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starrysebastians · 3 years

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Tis the damn season

Summary : On the first post-blip Thanksgiving, you find yourself having to reunite with your parents and your heart is not in it — Sam persuades you to take Bucky with you, and this might be an opportunity for you two to get to know each other. I just heard a ten pound turkey hit the ground and also very strong words. Do you need help?

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count : 11k

Warnings : general sadness, mentions of death and strained family relationships, but holiday fluff to make up for it.

A/n : this was written for @wonderlandmind4's fall winter challenge, thank you for hosting this! (Got carried away with the word count while simultaneously having no inspiration and writing utter shit I'm genuinely sorry about this?????)

"God I hate this damn season and everything about it."

The sound of pebbles aggressively kicked by your foot is drowned out by the driver's door being slammed shut. It echoes around the empty street, morning fog still lingering in the air even in the early afternoon. A white cloud escapes your lips as you sigh, emptying all of your lungs' air before breathing in once again, and your eyes follow the shape — up, up, until it vanishes into the air and you are left staring at a familiar bay window. The curtain moves before you can even begin to turn your gaze away and a curse escapes your lips.

"Think they saw us?" His tone is dripping with irony.

Bucky is leaning against the car, arms crossed against his broad chest and his face as blank as your mind when you try to think about why you chose to do this. In the small moment of contemplation you were having, you didn't even notice him walk around the car and stand next to you.

"Nah, impossible," you say deadpan as a hand waves behind the glass. You stare at it silently before you talk again."We can still make a run for it."

You don't move as Bucky pushes himself off the car and opens the trunk, bags all held in his metal hand. The trunk slams shut and he is already crossing the road leading to the front lawn.

"I was being serious!" You call out, huffing when he turns around and glares at you.

Throwing up your arms and letting them fall back at your sides with a heavy sigh, you begrudgingly lock the car and walk towards the house — it seems so much smaller to you now.

"Of course they put Christmas decorations literally everywhere," you mutter under your breath, suddenly feeling a wave of holiday hatred hitting you at full speed.

Bucky eyes you for a second before knocking on the door, a horrified expression distorting your features when the word wait doesn't get to be voiced out loud. His eyes are more grey than usual, matching the sky, and they hold a twinkle of amusement at the sight of you, mouth open and eyes looking up at the sky as if some sort of alien could possibly appear and whisk you far away from here.

It's intriguing, seeing you this way — in your hometown, nervous about spending Thanksgiving with your parents. Nervous isn't the right word though, because he thinks he has never seen you nervous before ; there are actually a lot of emotions he hasn't seen you display yet. Not that he has a reason to, actually, because he only sees you when you are visiting Sam at their new headquarters, or when you are helping out on a mission. So really, he has only seen you laughing at Sam's jokes, or being angry at armed criminals. And what is left between those two extreme moods are mostly you being silent or passive-agressive — although the passive-aggressiveness is reserved for him, he has noticed.

"Y/N!" Your mother's voice makes you want to wince and you purse your lips, a poor attempt at smiling. Bucky had stepped behind you after having knocked on the door and you are at the forefront of every attack.

Arms feel strange and foreign around you, a warmth you are not used to anymore. You can't really feel your hands as you awkwardly reciprocate the gesture, patting your parents' back as your gaze rests upon the staircase, so many memories rushing to your mind at once.

"Hi," you say simply, taking a step back and crossing your arms. You clear your throat, leaning closer to Bucky, your arm brushing his. This is what a regular person would do, right? "This is James."

You don't really pay attention to the way your mother's arms engulf Bucky — poor guy. Their voices are just noise to you as you step around them and walk to the living room. We have been dying to meet you. Y/N has been keeping you hidden from us for so long. We are so glad to have you here, James. Slow and careful steps, eyes taking it all in — the green walls, the fireplace, the old rug and the stains you've made, the painting you've always found disturbing. It smells just the same. You run your hands across every surface, fingers lingering on cold wood.

"It's a good thing that you're here early. I'll show you to your room and you can settle in, rest a little." You turn around lazily, lids heavy with the weight of nostalgia and old visions. Your mother's hand is resting on Bucky's forearm, probably because his shoulder was out of reach, and he looks at you with an unreadable expression on his face. You wonder if he is uncomfortable being touched like this by your parents or if it is something else. "You must have had a long ride."

Bucky opens his mouth and you cut him off before he can even begin to utter a single word, eyes boring into his with a warning.

"We did. Exhausting. Lots of traffic." You have faked enough yawns in your life to fool even your own parents — then again, how long has it been since they last saw you? And it takes little effort to conclude that you and Bucky will rest in your room for a while before coming down and helping with dinner preparations.

The stairs creak under your feet and you smile a little at the sound. Your room smells like old wood, rays of light playing with dust particles around you. An old fluffy carpet, pastel tones and white walls, very few decoration. Some pictures — pictures of artists you used to like, empty postcards, not personal ones. These ones have been taken off the wall years and years ago.

The mattress dips under your weight as you slump down on your bed, fingers moving on their own to stroke a soft blanket. Bucky closes the door behind him, eyes lingering on the almost empty walls. The thought of you and him in your old room and sharing your bed finally crosses your mind.

"M’gonna go for a walk," you suddenly say, getting up from the bed in a swift movement. You don’t walk towards the door, but towards the window instead.

"O...kay," Bucky drawls out. He watches as you open the window, grunting as it requires some forceful pulling. "Is this a secret code for...I’m gonna jump out the window and die so I can avoid my parents?"

You snicker, closing your eyes and breathing in as the icy air finally hits your face. Tendrils of hair fly around your features and tickle your skin. You turn around, fingers putting your hair back into place, strands tucked behind your ears.

"I wish," you almost don’t add anything, but Bucky looks so utterly lost and confused as you throw a leg outside that you have to. "I used to sneak out of here all the time. It’s safe, there’s a big ledge and then I land on the guest room's balcony."

"When are you getting back?" He only asks, pushing his body off the wall and going to sit down on the spot you were occupying just a minute before.

"In time. Don’t worry," this time you’re fully out of the room, feet expertly walking on the ledge. "If they knock just say I’m asleep." You stop in your tracks, voice louder. "And don’t go through my stuff. I’ll know and I’ll kill you."

Bucky’s still sitting on the bed when you get back, your hair slightly damp and frizzy from the humidity and the small drizzle outside. Cheeks and nose reddened by the cold and eyes brighter now that you have breathed in some fresh air, that isn't the air from New-York, something purer with a familiar smell.

"I’ve been gone two hours. Please tell me you’ve got up at least once," you mock, bending down to untie your shoelaces and avoid making mud stains all over the carpet. This floor has suffered enough over the years.

"No. I’ve been sitting there waiting for you like the good dog that I am." His voice dripping with sarcasm, you roll your eyes. "Told them you were asleep and blocked the door in case they wanted to check on you."

You raise your head slowly, squinting at him.

"So...you talked to them?"

He stares back with a bored expression.

"Yes. I’ve talked to them. I'm spending Thanksgiving with them and sleeping in their house, so I figured maybe I could behave like a civilized person and say hi, you know." You blink. "Plus, I'm your boyfriend." You blink again.

"You didn't have to talk to them so soon. We've got all night," you mumble, now going for your socks.

"I've endured far worse than having a full conversation with someone's parents, Y/N," he chuckles and your smile doesn't reach your eyes.

"Right."

Bucky looks at you, really looks at you. Hands going through your hair and gripping it a little too tight as you try to weave your fingers through knots and tangled strands — wind still raging outside. Dark shadows under your lashes from having rubbed your eyes in exhaustion and forgetting you had mascara on. Jaw ticking every now and then as your eyes bore into an empty spot, and he doesn't know if you are staring at an actual object or at something that only exists in your mind.

"Have they asked anything about us?" You say, sitting down on the floor and next to your travel bag.

"The usual. How we met, how long we’ve been together…that sort of thing."

Your stomach twists and you look up, alarmed.

"Oh god. What did you tell them? I forgot to make something up. We should have discussed this in the car, I just forgot." You run your hands through your tangled hair, again. "Fuck."

"It’s okay," Bucky’s eyes follow your every move as you rummage through your bag to find another top, fingers pulling on a soft black fabric. "I told them we met through Sam. And obviously they knew who he was — who I was, so I assumed they knew about you too." There’s an interrogation in his voice and you simply nod in confirmation. "So we talked about our jobs, mostly."

"Exciting," you comment sardonically. "And how long have we been dating?"

"Told them we started dating before the snap."

You freeze, hands still resting on your black top, a slightly sheer and shiny material you thought would be more festive.

"So…definitely more than five years," you start, and he nods in response. "And...that means I visited Wakanda, right?"

He thinks for a second.

"Right. Yeah."

You hum again.

"Not very practical. I’ve never been to Wakanda."

"Now you have a problem with accuracy?"

You glare at him.

"No. Just saying. We could have met in New-York. Would have been simpler. That's all."

"Right. Two months ago and it was love at first sight so you’re already bringing me home to your parents — whom you haven’t seen in years. Makes sense." You clench your jaw and he raises a brow, sparkling blue eyes taunting you.

Glaring at him one last time, you turn around and face the wall.

"First of all, we didn’t meet two months ago," you start undoing the buttons of the cardigan you are wearing. "I'd definitely remember if I had only been enduring your presence for two months." He scoffs behind you.

You pull your cardigan over your head, tossing it somewhere in the room. Some deodorant and you grab the festive top. Bucky stares at your back for a second, soft skin covered in small beauty spots and old scars, defined muscles in action grabbing his full attention. Your neck, the way your hair brushes up your shoulders, the glimpse at your breasts and the curve of your waist — he focuses his gaze on the window instead. An afternoon sky blanketed by dark grey clouds, a promise of rain and a mirror of what he guesses is an internal turmoil.

"And?"

"And what?" You face him again, fitted dark fabric clinging to your body.

"You said first of all. I’m assuming there’s a second part." Brow quirked and smirk slowly lifting the left corner of his mouth, he watches your face fall.

"There isn’t," he nods, full mocking smile on his lips now. "I actually like using first of all knowing there’s nothing else I have to add. It’s a figure of speech."

He scoffs, shaking his head.

"It’s not."

"It is now," you stand up, brushing your hands against your thighs. You are now dressed in all black and it looks like you are going on a mission. You are, somehow. "Are you gonna change for tonight?"

"What, is it that ugly?" Bucky looks down at his outfit.

Fitted blue sweater and black jeans with dark combat boots. You know he had cut his hair right after...everything, but it has grown out again and you’re surprised to find curls. You don’t notice him looking up, instead keeping your eyes fixed upon the blue of his sweater and the way it hugs his chest. He clears his throat and you meet his gaze — curious.

"No, it’s not," you force a smile. "It’s very nice, actually. Brings out your eyes." You sigh, turning around and grabbing your toilet bag and makeup.

"I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me or not right now," Bucky frowns. Isn’t it part of the job description to know whether people are being genuine or not? Aren’t spies supposed to know that kind of thing? He never can tell with you. Everything you say has that kind of monotonous tone and it's either ironic or deadly serious.

You let out a light chuckle as you enter the bathroom. "I’m not making fun of you, Barnes. Blue looks good on you."

You stare at your reflection for a second. Pale skin and dark circles, the remnants of a fight barely visible because your hair is hiding the last remaining scar. The door to the bathroom was left open and you catch Bucky’s gaze in the mirror.

He busies himself with his bag, going through his stuff and deeming perfume to be the only necessary adjustment to his current state. Fingers scratching an unshaven throat, he calls out your name, meeting your eyes again in the mirror. You only hum.

"Should I call you babe for the weekend?"

Your hand halts mid-air, makeup brush just a few centimeters away from your skin.

"What?"

"Well. We’re selling this thing. What about PDA, that sort of thing?"

You laugh again, and this time it sounds really genuine to him. High and full of disbelief.

"Didn’t think you were familiar with the term PDA," you shake your head to yourself while he rolls his eyes. "But to answer your question — " you turn to look directly at him, complexion brighter and cheeks rosier. "— call me babe and you won't live to see another day. "

"Why have someone pretend to be your boyfriend if you're just gonna act like he's your friend?"

"Barnes. You think you have to exchange saliva with me in front of my parents for them to believe we’re together? Me bringing you here is already huge, trust me."

He stares at your back. Dropping the subject.

"Should I shave?" You don't need to look at him to answer confidently.

"No. I love a man with a stubble."

You finish your makeup in silence as he lays on the bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking about the dinner that awaits him. He is curious about you and your family. Not a lot of people in this field still have their parents, or at least are being honest about what they do for a living. But mostly he is curious about you, someone he has been getting used to working or training with, but not holding casual conversations or doing simple things.

A week earlier

Bucky raises a brow as Sam answers his phone. It’s eight in the morning and they just returned from their morning job, among fog and drizzle, the sun slowly rising over New York City and filtering through Central Park's trees and half-empty branches. It is not as cold as it should be for this time of the year, but he can still feel the early morning air biting at his face, even inside the apartment. Sometimes after a run he has breakfast with Sam, when they haven’t bickered so much on the way over that Bucky decided to run home instead.

"I cannot deal with this amount of bad energy in the morning. Come over," Sam laughs and Bucky stares at his mug of coffee while his mind goes though every possibility.

And when Sam opens the door and you step in, he goes back to staring at his mug, only watching your every move from the corner of his eye. You do look agitated for someone who probably woke up less than an hour ago.

"I can’t." The new Captain America shakes his head and you grab him by the shoulders, hands looking so small.

"Sam. I wasn’t asking. This is not an option."

"We’re having a Thanksgiving dinner at the VA, I can’t ditch the guys," he says and you groan, head thrown back.

You plop down on a bar stool, the one across Bucky, and you only nod at him as a hello. He rolls his eyes — typical. He is hunched over the kitchen counter, plate of pancakes drowned in maple syrup placed in front of him. You stare as he picks up his fork and knife and starts eating, following every mouthful with empty eyes.

He almost opens his mouth to snap at you before you slightly shake your head and turn to the window to your left. The beginning of fall doesn't feel like it is supposed to — yellows and oranges and reds could be a palette of grey and you wouldn't even notice the difference. It's not the same anymore.

"Why do you absolutely have to bring someone anyway?" You sigh as Sam asks.

"They think I have a long-time partner."

"Why would they think you have a long-time partner when I've never even seen you hold a conversation with a guy?" Bucky comments.

"First of all, you've been gone five years. I'd shut up if I were you." You scowl, lips almost curling up in anger when you whirl around to glare at him. "Second of all, you're not exactly a god in that area either."

"Well I have been gone for five years, I've got an excuse," he shrugs with a smirk and you eye the table where they are sitting at, pastries and pancakes, fruits and hot beverages, full glasses. "Throw that glass of water at my face and I'll kill you."

You hold his gaze for a second and purse your lips, eyes turning away as you sit down and rest your elbows on the wooden surface, permanent frown etched on your face.

"They think they've missed five years of my life, I had a moment of…weakness. Didn't have the heart to tell them I was still single." You look out the window again. The wind howls loudly and a chill runs across your spine even though you're perfectly warm inside. "I think I'm gonna say he died."

You don't pay attention to the small beat of silence that follows your sentence — a silence that is interrupted by Bucky's fork scratching against his plate. You scowl at him.

"You're gonna say what now?"

You shrug at Sam.

"Then I don't have to explain why we broke up. And since I will spend years recovering my mom won't think of bothering me with boyfriend talk for a while." Which seems like a rather logical and practical plan to you, underserving of such funny looks.

"You can't just make up someone and then say they died, Y/N."

"I don't see why not. A lot of people have died recently, I can easily get away with it." The way you speak and shrug, it's all innocent and casual, but your words leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

Sam and Bucky exchange a look and stare at each other for a second as if a simple blink was enough for them to communicate their exact thoughts. You almost feel jealous.

"Just take someone else. I’m sure some of your friends have nothing to do on Thanksgiving."

Something heavy settles on your chest as you think of the people you would have loved to take home to your parents. Tony would have been impressive — albeit older and, well, married with a child. But your parents would have been starstruck. And Natasha would have seduced them right away. One foot into the threshold and they would have swooned at her feet, hanging onto her every word. Steve would have made the perfect boyfriend — the ideal american sweetheart, thoughtful and selfless, not the kind of person who would let you down. Not the kind of person who would leave everything behind.

When your silence has stretched for a little too long, you clear your throat, tightening your hold around a steaming cup of tea that you assumed was meant for you. Sam is now sitting next to you and you hadn't even realized he had moved while contemplating how lonely your life was. Bucky is staring at you with an unreadable expression and you shrug, again.

"I don't really have anyone else to bring. But that's okay. I'll stick to my story," you give Sam a woeful smile. "They'll think I'm sad and avoid annoying me for the whole evening so really I couldn't ask for a better story."

You stretch your arm in order to reach the plate of pancakes, but your fingers barely graze it. Bucky silently pushes it towards you and you simply purse your lips. It looks like a smile, right? Drowning your pancakes in syrup just like he did five minutes ago, you sit up straighter and exhale. Then your tone changes. "Anyway."

Sam crosses his arms and nods at Bucky. Blue eyes fixed upon the dark-skinned man’s face, he already knows.

"Bucky doesn’t have anything planned for Thanksgiving," he starts and you keep chewing. "You should take him. I’m told he’s great boyfriend material."

You slowly look up, skeptic look on your face.

"I feel like you could sabotage me at dinner and I do not want that. The whole thing’s annoying enough as it is."

He shrugs. Too bad. Sam’s eyes are getting bigger and bigger and Bucky sighs, setting his fork on the counter and leaning back. The leather squeaks under his weight and he clears his throat. The noise makes you raise your head and you look at him curiously.

"I’ll behave."

You stay silent for a little while as Bucky raises his eyebrows expectantly. Is he better than making up someone and then saying they died? You think about it, and the chance of your mother not leaving you alone and looking at you with pity instead suddenly crosses your mind. Not good. Not your plan.

"Okay," you resign. Your pancakes don’t taste as good as they did before you said yes. Bucky and you have probably exchanged ten full sentences ever since you met, and they weren’t necessarily sweet. It is not that you don’t get along or fight — you work well together, actually. But he’s not your friend either. And sometimes, most of the time, you can’t help but feel something akin to anger build up in your chest when you look at him and see Steve instead.

The table is pretty. Red and green, matching the decorations hung upon the fireplace and all over the house. Candles and elegant wine glasses. Christmas tree already up in the back of the living room, which you can still see from your spot at the table. The flickering lights and glittering garlands are a welcomed distraction to the people actually sitting in front of you, and you can't even remember the last time you had dinner with your parents. So formal.

You notice your mother stealing a glance at you before she fully turns her body towards Bucky. Fuck. You try to shoot her a warning glance but her sweet smile is already into place and there is nothing you can do except watch. You knew appetizers and amuse-bouches and your comments about their incredible taste would not be enough to keep the conversation from turning more personal, but you didn't think it would be so soon.

"You know, this is the first Thanksgiving Y/N is spending with us." Bucky quirks a brow and you scoff in disbelief.

"This isn't true. I have distinct memories of yelling and burnt turkey. Where else would that be?" You deadpan, hand moving towards your glass before stopping mid-air, a single drop of red wine left starring back at you.

You hold back a groan, eyes flickering between the glass and the bottle. Should you maybe wait before getting a refill and not get any comments from your parents?

"I meant, this is the first Thanksgiving you're willingly spending with us. You were sixteen last time," your mother's voice holds the same irony, but hers is sad while yours sounds angry. Bucky steals a quick glance at you without ever moving his head, and smiles sweetly at your mother, as if trying to make up for your attitude. "Are you still in touch with your parents, James?"

"Oh god," you groan, hand on your forehead. "Mother."

You decide that possibly getting a comment about your drinking habits is worth it if drinking means not feeling this crushing weight of shame, embarrassment, and everything else. Bucky looks down at your arm as it emerges right in front of him — you don't spare him a glance, fingers curling up around the bottle and the sound of wine filling up your glass grows higher and higher until you stop. Even this can't drown out the conversation. Your dad's voice echoes from the other room, footsteps drawing closer.

"Sweetie, I think you're forgetting how old James is."

You don't watch as Bucky probably smiles softly at your dad, then at your mom, and says it's fine. Red wine is pretty when it is swirling in a moving glass — it reminds you of fall, leaves twirling in the wind, the red lipstick you're wearing, but mostly blood.

Your mother is babbling out apologies and reaching out for Bucky's hand across the table and he is being so gentle and patient it makes you want to shake him by the shoulders and yell at him for being so good to them.

"We only heard from Y/N six months ago, actually."

"Well, you were gone before, so," you mutter, regretting every single choice that has lead you to this moment. Bucky perks up, eyes going quickly between your closed face and your parents, eyebrows drawing in a compassionate frown. Man, is he good at this.

"Were you both…taken by the snap?"

You sigh, turning your head to look out the window while Bucky and your parents talk about their shared experience, finger tracing the rim of your glass over and over again. For some the light around them and their alternate universe was all blue, others say it was a sort of ethereal shade of green. Some have non memory whatsoever of the whole experience and you wonder what it would have been like for you. You think that a minute in a world on literal fire would have been better than five years in the real one.

Natasha's world is probably made out of purple and red — you hear this is how Vormir looked. Pretty.

The rain suddenly hitting the bay window snaps you out of your quiet moment of contemplation. It was left slightly open and the sound of the wind blowing through swaying trees lulls your for a second, eyes unfocused.

Your name echoes around the dining room again and your gaze snaps to that of your mother.

"What?" You say in a sigh.

"Nothing!" Her tone is unusually high. "I was just explaining to your boyfriend how we reunited. You visiting us when everyone came back." She looks at Bucky again. "It was a big surprise."

You don’t meet his gaze, instead resting your elbows on the table and nuzzling your face in the palms of your hands. You probably should have kept being a ghost.

"A good one, I bet?" He keeps his tone light.

Your mom goes on about how they have missed you all this time and you resume playing with your glass. And maybe refill it a few times.

"Oh. We saw the ceremony you had for Steve Rogers with Captain...Captain America. It was very moving." Your dad tells Bucky with a compassionate frown and you purse your lips. You almost want to put your hand on Bucky’s shoulder — his hand, his thigh, anything to give him some sort of comfort, but you can’t bring yourself to move your own hand. Everything feels really heavy.

In your opinion, it’s actually a good thing that Steve died so soon. He had first been a man out of time when he woke up in 2011, and managed to adapt. Even said he wouldn’t go back because the past was the past. Right. But coming back an old man, having lived another full life while your friends remain the same? This wasn’t right, for anyone. With Tony and Natasha gone, you would rather have Steve be gone as well. Can’t really move on if something is still holding you back — now they’re all definitely gone.

Your chair scratches the wooden floor as you stand up on almost-wobbly legs.

"M’gonna check on the turkey." Your voice doesn’t even sound like your own and your throat hurts.

Voices are drown out as you close the kitchen door, back resting against it for a moment. The room is hot even though the window has been left open. You breathe in and out slowly, taking in the smell of pies and spices. You walk towards the window, slowly, taking it all in as you calm down. Nothing is in its usual place. Scattered utensils over every surface, traces of flour and sugar on the table and bottles which haven't been closed. Something makes you jump and it's a pan is overflowing.

There are only a few seconds left on the oven's timer. Pan situation under control, oven gloves on both hands, you think maybe cooking more for yourself would take your mind off things. You almost sigh in contentment as the warmth from the plate spreads through your hands, arms and even radiates through your chest.

All sorts of pies litter the kitchen table, cinnamon, clove and ginger invading your senses. All of you is consumed by spices and sounds of domestic life and it looks so homey but you can't bring yourself to feel at home. This whole day has been like being in a dream, floating through life, childhood and Thanksgiving memories like an intruder. Seeing yourself move around but not being able to control or truly touch anything.

You see yourself with the turkey between your gloved-hand, red lipstick and pretty outfit hugging your body. You see yourself ten years ago, dressed in a red dress and hair cascading down your back, laughing hysterically as you set a turkey down on a large wooden table, candles lighting up your friends' eyes. Seven years ago, in that deep green jumpsuit — the color of Natasha's eyes, Tony had said all night. Six years ago, in that matching Christmas jumper and soft socks in which you kept slipping on the cabin's floor. Five years ago and the years following the snap when everything was dark and hopeless and you had lost so much but you still had Natasha and Tony and Steve.

Every single bittersweet Thanksgiving memory plays out right before your blurry eyes, like a film. A compilation of every celebration shared between loved ones, your chosen family. And it feels so lonely without your best friends and half of the team you used to be.

Your hands shake as you go to set the plate down on the kitchen table — it's greasy and slippery and your hands are starting to burn so you don't even feel the glove slowly slipping.

Fuck.

It takes a moment to be fully registered.

"Fuck!"

On the other side of the door, Bucky’s cough is enough to cover a string of colorful curses and the cracks and tears in your voice. Your hands are as wet as your cheeks and you drop to your knees, muttering shit shit and shit all over again under your breath.

The plate clatters against the floor as you set it beside the turkey. Too loud. The minute your mother enters this kitchen you are a dead woman. "Shit."

Footsteps draw closer and heavier and you curse again, hands greasy and knees hurting from hitting the tiles. Somehow your fingers won’t grasp the turkey’s correctly and it keeps slipping back to the floor.

The door creaks open and you whirl around, eyes wide open and a strings of excuses ready. But Bucky stands here, hands in his back closing the door behind him and keeping anyone from seeing what is happening inside the kitchen. Mouth agape and tear tracks probably visible on your face, you finally close your mouth to gulp, turning your back to him and breathing in and out as quietly as possible.

Which is probably not quiet enough for someone whose ears are more than human.

You sniffle. Bucky stares at your back, hand still securing the doorknob. He doesn’t really know how to proceed with you, so he takes a few quiet steps forward. He clears his throat.

"I just heard a ten pound turkey hit the ground and also very strong words. Do you need help?"

This is so stupid.

"Bucky. The turkey’s on the floor. Literally."

"Yeah. I can see that," he eyes you, gauging your expression. Your eyes are dead set on the animal and hands still hovering over it, not quite stable. "It’s okay. They won’t know. I made noise when you dropped it."

"You did?" Your voice is smaller than usual and he bats your hands away from the turkey, grabbing it with his metal hand.

"Yeah. Coughed so hard your mom almost stood up to keep me from choking." You gape at him. He smiles at your stunned expression and the turkey is back in its plate, looking perfectly normal. Your hands are still greasy and you don't know what to do with them.

"Hey," Bucky's voice is softer than it usually is. Or maybe you never really noticed it was soft in the first place. "Look at me."

You change positions and rest your back against a cupboard, closing your eyes for a second before re-opening them. Crouching down to your level, he studies your face as you wipe off remaining tears with your sleeve. Flushed cheeks and quivering lips, wet lashes and a crease between your eyebrows. You hold his gaze for what seems like an eternity. There is a kind of intensity, determination in his eyes as he searches into yours. You aren't sure what he is looking for — maybe he is trying to find the right words, but eventually he just sighs and fully sits down in front of you. He is probably annoyed.

You bite down on your lip as your throat swells again, sudden shame washing over you. Having a meltdown is not something you do. Not when you are on your own, not in front of your friends and certainly not in front of a friend of a friend, even when his presence has become something usual and almost comforting to you as you hide it between rolled eyes and silence. Sometimes it's nice to visit Sam and have a trio again, even if it is not the trio you are used to. When you close your eyes and listen to the voices around you or when your vision is hazy, the mere idea of feeling surrounded is already comforting.

"M'sorry, this is stupid," you mutter, throwing your head back to have it rest against the cupboard. The bang echoes in your ears and Bucky slides a bit closer.

"It's okay," he shrugs. "Take your time."

He is so gentle in everything that he does. It's in the way he looks at you, eyes searching into yours but never once displaying pity, as if everything was perfectly normal. It isn't to you, but he seems so relaxed and unbothered. The way he speaks softly and expresses nothing but patience and serenity, the way his flesh hand slowly moves closer to your leg and almost hovers above your skin.

You sigh, head banging against the cupboard again, and spread your legs a little bit further. The right one brushes against his limb and he hesitates for a moment. Another look at you and his hand is resting on your calf. The warmth seeps through your black jeans and at this particular moment it comes back to you that you used to love being touched.

"I can't believe I dropped the fucking turkey," you say flatly. Bucky blinks slowly at you, the only proof that he heard you. He doesn't think he should talk and break your train of thoughts right now. "This isn't…what I normally do. On Thanksgiving. I've never spent Thanksgiving here. I mean, after I moved out."

Bucky's fingers move slowly against your leg, a sense of satisfaction washing over him as you start talking. You purse your lips, somehow wanting to keep your mouth shut but feeling oddly relaxed to be sitting on the floor with his thumb brushing over your jeans-clad skin. You look down, eyes following his fingers before focusing on your own, still numbly resting at your side.

"Yeah, that's what your mom was saying earlier," Bucky nods, eying your hands as well.

On your left, there is this hook with towels hanging from it. His arm is long enough for him to grab one without having to get up. You don't respond, instead staring at the tiles and the space between your legs. You don't seem to notice when he hands you the towel, so he slowly moves his flesh hand towards yours. The loss of warmth makes you look down to your calf, stomach dropping a little when his fingers aren't dancing on your skin anymore.

"What do you usually do for Thanksgiving?"

You blink. He grabs your arms, hands sliding from your forearm to your wrist, thumb resting on your pulse point longer than he should. Then his hands are cupping yours, gently turning your palms upwards. There is this small beat of silence and tension where both of you are looking at your almost intertwined hands as if you were not their owners, as if they were moving on their own and you could only watch as this unfolded before your eyes.

Should he let go?

"I always spend it with Natasha." Your voice breaks the moment. His gaze snaps up but you're staring into the void again. "We have this tradition." You blink. Once, twice. Slowly, kind of like a cat. "Had. We used to rent a cabin, somewhere remote and snowy, and Tony used to come as well. Well, before he had Morgan. Then we used to come to his house and have this big dinner with him and Pepper, sometimes Clint and his family."

Your gaze drops to your hand in his, one holding it up and the other wiping the oily substance away. Every movement seems so soft and gentle it makes your brain go fuzzy for a second.

"That sounds really nice." Bucky comments softly, going for the other hand.

"Steve came sometimes," you add, and he quirks a brow in surprise. "When everyone was taken away. Sometimes he held a little something at the VA, but we had him over once or twice." You nod. "It was nice."

Bucky simply nods. Your hands don't shine with turkey grease anymore, and it physically pains him to let go of your hands. For a second he thinks you are about to hold his tighter and keep him from prying off his fingers, but his ears suddenly pick up movement, and the way his posture visibly changes makes you snap out of it. Back straighter, eyes wider, shoulders squared.

"Shit."

He is quicker than you and stands near the door to tell your mom that the turkey’s ready — you’re on your feet again even if you have to grip the counter’s edge for a second so your legs don't give out under your weight. His body is blocking your mother's view of the kitchen and you can only hear her voice.

"Look at her, making us Thanksgiving dinner with her boyfriend," she tells your dad and you snicker.

"Look at her making us eat a turkey she dropped on the floor!" You singsong, pressing the heel of your hands to your cheeks as you try to make the red disappear.

"Now this is girlfriend material," Bucky mocks. The door is closed again and he takes a few steps towards you, the turkey being right next to where your hand is set.

You laugh at the absurdity of the situation and he smiles. He is only a foot away from you and you wonder if the warmth you are feeling is real or if it is your imagination, your mind and chest aching for comfort again. Touch is a vicious and dangerous thing when you can still feel it linger on your skin well after it is gone.

Metal hand reaching for the plate and body almost trapping you against the counter while you fix your gaze on anything but him, Bucky freezes for a moment — he meant to grab the plate and turn around, but this does feel intimate.

"Hey," he breaks the silence and you have to look up. In this instant, you want to take a mental picture and remember exactly how he looks. Light shining into his eyes, illuminated the tip of his perfectly carved nose and cheekbones. Pink lips parted and tongue swiping over them. Could this be nervousness?

You raise your chin, biting the inside of your cheek and fighting to maintain eye-contact. He is so close that you cannot help but being distracted by his smell, the way your chests would touch if you just pushed yourself off the counter, the way you want to feel cornered and caged if it means resting your cheek against his chest and having his arms around you.

Fuck.

"You gonna be okay?"

You wonder if his senses can pick up your internal turmoil. If he can hear your heart hammering against your ribcage, the quickened and shaky breaths. You fold your arms and hug yourself, a poor attempt at gaining back some control over yourself.

"M'fine," you mutter. He doesn't look convinced and still hasn't moved. You lower your head, the remnants of previous haircut mistakes and bangs falling over your eyes. "Really."

"Yeah?"

You look up again, mustering up a smile.

"Yeah. A little meltdown can work wonders for a girl."

He chuckles and you have never wanted to kiss anyone this badly in your entire life, but you blame it on the emotional rollercoaster this day has been. You almost flinch as Bucky raises his hand but exhale as his fingers graze your cheeks, moving your hair out of your eyes.

Your mother calls your name and you sigh. Bucky brings out the turkey and you set the side dishes on the table, carefully avoiding the candles and almost squishing a green garland. It's a perfect picture, you and him stepping out of the kitchen in tandem and smiling down at your parents as they congratulate you on the turkey — this is probably a picture you had in mind as a child. Something out of a romantic comedy.

You sit down and Bucky's hands linger on your shoulders, thumbs stroking exposed skin and your neck. You raise your head, leaning back in your chair to meet his gaze. Should you put your hand on his? Should you smile and gaze lovingly at him — isn't that what you are already doing? He bents down, softly kissing your cheek, lips ghosting over your ear.

"Let's sell this thing, shall we?"

You step out of the bathroom, silky pajamas hugging your figure and wet hair sending shivers down your back. You sigh heavily, feeling the need to seek warmth but not having enough energy. Your arms are at your sides and your bare feet have a hard time moving.

Bucky stares at the carpet as drops of water trickle down your hair and slowly form a dark spot at your feet. His gaze travels back to your face, eyebrow quirked. You look absolutely drained, with your lips slightly parted and the way you blink slowly, as if your eyelids weighted tons.

"If they ask us to stay for lunch tomorrow," you begin, slowly approaching the bed. "Please say we have a mission."

Bucky gives you a small nod. You sit down on the bed or rather let your body drop unceremoniously and lay down, hands on your stomach and eyes glued to the white ceiling. The mattress moves with Bucky and you hear him rest his back on the bed's head. Creaky wood that won't stop making noise.

"Well," Bucky starts, looking down at your form. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

You slowly peel your gaze off the ceiling, body and face still as your gaze moves to his face, his eyes already on yours.

"I don't have the strength to answer you right now."

His shoulder shake and so does the bed. You groan.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"No."

"Why did you decide to contact your parents after all this time?"

"Did you hear me say no?"

He gives you a half shrug and you sigh, rolling so you are lying on your stomach, elbows propped up on the mattress. Bucky knows this means you are going to talk, and he sits up straighter, intrigued.

"Everyone was gone," you say simply, fingers drumming mindlessly on your cheek. "It was…utter and complete chaos everywhere. You're lucky you didn't get to see it. Just to go out in the streets, enter a coffee shop and see the look on people's faces…" You don't finish your sentence, eyes fixed upon Bucky's torso but mind miles away from your room. His shoulders sag as he takes in your expression. "And I felt lucky I still had Natasha, and Steve. And Tony. I was so lucky compared to others — sometimes I helped Steve out with his therapy meetings and I just…hearing about other people's loss…I wondered about my parents, somehow. I drove all the way up here and the house was so silent and empty, I just knew." You shrug, lowering your gaze to numbly observe the patterns on your sheets. "We've never been close, and I thought I didn't care about them the way I've always felt like they didn't care about me, but when I realized they weren't here anymore…they're still my parents, you know?" Not expecting you to look up at him, Bucky is at a loss for words when you bite your lip and go silent as if you were waiting for an answer.

You swallow thickly.

"So when everyone came back, I had this urge to make sure they did too. And now we're here," you purse your lips. "Not sure this was a good idea."

Sometimes you think contacting them was a mistake. Yes, you felt an incommensurable sense of loss, standing in this empty house with the wooden floor creaking underneath your feet, dust flying and twirling around you, your reflection staring mockingly at you whenever you passed a mirror. Too late. Visiting your childhood home was the moment it all came rushing back to you ; the moment your mind finally caught up with reality and you simply crumbled. Orphan, half of your friends turned into dust, a whole world of shades of grey and not an ounce of hope. But spending Thanksgiving here doesn't give you the comfort or closure you thought it would. Being here and feeling like a stranger in your own home, bringing a fake boyfriend, having to sit through celebrations when there is nothing left to celebrate on this earth for you.

"They looked happy to see you."

Your chest tightens for a moment. It's somewhere between guilt and longing.

"Yeah, I guess," you give him a half shrug. Your face is resting right next to his thighs and you stare for a moment. Another barely perceptible movement and the headboard squeaks again. You almost let your face fall on his thighs when heavily groaning. He laughs and it gets worse.

"Well at least it's gonna be easy to convince them we really are a couple, right babe?" He says, deadpan. You look up at him through your lashes, sly smile on your face, a force of habit. Striking blue eyes staring back at you, perfectly sculpted face and a smirk on his plump lips. It would be so easy to pretend this is a normal scene from a domestic life. The creases around your mouth disappears as you blink a sort of haze away.

The moment passes and you busy yourself with the laptop you brought, while Bucky stalks to the bathroom. The sound of water running manages to soothe you, weight on your chest slowly dwindling and breaths coming in lighter. It's a white noise lulling you to sleep. You lazily brush your hair and slide into bed, covers pulled to your chin and body stiff as the cold from the sheets seep into your bones for a long moment.

The shower curtain rattles, bottles clink against the sink and water runs again with the sound of a toothbrush. You turn on your side, chin tucked to your chest and arms under your pillows, scared to stretch out your legs and meet a biting cold again. The bathroom door opens and you relish the very small amount of warm steam reaching you.

The bed dips and you keep your eyes closed.

"You sure you don't want me out of your bed?" You don't know how many times he has asked this question. You only hum, too tired to voice your thoughts out loud. You feel the covers being lifted and shiver — could it be his thigh brushing against yours?

His mere nearness already warms the bed up and you silently thank a higher presence for the super soldier serum.

"God you're like a personal heater," you mutter, faced squished against your pillow, body moving closer to his on its own until warmth has engulfed you and you can finally extend your legs, feet reaching the end of the bed.

"Mh, I get that a lot," you feel his chest rumble next to you and you hum in response, something between contentment and an attempt to hide a blooming sensation in your chest.

You get closer again, face now pressed against his arm, cheek to warm and toned flesh. It doesn't take long for his arm to move, a frown etched on your features before they ease up again as he guides your face to his chest. An arm snaking around your shoulders and holding you closer, a chest rising and falling with deep and even breaths, a back and forth that rocks you.

You can't even remember the last time you felt this at peace. This warm and safe, arms secured around you like a cocoon, the smell of your childhood and his cologne mixing together. And it hits your half-asleep brain that you had craved this all along, all those years of darkness and loss.

"M'sorry," you murmur, your lips moving against his chests and your words barely discernible. "Just really need this right now."

His fingers linger on your back, hand sliding down to rest on your waist. Squeezing, thumb stroking your skin, fingers tracing random shapes. You shift, your own arm laying on his stomach, almost hugging him like a pillow or a big stuffed animal. Fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt like a reflex, legs tangling with his.

"It's okay." His voice is smooth, quiet. "Me too."

Eyes bleary and squinting to adjust to the light, you hold on to the banister as you wobble down the stairs. Voices echo around the living room and you frown. It's only eight.

You still as Bucky's laugh reaches your ears and hurry down the remaining steps. The morning light shines through the windows, surprisingly blue and clear skies facing you. Red and green lights dance around the living room's walls, reflections from the Christmas Tree's decoration. Lips parted in awe, you linger for a moment. The atmosphere is different from last night, it feels lighter. It's not just that the downpour has been replaced by a blue sky and what seems to be a perfect fall day — ice cold but the sun still shining. You feel lighter.

"Hey." You whirl around. You didn't notice Bucky approaching you. Coking his head to the side, he looks at you with an unreadable expression. "You planning on spending the day standing here?"

"Tempting," you give him a half shrug, and he extends his flesh hand towards you, palm up and inviting.

"We made breakfast," he says as you rest you put your hand in his warily.

"We?"

The smell of bacon hits you when you enter the dining room, a table full of pancakes and pies greeting you. Steaming cups of coffee, a teapot — Bucky discreetly tugs you closer to him, hot breath on your cheek.

"You prefer tea in the morning, right?" It is whispered as not to draw suspicions towards the fact that he knows nothing about you, but it takes you a moment to recover from the initial surprise of the gesture. You nod numbly, eyes fixed upon your intertwined fingers. When did you say it was okay for PDA?

The conversation flows more easily in the morning, the sight of a table this impressive and Bucky's touch lifting your spirits. You think life could be this easy all the time. This tranquil and domestic, a good night's sleep with someone and pancakes waiting for you in the morning. You smile as you talk about some of your most confusing missions, as you and Bucky tell stories about Sam. Albeit a bit pained, but it's something.

Leaving your parents after breakfast isn't as satisfying as you thought it would be, and you give warmer hugs than what you gave last night.

You sigh when the driver's door closes, sinking into your seat and resting your forehead against the cool window. The landscape is an orange blur, the sound of the wind blowing around the car loud enough for the radio to be useless. When you are in the city again, the car slows down and you are stuck in traffic. Bucky's hand reaches out to switch the radio on and you turn slightly in your seat, body leaning towards his.

"I was a bitch to you," you state without any warning and he snorts, looking at you with a confused expression. "When we first met."

"Oh," his raises his brows high, as if in absolute agreement.

"You just reminded me of Steve," you say softly. "And I hated him for leaving. Still do, sometimes." you think, frown etched on your features. "Most of the time. But it wasn't fair to you and I'm sorry."

He turns his head towards you, a simple nod to you. You fold your hands on your lap, chest lighter now that you have said it out loud. He clears his throat and you look at him again. Sun reflecting on his sparkling eyes, a smile pushing its way onto his lips. Genuine, soft. You find yourself returning the gesture naturally — no pursed or tight lips, no physical pain in your cheeks.

"And this was nice," you add quietly.

"It's not that we haven't talked," you roll your eyes, nursing a drink of champagne and crossing the bal room with Sam at your side. Voice louder than usual, eyelids and lips glittering, your heels click against the floor and you side step dancing couples.

It's quieter near the Christmas Tree. Well, near the bar.

"So you have talked?" Sam sets his empty glass on the bar counter and asks for a refill with a simple tilt of the head. Perks of being Captain America, surely. You lean against the cold marble, in-between the stools, huffing.

"No, we didn't," you repeat for what is probably the third time.

"Man, this isn't going anywhere," Sam shakes his head, eyes skimming over the crowd. You do the same.

"That's what I told when you insisted on starting this conversation, Wilson."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever," he grumbles before taking another sip of his drink. You give in with a half shrug and a sigh.

"We just haven't had a reason to, Sam, don't read too much into it," you say casually. "No missions, no meeting…"

"Right. And the fact that you haven't been to our headquarters in a month."

"Well, as I said. No mission, no meeting," you raise your eyebrows. "You think I'm gonna drive all the way up there to say hi and prove you that everything is fine?"

"I was expecting this kind of commitment to the team, yes," Sam sighs dramatically and you return to your bubbly drink.

The song switches to Mariah Carey and a chorus of cheers erupts from the room, almost making you physically wince. Hands in the air, feet jumping up and down and literally making the room shake, every vibration felt deep in your chest.

"Now this is a song I haven't heard today."

Sam snickers.

"Here we go. Was wondering when you were gonna ruin the mood."

"Hey!" You head whirls around, mouth open. Brown eyes twinkling with amusement, eyebrows barely raised, the kind of satisfaction you get when you want to say I told you so. "You have to admit that this is getting redundant." You are definitely not to blame here — surely more there are more than three Christmas songs in the world?

"It's Christmas."

"Yes, I'm painfully of aware." Someone falls on the dance floor and you judge them silently. You and Sam probably look intimidating as both of you are leaning against the bar, glass in hand and chins raised. "Plus it took me more than an hour to…" You trail off, a sudden glint drawing your attention to the entrance of the room, right across from the bar. "…get here."

Sam follows your line of sight. Through a flurry of red figures, glittery and twinkling dresses twirling around with every move and laughter mixed with animated chatter and pop songs, a dark figure parts the crowd and makes its way towards the bar. Something akin to slow-motion happens in your brain. Completely unprepared for something you had been thinking about for days. Not days. Weeks.

Your chest rumbles with the rhythm of the song, matching each beat of the drums. It helps you cover up the fact that your heart is violently pounding against your ribcage and that he can probably hear it. Hell, Steve could probably hear it from his grave — this thought makes you blink, a semblance of composure coming back to your face.

"Hey man!" Sam happily greets his friend, patting him on the back. "Happy Christmas Eve." His hand lingers, squeezing Bucky's shoulder. His gaze is warm and the silent eye-contact you two share when your eyes travel above Bucky's shoulder is a way of wishing you the same. Playful face merging into something sincere. Jolly songs contrasting with the sad look in your eyes and the woeful smiles you three have plastered on your face. Civilians like to call this night the first Christmas into a normal life again. Their old life.

"Hi," Bucky greets you, a little breathless, and you wonder if he took the stairs to get here.

Sam is whisked away by a politician and you remember that he is here as Captain America and therefore is on duty. Champagne has never looked prettier, swirling in your glass as you try to focus on anything else but the man ordering a drink beside you.

"How have you been?" He asks, mimicking your exact posture and taking a first sip of a scotch. You cast him a side glance. There's a scratch above his left eyebrow and you wonder why no one told you about this mission or called for backup.

"You mean, have I lost my goddamn mind in the kitchen again and thrown a poor animal on the floor?" He chuckles. Your eyes travel down his face and his midnight blue suit for a moment. Too long, and he notices. "Nope. I'm good."

He nods, then tilts his head to the side. His once-over is even less subtle than yours and you bury your face into your glass, not knowing where to look anymore. Shit. This was easier when you just bumped into him on your way to see Sam or simply shared missions with him — no small talk, no information on each other, nothing.

Thanksgiving was supposed to be unpleasant. And it was — bleak, gloomy, melancholic. But he wasn't.

"Care to dance?"

Your head snaps up towards him. You laugh, the rest of your drink downed in a second. Bucky stands up straighter — finishing a drink means being freeing oneself from having to hold a glass, right?

"I don't dance, Barnes."

"You don't?" You shake your head, already lifting a hand to motion for another drink. He steps around the bar stool that was previously keeping you apart, the smell of cologne and aftershave hitting your senses.

"I don't. Certainly not on Christmas songs."

He turns his head towards the crowd, chest rising as he breathes in deeply. The room does look pretty. Golden, red and green. Trees and fake wrapped gifts on the floor, fairy lights cascading down the windows and giving a kind of ethereal glow to everything and everyone standing here. It makes looks softer, eyes lighter. A couple captures everyone's attention ; skillfully dancing on every single song and adapting to every tempo. Their smiles are so bright that your lips quirk up a little without you even noticing it. It is radiant and contagious and for a moment they are all you can see.

A small gasp gets stuck in your throat when Bucky steps in front of you, breaking your focus on the dance floor. How did he get so close?

He offers you his hand, palms up and inviting. You remember how they felt on Thanksgiving.

"Bucky, I…really can't dance," you shake your head, lips parted.

"C'mon. No one cares."

He doesn't wait for you to place your hand in his, but simply grabs it, fingers naturally intertwining as if they had been designed to fit together. You open your mouth to argue, but all that escapes your mouth is a chuckle. An incredulous and surprised chuckle — almost a giggle but it hurts to admit it, eyes flitting over the crowd and the people surrounding you. Are they looking? Are they seeing what you are seeing?

He tugs on your hand and it is a slow song that echoes around the room, two bodies felling in step and gliding across the glittering floor. You hide your surprise at the way he leads you effortlessly — you had heard stories about his days in the forties and you suppose this is what he mastered to woo the dames. A warm hand in yours and the other firmly placed around your waist, drawing you close to his chest. You wrap an arm around his neck, fingernails tingling his skin.

"Is this Bing Crosby?" You ask lazily, body swaying slowly.

He hums.

"Uh. Better than Mariah Carey," you state quietly, almost in his ear. Hot breath on his skin. He huffs, quiet laughter and crinkles by his eyes. Out of all the things you could say to him right now, this is what you do.

"I'm glad you came," he says softly and you look at him curiously. He gives you a half shrug as you slowly twirl in his arms. "We haven't seen you in a while. Didn't want you to be alone today."

Your stomach twists when you are pulled into his arms again, your hand hesitantly cupping the back of his neck. You had indeed considered staying in bed and possibly crying in front of a romantic comedy, as cliché as it sounds. Completely immerse yourself in a universe that isn't yours and whose characters you do not have to grieve for. Vicariously feeling the Christmas Spirit of others.

But you wanted to be with your friends, as painful as it is to be reminded that your circle is half empty. Sam has poured his heart into this party — a tribute to Tony, a bit of giving after having taken so much, money raised for people in need and an opportunity to reunite and share something as a group again. You admire his strength and will and it is no surprise to you that he gets to carry the Captain America mantle. Someone whose heart knows no limit and who would do anything for his friends.

You smile wistfully.

"It's a nice party," is the only thing you say, small shrug accompanying a casual tone.

"It is," Bucky nods. Eyes going over every decoration again. It is a nice feeling — swaying in his arms, warmth and cologne engulfing you whole and caging you from the outside world. His skin is so soft against your fingers and you want to nuzzle your face into his neck, completely hide away and feel nothing but him.

You shouldn’t let yourself feel this way for someone you might lose, but you can’t help but relish the feeling of being held again. His hands cannot mend the pieces of your broken heart but they can contain them and keep you from crumbling down.

Disappointment probably shows on your face and your tired smile when the song ends and he steps away from you — hand still lingering on yours. As if reading your thoughts, Bucky casts a glance behind him and motions towards the exit with his chin. You follow his line of sight, then eye the crowd around you. He is right, no one cares.

Trailing behind him with flitting glances around you, hand grabbing a hold of his suit as if you could squeeze fabric tighter than flesh, you don’t notice when he stops and you bump into his back. The idea of leaving this party with him is taking up all your thoughts — no clear ideas but a definite feeling, an urge to find the comfort of his arms again.You almost don't look up as a string of cheers and laughter erupts around you. Way too close to you to be a simple coincidence. Bucky's hand tightens around yours. Green stares back at you.

Oh.

No.

Mistletoe.

Should you shake it off with a good laughter that makes it look like this is extremely funny but he is just a friend? Should you pretend not to see it even though your eyes are boring holes into it?

Bucky has already made up his mind.

Warm flesh squeezes your hand while cool metal rests on the small of your back, encircling your waist and pulling you close so unexpectedly that you almost stumble into his arms. The warmth emitted from his body is already melting away any smart quips or observations you had ready to get out of this. Completely shattering your resolve not to melt into his arms. You can only feel him. His arms around you, flesh hand moving up your arm, caressing and squeezing your shoulder until it is resting on your neck, fingers delicately holding your chin. You don't resist when he lifts it, eyes meeting his through your thick lashes.

This is the opposite of the quiet and intimate moment you were thinking about when leaving the room. Far from discreet touches but right among flashing lights, booming music and expectant stares. You’ve never had a kiss under the mistletoe and this is way too cheesy and holidays-like.

But he leans forward and his lips are on yours. Softly. Delicately. It lasts a split second. It satisfies the crowd and it seems like a peck that could happen to both lovers and friends but it leaves you aching for more.

You look up in a daze when he pulls away, lips parted and eyes wide. You blink it all away and plaster a tight-lipped smile on your face when you fake-bow to clapping strangers, and it takes all the willpower in the world to hold yourself upright.

The corridor is almost empty, save late-comers jogging towards where you are coming from or drunken people escaping the warm and almost suffocating air of the party. You have absolutely no idea where you are going, numb legs carrying you all the way to a remote corner. Your back hits the wall — his arm around you softens the impact.

Who instigated the second kiss? You feel like he met you halfway, or maybe you stayed rooted to your spot like a deer caught in headlights, pulse probably heard from a miles away. You can only focus on the softness of his lips on your skin, tender kisses on your neck and on the corner of your mouth. Eyes fluttering shut, fingers making their way through his hair and tugging, cheek to cheek and chest to chest — time has stopped.

You only open your eyes halfway when he pulls away for air, blurred vision and pounding heart. You feel his hot breath on your face when he chuckles breathlessly.

"Still hate this damn season?"

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes one shot #christmas one shot #Wonderland4SeasonalWC

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quarantined-with-bucky · 4 years

Text

American Boy

Bucky x Reader

Request: So basically buckyxreader where she is a super successful businesswomen and awfully confident but when she’s with bucky she feels insecure as many women want him and she’s insecure of nat. Based on “American Boy” by little mix where bucky is her american boy and the other girl in the song is nat. So like angst with a happy ending (maybe smut if you’re comfortable idk idk).

Words: ~ 9,700

Summary: Dating Bucky can be challenging sometimes -- all the time.

Warnings: Smut, angst

A/N: Sorry this took me so long :( I recently started work so its been hard to write -- but I’m really happy with how this one turned out!! Thank you so much for the request!

And I met him back when I was out in California He was playing in a band and she was dancing on a stage And he says that I'm the one but she's the one that got away And he never knew her real name

Nothing about tonight sounded mildly comfortable. It was going to be six hours in a too cold banquette hall, standing all night in too tall heels, a too tight dress, with your hair scraped back into a too painful bun. From the moment you stepped inside, the flesh on your arms and décolleté erupting into goosebumps – nothing a little alcohol can’t fix, you thought to yourself, snagging a glass of champagne off of the tray from the first waiter you saw.

“Y/N,” Tony called, opening his arms to greet you. His suit was perfectly pressed, a three-piece suit that cost more than twice your monthly rent. You walked up to him, giving him a side hug, checking yourself out in the reflection of his iconic red glasses. “See, I knew you’d come.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, remembering how for the past week you’d declined his numerous invitations to his party. “I hope you know that I’m charging you overtime for this.”

“I’d expect nothing less.” He ushers you away while he continues mingling with his other guests.

Never in a million years had you thought you’d be an A-list guest at one of Tony Stark’s infamous parties. But, as fate would have it, you and Tony had been working together quite a bit in the recent years. What began as a little start-up from your college dorm room, quickly grew into a multinational billion-dollar company. Stark industries contracted your company out to spearhead multiple new projects – including the development of high-tech equipment for the Avengers. You had many ventures, sectors growing from technological advancement, to biometrics, to teams specializing in law, advertising, and operations.

The past few years had been a whirlwind for you. Moving to New York, managing your ever-growing company – up until now your life had been all work and no play. Once you met Tony, you knew that your world would flip upside down. You’d been in Forbes 30-Under-30 list for three years straight. Your life had grown into nothing but interviews, business deals, and fame – and you loved it. You felt like you were on top of the world at this moment in your life; nothing was going to stop your forward momentum from climbing up the ladder.

“Hey,” a smooth voice pulled you out of your fog, a figure popping up next to you.

“Hey, Steve,” you responded, smiling up at the blond man.

“You having a good night?” You’d met Steve a handful of times before through Tony, working with him a few times in the past. You don’t know if you could outright call him your close friend, but Steve was always so kind.

You could should be using tonight as a networking opportunity, but after an extremely stressful week at work, all you wanted to do was crawl into a bubble bath and relax. You couldn’t do that, so you thought you’d at least try to let loose and take it easy tonight, hoping to catch up with friends and enjoy some time partying. “I guess,” you shrugged, taking another sip of champagne.

“That makes two of us,” he replied, taking an equally long sip of his drink. “It’s hard to lay low at Tony’s parties, y’know?”

“Its hard to lay low when you’re Captain America,” you joked, nudging his arm with your elbow. He rolled his eyes again, running a hand through his short blond hair.

Your eyes scanned over the crowd, trying to find something worthwhile to talk to Steve about: maybe about the couples dancing in the center of the room, the large crowd gathered at the bar, the performers that laced their way through the influx of people. Your gaze fell upon a smaller group of people gathered around a table, laughing, telling stories and interrupting each other with more tall tales. You only recognized a couple people in the group; Sam Wilson: tall, well-built, perhaps a little tipsy, chirping away with his witty comments; Natasha Romanoff: a goddess, quiet, watching, observing, black dress so tight on her beautiful figure it looked like it was painted on; Bucky Barnes: the epitome of tall dark and handsome, at the forefront of the conversation, laughing and cussing telling his sensational war story, dark tendrils of hair hanging loosely in front of his face, obstructing the view of his blue eyes.

“Have you met Bucky?” Steve asked, interrupting your thoughts. You shook your head ‘no,’ unable to tear your eyes away from him. His black suit was complemented quite nicely with a fitted black shirt, the top buttons undone, his tanned muscle peaking out. He ran his metallic hand through his long hair – you finally were able to see his eyes, the only color on him, so bright compared to their dark surroundings. And they were looking at you.

Tearing your eyes away from him, you turned your head up to Steve. He was watching Bucky, watching him looking at you; Steve’s head turned between the two of you, almost unable to stop the smile from pulling at his lips. Steve pulled you into the group, making space for you to stand between him and Bucky. As introductions were passed around the group, you felt eyes on you. This time, the set of green eyes.

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Natasha give you the up and down a few times. Your first reaction was that it wasn’t in a bad or necessarily judgmental way; she was interested in who the outsider was. She was protective, it was instinctual; she would observe said outsider, finding all of her flaws, quirks, secrets, until she was certain she wasn’t a threat. When you were introduced to her, she politely flashed you a smile with her infamous painted red lips and shook your hand.

“(Y/N), this is Bucky,” Steve finished, watching eagerly as the two of you shook hands and exchanged smiles.

“(Y/N),” Bucky whispered, your name tasting sweet on his lips; he tipped his head ever so slightly towards you in greeting.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky.”

Everybody took the hint – that hint being Steve wiggling his eyebrows at everyone – and the group dispersed. You waved goodbye to the like, politely offering goodbyes to everyone. In your peripheral vison, you watched as the red head gave you one final up-and-down, crossing her arms over her busty chest, flitting her eyes to Bucky’s before she strutted off.

…

You hit it off with Bucky instantly, spending the night discussing everything from your future prospects to your relationship status to your past (specifically, your past). He was completely enamored by you. He was obsessed with the fact that people looked up to you; you demanded respect – so much so, in fact, that your success intimidated them; you were unapproachable to those who didn’t have their shit together. After that night, he knew he had to see you again.

And you could not feel more the same way.

It started fairly privately. Despite your constant media attention – being the CEO of a Fortune 500 company had that effect – being Tony Stark’s business partner escalated that. Usually on your commute to and from work, whether that be your corporate office or the Avenger’s tower, there would be a few paparazzi and a couple reporters following you around. They wanted information on you, your ventures, but most importantly: Tony Stark. When you were contracted to work with Stark Industries, you knew this was a possibility – in fact, it was the number one con on your pros & cons list. While you did think it was a decent opportunity for exposure, it surely came back to bite you in the ass.

You didn’t anticipate meeting Bucky Barnes – you surely didn’t anticipate dating him, either. You couldn’t be happier with Bucky; you wouldn’t let the incessant paparazzi and media attention get to you. Surely, you’d figured that dating an actual Avenger would draw some attention to yourself. However, you couldn’t have predicted the magnitude it would have on your daily life. The amount cameramen and reporters that followed you on a daily basis more than doubled.

Now, you’d never considered yourself shy, especially not camera shy – hell, all you were doing was walking from your car to and from different buildings – you could surely handle getting your picture taken. You had to admit, you were put together (and damn hot). You wore tailored suits, the tall heels; your hair and makeup were done perfectly every day.

It’s not like you hadn’t been on the cover of magazines before; but they were articles, studies, biographies. You posed for the cover of Forbes and Wall Street Journal and Harvard Business Review. Gracing the cover of tabloid magazines, however, was new territory for you. They talked about your style, your makeup, you clothes, your hair – nothing was too surface level for them to delve into. At first, that’s all it was. Noting and pricing your style, People magazine printing a “Who is She?” issue.

Then the comparisons started.

It was a side-by-side of you and Natasha – Black Widow. How could you compete with her?

You were sitting in bed one morning, up early before dawn, checking your phone before you started your morning routine. It was supposed to be like any other Thursday: work, meetings, executive board reviews: productive. But after reading that article, your heart deflated; today would only truly be over once you get to crawl back into your bed at the end of the day and sulk under the covers.

You slowly let out a long breath as you scrolled quickly through the article. “(Y/N) Becomes Black Widow’s Replacement: Is She Good Enough or Will She Get Tangled in the Web?” leave it to Daily Mail to start off with a shitty pun to ruin your mood.

The first picture was a full body shot of you laid next to a similar image of Natasha. She was shorter, sure – but curvier. She had more muscle, obviously – and those legs. Even you wanted to be strangled to death by her thighs. (And you felt like dying at that moment, that’s for sure). Maybe she just wore tighter clothes? You did, in fact, wear well-tailored clothes – you were actually very fashion forward for the business world, taking Fall 2020 by storm. She just got the chance to wear tighter clothes more often.

The second photo was an extremely flattering behind shot. The photographer might as well have taken the camera and pointed it right up your skirt. You’d heard the tabloids comparing the asses of other famous women, surely even the English Royalty had headlines circulating about it. You actually thought you had a good ass – you do – but hers was better. Black fucking Widow and you were supposed to somehow compete?

The last shot was a close up of your faces. You had to admit, they probably could’ve picked a worse picture of you. You weren’t smiling, you weren’t frowning – it was neutral. Your brows maybe slightly narrowed. Natasha, on the other hand, was glaring at the paparazzi. They gave her space, as if they took one step too close, she would murder them (and although she was actually extremely kind to you, they were probably right in that case). Her glare exuded confidence, intimidation. That was the difference between your auras: while your success may have been intimidating to others, it was her essential being that was intimidating – she could kill you just by looking at you.

While some people may not appreciate that fact, the pure daunting atmosphere that surrounded her, there was one person that did: James Buchanan Barnes.

He, himself, had the same ambiance, after all: that is being the don’t fuck with me stare.

Oh, and I don't mean to get so caught up And insecure 'bout all the things you say Oh, and I don't mean to be jealous, it's just careless me Boy, I must drive you mad

“Hey, Bucky,” you greeted, swinging open your front door, pressing a chaste kiss to the lips of the man before you.

He hummed against your lips, caught off guard as you pulled away sooner than expected. “Hey, baby,” he responded, shrugging it off stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. “It smells great,” he noted regarding the pasta sauce simmering on the stove. He dipped a metallic pinky finger in the sauce, cheekily smiling at you as he licked his makeshift tasting-spoon. “Tastes great – no surprise.”

You couldn’t help but return his smile, trying to shake off the bad day you’d had, instead turning all focus to your giggle boyfriend before you. He takes two steps forward, engulfing you in his strong arms, rubbing his flesh hand up and down your back in a soothing motion. You rested your cheek against his chest, taking a deep breath in; his earthy scent calmed you down, the heat radiating off of him offering you to a level of relaxation you didn’t know was possible. “Did you have a bad day, baby?” He cooed quietly, pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear.

“Yeah,” you breathed, nodding into his chest. “Bad. And busy. And annoying.”

“Annoying?” He repeated, testing the word on his tongue, but not questioning further. “Come on, why don’t we eat because I’m hungry – and I know you’re hungry – and get you to relax.” You smile up at him, giving him a proper kiss this time, unsure if he was just saying that to get dinner going, or if his supersoldier senses could actually tell that you were hungry (because you were).

Dinner went smoothly. It was quiet, moreso than usual. But it was nice. It was calm: a good change of pace from both of your busy schedules. It was tranquil: spending the evening exchanging loving glances and touches across the table, playing footstie under the table, Bucky quite literally licking pasta sauce off your cheek.

As he finished up his third serving (to which you just sip your wine while he gets his fill), you can’t help but break the silence and light conversation with a loaded question: “What’s with you and Natasha?”

You didn’t mean for the question to come out so abrupt or harsh, but it had been eating at your mind all day. You’d found yourself looking at that article during every five-minute break you got. Comparing hair, clothes, smiles, eyes, teeth – everything.

“What’s with us?” He repeated, eyebrows cocked in misunderstanding, palms raised in confusion. He didn’t understand the question.

You sighed heavily, dropping your eyes to the near empty wine glass before you. “I don’t know,” you grumbled, running your hands over your forehead, dropping them behind your head, pulling your hair a bit. “I’ve been seeing these articles about her – about her and me,” you clarified, trailing off, hoping he’d understand the picture. As he remained silent, you sat back against your chair, slouching. “Did you guys date or something?” You immediately bit the inside of your cheek. The question burned coming off your tongue.

His chuckle almost startled you out of your fog; your stomach dropped as you felt knots pull at all your insides. “Babe.” He reaches across the table with open palms, waiting for you to place your hands in his. You hesitated, but eventually complied, his soft smile and kind eyes giving you no other choice. “No. We never had – or did – anything. Never. I promise.”

Okay, well that made you feel better. You let out a breathy sigh (this time of relief) as you gave his hands a gentle squeeze. “Okay,” you repeated. “Okay.” It made you feel a little better, sure, but then why?

He raised his eyebrows once again. “You don’t believe me?”

“No – no, no, no – ” you replied quickly, reaching farther across the table, fingertips grazing his forearms. “I’m just confused. I keep seeing articles comparing me and her,” you stated very slowly, unsure of the right words, unsure of what his innate reaction would be.

“We have a… past,” he responded, slowly; it was calculated.

But in that moment, he knew he miscalculated. “A past?”

No, not like that, he thought. But like what, exactly? How was he supposed to explain it? God, his own life was complicated enough to explain – he hadn’t dared to divulge that deep, in fear of ruining your newly blossoming relationship. He owed you some sort of explanation, though, right? But he was at a loss for words at the worst time possible. “It just goes back to… a long time ago… with… well… ” With no words left to complete his fragment of a sentence, he raised his left hand and wiggled his metallic fingers.

Your lips formed an “oh” shape as you said the same word mentally. Oh, no shit, more like. The Russian spy and the Winter Soldier had intertwined pasts. You felt like an idiot – like the answer was laying right there before you, your eyes glazing right over it. “Bucky, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry but – ”

He cut you off immediately, taking one of your hands into both of his. He looked you straight in the eyes, his own blue irises staring deep into yours. “Don’t apologize, please.” He swallowed hard. “I don’t want that part of my life taking over my life now. You’re not prying – I need to be open with you about it.” You nodded slowly. “I want you to be apart of my life, (Y/N),” he clarified, nearly smiling at you missing the implication of his previous sentence.

You grinned, a goofy wine-infused smile. You leaned across the table, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips.

That night, he began telling you about his past; nothing he wasn’t comfortable with discussing was mentioned. You didn’t push him, didn’t ask questions, didn’t offer opinion or advice. The only thing you offered was solace, comfort, and hot tea. You held him in bed, ran your fingers through his hair, rubbed small circles on his muscled back.

He told you about how he trained her, how their connected past drew scrutiny to them in the media. How their ties to Russia, Hydra, and a few not-so politically correct incidents in the past tied them closer together both in eyes of the tabloids and, subsequently, to each other.

You had no questions, no comments. There was nothing for you to say. You weren’t questioning the validity of his past and you didn’t question the fact that he and Natasha were just friends. You were confident in Bucky, confident that he was telling the truth – confident in your relationship.

The two of you fell asleep that night wiping tears off each other’s cheeks; but neither of you had felt more safe – more in love – than at that moment in your lives.

…

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you,” he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, eyes narrowing down at you – at your figure.

You were turned away from him, trying to busy yourself, acting as though bringing it up again was casual, like it was just a normal question on par with how was your day? It, in fact, was extremely loaded; there couldn’t be more of a loaded question, in Bucky’s opinion (in your own opinion, too). But, dammit, you needed validation – wasn’t that okay?

It was okay.

It was always okay. Bucky understood that. Even he, himself, needed validation in a similar way. However, there were two distinct differences about what he needed vs. what you needed.

1. He never needed validation against someone else.

Bucky was insecure – the fact of the matter was every single person in the world had insecurities, from the brightest minds to the most beautiful models; there isn’t a single person who isn’t immune to outside pressure, societal expectations, internal comparisons. Sometimes Bucky would be insecure of his arm, oftentimes he’d be insecure about his past. He’d wonder about his hair, he’d read articles about himself, comments people posted online. Bucky had a certain confidence about himself, sure. He was intimidating (that was both a good and a bad thing).

But you. You were intimidating, too – you were, in Bucky’s eyes – the baddest bitch; you controlled the business world, dominate magazine headlines, demanded the attention of every man in the room. He loved it. He loved the fact that you were all that and more, and that he got to come home to you. He got to hold you in his arms at night. He got to make love to you.

That’s why he didn’t understand your – what he determined to be – obsession with her. All the time asking him about her. Were you as good as her? Were you better than her? He understood, at first. Natasha was very intimidating – to anyone, even her own team. He didn’t mind showing you extra attention, sprinkling you with more compliments, lovingly laying his hands on the places you didn’t like about yourself. He loved you; he loved complimenting you. Nothing he ever said was a lie, so he had no problem saying them.

But as time went on, you kept asking. About. Her.

2. He believed you when you validated him.

Not only were you asking about Natasha, constantly comparing yourself to her – your body, your brains, your face, even your hair. Again, he had no problem telling you how beautiful you were; it was a service to you that he would trade anything in the world for. He loved to say that to you; complimenting your intelligence, looks, attitude – all of it.

Maybe he wasn’t complimenting you enough anymore? Even so, you had to know the way he felt about you? He tried really hard to validate it as his own fault. Like it was something he had done to cause you to suddenly be so insecure. But all it took was one walk down the bustling street-stands on the New York City’s streets for him to realize. You, after all, had graced the cover of every magazine as of lately. You and Natasha.

He wasn’t so hard on you or himself after that little piece clicked in his head.

But at the end of the day, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering if you never believed him. Did you trust him? Did you love him? Those questions ran through his head at night – as much as he hated it, he couldn’t stop it.

“It’s not how many times, Bucky! It’s – it’s – ” You tripped over your own words.

“What is it, then, (Y/N)? Because I sure as hell can’t figure it out.” In fact, you didn’t know what it was. You couldn’t pinpoint it. You couldn’t put the words together.

You turned around, crossing your arms across your chest, mirroring him. You just stared back it him, biting your lip. There wasn’t anything you could say; just offered him a shrug.

“(Y/N), come on,” he began. “You can’t seriously believe the shit they say.” He was referring to the incessant media coverage. The eyes on you – 24/7 cameras. It eats away at you; it was all you could think about. “You’re too smart for them. What’s this all about, then?”

If there was anyone who could see right through you, it was him. But if there was one thing he needed to know about you, it was that you had too much pride to admit any sort of insecurity to anyone – even your boyfriend of now eight months.

It was in that moment that you wondered if he took a short tone with her the way he had been with you lately. Did she have to ask him such endless questions? Definitely not. She had nothing to worry about. She didn’t care.

That was the difference between the two of you.

You couldn’t do anything but care.

Singing, singing, singing Ooh la la, he breaks my heart I know he thinks about her when he plays guitar And ooh la la, my American boy

You and Bucky sat on the couch, the movie playing in front you now long forgotten. The past few weeks have been stressful for the both of you. You were both dealing with a lot at work; you with new projects and development issues, Bucky with compiling intel that seemly led nowhere. Last night, you’d attended another one of Tony’s parties with Bucky. You thought it was going to be a fun night, seeing all your old friends, catching up with everyone you hadn’t seen in so long. What was supposed to be a casual night of fun drinking and dancing, turned sour very quickly.

It was nice in the beginning, catching up with Sam and Steve; that is, until you caught a glimpse of Bucky from the corner of your eye. He was just meant to get a refill of drinks. All he had to do was weave through the crowd, make it to the bar, and return with the drinks. You felt that it shouldn’t have taken him that long. Maybe you should’ve offered to get them instead.

There he stood, leaning against the bar, a handful of cold drinks sitting in front of him on the tabletop. You watched as he ignored the cups the bartender placed down in front of him a few minutes ago; watched as a drop of precipitation slid down the side of the cold glass, pooling with all the others at the granite bar top.

Beside him, a tall blonde mimicked his movements, leaning against the counter. She spoke to him in a hushed tone, gazing up at him under her long eyelashes. Her perfectly manicured hands grazed up and down his arm, undoubtedly innocently asking about the strong metal underneath his shirt sleeve. You rolled your eyes, nearly scoffing at her fairly blatant attempt at flirting.

You wouldn’t be so pissed off, usually. She was beautiful, sure, but you were confident in your relationship with Bucky. You knew how he felt about you and he knew how strong your feelings were for him. There was no doubt on either end – so why shouldn’t he be able to have a conversation with some woman at a party? He had just grown comfortable enough to talk about his metal arm, finally accepting the gift that the great King T’Challa had gifted him.

So why did this interaction piss you off so much?

Because you knew that if a man had come up to you to chat so innocently with you, he’d be on him in less than one second. And if a man had come up to you to chat while also running his hand up your arm or down your back, Bucky would ensure that man would be leaving this party with nothing but then broken fingers.

But your pride took the best of you, as usual. You rolled your eyes to yourself, carrying on your conversation with Sam and Steve, trying your best not to look over Sam’s shoulder too much, staring past him and at Bucky. You held your empty cup in your hand, almost now more pissed that your new drink was sitting lonely at the bar, when you needed alcohol more than ever in this moment.

All you wanted was to go up there, rip her hand off your boyfriend, and get your damn drink. Instead, you held your tongue all night. When Bucky returned with your drink, you thanked him and took it, gulping it down fairly quickly. When his hand rested on your waist, you simply gave yourself a twist, shrugging his hand off of you. You felt him give you a questioning look, but you simply pretended not to notice, instead keeping your eyes locked on Sam’s as he told his story about what ever he was talking about (you weren’t really paying attention); just smiling and nodding and looking as engaged as possible.

When you and Bucky got home that night, you quickly showered and crawled into bed. Bucky had been trying to talk to you on the car ride home, all night while you got ready for bed. Finally giving you your peace to shower, he decided to try again once he slipped into bed beside him. “What’s going on, (Y/N),” he whispered, turning towards you; but he was met with the sight of your back turned to him.

“Nothing,” you replied, face smooshed int the pillow. “’M just tired.”

His hand found your side, rubbing over your hip bone slightly, as he moved closer to you in bed. His chest pressed up against your back, his breath tickling the back of your neck. “Is that all, baby?” He kept pressing. “Let me make you feel better,” he murmured, pressing his lips to your neck, burying his face in your shoulder.

“No, Buck, stop.” You shrugged him off and lifted your shoulders in protest, pushing his head away. “I’m not in the mood – I just want to go to sleep.”

“Sorry, (Y/N),” he whispered, settling back down in the bed.

You tried to fall asleep that night, you really were tired – exhausted, in fact. But you just couldn’t calm your racing mind enough to fall asleep. You knew Bucky knew it, too. You suspected that he didn’t get much sleep either.

When you finally did get a few hours of rest, you woke up to a note left by Bucky.

Went for an early workout with Steve. Feel better, I’ll call you later.

You gave yourself a whole self-care day. Bath, face mask, manicure – the whole nine yards. You willed yourself to think of anything except Bucky and that girl – Bucky and any girl.

Every girl in the world had eyes for Bucky – why wouldn’t they? He’s absolutely gorgeous: tall, handsome, he’s got the mysterious vibe going on – basically every woman’s walking wet dream. You always gave him the benefit of the doubt when it came to women flirting with him. He was from a different time; he was just being polite. That’s what you told yourself, at least. The more Steve told you stories about him being a charmer – how he always “wooed” women back in the day – the more unsettled you became. Maybe he missed being a flirt, afterall, as he recovered, he slipped back into his old ways, whether that be an old Brooklyn accent, or his charming smile.

But how many times could you just brush it off? Blatantly flirting in front of you – sure it may have been an innocent conversation or an innocent arm touch (you know that’s how he would sell it to you) but hell, he lived in a different time now. So, he just had to get used to the fact that he had to stop letting these girls flirt with him. Was it really so hard to tell them he had a girlfriend?

Unless he thought about it and didn’t want to. He was so touch starved for the past seventy-plus years that who knows? Maybe he did enjoy all the attention – especially all the female attention. Considering the fact he was such a ladies man, maybe this is exactly what he wanted to feel like himself again, winning over all the women. And, god, all the tall women with their perfect faces and gorgeous chests, showing off more skin than they covered. They had the confidence of models, the ferociousness of catwoman – not to mention Black Widow; she was her own breed of gold-like-women.

He didn’t call you until the next day.

That’s how you ended up on your sofa, innocently watching a movie, two boxes of pizza abandoned on your coffee table. Neither of you brought up the night of Tony’s party; instead, you two sought solace in each other’s arms on the plush couch between piles of pillows.

You two ended up making out, his hands wrapping around your waist and up your back, yours winding their way through locks of his long hair. He leaned over you, your back meeting the sofa top and his chest pressing to yours. His pelvis touched yours, grinding lazily against yours. A mess of legs entangled with each other at the opposite end of the couch. His hand slid down your side, squeezing between your bodies to unbutton your jeans, his fingers slipping underneath your panties.

He groaned once his finger slipped between your slit, moaning at the wetness he found there. He pulled his hands up and shimmied your pants off, his own jeans following suit. He didn’t bother even taking them off all the way, instead latching himself on you with his pants and underwear pooling at his ankles.

His hands grabbed your hips, roughly pushing into you while his lips attached themselves to your neck. You gasped, the sudden entry startling to you. Your arms encased his torso, nails digging into his back as he roughly fucked you into the mattress. You hips met his as you tried to rock against him to meet his thrusts. His hands pinned your hips down, jackhammering you into the couch.

You were panting and moaning and screaming. You couldn’t help the noises that were coming out of your mouth. You and Bucky had tried some pretty not-vanilla stuff in the past, and sure, sex was maybe one of the best ways to get your anger out. But Bucky hadn’t ever been this nonattentive to you before. Or this quiet. Usually you couldn’t get him to shut up – between the dirty talk and the praise, you could never get him to shut up; and he loved it. He knew his whispers and all his egging-you on only flustered you more. That was the sex you loved.

This was different. He didn’t say anything; he just grunting to himself as he pounded into you, hips snapping into yours. God, you were going to be bruised tomorrow just from how hard he was holding you down. He wasn’t attentive, nor perceptive to you. He didn’t kiss you, just barred his teeth through heavy breaths.

This must have been all related to the night at Tony’s party. He was probably angry with you after that night – not talking to him at all. Not to mention you didn’t say anything when he clearly knew something was up with you; you definitely owed him an explanation. You couldn’t blame him or being angry. You weren’t so sure this was his best reaction. He was so dangerously quiet.

That’s when you threw your head back against the pillows, biting your lip and squeezing your eyes shut. Was he just fucking you to fuck you? He came quickly and without warning, spilling into you with nothing but another grunt.

He dropped on top of you, pelvis to pelvis, his cock still inside your warm cunt. He dropped his head to your chest, you shirt still left on from earlier. He shut his eyes and wrapped his arms around him. Your fingers found his hair, stroking his chestnut strands as he fell asleep on top of you.

Maybe he was just tired from waking up early? He probably needed to get his aggressions from the day out – not to mention the frustration from you basically ignoring him all day and night. There was a feeling in the back of your head, though, that this sudden change of pace may have been brought on by something else. His eyes were shut the whole time – hell, maybe he was thinking about that blonde girl from the party.

You said it to yourself as a joke – it was a fleeting thought. But you couldn’t stop thinking about it after that. Was he picturing someone else? He wasn’t turned on by you – you didn’t even get a chance to do anything sexy before he was fucking you with your clothes on. He’d probably rather be sleeping with someone else. Someone who made porn star noises and pulled his hair harder and –

God, you were tired of thinking like this.

So I wanna know who's on your phone Making me paranoid, making me bad Making me sad, making me crazy Making me feel like I needed to ask I wanna know if you're at home And if you're at home, baby, are you alone? Are you alone? Answer your phone Oh, baby, no no no

Things went back to normal after that. You weren’t sure what had gotten into him – and you – that day, but it was nothing but a distant memory. You were dating for about a year and a half. From that point, you two had kept everything very lowkey. Extravagant parties were few and far between, dates became even more private – no distractions, nothing to get between the two of you.

“Baby, I’m home,” you called, throwing your purse and keys on the kitchen table. You were hit with the faint smell of dinner, but as you checked the stovetop and oven, you were met with nothing – just the leftovers already cold in the fridge. You worked late tonight – tonight and every other night for the past three weeks. It was only nine, which wouldn’t be so bad if you didn’t have to wake up at five tomorrow to get into the office early. Your team was being met with a deadline soon, there were a lot of extra hours being put in to get the project done. You weren’t one to complain because you were the boss. You weren’t going at this alone, you had everyone else working with you helping out. But it was your job to make sure everything got done, and that included being the first one in and the last one out.

Bucky said it never bothered him. He’d go on missions for days – sometimes weeks – at a time. He encouraged you to work hard, he loved your drive and commitment to your company. He motivated you; he knew you had drive and could get things done. He loved being able to support you, too. When Steve first introduced the idea of dating to him, he wasn’t sure he wanted someone who was only obsessed with him: who got their own recognition just by being his girlfriend. He was lucky enough to be your boyfriend.

You took the Tupper wear from the fridge, popping it in the microwave and waiting for your food. You noticed Bucky on the sofa. Kicking your heels off you made your way to the living room, calling out to him again. He sat up, his face donning a large grin as he waved to you, quickly pointing to the cell phone propped up against his ear. You gave him a shy wave back, turning back to the microwave, soon to be beeping with your meal. You ate dinner alone at the kitchen table, nothing but the sound of Bucky’s roaring laughter bouncing off your ear. By the time you finished, you tossed the bowl into the sink, making your way up to your bedroom.

“Ok, yeah, I’ve gotta go – ” Bucky said into the phone, before interrupting himself with a chuckle, laughing at whatever the person on the other end said. “Yes, I have to go. Yeah, no, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

You shut the door before he could get off the couch and flopped straight into bed, groaning. All you wanted to do was fall right asleep, unbothered. That’s when Bucky came in and plopped himself right down on the bed next to you. “Hey, babe,” he greeted you, giving you a light pat on the ass.

“Hey, Buck,” you replied, tucking your arms up underneath your head, propping your head up on your hands. You offered him a tired smile, gazing into his adoring blue eyes. “Who was that on the phone?”

“It was nobody,” he replied, quickly changing the subject. “How was work?”

Well that was extremely unlike him. You already knew all his friends. If it was one of them, he would’ve just said so. But it clearly wasn’t, especially considering how giggly he was on the phone. You just narrowed your eyes at him, breezing right past it. “Good – tiring,” you corrected. “But this contract closes out next week, so hopefully not that many more long days after that.”

“Good to hear, I know you can get it done, baby,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose.

…

The next day, you were met with nearly the same sight. Bucky on the couch, but this time, dinner was covered on the stove. “Thanks for cooking, Buck,” you call to him, taking the lid off the pot and serving yourself a plate. He jumped from the couch and came up behind you, hugging you from behind and kissing your neck.

“Anytime, baby.” He pressed another smooch to your neck before stepping back and grabbing a bottle of wine from the counter. He poured up to glasses, situating himself at one end of the table, waiting for you to join him at the other end. Once you do, your phone rings from your purse. You drop your head back with a groan. “You should probably get that,” Bucky offered, reaching for your purse and holding it out to you.

You give him a quiet “thank you,” and answer the call. Not even before you can answer it, he’s pulling out his own phone and texting away on it. You take your call at the table, a quick last-minute question from a colleague. You tried to focus on what he was saying on the other line, but all you could do was stare at Bucky, smiling down at his phone, furiously typing away.

“No problem, Dave. Thanks for taking a look at it, we can finish up tomorrow morning,” you say into the phone, offering a quick goodbye before hanging up and digging into your food, glaring at Bucky from under your eyelashes. He still sat on his phone, laughing to himself. Once he heard your knife slide against the plate, he locked his phone, shoving it back into his pocket and looking up at you, starting another conversation about your day. You quickly changed the subject to him.

You internally rolled your eyes. All you got was talking about your day and whatever girl on the other end got giggly Bucky? Whenever work got busy, your relationship got boring. It may have been partially your fault: short tempered, tired; you put everything into your work and maybe not enough into Bucky. But your jealousy issues got the better of you. Maybe he was just talking to Sam? Or laughing at memes with Steve – they had a lot to catch up on, afterall. But if so, wouldn’t he just say that instead of saying he was talking to “nobody?”

But your paranoia was actually well placed and almost deserving. Bucky still graced the covers of magazines and newspapers. The attention people gave you quickly died down after the one-year mark on your relationship. You didn’t mind, all it was just a little more peace in your day-to-day life. That same attention never did (and never would) die down for him. He still saved the world; more importantly, he was still hot. Meaning the tabloids would continue to try to stir up trouble with him and every woman he knew. They wanted to play matchmaker, constantly shipping him with the other beautiful women he spent time with – whether that be at work or not. Thinking about all that and Bucky’s charismatic personality was almost too much for you.

…

The third night in a row where you’d come home past nine. The first night without dinner. You were met with an empty apartment, no food, no lights, not a single sign of life. You tossed your bag on the table and immediately called for takeout. As you waited for your Chinese food to arrive, you changed into your pajamas, and called Bucky.

No answer.

All you wanted was to lay on the couch and feast with him. If you were going to stuff your face, you wanted it to be with someone who really knew how to eat. After trying again with no answer, you dropped your phone on the coffee table and began flipping through the channels on TV. Not finding anything good to watch, but also deciding you didn’t have the mental capacity to watch something new, you threw on some Friends reruns. Something you could watch without having to pay attention: just what you were in the mood for.

When the doorbell rang, you jumped, almost forgetting you ordered food. You swung open the door, half expecting to find Bucky on the other side, but you were instead met with the delivery boy. You paid the guy and took the food to the living room, feasting on the couch straight from the little takeaway containers. You didn’t do this often, but damn, it was relaxing.

You picked up your phone: no notifications.

There were a few excuses you made up for him as you stuffed your face with noodles. He could be in the middle of training. You knew him and Steve too well, and knew they always had enough supersoldier energy to fit a workout in anywhere and anytime. That, or he could just be busy. Maybe a work thing came up – he does save the world for a living, afterall. He could just be at the tower. It’s not like he officially lived with you. (It was unofficial, though; he did spend nearly every other night sleeping here with you. And if he didn’t, he would at least give you a reason why he wasn’t). But you’re not his mother or his gatekeeper. There was no reason he absolutely had to tell you where he was and that he wasn’t coming over – that was crazy. But it was just…

Unlike him.

Even if he was at the tower, why wouldn’t he answer?

And as you continued onto your dumplings, you quickly began comfort eating, as your mind traveled to the worst reason you could make up.

Afterall, he never told you who he was laughing on the phone with all this time. He couldn’t even stop himself from laughing at his texts – it was blatantly obvious. There’s no way Reddit could be that funny. You scoffed. It probably was some girl – maybe that blonde from the party. You had no idea of knowing who, but you surely couldn’t stop yourself from speculating.

You called again.

Again.

You just wanted to hear his voice.

You just wanted to know he was okay.

Okay and alone.

American, my American, American boy You know it's my American boy

It wasn’t every day that you thought about Bucky in such a way. Honestly, you didn’t like to think about the other women that he might be friends (or more) with. It was just your own little fucked up indulgence.

Against your best judgement, Bucky convinced you to go to another one of Tony’s parties. “It’s Steve’s birthday party, (Y/N), you have to go!”

So, you did go. And just like the very first time you met Bucky – at one of these parties – you dragged yourself out of bed and got all dressed up to head to the event. You knew even Steve wouldn’t want such a big celebration, so you’d at least have one person to mope around with.

You held on to Bucky the whole night; your arm gripping his metal bicep as the two of you mingled. Bucky liked having you tucked into his side all night, the warmth of your body pressed up against his arm. “Hey, Stevie,” you greeted him, offering a warm hug. “Happy birthday!”

“Thanks, (Y/N),” he replied, hugging you, then Bucky. “Happy Independence Day,” he added.

Bucky’s hand immediately snaked around your waste, pulling your hip against his.

It wasn’t until he left to use the bathroom that you suddenly felt naked. You almost wanted to wrap your arms around yourself in comfort. You felt stupid – you were in a room full of friends, people you knew, that you liked. Yet, every time you were in this setting, you never felt more insecure.

And apparently it showed.

You were joined by none-other than the reason for your insecurity. “(Y/N),” she greeted you with a curt nod.

“Hey, Natasha,” you responded, taking a long sip of your drink. She watched you under lidded eyes, her red lips pursing slightly. She looked great, of course, her royal blue dress hugging her curves tightly, he heels adding extra height the both of you knew she didn’t need. “What’s up?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “Enjoying the night?”

Now it was your turn to shrug. “As much as I can, I guess. I’ve been waiting for the fireworks show. It was the best last year.”

She nodded, this time taking a swig of her own drink. “Tony sure does know how to throw a party.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed. “He’s thrown enough of them.”

The two of you stood in silence for a moment; it wasn’t super comfortable for you, but she sure didn’t seem to notice – or care. “You seem a little on edge.”

She wanted you to out yourself. Surely, she was going to pull it out of you somehow. “Not really my scene,” you noted, swirling the ice around in your glass.

“Look, (Y/N),” she began, obviously confirming your suspicion. “There’s never been anything between me and Bucky. In fact – ” she glanced around the room, eyes stopping on a particular man. “ – I’ve got a few skeletons of my own.” You tried to follow her line of sight, but the crowd was too thick in that direction. “He loves you so stop trying to find things wrong with your relationship. He may have been a charming guy back in the day, but you’ve got him wrapped around your finger.” She winked, a small smile building across her plump red lips.

You didn’t even know what to say in that moment. You gawked at her – at Black Widow hyping you up? Was that her way of doing it? Hell, she could tell you that you intimidated every single person in this room, and you’d take it as the biggest compliment ever. To hear about your power from her? Practically an honor.

“Hey,” Bucky spoke up from behind you as he returned. “What’s goin’ on over here?”

“Just girl talk,” Natasha replied before heading off.

Bucky turned to you, confused. “What’s that about?”

You stared at her as she walked away, swaying her hips and heading for the man she mentioned earlier. “I’m not too sure,” you said slowly, mesmerized by her walk.

Bucky’s hand in yours made you turn up towards him, meeting his blue eyes. “Ready to get out of here?” He whispered lowly.

You bit your lip and nodded, setting your glass down and squeezing his hand in both of yours.

Bucky carried you from the front door to the bed; he placed you down on top of the mattress like you were made of glass. He kissed your lips like he was going off to war, but he tasted like he’d just returned.

His hands ran furiously over your back, eventually resting on the zipper and tugging downwards; your hands ran all over his chest, tugging his shirt open, no regard for the buttons. He started peeling your dress off your body as you leaned back on the bed, working on taking off your bra while he discarded the dress on the floor. He followed suit, discarding his clothes before returning to the bed, covering your body with his warm one. His flesh hand cupped your jaw, the other holding his balance on the bed. Your arms wrapped around his neck one hand holding the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you, deepening the kiss, while the other ran through his tangled hair. You interlocked your legs around his waist, pulling yourself upwards to grind on his hard cock.

He moaned into your mouth, grinding back into you, reveling in just the feeling of your wetness gliding against his cock. His hand left your face to grab your ass, giving it a firm squeeze before he pinned your hips to the mattress with his own, humping against you. You whispered against him, pleading: “Bucky, please,” you whispered against his lips.

His mouth skidded down your cheek and past your jawline to suck a sloppy kiss onto your neck. As his face was buried in your shoulder, making his way down to your breast, his hand found its way between your hips, stroking your soaked lips. You hummed and gripped his hair as his finger split the difference, prodding its way into your soaked entrance. As two other fingers joined in, curling inside of your pussy, he licked your nipple, biting the pebbled nub softly. “You’re so wet, baby. Love how you’re always so wet for me.”

“Only for you, James,” you whispered, blissed out, head falling back against the mattress as his thumb found your clit, rubbing small circles under the hood. You felt a jolt up your body, your pussy instinctively clenching against his fingers.

He let out a deep breath, kissing your breast before planting a wet kiss to your lips, fingers not faltering. “I love you, (Y/N),” he murmured against your lips.

You opened your eyes, meeting his staring down at you, glazed over with lust. “I love you, baby,” you breathed, tilting your head up to kiss him again.

He pulled away from you, fingers stilling, long forgotten in the moment. “No, baby – ” he stopped, staring down at you, pleading with you, please understand. “Only you.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. Tears burning the back of your eyes. You bit your lip, nodding, not trusting your words as a few tears fell from the sides of your eyes, rolling down your skin to the mattress. He kissed you feverishly, teeth chipping against each other’s, lips and tongues sloppily sliding over each other, sharing air.

He pulled his hand away from your thighs, not moving far to line up his dick to your now soaked and desperate pussy. Your breath hitched as he pushed the tip in; all the air Bucky held in his lungs suddenly escaped him. “Fuck, extra tight for me tonight, huh?” You moaned, trying to rock your hips against his, his bodyweight pinning you down. “Eager, baby,” he groaned from the back of his throat.

“Please, baby,” you begged, fisting the sheets, using all your energy to grind against him. “Please.”

Please.

He complied, snapping his hips down into yours, his big dick stretching your walls. You yelped out, your opening burning as it welcomed his length. His cock curved upwards, hitting deep inside you as he swiftly moved his hips back and forth, quick rhythm never erring. His hand fell to your lower stomach, as he pressed his hand firmly above your public bone. “Mmm, look, baby, I can feel my dick in you,” he whispered, reveling in the feeling as his dick bottomed out inside of you. He felt the tip through the soft flesh of your belly – boy, you felt it, too. Every time he pounded into you felt your head spin. You saw nothing but black, stars blinding your vision at every thrust.

You nearly snaked your hand down to your clit for your final release, but he pulled your hand away, pinning it to the mattress above your head. He sat up on his knees, grabbing your other hand and joining it with the other, holding them both down to the mattress under the grasp on his metal hand. As he returned to leaning over you, sliding his dick back in your pussy, his flesh hand returned to your clit, rubbing in fast circles. You screamed, thighs coming together, snapping tightly against his hips.

That wouldn’t stop him. You weren’t strong enough to hold him in place; he kept fucking you into the mattress, your body shaking wildly as your legs were tied around him. Your back arched off the bed as your pussy throbbed. “Yeah, baby, squeezing my dick with your tight little pussy, huh?” You screamed out and nodded your head wildly, clenching around his cock as the pressure on your clit built up. “Fuck, you’re so good to me – made for me.”

You pulled against his metal arm, body convulsing underneath him. He watched with anticipation, biting his own lip nearly bloody as he pushed you over the edge of your orgasm. You yelped out, gasping for air as your eyes squeezed tight. Your legs shook around him, fingers clawing at his metal plated hand. Bucky could come along just from watching you tremble mid orgasm. But, god, your tight pussy quiver around him surely helped. He fucked you harder, the last few strokes hard and fast. He came with a groan, spilling his hot seed into your soaked cunt.

He whispered curse words to himself as he fucked his dick soft, mixing your own juices together before falling on top of you, pressing his lips to your neck, littering hickeys all over.

As he felt your post orgasm breathing change, he picked his head up, kissing all the way up your neck and jaw until he could look fully down at you. “Hey, baby, no,” he cooed once he caught sight of your watery eyes. “Why are you crying?” He kissed away the tears running down your cheeks.

You smiled at him, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. “’M fine, Buck – I just,” you huffed, rolling your teary eyes at yourself, thinking it all suddenly stupid. “I’m sorry – ”

“’s nothing to be sorry for, baby,” he whispered against the shell of your ear.

Your fingers grazed through his hair again, scratching slightly at his scalp. He knew. He knew what you were talking about. He always did – he always understood everything you did or said. “I love you, James.”

“I love you, (Y/N),” he murmured with one final kiss. “Only you.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes smut #captain america #fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes angst

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angstsfordays · 4 years

Text

Stay With Me

Summary: You liked Steve. No, you still like Steve. When you finally confessed, he could not give you a definite answer. Your heart broke. But what happens when you came face to face with Steve the very next day, only this time he wasn’t really your Steve….

Pairing: Steve rogers x Enhanced!reader (Y/N)

Warnings: FLUFF. ANGST. MORE FLUFF. AND PERHAPS TEARS. A couple of swear words. Death.

Word count: 8987

Notes: HI EVERYBODY! This is my first Marvel fanfiction! I wrote fanfics before, but I have always been much more of a reader. After a 1.5 year hiatus, I felt compelled to write again. Hope everyone enjoys this piece. I still am trying to establish myself as a rookie writer.

This is AU and doesn’t fall in any of the MCU timeline. Let’s just assume that the world is currently at peace from Thanos and this is just set in an everyday Avengers timeline. A like, reblog or comment will be deeply appreciated :)

———————————————————————

You woke up with an unnerving feeling in your chest. You wondered why and then you were reminded of the day before. You had confessed to Steve. Yes that Steve, the Steve Rogers. Captain America. Your boss. Your hopeless crush. You joined the Avengers not too long ago. It had been over two years. You were an agent of SHIELD, but more importantly an enhanced individual.

You always had your powers since you were young but hid it to blend in. When you’re 20, you used your powers for the first time to save someone in danger. You ended up on SHIELD’s radar and then recruited into the academy.

You undergone training to become a SHIELD operative under Phil Coulson’s tutelage and was recognised to be an outstanding agent. However, more so often, you were not a stickler for rules and had gone off book several times in operations.

This placed you on a thin line to getting kicked out of the academy, but you always had the backing of Phil who grown a soft spot. You reminded him of his younger days and also his fellow colleague, Melinda May whom put the interests of saving lives at the forefront in their work.

When the Battle of New York happened, you were broken. Mainly because you lost your mentor and your dearest friend. You were teetering on quitting when Phil died in the line of duty. Director Fury pulled you back, reminding you of Phil’s sacrifice and how Phil thought the world of you, feeling that you had much potential to unfold. You continued working under Director Fury’s orders, working on special missions.

When SHIELD was taken down by HYDRA from the inside, you didn’t know who to trust. All you knew was that Director Fury had seemingly been assassinated. You wanted to find out what happened, but plans deviated when you realised you were on HYDRA’s radar. Your powers were of great interest to them and you were wanted. You had to abandon the place you felt like home and went into hiding.

A couple of years later, you resurfaced. You found yourself facing the Avengers while they were on a mission. No you were fighting not against them, instead you stumbled upon them while you were on the run. That’s when you saw Steve Rogers for the first time. It didn’t feel like the first time though.

Perhaps it was because you heard so much about him from Phil that you felt you already knew him. A smile formed on your face when you recalled Phil’s rambling of his love for the war hero. It was one of those moments when you saw him as the real Phil, and not just Agent Coulson- your supervising officer.

A HYDRA agent was going to aim for Steve from a hidden spot and you almost flew in to intervene. You knocked out the agent with your gloved fists engulfed in high density energy. You remembered staring into the sparkling blue eyes of Steve Rogers for the first time. His eyes widened at the sight of you- wondering who you were and what were you doing.

You heard backup coming and the two of you fought off a couple more HYDRA agents together. It was as if you had been working together your whole life, the two of you fought in sync. You covered for him and he did so for you. There was an unspoken synergy that happened between you two. When the last HDYRA agent went down, you two finally looked at each other once more. Panting and out of breath, you hunched over trying to catch your breath.

You heard his footsteps coming closer, as if to check on you. You looked up at him, and he took his helmet off. His crop but luscious blonde locks fell over.

“Hey, are you alright-” You heard his voice for the first time. It was not really; you had seen him before and heard him before. You remembered the video clips that were played in classes at the academy. SHIELD was founded on the legacy of Captain America afterall. But this was different. You heart started to beat wildly, knowing that he was speaking to you.

“Steve, are you alright?” Another voice appeared. It was familiar. You two both spun your heads in the same direction to see a scarlet head emerging in your sight. Natasha Romanoff. You had seen her before back at SHIELD. Phil had worked together with her and Agent Barton several times. You were introduced once to them before as his mentee.

“Who’s that with you?” She spoke once more. You started to panic, what was this situation with you, Captain America and Black Widow? You were supposed to be in hiding from the HYDRA operatives that came to capture you. Should you seek refuge with the Avengers? Would they keep you safe? You were not a hundred percent sure. You felt that you were still safest alone.

That’s why you decided to take flight. Literally. Because with your powers, you managed to push yourself off the ground and into the air, landing far away from where the two avenger members were.

The next time you saw Steve was in your apartment. You came home to see him standing in your kitchen. You dropped your bag of groceries and let out a scream that would have your neighbours appalled. Your powers came out almost immediately in defense and Steve had to duck when a shot of energy aimed at the kitchen cabinet behind him.

He raised both his hands in defense and assured he meant no harm. He explained that Natasha had helped him to track you down. He understood your situation and offered you a place in the Avengers compound. No more hiding and no more fear of surviving.

All previous resistance thrown out of the window, the sincerity in his eyes and voice won you over almost immediately. You knew not to trust people easily, that much Phil has taught you but how could you not when it was Steve Rogers.

So you then found yourself becoming a part of the Avengers. You blended into the group seamlessly, like you were an old-time friend. You had gotten closer to Natasha who was once an intimidating senior agent in your eyes. You became fast friends with Wanda whom you bonded over the love of food. More so of her cooking and you being the taste tester.

Sam and Bucky welcomed you into their group especially when you find yourself the buffer between their bickering. You always went along with Tony Stark’s antics and he saw you as a little sister. Bruce and you have a polite relationship, not having much in common but you still got along with him in the group.

Vision and you have a pretty interesting relationship, you found yourself as a life sensei to him whenever he was curious about the human way of life. You only met Thor a few times but you two had a friendly relationship whenever he visited Earth. He felt like another older brother to you.

Now. Where does that leave Steve Rogers? The man who brought you into this new life. You regarded him as your leader, captain and comrade. You wanted to impress him especially since he offered you a new chance in life. You always made sure you did your best during missions so as not to disappoint him. You wanted to be in his good books. You wanted him to like you as a teammate and maybe more?

You didn’t know when you started to have feelings for the American hero, but you believed it was gradual.

When you saw him in the morning eating disgusting plain oats, you offered to whip up some fluffy blueberry pancakes (which you learnt how to from Wanda). When you see his brows knitted to get his Netflix account created, you chuckled and decided to help the poor guy out. When he found in himself from unwanted attention at Tony’s gatherings, you slid in smoothly between him and the other party, coming up with smooth lies to help him out of an awkward bind.

You didn’t know why you wanted to do all of those things. Were you being nice? Or perhaps you wanted to be nice to him? He was on your mind most of the time. How can I make a good impression? How can I get closer to him? Your mind was always boggling with such thoughts.

Whenever he was in the room, your eyes always wandered off to him. You tried to subtly get closer to him- sitting beside him during movie nights, sitting across him during meetings. It was those little things that made you feel like you could signal your presence to him. You wanted him to notice you just as much you did for him. Of course, these things did not go unnoticed. Unfortunately, not by said man himself but everyone else in your inner circle.

Natasha caught your longing look at Steve one movie night, and she smirked to herself. She nudged your hips the next morning in the kitchen when Steve walked into the room. She gave you an all-knowing smile and your eyes widened in horror. How? You mouthed the word to her, and she just shrugged while looking all smug.

Wanda was the next one to know you both baked together for Valentine’s Day. You two were baking for everyone in the team. You decided to make a special cookie, she noted. One in the shape of a heart and with familiar colours of red, white and blue icing. Steve, Bucky and Sam were walking in from their workout in the gym when they smelt the scent of freshly baked goods.

Sam’s hands were reaching out for your special cookie when you turned your back to wash your hands in the sink. You let out a shrill scream of horror when you saw Sam picking it up and bringing it closer to his lips.

“STOP RIGHT THERE!” The three soldiers almost jumped back at your voice and Sam raised his other hand in surrender. You took your cookie out of his hands and dusted it off as if his touch sullied the baked biscuit.

“This is not yours, Sam. You can have those.” You pointed over to the other batch of cookies. They were all smaller in sizes, in the regular circular shape with generic red and pink icing drawn in heart shapes on the surface.

“What? Then the heck it that cookie for?” Sam retorted, almost offended.

You grinned sheepishly when you directed your eyes at a certain blonde soldier. Your previous bravado shaken as you tried to find your voice to speak. You swore your hands were trembling and you tried hard to not break the palm sized heart shaped cookie in your hands.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Steve. I uh made this for you.” Yes. You got the words out. The expressions on the faces of the other three people in the room would have been hilarious but they were not in your sight. You only had eyes for one person.

“What? How come he gets a special cookie from the rest of us? Now that’s just discrimination.” Sam quipped. Bucky shook his head like he could not believe how dumb Sam could even be. Wanda had to bite her lips back, when she realised what was going on all along. Oh my dear Y/N…she thought.

“Would you accept my it?” You added nervously when you noticed Steve did not give a response.

“Uh, thank you Y/N. That’s really nice of you.” Steve answered as politely as he usually did and took the cookie from your hands. When Steve just stopped at that response, Bucky looked like he was going to die from the stupidity of the men in the room except for him. Bucky also knew there and then what was happening. He could not believe his best friend was so oblivious.

“Hey, that’s unfair. I want one.” Sam whined almost like a child. Bucky face palmed himself and grunted.

You were a little disappointed at Steve’s response, nice of you? Urgh, you secretly wished he had more to say. Did you put him on a spot in front of his friends? How stupid could you have gotten?

“Fine fine, geez I will make a falcon-themed one for you, You big baby.” You huffed in annoyance, but also to mainly mask your disappointment. You quickly grabbed a piping bag. “Would you like one too, Bucky?” You mustered a smile on your face to make it seem like you were not affected by Steve’s response at all. Bucky gave you a look like he knew- he knew what’s up and he gave you a sorry look.

“Sure doll, I would love one.” Bucky said in hopes of making you feel better. You felt a hand on your shoulder and turned to see Wanda to give you a comforting smile. You fought to hold back the tears welling up in your eyes.

But that was not your actual confession to Steve.———————————————————————

That time came during an Avenger’s game night. The team was playing truth and dare Jenga. It was your turn and you hoped you gotten something that would not be too difficult to do.

“Tell the person across you something that you always wanted to say to them.”

You looked up immediately and were met with cerulean blue eyes. Your breath hitched when you realised who it was.

You cursed in your head and perhaps even muttered it under your breath. You felt the eyes of the rest of your teammates intently on you. After a minute, Tony started to get impatient.

“Come on kid, what do you want to say to Capsicle? There should be plenty right? If not drink up.” Oh boy, if only Tony knew. You looked nervously elsewhere and locked eyes with Natasha beside you. Your eyes then fleet towards Wanda who looked concerned and then to Bucky who almost looked nervous for you. Your legs were getting jumpy and then your hands lunged forward to grab the bottle of whiskey in front of you.

A series of ‘Nos’ came up, but you couldn’t hear them clearly as you drowned down the liquid. It tasted like fire down your throat and it almost burned. You stumbled backwards as you tried to recover your footing.

“Really, Y/N? You rather drink up than say something to Cap?” Tony jested. “By the way, you just drank Thor’s special Asgardian liquor by mistake.”

“What?” You let out a loud exclamation and you turned the bottle to see a flask bottle that you recognised to have been Thor’s.

“Oh boy.” A sudden wave of adrenaline surged through you and you had to close your eyes to gain your bearings once more. You opened your eyes to meet Steve’s eyes once more. You did not know what was happening next. The words left your mouth before you could even formulate it in your head.

“I LIKE YOU SO MUCH!” What was going on? You didn’t mean to say this out loud?! Why were you even saying it? You already drank to pass saying the truth. Why couldn’t you control yourself?

“I REALLY REALLY REALLY LIKE YOU, STEVE ROGERS.” You declared your love once more and you were shocked by your boldness. Everyone else was reeling in their seats as they looked at the situation unfolding in front of them. Tony Stark could be seen muffling his laughter at Y/N’s antic while a blonde soldier, who was at the end of the confession remained stiff in expression.

“CAN’T YOU HEAR MY HEART?” Your speech was slurred as you brought your hand to clutch the side of your shirt where your heart was.

“You have super hearing, right? Can’t you hear my heart beating like crazy? Whenever I’m around you, I feel like my heart is going to jump out of my chest because I like you much!” Your mouth continued to blabber, but your mind was reeling. Control yourself Y/N! You willed yourself but you couldn’t. Stupid Asgardian alcohol.

“I can’t hide it anymore. I need to let you know! I need to let the whole word know!” You flailed your hands out in motion. “Do you know how much it hurts to like you and not letting you know? I need to get this off my chest. Right here and right now!” You put a foot up on the table and stretched your hand out to point at Steve Rogers.

“Steve Rogers! Do you want to go out with me?” You asked boldly, not caring a hoot about everyone in the room. Your mind was chastising you for being foolish, but your heart felt fulfilled from doing what it always wanted to do.

There were gasps from people in the room. A series of ‘oh my god’ and suppressed laughter from others. Sam’s jaw looked like it was going to drop to the floor. Tony at this moment couldn’t hold back himself and howled. He needed to take a swig of booze to continue watching this. Bucky looked over to his best pal who looked like he didn’t want to be anywhere else but here.

Both Natasha and Wanda had worried expressions. They were glad you were able to confess but they also knew this was not the way you would want it to go. Vision and Bruce looked like they couldn’t believe what was happening in front of their eyes.

Steve Rogers was at a loss. The last thing he expected was a confession from you. Steve was not sure how to respond. He liked you alright, but he wasn’t sure if he liked you as much as you to him. He always seen you as a friend and teammate.

He remembered how shy you were when first joined. You were wary of everything, and it was normal. He read up on your profile. He was surprised to learn you were under Agent Phil Coulson’s personal tutelage. He knew the man and thought highly of him. Natasha gave in her input, remembering you were a spunky and enthusiastic rookie agent who always seemed to put in her best efforts.

When he realised you had been on the run from HYDRA because of your powers, he knew he had to step in. It was only the right thing to do. When he first saw you, he was taken aback at the girl who covered for him. You didn’t have to. If you did, you exposed yourself to the risk of your location to HYDRA. And when the two of you fought hand in hand, he felt a weird sense of camaraderie he did not expect to find in someone he met for the first time.

He remembered when you accepted his offer, he offered his hand but instead you pulled in for a hug. He was taken aback but gave in when he felt you shaking in his arms. You let out muffled cries and Steve could feel your sense of relief that you didn’t need to hide anymore. You were safe and he would keep you safe.

You opened up to the rest of the team almost instantly, your easy-going nature made everyone comfortable about you. You had an effortless way of getting along with people and you soon became an indispensable part of the team.

However, Steve started to notice while you were getting closer with everyone, he could feel like you were keeping a distance from him. While you were still friendly with him, he could not help but to feel that you showed hesitance around him.

Sure enough, you always did nice things for him, but Steve could not help but feel you were always guarded around him. You were unafraid to be silly and goofy around the rest of the team, but he could sense you always wanted to present a good image whenever he’s around.

When you were not looking, he could see you making faces to Sam across the room when meetings get boring and draggy. It was one late night, both you and Bucky could not sleep, and you offered to help Bucky with his nightmares when Steve happened to pass by the common kitchen.

The look of excitement when you brought out an entire tea set and assortment of tea selection laid on the table. “You should give up on coffee from now on. Tea is the way to go!” You said in a matter of fact tone. You went on to talk about the benefits of tea and how they helped you especially in the line of work you were all involved in.

You went on to brew actual tea leaves for Bucky, claiming it was even better than putting a sachet in a cup of hot water. Steve couldn’t help but smile at the lengths you went for Bucky. It was nice to see Bucky having another friend aside from himself and occasionally Sam.

Steve didn’t know how long he was staring but he was snapped out of it when Bucky called him out from where he was hiding behind the wall. When your head snapped to see Steve, your carefree smile dropped and became one that was more reserved.

“Uh, hey Steve.” You greeted him. “Tea?” You asked him as you held up the pot. Sure why not, Steve thought.

The three of you began to have a heart to heart late night talk. Your enthusiasm from earlier mellowed but you still talked easily with Bucky and him. Steve noticed your eyes were always looking towards Bucky. Did you like him? Steve saw you throwing glances every now and then, but you kept your eyes on Bucky, as if wanting to avoid having to look at him. You laughed easily at Bucky’s sardonic humour and even rested your head on his arm a couple of times in affection.

You had to like Bucky right? Steve never seen you so close to another guy in the team, except for Tony and Sam whom he knew you had sibling like relationships with. Steve knew it, Bucky always got the girl.

Even back in the 30s’. Bucky had an effortless charm about him, and even after all he had gone through, he never lost his appeal. Steve knew about the glances that some of the female staff in the compound had whenever Bucky stepped into the room.

Steve suddenly felt like the scrawny kid back in Brooklyn. The one who always gotten put aside. The one who was always forgotten. Even after the serum, Steve felt like this from time to time. Steve did know he had gotten more attractive with his increased height and bigger build, but he couldn’t help to wonder if that was all he had.

He was aware of the looks he received by female staff too in the Avengers compound, but he was also aware that they were attracted to Captain America and not Steve Rogers.

Steve felt like you weren’t like the rest. Sure, you did nice things for him and smiled at him everytime you two met, but Steve felt like you were genuine. Yes, they were more muted than what you did for the rest of the team, but he did felt you were not just fawning over him. You were just nice like that.

He did secretly hoped you could be less guarded around him though. Was he intimidating? Was he not approachable? Steve thought long and hard about this once in a while.

Back to the confession, Steve could not believe what he was hearing. You liked him all this while? It wasn’t Bucky? But how? But why? He thought you liked Bucky for sure! And here you are, declaring your crush for him in front of everyone like it was nothing. Yes, you did drink Thor’s special mead but it was a complete flip of how you usually were around him.

What was he supposed to say? You were drunk. Steve didn’t even know if you were even thinking straight. But your eyes. Your eyes were boring straight to his and he realised this was the longest that you have looked him in the eyes without shying away.

“Come on, Rogers. Don’t leave a girl hanging. Give her an answer.” Tony egged on, the only one amused in this entire situation.

“I-uh…” Steve looked to his best pal and Bucky could only returned a look that said ‘It’s all up to you, punk’.

“Y/N, you are drunk. You should return to your room.” Steve instantly regretted his words when he saw the sullen look on your face. You looked like you were crushed, and he felt horrible.

“I’m not drunk!” You retorted almost defiantly. “I’m wide awake. I’m woke.” You claimed.

“Do you not like me? Am I that unlikable?” You added on in a whimpering tone. You turned to your side and grabbed Bucky by the collar.

“Why? Why does he not like me?” You cried almost like a child who didn’t get she wanted. Bucky decided to intervene and hoist you over his shoulders. “Okay time for you to be in bed.”

“Put me down Bucky! I am perfectly capable of walking. I don’t want my face to meet your ass!” You fought back as you started throwing fists at Bucky’s backside to get him to let you down. You didn’t remember the events of that night after Bucky dropped you on your bed. You did have an inkling memory of Wanda and Natasha helping you get ready for bed.

———————————————————————

Shit, you thought. Every memory came back rushing back to you and you squished your face to the pillow. You didn’t want to face the music. You didn’t even want to step out of your room to face the consequences of your drunkenness. What have you done? Every last possibility of your relationship with Steve had been tossed out the window.

Should you quit? Pack up and run away? You didn’t think you could ever stand to be around him anymore. Your mind then wandered to the pounding headache from the hangover you acquired. You turned your face to the side to see a glass of water and two aspirin pills. You wandered who left them there. Must be either Wanda or Nat.

You took the pills and down them with the glass of water. You sat up to get your bearings and let out a sigh. Woah, you stunk of alcohol. A bath sounded nice at this moment. You dragged yourself with every ounce of energy left in your body and struggled to fill the tub with warm water. You didn’t know how you managed but you went over to your cabinet to grab some relaxing essential oils to be added into your bath.

Yes that bath was helpful indeed. After you rinsed off, you changed into a long-sleeved cropped Henley and loose sweats. You were drying your hair as you mulled over what happened last night.

What were you supposed to do? You could feel the hunger growling in your stomach. You asked Friday for the time and it was well over 2pm. You then asked for the locations of everyone in the team. If you wanted to avoid social interactions, you needed to come up with a plan. Bucky and Sam were training new recruits. Nat, Wanda and Vision were out while Tony ad Bruce were in the lab. Steve was in his office.

That sounded good, you could sneak into the kitchen, make a sandwich or something and get the hell out in 10 minutes tops. As quickly as you could, you made sure to make a sound even while sprinting to the kitchen. When you assessed that the coast was clear, you quickly opened the fridge and cabinets to take out what you want.

You messily put a sandwich together and even grabbed an instant ramen bowl. You placed everything on a tray and quickly returned to your room. You wolfed down on the sustenance as if you didn’t eat for days. The soup from the ramen cured was a warm welcome for your stomach. You placed your tray aside and lay on your bed. What next?

You walked over to the toilet to relieve yourself once more when you suddenly felt the ground shaking. You shot up in surprise and quickly cleaned up.

“Friday, what happened?” You asked worriedly.

“There has been an explosion down in lab beside the garage.” Friday answered immediately.

“Are Tony and Bruce okay?” You asked after the Science bros.

“Yes, their vitals show no danger. However, Captain Rogers was also present when the explosion occurred.” Steve was there too?

“I cannot detect his-” Friday spoke once more, but you didn’t hear the end of it as your door flew open and you raced down to the lab.

Tony and Bruce came into view as they stood around the weird panels in the lab. There was a faint smoke in the air.

“Woah what happened?” You could hear Sam’s voice behind you, and you turned to see Bucky present too. The three of you walked over to the scene hurriedly to examine what happened.

“Where’s Steve? I heard he was also-” Your sentence was interrupted by a coughing. The voice sounded familiar, but something was different. The smoke cleared to reveal….

“Yo Steve, what happened?!” Sam exclaimed at the sight standing in front of him. All eyes turned to see Steve Rogers only much much older in physical appearance. It would match with his actual age but you couldn’t believe your eyes.

The Steve in front of you looked shocked at the sight of everyone. He also had a look of longing like he had not seen everyone in a long time.

“Shit, we made Cap old!” Tony gasped aloud.

“Steve, you there?” Bucky stepped forward to place his hands on the shoulder of his old friend. Your attention was brought to the height difference. Steve was no longer the same height range as Bucky. He in fact, looked smaller. His grey hair was combed neatly and you could see the wrinkles adorned on his face. His blue eyes were still sparkling, you thought. Steve was dressed warmly in several layers on top and he turned his head slowly to take in his surroundings.

His eyes landed on you and started to panic. Last night’s events came rushing back to you and you then realised you didn’t want to face him. You turned your heels to leave immediately but you were stopped in your tracks.

“Wait, Y/N. Please don’t go.” The voice that came out of him sounded so frail that to didn’t had the heart to continue walking.

Your body turned back to face future Steve and he was slowly making his way to you. As you got closer, you realised the two of you were almost of the same height. Future Steve went in for a hug without any other words. Though he was much smaller, his hug was still firm. Your eyes widened at his actions and you awkwardly returned it with your arms wrapped under his arms.

“It’s so good to see you again. I missed you so much.” Future Steve muttered as he leaned his face into the crook of your neck. His voice shook almost like he was holding back tears.

“Again? What do you mean again?” Bruce took the words right out of your mouth. Steve reluctantly let go of you and turned to face the rest of the people in the room.

“What year is this?” Future Steve asked. Bruce gave the answer to which future Steve let out a short laugh.

“That long, huh. 50 years I see.” He spoke once more.

“50 years? Wait a minute, are you from the future?” Sam asked incredulously. Future Steve didn’t gave an answer but the silence that followed confirmed our suspicions.

“So if Cap here is from 50 years into the future, where does leave the Cap in our timeline?” Tony inquired. Old Steve gave a shrug.

“You always make the impossible seem possible, Tony.”

“Perhaps, they switched places.” Bruce deduced. He then went on rambling how Tony and himself were experimenting with the idea of time travel and different universe. The original Steve was walking in to talk to Tony when the blast had happened and he got caught in it, which all led to the current situation.

“Can we get him back?” Bucky spoke up, looking over to long-time friend.

“We can try but we will need time to work out the mechanics and see when we have gone wrong. We cannot guarantee how long it would take.” Bruce answered.

“Friday, you got all of this on tape right? I cannot wait to show out Cap this footage when he gets back.” Tony jested and you turned to him with an annoyed expression.

“This is serious Tony. You better fix this!”

“Geez kid, cut me some slack.” He rolled his eyes. “So what are we going to do with this Cap?” He pointed over to the future Steve standing beside me.

“We can take him back to the common room, let him get comfortable while you fix your machine. Best to not let anyone else know about this outside of our circle.” Bucky remarked before gesturing for Steve to follow him. Sam was still reeling in surprise as he assessed future Steve.

You stood rooted to the ground, unsure what to do. Should you follow Sam and Bucky with future Steve? You were still haunted by what happened last night. Well this Steve didn’t know what happened, but you couldn’t help but to feel embarrassed still.

“Y/N, are you coming?” Bucky offered you to join. You were about to reject his offer, make up an excuse to go back to your room when someone grabbed hold of your hand.

You looked to see future Steve holding your hand gently with his wrinkled hands. You could feel the blood rushing to your cheeks and ears. He was gazing into your eyes with a shy smile.

“Walk with me?” He asked and you swore you wanted to melt into a puddle.

“Me?” You were sure you looked confused at the transition of what was happening. Future Steve chuckled and continued walking on, pulling you with him. Bucky who witnessed this smiled to himself and Sam continued to look baffled at everything.

His hand felt warm and soft, you thought. Unconsciously, your other hand went to hold his arm. You were shy to meet future Steve’s gaze especially since you were now the same height as him. It was much more intense than looking at him now.

All of you walked silently to the common room. Everyone sat around the dining table, you offered to make coffee but future Steve held onto your hand as you stood up to walk over to the pantry.

“I would like some tea, if you don’t mind. The one with actual leaves and not just the tea bag.” His face crinkled as he smiled at you.

“Uh sure- you two want some coffee?” You turned to the other two soldiers. The two went along with Steve’s request for tea and you went to find the tea set stored in the cabinet.

You placed the tea set in the centre of the table. It was a clay tea set that was gifted to you by your Bucky as your Secret Santa last Christmas. Nat and Wanda gave their input on the design.

You got the boiled water ready to rinse the teapot and cups. Following this you started to brew the tea as you added the tea leaves into the pot and added the hot water. You rinsed the first batch of brewed tea once before making the second batch that was prepared for drinking.

You were honestly nervous even though you done this hundreds of times. Somehow having future Steve watching over you made you wary of your movements. There was a good few minutes of silence before you poured the tea into the small teacups and offering it to everyone. Future Steve appreciated the teacup in his hands before blowing on it and taking a sip.

“Y/N, it always tastes the best when you made it.” Future Steve turned to me again with a sweet smile. Shit, Steve was still adorable even beyond his years. Calm down your heart, Y/N!

“So Cap, what’s life like 50 years down the road?” Sam decided to break the ice. Future Steve laughed at his bluntness before answering. It felt like nothing changed. Even while this Steve has aged, the three soldiers fell back into easy conversation.

Sam was curious about himself and tried to pry information out of future Steve. Future Steve warned that knowing the future may not be a good idea. He did throw in several teasing remarks that Sam and Bucky will continue to argue in their old age in front of their grandchildren.

Bucky was surprised that he would even have his own family in the future. He was about to ask Steve about his own when Bucky’s eyes wandered to Steve’s left hand, a silver band resting on one of his fingers.

“Guess we’re not the only ones who had our own families.” Bucky remarked smugly as he nodded his head to future Steve’s wedding band. Future Steve thumbed over his wedding band before sneaking a glance over to you.

“Well, uh-yes I did. But-” The idea of Steve married was not impossible, I mean after all he was such a great catch. You were pretty sure Steve finally gotten a nice girl to settle down with. The gnawing feeling in your chest returned. Damn, this hurts more than you thought. You just wished Steve had a happy and fulfilling life.

You stood up abruptly from your seat, almost seething with jealousy. You couldn’t help it. The feelings from yesterday were still raw and you couldn’t handle the truth if future Steve were to talk about his happy married life.

Your abrupt action caused the chair to screech as it was pushed back. You felt the eyes of all three soldiers on you and you hasten to collect the tea set to mask your reaction. You hurriedly walked over to the sink to wash your tea set, leaving it to air dry.

“I’m going off for a walk. See you boys later.” You quickly waved off before you transitioned to a brisk walk to the elevator. When you exit one of the doors of the compound, you headed straight for the clearing near the lake. It was your secret spot that you had claimed as your own. You always came here when your mind and heart were heavy.

You had a bench secretly installed so that you could sit there and gaze into the sunset on occasions. You remembered ordering it on Tony’s card and had to bring it out to the clearing when everyone was still asleep in the early morning, You laughed silently at your own antics.

You laid on your side on the bench, propping your head up with your arms and you dazed off into the lake in front of you. You didn’t know how long you were lying down but you wished you had brought your phone and earpiece to pass the time.

“I guess even the serum cannot help me at this age. Way to make an old man come after you, Y/N.” Your ears perked up at his voice and in a moment of surprise, rolled forward and off the bench.

“What the fu-” You exclaimed when your body hit the ground.

“Language. Although, many reminders wouldn’t have stopped you anyway.” You couldn’t believe who had followed you to your secret spot. Moreover, how did he know? Even Friday didn’t know! Or did she?

“Steve? What are you doing here?” You asked in a panic as you gathered yourself, brushing the dirt off your knees and elbows.

“Are you alright? That was not a pretty fall.” Future Steve now stood in front of you, his eyes were worried and concerned. His hands reached out to examine the extent of your injuries and was relieved to know that they were nothing major.

“How did you know I will be here? Nobody knows about this spot except for me.” You said.

“Well doll, you were not that subtle moving the bench across the hallway at 5am. Besides, I was already awake at that time” He spoke in a fond tone as he recalled the memory. “Curiosity got the better of me and I decided to follow the girl who was carrying a bench larger than herself.”

You cringed at the exposure of your secret and grimaced at how foolish you must have been in Steve’s eyes.

“I won’t blame you for keeping this place a secret. It is beautiful.” Future Steve spoke with a lingering gaze towards the lake and the surrounding flora. He then gestured for you to sit beside him and you reluctantly did, unsure of what to do either. You made sure that there was a gap between the two of you. You looked anywhere else except for him and didn’t what to say in the following silence.

“What would it take for you to look at me? Am I that unlikeable in your eyes?” Future Steve first broke the silence.

“No, I would never!” You immediately countered. You were shocked at how loud you were and reminded yourself to calm the f down. “I mean who would not like you?!” You gestured dramatically as your hands moved up and down at him. Steve inched closer to you and placed his hands over yours where were resting on your lap.

“I am glad to hear that, Y/N.” You looked into his eyes and had to avert them immediately before you feel like your heart would explode. You looked down to see his wedding band in your lap and you were reminded once more of what made you came out to the lake in the first place.

“Hopefully, Tony and Bruce can come up with a way to get you back to your time. I’m sure you’re missing your family.” You said to future Steve to which he shook his head.

“Not really actually. It’s nice to see all of you young again, reminds me of the good times where we were all together. I lost some people in my time and am glad to see them once again.”

“Oh, did we not all live to an old age like you?” Future Steve’s jaw clenched at your remark and you immediately realised you hit a nerve. “I’m so sorry-” You started apologising before future Steve waved you off, reassuring that it was fine. You could feel the grip of his hands tightened around yours.

“You must have been shocked to see me like this.” Future Steve looked over at himself.

“Shock would not have been the word, surprised was more accurate.” I corrected him.

“Still, you couldn’t have believed that the big and strong Captain America actually looked like this in his old age, right? The serum’s effects waned as I got older in age. I still am strong for someone my age, but my physique reverted back to my pre-serum days.” Future Steve said despondently.

“Hey, don’t say! Who cares about Captain America?” You retorted at his words. “All I see is adorable grandpa Steve Rogers. You’re way cuter like this!” You even emphasized your point when you grabbed his arm and laid your head on his shoulders. If it was the current Steve, you wouldn’t have dared to do any of this. But this Steve right here surprisingly made you feel comfortable around him.

You were still nervous knowing that he was still Steve, but somehow future Steve looked less intimidating.

“You’re still the same as ever. I missed you so much.” Future Steve brought your hands up to lips for a kiss. Now this shocked you as you couldn’t help but feel that this gesture meant more. You quickly withdrew your hands and saw the crestfallen look on his face.

“Look, Steve. I really appreciate you, but I don’t think this is appropriate.” The expression on his face told you he was hurt by your words. “You’re married, Steve.” You pointed to his wedding band.

Future Steve looked down to his wedding band and then his eyes went back to you. A ghost of a smile formed on his face and he shook his head. “I’m sorry if I came off weird. It’s just been such a long time since I saw you- I mean the younger version of you. My emotions took over, I apologise.”

“No-no don’t be sorry. I understand, sort of.” You rubbed the back of your ned in awkwardness. After a while, the two of you decided to head back to the compound. Future Steve offered you his arm and you took it as the both of you enjoyed the walk back in comfortable silence.

“Hey old man, Bruce and I might have figured it out. I think we can send you back.” You and future Steve looked at each other, both sending unwilling looks as if your time together was too short.

“I guess this is goodbye.” You said in a disappointed tone.

“It’s alright, love. I promise we will see each other again.” Future Steve cradled your face with one of his hands. You wondered what he meant, and did he just called you love?!

Future Steve went over to say goodbye to Bucky and Sam, giving each other hugs and claps on the back. Future Steve gave a small salute to Tony and Bruce to which they returned with a nod. He walked over to a raised platform and shifted in his feet to get comfortable. He looked over you once more.

You didn’t know why but you started to have tears forming in your eyes. You hesitantly raise your hands to give a weak wave. Future Steve smiled fondly and returned the gesture. He started to mouth words in your direction but before you could figure out what you wanted to say, a blinding light took over.

You shield your eyes from the light and turned sideways as you felt a rush of smoke and wind. You blinked your eyes repeatedly as you take in the sight before you. Gone was future Steve and…..

“Welcome back Cap!” Sam exclaimed excitedly at seeing his friend again.

“Quick question, Rogers. Where were you?” Tony chimed in as he walked over to Steve. “We met an older version of you 50 years down the road.” Tony replied and he waved up a screen to show a photo of future Steve in the garage with everyone.

“Oh I was somewhere, but it didn’t look like it was far off from this era. Everything looked the same. I wasn’t sure where I was until I saw a date somewhere.” Steve seemed like he was trying to phrase his response carefully and he looked back at Tony.

His eyes then swerved over to where Bucky, Sam and you were standing. He started striding forward and you were sure he was going over to Bucky and Sam. Your feet decided to shuffle backwards once you recalled what happened between you and this version of Steve just yesterday. You made to turn back when you felt yourself being pulled back into an embrace.

You were pushed against a solid mass of muscle; you didn’t need to look up because you knew who it was. Steve wrapped his arms tightly around you, seeming to not let you go anytime soon.

“Stefve-” Your voice was muffled against his shirt. You weren’t sure where to place your hands and you were sure it could have felt your heart being wildly against his own chest. Steve placed his head in the crook of your neck and took in a deep breath before sighing. Talk about déjà vu.

You looked over to see the rest of the guys in the garage staring on with bambi eyes. You gestured a wave towards Bucky, signalling for help. You weren’t ready for this Steve at all!

“What’s with the Capsicles hugging Y/N today?” Tony quipped from the side.

You didn’t know how long it was but knew it was long enough for a hug to turn awkward. You tried to place your hands between Steve and yourself to create distance.

“Steve, what’s wrong?” Your voice came out squeaky as you willed yourself to look into his eyes. You were surprised to see Steve’s eyes looking red and puffy as if he had been previously crying.

“Stay with me, Y/N. Just a little while longer.” He answered and how could you say no. You obliged and eventually wrapped your arms around him, returning his hug. The rest of the guys were befuddled at what was going on but decided to let the two of you have your moment.

You could hear Sam making a comment as he walked off. “Geez what a weird day and I haven’t even had a drink yet.” Bucky scoffed and proceeded to smack his head before walking forward.

Your eyes followed him and when he caught your stare, he winked before walking off. Your brows knitted at his previous actions but then you realised you had something more important to attend to. You still had a blonde super soldier clinging on to you like a koala.

“Alright, Steve. That’s enough of a hug. This is getting weird.” Upon your words, Steve finally released you but still held onto your arms.

“About yesterday, Y/N, I-” Steve started speaking and our eyes widened in anticipation of his following words. You don’t think you could bear to hear it. You cupped your ears and immediately ran off, making gibberish noise to tune him out.

“Wait, Y/N! Please listen to what I have to say!” Steve started chasing after you. He chased after you for a good several minutes out to the compound grounds. He knew where you were heading, you didn’t know why your feet decided to bring you there but you guessed that if any form of rejection is happening, you want it away from the eyes from anyone in the compound.

“Y/N Y/L/N! Stop it right there!” You halted in your tracks.

You turned back to see Steve Rogers with both hands on his hips. You felt like child being reprimanded by a parent. “Way to make an old man chase after you, Y/N Y/L/N.”

“You’re not that old.” You quipped back at his words.

“I’m well over 100, doll.” Steve reminded you as he laughed.

“You don’t need to run away from me, Y/N. What I’m about to say, well I-” Steve started stuttering and you could see him slightly nervous.

“What is it?” You tried to encourage him. Steve’s eyes started to turn red and he was looking at the ground.

“I like you too. I really like you Y/N.” Steve finally mustered the courage to let the words out of his mouth.

“Be my girl, please? I promise to love you and protect you always.” He added on. You felt your jaw dropped at what you were hearing. No way! Did Steve return your feelings? But how? But why?

“But yesterday, the party, you didn’t, I was drunk-” Your sentences weren’t making sense, but Steve knew what you meant.

“I know and I was honestly taken aback by your confession, doll. But I did some thinking and I realised that I feel the same too. I never realised how much I did until I lost you doll.” Steve’s long legs brought him closer to and he cradled your face with both his hands.

“You didn’t lose me, what are you talking about?” His words were puzzling, what did he meant by lose? How could it even be possible? You were right here all this time.

“I just- I don’t want to let you go ever. Please stay by my side.” Steve’s words only served to confuse you further, but you couldn’t bother to think about it in greater depth. You wanted Steve and he wanted you too. You nodded. “Always.”

Steve grinned a toothy wide smile before leaning in for a kiss. You two poured all your emotions into the kiss and it made your hearts soar. When you both finally pulled apart for a breather, Steve spoke. “I can’t wait for our future together.”

———————————————————————

50 years into the future

Steve landed on a grassy patch from the combustion of Tony and Bruce’s machine. He looked over to assess his surroundings and realised that he was not in the compounds anymore.

Steve then realised he was at a cemetery and there was a bouquet of flowers that laid on the ground beside his feet. He picked up the bouquet with lavender wrapping paper and turned to examine it further.

He then looked down again, this time to a gravestone standing just a few feet away from him.

Y/N ROGERS

A DEAR WIFE.

A LOYAL FRIEND.

A FIERCE FIGHTER

1988- 2030

The words Steve read before him hit him harder than a train wreck. How could this be possible? 2030? This means that Y/N only lived till a young age of 42. That was earlier than expected. Why was his heart aching in pain?

The tears started streaming down his face before he could even comprehend them. Steve dropped to his knees in front of the gravestone and hunched over with the bouquet gripped tightly in his hands.

“Y/N…” He whispered. “I swear I will change this future.”

———————————————————————

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #captain america #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #au #stever rogers x y/n #angstsfordays

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writingsofmyimagination · 5 years

Text

Conjecture |10|

Idol Reader Au, Enemies to Lovers AU

Summary: Your management refused to renew your contract unless you collaborated, so you ending up working with Min Yoongi. A guy you’d disliked from before both of your debuts. There is more to their past than meets the eye.

Links to all other parts in my Masterlist :)

Words:4311

Rating:18+

Warnings: SMUT!! (BDSM themes, restraints, toys, oral f recieving, masturbation, Slightly Dom Yoongi, Ice Play, Wax Play) Swearing.

if you want to be tagged let me know :)

Reblog, Like, Comment pwwwweeasse :)

- I hate I’m not going to see you properly until tonight -7:58am

- That’s if you can drag yourself from your studio when your home – 8:00am

- Hey I’m trying to get a hold of this whole work girlfriend balance thing okay. Stop being mean! :P – 8:04am

- I thought you liked it when I’m mean? -8:10am

Teasing Yoongi had been the main source of your amusement while he’d been away.

- Okay when I’m a begging panting mess underneath you then yes but not when you’re teasing me about actually being an adult. – 8:15am

Teasing you had been Yoongi’s main source of amusement while he’d been away

- Fuck off with that imagery! That wasn’t fair. I’ve not seen you for ages and first we have to do a bloody rehearsal. Hornyness aside I did really miss you, and can’t wait to curl up beside you (if you come to bed :P) – 8:16am

- Hey!

This was emphasised by the grumpy emoji

- I missed you too beautiful – 8:18am

You’d never get tired of him calling you that.

The single had topped the charts for the few weeks since it had been released, the video was almost doing just as well; the greedy industry was already screaming for more collaborations from the two of you especially since the announcement.

Safe to say both fandoms lost their shit for a while; neither had fully found it yet gauging by social media. The reactions from your fans were mostly positive which you kind of expected, there was already fan-fiction online about your relationship which was…interesting to say the least. The reaction from army was of course, momentous. You’d expected nothing less, the meme’s that had already been going viral were brilliant. Within hours of the announcement #KpopPowerCouple, #MoveoverBey-Z and #y/nXyoongi were just a few of the hashtags that trended with ferocious power.

As with the support there was obviously a lot of not so nice things circulating that you had to really absorb all the will power to not get upset or completely rage over; especially since the pair of you had been told to go silent online until the chaos had subsided. There were videos of fans in tears, devastated as ‘Yoongi was theirs’, even threats had been filtering through. The strain of the media blow up pushed you both into writing and work. It certainly didn’t help that the second the single was done; which was a few days after the announcement the boys had a couple of weeks’ worth of touring around Japan before they came back and prepped for the awards shows. You’re management had had you planning the next comeback stripping you of your two month hiatus that was planned. The MAMA’s were tomorrow, the boys only got back yesterday and they’d been chucked straight into their rehearsals for the awards. Yours and Yoongi’s dress rehearsal was the last of the day

*Knock Knock*

Your hand flew to hinder the cry that threatened to escape your throat as your body convulsed with sweet bursts, your leg hitched over Yoongi’s shoulder who was on his knees. Your nails clenching the make-up table you were leaning on having already knocked over half your make up.

“10 minute warning guys then you’re up” a soft muffled voice announced behind the door.

Your half-length leather jacket had nudged its way of your shoulders, the studded bra had thankfully been bypassed by Yoongi in his hunger to be in between your legs and remained intact, the leather high waisted shorts were launched somewhere on the floor. Yoongi’s licks at your clit became less forceful than before

You yanked the top of his head when your thoughts became clear

“You’ve made your point, you missed me I get it” you panted staring down into his blown out pupils consumed with desire, the glistening reward of your arousal on his chin tugged at the coil he’d just released.

“Uhuh, I think you can give me one more baby” his head leaned back in with a long kitten lick the whole length of your slit eliciting a breathy moan followed by curses in Yoongi’s name

“I can’t… we can’t” you managed

“Now look who’s the one who’s afraid of getting caught” he blew air onto your sensitive clit, the devilish smirk that you’d learnt spelt nothing but pleasurable trouble grew defiant across his face

“Were not at our companies, it’s a national award sh…FUCK!” Too enamoured by his smirk you’d neglected to realise the fingers that was digging into your thigh were no longer there. Your gaze slipped from his with your head dropping back onto your shoulders, your nails gripping onto the stability of the table again. The reach of his fingers in this position stroking at your velvet wall concussed you to everything else around you.

“There we go” he managed in between still light long flicks of his tongue, he knew your body like the keys of a piano, the second your quietened moans lowered and your hips angled into him as the sensitivity dwindled and the pleasure seeped back in, centring at your bud the speed and force of his tongue escalated. The coil in your stomach winding steadily back up, his lips wrapped and sucked at your clit, the pace of his fingers slowed just as your thighs began to tense. You felt a smirk grow against your soaked folds.

“Christ Yoon..” you slapped him on the head

“No time for teasing” you scolded in between pants. Out of nowhere his pace revved up to full, fingers tightly curling in his hair. Muscles tensing for the upcoming rush.

“Yoo…ngi Fu” You threw your head forward, your upper body freezing with your back arched forward. Both hands now grappling in his hair keeping his head where you needed his tongue to suffer all the aftershocks permeating out from your core.

*Knock Knock*

“Guys you’re up” spoke the same muffled voice

“Fuck” you whispered, dragging your hair out and back from your face.

“Grab my shorts” you hurried. He did as he was told albeit with a triumphant smirk and glistening eyes. He leaned into you holding your shorts just out of your reach

Asshole

The rolling of your eyes showed your half amused state.

“I’ve missed how good you taste, now I just need to feel you wrapped around me” he pressed into you aiming for a kiss, which you dodged with expert precision.

“You are not ruining my lipstick with my own cum Min Yoongi” Shoving him away with a light push, rushing to dress your bottom half with unstable, jelly legs. His eyes had grown with a slight bloom of defeat.

Such a pouter

“Well we’ll see, if you can pull yourself away from your studio I’m sure I can make sure your needs are met” you teased with dangerous intent in your eyes. Nonchalant in pretending that his dick wasn’t in the forefront of your own mind right now.

“Come on lets go” your legs managed full functionality by the time your reached the door.

“Shit Yoongi”

“What?”

“The doors been unlocked this whole time, I thought you locked it?” breathe hitching at the thought of the palaver being caught would land the pair of you in.

“No I thought you did?”

“We’ve gotta be more careful baby” voice softening to a low whisper as you approached the stage chaperones with coy smiles.

Finally you’d both arrived back at Yoongi’s apartment, the bounding bundles of Ted and Holly peppered the pair of you with licks and highly excited whines. You walked straight into Yoongi’s room and unburdened your bag. His bedroom and studio where the only rooms in the apartment that look inhabited, the others were barely used and could still double as a show room. His room was always presentable…ish, the shelves of anime and manga models were always dusted, the dark bed covers were never made, the huge walk in wardrobe was organised pedantically by colour apart from a few straggling hoodies which were always just launched on some part of the floor. Your behind sunk into the mattress as your stripped your top half and replaced the clothes with a light, red cami top, your trackies couldn’t slip off you fast enough in favour of some loose pink shorts painted with marshmallows.

“Cute” Yoongi voiced from the door before entering pulling his shirt over his head

“Have you been working out?” face scrunched up eyes scanning the definition appearing on his abs

“And what if I have?”

“You literally hate working out” he rummaged around in the closet for a loose v neck black shirt.

“Yoongi have you been trying to impress me? You teased, making your way over to him before he escaped into his studio

“You know I think you’re perfect the way you are right?” You made sure you gently scraped your nails at the new muscles. His arms locked behind your neck eyes content staring into yours.

“Hey nothing wrong with a guy wanted to look good for his girl” You leaned back into his arms

“Oh I’m your girl now am I?, I mean I appreciate the visual but please don’t feel like you have to” teasing at the first use of the nickname

“And last time I checked I was noona and older than you?” you added teasing glimmer radiating from your eyes, he pulled away from you in a fake huff

“You’re only noona in the bedroom” he added

“We’re in your bedroom” you teased

“You know what I mean, stop being purposely annoying” his half smile failing his seriousness.

“I’ll see you in a bit baby I just really wanna get this bridge down” he bid you farewell with a gentle kiss and left you and Holly in the bedroom. Yes Holly! Ted, the traitor followed Yoongi everywhere when he had the choice. You opened your laptop and began typing down an organised mess of lyrics.

Sam had you distracted fairly quickly , she’d just got a new job and was glowing with excitement as she told you everything about it over the phone

“Shit it’s like 2am has Yoongi not come to bed yet?”

“If he had would I be talking to you still?” you quipped back

“Rude!”

“I’m sure you can tempt him into bed” she added

“I think those talents would be lost on him if he’s working. And I wouldn’t want to anyway, I know how it is, I wouldn’t want to take him away from his work”

“I do it to you all the time and drag you out to save you from becoming a work hermit. Do you hate me or love me for that?”

“Both normally” you chuckled

“You end up thanking me before the nights out! And there’s no way he doesn’t want it. He’s a guy after all. You just gotta remind him what he’s missing out on. Now go do what ya gotta do, and if he doesn’t cave I’ll do your laundry for a month” Sam hated nothing more than laundry.

“Fine, see you in a bit”

You clicked off and stared at the buzzing white of your screen gleaming in the darkness of the room.

How can I pry Yoongi from his cave?

If you was at home the decision wouldn’t be an extensive as your toy box would certainly inspire a few ideas. Firstly you needed to gauge if he was near his phone. You started simple, removing your top and seeing if that would grab his attention.

-IMG.jpg – 2:10am-

No answer.

Needing to level up you switched your cute marshmallow shorts in favour of flower patterned lace crotchless underwear. You opened the studio door with a slow cautious move, peering your head inside. As expected headphones were snug to his head as it bopped loosely along to the beat hitting his ears; every few bars he paused the playback and scribbled something down in front him. His phone was on arm of the sofa well out of Yoongi’s range as you suspected it might be. You shuffled closer keeping your body behind his chair picking up his phone on the way, a constant smirk was locked onto your face. You primed your hand just above his head.

“Hey!” he exclaimed as you nabbed the pads from his head. Eyes blooming wide as they acknowledged your attire… or lack of

“Well…damn!” eyes greedy not stopping roaming up and down, within the blessed smirk he bit his bottom lip.

“Oh so me coming in here, nicking your headphones with no clothes on gets your attention” you jibbed dramatically, hand solid on your hip as the other offered him his phone. As he gripped the phone you leaned in kissed him sweetly batting away his hands that were trying to entrap you in a desperate ploy.

“Nope. You only get this out of the studio” For a few beats your eyes glimmered at each other, he knew exactly what you were doing. You turned and left him to stew.

Your phone vibrated before you’d even made it back to the bedroom

- I’ll be twenty minutes max, please don’t start without me- 2:20am

Ten minutes had passed and you were itching with impatience, even the cinnamon candle you’d ignited at your bedside did nothing to soothe your state.

- Couldn’t wait any longer, if I cum before you get here you won’t be using your tongue for a month. -2:35am

This text you cruelly decided needed a video, the video you sent consisted of nothing more or less than the view of your hand clutching your portable wand massager holding it in between your legs, your moans providing the tempting background music.

All you got as a response was line of skulls.

You kept the settings on low, you would rather avoid having to do what you threatened. The clicking of doors shutting finally signalling your victory.

You didn’t stop the wand when he finally walked in, but carried on pretending to ignore him. He couldn’t formulate a response as he slipped off his top, the bed around you depressed as he joined you on the bed. One of his hands wrapping around yours, taking control of the wand from you holding it where you had. A hand supporting him planted beside your head as he lent with a steady move to engulf your moans, the taste of coffee etched strongly on his lips. Your hand snaked free and allowed Yoongi sole control of the massager. Even in their new found freedom your hands became victim to the pleasure streaming through your body ending up anchoring harshly into his shoulder blades when he turned the power up, eliciting his name amongst a string of expletives from your throat. His head snuggled into the crevice of your neck, hot pants fanning across your skin.

“You going to cum for me baby?” whispering, tempting at your ears. You was already unravelling against your will, body falling apart under the power of the vibrations. The massager did not move as every nerve at your bud became washed with sensitivity, the muscle aftershocks soon caused whines to seep from your throat. Yoongi finally relented, turning the wand off and lightly launched it to the floor. Your grip on him grew weak and loose.

“Now, no more toys, just you and me” he announced, grappling your hands above your head and stifled your pants with a heated kiss.

“I think I like this more in control Yoongi” you smirked bottom lip between your teeth

“I just missed you so fucking much” he confessed nipping roughly at your neck and collar bone pressing his knee in between your legs to which you gratefully ground your hips against

I’ll let him have his fun for now

Trusting you to keep your hands where he put them his hands traced down your arms, your skin igniting in its path. He sat back on his legs before leaning over to one of the bedside drawers.

“Can I?” his face so innocent and meek despite asking what he was.

“Mmm please” you permissed holding out your wrists, eyebrows raised but evidently pleased as he secured the handcuffs with a click.

“I thought I’d have to work a lot harder to get you in handcuffs” he admitted as you sat up underneath him as a silk blindfold deprived you of your vision.

“I mean you worked pretty hard in the dressing room” you toyed

“You know what I mean! Now are you going to be quiet and let me take care of you or not?” he bit back shoving you back down on the bed.

“I thought you said no toys” you dropped your secured hands above your head with a light huff.

“I did” your head tilted to the sight slightly. He shifted his weight slightly, knee pressing harder between your legs

“Why am I tied and blin…” the freezing cold droplets landing onto your now hardening buds at the peak of your breast and running down your skin answered your question.

“Oh this shuts you up then” he teased, spikes of cold now pressed at your neck and followed the path of your collar bone to in between your chest. Inhaling sharply and allowing the ice against your skin to ignite a rush of goose bumps wherever it moved.

“God, I love how your body reacts” you tilted your hips grappling for the contact of his leg against your clit.

“Asshole” you breathed as he moved his leg back just out of reach. You pictured the smug smirk smacked on his face triumphant in irritating the hell out of you

“Oh insults now? We can’t have that” he preceded, dragging the ice in a strong line down your chest to your stomach and then to your throbbing bundle of nerves. You hissed through teeth and your back arched off the bed searching for any relief. What made is worse is the melting water that was flowing from the cube and running cold blissful daggers down your slit.

“Cold?” he asked

“Obviously” you breathed a tiny bit agitated.

“But your body’s not complaining” his fingers collecting a cocktail of the melted ice and your arousal before pushing them inside.

“Yoongi…” you whined.

“God, I missed you moaning my name as well” he got an extra dose of you swearing his name as he curled his fingers inside of you. Lips pressing tightly around your breast biting at your nipple.

You flung your arms down, entangled your fingers in his hair; the handcuffs clinking lightly at your wrist.

“Seriously?” Your brows knitting together.

“You’re really going to edge me after being apart for so long” you complained. His fingers had left you along with his lips leaving nothing but a sulky pout on your lips.

“Jesus what the fuck” you cried as his knee pressed into all your arousal and something burned at your chest for a moment before there was a small pinch at your skin. You cried out more in shock in than anything the first.

“Have you just tipped wax on me Min Yoongi?” you asked in a pause of contact, which you guessed he was waiting for a reaction.

“Well I said no toys so I improvised” You hissed through your teeth as the stung hit again, this time around your belly button.

“Do you want me to stop?” he questioned more sincerely. You ground your hips into his leg, your arousal spreading on hi skin as you groaned at the contact.

“Does it feel like I want you too?” your hips refused to stop, desperate in chasing any sort of release.

“Fuck you know that drives me insane”

-I’m so bored, why aren’t you here entertaining me!-

-I have better things than to make sure you’re occupied :p what would you have me do if I was there?

-I want you sat on my thighs grinding, I want to feel how wet you get, I want to feel it all on my skin as you get yourself off on me.

-is someone horny by any chance?

You sat amused in a conference room, trying to shade your expression as much as possible and act like filthy thoughts were ravaging your mind.

-Yes and I think you should help me

- So demanding! How much do you like it when I ride your thighs?

-so fucking much I can’t even tell you

-I mean your thighs aren’t here but does this help? MOV.mp4

The video was one you’d filmed for him to surprise him but you couldn’t have your man go without your help. You’d filmed yourself having some “alone” time with a new toy you’d wanted for when he was away. You made sure you was extra loud when you whimpered his name as you came.

-Fucking hell babe! I don’t deserve you! And yes it helped a lot! Do I get one every time I’m away? :P -

You’d received this response a good forty minutes later.

“On all fours” he demanded, his tone was crisp and saturated with a dominance and desperation that spoke and goaded to your already blazing fire at your core.

You fumbled as you obeyed him, a wide smirk concrete on your face, elbows sinking into the bed. Your arms cushioning your forehead, ass high in the air for him to relish the view. You felt his cock throb between your legs

“Stop making me wait and just fuck me pleaaase!” you pleaded desperation hanging on every syllable and he damn well knew it.

“Don’t move” he responded lining up at your entrance with just the tip making contact. All you wanted, no needed to do was just push back, but you wanted to see where he was going with this

You waited and waited. His weight shifted slightly, waiting had caused your skin to heat up, as well and your arousal only to heighten, the anticipation was ridiculous!. You did your best not to shuffle even a tiny bit further onto him.

“Beg!” he asked of you with a dangerous tone

“What?” you checked

“You said you wasn’t above begging, I wanna hear it properly”

Turning your head to the side so he could hear you

“Fuck Yoongi! You’ve gotta be kidding me I just need you to fuck me not tease me” He remained still.

“Please baby! I’ve missed how good you feel when your inside me, I need to cum around you, I want…”

Funnelling your breath out through your teeth almost hissing

“Ahh” you both exclaimed breathlessly, you’d pushed onto him, a muscle reaction to the surprise strip of wax he’d draped down your spine. God you’d missed how he felt, how perfectly you fitted together, how hungry you both were to please each other; craving each other’s satisfaction. His thrusts were hard and heavy against you; the grip of his hands at your hip grew tighter.

“God you’re so beautiful like this” he mewled one hand softly creeping up your spine and tangling and twisting in your hair before yanking you back. The pang of pain pulling a cry from you, sending a signal of ecstasy straight through to your core your walls clenching around him

“Fuck, if you keep doing that I’m really not going to last much longer” he warned. His and your hips quickly finding a peaceful rhythm, your moans were becoming strangled with your breathing muffled as your arms caved and he relinquished his grip on your hair. Your face covered by the sheets stifling your cries. You clenched tight around him again

“Tell me your close, please… cum with me” he choked, he’d slowed his thrusts nearly leaving you before slamming back into you each time causing a more drawn out whine passed your lips

“Mmm right there don’t…” the coil finally releasing four weeks of frustration ricocheting through your body. You stilled, the shock-waves dragged on blissfully with his hips still jerking into you a state of over-stimulation. His grunts slowly drowning out your labouring breathes.

“Fuck… I love you!” he panted collapsing beside you unlocking the metal from your wrist. You stared at him, pupils no doubt blown out. Your brows slowly knitting together before contorting into a smile and launching a pillow to his face.

Did he just?

No way!

“What?” the strands of his jet black hair slicked to his skin.

“You do not get to say that for the first time after you’ve just fucked me like that” your hand resting supporting your head as you laid on your side facing him.

“Why not?”

“Because!”

Am I even ready to say it to say it back? I mean I was near enough in love with him back then. The feelings that were once dormant have flourished exponentially over the past month.

I do.

Shit. But saying it out loud makes those feelings acknowledged and real. Opening me up to potential pain.

“Your bodies flowing with all those sweet chemicals right now” the ‘you fucking serious look’ he responded with made you chuckle

“I’m not accepting it. I will when you say it in a serious non sexual situation”

“Fine, fine” he conceded a flicker of light snuffed out behind his eyes.

Have I upset him?

“Good now please go and bring me coffee” you ordered amused

He saluted militantly

“No breakfast?” he asked before leaving the room.

“Not on an event day”. His eyes rolled before they bloomed a garden of concern

“Promise me you’ll at least have a little something before this evening?”

“Promise”

The first promise you’ll be breaking to Yoongi.

“I still can’t believe you’ve not showed me your dress”

“That would ruin the surprise now wouldn’t it” you once again attacked him with a pillow flying across the room.

“Now Coffee! Go!”

#bts #btssmutclub #kwritersworldnet #hyunglinenetwork #mygsnet #btsguild #networkbangtan #bangtanarmynet #kpopwonderlandtag #min yoongi #BTS suga #yoongi x reader #bts fanfction #bts smut

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the-canary · 5 years

Text

Walk In The Night - B.B (2)

Summary: Death is a subject that should be easy for someone like Bucky after all these decades – well it isn ‘t and he finds out even more about himself and her along the way. (Reader/Bucky Barnes)

Prompt: “Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.”

A/N: this is for @softhairbarnes’s writing challenge. mentions of end-game, but doesn’t follow the move to a T. enjoy!

Sometimes, he dreams of the one line over and over again. He sees plush lips and teeth biting on them, as she lets out a self-decrypting laugh.

“Sometimes,” she whispers in the dead of night by his side, “I think I’ll leave all of you first.”

Bucky remembers and dreams of when his heart would stop at such a sentiment. His eyes would crinkle with angry and a reprimand would be on his lips, ready to tell not to think such thoughts. However, he would be met with darkened eyes instead that glimmered like stars, like she knew so much more than him who had lived for over a century.

She giggles before shoving his shoulder, “Just kidding.”

Bucky regrets not telling her to stop saying that and for doubting her at all. And it’s the dreams of those moments where something bad always seems to fall him in the waking world.

———–

Light comes in scattered throughout the closed blinds as you stare at the blue and green hospital floor. You have been when Jean had first found you -- shedding and barely conscious after she had found you tossed in the highway. It was still an unpleasant thought, but the haziness of the memory made the preceding sense of loneliness a bit more bearable. However, as you play with a path of receding skin, looking at the handsome new Captain America made it easier to ignore those thoughts. You give him a grin, as brown eyes meet your own. You can’t help but think that whatever he is here won’t be any good for you.

“So,” Captain America starts once more, as you remove the layer of dead skin on your neck, “What exactly were you doing in the cave when it came down?”

“I already those Men in Black-wearing suits,” you sigh, leaving into the chair, “Treasure hunting.”

“Treasure hunting?” he answers back in disbelief. Surely, Captain America knew what some people did to earn a living in this environment or to just let go of the dead (sometimes missing) in some way.

“Yeah,” you shrug, “Some people are still looking for things that they’ve lost or don’t ‘member. I help them out as best I can.”

Captain America nods, as if understanding all too well, before taking a chair and moving closer to you: “And who exactly sent you to that?”

You gaped at him like a fish for a moment. The rash that came with shedding new to old skin making you stretch your upper forearm a bit more than usual, not because of the send question that tickled your spine with dread. You had an answer he wouldn’t like -- most of the answers that you gave people were never what they really wanted.

“I don’t know,” you breathe out, “They were all ‘mysterious and dark about it.”

———–

It takes Bucky another 72 hours before he can complete the mission he was on and head back to the States -- New Mexico to be exact. From what he understood, there had been various explosions throughout the West Coast and mostly at the same time. There wasn’t much damage to cities -- it was all near small and often abandoned towns near the desert, but the bright green glow of all of them, in particular, was enough to catch the attention of S.H.I.E.L.D.

It wasn’t like he worked with the now-rebuilt organization. He worked with Captain America -- Sam, as frustrating as fun as it could be-- and the offshoot of the Avengers he had created in the aftermath of Thanos’ destruction...and what had happened to Peter in Europe. Just as normal people needed to be protected from the anomalies of the universe, they needed protection as well.

They worked which more discretion than the original Avengers, but it came with international support and much more thanks to the Stark Foundation and--

“Hey,” Sam greets him, dragging Bucky away from his train of thought, “How was the flight, tin man?”

Sam pats him on the back as they make it into a small, rustic-looking building. It would be their headquarters for now.

“Tiresome, birdbrain,” Bucky chuckles. They weren’t as combative as they were when they first met in Germany, their relationship easing into teasing and friendly banter -- well when everything was going well enough, “What have you found out?”

“Nothing,” Sam answers back, “The only real lead isn’t really talking.”

“Wh--?”

“It isn’t like I’m not telling ya,” a voice, too familiar if not just a pitch higher comes in from the back. Bucky can see the worried look on Sam’s face. Brown eyes give him that look that he should brace himself, furthering adding to Bucky’s confusion.

Steps echoed in the hallway as a figure comes to the forefront of the back entrance, “--It’s just really hard to get all the details together.”

Familiar eyes meet Bucky’s and he feels the air has left his body as that face --one that he hasn’t seen in a very long time-- gives him an excited smile.

“Oh,” she remarks, as Bucky can tell her hair is slightly shorter than before and there are more scars and bruises than there should be, “You must be Bucky Barnes!”

Bucky is standing there between elation and confusion, as he slowly comes to realize that there is no sign of recognizing him in her eyes. His hand trembles as he looks at Sam.

“What the hell is going on?” is all he can manage to breathe out, as her smile falls just a bit.

#Bucky Barnes #James Buchanan Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #james barnes #fabiola trying to write #series: walk the night

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blackmissfrizzle · 5 years

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A Match Made in Hell

Title: A Match Made in Hell

Summary: The reader has been having some anger issues lately and decides to take a trip. Her trip lands her in the bar where Demon Dean is hanging at and trouble ensues.

Pairing: demon!dean x black!reader, Crowley

Word Count: 2113

Warnings: Light smut (18+), Violence, a little racism and body shaming

A/N: I’m so glad to get back to writing a Supernatural fic. I got another one plan and hopefully I can get it out soon.

A/N: This is for all my black girls who love Supernatural but don’t get the chance to see themselves in the show or in the fandom.

Dean and Crowley were taking body shots of whiskey from the blonde bartender when Crowley first noticed you. “Oh, bloody hell! Its time to go, the She-Devil is here,” Crowley complained.

Dean lifted his head from the bartender’s toned stomach to find you. His eyes searched the room until he followed Crowley’s finger and you were finally in his eyesight. This was the first time he saw you since he became a demon. The last time you were together was right after he got the mark and you coincidentally ran into him while checking up on Garth.

He was mesmerized by the way you looked. You walked with a gracefulness that was curated by your privileged upbringing and years of ballet training. Despite the lighting in the bar you were beautiful, although he preferred looking at you in the sun, because he loved how the light shined on your brown skin.

However, there was something different about you tonight. It wasn’t your appearance; it was your demeanor. One of the things Dean loved about you was, regardless of all the bad shit that happened to you, you always remained sweet, open, and kind. So, when Dean saw you looking closed off and highly irritable, he knew something was going on and he was going to get to the bottom of it.

“No, I’m staying. Something’s off with Y/N,” Dean said.

“Are you serious right now, Dean,” Crowley screeched. He pulled Dean to the side trying to convince him to leave, “I don’t know about you, but I am in not in the mood to get murdered by that half-breed.”

Dean snarled at Crowley and backed him into a corner, “Call her half-breed again and you won’t like what happens next.”

Crowley raised his hands in surrender, “Okay, okay. No calling your ex-girlfriend a half-breed. But how do you know she’s not here to help Sam bring you back home?”

“Because, I know how she looks when she’s hurting versus how she looks when she pissed off or worry. Trust me, Sam wouldn’t call her. We made a pact to keep her out of hunting and Sam’s too much of a wuss to bring her back in just for me,” Dean attempted to calm Crowley.

“I still don’t like being near her,” Crowley professed in a bratty manner.

“I don’t care,” Dean bellowed out. “And by the way, don’t bother coming back to the room, me and Y/N will be busy.”

Crowley shuddered in disgust and then teleported out of the bar. Now Dean could focus on you.

You don’t know why you stopped at this dive bar. Something just pulled you towards it. Honestly, you rather be home snuggled up in your boyfriend’s arms, but you couldn’t do that. For the past couple of weeks your powers been out of wonk and you were unable to control them, also you found yourself with a short temper. The last straw was when you were in a meeting with your board members and your brother had to ‘accidently’ spill water on your hands to stop you from throwing a fireball at one of the board members.

Now here you were in some podunk ass town with no clue on what to do and not feeling any better. You felt someone sit in the seat next to you and the lean towards you, putting their hand on your thigh. This had to be the boldest attempt since you got there, and you were tired of this shit.

“No, I don’t want you to buy me a drink and if you don’t remove your hand from my thigh in the next 10 seconds you’re gonna have to learn how to jerk off with your left hand,” you lowly threatened the intruder.

He didn’t remove his hand and laughed instead, “Aren’t I lucky I can do it with both hands?”

You tensed up at that laugh and voice. It belonged to the one person who broke your heart. You swiveled your bar stool to confirm it was Dean Winchester and you were right. His hair was different; it was longer and combed over to the side, but he still looked attractive. There was something off about him, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“Dean, what are you doing here?”

He raised his beer, “Day drinking, you?”

“Running away from my problems,” you confessed. You turned your head in search of his brother, “Where’s Sam?”

Dean took another long sip of his beer before he answered, and you were entranced by the way his Adam’s apple bobbed while he drank. He smacked his lips that were glistening from the beer and sighed, “Me and Sam decided to take a little break.”

Automatically you accused Dean, “What did you do?” You knew it was a crap thing to accuse him so rashly, but every time Sam and Dean separate its because Dean was either too pissed at Sam and wants to get away from him or Dean did something to piss Sam off and Sam was the one to leave.

“Why does it have to be my fault,” Dean asked as his voice got higher since he was offended that you judged him so quickly.’’

“Because it always is,” you doubled down.

Dean licked his lips and observed you, “Forget about me and Sam. What are you running from?” You were fiddling with the edge of your jacket, which Dean knew it was your tell of being nervous.

You bit your lip and had an internal debate on whether you wanted to confide in Dean. Since you had no one to talk to you informed Dean of the changes that occurred lately. You let him know about the incident at your board meeting and the time you unjustly snapped at your boyfriend when he asked if you were cooking dinner.

Dean raised his eyebrows at the mention of your boyfriend. “Boyfriend? You have a boyfriend?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. We decided to take a break, because I’ve been so damn moody,” you rambled as you messed with the zipper of your jacket.

“Well, since you’re on a break. How about you and me go to my room and alleviate some of all that pent-up anger you got, sweetheart?” Dean seductively growled in your ear.

For some time, you stared at Dean. This was your chance to finally have sex with Dean Winchester with no strings attached. Even though, the two you dated for almost a year, you never had sex because you were a virgin and you were trying to wait for marriage. You decided not to wait for Dean, but it was too late because he cheated on you with that damn angel, Anna and your relationship was never the same after that.

You kissed Dean on those plump lips of his instead of using your words to tell him yes. He grabbed your hand and slammed down two twenty-dollar bills to take care of both of yours tabs, and was pulling you through the crowded bar.

Almost out the door you felt a tug on your bicep, it was the bartender who let Dean take a body shot off of her. “You sure you can handle that sweetie? We all know its gonna be a pity fuck, because why would he ever want to be with someone as dark and big as you,” she sneered.

Typically, those comments would get her a classy comeback, because your mama raised you better than that, but in the recent weeks it seems you forgotten what she taught you, and you punched the buxom blonde in the face instead, effectively knocking her out.

You should have known better than to do that in this hick town, because now you had rednecks surrounding you and Dean, trying to protect the ‘innocent’ white woman. He smirked at you and the two of you began to fight the crowd. You broke a pool cue in half and fought off some attackers while Dean was punching and flying his victims across the room. At one point in the fight you thought Dean’s eyes turned black like a demon, but you dismissed it as the blur of the fight.

Within ten minutes everyone in the bar was either incapacitated or they ran away. Still feeling the high from the bar brawl, you and Dean were tearing each other’s clothes off once you got to his motel room. When you were naked, Dean had done this inexplicable thing with his tongue while he was eating you out that it caused you to levitate both of you off the bed when you reached your orgasm.

Dean was pounding into you, balls slapping against you when your demon eyes came to the forefront. You instantly covered your face and murmured an apology to Dean. He pulled your hands from your face and tried to assure you, “Its alright, I got a pair of my own,” Dean’s normally green eyes transformed into demon eyes.

You weren’t tripping earlier; you did see Dean’s eyes turn black during the brawl. Surprised at this revelation you twisted your body so that you were on top and grabbed your knife and put it to Dean’s neck. Just as quickly you pulled your knife to his neck, Dean put a strange blade seemingly made of teeth and bone to your neck.

“Uh uh, sweetheart. You don’t wanna do that,” the demon cautioned you.

“How the hell you get into Dean,” you asked as you pressed the knife harder into Dean’s neck.

Getting tired of being in a vulnerable position, Dean rolled your bodies so that he was on top now. He had to admit that you were sexy right now. Your hair splayed across his pillows, breasts uncovered wit puckered nipples, and the anger that caused your eyes to heat up with more passion.

He leaned down and licked the shell of your ear and whispered into it, “Oh honey. This is all Dean, there’s no demon riding me. Remember the Mark of Cain. Well, it turned me into a demon when I died.”

You thrashed under him and screamed “Impossible! You’re a lying piece of shit!”

“Lying, nope. Piece of shit, yes.” A new voice entered your conversation. It belongs to your father. You peered over Dean’s shoulder to see Crowley and your dad standing behind you.

Dean got off of you and threw his shirt at you, indicating that you get dress. At least he was still thoughtful. “Crowley, I thought I told you not to come back here!” Dean bellowed at his new best friend.

Strictly looking Dean in the eyes until he put on some pants, Crowley answered, “I wasn’t. I went back to the bar for another round when I saw the fiasco you and your girlfriend made. So, I went to her dad for help and guess what he told me?”

Both you and Dean grunted at the same time, “What?”

Crowley stared at the two of you before he continued, “That dear old Y/N has been acting more aggressively and unable to control her powers at the same time you died and were reborn as a demon.”

You ran your hands through your hair, “And how does that all connect,” you snapped at the King of Hell.

“You remember when Dean got out of the pit and you started to share his nightmares about his time there,” your dad asked, speaking for the first time since he announced his presence.

Clearly exasperated with this long explanation, you questioned your mother’s killer, “Yeah, but what does that have to do with this?”

“Its similar to this. Its obvious I’m no cupid, but we believe you and Dean are soulmates,” your dad explained.

“Soulmates!?” You and Dean echoed. It was so absurd that you two doubled over in laughter.

Crowley waited until you two were done laughing before he began his line of questioning. “Did you two feel a peacefulness overcome you once you got near each other?” Uncomfortable silence. “When you fought together did everything feel just right, as the universe was steady?” Uncomfortable silence. “When you got to this room was the sexual attraction through the roof?” Uncomfortable silence. “Did either one of you had the intention of going through stabbing the other one when you had the knives pressed against the other’s neck?” Again uncomfortable silence.

You stood there and pondered everything Crowley and your father just said. You came to the conclusion that Dean is your soulmate and right now he was a fucking demon and your demon half was dangerously attracted him. Great, you two were the perfect match made in hell.

TAGLIST: @meishaabae @dannixchristian @cosmicmelaninflower @mml232 @1000roughdrafts @httpchxcxlateapple @eidetic-spencerreid @blacknthemix @stu-recs @forgetthisbull @blackdepressoexpresso @titty-teetee

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squirrel-moose-winchester · 5 years

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Boyfriend and Girlfriend Ch. 7

Title: Boyfriend and Girlfriend Ch. 7

Pairing: High School!Sam x High School!Reader AU

Word Count: 2227

Chapter Summary: Sam and Y/N goes to the party. Things get a little complicated.

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Slight Crack, Explicit Language, Misunderstandings, Insecure Reader.

Disclaimer: Not my gif.

A/N: This is another chapter inspired and motivated by @supernatural-jackles’ SPN Weekly Writing Challenge. It’s week 9, and as usual, I’ve used both prompts: 1) “I swear it was like that when I found it!” and 2) “Promise me you’ll stay.” Once again, it was a challenge to incorporate the prompts, but I am so happy I was able to do it! Thanks Jen for hosting this! I know it can’t be easy, but you’re doing a great job! xx

UPDATE: I lied. I thought I used both prompts, but I guess I had deleted the first part. SO it only has the first prompt in it... I hate myself right now. lol. *crying*

Two hours. You were two hours away from home, sitting in Dean’s Impala, behind a row of cars, in an unfamiliar place. You and Sam were surprised when Dean had offered his precious Baby, but before you left, he pulled you to the side when Sam wasn’t looking and whispered in your ear, “If things get too much, you can hide out in the Impala.” It all made sense. Dean did it for you. He knew you were a little uncomfortable, and he gave you something to feel comfortable in if something were to happen.

Sam opened your door, taking your hand in his, giving it a little squeeze in reassurance that everything was going to be okay. He was aware of your reluctance and uneasiness, but he has been doing everything to ease your mind. So far, it was working.

Sam lead you through a lawn that seemed to be tediously taken care of. The house was big, definitely someone of wealth. “Who’s house is this again?” You asked.

“Jess. She’s cool. You’ll like her,” he smiled.

“Right. Jess. Okay.”

Sam opened the door and instantly, you swore you could feel the wind from the vibration of the thumping music coursing through the entire house. “Whoa,” Sam stepped back a bit. “They definitely do things differently here,” he chuckled. You only gave him a wary look. Was that a good thing or a bad thing?

“It’s certainly different,” you murmured, finally.

“C’mon. Let’s check it out. If we don’t like it, we’ll leave, I promise.”

Sam lead you further into the house, people drinking, talking, shouting, laughing, and just doing all the typical teen party shenanigans. There was no doubt about all the stares Sam was attracting from a lot of the girls, probably thinking how a girl like you managed to snag a total catch.

“The guys are staring. I don’t like it,” Sam huffed. Your eyes widened as you looked up at him.

“What?” You had to ask, unsure if you heard correctly.

“I don’t like these guys checking you out,” he admitted. You took a quick glance around the room, and he was right. There were guys staring at you.

“They’re probably just wondering who we are. Nothing special,” you told him.

“No. They’re definitely checking you out. I don’t like it. If they keep staring I’m going to –”

“Sam, do you notice all the girls looking at you?” You cut him off.

“Never,” he grinned. “The only girl that had ever mattered to me was you.”

You rolled your eyes at his statement, unable to stop the giggle that needed to get out. “You’re such a dork.”

“I’m serious. Back in school, every time you’d even look in my direction, my heart felt like it was going to burst. I’d hope that your eyes would land on me, but when they never did, I always stayed hopeful. I don’t know what it is about you, but you hold the strings to my heart.”

“I’m telling Dean what you just said, you sappy puppy.” You giggled as Sam pulled you into him, wrapping his arm around your waist before placing a sweet kiss on your lips.

“Sam! You’re here!” A girl squealed, causing you and Sam to pull apart. When you turned, there standing in front of you and Sam was a tall gorgeous blonde with beautifully tanned skin. You were sure your jaw dropped to the floor and shattered into a million pieces. You hoped that that wasn’t Jess. Please let it not be Jess.

“Jess! Hey!” Sam left you to give her a chaste hug.

It was Jess…

“And you must be Y/N! Sam wouldn’t keep his mouth shut about you. It was really cute,” she beamed, hugging you. She even smells good.

When she pulled away, your insecurities came rushing to the forefront and all you wanted was to go home. To hide in the Impala and hope that the night went by quickly. She was this sparkling beauty. Standing beside her, you felt like a child. You were much shorter, your breasts weren’t as big, she was fuller in so many ways than you. And her smile. It was so bright that it was almost like staring into the sun. She was flawless.

“Come on, let me introduce you to everyone,” she smiled down at you, hooking her arm with yours, while Sam took hold of your free hand.

It surprised you how quickly you started to loosen up and feel like yourself. It definitely helped that Sam wouldn’t let you go. He was constantly touching you, holding your hand, resting his arm over your shoulders, and sneaking little kisses here and there. If you were on the outside looking in, you’d be jealous of yourself.

“You guys are adorable,” Jess chimed, smiling widely.

You have come to find that she was one hundred percent genuine. There was nothing malicious about her. She was literally perfect. She was sweet, looked like a goddess, incredibly intelligent, funny, and by the looks of the party she threw, she was most likely bound to win Prom Queen. And Sam was right. You did like her. It was damn near impossible not to. She seemed more interested in getting to know you than mingling with her other guests, and she didn’t once stop to ogle at your boyfriend. Jess was really nice and respectful to you.

Hours passed and you were actually enjoying yourself. You and Sam even got on the dance floor, moving together in perfect synchronization. The only time you ever danced was in your bedroom all alone when no one was home, or at Charlie’s house when you and the other girls somehow managed to get into her parent’s liquor cabinet. From all the times it happened, you were able to find out a few things about yourself. First being that you were actually a pretty decent dancer. Secondly, whiskey made you emotional while tequila would most likely get you thrown in jail. Lastly, you and your friends were a bunch of light weights, which was why alcohol was off limits for you. And you were going to be the DD if Sam decided to have a few drinks, which he only had one so far.

In the middle of your dancing, you had to excuse yourself to use the restroom, but when you came back, you weren’t prepared to see what you saw. Jess was dancing with Sam, her arms wrapped snuggly around his neck, body pressed flat against his, and whispering in his ear. They laughed before swaying. They shouldn’t be that close together right? She shouldn’t be clinging to him like that if it was platonic right? He wouldn’t allow her to be so close if he cared about you right?

You took one step back, bumping into so someone and spilling their drink. “Hey, watch it would ya?” The guy shot. That was all it took to gain Sam’s attention. His eyes widened as he shoved Jess away lightly.

If him and Jess dancing didn’t mean anything then he wouldn’t be looking at you with guilt, right?

“Y/N—” Sam called out, rushing his way over to you, but you ran. This was the first time your tiny figure came in handy. You were able to dodge and squeeze through the crowd with ease while Sam had to push his way through.

In a flash, you were outside heading over to the Impala. When you pulled on the handle, you cursed at yourself. Of course it was locked. Of course Sam had the key. Of course a guy like Sam could ever really be interested in a girl like you.

“Y/N?” It was Sam. As childish as it was, your body moved before you could resist the action. You hid behind another car. “Y/N!” Sam shouted.

You sitting on the gravel ground, leaning against some person’s random tire, hugging your knees to your chest. You wanted to cry but you remained as silent as possible. You didn’t want to be found. You didn’t even know what to say to him.

“Y/N?” Sam called your name softly. With your head buried in your arms, you could tell that Sam was right in front of you. “It’s not what you think.” You didn’t say anything. “We were just dancing as friends. I promise.” Still nothing. “Please believe me. It was nothing.”

“I want to go home,” you mumbled. “I want to go home now.”

“Okay, yeah. Let’s go home,” Sam agreed, grabbing your hand, but you were quick to pull away.

You didn’t see it, but Sam’s shoulder dropped. This was your first fight. He imagined that your first fight together was going to be something really stupid, like him hogging all the blankets, not something that threatened your relationship. Sam wasn’t ready to lose you, at lease not yet. He only hoped that he could make this right.

Half way home, you had fallen asleep. He thought about dropping you to your house, but he didn’t want to wake you, nor did he want to be so far from you just yet, so he stuck with the original plan. He brought you over to his place.

He carefully carried you out of the car, changed you out of your clothes and into one of his t-shirts without disturbing your slumber. He then left to sleep on the couch. He had contemplated if he should sleep in the same bed or not, unsure if you’d want him next to you after the misunderstanding. He didn’t want to upset you any more than he already had.

When Dean got home, he was surprised to see Sam getting comfortable on the couch with a pillow and blanket. “Do I wanna ask?” He eyed his baby brother.

“I messed up,” Sam sighed, running his hands down his face.

Dean let out a deep breath. “What happened?” he questioned, perching himself on one of the bar stools by the kitchen.

“Y/N, saw me dancing with another girl.”

“What do you mean, ‘dancing’?” Dean was a little worried now.

“Jess and I were dancing and well, we were a little too close. And when Y/N came back she saw us. I didn’t think it was a big deal until I saw the look on her face. It hit me like a freight train, and I panicked. I shoved Jess away from me and ran after her, which made it seem even worse than it actually was. It was all innocent, I swear. Jess saw me alone on the dance floor and came to keep me company, and the whole time all she did was ask questions about Y/N. Jess likes Y/N a lot. She just wanted to get to know her better and the music was too loud, so she leaned if closer… it was a mess. I’m such an idiot. I just need Y/N to hear me out, to let me explain what happened, but she wouldn’t talk to me.”

“Sammy…” Dean exhaled, “boy are you an idiot. Big time. Like huge!”

“I know—” Sam cried. “I’m the biggest idiot on the planet.”

“Try the universe,” Dean reprimanded. “Dude, you know Y/N. You knew how she felt about going to that party. If it were me in your shoes, I wouldn’t have gone in the first place. I would have suggested a smaller gathering; one I know Y/N would feel more comfortable in. Maybe even invite some of her friends. The girl is tough, but she isn’t the most confident person we know. You know her, Sam. You should have known better.”

“Geez Dean, I know! I already feel like crap about this, do you have to throw salt into the wound?” Sam groaned.

“Fuck yeah I do. I care about her too, Sammy. You’re her boyfriend. You should know these things.”

“Alright, alright. I get it. I colossally fucked up! Y/N deserves better than me! Happy?” Sam hissed.

“A little,” Dean smirked.

“You’re a dick,” Sam grumbled.

“Hey. On a good note… Y/N loves you even if you’re a douche, so use that to your advantage. In the morning talk to her. Explain how you were a dumbass, grovel, then kiss her like your life depends on it. She’ll forgive you, why? Because she knows the kind of person you are too.”

“Thanks Dean. I really needed that.”

“What are big brother’s for?” Dean smiled, getting up to give Sam a pat on his shoulder before leaving.

“Also, Dean?”

“Yeah,” Dean stopped, twisting his body a little to give Sam his attention.

“What were you doing while we were gone?” Sam asked.

“Nothing much, why?” The elder Winchester responded.

“Why are there mint condition Celine Dion cassette tapes out on the table?” Sam pointed to the tapes in front of him.

“Uh… they… well...” Dean cleared his throat, “I was going through some old boxes and found them. I-I figured, maybe they belonged to mom.” Dean stammered.

“But they look a little too new.” Sam noted.

“What? I—I swear they were like that when I found it!” Dean argued, rushing over to Sam and grabbing the tapes. “I’ll get rid of it.”

Sam gave his brother a skeptical look. “Yeah, sure. What ever you say,” he smirked knowingly.

“Just… Shut up!” With that, Dean stormed into his room.

Say Something Nice Here!

Reblog with some feedback or just to help a sister out and signal boost! Feedback is fuel, and I’d really appreciate it :)

#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #highschool!sam x highschool!reader #sam x reader #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #reader insert #sam winchester au #boyfriend and girlfriend #squirrel-moose-winchester #sam winchester series #spn au series #supernatural au series

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ezilyamuzed · 6 years

Text

There’s no place like home - Part 8

Summary: The reader has had a unique gift all her life. While considering it a curse, she discovers the identity of her real father after her mothers passing. Journeying towards her new life, she finds herself thrown within the Winchester’s world. Is it her destiny?

Setting: End of season 13. This takes place after episode 13.18.

Warnings: Language. Some angst, fluff, drama- a typically SPN episode. POV may switch after certain sections.

A/N: I’ll apologize now, what you are about to read is a bit of an emotional roller-coaster, at least it was for me. This was not all in my original plan, but I am happy it had happened. I’ve been rewatching the series and during this time I was on Season 5 where Jo and Ellen die, tears still coming although it was probably the 10th time I had watched it. Amazing how much character’s relationships can still make your heart break years after. I promise more interesting things are on the way. We aren’t even close to done.

Any grammatical mistakes are all my own, because I am human. Remember all comments and feedback are welcomed! If you want a tag in future posts regarding this series or other writings please send an ask! As always thank you for reading! Enjoy!

Sam and Dean had shifted glances to each other, their Adam’s apples bobbing as they swallowed hard, waiting to see who was going to answer your question of why they had brought up the men of letters. You stood there patiently waiting, leaning up against the end table with your arms crossed while watching the apprehension move between them.

“Well, guys? Why does some boy band called the Men of Letters matter?”

“You said a man and woman came to see you?” Dean questioned while raising his eyebrow.

“Yeah, some British guy. Ketchup or something,” you chuckled while trying to remember what it really was.

Dean squeezed his eyes tight while shaking his head. “You mean Ketch?”

“Yeah that was it, and the girl was Campbell, like the soup. I guess I had food on the brain that day,” you laughed.

“Campbell?” Sam coaxed.

“Yeah, um Mary,” you said looking into his inquiring face. Flashes of your memory went through your head as you tried to recall the details. “She seemed a little uneasy being there… actually, her light was different like yours too.”

Sam and Dean stared back at each other again like they just witnessed a nuclear bomb go off in front of them and were frozen in place. Dean tilted his head slightly to Sam, encouraging him to speak first with his eyes. Sam gave an audible sigh and ran his hand through his hair before speaking.

“Mary Campbell is Mary Winchester, our mom.”

“And the dick with her is a part of the Men of Letters from over the Atlantic,” Dean included.

“We think that your grandfather was involved somehow, here in America,” Sam said while moving to grab the mahogany frame. “This is the outside of their bunker, their safe house if you will.”

You held up your hands to stop them. “Whoa. Back up there. Your mom? But she is…”

“Yeah not so much for a while now,” Dean interjected while sitting himself down on the end of the couch. “That’s a long story.”

“Are there any Winchester’s that stay dead?” you blurted while sitting yourself across from him in a steady recliner, feeling the tension radiating off of them by your words. You didn’t mean to say it, it just…came out. A lingering silence fulfilled the room before you spoke again. “So why do you think that is a picture of their safe house anyways. I mean it could be anywhere. It doesn’t exactly have ‘men of letters hideout shack’ written all over it.”

“Because we’ve seen it. We’ve been there. Hell, it’s our home,” Sam stated while moving to sit next to his brother. “The quote ‘There’s no place like home’ written on there, it’s a reference to the Wizard of Oz.”

“Yeah, so what? Next, you are going to tell me Dorothy is the leader,” you scoffed while shaking your head.

“Well she was definitely a part of it,” Dean replied while sitting himself back further into the cushions.

“Wait. Click your heels three times Dorothy? We’re not in Kansas anymore Dorothy?”

“Her father, L. Frank Baum wrote the stories, he was a member during his lifetime. She was trapped when she had followed him into Oz, so he left clues in his writings for her.,” Sam informed you calmly. “A couple of years ago we released her from her spell with the Wicked Witch, and as far as I know she is still in Oz. Our friend Charlie would have been able to explain this all so much better.”

Charlie rang in your ears, completely erasing the absurdity you had just heard about the Land of Oz existing and one of your favorite childhood stories. The image of her smiling face lighting up the room forced itself into the forefront of your mind.

“Charlie Bradbury,” you mumbled while moving your face towards the ground. Dean and Sam’s eyes shot at you in confusion to how you could have possibly known. Feeling their eyes on you, you raised your head to meet their stares while giving an audible exhale. You got up to grab the old photo album that you had frantically searched and found earlier. Flipping through the pages you found the one that you were looking for. Hesitating in your steps you watched their curiosity grow for their unspoken question. Walking over to them, you held it open to Sam’s reach.

“Like I had said before, I’ve heard about you two from others.”

Sam’s eyes widened in shock as he looked at the old Polaroids. There was Charlie, with her signature full body smile and you equally as happy. Both dirty like you had just been in a fight, but cheerful nonetheless with pride of accomplishment shining through. Feeling his brother trying to see what you had given him, he leaned the book over. Dean gulped hard while focusing on the pictures, his eyes shifting furiously over the photos.

“There was a ghost not too far from where I lived,” you quietly uttered. “She came in looking for information from my mom and found me instead. We took it out together. Honestly, given the circumstances, it was one of the best hunts of my life.”

“Y/N, Charlie…” Sam started to speak with sorrow in voice.

“You don’t have to tell me, Sam. I know what happens on the job,” you interrupted while giving him a tight-lipped nod. Watching Dean still steading his eyes over the pages. “There is more too that you should probably know. Turn back a couple pages.”

You could feel the emotions from earlier rising again within you as you watched him turn back the pages, stopping when he saw the familiar faces. His mouth dropping in disbelief.

“Ash,” he whispered while leaning the filled pages to Sam. “Jo. Ellen… How is this possible?”

“Ash is a long story,” you chuckled lowly while remembering your oldest friend. “Basically we were friends in high school and stayed in contact well after. He would help me out with cases and things like that. He was actually one of the few people who knew about me and what I saw. I met Jo and Ellen when I was looking for him, finding her took up permeant residency at the Roadhouse.”

You could feel the emotions trying to push through your eyes as you spoke but you shook them off, putting on your best fake smile you could muster. Sam sat completely still lost in his thoughts, looking out to nothing in front of him. Holding onto the album tight, Dean looked up to you, his glossy eyes meeting yours.

“Y/N…I’m sorry.”

You shook your head before speaking up again. “I know, I mean… I already know what had happened to Ash from Ellen afterward. I kind of figured whatever was going on wouldn’t take long to catch up to the rest.”

“They died fighting,” Sam uttered, breaking out of his thoughts.

You shifted in your seat, feeling anger you had suppressed running through your veins as he said it, screaming at you to avenge your fallen friends by taking down the causes that sat comfort on your couch in front of you. Your gut and your heart advising you to allow yourself to just sit in the silence, remembering the lives of the fallen with them. You chose the latter, while Dean now was sifting through the album, looking to see if there was more. The old-aged open letter fell out into his lap. You went to say something but the words written on it had already caught his attention. His eyes scanning it over and over while his brows furrowed, before looking up to you in disbelief.

“I guess I was supposed to meet you a long time ago,” you quietly answered his unspoken question while exhaling back into your chair. “I couldn’t open it. I couldn’t bring myself to… not until today.”

Your anger quickly boiling over that you had worked so hard to hold back. It wasn’t just at them though, it was at yourself. If you had only been brave enough to read a god damned letter, so many things could have changed. Jo and Ellen might still be alive. Charlie would be here. Your dad? You might have actually gotten to know your real father, not just going off of others words, but actually known him. If you would have just opened the god damn letter your whole world could have changed.

Dean had handed the letter over to a curious Sam while you felt your heart beating fast and your muscles tighten as the rage grew inside of you. “Y/N, if we would have known…”

“Known what Dean?” you snapped. “That the people you drag into all of your shit have their own friends and family that you throw into danger?”

The words fell out like vomit, you had no control over them as they spilled out. His face dropped and eyes widened like you had just twisted a knife into his gut.

“You know what Dean? Save all of your apologies. I don’t want to hear them.”

“You listen here princess,” he yelled while standing straight up in his spot, face turning dark red in the heat of his rage. “That is a part of the damn job. They knew what they were getting into. Every single one of them. We tried to save but they made their choices. Don’t you dare put all of this on me.”

You could feel your breathing turn rapid as you clenched your fist to punch time right in his perfect jaw as he spoke. Looking into darkened his eyes you could see the anger, sadness, and self-hatred all mixed hiding away behind them. A sea of tears trying to escape. You saw the truth in them, not only had you blamed him, but he was still blaming himself. Your words had cut open a wound that time had not healed. You closed your eyes and took in a deep breath, trying to relax your muscles as it set in.

“There is no point in this. In us yelling at each other,” you sighed, knowing that no matter what you did, the past could not be changed. Moving forward was the only option. “There have been tough choices that we all have made, that I know we all regret.”

Sam and Dean both nodded their heads in agreement as you took in a deep breath and raised yourself to obtain another beer from the kitchen. Sam followed your lead, leaning on the counter while you popped the top off. He went to open his mouth to speak but you stopped him in his tracks.

“Not talking about it anymore Sam,” you said before taking a large gulp, downing almost half of the contents. You let out a low burp that made him quietly snicker, breaking the tension. “So what is up with the boy band you’re in? The lettermen.”

“The men of letters,” he corrected you as Dean walked in red-eyed, with an obvious tear stain on his cheek. He rubbed his face with both hands while Sam continued. “Basically there were like elite hunters. They complied almost every lore and spell book you could imagine.”

“Were?” you queried before taking another sip.

“Yeah, a bitch knight of hell, Abaddon, pretty much wiped out the membership in 1958,” Dean responded while grabbing for his own beer. “All that is really left is a few legacies, like Sam, me and well I guess now you too.”

“Our grandfather Henry Winchester was a member,” Sam added.

“Yeah, he was an alright guy. Kind of self-righteous,” Dean quipped.

You pushed your head back in confusion, squinting your eyes to Dean. “He was? You just said she wiped them out.”

“Time travel spell,” Sam responded in seriousness. “He traveled to his next of kin in the future, escaping while luring her here.”

“Through the closet,” Dean chuckled while taking a sip of his beer.

“Anyways,” Sam continued. “He sacrificed himself to stop her, and that was just the beginning of a whole other mess.”

You stood there staring blankly at you beer bottle, frozen in your thoughts. Time traveling grandparents and demons. Resurrected parents. Secret hunters club. Fucking Wizard of Oz’s Dorothy, all things that were real and happened to them. You shook yourself out of your thoughts and finished your beer in a long gulp.

“Well,” you clicked with your tongue as you pulled the empty bottle away from your lips. “I think you two would definitely be institutionalized if you ever admitted these things to other people.”

“Yeah, being honest usually gets us committed for a few days,” Sam laughed. You gave him a perplexed glare but shook it off instead of asking further questions. The clock behind him displaying the time that could not have possibly been right, making you jump to find your phone.

“Fuck what time is it?” you groaned while moving items out of your way in the search for it.

“It’s a little bit before 5,” Sam informed while looking at his watch.

“God damn time change,” you grunted. “Look, listen guys as much as I would love to sit here and have girl talk, I have less than two hours to get ready for a stupid faculty ball at the University. I also have no idea where half of the things I need are.”

“We can help you find them,” Sam offered, glancing over at his brother that looked lost in his thoughts.

“You really don’t…” you started to reply.

“We would be more than happy to,” Dean added, stopping you from speaking.

“Fine,” you breathed as you rolled your eyes and glanced at the boxes still full of miscellaneous contents behind him. “I need my curling iron, makeup, jewelry and black Manolo Blahnik’s.”

“What is a Manolo Blahnik?” Sam questioned in confusion.

“They’re high heeled shoes,” Dean informed while moving towards the living room. He turned himself back around once reaching an unopened box, meeting Sam and yours surprised stares. “What?”

“Nothing,” you scoffed as you walked past him to another box.

“So what exactly is this thing you are going to?” Sam asked while moving to his own spot amongst the stacks.

“Basically a meet and greet amongst faculty members,” you answered while pulling away at the tape, revealing yet another box of books in front of you.

“Want some company,” Sam suggested. You gave him a puzzled look, questioning is motivations. “I mean being the new kid and not knowing anyone, might help to have friendly faces.”

You let out a short laugh, imagining yourself walking in with two handsome men head to toe in plaid and denim. “Unless you guys have a tux handy, I don’t think so.”

“I do,” Dean nonchalantly said while rummaging through his boxes contents of beauty products.

“You do?” Sam and you questioned together in amazement.

“God how many bath beads and bombs do you have?”

________________________________________________________

“A lot. Now answer the question Dean,” Y/N commanded while folding her arms in front of her waiting for him to reply.

“What? So I have a tux in the car. You never know when you might need it for a case,” he answered while pulling out her curling iron from the bottom of the box. “One down.”

“And how often do you need a tux for a case?” she giggled while lifting and fumbling with another box to stifle through.

“You would be surprised,” he laughed, grabbing the box in Y/N’s hands to help her balance it. His eyes met hers in the motion as she mouthed a “thank you” that made his heart skip a beat. Just one look and he felt like a teenager again, sweaty and anxious about the future. What would ever become of this? Did she even feel something for him? Was he just wasting his time here?

That night, that amazing night that he found himself lying next to her, watching her chest rise and fall as she dreamed was one of the best moments he had in a long time. During the drive to her he played around with the thought of if things weren’t so complicated, for lack of a better word, he could see himself doing it every night. Just being with her. Hell, maybe the civilian life in a little house that he could escape the world with her in.

While he pulled up to her house, he couldn’t help but smile at how it looked exactly as he imagined. The perfect spot for the perfect apple pie life. His smile fading as he remembered nothing about his life would ever be perfect. Not in this lifetime at least. The question of what the hell he was even trying to do or going to do shook up his nerves. He was actually grateful that Sam had been there or else he would have probably tucked in his tail and ran back home before even seeing her face again.

She hadn’t been as spirited from the other night, maybe she had regretted everything that had happened. That thought made Dean sick to his stomach as he helped unpack the endless stacks of books. How drunk had she been? Did he take advantage of her? Oh God, did she want to gut him right where he stood? The worst possible thought flooded his mind until Sam snapped him out of it. The picture he held in his hands was so familiar like he had already seen it. When Sam spoke up he knew what he was looking at. Home. No place like it.

His brother was looking to him for answers the same way he had all his life, only this time he didn’t have them. He knew what had to happen next, he had to find out what she knew. The world he wanted to keep away from her was breaking through. Her eyes searched for the details within her memories that only made the sickness in his stomach grow. His world had already met hers, and not only that his mother had brought it to her. As Sam and he spoke, he watched her carefully as she followed their words. Her eyes were searching for reason when she as questioned how it was her that she had brought it to her. A long story he did not want to talk about because the ending still frightened him. His mother could still be alive with Jack by her side in a world he may never be able to reach again.

As a familiar name hit his ears his heart sank. Charlie. Although he had just seen her face in another world, it was not the real Charlie he had cared for, the one he was unable to protect. He could feel his heart beating faster as Y/N grabbed a book and shown his brother her past, one that included the bright smile on his friends face that he knew all too well as it still flashed in his memories. He felt his emotions burning inside of him, begging to come out when she told him to turn the pages. There they were, more of the family he had let down all those years ago. Ash, Ellen, and sweet Jo, the girl who sacrificed herself for him. His heart was now tearing into pieces.

A worn letter fell into his hands as he sat remembering, feeling the guilt that he tried to push back. Ash had sent her to them. If he had only known he would have found her one way or another if anything to honor his fallen friends' wishes for them to protect her. As he spoke he could see the anger inside of her push itself out as her words hit like acid. Out of instinct, he fought against them as his anger toward himself grew. He watched her face as his muscles tightened to attack her, she wasn’t scared. He saw it in her eyes, her anger still burning and seeing in his that he was as well. She could see it how it still haunted him, his past mistakes. The emotions in her eyes shifted as she watched him. She was still angry, but somehow she could read that he was too and she understood. Understood how the memories would keep him up at night, how given the job things happen to the ones you love, and how if he could take it all back, trading in his life for theirs he would.

He watched her walk away with Sam following, a tear escaping down his cheek. How would she be able to forgive him when he could never forgive himself? He let out a deep sigh before following them. The subject already had changed as she asked more of her questions. Somehow she was able to push all the words that were said aside and allow herself to pretend that everything was normal. Nothing was nor ever would be normal, not with him around.

Her smile gave him a sense of calm as they all spoke. She really was perfect. If there had been any chance at something more, surely all that had transpired erased them. Following her gaze to the clock, Dean knew he was running out of time he had with her. Sam offering for them to accompany her was his last shot before he knew she might be gone from him again. When she suggested that it was not going to happen unless they had a tux Dean jumped at his chance. This was it and he was not going to miss it.

“So what time should I be ready for our date?” Dean smiled coyly setting the box down from her grasp.

“Really, I’ll be fine,” she laughed as she tore through the tape to find her other lost items.

“Nonsense,” Dean stated. “You might need someone to carry you home after being bored to sleep all night.”

He watched as she rolled her eyes and chuckled, muttering a “fine” in defeat. He could feel his heart starting to beat faster, this was it. It was happening, and not only that he wouldn’t have Sam to lean on. No, it would just be her and him. The possibility of redemption from the past fueled him to work faster, tearing through the boxes and finding everything she needed.

“Thanks,” she said while taking them from his hands. “There is an iron underneath the bathroom sink if you need it for your suit.”

Dean nodded as he looked over at Sam who had a smile raising in the corner of his mouth. This was the chance for Dean to find what he wanted, hell what he needed. There was no way he would let anything mess it up.

Y/N had disappeared into what Dean could only assume was her bedroom. He heard the water from a shower run as he went to Baby’s trunk for everything that he would need. While grabbing the garment bag that held the tux he glanced at all the tools that laid organized in front of him. Knives, guns, holy water, bombs and a whole lot of other tools he would usually reach for when going into the unknown. He shook his head as he pushed the trunk back shut. There was no need for any of it, at least not tonight.

After fixing himself in her bathroom mirror after changing, he walked out to have an approving nod from his brother that was short lived as Sam’s eyes moved to what was behind Dean. He turned his head and saw her standing there in a long low cut black dress with her hair falling on her shoulders in curls. Their eyes met as they both whispered that same word in unison, “Jesus”.

“Wait what?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Dean quickly replied as he pulled out Baby’s keys. “You ready to go.”

“Ah ah, Winchester, I do believe I said the next time I was driving,” she smiled while jiggling her keys in her hand.

Dean gave a low laugh while smiling as he followed her outside. He would do anything she told him to do to see her smile and tonight he would do exactly that. Butterflies now fluttering inside of him as they reached her car. She walked to the driver’s side making Dean move quickly on his feet.

“You know, as the guy I should at least drive,” he suggested while opening the door for her.

“No chance in hell Winchester,” she laughed before seating herself in.

Closing the door gently before walking himself around to the other side he felt his smile only growing wider. Nothing was going to ruin tonight. He wouldn’t let it. Everything was just going to be…perfect.

Keep reading to part nine here

Tags: @jaylarkson @waywardbaby @snffbeebee @iamabeautifulperson18 @19agbrown

#theresnoplacelikehome #dean winchester #dean x sam x reader #Dean x reader #sam winchester #mary winchester #arthur ketch #jo harvelle #ellen harvelle #charlie bradbury #ash #supernatural #spn fanfic #fanfic

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marvelous-heroimagines · 7 years

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Jealous

Requested by: Anonymous (Here are the specifics)

Pairing: Reader x Bucky Word Count: 2.4K Warnings: Angst, a lil’ fluff, swearing,

A/N: I always love angst and I had such fun writing this. Sorry this took a few weeks!

Y/L/N: Your Last Name

Dating Bucky Barnes didn’t come easy. Waking up at 3am to his screams of horror at his nightmare memories, his brooding quietness that drove you insane, the alcoholism that reared it’s ugly head from time to time, him not understanding that he wasn’t The Winter Soldier that Hydra made. These challenges were hard on your relationship, but you loved Bucky nonetheless.

But there was just one thing that you couldn’t stand. The moment Bucky told you that Natasha and him had a past, you knew it was something you wouldn’t be able to get past. Not that you let Bucky know that; you made sure that any time you saw the two of them talking or training, you didn’t show the fiery jealously that burned through your veins. But you were trying, every time you saw the two of them together you try to reassure yourself that Bucky was in a relationship with you, not her.

You hate that you were jealous of Natasha, but she was beautiful, strong, smart and funny. And it didn’t help that her and Bucky had shared life experiences; no matter how much you comforted your boyfriend, you would never fully understand the pain he was living with everyday. All you could do was try to be a good girlfriend, while beating back the little green envy monster.

But this week had been hard. Natasha, Bucky and Sam were away on a mission, one that had supposed to end days ago.

“They’ll be back this afternoon,” Steve informs you, trying to hide the eye roll that you had gotten used to by now,

“You said that yesterday,” you groan. You know you sound like a 5 year old, but you can’t help it, “I’m just... worried,” technically it wasn’t a lie,

“I spoke to Sam this morning,” Steve says, flicking through the tv channels absent-mindedly, “There was a bit of a fire fight, but they’re all okay,”

You let out a huff, earning a cocked eyebrow from the blonde super soldier, and spin on your heel to storm off to the gym. The gym had been your new bedroom this past week. It was the only thing that helped you work out your rage, but unfortunately not get your mind off it.

“You’re being absurd,” Wanda’s accented voice calls from across the gym, making you jump,

“God, Wanda, you scared me,” you clutch at your chest, trying to slow your now racing heart, “I didn’t even hear you in here,”

“I can’t say the same,” she says as she makes her way over to you. You give her a quizzical look, “There is nothing going on between Bucky and Nat,”

Your mouth falls open in surprise. But your mind catches up, “Thought you didn’t read minds without permission,” you narrow your eyes at the Sokovian,

“Sorry,” Wanda gives you a guilty look, “But, in my defence, your thoughts were too loud for me to simply ignore,”

You let out a sigh as you nod, “Well, now you know,”

“Y/N, really, you don’t need to worry,” Wanda lays a comforting hand on your shoulder. You force a smile, trying to give her a thankful look. You knew her words were true, but that didn’t stop you from worrying, “Do you want to go out for coffee?”

“Uh, maybe later. I think I’m going to work out for a while,” you nod towards the punching bags that were lined up down the back. Wanda gives you a small smile before leaving you alone in the big, empty gym.

As usual, working out didn’t help take your mind off your toxic, jealous thoughts that you knew were outrageous. But the more you dwelled on them, the more you started to believe them. Now you were just angry and sweaty.

Trudging back to your room, your mind races through every possible scenario that could’ve happened on the mission. Nat and Bucky fighting together, just like the old days for them, made for a perfect situation to rekindle their old flame. Or maybe they’d already rekindled their flame weeks ago, or months ago. Your stomach churns and you feel nauseous at the thought.

Just before you can tear open your suite door and give yourself a well earned, soothing shower, you hear cheers and voices erupt from down the hall; coming from the direction of the hangar, signally that Bucky, Nat and Sam did actually return from the mission tonight, as Steve had promised.

You consider skipping a shower and going straight to greet your boyfriend, who’s bellowing laughter you can hear. But your stopped in your tracks when you hear Natasha’s feminine, sing-song laugh immediately echo Bucky’s. Every muscle tenses, causing you to grip your suite’s front door handle a little too tightly. A loud snap echoes off the walls around you as the handle breaks off in your clenched hand.

You let out a frustrated grunt, and throw your empty fist right through the wood. A part of you was always shocked by how strong you are when you’re angry, but all you can think about is Nat and Bucky, together. Pulling your fist out of the fist shaped hole that now provided a clear voice into your living room, you let a shriek of anger, as you try to prying the door open.

“Someone’s forgot how strong they can be,” you hear Bucky’s voice call from behind you, obvious amusement in his voice as he watches you claw at the closed, handleless door,

“Yeah well, I don’t get angry enough for it to be a constant reminder,” you mumble, ashamed that your annoyance was crystal clear with every word you spoke,

“Doll, what’s wrong?” Bucky asks, wrapping his hands around your waist. He immediately pulls back when he feels your body become rigid at his touch, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you spit. Your anger was now directed at yourself as much as it was directed at Bucky and Natasha. You never wanted Bucky to see you like this, jealous and childish over something that didn’t happen... At least you don’t think it has,

“Doll, I can sense that you’re upset,” Bucky coos, “Just talk to me, I’ve missed you this week,”

“Yep, I’m sure you have,” your voice now monotone and blunt. From the corner of your eye you can see Bucky’s brows furrow as he tries to figure out why you’re being so cold towards him,

“Doll-”

“I just need to have a shower, okay?” you start trying to grasp at your door again, “I’m sweaty and hot and I’m really not in the mood right now,”

“Y/N, look at me,” Bucky’s voice now stronger and more demanding. But you refuse.

Letting out another cry of anger, you have to hold yourself back from punching another hole through your own door. Your anger was boiling furiously in your veins and you know that if you don’t get out of here right now, you’re going to explode. Taking a step back, you ignore Bucky as he watches on in confusion, and shift your weight into your back foot. Swiftly bringing your right leg up, you put as all your power into your kick, and sure enough your suite door bursts open on the first try.

“What the fuck?” Bucky blurts out, “Y/N, what’re you-”

“I’ll talk to you later, Buck,” you dismiss him. He tries to follow you into your suite, but you spin on your heel to face him, “Go hang out with everyone else. I’m sure you and Nat have so much to talk about,” you don’t bother waiting for a response, partly because you were angry and now because you felt like a bitch for being so petty and salty.

Awkwardly, you shut the door on Bucky’s face, as the latch was now completely busted and your door couldn’t close properly. But Bucky got the point, and moved on down the hall as you pull at your hair, heading to the shower.

Your shower consisted of 10 minutes dedicated to washing off your sweat and your hair, and 50 minutes of realising how much a child you were being. Bucky was with you for a reason, if he wanted to be with Nat, he would be.

You need to find Bucky, and you need to apologise. You’d let your jealously get the better of you, and you didn’t want to let it ruin the best relationship you’d ever had. You figure that now would be a good time to admit to Bucky that you had been jealous all along, and that you love him.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., where’s Bucky right now?” you call out,

“Mr. Barnes is in his suite,” the A.I. chimes, “Would you like me to tell him that you’re looking for him, Ms. Y/L/N?”

“No, no that’s okay. I’ll go see him,”

Your hands shake with nerves as you move down the hall towards his suite. Coming to a stop outside his door, you smooth out your wet hair and lift your fist to knock. But before your knuckles can make contact with the dark wood, Bucky’s door swings open. A lump rises in your throat when you’re faced with Natasha.

“Oh hey, Y/N,” she gives you a sweet smile, “How’re you?”

“I can... I can come back later?” you ask, your voice low and unsure,

“Oh, no, no,” she shakes her head, “I was just leaving. He’s all yours,”

Every muscle in your body tenses as her words hit you. It probably would’ve hurt less if she’d actually punched you in the gut. She gives you another sweet smile as she slides past you and prances off towards the communal kitchen and living.

Watching her leave, every disgustingly jealous thought that you’d ever had rushed to the forefront of your mind.

“Bucky!?” you yell, stepping into his suite and slamming the door behind you,

“Doll?” Bucky rushes around the corner of his bedroom, a look of concern twisting across his face as his eyes scan your body, “What’s wrong?”

“Are you cheating on me with Natasha?” you ask, pointblank.

Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up, his mouth falling open a little, “Why would you-? What are you-?”

“Are. You. Cheating. On. Me. With. Nat?” you ask, making sure to annunciate every syllable,

“No!” Bucky’s voice tells you that he’s outraged by you even considering such a thing, “Why are you like this?”

You cross your arms over your chest, torn between your very present anger and your shame for thinking such a thing. You can’t even think of what to say. On one hand you believe him, but because you want to. He could be lying and you’d be so desperate to believe him that you wouldn’t even notice.

Bucky let’s out a frustrated sigh, and moves to his lounge. You watch as he falls into it and runs a hand through his hair, “Y/N, what changed? We were so happy before I left on the mission. Then I get back and you’re furious at me for nothing,”

“Why was she here?” you ask, ignoring him. You needed to probe him further before you have to grovel for his forgiveness,

“Are you kidding?” he cocks an eyebrow at you. You don’t move, just stare down at him, “I needed her advice,” he sighs, “I didn’t know why you were acting so angry. I needed a girl’s advice,”

“Wanda’s a girl,” you sound like a child. A frustrated chuckle escapes Bucky’s lips, fuelling the anger that you were trying to subdue, “Why do you have to go to Natasha? Of all the people that live in the compound, you have to go to your ex-girlfriend?”

“That’s what this is about?” Bucky scoffs, “Natasha is hardly an ex-girlfriend. More of an ex-lover,”

Your stomach drops through the floor, “Yeah, because that’s better,” you scoff, your sarcasm front and centre,

“I went to her because we’re friends, for god’s sake!” Bucky shouts, annoyed that you were still angry, “Whatever her and I were, that ended, almost 10 years ago!”

“What says it won’t start up again?” you mumble, now feeling less confident that you were showing your true insecurity,

“Because, you,” Bucky says, motioning towards you,

“What? Because I’m fun for you at the moment? Because she hasn’t made a move so you’re distracting yourself with me until she comes calling?”

“Because I love you!” Bucky shouts. Your arms fall limp to your sides as your mouth follow their motion. All anger you had suddenly disappeared,

“You... What?” you whisper, totally caught off guard,

“I love you, Y/N,” Bucky sighs, “I’ve felt more for you from the moment we met, than I ever did for Natasha. Her and I were nothing. I was The Winter Soldier, unfeeling and trying to find a piece of my humanity in a woman,” Bucky stands, slowly advancing to where you stood, frozen, “But, you... I’ve never felt this way for anyone. Not in the 40s, definitely not as the emotionless Hydra asset; never. I never thought that I would find a woman like you, Y/N. And I’ve loved you from the moment you said ‘Hi’,”

Your stomach is flipping so much you feel like you’re on a rollercoaster. Bucky finally comes to a stop in front of you, so close that his musk is filling your nostrils and making your mind cloudy.

“Y/N,” Bucky whispers, “Please say something,”

“I’m an idiot,” you mumble, earning a chuckle from your boyfriend, “I let the jealously get the better of me. I’m so sorry, Buck,”

“I understand, doll,” Bucky leans down so that your foreheads are touching, “If I ever saw you talking to an ex, I’d probably kill them,”

You can’t help but giggle, imagining how scared your ex’s would be if they saw Bucky stalking towards them.

“I know, but I’m sorry anyways,” you lay your hands on either side of Bucky’s stubbled jaw, “I was just so jealous because I love you too,”

Bucky breaks out into a wide grin, before he leans down and presses a soft kiss against your lips. You groan as he pulls back, too soon for your liking.

“I’ll stop talking to Nat,” he says,

“No, no,” you dismiss him, “You and her being friends was never the problem. It was me. I promise I’ll get past it... I might just need you to tell me that you love me more often,”

Bucky’s face breaks into a devilish grin, and you cock a questioning eyebrow at the super soldier, “I’d prefer to show you,” he almost growls.

Your breathing hitches in your throat and your heart starts racing. Bucky leans down and effortlessly throws your over his shoulder. You let out a playfully squeal as he carries you off to his bedroom.

Tags: @redstarstan, @rosyfluffyprincess, @heismyhunter, @invisible2niall, @leahhavoc, @klutzly, @hantu369mc, @goldenlifevsgutter1996, @addictwithafandomblog, @impala-moose, @spn-worm, @buckyobsessed, @specs15, @buckyandsebsinbin, @coffeeismylife28, @aboveaverage-fangirl, @plumsforbuck2016, @meep-meep22, @caitsymichelle13, @pleasefixthepain

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eng251unvoicedthoughts · 4 years

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Spirituality and Religion

“Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery. None but ourselves can free our minds” (Westover 257). In Education written by Tara Westover, the mental slavery Westover is referring to is the lack of knowledge due to sheltered lifestyle or extreme belief sets. It’s at this point in the novel when Westover realizes that she needs to get her vaccinations done. Westover’s eccentric parents are against any kind of medical assistance, even in life or death situations. Her parents use essential oils to treat third degree burns as well as any other kind of injury. When I told my mom about this book and the similarities I felt our own family had with Westover’s family, my mom decided to read it. To preface these similarities, I’ll first shed some light on the parallels that can be drawn between Waking Up: A Guide to Spirituality Without Religion by Sam Harris and Educated: A Memoir. Harris unveils an authoritative manipulation approach within religion. The “self-deception” and “exploited trust” one is susceptible to when being taught by a spiritual teacher can be due merely to the setup of them being the intellectual superior in that given situation. “The bishop and I met every Sunday until that spring. To me he was a patriarch with authority over me, but he seemed to surrender that authority the moment I passed through his door” (Westover 200). Although Westover paints her bishop in a more forgiving light, the fact that he had authority over her is not shied away from, it is written barefaced to help explain the gapping hierarchy. The hierarchy within the Bishop’s office followed her into her own home. Westover was abused mentally and physically by her older brother and mentally by her father. Nobody within the household would stand up to either male figure, even Westover’s mother was described many times to back down to the will of her father due to it being “a man’s house”. Although my family is very loving now and I am very fortunate, my household was once abusive as well, leaving my mother, my two older brothers, and me running from my father, staying with different friends of my mother’s to avoid my father finding us. Maybe this is a coincidence and has nothing to do with the religion of my father, but I’ve always wondered if the hierarchy of males within the Mormon church has swayed the treatment of the women. Westover explains some of the teachings within the Latter-Day Saint church, “As a child I’d been taught-by my father but also in Sunday school that in the fullness of time God would restore polygamy, and in the afterlife, I would be a plural wife” (Westover 245). I, as well as most women within the church I’m sure, have always taken issue with this. Once, my sophomore year of college I asked my Bishop if it were reversed, and the men were told that in heaven they would be plural husbands to their wives, if he would still believe in the faith, to which he replied along the lines of, “Yes, if that were God’s will”. If the doctrine were changed, I honestly don’t see as many men being members of the church and I also don’t think sexism- against women, would be as prevalent.

“So long as it is impossible to distinguish among those women who requested the sealing after Joseph Smith’s death, and those who wanted an additional sealing in a Utah temple to further solemnize a ceremony of some sort that had taken place in Nauvoo, I will keep the umber of wives tentatively at forty- eight” (Brodie 12). Early polygamy within the Mormon church is widely known known by its members. Westover, author of Educated: A Memoir writes of her experience growing up within a Mormon family and being taught the origin of polygamy amidst her religion at an early age, “I had never made my peace with it. As a girl I had often imagined myself in heaven, dressed in a white gown, standing in a white gown, standing in a pearly mist across from my husband. But when the camera zoomed out there were ten women standing behind us, wearing the same white dress” (Westover 245). Brodie helps bring forthright research to these warily brought up religious topics.

Harris writes of the account of Tibetan lama Chogyam Trungpa where he orders a young girl to be stripped of her clothing and paraded around. While this is sexual assault, Harris writes that Trungpa’s followers viewed this occurrence as “a spiritual teaching meant to subdue their egos” (Harris 160). Within The Last Podcast On the Left with Ben Kissel, Henry Zebrowski, and Marcus Parks also tackle a time when Latter-Day Saint prophet, Joseph Smith safeguarded his way through illegal, degrading actions. According to their findings, Joseph had an affair on his wife and was caught doing so, before announcing his revelation for polygamy. However, members of the Latter-Day Saint faith are told his reasons for polygamy were to ensure celestial glories for the women of that time since there were more women than men and the women would need to be sealed. How many other teachings of the church have subtly quieted women into uncomfortable acceptance? If uncareful, will certain hierarchies within religions translate to feelings of superiority within the home?

Another similarity my mom informed me that the same essential oil that the Westover parents end up selling, Miracle Remedy, is the same essential oil the doctors had prescribed my brother after he had gotten in his motorcycle accident (Westover’s brother also got in a severe motorcycle accident). I’m unsure if it’s coincidence or if Idaho just has some bizarre medical practices. One time I was recommended a place to help with my scoliosis. When I walked in, the lady had me lay down and proceeded ask me questions about if I rest my tongue on the bottom of my mouth or press it against the top, as this can affect the shape of my spine. She began to move my feet in circular rotations, saying she was moving them the opposite direction that my mind was wanting them to go. She then placed both hands under my back, closed her eyes, and stayed motionless. She then explained that she had been thinking, ‘move apart’. That by having my mom do this with me every night before bed, that my spine would slowly start to regain its correct shape. I’m curious about other experiences people within Idaho and the rest of the world have had and if witch remedies are especially popular in rural Idaho.

Waking Up: A Guide to Spirituality Without Religion by Sam Harris offers the audience methods of meditation to serve as proxy of religion. As the title of the book would suggest, spirituality is brought to the forefront, allowing the reader to delve into their own spirituality while questioning the methods of religion. Referenced in the annotation for Educated: A Memoir, Harris explains the perceived deception that can happen within hierarchies of religion, “A relationship with a guru, or indeed with any expert, tends to run along authoritarian lines. You don’t know what you need to know, and the expert presumably does; that’s why you are sitting in front of him in the first place (Harris 159).

Alan Watts is a British speaker that lived during the 1900s. He often spoke or wrote on philosophy as well as Buddhism, Taoism, and Hinduism. Watts explains in his speech, the enticing and manipulative tactics of religions. Through explaining the manipulative process of “only through this church will you be saved” tactic, Watts goes on to explain the inner workings of someone going through this decision making process, “You have to have an ingroup, see, if you want to know who you are. If you want to belong to something, say you want to distinguish yourself, because you know who you are because of the people that aren’t like you. There you get a contrast; this is the most basic arrangement for a church” (Watts). Watts explains that through religion, the only way to avoid the “sinking beneath the human level or heresy” is to fall susceptible to the guilt trap of religion that has been around since Adam and Eve. It is only through the assurance of someone else’s damnation that one can ensure their own salvation. It is then explained that those who are saved and those that are damned are synonymous to one another, that they need each other. Watts then explains the hierarchy of power within churches, that is explained in Waking Up as well as Educated, that doubles as a means of preventing the members of the church from acting out or not knowing their place.

I recently was able to watch a couple episodes of Tiger King. Although I don’t fully understand the hype it’s generated, I couldn’t help but draw comparisons between the show, religion, and spirituality. The staff working on these cat farms are paid $100 an hour, so other than working with exotic animals, why would they stay?On Carole Baskin’s farm, she has organized a hierarchy through her employees through the color of shirts they wear. The longer they’ve worked there, the higher ranking of shirt they’re given, and the more attention received from Carole Baskin. This reminded me of the levels of priesthood within the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Similar levels are given to the young women within the church as they progress through their teenage years. By being recognized through these levels, people are more likely to stay in particular organizations or cults. Another element that stood out was the admittance to luring in those that only have that job as their last resort. They are in desperate need financially, emotionally or both. How many religious members are using their beliefs or their religious community as a refuge from what they’re dealing with and sometimes, because of this, refuse to believe anything else?

Within Marcus Aurelius’s Meditations, it reads, “Let this saying of Epicurus come to your aid, that ‘pain is neither unendurable nor everlasting, if you keep its limits in mind and do not add to it through your own imagination’. And remember this too, that many disagreeable feelings are really just the same as pain although we do not perceive them to be so-” (Aurelius 67). Harris writes about pain and the customariness of pain being perceived as negative until it is suddenly associated to growth, such as after a workout. Harris goes on to write about the emotional difference it would make if people regularly associated all pain with progression.

One of Joe Exotic’s employees ends up losing their arm due to a tiger attack. Although her arm ends up needing to be amputated, she jumps right back into work after her surgery. She did this so that Joe Exotic’s business wouldn’t face the repercussions of her injury. How many times do people subconsciously force themselves to believe in a prayer or a blessing given to them because brief disappointment is better than no longer having something to believe in?

While some authors can accomplish objectivity in discussing Joseph’s Character, others cannot be as subdued. “Blavatsky’s contemporary Joseph Smith, a libidinous con man and crackpot, was able to found a new religion on the claim that he had unearthed the final revelations of God in the hallowed precincts of Manchester, New York, written in “reformed Egyptian” on golden plates” (Harris 25). Harris continues to explain The Book of Mormon as an “embarrassing pastiche of plagiarisms from the Bible and silly lies about Jesus’s life in America” (Harris 25). Although Harris’s book is partially centered around the negative constructs of religion, I found it particularly unusual that his published views on certain religious figures were as bristly when religion was not his main focus. Although Harris’s objective of retaining spirituality in the absence of religion is aided through these views, I would prefer to shy away from harsh verbiage when discussing religion. Objectivity can be found throughout Westover’s writing, she includes a disclaimer at the beginning of her book explaining that her experiences with her Mormon family should not be a reflection of the religion itself, nor does the book showcase her own religious conviction. Westover touches on the organization of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, “My father wanted to visit the Sacred Grove in Palmyra, New York- the forest where, according to Joseph Smith, God had appeared and commanded him to found the true church” (Westover 300). Westover continues by explaining a common teaching amongst Mormons and the importance associated with Joseph Smith and the “first vison” that led to the publication of The Book of Mormon. “As a child in Sunday school, I’d been taught that all history was a preparation for Mormonism: that every event since the death of Christ had been fashioned by God to make possible the moment when Joseph Smith would kneel in the Sacred Grove and God would restore the one true church” (Westover 318).

Marcus Aurelius, Roman emperor, wrote Meditations, thoughts on stoic philosophy between 161- 180AD. Although this book tends to be more popular amongst seculars than the Bible, the amount of similarities between the two books is unexpected. “You entered the world as a part, and you will vanish back into that which brought you to birth; or rather, you will be received back into its generative reason through a process of change” (Aurelius 26). This strikes similarity with John: 3 in The Bible when Jesus is speaking to Nicodemus, ruler of the Jews. “Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God” to which Nicodemus answers, “How can a man be born when he is old? Can he enter the second time into his mother’s womb, and be born?” (p. 1328). “Rarely is a person seen to be in a bad way because he has failed to attend to what is happening in someone else’s soul, but those who fail to pay careful attention to the motions of their own souls are bound to be in a wretched state” (Aurelius 12). When Jesus is preaching the Sermon on the Mount St. Mathew 7: 3, the same concept is taught, “And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother’s eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?” (p. 1197).

Another comparison between the two accords can be made regarding Aurelius’s description of Maximus in his last days, “How he behaved to the tax-collector at Tusculum who asked for his forgiveness, and his general conduct in such matters. He was never harsh, or implacable, or overbearing-” (Aurelius 8). This is similar to the forgiveness shown in The Bible when Jesus is giving the parable of the self- righteous pharisee and the humbled publican. Within St Luke 18: 12-14 it reads, “I fast tice in the week I give tithes of all that I possess. And the publican, standing afar off, would not lift up so much as his eyes unto heaven, but smote upon his breast, saying, God be merciful to me a sinner” (p. 1308). Both stories hold the emphasized motif of being kind to someone that debt is owed to.

At this point throughout Aurelius’s writings I begin thinking that Meditations, to me, reads as a characterless version of The Bible and in doing so, provides a stripped version of religion down to the basic beliefs of spirituality. Sam Harris, author of Waking Up: A Guide to Spirituality Without Religion explains the taboo structure behind defining or even comparing spirituality to religion, “They don’t always point to the same underlying reality- and when they do, they don’t do it equally well. Nor are all these teachings equally suited for export beyond the cultures that first conceived them… In one sense, all religions and spiritual practices must address the same reality- because people of all faiths have glimpsed many of the same truths” (Harris 20). Harris goes on to explain that the fact that many religions have quoted from or adopted other religion’s beliefs, testifies that human interconnections outweigh the strength of religion. I find the ties between these two blatantly different accounts beautiful and a witness of the similarities between all human hearts and intellect.

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the-canary · 5 years

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Heartbeat, Heartbreak - B.B (3/8)

Summary: Three musketeers until you started to fall in love. But, have you been living since then? (Modern!Reader/Bucky Barnes).

Prompt: “That’s disgusting. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

A/N: This for @notimetoblog‘s writing challenge. this is getting so dramatic but please enjoy.

Feedback is always welcomed.

“Natasha came into my life around middle school and somehow she got me and Bucky to become her friends. I don’t even remember how it happened, she just came up to my lunch table one day and we just started talking. After that Bucky was following her like some lost duckling, maybe he was in love with her from the very beginning, I’m not to sure because he always seem to have a girl around him..trying to catch his attention. But, there we were...a sort of uneasy version of the Three Musketeers.“

Anything moving forward in regards to the deal is made through Sam after the initial meeting, it makes James wonder if she is out of the deal completely or if she would rather just not see him of all people. It’s the only answer he receives in regards of whether she remembered him or no. James, like now, often found himself questioning how the years had treated her --she had always been on the studious and quiet side, and while it still seemed like that she knew how to control the room to lead it into her directions. She was silent but deadly, so he could understand why she was one of Stark Industries best lawyers.

“So, are you done daydreaming?” a teasing voice asks, which causes Bucky to look up and see a smiling Sam as he glances back down on the memo attached to the proposal -- an all too familiar name written at the end of it, which had caused his mind to linger in the first place.

“Yeah, sorry,” James lets out an unsteady laugh, as Sam shakes his head as their fourth meeting comes to a close.

“Are you thinking about a certain someone?” Sam questions with an arched eyebrow and James has to wonder how much he might know, how much she had told him -- a small light of hope flickers in the back of his mind as he leans a bit forward than before.

“How much do you know?”

“Enough to understand why she would throw away a promotion than to deal with you,” Sam answers back with a streak of protectiveness that James had felt a lifetime ago when someone tried to hurt or talk about his girls -- and now Natasha certainly didn’t need that and she had shut the door with tears streaming down her face all those years ago.

“W-What?” James lets out uneasily, as Sam sighs.

“Let’s just say you sign with Rumlow,” Sam explains leaning into the plush chair that he had taken a seat in James’ office. The sun came in overlooking the Brooklyn Bridge lightning the old red brick office with several accolades and pictures around the wall, he took a moment to finally take in, “Then, Rumlow takes the promotion as head of the department. If you sign with me, it gives her a mark, but since she didn’t directly deal with you...well, Rumlow could use that against her.”

“That doesn’t seem fair,” is the only thing James can say. The pit of his stomach churning at what he might cause her once more. He can’t help but think he has never done anything right by her -- not in their shared teenage years and certainly not now if he was causing her the loss of a job promotion.

“Chester Phillips is a hard man to bargain with,” Sam lets out with a shrug, having dealt with the man hundreds of times before and while Philips was the one that had brought him into Stark Industries -- he was still a hard ass either way -- she knew that more than most people though.

“It’s best not to think about the things you can’t fix,” Sam states from his own personal experience. The meeting having long since ended and turning into something more personal, “You’re just gonna hurt more people trying to dig up old bones.

With that last piece of advice, Sam gives the dazed man a smile before picking up his suitcase and saying that he’ll contact James for the next meeting. Sam knows he’s close to striking a deal, but from he knows about James Barnes --the man was a sentimental fool-- he knew that he wasn’t going to get anything closed until he saw a certain someone, talked to them one on one to let old feelings die. It was extremely unprofessional, but that’s just how life went some ways -- and Sam knew what he had to do something about it.

Sam had to call in the big guns, he just wasn’t sure how she was going to handle all this. At least, somewhat well, was all he could hope for.

--- and Mr. Barnes,

As our impending deal and merger come to an end, I would like to take the time to take you both out to lunch at your earliest convenience.

I look forward to meeting and talking with both of you over your future endeavors and what else can be done to strengthen our connections in the future.

Thank you,

Virginia Potts

C.E.O of Stark Industries.

You can only curse at the sight of the little message in your email box.

In all of your years of working and knowing Pepper Potts, you sometimes didn’t know what to expect from her. She had started as the personal assistant of Mr. Stark at around the same time you and Sam had started in the legal department. The two of you had seen discussions go on between Mr. Stark and Philips in the most stubborn of ways men could argue over things and were often the go between for the two of them when things got too heated. You found an easy work relationship with the woman who as a forefront was quiet and organized, but was stubborn as well when she wanted to be.

She could quickly learn things and catch things that most people couldn’t and that’s what you missed when you became a one-track mind sort of person. Pepper was scary when she wanted to be, so you weren’t sure how you were going to handle your old personal life potentially going to be on display to her as the CEO.

You didn’t want to know how much Pepper potentially knew at this point, she always had her ways of being noisy around such things and what exactly she was planning this lunch to be.

“How have the dealings with Mr. Barnes been so far?” she asks, while the of you are been driving to Per Se for lunch that afternoon. There were a smile on her face that you already knew she was up to something -- if there was something that the Potts-Stark couple shared was their nosiness around the people and things that they care about.

“Sam tells me they have been going well,” you start off as blue eyes give you a questioning look, “I have been finishing off the Lesher Holdings acquisition, but I should be back to it soon.”

“That’s good,” Pepper gives you a smile before going back to looking at her phone, as you look out the car window.

Yup, she definitely knows something.

James Barnes might be the successful CEO of a small company off in Brooklyn, but the restaurant that he is set up to meet with a certain someone and Pepper Potts was certainly out of his league. He had gone through a mild panic attack until Nat had promised to be there with him up to when he had to enter the restaurant, though with little Rose along for the ride since it was Nat’s turn to take care of her as Sharon worked.

And while James should be worried about two people potentially meeting, he was more nervous about meeting the CEO of Stark Industries once more that anything else flew over his radar. Rosie cooing in her baby carry-on strapped to the front of Nat’s body, as the woman had an irritated look on her face while fighting with James’ tie.

“James, you’re going to be fine,” Nat remarks with a tired sigh, as she straightens the blue tie one last time, “You’ve already met her and Tony Stark before and you did just fine. Stop being such a baby.”

“I--” he hadn’t gotten the chance to tell Nat the second part of the situation -- that he had found her and that she wanted nothing to do with him. The two of them finding her had always intrigued them in some way, but to actually have her in front of them once more -- well, he wasn’t sure in which direction Nat was going to take if she ever found out.

“You’ll do great,” Nat gives him a brief smile before stopping anything else she was going to say, as a black car pulls up to said restaurant. However, Bucky can’t see who is coming out of the vehicle that catches Natasha’s eye -- her brief pause doesn’t register to Bucky as she quickly masks whatever distress she might be going through.

“Go ‘em Buck,” is all she says while patting him on the shoulder on last time. James smiles and nods before heading in.

If she had seen a ghost, she doesn’t tell him and decides to stay quiet for now and gather her thoughts for another time, as Rose gurgles for her attention.

Pepper is quick to notice there is a tense aura in the air between the two people she is sharing this lunch with and while Sam had shared some details of what he knew, the CEO could tell that there was more to that. She was good at reading people, but is was more than obvious that Mr. Barnes was throwing longing, lovestruck eyes at a certain someone that wouldn’t even look his way. She frowns because it must have been something if you, the stature of professionalism, was bothered by being near James Barnes.

Like now, as you took the farthest seat away from him and only greeted him with a nod, while Pepper came up to the man and shook his hand as he kissed her on the cheek.

“Mr. Barnes, it is good to see you again,” Pepper states before taking the seat between the two of you, “I hope the merger details are going well.”

“It’s good to see you again, Ms. Potts,” he answers back, blue eyes glancing at you for a moment as you proceed to look at the menu with extreme interest, “And yes, Sam has been very understanding thus far.”

Lunch moves forward as best as it can with two people clearly talking, though one is staring longing at the third, as you stay quiet and eat your order unless Pepper needs you to answer something, which isn’t often. Pepper, for once is at a loss of what to do next, until her phone begins to ring and you stare at her in a mix of horror and confusion as she begins to get up.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Pepper states with an uneasy smile, as she looks between the two of you for a brief second hoping that everything will be alright.

Pepper leaves, giving you an apologetic frown, as she leaves you and James in utter silence. You look at your half-finished food while James tries to pick up the courage to talk.

“I--” he starts off, as you look up at him with dead serious eyes. You take a zip of water before turning to look at him with nothing but fury in your face and for a brief moment Bucky remembers when you were younger and that look was nothing but love and adoration.

“If you can do one thing, just one measly thing to do right by me, James,” you whisper harshly, “Then, leave me the hell alone.”

James can hear the silent please at the end of your statement because even now you weren’t going to be the type of beg. You go back to staring at your plate, at the floor, your hands -- anything that isn’t the grief stricken James, who runs a hand down his face in utter defeat and desperation. His voice sounding meeker and more broken than before.

“If I said I was sorry---” he starts off, only for you to get up and drop your napkin on the table. Your eyes a bit redder than before.

“You weren’t sorry back then. Don’t try to make amends when it’s already too late,” you state softly before getting up and walking out of the restaurant, unsure of where you are going but knowing you couldn’t stand looking at James and now knowing that he and Natasha had created a future together -- that they had gotten married and had a beautiful baby together.

You let out a dry sob and hail a taxi from outside, already preparing the email you were going to send Pepper as an explanation for your sudden disappearance.

And James just sits there, his own eyes watering as a certain redhead comes back to the table -- the aftermath of what she had been planning clearly not what she thought it was going to be. Pepper sits down across from James and places her hands calmly on the table, meal clearly forgotten, as she looks him squarely in the face.

“You know,” she starts off with a light laugh, “I think this is the first time, I’ve seen her run away from a lunch meeting rather than the other way around.”

“She’s that good, huh?” James lets out with a watery and bitter laugh.

“She’s the best I’ve got,” Pepper shrugs as James’ eyes sparkle with some unknown emotion that Pepper couldn’t even begin to understand -- love and loss all in the same gaze, as she moves forward with her plan, “However, that’s not what I am here to talk about, not even the merger.”

The serious look on Pepper’s face makes James sit up a bit straighter than before: “Please don’t believe that I am doing this for you in anyway. I have known and worked with her long enough to understand that there has always been something holding her back when it comes to enjoying life, the fruits of all her hard work. The emotions that you rile up in her isn’t something that I’ve ever seen from her in all the years I have seen her working with the worst in people.”

“I see,” James lets out slowly, though still unsure, “But, what does that have to do with me?”

“If it helps her move on, I would gladly help you in any way I can,” Pepper admits with a small smile as James looks at her in completely shock. The opportunity that he had been waiting for is staring him right in the face, but before he can thank her -- Pepper adds one more thing.

“But, I swear, Mr. Barnes. You break her heart once more and I’ll make sure you sure you regret it every single day of your life.”

James nods quickly as Pepper gets up without another word. At this point, he was willing to do everything and what Pepper didn’t know was that he had been regretting breaking your heart the first for the past couple of years -- he didn’t have anything to lose now.

It isn’t until several days later that Bucky finally gets to see Nat again. However, it isn’t like the last time -- this time she’s wearing her poker face and her body is more tense than usual as if she was getting ready to go to war. Green clashes with blue as she puts down her drink. Her voice dipping into sadness for a moment, before she shut up with her anger completely.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had found her?”

Part 4

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