idea, but you went on and did it anyway—and fortunately, felt a wave of relief at seeing that he’d retreated somewhere back with his friends. The ice pick in your hands made it through the last block.

“I’ll serve the shots, you bring the bottle to Mr. Pierce.”

Mr. Who?

“One of Schröder’s associates. Roll with it.”

It was Natasha’s voice now. Measured, but tense.

“He’s the older gentlemen straight ahead. He probably ordered the champagne for him and the others.”

That was Sam. You could only imagine how all of them looked huddled around the surveillance panel with the transmitter to your earpiece being passed about from person to person. The grip Bucky must’ve had on his gun, or his switchblade, or whatever weapon he could seize to make himself feel a little less helpless. But he was—as were you. And truthfully, there was nothing either one of you could do about that until Schröder was in custody. This was the first step toward reaching that goal.

So you walked with the bottle, now bathed in a tub of ice. You tried to keep steady, but the staggering drunks all around were making that tough, to say the least.

When one man struck you straight in the chest, elbows jutting out as he danced, you stumbled back a step. Nearly lost the tray for half a second, then recovered.

Until the dipshit hit you again.

This time you truly almost sent the bottle sailing for the floor, grip slipping on the tray and knees buckling underneath you as the force of the blow set you back. You bit a quick, ‘Fuck!’ in the air, seized the platter twice as hard and braced your weight against something firm behind you. A shelf, a TV stand, or something. Maybe a half-wall if you were lucky enough not to have careened against some expensive piece of furniture. You sighed.

“Everything alright?” a voice rumbled behind you.

Or a person. Yeah, a person would be pretty fucking bad to bump into at a time like this. Your whole body froze.

You turned.

“Ye-es sir. Yes, sir.” You quickly righted your tone the second you realized it was someone important.

Not Schröder, but someone who seemed to be big-name enough; you just weren’t sure who. The man smiled down at you from under his Venetian mask.

“Is this for me?” he nodded toward the tray, half-teasing.

You swallowed.

“Are you Mr. Pierce?” you asked.

The man’s grin stretched even wider.

“Nope, I’m Ward. but I can take you to Pierce.”

For the first time that night, your heart swelled with some promise. You thanked him quietly, gratefully, then made as if to follow him back through the crowd, when all of a sudden, you stopped. That heartfelt swelling in your chest halted right along with it. You almost dropped the tray.

“Schröder!” Ward bellowed.

No, no, now you were actually going to lose your shit. There was no way in hell you were keeping a grip on this silver little plate any longer without crying or screaming or shitting your pretty, pink, sequin minidress right there. You almost shrieked when a hand reached for the tray.

“Pierce got you doing all the heavy lifting, huh, honey? The bastard.” Even through his own ornate mask, you could tell Joey was grinning—glinting with conceit, as was his prerogative. He took the load off your hands.

“Take it easy now, he’s just—”

“Staring at your rack. Pull your top up, baby, please.”

The chatter in your ear had switched from Sam to Bucky at nearly lightning speed. You glanced down at your cleavage and tugged the fabric up quick, heart beating even faster underneath it.

In front of you, Joey Schröder was all teeth. A gruesome spectacle in spite of its seemingly benevolent intentions, one smile could have turned your stomach sideways. And it did—you wanted to throw up again—but you knew you had bigger fish to fry, and evil mobsters to poison. You didn’t flinch when Schröder nudged you in the shoulder and made his way ahead, coaxing you to follow.

You didn’t tense and didn’t protest. Didn’t blink when he led you straight through the party, around a few topless performers on poles, and into a backroom lounge.

In fact, your mind practically sang as he led you inside.

It was just every other nerve, muscle, and trembling tendon not under the immediate control of your brain that needed soothing. You could’ve sworn the men on the couches would see your legs shaking as soon as you trudged into the room and sniff you out on sight.

But if they had, they didn’t show it.

No one moved when you entered, save for a few lopsided grins and tilts of happy, masked faces. Sizing you up. Drinking you in. Far too easily mistakable for a band of apex predators that had just caught wind of their next meal, and not a room full of sleazy Russian mobsters. You bit back your grating disgust with a smile.

“Got a present for ya, Pierce,” Schröder announced.

A honey-blond head flecked with silver and white sat up from the sofa. Presumably the one who’d ordered the champagne.

“Oh yeah? What’d ya pay for her?” he returned, mouth curling up in a wicked smile.

Even above the booming music, you could make out peals of laughter as the men around you shared in some lewd, crude comments and several whispers exchanged between them. You would’ve liked to grab your bottle by the neck and break it over the nearest patron’s head, but then you remembered yourself, and your mission. You stilled beside Schröder and let them crack a few more tasteless jokes at your expense. Schröder chuckled and set the tray down in front of a thoroughly amused Pierce.

Then he grabbed you by the waist.

“Right. I forgot to ask—what is your price, sweetheart?” he said, swiftly pulling you up to his front.

Your hands flew to his chest reflexively. Your nose scrunched in a wince at the sound of an electric shout:

“GET HIM OFF OF HER!”

“Bucky, hey, hey, we can’t just—”

“NO! THAT’S NOT PART OF THE FUCKING PL—”

The line went silent. You scratched at the space behind your ear, trying hard not to betray any pain on your face, or the fear for what might be going on downstairs.

Clearly, you failed on both fronts, because Joey’s grip only tightened. He peered down at you, curious.

“You deaf or somethin’, sugar? What’s your price?”

You batted your eyes, momentarily struggling for words.

But then, somehow, you managed to choke out, stomach churning with bile:

“Whatever you want, sir.”

You felt your soul drain out through the soles of your shoes as you’d said it. Something fell from your face—most likely a light behind your eyes and any semblance of self-worth as you stood before the man who had tried to buy you, drug you, and kill half your family, and then pretend like you wanted to dance for him, or do more.

It wasn’t real.

It wasn’t right by any means, but it was all just roleplay.

Roleplay.

You had to keep telling yourself that as you let Schröder’s hand glide up your spine and grip the back of your neck, tilting your head up to his. It was just like your husband and his cold-blooded Winter Soldier persona, you tried to convince the increasingly frightened voice in your mind. Just like him, just like your sweet and soft and sadistic—

“Bucky,” you whispered unconsciously.

You knew he couldn’t hear you now. It was almost insane to think anyone could save you now but yourself.

“What?” Joey exhaled sharply.

You froze in fear.

“Five hundred bucks,” you corrected your error quickly.

You weren’t sure Schröder was convinced.

“Five hundred bucks for one lap dance and some fun?” he scoffed. Then he squeezed your neck a little tighter and drew your face within an inch of his own. You could feel the hot puffs of breath, smell the rancid liquor on his tongue, but you stayed where he held you in place and tried not to grimace when he said, “That’s a damn steal.”

Your lips were shaking something awful under your mask. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what kissing this vile, soulless bastard would taste like, but you feared it might come sooner than you knew, because Joey was drawing you even more rough and tight into his chest.

Just when your mouth was less than a hair’s breadth away from his, though, you heard a woman’s scream.

Then another. And another. And another.

Before long, almost half the suite had erupted in shrieks, it seemed, and the sounds of their horror were shortly supplanted by a series of explosions. And gunfire.

Johann Schröder dropped your body like the worst habit known to man and went bounding away from the turmoil as fast as he could. This time, you did trip over your heels and took a nasty little nosedive to the ground. Fumbling, crawling, then sliding across the shag carpet on your belly with your eyes in wild search of somewhere to hide.

You spotted a coffee table and muscled your way over.

“SCHRÖDER!” a voice roared from somewhere behind.

Again, you knew better than to look, but the fear of not knowing who, or what, might be barreling your direction at any second outweighed more sensible considerations. You stole a look over your shoulder and nearly screamed.

A man with a pitch black balaclava stormed into the lounge and wasted no time setting sights on his intended target—raising a Heckler & Koch MP7A1 submachine gun to his face and firing the second the impulse struck.

You watched a once-handsome, lively, and drunk man turn to shredded, fleshy carnage in less than an instant and fall right beside your head with a thud. Your hand was your only defense to keep the shriek inside your chest, but even that blockade was crumbling fast as the blood-soaked assassin wrenched the body in the air.

The gunman tore the mask from his victim’s head and inspected the face—or what was left of it. He cursed.

You could tell from your close proximity to the blues of his eyes, and that sigh, you wouldn’t need to ask at all. You just sat there and stared, knees hugged to your chest as Bucky threw the body back down as hard as he could.

“FUCK!” he bellowed, voice flooded with rage.

Steve stumbled in with his gun at the ready. He eyed the man on the floor, then you, then a dozen other flailing, desperate partygoers trying to escape the suite all around you. You just drew in even tighter to the table.

“What happened?! Where’d he go?”

Rogers, like you, seemed unable to look away from the carcass, but for entirely different reasons. He appeared to be studying it just as your husband had been.

“It’s not Schröder!” Bucky yelled.

“Where the fuck’s he— shit.”

Suddenly, an unknown assailant opened fire on the two men from the opposite end of the room. Both dove for cover, but not before Bucky grabbed you and dragged you, full-force, behind the sofa. It didn’t seem there was time for sweet words or consolations, his eyes wide and half-crazed as they bore into yours just in front of you.

“Don’t move,” he barked, readjusting his grip on his gun in one hand and feeling around all over your sides with the other. On seeing and feeling no trauma, he nodded his head and moved his hand to your cheek, just briefly.

“Honey, I need you here—right here for me, alright? Don’t move a muscle,” he spoke low as Steve covered from above, rapid-fire shots ringing out on both sides.

Rushed and furious as he was, he couldn’t help but linger on that face a half-second longer than he intended. You were shaking your head and hugging your knees, meeting his eyes with what seemed to be reproach.

“You promised, Bucky,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

You were in shock, that was what it was, he kept telling himself. You didn’t know what you were saying, and he needed to turn away to help Steve, but then you were eyeing that body—that man he could’ve sworn was Schröder when he’d pumped him full of bullets—and you were turning back to him with unmistakable disgust.

He would’ve fallen to his knees and begged his wife for forgiveness if there weren’t more pressing matters at hand. Like your life and his, and Steve’s—and Sam’s, now, bursting onto the scene with a semi-automatic rifle of his own as he helped his friend gun down the last of the stragglers. Bucky knew he had to help them, too.

So he’d stumbled back on his feet, less conscious than acting on pure impulse, and he joined in on the gunfire.

He reckoned he liked it. However long it lasted. He just rolled his shoulders once and sent the rounds flying; he ducked and he moved and he stood and he crouched and he fired every shot as if it were as easy to him as breathing. He didn’t think. When the three of them had cleared the lounge, and Sam and Steve tore off toward the two or three remaining rooms at the rear of the suite, Bucky still wasn’t fully present in his body. All he knew was that his clip was near-empty and his side was in pain—and the room they had emptied was safe. For you.

For you—where the fuck had you gone?!

Bucky barreled past the spot behind the couch where you were supposed to have been, but weren’t, and made a beeline for the closest room over. And nothing. More empty, threadbare, and bloody rooms filled with bodies that didn’t belong to you, and shortly he was yelling for Sam or Steve or anyone in that massacred suite to help him find his wife. The breaths in his chest were heaving.

He turned once, twice, eyes roaming wildly and hand grabbing fast for more ammo. He couldn’t find any more. Beads of sweat began to collect on his brow, and just when he turned to call for backup once more, he paused.

In his periphery, he saw two forms.

He stopped fully and turned to the side.

If it was fear he had felt just then, he wasn’t aware of it. Instead, it seemed a white-hot and blinding ire had taken over, and rather than grow timid, or afraid, he went cold.

“Bucky…don’t,” you managed in a strangled, hoarse tone, throat visibly contained by a blade being held to it.

Behind you, a man stood masked and unflinchingly calm.

Bucky knew that wouldn’t do—no matter how hard or helplessly you pleaded with him then not to do it, please don’t do it, Bucky, please. All he heard in his head was the throb of his pulse, and all he saw before him was red.

He fired without a second thought.

The round just grazed the edge of the man’s cheek.

Bucky swore. Tried to fire his gun again. It was empty.

Still not thinking, much less hearing his wife’s desperate cries for him to spare the man’s life, he grabbed the smallest, sharpest object that was closest to him and charged your would-be attacker head on.

Both men fell to the floor, but only Bucky was mobile.

Only Bucky held the weapon now, as his opponent’s knife had been lost somewhere in the skirmish, and he was wielding it now faster than he ever had before, he thought—an ice pick, of all fucking things—driving it into the man’s face and neck and chest without the slightest regard for anything else.

Somewhere far outside his mind, he heard you scream. Felt you claw at his arm, grip at his shirt, make some wild, shrill, and vehement pleas that he couldn’t begin to understand in this state, and he continued. Hadn’t even considered slowing down until the man’s carotid was shredded in two and spewing blood all over his front.

Bucky couldn’t be sure how long it lasted like that; all he remembered was stumbling back, energy spent, fist still holding the pick and eyes duly glued to the body he’d just stabbed through and maimed until no life was left.

He saw you crawl over the body.

He wanted to warn you not to touch it. Lifted a hand and tried his best to form words, but nothing came out.

He watched you lift the mask.

From that point on, he was certain he had to have been seeing things that weren’t really there. Trauma-induced psychosis, he tried to assuage himself silently—that was the only explanation for the scene unfolding before him. Surely it couldn’t be you cupping that face, pinching that skin, shaking that cold and lifeless, blood-drenched frame beneath you as a sob racked through your own.

That signet ring on a pinky couldn’t have been real.

Bucky didn’t want to believe that gruesome discovery made manifest before him—in many ways, he couldn’t—but then it was painted clear as day as the cries endured, nothing changed, and a helpless, frantic wail rang out:

“DAD!”

—

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x you #marvel #mcu #mob bucky barnes #marvel smut #marvel x reader #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #mob!bucky #mob!bucky barnes #mob bucky #mafia!bucky #mafia bucky barnes

[and-stir-the-stars]

Saffron pawn au playlist

Unfortunately i don't know a lot of songs that would be relevant in the time period SP takes place, so this is more filled with modern songs; a separate playlist with time relevant songs may or may not be made at a later date

Shots by Imagine Dragons. The idea of feeling like you destroyed someone you love and are fated to do nothing but destroy everything around you is ofc very Mike coded

Super Bass by Nicki Minaj bc imagining Evan teasing Mike with the lyric "you know how i feel about American guys,, SIGH" is SO FUCKING FUNNY IDC

Talkin In Your Sleep, for Discord reasons

the Tornado bc... idk actually. I just randomly thought of Ev being a paper boy while listening to this song once and it got Permanently Engrained in my head, okay

Love Love Love by of Monsters and Men. It's an aro/loveless song, and while the song is meant to be about romantic love, I feel it can work decently well for familial love as well. "You love when you know I can't love (you)" just makes me think of Evan and his complicated feeling about Mike and the knowledge that Mike genuinely loves him now of all the times when Ev needed it in the past.

Animal I Have Become, bc ofc a saffron pawn playlist is going to need a generic and overplayed song about being turned into a monster, okay. Duh. I don't make the rules. Song also can work well for both Ev and Mike's perspectives

Goofy Goober Rock bc Evan likes Spongebob. Duh.

Hold My Hand by Sam Burchfield. Mostly here for the vibes; there's something about the longing for someone to care and for things to be okay in the end. I think about Ev playing this on piano and Ev and Mike singing the lyrics together a lot.

i Hate Everything About You. Again, we need generic overplayed songs that represent Ev and Mike's hatred of Will, okay (another song meant as a love song but I'm not viewing it that way, shush). Also works well (in some lyrics but mostly just the vibes) from the perspective of early days after Mike gets custody of Evan, when Evan still wants to hate Mike but is confused and isolated at the realization that Will never loved him, and Ev is searching for something to fill the void that leaves.

Barking at the Moon, by Jenny Lewis. Here for the vibes about being able to start a new, happy life with someone you care about. Let the saffron boys be happy :((

Make Me a Hero by DHeusta. The song is literally Mike Afton POV anyway, and the theme of Mike wanting to make up for what he did by trying to keep someone (Evan) safe is ofc relavent to the au. "Make me a hero because I might be afraid of the night I'm trying to brave" hits for Saff mike

Monster by Imagine Dragons, blah blah blah both Ev and Mike feel like monsters

Motion Sicknesses. "I hate you for what you did, and I miss you like a little kid." Evan's feelings abt Mike after Mike left him behind

My Blood by 21 pilots. Smth about 2 brothers swearing to be there for each other just hits. Smth smth Mike saying he's going to be there for evan and will never give up on evan no matter what, but also... evan saying "you don't need to run (anymore)" back.

Strangers like Me from Tarzan. Just makes me think of evan struggling to Understand that other people are "like him", but really wanting to engage with other people and learn more about them yet not knowing how. Once he starts being able to not repress everything about himself or respond immediately to others with venom, he's able to see other people and their struggles and their beauty in their humanity, but he feels forever held apart from it all bc of what he went through/ what he did.

Stronger Than You from Steven Universe. First off, it's about two people having a strong connection. "This is us, back together, and we're never going down at the hands of the likes of you (William/Henry/whoever) because we're so much better." This is Mike and Evan accepting each other and saying "fuck you" to all the forces that have tried to tear them apart, pit them against each other, and wear them down. "Go ahead and try and hit me if you're able. Can't you see that my relationship is stable? I can see you hate the way we intermingle."

Every Teardrop A Waterfall by Coldplay. Id an Evan song in general but is esp relevant to Saffron Ev, who has a passion for music; I can see him blaring music and it feeling like heaven for him, but also as a method of dissociating.

Therapy by All Time Low. Both the boys dealing with toxicity from William and Henry, blah blah blah.

Flags by Coldplay. Here for vibes. "If you could do it all again, would you do it all the same? Is there something that you'd tell your former self? There were pirates who had never seen the sea, But the one recurring theme, the one recurring dream they had Was to be whatever they wanted to be." Just wanting to be who you are and live a happy life is a theme very relevant to the brothers.

Ink by Coldplay. Reminds me of Mike's love of Evan, even if Evan can't love mike back. "Got a tattoo and the pain's alright, ooh, ooh. Just want a way of keeping you inside (oh, oh). All I know, All I know Is that I'm lost In your fire below. All I know Is that I love you so, So much that it hurts." Double points bc mike is a tattoo artist in the au, and my early versions of mike's design had him with tattoos specifically to remind himself of Evan

In My Place by coldplay. Mike pov song. "In My Place Were lines that I couldn't change. I was lost, oh yeah, Crossed lines I shouldn't have crossed. I was scared, I was scared, Tired and under prepared. How long must you wait for it? How long must you pay for it?"

In Our Bedroom After the War. This one needs no explanation.

Into the Open Air from Disney Brave. Evan's tentative feelings about his newfound relationship with Mike; Evan carries a lot of distrust and heartbreak after how they could never seem to connect in their youth ("i tried to speak to you every day, but each word we spoke the wind blew away"), but wants to move forward ("can we carry this love we share into the open air?") Will this relationship we're making last? Will it mean anything? Will it break? Can we mean anything to each other? I often imagine adult evan playing piano and singing this one to sort through, then honor, his pain and complicated feelings about Mike.

The Kids Aren't Alright by FOB. General vibes. Neither of these kids are alright. Other than that it might be more relevant to Jem and Mike, actually

Learn Me Right from Brave. Here for these lines specifically: "We'll fulfill our dreams and we'll be free. We will be who we are. And they'll heal our scars; Sadness will be far away. So I had done wrong, but you put me right: My judgment burned in the black of night. When I give less than I take, It is my fault, my own mistake." Smth smth the longing to be free and happy. Smth smth Mike and Evan learning how to be better with each other, learning to forgive each other and themselves for their past mistakes.

Some Kind of Disaster by All Time Low. Mike pov song abt him not feeling good enough.

Brother by Madds buckley. This song suggested to me by @destefaniart, and they have a good explanation post for it here, way better than i could write

Monster by Starset. "Under the knife I surrendered, The innocence yours to consume. You cut it away And you filled me up with hate. You're the pulse in my veins. You're the war that I wage. Can you cage me? Can you change me? From the monster you made me?" Evan's (and Mike's) angry feelings toward William after what Will did to him (and to Mike, too).

I doubt anyone would want it but i can give the link to the spotify playlist if anyone asks

#Some of these are crack songs but some of them are worth it #Esp towards the end #Saffron pawn au

[samthemarvelfan]

Bad Romance: Chapter Two

The Hand You’re Dealt

Summary: Bucky’s interest in you keeps growing, but so does you interest in him. It’s only a matter of time before it comes to light that your lives are more intertwined than either of you realize.

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x reader, feat: Scott Lang/Sam Wilson

Word Count: 3800+

Warnings: Mentions of loss, angst, swearing, smoking, alcohol.

A/N: This...this chapter. It really sets in motion so many further events! A tangled web of deception and love and lust. Buckle up, bbs. Feedback is so, so appreciated! 

previous chapter

You’d been back in Brooklyn a little more than a week. Despite not having Uncle Sal to enjoy it with, life at home was getting easier.

Making your way through the neighborhood had become something akin to muscle memory; streets you used to know so well, you could walk them blindfolded, re-engraining themselves into your mind. New shops and store fronts had opened, and of course, the familiar Mom and Pop stores maintaining Brooklyn’s charm.

It was a comfort, to know this place thrived in your absence, and would always be here to come back too. Weirdly, it only took a few days to settle into a routine of sorts.

You’d wake up, and go to your new favorite—and outrageously overpriced coffee shop. Grab something iced and a pastry, head back home to clear out boxes and boxes of old papers, sports memorabilia, and some severely outdated furniture. Then you’d spend the day painting the walls and organizing. Creating a space for you to grow in, and one you felt was truly your own.

Through all of the changes you made, you left one room untouched; Sal’s office. That place was like his sanctuary. He gladly spent one too many nights in there ‘crunching numbers’ or ‘dottin’ I’s and crossin’ T’s’, as he’d say. God, you remember that like it was yesterday.

Padding through the hallway, you notice the light flooding from under Sal’s office door.

You approached it quietly, peeking inside. There he was, in his big leather chair; a stack of papers to his left and a scotch to his right.

“Sally…” you called to him, the silly nickname making him smile. “It’s 11:30, what are you still doing in here?”

He peered up at you above his glasses, “Hey Bellissima,” he greeted, returning the nickname. “What are you doing up, hm?”

You smirked, “I asked you first, old man.”

Sal chucked, closing the file in front of him. “You know me kiddo. My brain never stops, so neither do I.” He paused for a second, standing behind his desk. “Don’t you have a history test first thing in the morning?”

You nod, “Yeah, I was studying. Gonna be easy-peasy.”

Sal folded his reading glasses up, and chucked them lightly onto the desk. “Well then, I think we both deserve a little midnight snack…you know, for all our hard work.” He finished with a wink.

It infuriated you. He wasn’t supposed to be gone, but he was, and everyday that passes without answers just makes accepting it harder and harder. None of the so-called detectives have followed up on the case since the night they interviewed you. No one returned your calls, and at this point it seemed like they weren’t even trying.

You were dangerously close to taking matters into your own hands.

84th precinct - Brooklyn, NY 1:43 pm

The station was dim. Off-white walls and buzzing fluorescent lights were a terrible combination. This place was designed to keep people agitated and uncomfortable; you were officially both.

“I told you,” you said, practically shaking with frustration. “I don’t know how many times already, my Uncle wouldn’t hurt anybody. There isn’t a single person I can think of that would want to do something like this to him!” Your voice raised at the detective in front of you.

“Miss L/N, you need to calm down. I’m only trying to—“

“You’re trying to get me to tell you that I know something when I don’t. I flew out here on a fucking red-eye to try and help get whoever did this to him. All you’re doing is asking the same question in 9 different ways to see if my answers will change. Figure out who killed my Uncle, or get me a new detective and a lawyer. I won’t be questioned again ‘til you do.” You stood abruptly, snatching your bag from the floor.

You know your rights, something the cops clearly didn’t count on.

“Excuse me, Miss L/N.” A different detective calls, running after you before you could make it to the lobby.

You sigh, “No. I’m no doing this anymore.”

“Please,” he practically begged. “My name’s Scott Lang, I’m a detective in the Organized Crime division.” He held a card out to you, and you pocketed it absentmindedly.

“And how exactly can you help me?” You were being rude, but honestly? Who gives a shit.

Detective Lang smiled awkwardly. “You were dealt a pretty bad hand…I just want to offer any assistance I can.”

You eyed him up and down, your brain finally catching up with what he’d told you. “You said Organized Crime? Like gangs? The mob? How the hell are you gonna help with a mugging?” You ask, on the verge of tears.

Detective Lang looked over his shoulder quickly, and then back to you. “To be frank, Miss L/N, I don’t believe your Uncle Salvatore was mugged at all. I believe this was a hit carried out by—“

“A hit?” You exclaim, cutting him off. “No. No, my Uncle was in business, he wasn’t…he’s not…that’s not what this is. It was a mugging that went too far—his watch, his wallet…all of it was missing.”

He sighed, and smiled softly at your innocence. “I see,” Lang shoved his hands in his pockets, “Well, if you think of anything else, and you don’t wanna deal with the MCU again, feel free to contact me anytime. Number’s on the card.”

You cocked an eyebrow, “The MCU?”

“Sorry—the Major Crimes Unit. They’ll be handling the investigation unless…”

“Unless?” You urged him.

His voice was hushed once more, “Unless we can prove this definitely was not a mugging. Between you and me, cases like this tend to get…mishandled in the MCU.”

The amount of trips taken to your curb with bins full of trash and recycling should count as your cardio for the damn month. Clothes and skin stained with paint, and you were dirtier and dustier than you’d been in ages. With a groan, you tossed a final box full of donations down, and wipe the sweat from your brow.

“Is that everything for ya?” One of the movers asked you.

Surveying the pile of items in front of you, it seemed complete. “That’ll be it. Thanks again.” You smiled.

You’d hired these guys to haul off some things to the local shelter. Just because you didn’t want it anymore, didn’t mean there wasn’t a family who could get some good use out of it.

The man and his partner began to load up their truck and you headed for the steps. “I’ll grab the check for you guys, be right back.”

At the end of the block, the loud rev of a motorcycle’s engine echoed between the buildings, stopping you in your tracks. The sound of shifting gears getting closer to you, and eventually skidding to a stop right in front of the house.

Matte black and clearly brand new—either that, or seldom ridden. A sleek design that was definitely meant for fashion over function. To be honest, if you weren’t so unnerved by motorcycles, you’d say this bike was impressive; sexy even.

The driver cut the engine and put the kickstand down, swinging his leg over the body of the bike. When he pulled off his helmet and your heart nearly fell out of your chest.

“You look like you could use a break.” He grinned.

It was J—Bucky. Stood there in a riding jacket and matching leather pants.

God, he’s pretty.

He stood in front of you now. The corner of his mouth upturned into a smirk.

“How’d you know?” Gesturing to your less-than-flattering appearance.

Bucky reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, along with his zippo. In a smooth motion, he quickly tucked one between his lips, flicked the metal hinge of the lighter open and lit it.

“Mr. Barnes!” The man loading the truck called, interrupting your stare. “How are you, sir?” He walked to Bucky, and shook his hand kindly.

“Vinny,” Bucky greeted with a clap to his shoulder, “I’m good, my friend. How’s your little girl? Eliza, right?”

They engaged in friendly small talk, which made you smile. You can always tell what kind of a person someone is based on how they treat other people. It didn’t matter to Bucky that the man was hauling garbage away, while he wore a $2,500 jacket—he spoke to him with the same kindness and respect he’d hope to receive.

A good man. You thought.

“What brings you guys around here?” Bucky asked him, but set his eyes on you.

Vinny gestured to you with his now removed work glove. “Just doing a job for this nice lady.”

You smiled at him, “Oh!” You shake your head, remembering you task before Bucky distracted you. “The check, don’t go anywhere—“

“Actually Vin,” Bucky cut you off, reaching into his pocket. “Y/N here is a good friend of mine, just add the job to my account, hmm?”

He balanced his cigarette between his pointer and middle finger, and pulled out a wad of hundred dollar bills. Tugging a few loose, he placed that cash into Vinny’s hand, closing his fist around it. “And here, buy somethin’ for your daughter on your way home.”

Vinny tried to suppress the look of gratitude on his face, “Thank you, sir!” They shook hands once more, “Well, we’ll finish up.” He said, returning to loading the truck.

What the hell?

That’s what you want to say, but you choose a different set of words to speak to the chivalrous man in front of you. “You…didn’t have to do that.” It comes out with a smile you’re sure is far too eager.

Bucky grins at you, and winks, taking a drag. “I wanted too.”

Oh, to be that cigarette…

You shake your head, breaking the trance you hadn’t even known you’d entered, and gesture to it, “That’s gonna put you in an early grave, ya know.”

He smiles to one side, a charming dimple forming in his cheek. Bucky thinks for a moment, before plucking it from his lips and throwing it to the ground. “Of all the things that could kill me, that’s the least of my worries. But for you, I may just quit.”

“Good,” you cross your arms, weirdly unsure of what to do with them at this point. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

What in the actual fuck is wrong with me…

Bucky took a step closer to you, “Call me old fashioned, but do I need a reason to pay a visit to a beautiful girl?”

Heat rose to your face, and you looked away timidly, kicking a twig you saw near your feet. “Smooth, Mr. Barnes. Very smooth.”

Bucky had this stare. Being on the receiving end of it, especially without knowing what a guy like him is thinking gave you goosebumps.

“I came to ask how you were settling in, if you needed anything. I also wanted to see if you’d like to get dinner some time? I own a few restaurants around here, and I’d love to take you.” He asked genuinely.

You blinked, “A few? As in more than one? You own more than one restaurant?” The shock in your voice couldn’t be hidden.

Bucky chuckled, “3, actually.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Whadd’ya say? Can I take you out?” If you didn’t know any better, you’d say there was a tinge of nervousness under all that bravado.

A long breath escaped your lungs, and a moment of hesitation left the words caught in your throat.

Bucky noticed and gave you a soft look, “I don’t bite, I swear.” It’s said with a smirk, as he put his hand over his heart.

How could you say no to that?

You couldn’t.

“Sounds great.” You replied, hoping one of those butterflies in your stomach didn’t fly out.

A grin found it’s way to Bucky’s face and you swore you saw a bit of red creep up to his cheeks. Without a second thought, he reached for your hand and brought it to his lips.

The kiss he placed on your knuckles was soft. Warm lips communicating just how grateful he was that you’d said yes. His thumb swept back and forth along the top of your hand, small ministrations soothing the now tingling skin.

“I’ll see you tonight, okay? Around 7?” He asked, getting back on his bike.

You nodded. “Wait, are we gonna…” you gestured to the motorcycle he was currently straddling.

“What, this?” He slapped the tank of his bike. “Nah. Unless you want too?” He asked cheekily.

“No, no…I don’t think I’m ready for that. Maybe next time.”

He rolled his lips, letting his tongue flick over the bottom one. That sight alone made your knees turn to jelly.

“What?” You ask desperately.

He smirked, “There’ll be a next time, huh?”

Oh, he’s good.

You open your mouth to reply, but his laugh cut you off. “I’ll be finishing up a meeting, but I’ll have my driver grab you.”

You roll your eyes, “Okay, Casanova. Don’t be late.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Dollface.”

You should be nervous, worried that he’s taken such an interest in you, but you weren’t. Maybe it was naïve, and a little bit reckless, but your gut told you that Bucky Barnes would never hurt you.

How does someone just…forget how to go on a date?

Granted, yes, it’s been a long time since you’ve had time for a social life, much less a date, much less…anything else. But come on, it shouldn’t be this hard, and you definitely shouldn’t be this nervous.

The vibration of your phone on the end table caught your attention. Grabbing it quickly, you saw the ID was coming from a blocked number.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Y/N? This is Happy, I’m Mr. Barnes’ driver. Just lettin’ you know I’m out front whenever you’re ready.”

“How did you—“ you start, wondering how the hell this guy got your number, when you hadn’t even given it to Bucky.

Probably Steve. You resign.

Noting the time on the wall said 6:45, you decided to head out earlier.

“Perfect. Be right there.”

Hoping the mirror would be kind to you, you double check everything once more for good measure.

You’d decided on a grey, long sleeve v-neck, tucked into your favorite black leather pants. Pull it all together with a pair of black booties, and a hand bag the same shade as your burgundy lipstick, and you felt unstoppable.

With a warm trench coat wrapped around you, you make your way outside where a large, friendly looking man was waiting for you.

“Hi, Happy was it?”

He opened the rear passenger side door of the black Cadillac. “That’s me, nice to meet you.”

You slid in, mindful of your coat. “Here we go…” you whisper to yourself once the door is shut.

The car ride is pretty quiet. Small talk here and there about the weather, the news, or sports that you don’t really care about.

“My condolences by the way, your Uncle was a good guy. We had a lot of laughs together.”

He knew your Uncle too?

“How—how did you know him?” You ask, trying to keep a less-inquisitive tone to your voice.

“We, uh…well, I’d drive him. He and Bucky to appointments and whatnot. He never mentioned you by name, but always talked about this girl he had to visit in California. I’m assuming that was you?”

You smiled fondly, “Yeah, that was me.”

Happy smiled too, “He’d always say that he had to go because that’s where his heart was. Never occurred to me he could have meant a niece. Nice to know a part of him is still here, ya know?”

Nodding, you fiddle with your fingers, trying keep your eyes from watering. “Yeah.”

The car comes to a gentle stop, and Happy puts it in park. “We’re here, kiddo.” He gets out quickly, opening your door.

The building in front of you sat on the corner. It was painted black, with wooden panels and pillars and big glass windows, showing off its happy patrons. Above the awnings sat a sign, aglow from the several lights shining on it. Black as well and imprinted with big, gold lettering.

Nascondiglio

Happy offered you his hand as you stepped onto the curb. “Wow.” You whisper. How had you never noticed this place before? Brooklyn’s big and all, but surely you’d notice a place like this.

Through the large double doors, you see Bucky exit the restaurant, and at the sight of him, you suddenly felt very underdressed.

He was in a suit—pressed to perfection. Charcoal grey, and a black dress shirt with the top few buttons undone. His hair looked like it was slicked back at one point, but definitely had more of an effortlessly styled look now.

“Ah, there she is.” Bucky said, smiling from ear to ear.

His grin was infectious, and you’re sure that it mirrored your own. “Hi, Bucky.”

He approached you without hesitation, putting his hand on the small of your back that made your skin prickle. Then he kissed your cheek, and you were sure he could hear the fluttering of your heart beat.

Reaching for his drivers hand, he shook it gladly. “Thanks, Hap. What did I tell you? Isn’t she gorgeous?” He said proudly, as heat filled your cheeks.

“You were right, boss,” he smiled. “Oh, and here…” he reached into the front seat of the car, pulling out a new pack of cigarettes. “Picked ‘em up for ya.”

Bucky looked at the box in Happy’s hand, then to you. “Ya know what, Hap? Throw ‘em out.”

The drivers eyes grew wide, in obvious shock at his Boss breaking the horrible habit. Happy threw the box back in the car, and turned back to you. “I’ve been trying to get him to quit for years, and you do it in a week? How the hell did you manage that?”

You laugh, but simply shrug “A woman never reveals her secrets.”

“Oh, I like her.” Happy smirked.

Bucky put a gentle hand on the small of your back, “Yeah, me too.” He said with a grin. “C’mon, let’s eat. Hap, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He nodded. “Same time, same place. Enjoy your evening, Y/N.”

“Thanks again, Happy.” You wave.

Bucky leads you into the restaurant, the interior of which is just as glamorous as the outside. Beautiful sconces, expertly designed place settings, and the delicious aroma of the Italian fair being prepared. It’s also packed with couples, business meetings, and the odd family.

An older woman, tanned and blonde greets the two of you with a smile.

“Is this your girl, Jimmy?” She asked in a raspy voice. “She’s a looker.” Her accent making her drop the ‘r’.

“Don’t go scaring her off, Donna.” Bucky laughed, kissing the older woman’s cheek.

She pinched his in return. “I’ve known this guy since he was in diapers, he’s a wise-ass.”

“Thanks, for that one, D.” He said, redness creeping to his cheeks.

“No problem,” she sassed. “Can I take your coat?” She asked you.

“Oh, sure! It was nice meeting you, by the way.” You smiled genuinely.

“My goodness, you see that Jimmy? Those are called manners, not that those other girls you bring in here would know about that…”

Bucky shook his head, “Okay, okay. Thank you, Donna.” He said, an avoidant lilt in his voice.

He lead you past the front of the restaurant, through the kitchen. Holding your hand to guide you, you went into a back hallway.

“So, Jimmy…” you tease.

Bucky rolls his eyes, “Not living that one down, am I?”

“Nope.” You said, popping the ‘p’.

At the end of the hall was a large wooden set of doors.

“This isn’t where you kill me, right?” You chuckled.

Bucky eyed you as he opened the door. “Please, as if I’d be that predictable.” He joked.

Through the doors was an office—Bucky’s office. It was covered floor to ceiling in mahogany. A thick, sturdy desk on one side with a roaring fireplace behind it. On the other, a table with beautiful white linens, set for two.

He removed his suit jacket, hanging it on the back of his desk chair.

Wow.

He looked so…powerful. Completely and totally in his element as he looked at you. “I wasn’t just putting on a show for Happy. You look beautiful.”

“You’re quite the gentlemen, aren’t you?” You muse, walking around the office.

He chuckles, “Only during the day.” His voice is lower this time as you feel him behind you, the timber of it sending a chill up your spine.

Is he flirting?

Of course he’s flirting, he asked you out. Jesus Christ, Y/N get it together.

The heat of his body disappears as he moves to the table. “I hope you don’t mind, but I had the kitchen make a bunch of our most popular. That way you can try a little of this, a little of that…”

Bucky pulled out the chair, gesturing for you to take a seat.

You smiled, “Now you sound like my Uncle.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky asked and pushed in your chair. “How’s that?”

You adjusted, “He always used to say that’s what he did for a living…a little of this, a little of that.”

“Really?” Bucky laughed, and you nodded.

He stood, grabbing the Dom Pérignon chilling in the bucket beside the table. “I still can’t believe he never mentioned you—that I never met you. I used to see Sal practically 7 days a week.”

Bucky poured your glass first, the bubbles floating in it reminding you of the current state of your stomach.

“I can’t believe I never met anyone.” You say as he sits. Sipping your champagne, you relish in the taste of the expensive liquid. “I mean, sure. I was in California for half a decade, but you all seem to really know a lot about him. Even Happy knew him…”

Bucky nodded, sipping his glass. He could practically feel the question at the tip of your tongue.

“What did you guys do? I get the gist—worked together here and there, but…” you let your finger circle the rim of your glass. “What was your actual job?”

Bucky cleared his throat, “That’s uh…”

Sip.

“That’s a complicated answer.” He laughed.

Bigger sip.

“Complicated?” You quirk and eye brow at his answer—or lack there of. “What do you—“

Knock, knock, knock.

His eyes drift to the large wooden door, as do you.

“Yeah.” He calls suspiciously, clearly not expecting to be disturbed.

The door opened revealing a man you didn’t know.

“Sorry about this, Buck.” He said breathlessly. “But we’ve got some trouble out front.”

Bucky looked to you for a moment, taking your hand in his. “I’m sorry, Sweets. I gotta deal with this, don’t go anywhere ‘til I get back, okay?”

Stunned for a moment, you simply nod.

He smiled softly, kissing your knuckles.

Joining the gentleman at the door, you hear him right before it shuts completely.

“What the fuck is going on, Sam?”

next chapter

#mob!bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes angst #Bucky Barnes #Bad Romance

[wkemeup]

Start Again II

summary: You and Steve deal with the aftermath of the pollen pairing: steve x reader word count: 5k warnings: SMUT (18+), perceived sexual assault (by steve), self loathing af steve rogers, making up for lost time, a very fluffy ending a/n: ok last and final part! Thanks for indulging me in my steve fantasies. You can read part one here 🌟

The more Steve thought about it, the more he wished that Hydra agent had just shot him.  

He could still feel the sensitivity pulsing in fluttering beats between his legs, forcing him to adjust his pants in search of relief. He could still smell the slight tang on his fingers, on his thighs; could feel the residue on his skin. His stomach was still twisted and warped and tied into knots as he struggled to keep still in his seat while he shot cautious glances back towards the loading dock, waiting for you to return.  

It took a few minutes after he’d started digging his nails into his palms until he heard the softened footsteps, head perking up as you appeared at the back of the jet. You slowly made your way up the ramp and pressed a hand to the retractor, signaling Sam you were ready for takeoff.  You were silent as you passed the seat beside Steve, the one you usually occupied, the one closest to him, and took your place across the aisle. Legs crossed, leaning off the furthest edge of the seat.  

It was then Steve noticed the subtle reflective marks on your cheeks, a redness straining into the whites of your eyes, a sniffle in your nose as you brushed a hand over your face. You only nodded, jaw clenched, when Sam called back from the pilot seat in his usual light-hearted banter that he was approaching takeoff. You didn’t so much as a crack a smile.  

So yeah, Steve wished that agent had just shot him instead.

Hours later, after the jet touched back on solid ground and he’d put as much distance away from you as he could manage, Steve found himself standing under scalding hot water. It showered down over his back, his right hand propped up against the wall for support, wet hair and trails of water streaming down over his eyes.  

It burned. The steam itself was suffocating. The water only washing away the sweat beading on neck. But it was all he could do to rid that room from his body, the pollen from its talon-sunken holes clawed deep into the furthest corners of his mind.  

It wasn’t you he was trying to rid himself of. Never you.  

No—it was the remnants of the violence etched into his skin, the devil in his desires, the monster in his movements.  

You couldn’t look at him. You’d tried to force it back in the vault, calling his name, making sure he was alright even after what he’d done, but that was just who you were. Kind beyond what he deserved. Loving to a fault. He knew you were putting on a brave face, but you could hardly stand over wobbling legs.

So, he left. He gritted his teeth and gave you as much space as he possibly could, tried to spare you the grief of having to be in the same room, to breathe the same air, as the man who—

Christ.

He couldn’t even say it.  

He stayed there, standing under scalding water, long after it lost its warmth, until it was so cold his skin had numbed and his teeth were chattering.  

Nothing seemed to be enough to rinse the monster from his body. He wondered then if he ever would, or if it was just a part of him now, if it was engrained deep into his soul, if maybe it had been lying in wait under the surface all his life, waiting for the right moment to be release and rip away the very thing he adored most in this world and –  

Knock knock knock.

Steve froze at the edge of the bathroom. He looked down to find navy blue pajama pants and a thin t-shirt covering his body, the cotton a little damp from the shower. His hair was dripping onto the collar of his shirt, leaving small patches of darkened cloth behind. 

He blinked a few times, trying to pull himself back to his body. He glanced back at the shower. He didn’t even realize he’d turned it off, didn’t register when he’d gotten out and started to change.  

Fuck. He was losing it.  

He exhaled a heavy breath, starting to make his way back to the bed when the knocks came a second time.  

Knock knock knock.

A little more urgent this time. A slight shift in the floorboards outside his room. A nervous kind of energy.  

Steve swallowed, slicking back his damp hair and slowly padded his way over to the door.  

But then, the sweet scent of coco butter caught his sense and he stilled. His heart was suddenly pounding in his chest, thunderous, like it might burst through the surface and fall broken and battered to the floor at his feet.  

He was stone. A statue. A breath of wind could have knocked him over.  

“Steve?” your voice called gently, muffled by the door between you.  

He couldn’t speak. He could only stare at the small cracks in the wooden frame, the broken splinters from where he’d nearly ripped the door from its hinges the night he heard you scream through the night terrors plaguing your dreams. Tony always offered to replace it but Steve wouldn’t let him. The small broken fragments made it easier to listen for you.  

“I know you’re in there,” you murmured. A soft tap followed and he could practically picture you setting your forehead to the wooden frame. “Please, just talk to me.”

A crack in your voice. A lump in your throat. You'd been crying again.  

“Stevie, please... don’t shut me out,” you whispered, voice barely audible but it tore through Steve’s chest like you’d screamed it. Your hands dragged along the door until they stilled on the knob. It was unlocked. It always was. A habit he’d come to find after you’d started showing up in his room late at night when you couldn’t sleep.  

But the door didn’t open this time. You didn’t peer your head in cautiously, fingers grazing on the edge of the frame. You didn’t call his name sweetly with that nervous smile on your lips. No—you waited. Waited for him to open the door himself.  

And still, he couldn’t move.

He hated himself for it.  

It wasn’t until he listened for the deflated, broken sigh as the floorboards squeaked gently beneath your bare feet, your hand falling away from the door as you started to leave, that Steve finally found the courage to move.  

He was at the door in two steps, hand on the knob and swung it open. You flinched in your surprise and Steve instantly stepped back, made himself as small as he could manage. The last thing he wanted was to scare you. It was the only time he’d ever wished to rid the serum from his veins; make him the scrawny, unintimidating boy he was before the war.  

He didn’t know what to say as he stared at you. Your hair was damp like his, arms folded over your chest, holding the edges of your robe securely over your body and while it could have easily been because of the chill of the air conditioning in the hallway, Steve took another step back, certain you were hiding yourself from him.

His eyes fell to the ground.

“Can we talk?” you asked sheepishly.

Steve nodded, stepping aside. 

You slipped past him and made your way to his bed, though you paused before you sat down. It was familiar, a habit, for you to rush into his room and plop onto his bed with handfuls of popcorn and M&M’s and watch movies for hours on end. But things were different now. You clung tighter to your robe.

“You can sit. If you... um... if you want, I mean,” Steve said awkwardly, his voice broken from disuse. He wasn’t used to feeling so on edge around you and it left behind a sour taste in his mouth. He cleared his throat as he sat on the edge of the bed, giving you as much space as he could.

You nodded, offering him a short smile. You tucked one leg under you, the other hanging off the side of the bed as you turned to face him. Steve could feel you watching him, though he was determined to keep his focus on the bristles of carpet under his feet.  

“Steve, I—”

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, the words falling past his lips before he could quite gain control of them. His jaw ached from how tight he’d been clenching his, his hands restless from pulling and twisting at his fingers until the skin was red and raw.  

He didn’t notice the surprise on your face, not though the tears brimming in his eyes. He didn’t notice as you crept closer to him along the bed, gently calling his name, couldn’t hear as you called for him so sweetly it ached and bled.  

“I’m so sorry, Y/n,” Steve cried, pushing the heels of his hands to his eyes. “I never—I never should have given in to that stuff and now—now you can't even look at me and I feel so fucking selfish because that’s what scares me more than anything else. More than what I did in that room. The fact that I might have just lost you because of it and I—fuck—I can’t lose you because I’ll go out of my goddamn mind. I can’t.”

“Steve,” you called again gently, trying to interject, but he was too far into his own spiral of guilt and self-loathing to hear you.  

“I hate that this happened and I hate that I did this to us and I—I hate that everything is in fucking pieces right now and I don’t know how to make this right, or if I ever can, and—and I know I have no right to ask for forgiveness but—”

“Steve!”

Your hands were on the sides of his face, a firm hold of stubble along his jaw rubbing against the inside of your palms, wide blue eyes staring back at you in shock. Glossy in color, reflective marks of tears on his cheekbones, touching against your fingers. All he could focus on was the startling warmth in your hands, the tenderness in which you held him as you forced his gaze to you, and he choked back a sob brewing up the base of his spine.  

“Oh, honey. All this guilt you carry... it must be so exhausting,” you sighed, gently wiping the tears under his eyes. There was an ache in your voice, a love, that ripped straight through his chest. You smiled for him, something so soft, barely lifting at the corners of your mouth, but it was enough. “I was there with you, remember? You asked for my consent a dozen times. I said yes. You warned me it would be rough. I still said yes. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Steve was unconvinced. He remembered how tightly he’d gripped your hip, how he left bruises behind and how your skin was scraped and burned as it rubbed against the table. He remembered how he’d pushed you down, a hand firm on your back, how he’d used you for his own pleasure and lost a part of himself in the chase.  

You must have seen his mind wandering because you settled in closer to him, releasing your hold on his face, though your hands never traveled far. Instead, they ran gently down along his arms until they landed on his hands. Fingers curling under his palms, tugging them to your lap as you carefully traced the lines in his skin, over old scars and the lifeline running in an elongated arc to the center of his wrist.  

“You're a good man, Steve,” you said, still staring down at his hands. “Most men... they wouldn’t have held off as long as you did. Wouldn’t have asked permission, either. You forget that I know what the effects of the pollen feel like, too, Steve. I was begging you. God, I felt like I was going to die if you didn’t do what you did. So, if you’re going to sitting here and blame yourself for what happened, then you better blame me, too.”

Now that, he didn’t see coming.  

You were smiling at him when he dared to meet your eye again, though there was a sadness there. You squeezed his hands, slowly bringing them up to your lips and pressing a gentle kiss along the knuckles. He watched you in awe, heart stammering, and he did his best to memorize the feel of your lips on his skin.  

It took Steve a minute to respond, too focused on how warm your hands were around his. The two of you were close, yes, but you’d never done anything like this before. Even in the nights when you crawled into his bed, there was space between you. Always teetering on the edge of something more and never daring to cross the line.  

Until the line was ripped to shreds and tossed to the gutter.  

The goddamn line didn’t even exist anymore.  

“You alright?” you asked sweetly, because of course you were worried about him. You always were.  

When he didn’t respond, you released his hands, letting him pull them back into his own lap, and a chill started to prickle at his skin. Cold, in your absence. He was always cold when you weren't there.  

It used to be enough to be near you, to be close enough to smell the coco butter lotion on your skin and see the faint discoloration on scars from past missions. It wasn’t enough anymore.  

Steve took in a heavy breath, trying to find the right words. “It just... It shouldn’t have been like that."

You narrowed your eyes, confused.  

“Our first time. It shouldn’t have been like that,” Steve admitted, digging his nails to his palm. When he looked up at you again, you were staring at him with wide eyes, lips slightly parted, shocked. He smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I had this whole plan, you know?”

You shook your head, just barely, but enough.  

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I... uh... I’ve been making reservations at this fancy restaurant downtown... the one Stark won’t shut up about. Been doing that every Friday night for the past two months. Just in case I worked up the courage to finally ask you on a date. A real date.”

The words were spilling out faster than he could hold them back, but there was a relief in it, a waterfall in the admission that swept through the tension in his muscles and drew away the unsettling ache in his bones.  

“I think about it a lot. I think about how we’d talk all night, like we always do,” he continued, in an almost dream like voice, “but there would be expensive wine. Red, I think. We’d order two bottles and earn some angry looks from the other tables because we’d be laughing too loud. We’d eat something good. Something recommended by the chef. I’d pay—”

“--with Stark’s card?”

Steve paused, turning to find you smiling at him, genuinely smiling. Enough to bite down on your bottom lip to try and suppress it, though it did no use. It pushed lines up by your eyes, a glow in the way you watched him, and suddenly, his whole chest was warm. He nodded.  

“Of course,” he chuckled, surprised how easily it came. “Always on Tony’s dime.”

You laughed, and he was certain it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.  

“Then what?”

“I’d walk you through Brooklyn. Show you all the places I grew up. Probably stop by an ice cream joint because the portion sizes at expensive restaurants are pitiful,” Steve said, grinning as you struggled to contain your laughter, your shoulder bumping into his. He sighed, watching you for a moment, before he let himself say the words he’d been trying to say for years.  

“At the end of the night, I’d—” he paused, stealing a quick glance at you before he found his remaining courage. He exhaled a heavy breath and admitted, “I’d tell you I’ve been head over heels for you for as long as I can remember. I’d tell you that you’re my best friend but I... I want you to be more. And I’d tell you I’ve wanted it for a long time.”

You froze, smile faltering for just a moment, stunned. “You would?”

He nodded, his cheeks burning a little pink, but he didn’t mind. “Then, when we got back, I’d walk you back to your room, be a proper gentleman about it and, if you’d let me, I’d kiss you. Something short. Something a little chaste. Because I wouldn’t want to push things too fast and risk messin’ this thing up because… this is it for me. You're it for me.”

Steve had never seen you rendered to a stunned silence quite like that before. He was used to fighting for a word in because you always had something to say about everything. He liked when you rambled and lost yourself on long tangents, wondering how you got from the missing Thin Mints in the freezer to the state of Greece’s economy. He found it endearing, but for once, he had a moment to talk. So, he took advantage of it.  

“We’d go on a few dates,” he continued, with a soft smile, a casual shrug, like he hadn’t been thinking about it for years. “I’d hold your hand in public. Bite the head off of any reporter that asked too many questions, but I’d want people to know that I was yours, so I wouldn’t be shy about it. I’d wrap an arm around you on the couch on movie nights and wouldn’t care when Sam teases me about it because you’d be in my arms and that’s all that would matter.”

Steve swallowed, his heart beating a little faster. “And then, only when the time was right, when we’d found a trust that extended beyond the missions and the Avengers, I’d linger a little longer by our hallway before I said goodnight. You’d do that thing where you bite your lip because I know you’re waiting for me to make the first move, and I’d ask if you wanted to stay the night.”

"And if I said yes?” you asked quietly, inching just a little closer to him, enough that he could feel the warmth of your skin against his thigh.  

“I’d kiss you in the doorway,” Steve exhaled a heavy breath, picturing it in his mind the way he had dozens of times before. “Something slower, enough to leave you feeling breathless. I’d kiss you enough to memorize the taste of you on my tongue, slip my hands into your hair and drag my fingers over your scalp. I wouldn’t pull away until I felt you whimper against my lips.”

When he glanced up at you, your eyes were near black, pupils dilated enough for the colors of your iris to be left in thin rims at the furthest edges. You swallowed, lips slightly parted, a dangerous kind of look about you.  

“Show me.”

Steve swallowed, staring at your lips, how you tugged them between your teeth in anticipation. He exhaled a steady breath, searching your eyes for resistance, and when he found none, he let his hand slip up along your arm and nestle into your hair. You shivered under his touch, chest rising a little faster, as he slowly leaned towards you.  

He paused, nails tenderly massaging at your scalp, just enough until he caught the flicker of lust woven through the startling colors in your eyes. Then, with more courage than he’s had in a long time, Steve met his lips to yours.  

Slow. Wet. Starting at your lower lip, pulling it between his own and sucking sweetly. Then, a flicker of his tongue along the lines of your mouth, waiting patiently, and you parted your lips a little further for him. He swept his tongue along yours as he kissed at your upper lip. Sighing into the touch, the muffled sound of a whimper escaped and Steve smiled against your mouth.  

“Then what?” you gasped, a little out of breath as Steve began to kiss along your cheekbones, your jawline, then to the sensitive parts on your collar.  

“I’d lay you down on my bed,” he whispered against your skin, warm to the touch. You leaned back to the pillows, pulling your legs up onto the bed as Steve followed in suit. He laid beside you, a leg between yours, his lips never once leaving your body.  

“Then,” he continued, pulling back for only a moment, though your huff of disappointment didn’t slip his notice. He chuckled as he crossed his arms at his waist and pulled his shirt up and over his head. “I’d start getting rid of the fabric between us.”

Steve paused, eyeing you, waiting for permission, and you nodded at him. A smile lifted at his cheeks as he crawled back down over you, pressing a kiss to your clavicle. His lips trailed along the bone, until he met the cozy fluff of your robe. He inched it off your shoulder, kissing at the skin between.  

“I’d take off your clothes, but I'd do it slowly because I’ve already waited so long and what’s another few minutes when I can have you whining and needy by the time I’m done,” Steve teased, unwrapping the belt at your waist and letting the fabric fall open. 

You giggled under him, muffling the sound against his shoulder. Underneath, you were dressed only in a tank top and panties; so thin he could see your pebbled nipples through the thin fabric.  

“Keep going,” you sighed, arcing up for him as his eyes lingered just a little longer on your chest.  

Steve nodded, pinching up at the ends of your tank with his thumbs, slowly bunching up the fabric towards your ribs. He leaned down and pressed his lips to your stomach, touching over curves and edges, over scars and freckles, discovering the most beautiful pieces of you he could find.  

“I’d kiss every inch of you,” he exhaled, pushing the fabric up further as his lips made their way to your ribs. Then, over your breasts as you helped him discard the top over your head and toss it to the floor. Steve sighed, staring in awe. “I’d have to take a minute when I finally saw you because you’d be more beautiful than I ever pictured in my head. You’d laugh because you wouldn’t believe me and you’d try to cover yourself--” he raised an eyebrow as your arms moved to shield yourself from his staring eyes though you froze when you realized what he said, “-- like that.”  

Steve chuckled, waiting for you to relax your arms back to your sides. “But I’d be determined and I’ll want to make sure you know how serious I am. So, I’d take my time with you, kiss you everywhere but where you need me most, even when I feel you searching for friction at my thigh between your legs.”

You paused, not even realizing you were trying to rub yourself on his leg, but Steve was smiling so wide, you couldn’t help but return it. There was no room for embarrassment, not with no much love in his eyes.  

Steve lowered himself to your breasts, the heated flush of his breath touching your skin. Then, his tongue dipped to your nipple, circling the bud for a moment before he pulled it onto his mouth, sucking sweetly enough to pull a whine from your lips.  

“Oh, Steve,” you moaned, hands sinking into his hair, guiding him, arching up into him. His hand worked at the other breast, kneading and brushing his thumb over the sensitive bud. He didn’t let up until you whined, “Stevie, please. I need you.”

He pulled back, a teasing smirk on his face as he glanced down your bodies to find your panties wet at the center, damp to the navy plaid pajamas on his thigh where you’d been rubbing yourself. He could smell the sweet, tangy scent of the wetness between you and he licked his lips.

“Not this time,” you urged. “I need you, Steve. Please.”

“You’re skipping steps in my plan, sweetheart,” Steve smirked. “I didn’t tell you yet about how I was going to kiss along your thigh, just up to the crease of your leg, kissing at your folds until I dipped my fingers between them and touched the wetness there, parted you enough that I could run my tongue along your slit.”

You shivered; lips parted in a breathless gasp. Steve winked, hooking his fingers in the band of your panties, pausing until you rolled your hips up for him, and slid them down your legs.  

“I would have slid my tongue into the deepest part of you, tasted you,” he continued, a dark kind of sin in his voice that swept up your spine as he pulled down his pants, freeing himself from the fabric and letting his cock stand out against him, press up against your thighs. “I would have wrapped my lips around your clit as I slipped two fingers inside of you, three if you were ready enough. I would have sucked and kissed and licked at your clit as I pumped my fingers into you, waited until I felt your walls clenching around me, until you were digging your hands through my hair and became a withering, moaning mess. I wouldn’t stop until you cried out my name, and maybe not even then. I’d make you come at least twice before I even pulled my cock from my pants.”

You whined, jaw clenched, hands running along his chest. His cock edged at your entrance; thick, full, aching in its pulse and the pre-cum dripping at the tip.  

“Steve?” you finally managed to mutter, wrecked.  

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

You took a heavy breath, eyes darkening over. “Stop talking, will you?”  

Steve grinned.

Then, he sank into you.  

The stretch was unlike anything else; the pulse of it against your walls tighter than you’d been within Hydra’s vault, the absence of the pollen in your system giving way to a whole new kind of high. No longer overwhelmed by the lust and cravings and sensations buried deep inside you, but instead, memorizing the slight ache between your legs, the feelings of the thick vein that rang down the underside of his shaft as it pressed up against this glorious sweet spot at your opening, the touch of his breath warm and moist to your skin, the low hums and moans of a man you adored.  

“Oh God... Steve...” you whined, knees lifting higher in search of that perfect angle that brought him deeper inside you. He choked back a groan, muffled in the crook of your neck.  

His hands encased around your shoulders, hips slowly beginning to rut further inside of you before he slipped out, just to the tip. Filling you, stretching you, sinking into where he belonged.  

“Fuck-- sweetheart, I—” Steve let out a growl, his right hand running up along your curves to find your breasts, fingers pinching and teasing over hardened nipples. “You feel so good, baby. So fuckin’ good.”

Your hands raked along his spine, nails digging just enough into the skin to pull a hiss from his lips before he started kissing along your neck, your jawline, hips picking up in pace. Steve slid his hand down the edge of your curves, over your stomach and between your legs where your bodies met. The pads of his fingertips dipped to your core, swirled over the drench of wetness there before they carried just a bit higher to your clit.  

You gasped, clenching around his cock as his trusts began a little less gentle a little more desperate; the cry of the bedsprings and the labored breaths between you filling the room, joining the salty tang of sex in the air. Steve grinned against the crook of your neck, kissing at the dip in your collarbone sweetly in startling contrast to the rough snap of his hips. He circled at the bundle of nerves at your core, bringing you closer to your release as your walls started to cave in around him.  

“Don’t-- Don’t stop,” you gasped, the coil at your core tightening and drawing to the edge, “oh fuck, Steve!”

Muffled cries into his shoulder, Steve kept up his pace, not relenting for a beat as you rode out the peak of your high. Nails digging into his back, dipped into his shoulder blades as you bit on the edge of his collar. His hips started to lose their rhythm, his breaths heavy and labored, moans slipping from his lips as the haze began to leave you and you pressed kisses to the lining of his jaw, whispering, “that’s it, Stevie. Come for me, honey.”

He nodded, hot breaths to your skin, and with a strangled cry, he released into you, filling you whole, before he chased a few more thrusts and stilled. His body fell to your chest, sinking you into the mattress as he rested his head against your heart. Arms circling up and under your shoulders, curling you in close to him, you could feel his smile curving up against your skin.  

You grinned up at the ceiling, a laugh bubbling in your chest as your fingers started to rake gently through his hair, combing through the beads of sweat left behind on his forehead. He sighed at the feeling, eyes fluttering closed as he pressed his lips to the hill of your breast before settling in.  

“I should get up,” he mumbled, though he made to effort to move.  

“I like you where you are,” you replied cheekily, squeezing your walls around his softening cock and laughing when you felt him jolt against you at the shock of it.  

“Watch yourself,” Steve warned lightheartedly. “You’ll work me up again.”

“Maybe that’s the plan.”

Steve lifted his head from your chest, catching your eye for just a moment, and the smile on his face nearly captured the air entirely from your lungs. Impossibly sweet. Gentle. Loving in a way you never thought you’d see nestled in the pale blue of his eyes. He leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips.  

“We missed a lot of steps, didn’t we?” Steve sighed, his smile softening to something sadder, like something precious had been taken from him. The first date. The first kiss. The nervous parts in between. He wanted them all.  

“Doesn’t mean we can’t go back and start again,” you grinned, cupping the side of his face as you pulled him back to your lips, kissing him until you could feel him start to smile again.  

You started to edge him off of you, slipping out from under his weight as he protested in a whine. He rolled onto his back, sheet draped over his lower half, elbows propping him up against the pillows as the sunlight peaking in between the curtains cast of his skin. Warm and inviting. Soft.  

You leaned against the bathroom arc, just admiring him for a moment before you said, “be ready by seven tonight.”

Steve narrowed his eyes, raising a brow, though the smile on his lips was still as dreamy, still caught up you. “Why?”

“We’ve got a first date, Steven,” you winked before disappearing into the bathroom. “Don’t be late.”

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers

[starshipsofstarlord]

God is With You, Even as You’re Sinning

Pairing | Sam Winchester x reader

Summary | it was your first time not killing a monster, and in its place, taking the life of one of your own. Guilt entraps you, and it is up to Sam to break you out of your pitiful hypnosis.

Warnings | mentions of death, blood, angst, guilt, some smut, oral sex (fem receiving), penetrative unprotected sex, fingering, swearing, mentions of murder

Requested ✖️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Fuck God. This was all his fault, everything was to be fair. He had left the world to continue on its own accord, the apocalypse threatening to spill over the planet and destroy it and all beauty that was lingering through the existence of humans.

They killed each other, and the creator of all could care less. It was his smallest problem, he didn’t mind that the murderer was succumbed to guilt, or how many restless nights that he or she endured. God was cruel, even if he held up a facade of being your ally, and trying his hardest as he supposed, to be your friend.

Your hands shook as you remembered the entailment of your mistake. It was a slip up, a vast and surreal experience that people usually learned from. But what were you supposed to do, not kill a human again? Yeah you had gotten that, after all, the initial deed had not at all been intentional.

There was the victim’s blood dried upon the outer layer of your skin, casting you in the perfect image of murderous intent. However, you had no thirst to kill, instead, your hunting of monsters, alike to many others partaking in a similar lifestyle, executed the mythical beasts to protect the human population.

It pained you truly, to know that you had killed a person. You hadn’t even spared the familiar body a second glance, and out of panic, you fled the scene, leaving the body of the city cleaner in the gutter, laying in the remnants of his friends’ and family’s waste, burying him in their crude excrement.

The thought alone, and the sight that was engrained in the peripheral of your mind had you feeling sick. Slowly, you plodded down the steps of the bunker’s entrance, surely leaving footprints trademarked in all kinds of grotesque evidence.

Without much care for what lay heavily inside, you dropped your duffel from your shoulder, allowing it to fall on the ground with a disgruntled clatter. Nothing meant anything anymore, not if you were indeed a real killer. Whilst some monsters had weaselled their way into society, ending their pathetic attempts at normality was different than taking away the life of an innocent and mortal bystander.

Often, with the darker and crueler species, there were reasons as to why they pretended to be of human birth. Mostly, it was so that they could feed from the naive flock, or kill for their own amusement. Either way, none of their reasons were good.

But now, you thought of yourself as no different than them. A creature that needed to be put down for their crimes. Filing, you breathed in, only inhaling the various moulds of putridity that was weaved into your hair, and stuck to your skin like a face mask.

“Should I call you Cassie now?” At the joke, a laugh from the speaker was triggered. He was quite amused with the sight of you, and thus, you sneered at the tall man, hating him a little bit more than usual.

“Your pop culture references aren’t appreciated Winchester, it’s more Dean’s street.” Shoving past him, his high shoulder floundered back at the harsh and ignorant impact, an expression of offence covering his stupid face. Like a fawn, he tumbled after you, watching as you walked sullenly into the kitchen, yanking the door to the fridge open, and extracting one of his brother’s store bought beers.

“I’m going to guess the hunt went bad.” Sam speculated, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, and staring expectedly down at where you popped the cap off the bottle recklessly with your teeth. He almost winced at the sight, but he wished to keep this arrogant demeanour up with you, it was a natural desire to piss you off, and he’d be pissed at himself if he let it slip out of simple pity.

“Guess correct. Well done, you’ve won a trip to Hawaii.” You waved your free hand mockingly in the air, as the other raised the liquor to your mouth, allowing you to wilfully gulp the bitter liquid down. At his presence that remained nursing over you, you cocked a brow, leaning forwards as you expectedly looked back at the moose. “Just leave me alone Sam, I’m not in the mood for putting up with your bullshit.”

He, however, seemed not to be phased by you wanting to be left alone, and instead, quickly snatched the poison out of your hand, leaving you throughly prepared to keep him right in the balls. “What the fuck?” You all but screamed at the not so jolly giant. In turn, he crossed his arms across his chest, placing the bottle down on the island.

“I could ask you the same y/n.” His tone was dominantly serious, causing you to cower back into your shroud of guilty conscience. “Tell me what happened on that hunt, of which i told you that you shouldn’t have went on alone, since you wouldn’t have been able to handle it solo.”

You felt demeaned by his words, they sparked an anger out from the firm pit of your stomach. But you knew deep down, he was getting through to you, which was something that you had not managed to even do by yourself. Air heavily passed through and out of your nostrils, as acidic tears pooled in your eyes; a crack was falling down your walls, and out of all people, it was Sam Winchester whom had caused it.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have gone alone, but you know what, I thought of what a Winchester would do. And then I remembered, I am sure as hell not a Winchester and I don’t have a brother anymore! Not now, he didn’t even know who I was earlier, didn’t even recognise a single genetically identical hair on my head as he watched me parade through the town, the very one that I ran away from when he was a baby and I was seven, wanting to hunt a monster. Yet, i didn’t kill a damn monster Sam, I murdered my brother because you’ve been right all along, I’m not fit for this job. I am a mess, so congratulations, you finally have got me to admit the one thing that you keep reminding me of.”

“Y/n...” Sam wasn’t sure how to respond, he felt the waves of shock ripple through his body. Never so freely had you been vulnerable around him, and here you were now, with very visible tears cascading down your utterly torn face. He understood it was an accident, and the times that he and Dean had tried to kill each other under supernatural circumstances had him wondering what if.

Shaking your grime tethered head at the sound of his cracked voice, you stormed past him, and immediately raced towards the shower room, finding to your luck, which had been non existent during the rest of the day, the halls were barren of life. Walking through the door, you tore your ruined clothes off, chucking them upon the floor without much acknowledgement, before you went under the warm spray of the shower head, trying to calm yourself.

To rid your skin of its evidential accessories, you had to scrub your skin until it was immediately raw. Everything within you ached, as you flicked back to the memory of the clueless expression that had been worn by your blood brother. It was probably a good thing that he didn’t know who you were, or else, he’d have known that his own sister murdered him due to her incompetence to listen to others.

Now, you were not even sure what were your tears, and what droplets of water belonged to the shower itself. For over an hour, you basked int eh warmth that seemed unable to cure your cold blooded system, turning the spritz off, and covering your body in a fluffy towel, that you were sure belonged to someone else, but right now, you could care less about who owned what.

As you reached the door to your bedroom, you found it to be preached slightly open, and as you pushed it the rest of the way, you saw Sam sat on the corner of your bed. You held your arms around yourself, insecure on the fact that beneath the stolen towel, you were nothing more than you. A wolf in sheep’s skin.

“Can I help you?” You bitterly asked, your eyes still burning from your own faulted loss. Sam breathed in, his eyes trailing up to your face, that was naked from any gruesome cosmetics or make up. The bareness to your completion illustrated an aura of innocence, and evidence that you were the same as him - human.

“That’s my towel.” The male hunter laughed, in hopes of changing the previous and well wounded subjected to ensure that you felt better. But what was he kidding, nothing could fill the void that you had dug in your own heart, nothing was closer than the bond between siblings, even if you were considered as strangers.

“Take it back then.” Too exhausted from your gruelling day, you dropped the material, your confident action making his eyes go wide, as he tried to look away from your exposed skin to respect your boundaries. It was impossible though not to allow his hazel hues to slip up the trunks of your thighs, up to- no, that was wrong, very wrong.

You had just lost your brother, not to mention, by your own hand, and he was prone to checking out your freelancing body, taking in every curve and twisted scar that was prominent to his speculating eyes. His eyes dropped to the discarded towel, which he had purposely left on the heating rail for later use, and then, they switched back towards you.

He stood, walking behind you as you looked through comfort clothes within your dresser. A light touch of his hand brushed your hair away from your neck, as he breathed a sweet hoax of hot air upon your scare. Sam was relieved that you didn’t reject the contact, and instead, pressed his lips upon the flesh, finding succession whence you hummed deliriously to yourself.

This interaction had been inevitable for a long time, but now no longer were the suspected intentions for such an exchange to be to release well endorsed frustrations. No, he was going to clear your mind for some sensual moments, and make your pretty little head forget for a moment that you had pained yourself in the worst of ways.

Turning, you laced your hands through his chocolate locks, massaging his scalp as you pulled him closer so that your lips could endure a rougher clasp against his. There was no passion, behind each contribution there was a spur of hunger, he grasped your ass cheeks, pulling you up to be sat upon the top of your heavy dresser.

Obliging his command, you spread your legs so that he could stand between their partition, his hands now running up the windows of your thighs. For a while, the pair of you did nothing more than make out, and cup a feel here and there, but soon after, Sam dropped to his lanky knees, leaving kisses in the wake of his descent.

His thumb and forefinger spread your fluttering folds, watching as your slit squirmed for attention. Sam licked his lips at the sight, running his middle finger up the expanse, until he came to your yearning entrance. Slowly, after making sure you were wet enough, Sam slipped his digit inside, you wiggling your hips to adjust to the thrust of his one finger.

To add to the sensations that were overriding your body, he moved his mouth to closer proximity, smelling the divine aroma that pulsed out of you. It was far too addictive to not get a taste, and thus,he pulled his finger out, sucking off your juices contently.

But that small sample just wasn’t enough, which encouraged him to dive face first into your pussy - literally. His long tongue teased your folds, slurping at the lips, and then switching to your clit to heighten the stimulation. He kept up a rhythm, using it as a pattern to push you closer to that edge, and he was surely certain that you were enjoying his oral work as you ground your face against him, moaning at his succulent administrations.

“Sam.” Oh god, was it pleasant to hear his own name fall out your mouth in such an erotic manner. It was far different from the way that you usually used it to snide at him, though, the thought of your regular treatment of him aided only to spur his lustful actions on. He wanted you to cum, for your juices to run down his face in waterfalls, looking as though someone had tried to drown him.

His work would not be complete until you found it difficult to even pronounce his short name. Digging his tongue in the hood of your clit, tracing around the protective area, his fingers returned to their earlier placement, and he quickened their pace until he could hear a satisfying squelch in the air.

Rapid sounds of parted moans raked from your mouth, your chest sticking out as you breasts heaved with your heavy breathing. It was noticeable that you were close, not just from that, but you were squeezing the circulation out of his fingers. “Fuck.” Left you in the form of a squeal, as you pussy wept its juices.

Sam was quick to lap everything that left you up, once more, tasting those that clung to his fingers. He went back in for another taste, but you tightly grouped his hair, pulling him away from your sopping cunt. “Need you to fuck me Sam, now.”

In an instant, the hunter stood, working precariously on undoing the buckle of his belt, and pushing all material that covered his lower half to the bottom of his thighs. He read already hard, and oozing precum. You swept your finger across the tip of his dick, bringing it to your lips to taste his foreshadowing seed.

Sam huffed at the sight,picking his prick up in one hand, and jerking himself a couple of times. And then, he aligned himself with you, rubbing his cock around your wet crevice a couple of times, slapping his tip teasingly against your puffy clit.

“Want my cock baby?” He asked, smirking as he watched you nod your head repeatedly. With that being all the confirmation that he needed, he pushed into you,feeling even more turned on as he heard you mewl, and watched the ecstatic expression cross your face as his dick fit inside of you all the way.

He grasped your hips, pulling out once before pushing in again. He repeated the action, his own eyes rolling to the back of his head at how tight you were. This would make you forget the cruel method of god, his story was not as epic as he though, for his characters were screwing against his will, basking in a distraction rather than the regretful pain that seethed in your trodden heart.

Another thrust had your nails clasping onto Sam’s covered back, biting onto his shoulder through the plaid, as you held back the tears that were trying to creep out of your blissful eyes. A few grunts left Sam, as his pace increased, and with every thrust, which only served to fuel him further, the dresser smashed into the wall behind it, most likely leaving a decent dent within the historical architecture.

“Gonna cum.” You told him, dragging him in for another tongue filled kiss as your cunt pooled around him, coating his cock in the honey from your delicious pot. He soon followed after, and for a moment, he remained against you, allowing you to bask in the comfort of his strange presence.

And then he pulled out, watching as his distraction dripped from your entrance, trailing down your thigh in a white streak. An orgasm smile was pulled onto your face, but it was certain to not last long for when you returned to the reality that laid waiting for you to return.

Sam stepped closer again, moving his fingers towards your cunt, and pushed his seed back inside of you, watching as your puffy pussy lips swallows any part of him that it could get. He would distract you for as long as he could, and then, deal with the inevitable.

#sam winchester x reader #sam winchester and reader #sam winchester smut #sam winchester x you #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester one shot #sam x reader #sam imagines #sam winchester angst #sam winchester x y/n #sam imagine #imagines #imagine #supernatural smut #spn smut #jared x reader #jared padalecki x you #jared padalecki smut #Jared smut #jared x you #jared padalecki fan fic #xreader #supernatural sam x reader smut #sam winchester fanfiction

[tiedyemillenialbullshit]

Hope is a Heartache

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Summary: You and Bucky are a series of missed opportunities, but will that stop you both from being happy?

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, sexual situations, swearing, angst, LOTS of angst, fluff

A/N: I’m not sure when I became the kween of angst, but here we are. I think if I wrote smut, I’d die so maybe someday I’ll try that. For now here we are.

Written listening to: Hope is a Heartache by LEON

“How would I ever tell her that? What, that I think she’s the most stunning, hilarious, powerful, brave, most amazing woman I’ve ever met? She’d freak out, I’m like her best friend on the team, Steve.”

“I don’t know pal, but I can’t keep looking at you like this. Every time she walks by you stop breathing.”

Bucky never felt so sick to his stomach as he did when he thought about you and whatshisface. You had been on the team about as long as he had. You were both “freshmen” as Sam loved to joke, together. At first, you annoyed the shit out of him. Always going on about how he needed to try harder at this or move faster at that. Buck always confided in Steve about how much you pissed him off until finally one day Steve snapped. “DUDE. YOU. LOVE. Y/N. If you won’t admit it to me, at least admit it to yourself.”

Bucky remembers telling him exactly where he can shove it before stomping out of the Captain’s office to the gym. He had walked in on you taking some sort of frustration out on a punching bag. You didn’t hear him come in, so he stood in the shadow of the doorway and watched you. You stopped after a few moments to rip your gloves off, fix your ponytail, huff out a swear or four and decide to start punching again sans gloves.

Bucky knew in that instant he didn’t want a different partner on missions. He didn’t want you to want to go on morning runs with anyone else. He didn’t want to trust anyone else besides you.

You remember that day too. You were pissed at him, convinced he was trying to make you look bad because in Steve’s eyes, he could do no wrong. So who cares right? Oh you just wanted to hit him. That’s why you had elected to not place your boxing gloves back on and instead just rely on the tape wrapping your knuckles to not break your skin open.

You heard something behind you, and when you spun around you saw him watching you. At first, this wasn’t startling, the asshole had a serious staring problem, but he wasn’t mad. He was just watching you move. Nothing about his demeanor was menacing like it usually was. It was like Frosty had melted and standing before you was this man.

You decided then that you didn’t anyone else sparing with you in the gym, you didn’t want anyone else giving you a hard time because you couldn’t chug a beer as fast as Thor, and you didn’t want him to want anyone else as his partner.

It was like something clicked into place that day, a thread between the two of you pulled taught. You couldn’t place the feeling, you never had it before.

“Earth to Bucky. *white noise* Paging James Buchanan Barnes *white noise* Will the tin man please join us in this debriefing-“ Bucky finally recognized Sam was talking to him.

“Sorry, what?” Buck knew he was red in the face, but honestly didn’t care. Not after the sleepless night he had after witnessing you kiss your new boyfriend goodnight.

“We were discussing Wednesday’s mission, Bucky. You good?” Steve had a concerned look on his face for his best friend.

You were staring right back at Bucky as he sternly answered “I’m fine. Couldn’t sleep last night. Kept having a nightmare about some prick invading my space.”

The team exchanged glances, but that just confirmed to you that he did see you kiss Nick. You thought you heard someone shuffling inside quickly after giving your new boyfriend a lingering kiss goodnight. What was his fucking problem?

“I hate it when that happens. Maybe you should just try minding your own business in real life, then you wouldn’t have nightmares about it at night.” You shot back not breaking eye contact.

Bucky stood and left. The team knew better than to try and reason with a pissed off super soldier, so they let him leave the meeting early.

You practically ran out of the meeting as soon as it was concluded.

“What the fuck was that about?” Nat asked as she was following you uninvited into your room. Besides Bucky, she was your closest friend. Your closest friend, and your nosiest friend.

“Bucky saw me kissing Nick last night and took that as a signed permission slip to act like a fucking asshole, I don’t know. He never likes any of the guys I bring around. Honestly, that’s probably why they don’t last.” You really liked Nick, and you weren’t going to let Bucky scare this one off. Which would be a feat, seeing as your best friend was the former Winter Soldier.

“Y/N, do you think he ‘scares’ all of them off because he wishes he was them?” Nat looked at you without giving away too much of her thought process.

“What, like he wants to be my boyfriend? Come ON Nat, this is Bucky. It’s BUCKY. Even if he did have feelings for me, he’d never tell me. Because he’s BUCKY.” You weren’t sure why you were secretly hoping she argued with you about that. You always liked Bucky. But you were a professional, those feelings got pushed down a long, long time ago.

“I don’t know, Steve said-“

“OH. So now Bucky and I are the topic of your pillow talk, Nat? Great! Look, just because it worked out for you and Steve that way doesn’t mean it’ll work out for me and Buck like that.” You shot back.

“WOAH. I was going to say that Steve said he had been off lately, it probably doesn’t have anything to do with you, Y/N.”

“Oh, well, I mean, I knew that. Whatever, okay?” You stumbled. “It’s not going to happen. I’m with Nick and I’m happy for once. Whatever his issue is, he can talk to his therapist about it, I’m done being that too.”

One year later

“Y/N. Hi. Uh, I didn’t know you were going to be here,” Bucky stammers to you as he’s holding the hand of some innocent enough looking blonde.

“You mean in my own kitchen? Funny how that works out. I was just leaving.” You say to him. The thought crosses your mind to introduce yourself to his new play-thing, but that will just make it seem so much more permanent. You hope your self-dismissal makes her feel awkward enough to leave but you know that won’t happen.

After the disaster that was your relationship with Nick ended after 9 months, you swore off men, including Bucky. He had eventually apologized for his behavior during that debriefing and things seemed to go back to normal. You now realize “normal” is just your funny way of saying “compartmentalizing.” Things were okay between you two because you never talked about Nick and he never asked.

After it ended between you two, he didn’t even ask. You chucked it up to him giving you your space. But that was a few months ago, and now you see why he wasn’t asking you about it.

“Night, Y/N.” Bucky calls after you.

“At least one of us seems like we’ll have a goodnight,” you yell back at him as you retreat into the hallway.

You think you hear him mumble something to his date and then you hear footsteps behind you, so you slow your pace a bit.

“What’s your fucking problem? Amanda doesn’t deserve your wrath the first time she comes over.” Bucky hush yells at you.

“The first time?! Buck, our rooms are right next to each other or did you forget that?” You actually yell at him.

“Oh trust me, how could I forget? With all the sex you had for 9 fucking months straight, the sound of you moaning is literally engrained into my mind forever and you KNOW how hard that is to do.” Bucky is screaming at you now.

“FUCK YOU JAMES.” You yell as you turn and walk towards the stairs.

“DON’T FUCKING CALL ME THAT,” he screams.

Good. Now no sex for him.

You wait until you get to the stairwell to let loose the tears threatening to spill over. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of winning the fight. You two had fought so many times in your friendship. The other Avengers knew to just leave two be when you got into these kind of moods.

You and Nick didn’t work out for a lot of reasons, but the biggest one was your relationship with Bucky. He was so protective over you, and a few months ago when that stopped you realized you didn’t miss his protection, you missed how he looked at you. You missed the possibility that there was something there between the two of you. It was clear he had given up, and you hated that. He felt cold and distant. Shortly after that, Nick stopped coming around and you didn’t care.

Just as you sit down to let yourself unleash in between the second and third floors, you hear the first story doors open. You go completely quiet as to not want to alert anyone you were sitting on the stairs crying like a teenager experiencing their first heartbreak.

You think you hear whimpering or what could be shushed crying. You lean over the railing to look down at who it is. Sitting there with his head in his hands is Bucky. You don’t make a noise.

“Fucking collect yourself Barnes, she’s just being a bitch. Deal with her tomorrow.”

You didn’t realize you had that much of an impact on him, you only wanted to ruin his desire to have sex with her.

Satisfied and feeling slightly guilty, you walk back to your room for the night, not caring if he hears you.

Two months later

“Is this seat taken?” You turn to the side and look up to see Bucky looking down at you sheepishly.

“Where’s your hot date? I saved two seats for you and Amanda,” you say back to Bucky, genuinely interested in where his date was. After that awful night, you decided to put forth an effort to make things better with him. No one is kidding themselves that when you have personal stuff going on behind the scenes of work partners, it makes work in the field that much harder.

“Uh, she’s not going to make it,” he says with sad eyes.

“Oh, is she okay?”

“Uh yeah, we’re just not. We broke up this morning. Thanks for saving two seats though, that was nice of you Y/N.” Bucky sits down next to you and you wrap an arm around the back of his chair.

“I’m sorry Buck, I really did like her. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I am now,” he looks at you with a slight smile to his face. You hold his gaze for a few seconds longer than normal before ruffling his hair as the DJ comes over the music.

“Ladiesssss and gentlemeeennnn please welcome to the stage…”

“I can’t believe Sam dragged us all to a strip club for his birthday,” you whisper in Bucky’s ear as the music gets louder.

“I know, look at Steve I think he’s about to have a stroke.” You and Bucky share a laugh and for a second, it’s like you’re back in your early days on the team when it seemed like all you two had was each other.

Once the girls found out the Avengers were in their midst, it was game over. If Sam’s goal was to black out tonight, he accomplished that almost immediately. Liquor was free, dances were free, and unsurprisingly the team was having an amazing time. Besides the waitresses and a few dancers, no one came into your circle, and it ended up being a really fun night. You and Bucky were having so much fun, you couldn’t remember the last time you laughed as hard as you were.

You even noticed Bucky turning down a dance or two, redirecting the girl’s attention to Thor, or the much more enthused, Sam. You expected a newly single Buck to want the attention, but he was not having it.

As the night went on, you caught Bucky staring at you, and more and more you held his stare with a curve to your lips that was reserved just for him.

“Coincidentally” the strip club was next to Sam’s favorite bar. The team decided that was the logical next destination, but you were exhausted and it must’ve been showing on your face.

“Hey doll, why don’t you say we Irish exist these assholes and head home? I’m exhausted.”

“Fuck. Yes. PLEASE let’s go!” You exclaimed as if Bucky was reading your mind. You didn’t want to be the one to suggest it, but you were so happy he did.

You both stand in line with the team but disappear behind everyone as they all head in. Bucky throws an arm around your shoulders as you walk down the street.

“You know, I’m kind of glad it’s just us the rest of the night, that was too much togetherness for me,” Bucky says. You’re blushing and you know he means he’s happy to have a friend, but you find your stomach buzzing with the hope he means something else.

“Same here,” you laugh, “what do you want to do? Grab a cab and head home? Movie? Are you spent?”

“For you? Not at all.” He’s got that dumb grin on your face that makes you want to either kiss him or smack him so he stops distracting you.

“What’re you staring at sweetheart?” You realize it’s getting harder to hide your emotions. He just broke up with Amanda, and maybe it’s the alcohol or the atmosphere, but you can’t stop the word vomit.

You stop him on the sidewalk under the streetlight. There’s no one really out on this street.

“Are we ever going to get it right?” Ope, there it is.

“Get what right?” Bucky is looking at you confused and you’re hoping you can somehow telepathically tell him you mean the two of you. Together. Finally.

“Us.”

Bucky just keeps staring at you like he did that day at the gym. Neither of you say anything, he’s got a hand on your upper arm, resting there.

The regret starts to set in. Things were just getting back to a good place between the two of you, and you just ruined it.

“You know, Amanda and I didn’t work out for a few reasons, but the main one being... ugh, shit, the main reason is that she isn’t you, Y/N.” Bucky just spoke the words you’ve wanted to hear the most but it doesn’t register at first.

He must see that either on your face or through your lack of response. You feel him pulling you in, and right before he moves his lips over yours, it hits you like a train. You love him. Your stubborn, angry, beautiful, amazing Bucky.

You kiss him back with an intensity you didn’t know was in you. You break the kiss and start giggling against his mouth.

“What! I’m not that bad of a kisser!” He’s laughing now with you.

“Sorry, sorry, I just can’t believe this is finally happening. And on a secluded street, under a street lamp. Write a romance novel already, Barnes.”

Your lips to God’s ears, a group of people start walking your way. Bucky looks around and pulls you into a small walkway between two apartment buildings.

“Come here, I wasn’t done with you.” He’s kissing you up against the brick wall like a man starved and you don’t care if anyone sees you, you’ve never felt this happy in your life.

“Let’s just do this, you and me. I’m sick of pretending like you aren’t my person,” you say against his lips.

“Y/N, I want nothing else, ever.”

#bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #marvel fanfiction #bucky angst

[sunflowersteves]

cheaters never prosper || ch. 1

summary || Steve told you that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you but he sure has a funny way of showing it. 

author’s note || Based on the song “Sorry” by Beyonce. For the storyline to make sense. Also, I’m sorry to Sharon fans. She’s the only character I can recall with blonde hair. Hope you all enjoy it!

warning || angst, cheating, mentions of sex, asshole Steve, swearing

m.list // ch. 2

Looking at my watch he should’ve been home

Today I regret the night I put that ring on 

He always got them fucking excuses 

I pray the Lord you reveal what his truth is

You knew that Tony didn’t keep him in the compound offices until 4 AM. Bucky had even told you that Steve was going to head out around 5:00 pm when everyone else does because all he had was paperwork from the last mission. You twirled the wedding ring that clenched around your finger. It almost felt suffocating. You looked back at all those moments he canceled dates or forgot important ones. 

Stevie: Sorry, babe. I got caught up with work. I can take you out next Tuesday?

Stevie: Happy Birthday! Sorry, it’s so late. Work kept me up.

Stevie: Happy anniversary! I can’t make dinner tonight but I ordered you flowers.

Stevie: Won’t be home for dinner. Sorry.

Stevie: Don’t wait up. Work.

You weren’t an idiot. You knew about her. Another woman.

You’ve never felt so lonely.  It’s hard to even remember the last time he made love to you. But you still remembered. With the memories still engrained, your body burned with the feeling of him. When he would fuck you, it would be so good. Headboard banging against the wall as he pounded straight into you. He used to love the whimpers that came out of your mouth. He used to love the way your skin felt, slapping against his. He used to love aftercare, cleaning you both up then cuddling up into you, legs intertwined. He’d whisper how much he loved you and how he wanted a life with you, a family with you. That’s what he would tell you, anyway.

You shook your head, tears falling down your face making the sheets soaked. This wasn’t how your life was supposed to go. You wanted to stay married, have kids, settle down near the compound. But that’s just a dream. You knew you weren’t the most perfect person. You were stubborn and sometimes hard to deal with but you thought he loved that about you. 

Middle fingers up, put ‘em hands high

Wave it in his face, tell him, boy bye

Tell him, boy, bye, middle fingers up

I ain’t thinking ‘bout you

“You’re being ridiculous! I’m not cheating on you! How can you not trust me?!” You stopped vigorously washing the dishes and turned your body towards him. “Not trust you? Steve! How can I trust you when you leave the compound at 5:00 pm and not come back until 4:00 am. How can I trust you when you’re never even here?! How can I trust you when Bucky says you’re in one place but you give an excuse of somewhere different. Then, you come home, smelling like perfume! I’m not stupid, you asshole.” 

His facade faltered as he knew you were right. He was a cheater. He broke your heart. He knew you would find out eventually. He was such a horrible person. The one thing he didn’t want to do is hurt you but he can see he’s already done that. He messed up and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to fix his mistake this time. “Y/N...Babe, I’m so sorry-”

“You know what? Fuck you. Fuck you, you lying cheating ass.” You lifted up your middle fingers straight into his face. “I didn’t mean to hurt you like this, I’m so sorry.” He tried to get you to stay, to talk to you about all of this, to fix his mistakes. You waved him off, it’s too late for that. “I never meant for it to last this long.” You were just getting more indignant as he kept talking. You didn’t want to break down in front of him either. “I’m leaving. Don’t wait up, asshole.” You grabbed your jacket and your keys and slammed the door behind you. He started to weep, head deep into his hands as he thinks about his choices. Was a little fling really worth destroying his whole marriage?

Now I’m the one that’s lying

And I don’t feel bad about it

It’s exactly what you get

Stop interrupting my grindin’

You were never home as much as he wasn’t before you confronted him. Steve would come home to see the couch, bed, and guest bed empty. He knew he deserved it but he couldn’t help but feel his mistakes weigh in on him. His heart crushed in on itself but he couldn’t even imagine what you felt. What if the roles had been switched?

- - 

Most nights you would go to a club near the Upper West Side. Far away from Brooklyn as possible. Far away from him. You had lied to Steve telling him that you and Nat were hanging out. He knew it was a lie. Your tell was an eyebrow twitch and it had, in fact, twitched. 

You were grinding on a guy you just met, music pounding into your ears. It had felt nice to not be engulfed by him for once. The guy had told you his name was Sam. He had offered you a drink but you declined, needing to drive home at some point. “Driving? In New York City?” You laughed and explained your situation, having the pleasure of knowing Tony Stark. Sam was very charming, teasing you left and right. He was such a kind person, soft even, and oh so handsome. He stopped dancing and froze, seeing your hands. “You um... Married?” You looked down, your fingers grazed the band. You shook your head, tears springing to your eyes but not falling. 

He frowned. He pulled you aside to give you some space from all the dancers. He wrapped an arm around you, shushing you as you cried. “I’m so sorry. I completely ruined your night.” He shook his head and told you how much fun he was having. He told you that you hadn’t ruined anything. As you explained, more tears ran down your face. “He cheated… I know I still have the ring on but part of me… is still attached, you know? I came here to forget about him but... All I can think about is him. It’s silly, I know.” Sam stopped you. “Hey, it’s not silly. It’s not to the same extent, I know, but I had a girlfriend that cheated on me in high school.” “Yeah?” He rubbed his hand up and down your shoulder.

“Yeah, She cheated on me with Brad. She didn’t even tell the guy we were dating.” You both laughed together all night about stories of exes and eventually about each other. You were both getting a little too drunk (you gave in and had a couple of drinks with him) so you decided to leave. “Hey, whenever you drop that dickwad and are ready to date again? Give me a call.” He winked at you and you giggled before you left. You called an Uber, deciding to leave your car at the club for now.

Steve had ended up tracking you from his phone. He told himself that it was for your safety, that he was just checking to see if you were okay. In reality, he was nosy and wanted to see if he if his suspicions were right. (They were).

You walked out of the club with a light smile, Sam’s phone number clutched in your hand. Steve stood in front of you, tapping his feet. “What are you doing here, Y/N? Especially rubbing your ass all over other guys. We’re married!” He knew it was a low blow but he couldn’t help but be angry. He was jealous. “Oh, you don’t get to do that shit. Not with me. I will grind on every single person in there if I want to. As far as I’m concerned, you never have had control over me. And you will never!” He stared at you, wide eyed. “And for the record, you cheated! Not me! Maybe think of that the next time you try and ridicule somebody.” You paused, taking your ring off of your finger. “You know what? Here, I’ll make it easier for you.” You shoved the ring into his hand and sauntered off, not missing the sad guilty look on Steve’s face. “See you at home, Steve.”

I left a note in the hallway

By the time you read it, I’ll be far away

I’m far away

“I’m leaving him.” Bucky sighed as you handed him the note you wrote. He started to read it as a tear rolled down your face. What was Steve thinking? You were fun, smart, kind, and fuck, so beautiful. Hell, Bucky was the first one to hit on you when you introduced yourself to the team. But he knew it wasn’t those attributes. It was Steve. He was insecure that you would leave him for someone who doesn’t go on missions or put your life in danger. He wanted you to leave him for those reasons. He wanted you to be with someone who wasn’t PTSD ridden with nightmares from his past. It was his own insecurities that clouded his mind and made him act out on them. It had nothing to do with you. Both him and Bucky knew that. Bucky just wished he would have talked to you instead of putting his dick in another woman.

Bucky nodded. “Good. I think leaving him is the right choice. Nat and I have agreed to offer you to stay here as long as you need it. Never think you’re alone in this, Sugar.” You hugged him and thanked him greatly. You knew without Bucky and Nat, you would be struggling even more. The thought of support made your heart soar. Why couldn’t he have just talked to you? Tell you after the first time that it was just a mistake. But it’s too far now. You didn’t even know how long this has been going on. Honestly? You didn’t really want to know. Too long, was the answer. 

Tears flowed down your eyes and down your chin. “Oh... Honey… It’s alright.” You barely heard Bucky, too engrossed in your thoughts. “Why me? Why did he do this to me? What’s so wrong with me that he-” Bucky enveloped you into a big hug, Nat came into the room once she heard crying. She and Bucky share a knowing look. She knelt down in front of you and spoke softly. “Honey, you know it’s not you. You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve anything that puts you in harm’s way, you’re too pure. You shine brighter than anyone, Y/N. Always remember that.” Nat wiggled her eyebrows. “And who knows? Maybe that Sam guy will be the one!” You rolled your eyes at her but nevertheless giggled.

You laid in Bucky and Nat’s guest bedroom, you couldn’t sleep with all of the thoughts running through your head. You didn’t want to leave Steve. Especially after three years of marriage but you knew it was time. It was time to move on with your life. Time to let go of a life you can’t have. Of a person, you can’t have. 

He only want me when I’m not there

He better call Becky with the good hair 

“Do you love her?” “I-I.. I don’t know. I love you, Y/N.” Your face immediately turned into a scowl. “No. You don’t get to fucking do that. I will not sit here and let you say you love me when you don’t. Maybe you did at one point but you cannot truly love someone if you fucked another person. You’re despicable, Rogers.”

That hit him like a train. You hadn’t called him Rogers since you met him at the compound. It felt like his heart had stopped beating. “Y/N, please… Can we talk about this?”

“I hope she treats you well, Rogers. Better call Sharon now so she can pick your sorry ass up. In your eyes? Nobody can beat a Carter.” You picked up the last bit of your boxes and left the room, shutting the front door with your foot. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you drove away, looking at that house just one more time. 

Steve had the note clutched in his hand, getting tears all over the paper. He didn’t care though. All Steve can hear is the sound of his heart pounding in his ears and your car driving away. He cursed himself for being so stupid. He didn’t know what he had until it was gone. But he should know that cheaters never prosper. 

chapter two

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #captain america #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #Bucky Barnes #sam wilson #avengers #marvel #marvel fan fiction #marvel x reader #natasha romanoff #sharon carter #cheating #steve angst #cheating!steve #smut #steve smut #steve rogers smut

[wheresmynaya]

Lost in the Lights Ch.11|Brittana

A/N - The 10 month work drought is finally over! A little bittersweet since I won’t have as much time to write as I once did so make sure you have notifications on for this story on whichever site you use so you don’t miss an update whenever it comes next. Thanks for your patience ❤

PS - Have you seen the amazing artwork that accompanies this fic made by @haru-snixx ? No? Check it out here! It’s VERY cool. 

Available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x) & under the cut

Santana’s jaw drops when she sees those two players tackle Brittany to the turf. The crunch of bodies colliding is engrained in her memory and pulls an audible gasp deep from within the brunette. Santana knows that Brittany wears all sorts of padding and protection under her uniform but when she sees the quarterback motionless on the ground, her heart plummets.

The next thing Santana knows, she throws down her pompoms and runs for her life out onto the field.

Santana can faintly hear Quinn calling after her but it doesn’t slow her down one bit. She has heard stories about concussed players and broken ribs and punctured lungs and whatever else could go wrong on the field. She can’t just stand on the sidelines and watch this happen in front of her eyes; she has to get to Brittany, she has to make sure she’s okay for herself.

She’s bound to be breaking some kind of rule, but she doesn’t give a shit about that – not when Brittany’s just lying there.

There’s already a crowd of players gathering around the quarterback and Santana pushes past Puck and Karofsky before sinking down to her knees next to Brittany’s head. The blonde’s eyes are closed and there’s this pained expression on her face. Santana is so used to seeing Brittany as this invincible, gorgeous girl that it breaks her heart even further to see Brittany hurting like this.

She leans over the quarterback, trying to blink away the tears starting to well in her eyes.

“Brittany,” Santana urges, awaiting some kind of movement, “Are you okay?”

Santana can feel someone trying to pull her away but she blindly pushes them off of her.

“Santana, let the Trainer look her over.”

The voice belongs to Quinn, but Santana’s not moving until she sees the blues of Brittany’s eyes again, even if that means one of these assholes has to throw her tiny body over their shoulder and haul her away.

She’s not moving until Brittany does too.

The Trainer crouches down on the opposite side and Santana eyes him up and down.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Santana questions bitterly.

The Trainer looks surprised by the question, “This isn’t my first rodeo, kid.”

“That doesn’t mean you know what you’re doing,” Santana bristles.

“Santana,” Quinn chastises with another tug on the brunette’s arm, “Let him do his job.”  

“What?” Santana huffs, “Who knows what kind of medical experience he has? He could be a drop out for all we know!”

The Trainer scowls at her, “I’m right here.”

“And?”

The Trainer shakes his head and continues his examination.

The longer Brittany keeps her eyes squeezed shut, the more worried Santana becomes.

She thinks about every moment, every word she has said to Brittany over the past couple of days, and she doesn’t want them to be the last Brittany hears. She doesn’t know if she’s being dramatic here or what, but in this moment it feels like her whole world is falling apart.

“Britt,” Santana begs, her voice cracking as she does, “Come on.”

This time, Brittany’s slow to blink but her eyes open nonetheless. She looks to the Trainer before she settles on Santana. There’s a surprised and confused look on her face before it turns into a sly smile.

“Did you just call me Britt?”

Santana’s lips part for the right thing to say but she fails to find the words. She’s just relieved that Brittany’s eyes are open and she’s talking. The Trainer takes over and Santana pushes to stand before she rounds on the players that surround them.

“She forgot her name!” Santana yells at them, “She forgot her goddamn name!”

“Wait, what?” Finn looks from Santana to the Trainer, “That can’t be true.”

The Trainer glares at Santana, “It’s not.”

The Titans look a mix of confused and worried and scared while Santana continues to fume.

“You have to get off the field,” The Ref says. Coach Beiste isn’t too far behind either.  

“I’m not leaving until I know she’s okay!”

Azimio shakes his head at Santana, “This is exactly why girls shouldn’t be playing this kind of sport. They ain’t strong enough, ain’t as athletic for a game like this!”

“Shut the hell up!” Santana growls, “You sound as stupid as you look.”

Azimio looks at her like she has lost her mind.

“Santana, we need to get back to the sidelines,” Quinn tries, “We shouldn’t be out here.”

Santana doesn’t budge as she looks to every Titan surrounding them, “Which one of you imbeciles was meant to guard her?!”

No one makes a sound; the players just shift side to side and look around at each other.

Karofsky seems the guiltiest, “Shouldn’t be playing if she can’t take a hit.”

Santana looks shocked by his comment as she pushes Quinn’s hands off of her. Despite being the smallest on the field, Santana steps up to Karofsky like she’s ten feet tall.

“You shouldn’t be playing if you can’t do your goddamn job.”

Karofsky waves her off, “How about you just head on back to where you came from and keep waving those pom – “

It surprises everyone when Santana lunges at him fist first.

She’s not sure where she’s aiming because the guy still has his helmet on but she doesn’t care at this point. She’s so angry by the lack of concern for Brittany that all she sees is red. If you’re running your mouth to her right now, you’re going to get punched.

“Get off the field!” The Ref orders.

“What about him?” Santana challenges while Quinn holds her back, “He should be thrown out or cancelled or whatever you call it!”

“Ejected?” Sam offers.

“Whatever!” Santana yells, “He did this to her! Throw one of your little yellow flags at him, I don’t give a shit. He’s the one that needs to go!”

“Santana, stop!” Quinn tries harder.

“Get off me, Fabray! I’m going to end him! He had one fucking job: protect her! He couldn’t even do that so now I’m going to go ALL LIMA HEIGHTS on his sorry ass!”

Everyone starts to get restless the angrier Santana becomes. Mike and Sam try to help Quinn with wrangling Santana while Puck’s looking curiously at Karofsky. He starts to see Santana’s point and steps up to him.

“You let that Linebacker get the jump on you. Didn’t you?” Puck accuses before looking to Azimio, “You both did!”

“Prove it,” Karofsky mocks while still avoiding Santana, “You can’t.”

“I was the only one blocking for her!” Puck argues, “I was the only one there! Where the hell were both of you?”

Karofsky brushes him off and glares at Santana, “Get the lesbo out of here so we can play some real football! I’ve over this!”

“That’s right!” Azimio adds, “Too many damn emotions out here.”

Quinn loosens her grip on Santana at that, “On second thought, I’ll help you.”

The pair of them go to tag team Karofsky and Azimio while Mike and Sam try to break it up. Puck’s going after Azimio with Quinn and Finn’s just looking back and forth trying to make sense of everything. Coach Beiste is trying to help break up the fighting while Coach Sue looks on at her Co-Captains with a satisfied smile on her face.

Everyone’s so wrapped up in the commotion that they don’t see Brittany sitting up with the help of the Trainer.

\\\\\

Brittany’s nodding to every question the Trainer asks about how she feels and other routine questions that could spot a possible concussion. In all honesty, it’s not the hardest she’s ever been hit but it has been awhile so she can see why she’s a little slow to recover.

Hearing Santana call out her name so many times really helped though.

“I’m good,” Brittany assures the Trainer, “Just a hard hit.”

The Trainer seems satisfied with Brittany’s responses so he helps her get back on her feet.

Brittany wiggles out the slight soreness but she feels good – she can keep playing, no need for a Concussion Protocol. What she doesn’t expect to see is Santana and Quinn trying to take on her Right and Left Guards. Actually, she doesn’t expect to see all the arguing going on between everyone.

Crawford County is just staring at them while the officials and coaches try to get everyone under control. It might be the rowdiest game this stadium has ever seen and that’s including the game against Carmel High where Puck was ejected for swinging at a player.  

Santana’s the feistiest one there and it doesn’t look like she’s backing down any time soon.

Brittany doesn’t understand why she’s here though – well, she does and she doesn’t. Santana was the one who said there were no feelings here; if that was really the case then what’s the explanation for this? Because despite everything she said that day in the locker room, Santana is once again showing the opposite of what she truly feels.

There’s no time to sit and overthink it though, there’s still a game Brittany needs to win.

She thanks the Trainer for checking on her before jogging over to the feuding players.

“We don’t discriminate based on gender!” Coach Beiste shouts as she pushes Karofsky back after something he said. Her face is beet red as she says, “What’s the matter with you?”

Brittany raises a brow at that but Karofsky isn’t her main focus, Santana is and the girl is still trying her hardest to fight through Mike in order to get to Azimio. Santana doesn’t falter in her advances until Brittany makes her presence known by standing in her way.

“Santana, stop,” Brittany tells her calmly with her hands on the Co-Captain’s waist. The touch seems to surprise Santana and she instantly relents enough that Brittany can guide her back even further.

The more distance Brittany can put between the team and Santana right now, the better.

Santana only stares blankly at Brittany like she has just seen a ghost.

“Should you be up?” She asks worriedly, “You need to sit out or something?”

“I’m fine,” Brittany assures her, “I need to finish the game.”

Santana laughs in disbelief, “Seriously? You were hit hard, Britt, I don’t think – “

“So I wasn’t hearing things.”

Santana frowns, “What?”

“You called me Britt.”

Santana softens and Brittany swears she sees a hint of a blush, “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

Brittany starts to grin despite wanting to keep her expressions to herself, “Just the first time you’ve ever said it.”

Santana crosses her arms and her brows furrow as she says, “You shouldn’t play through an injury, you’ll only make it worse. I can call my dad and have you checked out by an actual doctor – not this guy who probably learned everything from episodes of Grey’s Anatomy.”

“I told you. I’m fine,” Brittany insists before she knocks on her side, “See? Rib protector; the pads took the brunt of the hit. I barely felt a thing.”

“Then why’d you look like you were in so much pain?”

“Reflex,” Brittany shrugs, “You try being hit by two Linebackers who weigh twice as much as I do. It’s not fun.”

Santana looks warily but nods in the end, “Just…be more careful, okay?”

Brittany quirks her brow at that; such a change in Santana’s tune compared to the other day. She really doesn’t sound like someone who isn’t capable of having feelings for someone else and she’s dying to know if Santana can see that too. Brittany doesn’t point it out though; not while they’re still on the field. Besides, she thinks it’s kind of nice how much Santana cares, whether she wants to admit it or not.

“I don’t know,” Brittany tries to joke instead, “Seeing you run out here trying to fight the whole team in my honor? Kind of cool.”

“I wasn’t trying to fi –"

“Alright Rocky, let’s go,” Coach Beiste interrupts as she and Quinn walk up, “We have a game to get back to.”

Santana looks at them and nods before turning back to Brittany, “Win this thing, Britt.”

Hearing Santana say her name gives Brittany another endorphins boost. She liked when Santana called her Pierce, it was their thing, but this hits differently. Brittany can’t help but think about what they could be if Santana would just give them a chance. She’ll take her little wins instead though because to have Santana checking on her like this, in front of everyone, and they’re sober? That’s big.

But, one thing at a time. It’s one play at a time, one touchdown, one win.

Brittany only winks before Coach Beiste starts to escort the Co-Captains off of the field.

\\

A few minutes later, the teams are brought back together to continue the game. There are no penalties for the interruption since Santana isn’t a Titan and they’re able to pick up where they left off.

After Brittany’s sack, the Titans are now on their fourth and final down.

That means it’s their last try to make something happen this drive before the ball is given back to Crawford County. They either play it safe and have the special teams come out to punt it away or go for it and at the very least get enough yardage for a new set of downs.

It’s a tough call because they’re about three yards away from a first down.

If the Titans can turn this into something, that’ll be amazing. If they can’t, it puts Crawford County in really great field position and with just six minutes left on the clock and the Titans only leading by 3 points, no one wants that.

There’s also the issue of Karofsky and Azimio and what the hell happened that last play. With how fast she was taken down, it really makes her wonder whether or not they let the defenders slip by on purpose. It all happened so fast though, it would be hard to tell. Still, if she can’t trust the guys meant to protect her then it really throws a wrench in the overall confidence she has in her teammates.

She can’t get hit like that again either, once was enough, but she needs to make a decision: go for it or play it safe?

“I can get three yards,” Puck says confidently as if he could sense the QB’s dilemma.

Azimio shakes his head and Puck shoves at him.

“I don’t need you to do it either,” Puck barks, “You and Karofsky might as well play for the other team!”

“What?” Karofsky looks to Puck and gasps, “I’m not gay.”

“I meant literally, dumbass.”

“Enough!” Brittany orders, “I’m over the arguing. Let’s just win the game first and deal with this later.”

The Running Back doesn’t waver though as he squares his shoulders off with Karofsky. He’s the one looking for a fight now, but Brittany can’t take any more interruptions.

“Puckerman!” Brittany urges, “Focus.”

“Alright,” Puck flinches at Karofsky and Azimio one last time before turning to Brittany.

“I know the perfect play,” The quarterback says, “We haven’t practiced it much but I don’t think they’ll expect it.”

“Okay,” Puck nods resolutely, “I’m down for whatever, Cap. Just give me the ball.”

\\

Brittany has Mike and Sam get into position on the far left side of the field and their defenders mirror them. Puck’s situated behind Brittany hoping to get a running start once he’s handed the ball.

Brittany gets up close to her Center and gets her hands ready for the snap.

“Down,” She calls out as she eyes the defense’s movement. She stomps her left foot and Matt comes rushing across from the right side, “Down…HUT!”

She grips the ball tightly as she spins around and hands the ball off to Puck who is already running to the left side of the field. The handoff is smooth and Puck’s able to bring the ball in to his chest, his arms blocking the defenders from punching it out to force a fumble.

All Brittany can do is hang back and watch the play unfold.

Puck continues to run fast and hard, bouncing off a defender, then slipping through the break in the defense that Mike and Sam are able to create – something that Karofsky and Azimio haven’t been able to do all night!

The receivers stay with Puck and offer some protection as he continues to up field, leaving Crawford County in his dust. The Titans only needed three yards for the first down and Puck’s just crossing over for five!

Brittany’s jumping up and down, pumping her fist, as she watches him haul ass. Mike gets tripped up as he throws his body in the way of a defender that nearly got his hands on Puck, so now it’s just Sam that’s chasing after him. Two Crawford County players are closing in on Puck but the endzone is just a few yards away now.

He could go all the way!

Suddenly, one of the defenders leaps forward and gets his arm around Puck’s waist and soon his heels are digging into the turf to slow him down. Puck keeps fighting though and he’s able to get an extra yard until Sam and the other defender collide into him.

“Hell yeah!” Brittany cheers as she runs up to meet the rest of her team. She jumps up in time to bump shoulders with Puck and when they land to the ground in time, she slaps him on the helmet, “Way to step up, Puck!”

Puck tosses the ball to the Ref before turning to Karofsky and Azimio with this smug grin on his face, “Told you I didn’t need you.”

“Quit it,” Brittany chastises although she’s also pretty proud that they were able to pull off that play without relying on her guards.

Now not only did they get the first down, they’re also just yards away from the endzone!

A great turn of events for the Titans, but she can’t let that get to their heads just yet. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve been able to get this far and not come away with a touchdown. They need to be more focused than ever – especially with the game clock still ticking away.

“Alright let’s keep the momentum going,” Brittany says in the quick huddle, “We made it this far, let’s have something to show for it. Okay? Titans on three. One…two…three!”

“Titans!”

\\

Brittany sets her mouthguard back in place before rubbing the towel that dangles from her waistband between her bare fingers to wick away the sweat. Her heart races in anticipation for being this close to the endzone but she inhales deeply to try and slow it down. It’s important that she remains cool and composed because stress on the field right now is like blood in the water and Crawford County are the sharks.

This next play was meant to be a simple run up the guts by Puckerman but Brittany reads the defense’s formation like an open book. They’re going to blitz – not good. Defenders are going to rush at them from all angles at full speed to flush out any possible run game, so Brittany has to opt for Plan B: a slant route.

“Alert! Alert!” The quarterback yells down the line in both directions to warn the team that she’s going with Plan B. From the corner of her eye, she sees #89 creep towards the gap in her O-Line and quickly points it out, “Watch #89!”

Matt adjusts his position so that he can block the defender before Brittany’s calling for the snap.

The ball is hiked and Brittany secures it in her hands. Within seconds, she quickly fires it at Mike, but his defender is able to bat it down before the receiver can bring it in for a catch. Mike looks to the turf and shakes his head as he jogs back to the line of scrimmage.  

Brittany brushes it off though and they reset for the second down.

“Shake it off,” She tells her team as she readies herself for the snap.

This time Brittany fakes the handoff to Puck before running in the opposite direction. No one is open though and the defense is quickly closing in on her. She looks left. She looks right. Still no one can get open. To avoid a second sack of the game or a possible interception, Brittany throws the ball over the heads of Sam and his defender out of bounds.

She starts to feel the pressure as the Titans head into their third down.

Brittany of course still has hope that they’ll make something happen. If anything, she can always bring out Kurt and the special teams for a field goal instead. That’s 3 extra points on the board, but being this close to the endzone? Brittany has to do everything she can to bring in a touchdown.

“This is it, boys,” Brittany says to her team in the huddle, “This is the moment Coach was talking about. There’s only a couple minutes left of this game and it’s looking good for us, but we can make it look even better.”

The guys look battered and bruised but they all nod along with Brittany.

“Big Wheels,” The quarterback calls before looking to Mike and Sam, “Run fast, get open and I’ll find you.”

Mike and Sam knock their fists together and nod.

Brittany then looks to Karofsky and Azimio. She heard Santana and Puck’s claims about them while the Trainer was looking her over. Honestly, she’s never been in this kind of situation where there’s a possibility that her own teammates would purposely let her get hit.

She looks at them with her jaw tightened, “Now’s the time to prove to everyone on this team – including me – that you deserve to be here.”

“What –“

“Don’t,” Brittany stops them, “Show. Don’t tell.”

The guards look taken aback but the rest of the team sides with Brittany on this. It’s one thing to be an asshole, but to upset the balance of the team on purpose like they’ve allegedly done? It doesn’t sit well with anyone.

“Let’s go Titans!” Brittany claps before everyone walks out of the huddle and into position.

Big Wheels is a passing play, that means Brittany has to sit in the pocket long enough for her receivers to get into position up field then it becomes a jump ball. She launches it to whoever she thinks has the best chance at jumping up and catching it despite their coverage.

Usually, the play is used for Hail Mary situations – for when they’re so far away from the endzone or first down that Brittany just has to chuck it and see if it’s caught. It’s a ballsy play, especially if coverage is tight but Brittany has faith in her receivers.

After all, they won their first game against Crawford County with this exact play. It’s kind of fitting that they do it again.

\\

The Titans walk up to the line of scrimmage and the energy in the stadium spikes. Time is quickly ticking away and this could potentially be their last play of the entire game. The Cheerios are shouting Go! Fight! Win! and the spectators pump their fist in time with each word.

Brittany looks to Santana in what feels like the first time since she left the field earlier. She’s the only one not cheering along with the squad, but instead anxiously awaiting the Titans’ next move. The incoming play relies heavily on Karofsky and Azimio doing their job correctly so it can buy Brittany some time in the pocket.

If Santana knew that was Brittany’s plan, the blonde can probably guess that she wouldn’t be too pleased with her – especially if she’s meant to be careful. This isn’t a careful sport though and Brittany can’t live in her fears. For the overall success of the team, she has to put herself in risky positions sometimes.

But it’s endearing to see Santana worry about her, so Brittany gives the Co-Captain a thumbs up before readying herself for the snap.

“Down…hut. Down...hut,” Brittany calls out coolly before leaning in again, “HUT!”

The ball is instantly in the quarterback’s hands and she drops back, keeping an eye on the defenders trying to squeeze their way through her O-Line as well as her receivers crossing into the endzone. She’s able to avoid a defender’s arm as he tries to slap the ball from her hands before Azimio pushes him back.

It’s that move that gives Brittany enough room to step up in the pocket and fire the ball towards Sam. He and his defender both jump up in the air, arms outstretched towards the incoming ball. Brittany watches with her breath held as the ball is juggled then caught and the two land in a tangled mess in the endzone.

She isn’t able to breathe again until the Sam pops up from the ground with the game winning ball in his hand just as the Ref signals the touchdown is good!

\\

Crawford County gets the ball back with just over two minutes left in the game and they are unsuccessful in scoring against the invigorated Titans defense.

The McKinley Titans end up winning the game: 38 – 28.

They’re off to the Championships along with Carmel High for the first time in who knows how many years and they couldn’t be more excited! The Titans shake hands with the opposing team before returning to their sidelines to celebrate. They’re spraying each other with drink bottles and dancing to the music that’s blasting through the stadium speakers.

Brittany steps back and takes it all in with a proud smile on her face.

The sights and sounds and this feeling that can’t be replicated; it’s like no other and she soaks it up. Her family is chanting her name from the stands and it makes her laugh when she sees Pete with his entire face painted red and white. Her little brother is something else, it warms her heart to see him cheer for her so passionately. It reminds her a little of their dad and she’s glad that Pete’s carrying on his legacy.  

Then there’s Santana who stares at her with this quiet kind of content. Her face is relaxed of any expression, but a storm cloud looms over her as she watches Brittany stand alone on the field.

Those on the team that have girlfriends are being hugged and kissed and congratulated, but not Brittany.

She just looks at Santana, waiting and willing her to do something – will she surprise her even more than she already has tonight? Will she finally blow off whatever anyone has to say about her or them and just do what feels right? Will she just come over here and kiss her already?

It’s like Brittany’s giving her this unspoken second chance and it really does look like Santana wants to do everything Brittany’s hoping she would. The Co-Captain is looking around at Quinn and Mike, Sugar and Sam, even Puck is making googly eyes at some random Cheerio. They’re both surrounded by everything they wish they could be, but Santana never makes a move.

Instead, she deflates – as if to say I can’t – before leaving with her head hung low and that just about answers Brittany’s questions.

\\

Despite the win under her belt, Brittany’s spirits never get quite as high as her teammates’. She wishes they would, anything to make this sinking feeling go away, but it never does. Brittany can only watch as Santana and the other Cheerios leave the field and the stands begin to empty.

This is the place Brittany blooms, right here on this field, but for the first time ever that doesn’t happen. She doesn’t feel whole even after the win and she hates that she knows why that is. She just saw the reason walk away from her and there’s nothing she can do about it.

She just looks up at the bright stadium lights and wishes on them as if they were stars. She wishes that things would right themselves. She wishes for courage and strength, but not for herself. She wishes for things to get better because she doesn’t know how to make that happen on her own.

Brittany keeps wishing because in the place she used to feel so sure of herself, she has never felt so lost in the lights.

\\

After finally going over to see her family and listening in on Coach Beiste’s post-game speech, Brittany makes her way to the girls’ locker room to get changed. She’s starting to feel those couple of hard hits she took during the game as she sets down her scuffed helmet and gets to work shedding her pads.

Brittany’s muscles are tight and her throwing arm is a little sore but it’s a nice relief once she gets her shoulder pads off. She strips down to her leggings and sports bra as she wanders over to the showers to get the water going. For once, she’s grateful she is the only one there because that means she won’t have to compete for hot water.

Brittany’s setting down a change of clothes on the bench by the shower stall when the locker room door creaks open. Brittany looks up and is stunned by who she sees creeping in.

“Hi,” Santana greets, her voice quiet as she closes the door behind her. She looks like a meek little mouse with her hands hidden in the pockets of her Cheerios jacket.

Brittany swallows dryly. She didn’t expect to see her here after the look they shared on the field, but Brittany greets her nonetheless.

“Hey. What are you doing here?”

Santana takes a couple timid steps closer, “Just wanted to say great game.”

“Thanks,” Brittany nods before turning back to hang her towel on the hook. She has to keep busy so she doesn’t try to turn this into something bigger than it is, “Have you been hanging around just to tell me that?”

“Kind of.”

“Could’ve texted me,” Brittany shrugs but Santana only nods.

“I didn’t want to. I…I also wanted to apologize about running on the field,” Santana adds to Brittany’s surprise, “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You were worried.”

Santana lets loose a nervous chuckle, “No, I was – “

Brittany sends her a tired look and it has Santana stopping in her tracks. She looks as if she’s just been scolded although Brittany didn’t even say a word.

“Okay,” Santana relents, “I was worried. You weren’t moving and I just…I thought the absolute worst.”

Brittany sucks in a shaky breath and watches as Santana carefully takes another few steps closer, “And that made you run out on the field?”

“Well yeah,” Santana says easily, “I couldn’t just stand there and watch you like that. What if it was serious? You never know it’s the last time until it is and I didn’t want that. I don’t want that.”

Santana’s words strike a sensitive nerve within Brittany, but the quarterback continues to stand there with this look of indifference. She’s not sure whether Santana’s still talking about the game or what and it frustrates her.

“You don’t want that?” Brittany lets out a bitter laugh, “I don’t get you, Santana.”

Santana’s shoulders fall slightly, but she moves closer again. Now that they’re just an arm’s length away it overwhelms Brittany to have her so near, but she stays focused.

“Your words and your actions don’t add up,” Brittany continues, “You say you don’t have feelings but you rush the field when you think I’ve been hurt? You can see how I’m struggling to make sense of that, right?”

Brittany can see Santana trying to form the words but she moves too slowly.

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” Brittany adds, “I don’t know how you feel about me and it’s confusing and I don’t like it. I don’t like these kind of games. I don’t want to guess, Santana. I shouldn’t have to. If you don’t really like me then spare me the heartache and the runaround and just tell – “

Santana’s lips are on hers in an instant.

It’s like that same sigh of relief and Brittany hates how she relaxes into it out of habit. Santana cradles Brittany’s face in her hands so gently and she kisses her like her whole life depends on it. She kisses Brittany impatiently, like she’s trying to put everything she can’t say out loud behind it – but that’s what’s wrong with them, isn’t it?

Sometimes this isn’t enough, sometimes people need to hear it for themselves too.

When Brittany reluctantly pulls away from Santana, her whole body is a buzz. Her heart tells her to get back in there, to press Santana against the wall and kiss her hard, but her head says no. She can’t go back on her stance, she needs a real explanation – not a kiss that can be interpreted however the heart wants.

“This isn’t an answer,” Brittany says with her lips still tingling from the searing kiss.

“I know it isn’t,” Santana sighs. She sounds desperate as she drops her hands from Brittany’s cheeks to rest on her hips. Her thumbs smooth over Brittany’s bare skin, “But it’s all I’ve been thinking about doing as soon as you opened your eyes after that hit.”

Santana starts to lean in again and Brittany lets her, because she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t thinking about doing the same thing too.

“I wasn’t brave enough to do it out there,” Santana husks; her eyes are steady on Brittany’s, “I’m sorry. I wish I could be the kind of person you deserve to be with but I don’t think I am…not yet.”

Brittany bites the corner of her lip in thought. It’s the worst idea because she can taste just a hint of Santana’s lip gloss there and it distracts her for a moment from taking Santana’s words in. It’s the first time she’s hearing Santana be honest about her feelings and it breaks her heart a little to think Santana doesn’t see what Brittany sees in her.  

“I want to be though,” Santana adds, “I want to be brave enough to hold your hand when we walk down the hall together. I want to take you out on dates and buy you all the flowers that make me think of you, but most importantly I want to be able to kiss you whenever and wherever. Whether it’s between classes or out on that field in front of everyone after you’ve won the big game, I want to be brave enough to do it…I just don’t know how to do that.”

“I can help you,” Brittany offers, “You don’t have to do this alone.”

The tears welling in Santana’s eyes are unexpected, but the Co-Captain blinks them away as smile graces her lips, “So I’ve heard.”

“It’s true, Santana.”

“I know,” Santana replies, “It’s just taken awhile for me to believe it. You came here and everything changed, I changed. But it isn’t enough. You deserve someone who isn’t afraid to show you that they…that they like you. A lot. I want to be that someone someday.”

Brittany’s so moved by Santana words that she surprises herself by being the one to lean in first. She inhales sharply as their mouths crash together once again. It’s everything that Brittany has been trying to pull out of Santana and now that she finally heard it, she doesn’t know what to do but kiss her long and hard.  

Santana’s hands are gripping Brittany’s sides while the blonde frowns at not be able to feel more of Santana too. As if Santana could read Brittany’s mind, she starts to shrug out of her Cheerios jacket. Brittany helps with pulling it all the way off before it’s tossed to the floor. Neither of them are thinking too clearly about where this is going, but the shower steam is filling the room like a sauna and it’s make their clothes feel too tight.

“Fuck,” Santana whines when Brittany nips at her lower lip.

“Take this off,” Brittany groans as she tugs on Santana’s top. The brunette’s hands have been all over Brittany and it just isn’t fair that she can’t feel Santana too.

Santana obliges without a second thought and the top falls to join her jacket on the floor.

Brittany gulps when she sees Santana’s lacy, black bra while her hands move on their own to roam. Her breath hitches though when Santana hooks her fingers into the waistband of her tights.

“These too,” Santana whispers against Brittany’s swollen lips.

Brittany quickly sheds them, trying her hardest to keep from breaking the kiss but it’s nearly impossible to do. They giggle when Brittany hobbles around on one foot trying to pull the last of the tights from around her ankle, but then it’s not so funny.

She’s standing there in just her bra and boy shorts while Santana mirrors her doing the same. The Cheerios skirt is the last layer Santana has on and it falls to pool around her ankles.

They’re equal now and Brittany’s chest is heaving at the sight. Her head is begging to know is this really happening but she’s pressed snooze on it for the time being. In this moment, she can’t help but follow her heart and it’s telling her to go for it.

Whatever it means.

“I’ve never,” Santana whispers a second later.

Brittany’s heart pounds but her voice comes out surprisingly even, “Ever?”

Santana gives her a look that makes Brittany want to laugh. It’s the perfect way to break up such a nerve racking moment.

“With a guy, yes. With a girl…no.”

“Well I figured considering I was your first girl kiss,” Brittany jokes and it has Santana smiling bashfully. Brittany softens, “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

Santana steps closer and her eyes flicker between Brittany’s piercing blues.

Then Santana leans in and the kiss that follows is softer than the ones before. It’s slow and methodical and Brittany melts into her yet again, but it doesn’t last for too long. The kiss turns needy and before Brittany knows it, she’s stepping backwards into the shower. She can’t tell if she’s the one doing the guiding or if it’s Santana, maybe it’s just a mutual thing, but when the warm water hits their bodies they pull each other closer.

They still have their bras and underwear on and the water is starting to soak through, but they don’t seem to notice as they continue to trade hungry kisses beneath the spray. After such a rough game in the freezing cold, this is the perfect way to warm up. It’s like Brittany can feel everything and it would be so overwhelming if she didn’t love every second of it.

Her hands smooth over all of this newly exposed skin, memorizing each and every curve of Santana’s body as if she was never going to see it again. Who knows, maybe she won’t? It’s one thing at a time and right now that one thing is showing Santana how great they could be together.

“Good thing you picked this one,” Santana mumbles breathlessly about the stall.

Brittany shakes away the daze of her thoughts, “What?”

“I pay the janitor to deep clean it twice a week,” Santana smirks, “No one else is meant to use it but me.”

“Whoops,” Brittany snickers, “I wondered why it was always so clean. There’s always really nice smelling body wash in here too.”

“You’re welcome.”

Brittany and Santana giggle as they share one more kiss, but this one isn’t like the others. It’s sweet and chaste and happens almost out of reflex.

Santana’s the first to break it this time, “So are you going to like…wash yourself or?”  

Brittany quirks a brow, “You saying I stink?”

Santana gives her a look and Brittany sends it right back.

“Why else would I be in the shower, Santana?” Brittany teases, “There are many walls in here that I could’ve pinned you against other than this very clean one.”

“Smart ass,” Santana smirks as she grabs the shampoo, “Turn around. I’ll do your hair.”

“Really?” Brittany grins but Santana just shrugs. The blonde turns and lets Santana get to work washing her hair like it’s the most natural thing in the world for them.

“I’ve never showered with my clothes on,” Brittany admits.

“You can lose them if you want.”

Brittany looks over her shoulder at Santana to find her with this smug grin on her face.

“I doubt you could handle that,” Brittany flirts.

“You’re probably right.”

The blonde feels that same familiar sense of floating that she’s been so desperately missing the past couple of days as Santana scratches at her scalp. Even if they’re not doing anything too risky, this is much more intimate than they’ve ever been. It’s a nice change and it almost makes up for the last couple of days they’ve been apart.

\\

Once Santana rinses Brittany’s hair, they go back to kissing lazily. They shift back and forth from hungry and needy to soft and slow, but their last layer of clothes is never shed. Despite their bras and bottoms being a sopping wet mess, no one crosses that barrier. They just stand beneath the spray like that until the water starts to lose its warmth.

Brittany finally feels like herself again, like maybe things will be okay but there’s an odd moment of clarity and it has her pressing pause.

“We should still talk about things,” Brittany reminds Santana, “This doesn’t count.”

Santana pulls away and looks Brittany in the eye again, “I know.”

“Okay.”

Santana gives her a shy smile, “Soon.”

Brittany nods before Santana steals another kiss. She has high hopes, because that’s just who she is. She always searches for the best in people, she always gives third and fourth chances. Whether or not that’s her greatest trait or her biggest downfall, she’ll never know. But when it comes to Santana, she just has to keep her head up.

Santana said they’ll talk soon, so she’s going to hold her to that.

#Lost in the Lights #Brittana #Brittana Fanficition #Fanfics #QB!Britt

[r3b3lgrrrrrrrl]

A LunaTic and Her Gunn (Part 114) "Suck My Metaphysical DICK!"

Practice had ran long and late the night before with Casie eventually being carried to her bed as many patient joints and blunts were finally fired up. Giving So Am I a break, they goofed around with a couple different songs and chords. Mod and Colson finally being coaxed into treating everyone to their playful version of SummerTime.

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

With the next day starting, they're back to practicing. Luna choosing Colson, Sam and Baze to debut the new song with her. Mod proceeds to film The Movie that he had started last night of their creative process. Deanna continues to work on Casie's dresses as the younger Baker plays outside with her friends; calling her in as needed to her delight. Pete, Benny, Rook, Kevin and Slim float around the house playing video and arcade games, pool and popping into practice to offer tips or fresh beers.

"Alright, I'm done." Luna declares as she accepts a beer from Rook and rubs the back of her neck. "I think this is the most I've ever practiced a song. We either nail it or we don't." She says as a matter of fact before she takes a gulp of her beer. "What do you think?" She asks, looking over at Colson.

"We got this shit, Baby." He answers, giving her a confident nod with a soul melting wink.

"Bet." She smiles at him teasingly. "Sammy? Baze?" Luna looks over to her other bandmate's nodding heads. "That's it." She calls as she lifts her guitar over her head to the other's relief. "You think we can get a jet from Sean? It'll make tonight a WHOLE lot easier for us and Deanna" Asking as she turns back to Colson.

"You got a better chance than I do." He snorts at the idea.

"That's probably true." Luna sighs. "I'm gonna smoke a cigarette and hit him up." She goes on to tell Colson before kissing his cheek and grabbing her stuff to head outside.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Hey!" Luna perks up as Sean answers the phone.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure, Miss Smith?" Diddy laughs at her, cutting right to the chase.

"We're performing on GMA tomorrow morning. I was hoping you had a jet in LA that we could use to get to NY tonight." Luna answers, knowing he appreciates no bullshit.

"You and Colson are on GMA tomorrow morning?" He responds in amazement.

"Shit, Sean. You sound like I do with my career!" Luna laughs at his reaction.

"Nah, nah... I knew they were looken' to book y'all, I just didn't know it had happened this quick." He answers, trying to cover his ass.

"A happy Sean means Yes to a jet, right?" Luna coaxes out the answer she wants.

"Yeah, yeah. What time you need it?" He asks as his mind starts running a hundred other ideas.

"I don't know... 5Pish?" Luna prepares to negotiate.

"No problem. I'll have it up and ready for you. Yo! Tell The Kid I said Congratulations. You two break a fucking leg. I'll be watching." Sean tells Luna.

"Thanks. I'll let him know... And thank you again for the jet. It'll be so much easier with all of our shit." She goes on to finish up the conversation to his No Problems and more Congratulations.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"We got a jet, MOTHERFUCKERSSSS!" Luna shouts with a laugh. "We just gotta be at the hanger by 5P." She goes on to inform The Gang.

As Luna and Colson head up the stairs to shower, they can hear Sam shouting for everyone to remember to grab their boards; she has a line on a party tonight that she doesn't wanna miss. Besides, no true native drives in NYC. They walk, bike, ride the subway or hail a cab. It's only the cool kids that grind their way through the Five Burroughs.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Sean wanted me to tell you he's proud of you." Luna says to Colson as she pulls her tank top off.

"Really?" His chin cocks in her direction as he reaches into the shower to adjust the water temperature.

"Mmhmm." Luna purrs as she steps out of her black panties; catching Colson's eyes on her as she looks up.

"Fuck, you're hot." He pants as he wraps his long arms around her tiny, naked waist before sliding his two large hands up her body to cradle her head with them and kiss her deeply.

Luna can't resist Colson. There is no allowing him to consume her being, it just happens. Connecting so incredibly easily and naturally on not just a physical, mental and emotional level but out of the insane, unquenchable necessity they have for the other. The way Colson and Luna love each other is beyond intense.

Proving so as he lifts her up onto the  countertop without their mouths separating for longer than a second. Kissing each other hungrily as he slides between her bare thighs and their hands roam each other's naked, tattooed bodies. Colson sucks on Luna's neck as she wraps her legs around his waist and works him into her slowly. She gasps in pleasure as he moans during their way towards her back wall. Once he's fully in, Luna loosens up a bit as her soaked pussy engulfs him.

"Fuck, you're so TIGHT." Colson's breath tickles her ear and neck as his words directly entice her pussy into all of his Bad Things.

Grabbing her ass, he pulls her hair with his other hand. Groaning as her walls clench tighter around him, loving his assertive actions. Syncing together roughly as they both cum on the bathroom countertop.

"FUCK." Colson sighs as he kisses Luna's right temple.

"Shower?" She asks while still catching her own breath.

"Yeah... " Colson breathes out.

They rest in each other's hold for a few more moments. Enjoying the quietness of the bathroom and each other's breathing. With their chaotic lives, Colson and Luna have a tendency to hoard every stolen moment between them.

Finally they get into the steady running shower. Fucking it out again. Taking in every piece of each other before stepping out. Carrying on with their usual routine of drugs, kisses and jokes as they dress for their evening flight.

"I fucking love you." Colson slams his hand onto Luna's ass cheek with authority.

"You fucking better." She laughs as she checks her face before turning around to throw her arms around him and firmly kiss his agreeing grin.

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

"You know I don't ever know where I'm going." Colson tells Emma with a chuckle as he hands her Casie's bags. "We're headed to NY tonight and then I think LA but I don't know for how long until the wedding. Hit up Ash, she'll know." He advises Casie's mother of his schedule.

"YEAH... I know." Emma replies with an engrained eyeroll.

"GIVE IT TO ME, PEANUT!!" Colson shouts for his daughter as he squats down and she sprints into his open arms. "Love you!!" He declares as he attacks her with a million kisses.

"DAAAD!!" Casie squeals in laughter as she hugs and tries to wiggle away from her father all at the same time.

"Alright, alright... " He agrees after planting another loud kiss onto her cheek before letting her go.

"He's such a neeerd." Casie whispers into Luna's ear as they hug each other GoodBye.

"Yeeeeah... But he's a good nerd." Luna kisses Casie's cheek. "See you in a few?" Luna asks as she pulls back.

"Yup." Casie grins at her.

"Love you, Dill." Luna holds the young girl in for another tight hug.

"Love you, Looney." Casie replies as she squeezes her back.

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

The flight to NY is rowdy as fuck. During the 6hr flight, Colson, Luna, Sam, Baze, Rook, Slim, Mod, Benny, Pete and Kev get FUCKED up. Making up Ten of Them. Except Deanna, she's only along for the flight... And to watch the many antics. Smoking blunt after blunt. Pouring drink after drink. While also snorting more than a few things along the way. The trip itself could be a whole ass Hunter S. Thompson Movie.

Luna and Colson dip out to fuck each other in the bathroom. They've already joined the mile high club together but there's something about making your girlfriend coo your name as she cums for you in the air. Especially on your Boss's private plane.

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

"Listen... I only got a few things so far." Luna tries to prepare The Gang as she unlocks The Brownstone's front door.

Flipping on the light, the house is clean but bare. Over to the right is the only object on the ground floor. It's a drum kit.

"Is that for ME!" Rook shouts out in disbelief to Luna's happy grin.

Fuck everything else. Rook pulls his sticks out of his back pocket and begins to pound. Providing the soundtrack to their home as the rest of them run eagerly through their new spot. Some, Baze and Slim, check to see if anyone caused any damage during The Break In. They did not.

"YO!! WHERE THE FUCK YOU COP THESE MOTHERFUCKERS!?!" Slim shouts down the stairwell to Luna.

"He finally found his room." Colson laughs as he holds onto Luna and she snuggles into his warm scent.

They all have beds. In each of their rooms. Nothing else because they can decorate it themselves but there are king sized beds in each room with dark sheets and neon green double Xs on them.

Colson reaches his long leg over to kick the door shut. Catching a deviously inviting smile from Luna he eagerly devours her body. Breaking their new bed in with his mouth and oversized cock.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Nah... We're goin' under Sutter Bridge where those old half pipes are... " Nipple tries to explain to Luna where they're headed for the night.

They're all sitting along their stoop. All Ten of Them plus now Nipple and his girlfriend Carrie. Preparing to make their way into the NYC night.

"Oh!" Luna sucks her teeth. "You're talking about the old wooden half pipes!" She exclaims once she realizes where he's describing. "Okay, yeah, I know where that's at... What are we doin'? We ready ride?" She asks as she tosses her hands up.

Nipple nods and Luna goes to find Colson. He's in the kitchen but is immediately up for an adventure. With her school bag packed, boards in everyone's hands and the front door locked; The Terrible Twelve, along with Nipple and Carrie, slip in with the NYC air. Boards and hair flowing like the wind.

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

There are many different kinds of parties you can find around The World. Each country or continent offering it's own type of vibe and experience. New York has no ONE vibe. Every location is different. Every party is unique. Every experience is it's own.

As the Terrible Twelve, plus Nipple and Carrie, roll over the worn down road they can hear the blasts of decks slamming, music blaring and laughter floating. Nipple's ahead of them all with Carrie close to his side. Sam follows behind as she leads Baze. Catching the feeling of home, Luna grabs Colson's hand as she plants both feet on her board and guides them into Her World.

Underneath the bridge looks like a mix of 90s nostalgia, the 70s drug scene and the repercussions of the early 2000s. Flowing together with plywood and spray paint. There's dozens of people Luna hasn't seen for months. Kicking her deck up, she grins at Colson while keeping their hands tight. Floating into exactly where she's missed.

"YO!! WHERE THE FUCK YOU BEEN GIRL!?!" Luna's friend Darnell shouts the main question of the night as he grips her into a tight hug.

"I've been falling in love." Luna smiles modestly as she introduces him to Colson.

Colson and Darnell hit it off immediately. Along with everyone else who Luna introduces to Colson. This relieves a huge weight off of Luna's soul. These are her people. Justin's people. Although Luna may not care what people think, their feelings are still important to her.

After introductions, Luna and Colson rip it apart on one of the many homemade half pipes. Grinning and busting each other's balls as they fly passed each other. Catching up with one another on the same lip, they ride down to grab a drink.

"I hate that you're so fucking cool." Colson teases her, finding more comfort under an abandoned bridge than in a multi million dollar club.

"No you don't." Luna grins as she cracks him a can of PBR and stands on her tippy toes to kiss him.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Yo... Where the fuck you been?" Carrie asks Luna as she lays on Sam and Sam lays on Luna; all three comfortably taking up more than half of the graffitied boards to themselves.

"I don't know... " Luna answers by waving her hands around. "I've just been doing things."

"Yeeeeah" Carrie laughs. "We hear you. It's kinda fucking weird, Dude."

"Is it bad weird?" Luna asks in a moment of uncertainty.

"No. Just weird. I can't describe it... I've been listening to you for YEARS, Loons. Both live and recorded. I guess it's just weird to have you pop up on a Spotify playlist is all... " Carrie trails, regretting saying anything at all.

"I'm on fucking Spotify?" Luna asks in horror.

Normal people would celebrate this achievement. Luna. Luna wants to climb into a kangaroo pouch and never emerge. Fame is a Monster that Stephanie described and Luna wants no parts of. But it's here, whether she wants it to be or not.

"Are you fucking serious?" Carrie laughs at her. "You can't be THAT naive. You've got three songs trending and you're about to marry MGK... Not that he's Channing or anything but he's definitely hot and you're way more out there than you've ever been... You don't know this?" Carrie scoffs in slight jealousy of Luna's resistance.

"What the FUUUUUCK... " Luna doesn't respond, just let's the rumble of the boards next to her vibrate her soul from underneath.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Later, Luna finds herself sitting with Pete and Kevin on the lip of the old half pipe, sharing a joint along with a 40 of Old E. They're not fancy and they don't pretend to be. Sam's on the other half pipe with Mod and Carrie still grinding while Colson, AJ, Baze and Slim bust it up with Nipple as Rook and Benny talk to a group of girls. Luna can see them all as her happy feet swing free.

"I gotta ask you something." The tone in Pete's voice changes the air around them.

"What's up, Petey?" Luna asks, expecting ANYTHING except for what he's about to say.

"You didn't cheat on Colson, did you?" He questions her with hesitation.

"WHAT? NO. Why the fuck would you ask me something like that?" Luna immediately jerks her head towards her old friend.

"A thing he said." Pete admits, secretly regretting his question immediately but Luna is one of his bestfriends so he had to.

"What the FUCK did he say? Don't fucking play with me either, Petey." Luna threatens as she feels her soul drop through her already drunk belly.

"You remember the night you caught that late flight back from seeing Jackson?" Pete sighs to Luna's searing nod before he continues to elaborate. "Kells said something to the effect that it wouldn't be the first time you cheated. What was he talking about, Loons?"

"He fucking told?" Luna's heart breaks as it catches what Pete is saying to her. "I can't believe he would do that to me." Luna can feel her face heat up as her heart begins to race.

"He was talking about shit that doesn't concern him or you. ACTUALLY. But if you MUST know, I had an affair back in 2013. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go handle my fucking business." Luna's words are curt towards him before she slides down the half pipe.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"WAIT... 2013? That means she cheated on Justin?" Pete is so confused as he watches Luna stand up and hone in on Colson. "FUCK. What did I just start." He worries as he grabs Kevin and slides down to follow behind Luna.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Luna marches straight up to Colson and snatches his up by the arm. Dragging him away from whomever to a secluded corner under the bridge. Standing in the dark she stares up at his confused face.

"Who else did you tell about my affair with Tommy?" She asks him directly with a quiver in her angry voice.

"What?" He automatically responds after being caught off guard by the question.

"Don't lie to me Colson." Luna warns in a low voice.

"I... I didn't tell anyone really but Slim figured it out after our fight over that article." Colson admits with hesitation as he watches tears begin to drop down Luna's cheeks.

"Then what the fuck is Petey talking about?" She continues to question him.

"MOTHERFUCKER. I told him not to say shit." Colson's brain sets on fire.

"I didn't tell him anything Loons but something obviously slipped. I'm sorry." Colson apologizes as he goes to reach for her.

"No." She states as she jerks away from him. "That's not okay." She's full on crying now as the anger starts to boil. "That's not okay AT FUCKING ALL!" She finally snaps. Drawing her right fist back, she catches him on the bottom of the LeftSide of his chin. It's hard enough of a blow to knock him out of their conversation but causes no physical damage. Colson grabs his jaw in shock but not pain. "WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU DO THAT!?" Luna screams at Colson as she shoves him with all of her force. "IT WASN'T YOURS TO FUCKING TELL!" She continues to scream through her tears while shoving him again.

"I'M SORRY!!" He yells back at her, grabbing her by the arms to catch his drunken balance.

"Get the FUCK off of me." She snarls before kicking him hard in his shin.

"AHHHHH!!!" Colson cries out in pain as he collapses to the ground and grabs his injury.

"I DECIDE WHO I TELL ABOUT MY SHIT!! ESPECIALLY WHEN IT DOESN'T EFFECT YOU!!" She's shouting again as her head viscously snakes around and hands fly like hummingbirds. "SO FUCKING WHAT!?! I DID HAVE A FUCKING AFFAIR... AND I DON'T GIVE A FLYING FUCK WHO KNOWS ABOUT IT BECAUSE THE ONLY PERSON IT SHOULD MATTER TO IS DEAD... You and everyone else can SUCK MY METAPHYSICAL DICK!" She screams to anyone and no one at the same time. It's been said before, Luna does not lie. "You ran your mouth on me... " She let's out with a tear drenched gasp. "I have way bigger shit than this... How can I ever trust you... Let alone fucking marry you?" Luna sighs out with a sad coldness as she looks down at him and shakes her head in disgust before walking away. Grabbing her bag and board before she disappears into the night.

The Bridge is not bothered by Luna and Colson. Only their personal entourage is truly watching what had happened. Slim walks over to Colson who's still laying on the ground. Her words strike him like lightning, stopping his heart and soul. Most of the time he knows when and when not to fight with Luna. Right now, he doesn't know what to do. Choosing not to say a word; he just lays there watching His Girl angrily stalk away from him as Sam and Carrie rush to catch up to her.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"They are ALWAYS going through some type of bullshit." Their friends think collectively. Except for Pete; he's confused and pissed but not sure at who.

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

It begins to pour as Luna drops her deck. Feeling the warm summer rain pelt her skin, she pushes off of the asphalt. Choosing to glide on the street's edge as she ignores Sam's calls from behind her. Losing her and Carrie without a second's thought.

"I can't believe he did that." Luna's heart growing weak with betrayal. Thinking of how Justin never knew about Tommy because he never asked. Shoving her foot hard onto the rainy street, she can't help but bawl as she pushes out her frustration, sadness and guilt.

"All you would've had to do was FUCKING notice and I would've told you!" Luna screams into the NYC streets as the rain drenches her soul.

#mgk #mgk fanfic #mgk imagine #mgk smut #colson baker #colson baker imagines #colson baker fanfic #colson baker smut #machine gun kelly fanfic #machine gun kelly smut #machine gun kelly #fighting #not safe for minors #not safe for tumblr #no filter #lunatic #longstory #long post #long reads #wattpad #series #smutwarning #mgk fluff #fangirl #fanfic #fandom #fantasy #est4life #est19xx #est

[quillquiver]

Bonded

Super late, but please have a DeanCas s14 finale coda

“There my eyes beheld their habitations with the angels, and their resting places with the holy ones. They were entreating, supplicating, and praying for the sons of men; while righteousness like water flowed before them, and mercy like dew was scattered over the earth.” (Enoch 39:4)

In the precious few seconds between Chuck disappearing and being overwhelmed by the undead, time slows to a crawl in a way it never has before. Castiel can smell every freshly cut blade of grass beneath his feet, and feel each droplet of sweat collect on his skin. He can taste particles on the wind. The cold bite of his blade settles heavily against his palm. Blood rushes in his ears. Every heartbeat sounds like the firing of a cannon.

They will be overwhelmed in 1.59846 seconds.

Dean comes back with two iron rods and tosses one to Sam. All three of them have backed up against one another in a defensive circle, pressed so close their clothes are shifting and pulling. Out of the corner of his eye, Cas can see Jack’s body still splayed out on the grass. A knot forms in Castiel’s stomach and crawls up his throat, and he isn’t nearly powerful enough for the onslaught of the supernatural currently barrelling toward them. This is… it.

Very suddenly, Cas has the absurd thought that he is going to die alone.

Of course, he isn’t. He is surrounded by what’s left of his family. But for the first time in his interminable existence, Castiel feels that perhaps they’ve been beaten. His father betrayed them. His son is dead.

It’s instinct—long engrained in the fibres of his fingers—to reach out for Dean’s hand; to slide their sweating palms together and squeeze. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean gives a sharp inhale and stares.

They’re overwhelmed.

It’s not an ideal situation by any stretch of the imagination; even if it were just the three of them, the only one with an angel blade is Cas. Iron can only do so much. As the ghosts begin to throw them around the graveyard, they start tossing around their weapons: Cas’s blade to Dean facing off with a ghoul, to Sam cornered by three vengeful spirits.

...And then back to Castiel, who slices and smites in equal measure, carefully ignoring the way he becomes out of breath as he does.

It becomes very clear very quickly that they are not making it out of this alive.

“Ah, fuck! Cas!”

Castiel tosses the blade to Dean.

“Dean!”

Who passes it to Sam.

“Goddammit, why the hell won’t you fucking die!”

Who gives it back to Dean.

“We need a miracle,” Sam grunts from somewhere on his left. Dean gives a half-hearted scoff in response. “Seein’ as this was a gift from Mr. Miracle Man himself, think I’ll fuckin’ pass on that—shit!”

Castiel forces an opening between two horrific-looking undead creatures and bolts.

It’s a straight shot to the Winchesters if he moves fast, so he runs with everything left in him, overshooting the mark by a human mile as he bowls Sam over and ends up half-splayed across Dean.

“Jesus, Cas! Are you—”

“I have an idea.”

Cas doesn’t allow either brother to ask what it is. He doesn’t tell them it’s insane. He doesn’t say that it could level everything in a fifty-mile radius. Instead, Castiel grabs Dean’s face and kisses him, hard.

In the days of Enoch, angels walked the Earth freely. They descended from Heaven in their true forms, and taught humanity everything they knew; from fire to weaponry, angelic-kind mingled and mixed with humans in an equal partnership. This was a consolation prize from God: a gift despite taking away the Garden in all its splendor, and leaving his new children to fend for themselves in a hostile world.

Eventually, humans and angels began to mate. Not physically—not exactly. Angelic true forms could only be shrunk so much by sheer force of will… but there were angels and humans who formed bonds so deep and strong they each became something else entirely; connected by both grace and soul, with all the experience and power of their angelic half and the emotional intelligence of their human one. These beings were the first ones known as nephilim—the joining of their kinds in a love so pure and powerful it was unmatched by anything in the entire cosmos.

God didn’t like it.

And lo, were all nephilim eradicated in fire, and were all angels made to take vessels on Earth.

Castiel isn’t certain he can force a bond while trapped inside this body, lying atop the object of his affections, relatively powerless and about thirteen seconds from being decapitated by a mob of the undead... but some insane part of him thinks that if this is the way he’s going to die, it will be kissing the man he loves.

Sam yells something like, Now?! Really?!, but it’s difficult to say for how hard Cas’s blood is rushing in his ears.

There’s a clash right above their heads, and Castiel opens himself to Dean Winchester in a way that is, quite frankly, stupid.

He leaves himself vulnerable in every way there is to do so, a proposal and declaration of the most embarrassing kind. His hands bury in light hair and his eyes squeeze shut. He knows Dean’s soul recognizes him… Cas only hopes he’s caught the hunter off-guard enough to allow for first contact.

But what greets him isn’t the riot of emotion and shock he’d been expecting.

Instead, it’s like a dam has been broken—what feels like a lifetime of love and longing meet between them, crashing together in a way that is less like fighting and more like creating something new. 

There is the anger and worry and frustration, too. There is the betrayal. There is… everything Dean is, soothing the tattered remains of Castiel’s grace. Cas can feel Dean’s love for him down to the molecules in his fingertips. It burns so hot it’s cold.

Dean wants him as a lover does. As a husband does.

When Cas pulls away, he can’t help staring, mesmerized by it all.

But then Dean’s eyes widen, and he pushes Castiel off of him just as an axe becomes embedded in the Earth where the angel’s head used to be. Sam laughs hysterically. “Not that I’m not happy for you guys because—trust me—I am, but—”

“Close your eyes.” There’s what a appears to be a zombie coming out of the ground right beside Castiel’s leg. Cas rolls away and pulls Sam to his side just as the hunter avoids another ghost. He reaches for Dean’s hand and holds tight once he has it. “Everyone close your eyes!”

Castiel shines more brightly then he ever has.

***

The tips of the grass are burnt to a crisp, and the gravestones that remain intact are scorched, but that seems to be the extent of the damage inflicted on the area—other than, of course, the distinct lack of supernatural creatures. Cas heaves a shaky sigh of relief, watching with a trembling grin as Sam falls back on the dirt with a softly muttered, fuck.

From his other side, Dean tentatively squeezes his hand. Castiel squeezes back.

Fuck, is right.    

***

TAG LIST 

@starlightthroughbrokenglass @potterswinchesters@briamarie38@fangirlingtodeath513@charmedbycastiel@theonethatlovesliquidpotatoes  @reading-greek@profound-boning@write-nerdy-to-me@darthshreydar@theladydetective @jhoomwrites @shyemy @baemy-santiago @mile9213@hefellfordean@rosyclover@castielpapasito @spaceshipkat @chaoticphillie @supertrxsh @katetheinsomniacpoet@contemplativepancakes@super-powerful-queen-slayyna @iwaslazy @jacks-word-of-the-day @lovetoreader  @waitwhyamisofunny@inexhaustablesourceofmagic @dshelley @sundog-fl @ctrl-alt-destiel @destiel-honeypie@american-phycho@oganizediguana @eyeoftheackles @castiellover20@magiaveneno@everything-she-did-was-so-human @natmoose @sweetteamultifandom @rebelangel67@rogerslouis @a-bit-of-influence@mcmaraudonald@captainhaterade @rosyclover @freshly-painted-duck@fannishknitter @-notalicia@crowleesi @mybonsai1976@legendary-destiel @uselesstwinkharker@philiciasworld@ladystiltskin67@trenchcoatsandfreckles @sodainabottle @luckydalmation101 @igosploosh@apieceofurmind@starcastlesinthesky @angelliebean @proccastinate @shehungthemoon @sudo-apt-get-destiel@luckydalmatian101 @aerodaltonimperial @reader-meg

#destiel coda #coda fic #s14 #s14 finale #s14 coda #woooow how late is this baby huh??? #better late than never I guess? #and in the longstanding tradition of fic writing #I wrote this instead of writing my presentation #procrastinators for the win! #adventures in fanfic

[wehaveabucky-archive]

Graceful

pairing: steve rogers x guardianangel!reader

word count: around 1.5k

summary: the heavens give steve rogers the best present he could ask for on his 100th birthday

warnings: none

masterlist

She fell to earth on his birthday. It was a hot fourth of July and Steve was sat on the porch of Clint’s farmhouse, clad in a pair of beige cargo shorts and a white t-shirt that had meant to be loose but clung to his muscles. His hair was longer than usual, but he’d shaved what he’d grown of a beard, an impulse acted upon from feeling nostalgic this morning.

He’d taken a break from the festivities – a simple party thrown by friends with cake, balloons and familiar music. Bucky, Nat, Clint and his family, Sam, Wanda and Thor were all in attendance, so it was a relatively small affair – as small as a gathering of superheroes could be.

It was early evening, the sun dipping just below the treeline and passing a golden glow over the house, tinting Steve’s skin a little more orange than usual. He sat basking in the sun thinking – about everything and anything. Reflecting more than anything. It was when he was thinking about his failed love life – more specifically what he could have had with Peggy and what he failed to follow through on with Sharon – when the body cut through what little clouds hung over the field.

The figure was dressed in silk and chiffon, the fabric billowing around it in an almost ethereal smoke. But it was falling hard and before Steve could react in any other way but an expression of pure bafflement, the body slammed into the ground. It should of cratered the ground at the speed it had been going, but instead it seemed to fall flat, with no sound at all, lain in the middle of silk and chiffon.

“Holy shit,” Steve shouted, scrambling to his feet, hands grappling at the wood of the porch until he was running towards the figure. There was a commotion from inside the house as the others ran to where Steve had been.

It was as Steve got closer that he noticed it was a woman on the ground, glistening feathers falling around her and settling on her dress. Her eyes were peacefully shut, a seemingly content smile set on her lips and her arms gently resting on the fabric at her sides.

Steve crouched before her, careful not to step on her dress as he peered over her. He hesitated for a second before checking her pulse. It was steady, if a little slow. Despite hearing footsteps from behind him, he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“She just fell from the sky,” Steve whispered.

“I know,” Nat replied, “We saw from the backyard.”

Nobody said anything else. They all just stared at this graceful figure with bewilderment.

“Is it me or is she glowing?” Sam asked. It was true, she was. It wasn’t an entirely noticeable glow, so much so that Steve had thought it was just sunlight at first. But as the Sun dipped completely behind the treeline and the glow remained, Steve soon realised it was her. She was practically sparkling, her skin engrained with a golden glitter that looked like a thousand stars decorating her body.

“Let’s get her inside,” Steve reached out, scooping his arms under the woman carefully. But before he could lift her, her eyes shot open and met his. He froze, her eyes transfixing him so he was practically a statue, mouth agape. She lifted her delicate fingers and brushed his cheek, the contented smile widening into one of joy.

“Steve,” her voice was musical and the way he said his name sounded so foreign to him. He was so enchanted by it that he didn’t even realise she knew his name somehow until her eyes fluttered shut and she fell into unconsciousness again.

He froze a few seconds more, mind spinning, until finally he lifted her, pulling her body close to her chest. Nat reached to help him, scooping up the material that cascaded from his arms and tucking it over the woman’s stomach. Nobody said anything as they carried her inside.

His birthday was practically forgotten as they gathered around the couch where the strange woman lay. Little was said the entire evening. Most just stared as the light from the window went from sunset orange to moonlight silver, the woman never failing to glow a slight gold.

“I’m-“ Steve cleared his throat, his voice sounding almost not his own. “I’m going to take a shower. Just… give me a shout if she wakes up.”

Everyone just nodded, eyes not leaving the couch as Steve made his way up the stairs. There was something robotic about Steve’s movements now. He was forcing himself to step away, to clear his head, but his brain didn’t really comprehend his actions as he stepped into the shower.

He just stood there under the luke warm water for a while, a thousand unanswered questions swimming around his head, getting louder and louder.

Who was she? What was she? Why had she said his name? How had she known his name?

Why did he feel like he knew her?

He tried to wash away the thoughts with shampoo, scraping his scalp with his fingernails and squeezing his eyes shut.

The rest of them watched as the woman’s eyes fluttered, not opening, just twitching. Her fingers stretched out straight, glinting in the light of the moon. Her mouth parted, a slow exhale escaping her lips until finally, her eyes fully opened. She stared at the ceiling for a while, blinking twice before she turned her head.

The room was silent as she examined her surroundings, taking in the faces of everyone around her. But then she smiled and sat up, stretching her limbs and cracking her back.

“Can I ask… who the hell you are?” Clint chuckled shaking his head. The woman smiled back.

“Y/N.” She smiled, teeth sparkling. Her eyes lit up with an indescribable happiness and the group were shocked to silence again.

“And what are you?” Wanda finally said.

“Steven Rogers’ guardian angel.”

“What the fuck?” Sam broke the silence that followed the answer.

“I second that.”

Everyone turned to the voice from the door, Steve stood there shirtless with a pair of gym shorts on, towel drying his hair. His eyes were fixed on Y/N, heart rate quickening when her eyes met his. She smiled even wider and stood, crossing the room almost like she was floating until she was stood before him.

“Why do I feel like I know you?” Steve murmured, towel slipping from his fingers. She smiled at him, fingers reaching to brush a damp strand of hair from his eyes.

“I’ve been with you a long time. Not necessarily in person but,” her hand rested on his heart, fingertips gently tracing over his skin so it felt like he was struck by thousands of tiny lightning strikes.

“Why are you here now?”

“I’ve been your guardian angel for one hundred years, Steve Rogers.” Y/N raised her hand to cup his cheek. “I earned my place on earth with you.”

There was a silence as the two of them stared at each other, Steve’s chest rising and falling beneath her hand.

Despite it making no sense whatsoever, it somehow made sense to Steve. Like everything he’d been doing was exactly what she’d been telling him to do. Like everything he was a person was everything she’d made him to be. Like everything he looked for was everything she was. Steve’s hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her hand harder against him as the other hand moved to her cheek.

She glowed brighter under his touch, the gold radiating off her until she was practically blinding.

And despite logic telling him he knew nothing about her, he somehow knew enough to lean down and capture her lips in his. Her eyes fluttered closed again, hands travelling to snake around Steve’s neck, lips pressing softly to his at just the right pressure. Steve’s hands moved to wrap around the waist and got lost in the silk. When he found skin again, he wasn’t sure it was that at first – sure he was still lost in the soft touch of her dress.

“I’ve waited nearly eighty years to do that,” Y/N whispered when she pulled away, Steve chasing her lips like he was already addicted to her taste.

“Would it be crazy if I said I feel like I’ve been waiting that long too?” Steve buried his face in her neck, moving his lips softly across her delicate skin. She giggled at his words and Steve swore it was the most angelic thing he’d ever heard in his life.

“Wow,” Bucky finally interrupted the moment. “Some birthday present, pal.”

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fluff #captain america x reader #captain america fluff #fluff #guardianangel!reader #steve romantic #romantic #steve #steve oneshot #oneshot #steve fluff

[dontshootmespence]

Quiet Rolling Thunder

Chapter 7

Y/N looked down and noticed how her hands trembled. She didn’t even remember being this afraid at the time, probably because she was so hopped up on adrenaline in the moment that she didn’t have time to be scared. 

Dr. Santos glanced down at her hands and immediately tried to calm her. “You are not there anymore. You are here and you are safe.”

She took a few deeps breaths and sank back into the couch. 

“What happened after he brought you into the alley?” Dr. Santos. “Remember, he’s not here are you are safe.”

For a moment, she closed her eyes and brought herself back to that place. Emily could see a tear forming behind her eye, and Rossi could see her, beating herself up over something she couldn’t control. It seemed to be a BAU trait. You had to beat yourself up on the daily in order to take this job. 

Reaching over, he grabbed Emily’s hand and gave it a squeeze. Emily appreciated the fatherly gesture even if it didn’t make her feel all that much better. 

When Y/N opened her eyes, a tear fell, but her hands were steady, floating through the air. “He spun me around and pinned me to the wall. His right hand came around my throat.” Her own hand hung gently around her throat before she started again. “That’s when I noticed the tattoo he had. I know it was a Celtic tattoo and I know where it was, but I can’t see any details in the design. I’m sorry.”

Emily so desperately wanted to tell her it was okay, but she put her head in Rossi’s shoulder and allowed Dr. Santos to do her job. “That’s okay,” the doctor said. “Move on from the tattoo. What happened next?”

Swallowing hard, Y/N attempted to let go of her guilt for not remembering more about the tattoo. “Then he pulled out the knife,” she signed, her lip quivering in fear. “It had the etching of an eagle holding an anchor on it. He was lean, but not amazingly muscular, and slightly over 6 feet tall.”

“What else can you tell me about him?” Dr. Santos asked. Y/N was holding her own right now, so as long as she was willing and able to push herself, Dr. Santos was going to continue.

Her nose wrinkled and she grimaced. “He stunk of alcohol. But he didn’t seem out of control...you know what I mean? He was stumbling or anything. He had control of his movements.”

That made sense given the profile. Navy Seals were notoriously, driven, strong and composed. “Was there anything else noticeable about him? Could you see if he said anything to you?”

Y/N’s eyes widened as the scene continued to play out in her head. “He said something. I saw his lips move.”

“What was it? What did he say?” Dr. Santos asked, her movements more pointed and desperate.

“Jenny. It’s like he was calling me Jenny.”

Months after he’d been in DC the last time, he returned. Lockheed finally needed him back in DC. Now was his chance to find that woman. After his meeting, he’d go back to the building she’d come out of. He assumed she worked there. 

As the exited the airport and tried to find a cab toward the hotel the company had provided for him, he pulled out his phone and dialed her number. “Jenny for fuck’s sake pick up the phone!” He growled into the phone as he once again got sent to voicemail. “Please talk to me. I wanna see my daughter. Let me talk to her. What I did was part of a mission! I didn’t have a choice. For fuck’s sake stop being a child and answer my damn calls.”

He hated what he’d had to do, but it was either that or the mission was blown, so he did what he had to do. After making the mistake of telling her (she’d hounded him to be more open with her), she left with Ariana and she’d been changing phone numbers ever since. “Call me back so we can talk. I won’t stop calling. You change your number again and I’ll find it again, so you might as well just talk to me.”

Angrily, he grumbled and stuffed his phone back in his pocket. Among the sea of people leaving the airport, he put his hand in the air and hailed a cab. “So what brings you to DC?” The driver asked as he slipped into the car.

“Business. I travel a lot for business.”

“You here from out of the country?”

He hated small talk. More than anything. But he also wanted to seem approachable and therefore above suspicion. “Yea, I grew up in Virginia. Came to DC for school. Served with the military as a Navy Seal for nearly 15 years and now I serve as an engineering consultant for Lockheed International. I live in Rome now.”

“I’ve always wanted to go there,” the driver said as he took his address and began the drive to the hotel. “I’ve heard it’s a beautiful place.”

“It is. I love it there. It’s where I always wanted to end up. Though I’m not who I expected to be with.”

The driver nodded, immediately understanding what he meant. “Relationship troubles.”

“Yea, man.”

Thankfully, the driver didn’t pry anymore. His bitch of an ex-wife was the last person he wanted to be talking about.

Once they got to the hotel, he handed the driver his fare and pulled out his phone to GPS the location of his meeting in relationship to his last target’s presumed job. About five minutes. Good. Time for him to get changed out of his meeting clothes and find her as she got out of work tomorrow.

After the cognitive interview, Emily took Y/N back to her apartment to sleep. She was emotionally exhausted. Tucking her in with a kiss, Emily left the apartment to go back to the Bureau and look up whether any of their 29 suspects had a relative or friend named Jenny.

With the new information from Y/N’s interview and nothing but paperwork in front of them, Emily told them to put it aside and refocus on Y/N’s case. They were getting closer. She could feel it.

“Garcia, I need you to run a check to see if any of these 29 names have a Jenny attached to them in any way.”

“Got it, Mamasita! Yours truly will be back when she has something!”

While Garcia was in her lair, the rest of the team combed through the files once again, all but throwing out an additional two suspects, leaving them with 27 suspects when Garcia returned nearly 2 hours later. “Ma’am, I have 4 of the 29 that have a relative or friend names Jenny.”

Emily’s eyes lit up as she called the rest of the team into the conference room. “Garcia has limited our list to 4.” She sent the files to everyone’s personal devices. “Now let’s narrow this down.”

“We have Jeremy Ledger for Navy Seal who travels all over the world as an artist now,” Spencer said. “Actually, his paintings are really good. He also only has one friend that’s in the military. I think our unsub is going to have a more personal connection with the military in regards to relatives.”

Matt chimed in. “Yea, although he was a Seal, he’s too far removed from the military now to be our guy. And his travels very, very rarely bring him to DC.”

“Okay, next,” Emily said.

The weeded out yet another possibility, a man by the name of Brent O’Connell.  He was another Navy Seal, but he was currently with them and although he’d been in the area for the first two victims, he was stationed overseas for the other two. 

“Last two,” JJ said. “Kyle Manalis and Derrin Samorodnitsky.”

Rossi’s eyes were already scanning both files and without hesitation, he pointed at one. “It’s Manalis.”

“What makes you so sure?” Tara asked. She hadn’t had a chance to read everything yet.

“Manalis is third generation Navy. His father and grandfather served. He’s also from the area, while the other is from Montana. Virginia and DC have more of a military tie in than Montana. Military is engrained in this unsub. Samorodnitsky, man that’s a mouthful, his brother is also military, but that’s the only military connection. Plus, his Jenny is his sister. Manalis’s ex-wife is Jenny. If she left him due to something he did while in the military, it would stand to reason that she set off his rage.”

“When did they get divorced?” Emily asked Garcia.

“A year ago, about a month before the first murder,” she replied shakily. “And he works as an engineering consultant for Lockheed International. The last time he was here was when Y/N was attacked.”

“Find out where he is now,” Emily commanded, giving her a sorry I’m so demanding look as Garcia walked out of the room.

While Garcia went to her office again to get tracking Manalis, Emily went back to her office. They were so close. If they were on the right track, which she was convinced them were, they had him. He just had to be in the states to have jurisdiction. 

Ten minutes later, Garcia texted:

PG: My fearless leader. Kyle Manalis is in the states for the next three days for a meeting with the Lockheed office here in DC. He’s at the Hilton hotel in DC now.

@sam-carter-in-training @coveofmemories @jamiemelyn @iammostdefinitelyonfire26 @unstoppableangel8 @reddie-for-mileven @marvelfanlife @criminal-navy-writings @trollitis @sexualemobitch @rmmalta @lukeassmanalvez @obsessed5sosfreak @sonhadoraativa @1enchantedfantasy1 @ace-and-rosey @ay-nako @twelveyearoldchildprodigy @entelechysymphony @pugs-cats-bb-8 @davidr0ssi @sarahkay-19 @remember-me-forever-silent-angel @pleasedftbaforever @veroinnumera @lookwhatyoumademequeue

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss fic #dontshootmespence #quiet rolling thunder

[idornaseminary]

Chapter One-Hundred Thirty-Nine: Calix

Calix, gazing into the ornate mirror, tied the top buttons of his tight shirt, adjusting the collar which fitted a little snugger after the festive season. His silvery reflection peered back at him, mimicking his exact movements as he fixed his New Year’s Eve attire, mocking the guilt in his grey eyes. Calix wanted to look well for his first evening in Old Aroon and his midnight kiss with Beatrice, but the second figure in the mirror held his heart back by stones.

“You look swell, dude,” Sam pined from his bed, his languished image swallowed by the glass. The yellow-skinned Ibinia, buried beneath blankets, tried to smile, but Calix could see the difficulty. The mirror showed everything faithfully; his roommate’s sickness was devastatingly unmisted.

Sam had woken that morning bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, a fire in his chest for New Year’s that formed clouds in the cold air as he walked the grounds with Calix, retelling a story about a new species of plant in Professor Smith’s greenhouse, an exotic cultivar whose name Calix could barely pronounce nor remember. And Sam, in his eagerness, told Calix of how he had tended to the delicate herb without a moment’s hesitation. In his zealous eagerness, however, he didn’t realise how toxic the plant’s tiny, hair-like spines were nor how quickly his excitement would be punctured by the spilling of his lunch onto their bedroom floor.

“Thanks, Sam,” Calix said gravely, turning on his heels and walking across the room. He sat down at the foot of Sam’s bed, taking a firm hold of Sam’s wrist and starting to count the faint beats beneath the flaxen skin, pale and tinged with jaundice.

“Am I dying?” Sam chuckled, though the laughter quickly turned to violent coughing, his chest heaving laboriously and his throat tightening.

“Yes, tomorrow,” Calix responded mischievously, between his counts, “Do you have any last requests?”

“The bowl, please,” Sam muttered, pushing himself up.

Calix grabbed the thin, ceramic bowl from the floor and placed it next to Sam, whose faulty stomach retched up acid and half-churned bits of meat and bread, canary-yellow mixed with dark orange, and more repugnant smelling than stinksap.

He put his hand on Sam’s back and softly rubbed the spasming muscles, the involuntary convulsions painfully wracking the Ibinia’s body. “That’s okay. That’s okay, it’s all up now. Just sit back and I’ll get you something to clear your mouth.”

From a box on the bedside table, Calix pulled a white tissue and wiped Sam’s cracked lips, tossing the stained paper into the bowl before helping Sam back into the bed, tucking the blanket around him. He took the bowl away, the contents sloshing like waves in a thunderstorm with every footstep towards the bathroom. He held his breath, careful not to spill anything on his white shirt, and poured the vile, viscous fluid down the toilet. He was happy to see it all disappear when he pulled the chain.

He gave the bowl a quick wash in the sink, tapping it dry, and stepped back into the bedroom. Sam was turned towards him, his eyes burning with sadness. The stone chained to Calix’s heart tugged and he tilted his head to the side: “What?”

“I’m ruining your night,” Sam gurgled.

“Shut up,” Calix scoffed, pretending to hit his roommate on the head with the bowl. Sam could be an idiot sometimes, convincing himself of his inadequacy and annoyance. Calix wanted to smack him until the truth settled into his thick skull, but he knew old habits, long engrained, were hard to strip away.

He walked to the bedside table, putting the bowl at the foot of the bed, and filled a small tumbler with water. “Who the fuck would look after you if I wasn’t around? I’m the only hope you’ve got.”

“That’s not fair. You’re supposed to be in Old Aroon, dancing and kissing with Beatrice. Just go, please.”

Calix shook his head, waving his wand over the water which began to fizz and sparkle with vivacious effervescence. “I’ll go when I make sure you’re okay. To be honest, I’m thinking of not going at all.”

“You have to go,” Sam whined, gratefully taking the charmed water and slugging most of the refreshing drink, the awful aftertaste in his mouth and the burning in his throat easing. “You’re all dressed up. Just go. All I’m gonna be doing is sleeping. I can’t do fuck all else.” “I know…”

“But, nothing. Dude, just go.”

  Calix felt like a monster leaving Sam on his own. He didn’t want to leave, the thought of abandoning his friend when he was at his worst tore his gut apart – especially when Calix could not simply magic away a twenty-four bug, a magic-resistant toxin buried deep in the tissue, but instead had to walk away knowing his roommate was in pain.

Sam, however, had insisted. Threatened. Sam had threatened to get worse if Calix didn’t leave. In the end, Calix, for Sam’s mental wellbeing, as counter-intuitive as it seemed, had to go.

He got as far as the infirmary doors, making his way to the goblin-owned carriages, when his heart and conscience gave way, the stones no longer movable. He sighed heavily and looked at the light in the infirmary. The metal gears in his head spun as he weighed up his options, balancing his two commitments as a friend and a lover.  

For Christ sake Calix, she’ll understand.

He pulled his wand from the back of his trousers and pointed straight ahead: “Expecto patronum.”

The tip of his wand glowed a dull, pale blue, wisps of ethereal light cascading onto the stone floor and materialising as a beautiful crane, its translucent wings fully extended in the pale moonlight.

“Bea,” Calix dictated to his patronus, “I’m very sorry, but I won’t be able to make it to Old Aroon tonight. Sam’s still sick, terribly sick, and I simply can’t leave him. I promise, I’ll make it up to you, I will. But, tonight, I can’t be there. I’m sorry. Love, your Irishman.”

As Calix finished speaking, the crane flapped its wings and took flight. He watched it fly away, feeling doubly guilty. Swallowing his compunction, he pushed open the doors of the infirmary and stepped inside.

The white-walled room was eerily quiet. The lights were on, but Calix couldn’t hear anything expect the whisper of boiling potions, the troubled bubble of cauldron-toil. He followed the noise to the workstation, finding a pitch-black potion levitating above a bright red flame.

Why the hell is this here?

Calix sighed once more.

Crix. It had to be Crix.

Calix had not seen the young wizard since he had returned from his Winter Break, the bilious anger forgotten in its dark prison, where only slivers of irritation and malicious suspicion slipped past the iron bars and plagued the happier moments of his Christmas.

Calix had not thought much about it after he left Idorna. He wanted to give Crix the benefit of the doubt, but he couldn’t seem to muster it.

Enzo had Calix rattled.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Calix! Are you trying to kill me?”

Calix jumped, raising his hand to his pounded heart as Crix appeared behind him, staring at the unannounced intruder. “Teddy, good god, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you when I came in.”

“Just call out next time, or do something at least,” Crix scolded, a biting note of anger to his voice, “This is not the first time you’ve done this!”

“I know, I know,” Calix muttered, shrugging his shoulders, “I just need to grab one or two things and I’ll be on my way.”

“Yeah, why… why are you here, Calix?”

Calix looked over his shoulder at Crix. The mediwizard had his arms folded across his chest, his wand tapping the skin of his upper arm nervously. Calix could sense that something was amiss. But, he couldn’t put his finger on it. It was always harder to read mediwizards; mediwizards tended to hide their chemistries better than most.

“Sam is sick,” Calix explained, narrowing his eyes, “I was on my way to Old Aroon, but decided against it. I said I’d pick a few things up and go back to look after him.”

“Right, right” Crix said, his teeth clenched, “Well, just grab what you need and get going. I don’t need any more surprises.” Calix nodded his head. Crix was off form, which put Calix on edge. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, not charging him guilty until proven so, was becoming harder and harder. Calix grabbed a few bottles and vials from the shelves, stuffing them into his pockets. When he had chosen everything that he needed, he looked again at the potion, black as soot and dangerously close to spilling over the lip of the cauldron.

“What’s the potion for?” Calix called out, looking around the infirmary for Crix, who seemed to have disappeared once more.

“Just leave it alone, Calix.”

Calix ruffled his eyebrows: “Are you sure, it looks like it’s about to boil over?”

“Just leave it!”

To say that Calix was taken aback by the abruptness of Crix’s response was an understatement: there was menace and malice in the boy’s voice Calix had never heard before. He pulled his wand out once again, Enzo’s warning rising to the front of his mind.

“What are you making, Crix,” Calix whispered to himself. The younger wizard was clearly hiding something. There was no one in the infirmary. There was no need for brews at that hour of the night, unless someone needed something that wasn’t on the shelf. There was something amiss.

Calix took a clean piece of notepaper from the pile on the reception desk and lay it next to the burning flame. Checking to see if Crix was nearby before he acted, Calix pressed his wand against the iron wall of the cauldron and uttered: “Specialis revelio.”

The ingredients began to manifest, each potion component revealed, one by one.

Dittany. Asphodel. Wormwood. Violetto. Poison Ivy. Nux Mystiria.

“Nutmeg?” Calix said, his eyes widening, “Crix, you bastard!”

Calix suddenly felt something push against his back, warm breath against his ear, as Crix’s voice dropped like poison onto his skin: “Drop your wand, like a good boy.”

The wand, pressed between the vertebrae of his back, sparked. A jolt of pain coursed through Calix’s spine, his fingers uncontrollably relinquishing their grip on his wand, which clattered to the floor with a low thump.

“You…” Calix spat, his words slurred by the electricity flowed through his spinal column.

“Me, yes, me” Crix laughed, “Surprise, surprise.”

“You’re a dead man, Teddy…”

Calix heard the crunch of something brittle crack, a scattering of crumbs crawling down his collar. The cookie delayed Crix, his cacophonous chewing drowning out Calix’s thoughts: “Now, now. Don’t be so dim witted, lover boy. You couldn’t kill me if you tried. Problem with taking all those oaths of yours. It means your – your, eh, threatless? Is that the word? I’m not sure, but, I still don’t think you’re in the right position to be threatening even if you could cast the weakest of jinxes.”

“You’re still a dead man…”

Crix shrugged his shoulders, taking another bite from his cookie as he stepped backwards. The sharp tingling in his circuitry ended, and Calix turned slowly, his hands in the air, staring furiously at the one man responsible for keeping the fallen asleep for so long.

“We all have to die eventually,” Crix said, “You’ll all just die way before me.”

“You sure about that?”

“Certainly,” Crix laughed, shaking his wand, “See, this? This puts me in charge. And, you’ve seen what we can do with a necklace. I could have you wrapped around my little finger, in an instant, like a dog on a leash. All I’d have to was click my fingers and you’d do anything I asked. A loyal mutt.”

Adrenaline began to flow through Calix’s blood, his muscles taut and ready to pounce. He glanced quickly at the floor, where his wand had been dropped. Did he have time for a shield? Crix was close? Was it too close?

“What would I make you do, I wonder. It’s a fun thought experiment, actually,” Crix laughed, “I think I started by sending you to Beatrice.”

At the mention of his girlfriend, the elastic of Calix’s restraint snapped and he lunged forward, all thoughts of defence lost in blind rage. Crix, merely laughing, raised his wand and pressed it against Calix’s quivering throat.

“Let me finish,” Crix pouted, “I said this was going to be fun. I don’t want to have to send a few thousands volts through your body, Cal. Stop your itty bitty heart before we have some fun. Now, where was I? Ah, yes, the love of your life.

“First, I’d have you march down to Old Aroon, take your common whore by the arm, bring her somewhere quiet and have you fuck her senseless. Does she like it rough? Who cares! Because, at the very last second, just before the moment of bliss, I’d have you kill her. In cold blood. The look of love fading from her lifeless eyes.

“Then, I’d have you smother Sam. He’s a bit weird. Mommy issues? That’s what I’d put my money on. He’s always with girls, trying to make up for not having the main one in his life. Am I right? Again, don’t bother answering that. I’m on a roll here.

“What next? Speak up, if you think of something, don’t be shy. Ah, your unlikely troupe! Melanie Winter first, Natasha Kraus second and finally, our puppet who lost his strings, Enzo Bellerose. He’d be the hardest. He has quite the proclivity for the dark arts, I hear. A birdy told me he was firing off killing curses in the Gladur like they were going out of fashion!

“And, I think that’s everything I’d have my slave do. No, sorry, I forgot one person. What about Doctor Evans? I think it wouldn’t be right for you not to pay her a visit too. She’s been so good to you. We might offer her a quick and painless death for all her hard work. Maybe. I might want to see the bitch suffer.”

Crix pointed his hand at the cauldron, the heavy pot floating into the air between them. Black smoke billowed from the open lip, the noxious smell making Calix sputter.

“But, I digress,” Crix smirked, “I really am getting ahead of myself. Firstly, well, I’m afraid you’re going to have to take a nap. Sweet dreams, lover boy. I’ll take good care of everything here.”

Crix snapped his wrist.

Calix went to move.

The last thing he saw was the cauldron exploding.

The last thing he remembered was the burn of potion.

#Script #Story #Calix

[mellybean89]

Ode to lovers past, & their untimely return.

It was a quiet night. Work was drawn out and exceedingly boring. Made some delectable chicken parm and roasted zucchini and settled in to rewatch Entourage.

Then I heard it.

Beep. A text.

“Wassup.“

Cue eye roll. It seems every single time things are going fantastically Major reappears.

It’s never expected, but it always fucks with my head.

“Not a whole lot and yourself?”

*face palm* No no. Not this again silly girl. Major is like crack. Addictive and dangerous. Always leaves me wanting more. Once I get a taste he’s gone.

We worked together once upon a time, slinging coffee in the middle of nowhere. He has a killer smile and a debonair way about him.

His taste still lingers in my mind. His hands, his gaze. The past hits he like a Peterbilt truck travelling with no breaks, no chance in hell of stopping.

He was mine for a few nights, but that was forever ago. I still can’t believe that I had him. But like a puma he returns to his solitude, his jungle and I’m left reeling.

We were young, highschool aged. There was always flirtation but the torch I carried shone so bright you would’ve been blind to miss it. I always thought he was just being nice to me.

Fast forward a few years. After I moved to a tiny town that will forever be referred to as the devils pit. We kept in touch over those years. Every few months or so. Our messages becoming more urgent and wanting. We made plans though they always fell through.

Then I found myself back in Toronto, my heart. Oh how I had missed the loud unending traffic, the smell of asphalt and the cramped city buses. My soul was alive. He got ahold of me, beckoned me to visit him on the other side of town. I remember borrowing my mother’s caliber. My heart pumping so loudly in my chest with each passing traffic light. I was in a daze…

… could this really be happening. I arrive and it took me everything to not run away like a scared child. Major was untouchable, mystical even. I bolstered myself, I wasn’t the inexperienced little odd girl anymore. I checked myself in the mirror for the final time and walk to the door. Praying that my clumsy ass doesn’t face plant on the way up the drive.

He opens the door and I am in awe. He looks the exact same, but different, more mature, wiser. His smile rivals that of a movie star type. My knees instantly weaken. He leads me down to the basement. It’s large with a beautiful brick fireplace. 

We get settled in, catch up, laugh about the time I pretended to be superman and dove into the bushes of a McD’s (that’s an interesting tale). Decide on a movie that neither of us intended to pay attention to.

I get brave and cheeky and start to massage him. Slowly and thoughtfully. This is the man I’ve wanted for far too long. A man that I could finally have for a night at a time. He kisses me. It’s deep and I’m instantly ignited alive. One kiss and I knew id spiraled down the rabbit hole.

 I knew then that the story was really just beginning.

“Long weekend started early for me… hanging out. How’s everything bee.”

 I am no longer a silly girl. I know that what I wanted those many moons ago was not something he could ever offer. He is like a ghost occasionally drifting in and out of my life. I’m always surprised to hear from him. He will never be a constant, someone I could have relied on. 

I remember the night we spent together, I’ll spare you the more salacious details. It started off to be an interesting evening. I was visiting my cousins, Major found out I was in town and invited me to a movie downtown. We saw Hancock which is right up my alley. Prior to meeting him he had informed me that an ex-girlfriend would be joining us.  

If I had to be completely honest I was anxious. This is a girl he had dated, I know what types of girls he dates and she is the polar opposite of me. She was quiet, tiny, and elegant. I am none of those things. 

This was the moment I knew for sure we would never be a thing. Just passing lovers. Circling each other with the prospect of carnal bliss. 

After the movie we discuss how to ditch the little missus. No hard feelings doll, but your time had passed. We get to the Subway and wait for a train we had no intention of taking, her train arrived first going the opposite way. We head back to the surface and continue the dance.

We decide to go to a pub on Yonge St. across from the former record shop of Sam the Record Man. We made our way up the stairs to the second floor so we could overlook the bustling street down below. I order an Alabama Slammer, he orders a beer, probably a Keith’s, even more likely a draft. 

We talk and flirt as old friend’s do. We perch ourselves right at the window, looking down at everyone rushing by. The neon sign for the Zanzibar flashes and dances out of the corner of our eyes. We order another and the butterflies kick up again. There has been so much build up for so long that the electricity is buzzing in the air around us. 

We decide to head back to his place. On the way down the stairs I get a rush of boldness, I say his name, he turns. I wrap my arms around him and pull him close and our lips meet. I linger, savoring the moment. The air pops and crackles around me. 

I’d like to blame it on the slammers, but I know better. I needed desperately to know two things. 

1: That there was indeed a spark, that my girl crush had blossomed into a womanly desire and that this was what I wanted.

2: That he wouldn’t be ashamed and pull away from me, in public, completely crushing my soul in one swift aching moment.

I caught him off guard, but he didn't seem displeased in anyway. So we continued our journey. We hopped on the subway and then took a bus and walked to his place. I remember how nervous I was, and I could tell he was nervous as well. We were both far from virgins but that didn't stop my heart beating in my chest. While we undressed each other my hands were shaking. I kept my voice as quiet as a whisper, afraid if I spoke too loudly the bubble would burst around me and it would all have been an illusion. Once we had finished we both fell into a deep slumber. Got up, showered and took the bus and subway downtown. That night will be forever engrained in my memory.

#my writing #first time #story #blunder #my story #trouble #love #or some shit #lovers #i'm cringing #once upon a time #spilled thoughts #spilled words #confession

[r3b3lgrrrrrrrl]

A LunaTic and her Gunn (Part 103 1xs2) "Pride"

@creatureofthen1ght-v3 @crystalbaby12 @backoftheroomandnotbelonging @5sosfam1dlover

"I don't know, Doll." Stephanie answers Luna. "I ran into you in the lobby at The Grand... You were already shitwrecked." She laughs.

"I'm telling you, it was Kings Cup." Sam says leaning up from her seat.

"I hate that fucking game." Luna rolls her eyes as she slumps into hers.

"Enh.... Take a nap and get over it, Smith. We got big plans when we get home, Baby!" Stephanie grins at her as she hands her a joint.

Luna accepts it as her mind begins to wander over The Pride Parade, Colson, the people she needs to see and the things she needs to pick up while she's home. It's gonna be a long 36hrs.

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

"I want you motherfuckers to make some MOTHERFUCKEN' NOISE!!!" Slim shouts to the crowded nightclub.

They're playing The Pearl Club tonight inside The Palms. Halfway through their set and The Boys are in rare form. Pulling people OnStage just to chuck them back off into the willing sea of hands waiting below.

Colson replaces Bad Things with Bulls on Parade. Hyping himself and the audience up even more. Spraying water all over them as he jumps and dives off the stage whenever he's not dancing around on it.

Ashleigh notices he gets a little flirtatious during Candy. Talking about how He likes to be called Daddy, Yeah. Rolling her eyes, she goes to look for Don. Tomorrow's their last show of this leg and she wants to touch base with him before they head to LA.

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

Back in NYC, Stephanie, Luna and Sam share another TownCar. Privately leaving LaGuardia without notice or interruption to Luna's relief. Stephanie is dropped off first at her penthouse in Manhattan. The TownCar then traveling down into Washington Heights to Sam's, the difference in neighborhoods being beyond vast.

Inside Sam's apartment, Luna sets her luggage to the side as she lights a joint. Passing it to Sam while she caters to her cat Jasper.

"I need to hook up with Nipple tonight." Luna informs Sam as she takes the joint back.

"Hit him up... Have him meet up with us here after Duplex." Sam answers as she cuddles her furry friend.

"Alright, cool." Luna agrees as she sends out the text.

They finish the joint before Luna grabs a few things and heads to her grandmother's. She's gonna meet up with Sam and Stephanie later.

Out on the pavement, Luna hails a cab. As she makes her way back Uptown she stares out the window. Thousands of thoughts and memories drifting through her mind as the cab zips and jerks through the busy streets. Looking up, she catches a glimpse of the Empire State Building. It's lit in multicolor lights to celebrate Pride Week.

Luna smiles to herself with a soft sigh. Thinking of her grandfather and wondering what he would've been like. Robert Mapplethorpe had passed away from the AIDS virus before Luna was born. Even without having the chance to meet him, his creativity and legacy continue to live on through every photograph Luna's ever taken. His intense eye and style being engrained into her soul.

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

After the show The Boys stay at The Palms, gambling and drinking like their normal reDICKulous selves. Sitting around the roulette table Colson nudges Rook.

"Yo. We good?" He asks with a crooked smile.

Looking over at Colson, Rook places $1000 chip on Black. His eyes have a daring electricity in them that Colson's never seen before.

"You and Loons good?" He asks with a glare on his face as Colson matches his bet.

"Yeah... She's meeting back up with us in LA..." Colson begins to answer.

"BLACK 17!!" The Dealer calls.

"FUUUUUCK YEAH!!" Colson and Rook shout in unison as they high five each other in excitement.

Heading towards another table after collecting their winnings, Colson asks Rook again if They're Good. Rook doesn't say anything until their bets are placed.

"Guess I am if you guys are... I'm gonna grab a beer." Rook says curtly as he brushes him off.

Walking away before the ball stops bouncing. Not caring for the money or conversation he left at the table.

Watching him walk way Colson isn't sure how he feels about Rook's words. "He ain't seen shit if he thinks that was bad..." He thinks to himself as his memories roll over the arguments and fights him and Luna have gotten into. His dick grows hard as he remembers the night he smashed her phone. "Fuck I hope she makes it back in time tomorrow, crazy fucking bitch...." He chuckles to himself as he touches the middle of his forehead. "Enh... He'll get ov...." His thoughts being broken as The Dealer calls his color again.

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

"Hey Mom-Mom...." Luna calls out as she opens the door.

"Loons! I was wondering when you were getting home." Patti answers as she embraces her granddaughter with a warm hug.

Walking into the kitchen together, Luna greets Joni. Catching up with her grandmother and aunt, she explains her itinerary and asks to borrow Joni's jet to get back to LA tomorrow. Joni happily agrees, with Luna's fame rising, both her and Patti prefer for Luna to travel privately rather than commercially. Continuing to chat about Luna's plans, she suggests they come out with her tonight. They're beyond delighted by the invitation. Going on to get dressed as Luna heads to her own bedroom.

Luna hates using the jet. It feels weird and pretentious to her. Collecting random things from her room, she finds the shimmery rainbow one piece she wants to wear tomorrow. Unlocking the top of her safe, she pulls out her Glock and the two unused clips. Placing them safely in her bag, it's one of the two reasons she won't mind using the jet tomorrow.

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

Still inside The Palms, Colson and The Boys are getting tore up. Drinking, smoking, laughing, gambling and flirting with girls.

Rook and Colson start wrestling around as usual. Catching him in a headlock, Colson gives Rook a noogie as he squirms out of his grasp with a few light body shots. Climbing on top of a stool, Rook spidermonkey's off of it onto Colson's back. With one arm around his neck, Rook starts running his knuckles over the top of Colson's head.

"How you like it!!" He shouts as Colson spins them around in a circle.

Flipping Rook over his back and off of him, Colson drops him onto the floor. With a quick sweep of the leg, Rook knocks Colson down onto the ground with him. They start slap boxing as they roll all over the carpet of the casino. Rook adding a touch of force behind his hits. Colson's ring catches Rook in the eyebrow hard, breaking the skin. This causes their wrestling to become a bit more aggressive as they battle it out, rocking into innocent bystanders as they smack each other. It's not until they find themselves out of breath, trapped, barely able to hit the other and Rook bleeding, do they stop.

"Feel better?" Colson asks slightly panting.

"A bit." Rook answers trying to catch his own.

With that, the two friends help each other up. Rook giving Colson a firm SideEye after they rise.

"Stop fucking wit my homie." He states before catching Colson with another light slap to his left cheek.

"Fair enough." Colson laughs, appreciating how protective Rook seems to be of Luna. "Let her know we miss her?" He then asks.

"Definitely." Rook agrees as Colson throws his arm over his shoulder, both grinning stupidly as they Snap their favorite girl.

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

Duplex is one of NYC hidden gems. It's the oldest, most queer and utterly fantastic piano bar in The West Village.

Walking inside with Patti and Joni, Luna finds Stephanie with a bunch of their friends. Including Mackenzie and Mal. Grabbing her grandmother's hand, she leads them over.

"Smith!!" Stephanie shouts upon seeing her. "Ohh!! And you've got Patti and Joni with you!" She glows as she stands to greet them.

"Hey you..." A deep voice says as a finger taps Luna's shoulder.

"AHHHH!!!" Luna screams in excitement.

Turning around, she finds her dear friend Logan Slaughterhouse. One the most fabulous people she knows, inside and out. Jumping up into his arms, Luna gives him a full body squeeze.

"Watch the make-up, Little Bird." Logan laughs as Luna pecks him with kisses.

"It's so good to see you!" Luna says wrapping her arms around his waist after she's jumped down.

"I know!! It's only been forever, Miss Popularity.... Pretty soon you'll be just like Steph and we'll never see you...." He teases.

"Stop it. I'm about to buy another place and set up a lable here... Girl, you know I can't be outta The City for too long!" She laughs as she holds him tight before pulling out of their hug.

"Soooooo.... Tell me about THIS MAAAAN..." He drawls.

Logan watches Luna with love as she gushes about Colson. Covering everything from their insane connection, her relationship with Casie to his beautiful, tortured creative soul and how he's so incredibly sweet but a still fucking Asshole at the same time. Logan laughing loudly at the last part.

"All the best are, darling." Logan reassures her with a knowing grin.

They head to the bar to order and grab a round for those in need. Such as Luna, Patti and Joni. Reaching her hand out to pay, Logan's eyes are pulled towards her sparkling finger.

"Holy Mother of Mary... It is true!!!" He exclaims while grabbing her hand.

Flipping it in his hands, the way Ashley did when she first seen it, he looks up with wide eyes. Luna meeting him with an amused smirk.

"Oh no, Sister Girl." He states as he drags her away, leaving their order waiting. "Patti!! Patti!! Did you know about thissss?" Logan asks as he thrusts Luna's engagement ring up in the air to the group.

The sight of the large ruby is met by gasps, Oh Shits and Wows. Some shocked at the beauty of the stone, other's by it's representation.

"Yes, I did." Patti answers as sh"Yes, I did." Patti answers as she takes Luna's hand. "It's gorgeous, eh?" She asks their companions as she displays Luna's hand again.

"Yeah... About that...." Luna starts in, she's yet to talk to her grandmother regarding this whole marriage conversation she had with Colson.

"HEEY!!!" Sam shouts as she heads towards their tables.

Patti and Luna's almost conversation is lost as Sam joins them. Luna goes on to say Hello to anyone she'd missed. Grabbing a seat, she Thanks Logan as he returns with their drinks.

Patti's friends Debbie and Susan join them as the night mixes with excitement and nastalgia. The diverse group speaking of tomorrow's and the past. Sharing drinks, laughter, stories and plans. Listening as the piano and different singer's melodies fill the air around them.

Duplex is an old haunt of Stephanie and Luna's. With Stephanie sparingly stopping in and Luna being gone for what feels like forever, they're both teased and guilt tripped until they agree to take the stage.

Luna performs Benny, a fun, catchy tune she had written years ago about her friend coming out. Telling the story of how Luna had a crush on him but how he had loved a boy named Benny and found a future where they could be happy. It's a crowd favorite, hitting #5 on the Indie Charts when it debuted. Always being requested when Luna's present and even covered when she's not.

Stephanie hits the stage next, performing Born This Way. Being one of the more famous anthems of the LGBTQ community, the bar roars along with her. Begging for more as she finishes up. Laughing in appreciation, she calls Luna back to the stage. Obliging, Luna drags her grandmother and her friends behind her in retaliation for their laughter.

Luna slides in next to Stephanie on the piano bench. Quickly discussing amongst the five of them, they choose to cover Elton John's Rocket Man. It'll be an easy cover with Luna and Stephanie knowing how to play the song together as a piano duet. Luna opens with the beginning lyrics, switching off before the end of the first verse with Stephanie. They then harmonize with each other over the chorus. Patti, Susan, and Debbie coming in to share the second verses and chorus with each other. It's a loud and jovial performance. Iconic and rare. Something to only be caught once in a lifetime, solely found in New York City. The five of them coming together for the last set of the chorus as the crowd continues to sing along with them the whole way through.

🎼And//I think it's gonna be//A long long time//'Till touch down//Brings me round again// To find//I'm not the man//They think I am at home//Oh no no no//I'm a rocket man//Rocket man//Burning out his fuse up Here alone🎶

Their audience claps and cheers for the five musicians and each other as they end the number. Multiple rounds being purchased for The Bar in celebration. The night continuing on with laughter, bonding and LOTS of alcohol.

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Before saying GoodBye to Stephanie and everyone, they remind each other where they're meeting in the morning and whose responsible for which essentials. Luna then puts Patti and her friends in a cab. Hugging and kissing them GoodBye before catching her own cab with Sam.

Nipple is sitting on Sam's stoop when they arrive. Paying the driver and hopping out of the cab, Luna embraces the man tightly. He may be her Guy but like most people in her life, he's her friend also.

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Upstairs Luna, Sam and Nipple catch up while sharing joints and beers. Him asking Where They've Been. After answering, they ask him How's Life. Sam, Luna and Nipple have known each other for almost 5yrs. Meeting through an ex boyfriend of Sam's. Like bath water, she had thrown out the whole boyfriend while keeping their plug.

Sitting together at the kitchen table, Luna pulls out five thick stacks of cash. Her actions surprise neither Sam or Nipple. They're used to Luna buying in bulk. Nipple opens both of the two black gym bags he has with him as he begins to place her order on the table.

"Okay... We got... A pound of magical fungi. An ounce of pure, uncut Molls... I did a hit of this shit last night and... Shoooh!!! Gone, and I mean GONE HARD for like 16hrs!" Nipple exclaims as he pats the bag of chunky, cloudy, yellow crystals. "I've got 10grams of DMT, 120 bars, 120 footballs, 120 XR30s and 120 30s..." He sits back looking proudly at his display. "Oh!! I almost forgot. I got you a goodie bag too. A Quap each of Red Kross, MK and Guaptilla as your Indica and then I threw in an Alien Jack to try out as a Sativa." He continues as he drops the four large bags of marijuana on the table also. "I also got you a mix of 50 carts if you want check 'em out." He says pulling out a cardboard box.

The items on the table aren't much different from anything Luna would normally order. The only change is that some items are doubled up along with the addition of the 30s and Adds. Luna knows which one she's catching a hard SideEye from Sam for. Brushing her off, Luna goes through the cases of liquid THC viles and checks over the rest of her items as Nipple counts his payment. They're friends but business is business.

Sharing another joint as Luna repacks her purchases, Nipple asks Why The Double Up and Change. Luna uses the second reason for not minding the jet as her answer. She's headed to The West Coast and needs to stock up while she has the ability to move mass quantities. This sparks questions about Why The West Coast which turn into Congratulations on her engagement. Nipple admitting he's a MGK fan to Sam's scoffs.

As Nipple goes to leave, Sam's buzzer goes off. It's Ashley. She comes in like a hurricane as Luna checks her phone. There's a Snap from Colson and Rook.

"What are you laughing at?" Ashley asks as she snatches Luna's phone.

Looking at it, she smirks and tosses it back at Luna. "Tell those animals I said to shut the fuck up... They're always Assholes."

Luna snaps a picture of Ashley as she grabs her tits and sticks out her tongue. Placing a caption, she shoots it to Colson. Sam passes Ashley a joint she has sparked as her and Luna fill Ashley in on tomorrow's plans.

"I can't believe you're leaving after Memorial Park..." Ashley complains as she exhales.

"Right." Sam snarks as she hands Luna and Ashley each a beer.

"Man, fuck you guys." Luna says as she takes the joint from Ashley. "It'd be different if it wasn't his last show."

"Whatever... Just admit it. You're DickSprung." Sam laughs as she throws a cheese ball at Luna.

"Yeah? You got something to say about THAT Baaaazemeister?" Luna counters as Ashley laughs at them both.

"Fuck you." Sam laughs with her as she chucks another cheese ball in Luna's direction.

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Colson's headed back to The Bus when he gets Luna's Snap. Laughing out loud, he shows it to Rook.

"You can't deny Ash has a great rack." Rook jokes as Colson shoves him on The Bus.

Colson Snaps Luna back quickly before hopping on himself. Not saying it out loud but knowing himself that Ashley definitely has nice tits.

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"Hey... We should talk." Sam says to Luna.

They're on the floor passing a bong back and forth while Ashley snoozes on the couch. Luna eyes Sam. They never Talk.

"I'm not going to LA with you tomorrow...." Sam begins before she takes a rip.

Luna's eyebrows furrow together as she takes the bong and asks Why. She hits it Sam rattles on about LA not being her scene and how she was only supposed to be on tour for a couple days, not weeks.

"What about Baze?" Luna asks bluntly as she exhales.

"I talked to Steve already.... I need to be home for a minute, Loons. He gets that...." Sam trails off as she repacks the head.

"Is this about Colson?" Luna's question still being direct.

"No... I don't know... Maybe.... Honestly? He gets on my fucking nerves sometimes and I don't really understand why you're rushing to marry him the way you are. It doesn't seem like you at all... Not the rushing but the marriage. Like... Why all of a sudden do you need some type of confirmation from the fucking government?" Sam asks as she finally lets out her true thoughts.

Luna and Sam stare at each other for a moment. Luna taking a huge rip, coughing her face off and having to regain her composure before answering.

"I don't know, Sammy... Maybe because at 26yrs old, I already understand mortality way more than I should? Because I know with my whole being that it's right, even when it's tough..... There's something between Us that's unexplainable. A connection and understanding that doesn't even need words most times." Luna says as she thinks about the depth of her and Colson's relationship.

"I know.... I've seen it." Sam sighs out her own hit.

"Then what's the fucking problem?" Luna asks as she holds the bong hostage.

"You know the problem. It's the same problem you had with Justin." Sam answers as lifts her lowered eyes to Luna's.

Her words form a lump in Luna's throat. She's already aware of the different qualities Colson and Justin share. Swallowing hard, she bites the inside of her cheek as her stomach starts to hurt from also knowing that Sam's right.

"Well, I'm already in it, so... It's gonna turn out how it turns out whether we're married or not." Luna shrugs. "Now, what are we gonna do about IT?" She asks, changing the subject before she fires the smoking apparatus back up.

"What do you mean?" Sam counters with confusion.

"I've gotta get it recorded.... I was planning on doing it in LA as soon as we got back, but...." Luna trails with uncertainty as she hands over the piece.

"You still want Mikey?" Sam asks.

"Yeah." Luna nods with concerned eyes.

"I'm still not going with you tomorrow but if you HAVE to record in fucking Cali, I'll be there. Mikey too." Sam says with a sigh. "I'm still not going with you tomorrow but if you HAVE to record in fucking Cali, I'll be there. Mikey too." Sam says with a sigh before finally taking a hit.

All of this feels weird to Luna and Sam. Through their long years of friendship and musical collaborations, this is the first time they aren't on the same line. Let alone the same page.

"I'm sorry." Sam continues when she sees the hurt on Luna's face.

Shaking her head, Luna reassures her They're Good. Kissing Sam lightly on the cheek, she heads out to the fire escape alone for a smoke. Lighting a cigarette, she closes her eyes and listens to The City as she contemplates Sam's words.

"It really doesn't matter..." Luna thinks of Colson. "Coke, Adderall, DickHeadedness... It's not like I can go anywhere..." She thinks. Acknowledging how he's trapped her soul, becoming the only one she desires. With the throbbing ache of being away from him for even simple reasons, Luna can't stomach imagining them not together as a couple. The thought makes her heart feel sad and lost. Even with her history, to Luna, there's no one but Colson.

Finishing her cigarette, she checks her phone. There's a new Snap from Colson.

Luna rolls her eyes as she opens it, glad that Ashley is asleep considering it's content. Walking back inside, she sits in front of a mirror on the living room floor. Snapping Colson back, she then pops two 30s and a bar before heading to crawl into bed with Sam for the night.

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With his and Luna's time difference being off, Colson finds himself on the back of The Bus in their empty bed. Drunk and missing her, he tries to call. Disappointed when it rings straight through.

"Ugh, I fucking miss her.... Man, I really hope she makes it to LA..." He worries to himself.

Curling up in bed, he searches through his phone, wanting a particular file. He had not so secretly recorded Luna when she had shared her latest song with him. Finding it, he wraps himself around Luna's pillow. Slowly falling out as she sings him to sleep. His mind dissecting her words as it drifts off. Making his heart worry about how his flaws have and will continue to effect her.

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You would think that Sunday morning would be insane. It's not. They're in Sam's apartment and Sam functions on no one's time but her own. Much like Luna.

Waking up naturally around 10A, Sam bothers no one. Pattering around her place, she starts a pot of coffee before heading out to the fire escape with Jasper for her morning cigarette.

Finishing up, she heads back inside with Jasper in tow. Flipping on her stereo, she drops Janis Joplin's Pearl onto her record player. Using the raspy voiced woman and her powerful band to rise her friends.

It works. Ashley lifts her head off the couch as Luna slowly makes her way out of the bedroom. Sam doesn't yell about Pride, she simply hands over cups of coffee with individual joints. The three girls climbing out the window to catch the early June morning sun, a smoke and to finally scream MOTHERFUCKING PRIDE. Slowly coming to life as they laugh with each other while sipping their coffee and smoking as they discuss their day.

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Colson wakes up on the back of The Bus. Reaching for his phone, his head is pounding. Opening his lock screen he finds a Snap from Luna.

Forgetting what he sent her before, Colson stares at her picture. He can barely see her through the words on the screen but her full lips are on display for him.

Pulling his briefs off, he starts to stroke his cock. Rubbing his thumb around the tip of his head, he imagines Luna's hands and mouth on him. Spitting on his hand, he runs it up and down his hard dick, pretending his saliva is Luna's juices. Pulling quicker and firmer, he licks his other hand before spitting into it also. Grabbing his dick with his soaked hand, he yanks on himself as he remembers pushing Luna up against the hotel window.

His legs begin to shake as his hand clenches around himself. Squeezing harder, he tugs on his huge staff. His mind dreaming of Luna's pussy around his cock as he cums all over himself. Breathing hard, he stares at the Snap he screen shotted. Even with a full release, his heart still wanting Luna.

"FUCK....." His mind sighs.

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Dressed in a rainbow colored, shimmery one piece with flowing strands, high black boots and accessories, Luna is Pride Ready. She had picked the outfit up last year and has been WAITING to wear it's gloriousness.

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Word Limit (1 of 2)

To be continued.....

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