abaker74

[abaker74]

Wrong Name- Pt 4/4

John Walker x Reader

Maybe another chance can happen?

Talk of last trauma? Sex 🤷🏻‍♀️

You were half asleep when your phone dinged. You rolled over to see it was an email from Joaquin, more than likely something space related. Sam loved teasing the two of you about being science nerds. You clicked it and laughed when you saw it was an order shipped receipt for an air force hoodie you’d been begging him for.

You clicked reply and typed “You’re a good man Joaquin. No matter what Sam says” you knew he’d be calling or replying soon. You and Joaquin had been friends for a while. Hell you gave him the push along with Sam to get with TT. Those two were one hell of a couple. Joaquin had been one of the few people that hadn’t really said anything one way or another about you and John. If you brought it up, he’d be willing to listen and if you asked for advice the only thing he’d said was “You’re an amazing woman. If Walker is too damn stupid to see that, it’s his fault not yours but he seems like he really cares about you”

Now you were sitting with a dilemma. You had already forgiven John in your heart even if you hadn’t said the words to him. You couldn’t hold the anger and pain. Your past was proof of what that could do to a person, his as well. None of your team had done well from holding onto anything like that. You loved him too much to hold onto it. 

The dilemma was, would you ever be able to truly give him a second chance with your heart in the palm of his hand or do you move on? Either option terrified you. You’d never loved anyone the way you loved John yet every time you got close to him you got scared of being hurt again also. He admitted to being a dumbass but no matter what he still very much felt like your dumbass.

Your phone dinged and you looked to see Joaquin had replied “He just mad cause I’m cooler than him” you shook your head and replied “Damn right. I’ll send a pic when I get the hoodie. Tell TT I said what’s up” 

You tossed your blankets off and swung your legs off the side of your bed. You needed to start the damn day. Bucky would be yelling at Valentina, you wanted in on that one. Yelena would be somewhere either training or hanging out with Bob. Ava could be quite literally anywhere within the tower (walls included) you scrubbed a hand down your face. Shower first, even if you ended up getting another one after the gym. You needed it to wake up.

John knew how you started your day. You always showered, no matter what. Even if you showered to go straight down to the gym. You said it woke you up and made you feel less gunky,your words not his.  He wished he knew if you were headed to the gym or to breakfast first. He didn’t want to risk crowding you. No matter how much he craved your company, just being in the same area as you he wouldn’t push. You said you needed time to think, he would give it to you. No matter how long it took.

He laid there for the longest, staring up at the roof. EJ was getting big. Dark curls and a bright smile. He was so damn handsome and so damn innocent. He’d giggled when he saw him. That had hit some broken spot inside of him, he’d been afraid that EJ would cry or cling to Olivia….. not wanting anything to do with him but no, children were resilient. They’d spent time together. He’d gotten to see his son’s room, learn his favorite book, bedtime story and movie.

He was trying, Olivia was letting him, the lawyers were letting him. He wouldn’t fuck up again. EJ deserved a better father than that. Olivia had asked about you. He’d told her that you’d gotten upset at him, that he’d inadvertently said something that ripped your heart out. She’d told him to do whatever he needed to do to fix it because in her words “She pulled you out of a hole I was afraid would swallow Eli’s father whole”

He knew that. He knew that when he was a self deprecating asshole wallowing in self pity, you’d popped up. That damn vault. The way you’d watched his every move. How you’d smirked when he’d acted as if he wasn’t expandable yet how your eyes softened when Bucky revealed the truth.  The shame rooms, seeing your kills. How you regretted them. The way you reacted to Lemar’s death.  He shielded you without even thinking of it, whether it was the innate training to protect his team or what it was second nature to keep you close at hand.

When Valentina announced all of you to the world. Everyone had been stunned to say the least but you? You busted out laughing, shook your head and walked off the stage. Bucky had to drag you back and keep his left arm around you to keep you in place. 

When everyone moved into the tower, with what few possessions you’d had Valentina was there overseeing with her guards. She’d given all of you a shiny new credit card and a reminder “You’re avengers act like it in public”  the jarring reality that none of you knew how to act when given the reins to your own lives? That was a bit horrifying. Hell for a while it seemed Alexei had the best grip on things.

The turning point for Yelena and Bob was figuring out they could set up cucumber a tunnel between their rooms and no one cared. In fact the team encouraged it. Bucky was starting to sleep in an actual bed. Ava was having less pain days which was amazing to say the least. John himself was just still struggling. That was when he started getting close with you. 

_______________________

He’d been up, wandering the tower and trying to stay quiet. Normally he would’ve stayed on his own floor but he needed to stretch his legs further. He made it into the kitchen which was a common area and the lights were off, thanks to the serum his vision was a lot better so he didn’t actually need it. What stopped him in the doorway however was your form sitting on the island. You were crossed legged, a bottle of water in your hands just staring off into space.

He started to leave, not wanting to bother you but you’d turned and looked over your shoulder “Well hell Walker if we both can’t sleep might as well keep each other company”

He walked further into the kitchen, leaning onto the island in front of you “What are you doing up anyways?” you shrugged “Couldn’t sleep. The bed is way too nice. The room is too air conditioned. The rug I bought is too soft, the blankets are too soft. My pjs are too new. Everything is bugging the hell out of me”

A soft laugh escaped him and your eyes flew up to his. He knew that look, you thought he was making fun of you but he quickly shook his head “No honey. I ain’t making fun. I’m just kind of glad I’m not the only one having issues with all this” you nodded then “Oh, I bet it is weird huh?” he nodded “I’ve been living kind of from here to there since me and Olivia split. The papers were signed about two months before we met” 

You nodded, looking down at your water then back up at him “At least Valentina is sending her a good sum for EJ right?” he nodded “Yeah, at least I know he’s taken care of. Even if I couldn’t” you laughed then “Sometimes it’s better to become a better parent and come back then to drag your child along for the ride. Olivia can handle it as a single mother better than you being a wreck”

He liked that about you. You never walked on eggshells around anyone. Yelena went off on the team? You went toe to toe. Bucky had a bad night? You were the first at his door to check on him. Ava’s powers went sideways and she was having a hard time? You ended up getting phased into a wall to help her. You also didn’t mind setting him straight when it was needed. “She’d like you” he offered and you winked at him “Of course she would, I’m a likeable person” 

____________________

Somehow a friendship started to form out of that. When one of you couldn’t sleep, you’d seek out the other. You talked, learned more about each other. You asked about his time in the army but never pushed. He asked about your time in shield but never pushed. You both helped each other find the courage to start therapy, a much needed thing for you both.

You started training together, even if at first he was afraid of hurting you. You got stronger, he got more flexible. The two of you were good as a team. Maybe it was his fault? Maybe he should have been strong enough to see it coming, strong enough to realize with every smile, every teasing remark, every knock of your shoulder against his body, that you were stealing a piece of his heart every single time.

By the time he realized what was happening he was so far in love with you he didn’t know what to do with himself. The problem was you hadn’t been in a relationship in a while due to shield controlling so much of your past, he hadn’t been with anyone in an actual relationship but Olivia and besides her he’d only ever slept with one other person and hell that was back when he was seventeen.

Both of you were nervous, hell John wouldn’t be hesitant to say he was downright afraid. He had fucked up so much. He’d let Lemar get killed, failed the whole world as Captain America, pushed Olivia to feel like she had no other choice but to walk away… what did he have to offer you?

____________________

You stayed, no matter what. After missions, you’d get his help checking your injuries and would make him let you check his. You slowly opened up more to each other. The late nights turned into you falling asleep in each other’s beds and suddenly you were both sleeping through the night if you were curled up to each other. 

He loved the way your lips felt on his, loved how your body felt under his fingers. The two of you had done a lot, he’d tasted you, teased you. He wanted to make you feel good, wanted to please you but was afraid of hurting you. That was why it was so long before you two actually had sex. He was trying to do everything right this time and yet he still fucked up.

A low groan finally left him as he shoved himself up and out of the bed. He may as well grab a shower too. Then he’d see whether or not you were avoiding him and see just how bad the team was chewing Valentina’s ass out for that shit intel. You would think she’d at least try to keep her band of misfits intact. Especially since Bob was still unstable at best and he was bonded to Yelena, Ava and you.

He shook his head and headed into the bathroom, sending up a prayer of “Please lord, don’t let me fuck up any worse than I already have” 

You were in the gym by yourself for once. Yelena had come and gone. Ava too, Bucky was still yelling at Valentina with Sam on a conference call so you were alone. You’d already worked the heavy bags and weights. You were currently hanging upside down from the pullup bar.

Part of you expected Ava to phase in or Bob to wander in and question what the hell you were doing. It just helped your gravity center really. Made it where if a mission called for it you didn’t get dizzy, plus it kind of stroked that spot inside of you that was a kid that never really got to play on the monkey bars.

You had music playing and was humming along to it. The door of the gym opened and you cracked your eyes open to see John standing in the doorway with his head tilted to the side “Darlin, what the hell are you doing?”

You shrugged as best as you could from your current position “Stretching out my back?” he nodded “Ok then. Is it good if I work out or want me to come back?” you shook your head “It’s fine John” 

He walked in and headed for the heavy bags. You told yourself to close your eyes back, concentrate on the song and your remaining time but when he slipped his shirt off and tossed it to the bench you nearly fell off the bar. 

You twisted to grab the bar with your hands then dropped down to your feet. John looked over at you with a raised eyebrow “You good?” you nodded “Yup. Time was up anyways”

You started gathering your stuff and heard him turn back to the heavy bag as the first flew blows started to land. You couldn’t look. Hormones clouded judgement and god knows you had plenty of hormones where he was concerned.  You picked up your water bottle and your feet decided to have a mind of their own because they turned your body around to face John’s back.

You stood there for a moment, watching him work over the bag. The way the muscles in his back moved, the way his body worked. The light sounds falling from his lips. Christ that man. You swallowed the water a bit harder than necessary and hoped he didn’t hear it. 

“Was I any good at least?” you asked and your mouth fell open, horrified at your own question. John missed the bag and it swung back, hitting him in the face and almost knocking him off balance which in turn caused a shocked laugh to escape you. He spun to face you, eyes wide and chest heaving “What?”

You shrugged “Was I at least a good fuck?” you were trying to keep a halfway calm demeanour despite the turmoil in your heart and head. He laughed humorlessly “Baby I love you. You were amazing. I’ve thought about it, about you so damn much since then. More times than you’d probably care to know”

The water bottle in your hand felt heavy. “You know I still love you John, right?” he nodded “I do. You know I’m not going anywhere, right? Unless you tell me point blank John it’s over I don’t want anything to do with you like that anymore” 

You nodded “I figured so but where does that leave us?” he stared at the space between the two of you then looked back up at you. You took a step towards him and the barest of smiles slipped onto his face “That leaves us with the ball firmly in your court honey. I fucked up, I did. Olivia was my only relationship before you. I’d slept with one girl when I was seventeen. I got with Olivia a couple months after that then she was it until we divorced. I never would have meant to slip up, God knows I was not thinking about her in that moment but I will completely understand if you decide you can’t give this another shot. Just know that no matter what I will still love you and do my best to protect you”

“Don’t say that John. I can’t go into missions thinking about you doing something stupid to protect me and then EJ doesn’t know why daddy left again and permanently this time” you whispered and he took a step towards you “Worried about me?” 

You shook your head “Worried about Eli” he smirked “Lucky little boy that one” you nodded “I know right? Hot mom and hot teammate of dad’s being worried about his little self” 

He raised an eyebrow “Did you just call Olivia hot?” you shrugged “I have eyes John” he started laughing “I love you but I swear if you leave me for Olivia…well it would be par for the course for me”

“I wouldn’t do that. If I like it or not I know who my heart belongs to. I just don’t know what to do about it” you admitted and he nodded slowly. You could see a few different emotions cross his face. He wanted to be happy because you said your heart belonged to him but you also said you didn’t know what to do about it. 

“I’m here when you decide” he reminded and you nodded “Well, I’ll leave you to your workout” “Ok sweetheart” you turned on your heel and for the first time since that night you simply walked away, you didn’t run. It wasn’t a lot but it was something. Right?

You should really be used to the amount of times you’d almost been killed. It really shouldn’t be something that woke you up at night. Yet here you were. You were sitting in the middle of your bed, huddled in the air force hoodie that had finally arrived from Joaquin, shaking slightly. 

Yelena always told you it was nothing to be ashamed of. She still had flashbacks of the red room. The difference was she was a child, she had no choice. You’d signed onto shield, thinking you were going good. Their asset when they needed something cleaned up.

Your chest felt tight like you couldn’t breathe. You slipped the hoodie off and stood on shaking legs to put it on top of your dresser. Even down to your camisole and boxers it didn’t get better.  The one thing that would make you feel better you couldn’t have. 

After the third trip around your room, you stepped out into the cool hallway. You told yourself it was just a walk around the tower. It meant nothing. You told yourself that up until the moment you were outside of John’s room, knocking on the door.

___________________

John was in that place between sleep and consciousness when a knock at the door snapped him back fully awake. He knew that knock. He was on his feet and moving without another thought. He opened the door and there you stood, barefooted, wearing your horror movie camisole and boxer set. Your hair was tousled from sleep, eyes wide and he knew it was a nightmare.

“You ok?” he spoke, voice low and you shook your head “I tried, I paced, I got water. I did the breathing but I- I can’t slow my head down. I feel like like my chest is too tight John” he reached his arms out and you crashed against his chest, arms wrapping around him “Can I stay here? Please. I feel safe with you” you whispered as if you felt ashamed at admitting it out loud.  He didn’t know if it was the needing him part or the just needing someone part but he understood either way.

“I’ve got you sweetheart. You know anything that comes for you would have to go through me first” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

____________________

You walked into John’s room with him.The meticulously kept area was as neat as always. His damn bed was even neat with him having just been asleep. Only one side of the blanket was moved back, he didn’t sleep on the right side of the bed. You liked that side. 

When he noticed you looking he shrugged “You like the right side, I got used to the left” you felt your face warm “Can we lay down?” he nodded “Of course” you walked over and slid under the blanket. He laid down next to you but god he was so stiff he felt half dead. “John, relax please” he nodded so you moved closer, laying your head on his chest “Is this ok?” you asked and his voice broke slightly when he replied “It’s perfect”

His arm slipped around you, fingers tracing shapes on your back. “Wanna talk about it?” you shook your head “It was a close call when everything fell. They almost killed me. I was one of the youngest, their little cleaner” he pressed a kiss to your temple “I love you” you smiled and pressed a kiss to the bare skin of his chest and heard him release a huff of air that sounded almost like a sigh of relief at feeling your lips “I love you too John. Now sleep”

When you first started waking up, you became aware of a heavy weight across your hip. You opened one eye to see you’d turned onto your side in your sleep. Your face was burrowed into John’s neck and the weight was his arm, holding you so tightly it seemed like he was afraid you may just float away.

“John” you whispered, squirming to look up at him. He slowly opened his eyes, those blue eyes you adored catching the light in just the right way to make your heart flip and the smile he gave you was nothing short of heart stopping “It wasn’t a really good dream?”

You laughed and playfully shoved his chest “You asshole! You just called my having nightmares a good dream?” He squeezed your hip gently “I meant more so waking up with you in my arms is the best of dreams I could ever imagine” 

One of your hands found their way to his chest, spread across the broad expanse of skin. You should look away, you should climb out of his bed but the way he was looking at you was like you hung the damn moon and stars. “I love you John” you breathed and he smiled so damn softly “I love you too” 

“If I give you another chance, I don’t think I could handle you hurting me again. You’re the only man I’ve ever loved this much” you admitted. He swallowed hard “I don’t deserve another chance. I don’t deserve you but if you ever decide to, I will spend the rest of my life trying to”

When you leaned up to press a kiss to his lips he went deadly still. You pulled away and a small smile slipped onto his face “Yeah?” you nodded “Yeah, now kiss me”

He tugged you closer by the hand on your hip and when his lips met yours it was like your entire body was on fire in the best of ways. You whined lightly into his mouth and a low groan of your name escaped his lips. You laughed and nipped at his bottom lip “What was that?” 

A light blush graced his cheeks but no, you heard it and by god you were going to hear it again. “Get on your back soldier” you whispered against his lips and he shifted to do as he was told. You laughed again at how quickly he’d moved “Damn John, were you waiting for orders baby?”

He watched you with a look that was a mixture of love and hunger “Anything you tell me to do? I’m going to do everything within my power to do it” you rolled your bottom lip between your teeth “What if I do this?” you swung your leg over his waist, effectively straddling him and a strangled moan left him.

“So sensitive” you teased, rocking your hips against his. He watched you with darkened eyes “I’m behaving because you need this” you nodded “I know and I love you for it” before pressing a kiss to his lips.

You leaned up to slip your camisole off and he swallowed hard enough you could see his Adam's apple bobbing. “What’s wrong?” you asked and he grinned “Nothing honey” he was being patient, good even. “Do you want me John?” you asked and he stared at you, breathing your name out like a prayer “You could tell me to take out half of New York and I’d probably try it”

You laughed “Good answer” and leaned down to him. He tugged you up, tongue flicking out to roll one of your nipples into his mouth. Your head fell over with a light gasp. Your fingers threaded into his hair, nails scratching his scalp. You leaned down close to his ear “You’re getting one damn chance John. I’m handing you my body and my heart. Let’s see if you destroy it”

He pulled off your nipple with a wet pop, tilting his head to look at you. “I won’t. This once I won’t fuck up” he swore, pressing a hard kiss to your lips. Your nails found his chest, lightly grazing the skin “Prove it” you whispered into his mouth and he laughed “How do you want me baby?”

________________________

You wanted to be on your stomach, pillow under your hips, giving John the perfect angle. Your fists were balled into his comforter, every thrust was pushing you closer to that edge and from the position it meant your clit was rubbing against the bed as well.  “Gonna cum for me honey?” he growled into your ear, kissing the flesh just below as he tucked a hand under you, fingers finding your clit. Your vision exploded in white dots when your orgasm slammed into you, a gasp of his name leaving you.

You could feel his thrusts getting more frenzied as he chased his own high, pressing kisses across your back and shoulders. Praises that consisted of your name, how amazing you felt falling from his lips in tandem with every snap of his hips. His teeth grazed your neck, your name a little louder this time. You looked up at him, a hard thrust making your eyes roll back slightly. He grabbed your chin to force you to look at him as he said your name again “I love you. I’m yours. I belong to you” 

You could tell he was close, his cock was throbbing inside of you. Tears were forming in your eyes from overstimulation but it still felt so damn good. “All mine” you moaned and he nodded, pressing a kiss to your lips “All yours” as he buried himself into you. When he came with a low grunt of your name, followed by a trail of open mouthed kisses being pressed to the back of your neck you had to catch your breath. He gave a few more slow, deep thrusts, slipping his hand back under you “One more” you whined but his fingers were already wringing one more orgasm out of your spent form.

When you came, walls clenching around him, he bit down on your shoulder. You gasped out, biting into his forearm. He laughed lightly “Bite it harder baby, mark me” you bit harder and he moaned “Good girl, let everyone know who I belong to”

You laid there for a moment as he pressed kisses across your skin, large calloused hands rubbing your back before he gently pulled out. You whined at the loss of his body. He pressed another kiss to your shoulder “Gonna go get something to clean you up” “Ok” you whispered.

He walked into the bathroom and came back with a warm washcloth, he meticulously cleaned between your thighs, pressing kisses everywhere he could reach in the process. He then helped you turn over and get comfortable before finding you one of his shirts and helping you to slip it on. You laid against his pillows as he moved around the room, slipping boxers on.

“So, was that good?” he asked and looked so damn nervous you busted out laughing. His face fell and you held out a hand “Come here baby” he crawled onto the bed, laying partially on top of you. You pulled him down into a kiss “That was amazing. I love you John Walker” he grinned “I love you too. So, I’m yours right? If some gossip site asks..” you groaned “Christ have mercy John. I’ll claim you publicly like a puppy on a leash”

“Woof woof baby” he teased, lips on your neck. You slipped your fingers into his hair, pulling his head back so he had to look at you. He grinned “Yes darlin?” “I’m yours too by the way. I want to meet Olivia officially and it would be my honor to meet EJ one day” he smiled brightly and crashed his lips against yours “I don’t deserve you but thank you for wanting me anyways”

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[abaker74]

Wrong Name Pt 2/4

John Walker x Reader

After avoiding it for days you're left with no choice but telling John why you left him

Mention of sex, little bit of violence

You sat on the floor in your shower, the water beating down on you was cold by that point. You’d scrubbed your body raw, trying to get any evidence of John off of you. You didn't want to smell like him, didn’t want any marks left from his fingers or tongue or teeth. You would mark yourself first, your own nails clawing into your skin to cover his fingertip shaped bruises left behind on your hips. Had any other outcome happened you would be laying across him, tracing the bruises and laughing about them. You loved him, fuck you loved him. You were in love with him and he was thinking about his wife while he was buried inside of you.

You felt dirty, like a cheap whore. You felt like the other woman almost. Why couldn’t he just have been honest with you? He was an attractive man. Truthfully you would have slept with him weeks ago and just gotten it out of your system. That way no feelings would have gotten involved. Had you been face down in the mattress and he just fucking into you for a release for you both this wouldn’t have hurt. Had you know this was just a fuck, it wouldn’t have hurt. He didn’t have to date you, spend time with you, make you fall for him. He didn’t have to hold you close and whisper sweet nothings.  

He could have just said “I find you attractive, I think you find me attractive. Can we fuck?” that way you wouldn’t feel like this.  The dishonesty was what ripped you in two.

You finally ripped yourself off the floor. You needed to get dressed. You needed some sleep. You were sore, sore from him, sore from the shower, sore from just everything.

You towel dried off and slipped clothes on before padding across the floor to your bed. You laid down then a scent of his cologne from earlier in the night hit your nose. You tore your blankets, sheets and all off the bed and pushed them into the laundry chute. You’d rather sleep on a bare mattress until you could get fresh sheets in the morning. You walked into your closet and found a hoodie Alexei had given you. It was big on him so it fell past your knees. It would work if you got cold. You slipped it on and curled up in the middle of the bed. You just needed a few hours of sleep then you could deal with your broken heart head on.

John woke up and absentmindedly reached for you before remembering the night before. The two of you had spent more than one night sleeping in the same bed but last night was the first time that happened. The way you’d felt under him, how you sounded.. It was damn near perfect until whatever happened happened. He wasn’t sure what he’d done. He knew that the so-called meeting with Valentina’s people was bullshit. He’d done something to you but he wasn’t sure what. 

Did he hurt you? Christ, if he hurt you with his strength he’d never forgive himself. Especially if you felt like you had to hide it from him.  He sat up, running a hand down his face. The slight scent of your shampoo from his pillows hit his nose and he smiled as he grabbed his phone, hoping you had texted him. There was nothing there. He sighed and laid it back down. He learned his lesson about trying to toss his phone down after the third broken one.

He didn’t want to crowd you but last night was supposed to be special wasn’t it? That was the first time you two had sex, the first time he’d had sex with anyone outside of Olivia since he was nineteen years old. What if he wasn’t any good? What if you were trying to spare his feelings? Fuck now that was an entirely new worry on top of him hurting you. What if he was a grown ass man that had no fucking clue what he was doing with a different woman and he ended up not only not pleasing you but hurting you as well?

Fuck it, he’d go to the gym and take out some frustrations there. Maybe you’d find him like you said you would. That was all he could do for now, right?

You were in the gym with Yelena and Ava. You and Yelena were both working on speed with Ava phasing in and out while the two of you worked to block her and see if either of you could actually land a punch. 

When you approached both of them about training with you this morning you knew you probably looked like shit. You felt like shit but you didn’t want to talk, you wanted to train. You wanted to sweat and to not think about anything but where the next hit was coming from.

You grunted when Ava caught you in the stomach and you rolled up, your back hitting the mat. You twisted when she phased back in and caught her in the lower back, flipping her. Her back hit the mat and she laughed lightly “Good reversal” you nodded “Thanks” Yelena winked at you “Come on now, my turn”

You stood to face Yelena, both of you gave a small nod then started circling each other. You both had similar hand to hand fighting styles. Shield training and Hydra training meeting up in the middle. Both rejects of your programming and just fighting to do better. 

You and her went back and forth. You’d land a blow then she’d land one. It was a dance and an enjoyable one on days like this. She didn’t give you any room to think. She knew you well enough to know when to stay on your ass. “Don’t hesitate!” she urged, kicking you in the back and making your face hit the mat. Bob grimaced where he was watching “Yelena..” you knew he was going to tell her to ease up, he didn’t like seeing you two go hard on each other (Yet loved seeing Bucky and John beat the shit out of each other)

“I’m good Bob” you assured him with a wink as Yelena helped you to your feet. She nodded “She knows her limits” She passed you a water bottle and your towel “Want to talk about this mood?” you shook your head “Want to take Bob and Ava and go shopping instead?” she shrugged “Sounds good to me”

Ava phased behind you “Shopping?” you laughed “With our shiny cards Valentina gave us. All we have to do is be polite in public and smile for photo ops” Ava scrunched up her nose in disgust “Fair enough. Twenty minutes to shower and change?” you nodded “Good with me”

The four of you started for the door but it opened before you got there. John walked in and you had to remind yourself to not freeze on the spot. Your eyes locked with his, a small smile slipping onto his face “Morning” he greeted. “Morning” Bob replied, him and Yelena pushing past John to get out first. 

“Morning Walker” Ava greeted as she walked out. You walked behind Ava. His hand shot out to grab yours “Morning?” you nodded “Morning” and gently pulled your hand out of his grasp. It felt like your skin was on fire everywhere he’d touched. A day ago it would have been the most pleasant of sensations, now? You wanted to rip the flesh away.

He looked towards the door and once he was halfway sure everyone was gone he looked back at you “How’d the meeting go?” “Meeting?” you asked then it hit you “Oh yeah, meeting. It went fine. I gotta go. We’re going shopping. I need new blankets and stuff”

He raised an eyebrow “Yours was fine last night? What about your backup sets?” you shrugged “I asked laundry to toss them all. I need a fresh start on it” he took a step closer but when you stiffened he froze to the spot “Baby, did I hurt you or something?” there was a cop out for you. You could blame this on physical pain and pull away from him. You could say he’d bruised you, been too rough. Something to put more blame on him, to inflict some pain on him.

God help you couldn’t. “Nope, I’m fine” you whispered, eyes looking everywhere but at him. “Is that why you won’t look at me?” he asked. You slowly raised your eyes to his, hoping he wouldn’t clock the tears brewing in yours “See? Fine. Can I go now?” he nodded slowly “Of course. Sorry”

You walked out of the gym, the moment you hit the hallway your feet started moving faster. You told yourself it was to catch up with Bob and Yelena but you knew you were running away from John. 

________________

John could hear your footfalls. He knew you were quite literally running away from him. If he didn’t hurt you then why were you pulling away from him like you were? He thought he’d been doing good with you, thought he’d been better, a better man. 

He punched one of the heavy bags and didn’t pay attention to which one it was. It was unfortunately not a reinforced one and it flew across the room, smashing against a wall. Great, now he had to explain that to Bucky and Valentina. “Fuck” he grunted under his breath. He was losing you now. Just par for the course with his track record.

“Fuck fuck fuck” you groaned under your breath. It was that damn website that ran the article about you and John. One of its people had gotten a report that the four of you were out and about. You grabbed Yelena “Get Bob back to the tower” “What about those assholes” she asked and you shrugged “I’ve got it”

Ava grinned “I’m watching her work” you laughed “Well come on Starr” she fell in next to you while Yelena took Bob the opposite way. You heard your name called along with “Miss STARR” 

You both turned and saw Yelena give a thumbs up as she made it out the door. Just keep their eyes on you long enough to get Bob out of dodge. That was it. “Yes?” you greeted and the perky redhead shoved a tiny mic in your face “Is it true that you and John Walker are an item?” you felt Ava shift at your side and cut your eyes at her to see she was watching you carefully. You sighed, time to put on a show and act like your heart wasn’t in shambles.

“John Walker?” you laughed and she nodded “Yes, we’ve gotten multiple reports and photos of you two getting close and of course that one audio of him saying are you ok peaches when you got injured” you rolled your eyes “Christ, the man has called Alexei peaches! He’s from Georgia for Christ's sake. As for us being an item? I’d sooner be with Miss Starr here. She’s a lot more emotionally stable” Ava and the redhead laughed. 

“Well Miss Starr, any comment?” Ava grinned, slipping an arm around your waist “Not really” the redhead laughed “Anything you’d like to add about any rumors floating around? Squash them once and for all?” you rolled your bottom lip between your teeth. John would more than likely get this routed to him, more than likely see it but maybe Olivia would too. If he was no longer living in the tower or at least not available maybe it would hurt less? 

“John is still very much in love with his ex-wife Olivia. He is staying single in hopes of one day reconciling. I for one support them and wish them the best. That’s all I will say on my team mates relationships well that and Alexei is single and looking!” The redhead and Ava both started laughing again. The redhead looked at her cameraman “You heard it here folks. The supposed new relationship is indeed fake news. John Walker is staying a single man and Mr Shostakov is looking”

She thanked you and Ava for your time then walked away. Ava looked back at you with a raised eyebrow “I thought you and John were..” “Nothing, we’re nothing. Let’s go make sure Yelena and Bob made it back” 

John heard Alexei laughing from the kitchen. “This is good, she is very pretty on camera. Takes charge. Good hero face” “What are you going on about?” he asked as he walked in to see that Alexei and Bucky had an interview of you up. Yelena was standing in front of them, holding cucumber as Bob fed him. 

“Our girl is a natural on camera” Yelena laughed as she hit play. The clothes you were wearing. This was from today. “Where is she?” he asked and Yelena grinned “This is live, she played distraction for us to get out”

He walked over behind them and smiled when he saw your face and that Ava had her arm around you. His heart fell however when you were asked  “Anything you’d like to add about any rumors floating around? Squash them once and for all?” he saw the way you rolled your bottom lip between your teeth. You were overthinking about something. Tell them baby. He thought to himself. Desperate to hear you claim him.

You shifted on your feet and he felt like you were looking straight at him when you said “John is still very much in love with his ex-wife Olivia. He is staying single in hopes of one day reconciling. I for one support them and wish them the best. That’s all I will say on my team mates relationships well that and Alexei is single and looking!”

He was single? That was news to him. He very much thought he was taken. He was also very much not still in love with Olivia. What the hell was going on. Did you just decide to dump him on a fucking gossip site? He was in love with you. He loved you, he was with you just the night before and now he was single?

Alexei’s laughter boomed through the kitchen, nearly drowning out the redhead as she said “You heard it here folks. The supposed new relationship is indeed fake news. John Walker is staying a single man and Mr Shostakov is looking” 

“She’s good, yeah?” Alexei asked him with a broad grin. He managed a weak smile “The best” and walked out of the room. You didn’t want him. That explained how you’d been acting, how fast you wanted him off of you, how fast you left his room. You didn’t want him.

“We’re back” he heard about ten minutes later. You and Ava came walking in, carrying arm loads of bags. He started to move to help you but you shook your head “I got it, thanks” he nodded and motioned to the elevator “I’m going to my floor” “Ok” he heard Alexei talking about your interview as he stepped onto the elevator. At least now it was clear what happened.

Yelena told you John saw the interview. At least now he knew you knew. You could now try to mend your heart and manage to stay on the same team and in the same place. Maybe if Olivia saw it she would reach out? Who knew, some women liked that.

You were in the kitchen, picking through the kitchen in an attempt to find breakfast. “Find what you looking for doll?” you jumped when Bucky walked in behind you. You spun around and laughed “Jesus, it’s not fair how fucking quiet we all move!” 

He grinned “Well you’ve gotten me twice in the last week. I owed you” you shrugged “Fair enough. Want a croissant?” he shrugged “Sure”

You started coffee and tossed your croissants in to warm up as you sat across from Bucky at the island. “So, are we gonna talk about it?” he asked once you slid his coffee and plate to him. “About what?” you questioned and he nodded “So not talking about you and Walker” you stared down into your coffee “You were right. He was with her for many years. That just doesn’t go away. I was a fucking idiot, now I see it”

“Did something happen?” you knew that tone of voice from Bucky. One word and John was dead. “No, nothing happened. Just came to my senses is all” he nodded slowly “Can you two still work and live together?” 

You raised your eyes to his, forcing a smile “Of course” he nodded “Ok, wanna train with me today? We’re do to spar” you grinned “Sounds good to me”

____________________

John woke up and laid there, staring at the ceiling. For the second time he’d fallen in love with a gorgeous woman, an amazing woman. For the second time that woman didn’t want him. The passing him back to the first woman who didn’t want him was a nice touch though. Really make him look pathetic. 

He wasn’t mad at you, he couldn’t blame you. He was mad that he couldn’t be better, be what you needed. He pushed himself out of bed. There were voicemails from the lawyers. Visitation with his son would be starting soon. He’d hoped in a few months time to work up to you meeting him. He wanted you to meet him. He’d talked to Olivia, she’d seemed ok with the idea when they talked through the conference call last week. Maybe it was because of the lawyers or just how much Valentina sent her a month. He was trying, so damn hard. 

He picked up his phone and saw he had a text from Olivia of all people. He clicked it and grimaced when it read What did you do to her? He wished he had an answer for that. He’d been honest with her, told her he was in love with you. Hadn’t wanted her sidelined by any news outlets. She was ok with it, she was dating. They’d come to an agreement on how long they had to be with a person before their son could meet that person. John got to run backgrounds on any of her dates (that was her idea not his)

I don’t know he replied and after a moment she texted back Fix it. You’ve been a better man since meeting her. I like this John again. You need her he laughed more to himself than anything Believe me, I know

He laid the phone down and went to get dressed so he could hit the gym then grab some food. Maybe since a few days had passed you would talk to him now? Before a mission popped up? The idea of you dodging bullets, angry at him…god if something happened to you.

You laughed when your back hit the mat and Bucky all but pouted “I feel like you’re making fun of me doll” you grinned up at him “I feel like you’re treating me like a damn china doll. I won’t break Barnes”

He held out a hand and pulled you to your feet. You held onto that hand then flipped up, hooking your legs around his neck and flipped him across the room. He landed with a grunt. You rolled to your feet and grinned at him, shifting your weight from hip to hip “Come on Bucky. Fight me!” 

He nodded “Alright, but if I hurt you..” you rolled your eyes “Jesus, I’ll yell pineapple” he busted out laughing because you, Yelena and Ava teased the super soldiers by making a safe word for the gym. Whether they liked it or not Pineapple was they were going too hard and needed to back off. “Good girl” he cooed as he grabbed you.

_______________________

John could hear the sounds of training before he made it to the door. Made sense someone else would already be up. He hadn’t expected however to walk in to Bucky straddling you. The anger that rolled through him at that. It took every ounce of self control he ever had to not hit Bucky.

“What the fuck is going on?” you shifted your hips to look out from under Bucky and your eyes widened slightly “Training?” you brought your head up and caught Bucky in the face and when his eyes teared up you flipped your positions pinning him instead. You grinned down at Bucky “Told ya I’d get ya” he rolled his eyes “Wouldn’t have if Walker hadn’t have interrupted”

John scoffed and your eyes flew to him “What?” he waved a hand towards you, considering you were quite literally still sitting in Bucky’s lap, your hands holding his arms down despite John knowing for a fact Bucky could have gotten up easily. “Now I know why you didn’t want me I guess” 

“Excuse me?” you jumped off Bucky so fast you rolled the man to the side in the process. John stayed in place, anger roaring to life in him. You traded him for a different super soldier he guessed.  “You heard me peaches. If you didn’t want me, you could’ve told me face to face. Not on a damn gossip site so you could start fucking Barnes”

“WOAH” Bucky called and you spun pointing a finger at Bucky “Don’t. I can take care of myself” Bucky threw his hands up and you spun back around towards John “You are the world’s biggest fucking idiot” he laughed “I know, I didn’t see this going on”

A sound that was something between a gasp and groan left you. You drew back and open handed slapped him. He could taste his teeth cut into his cheek slightly. Damn that was a hard slap. You shoved his chest, walking forward and despite himself he gave ground. He moved back until his back hit the wall behind you “You’re a stupid bastard because you’re acting like I did something wrong!”

“Tell me what I did then!” He was trying to keep his voice low. He knew you hated raised voices. You looked over at Bucky “Leave” “Are you sure?” Bucky asked and John nearly growled “God dammit she’s safe with me regardless Bucky”

Bucky walked out and that was when John noticed the shake in your hands, the tears in your eyes. What had he done? “You want to know?” you whispered and he nodded, hands going to your hips but you brought your knee up and he barely caught it before it connected with his groin.

“I fell in love with you John. I’m in love with you” he nodded, letting your leg go and trying to ignore how hard his heart flipped at hearing you say you loved him. “Then why tell the world I’m still in love with Olivia and staying single for her?” he asked. You swallowed hard, tears escaping your eyes “Because the first time we had sex, the first time I allowed myself to have you, to trust you completely. You were buried inside of me and you know what you said when you came?”

He tried to wrack his brain to think but all he could remember was how amazing you felt, the emotions flowing through him at having you in his arms. “I don’t know” he admitted. You nodded, sniffling back tears, a wet laugh escaping you. You stepped closer, lips nearly touching his as you whispered “Fuck, feels so good Liv” 

He froze, the words chasing themselves through his mind. No no no no no. He didn’t.  He wasn’t thinking about her. He really wasn’t. He was thinking about you. He was in in love with you. He was just thinking earlier that day about telling you about visitation that mixed with the fact that he hadn’t been with anyone but her in so many years. It had to be that. He’d never… “Baby..” he tried but you used the momentary distraction to bring up your other knee and this time it hit its target. A strangled groan left him. You patted his shoulder “Just know I was actually thinking about you John” then walked out of the gym.

John allowed himself the luxury of sliding down the wall after you were out of the gym. He sat down, clutching his body. What the fuck had he done? Was there even a chance of fixing this? He couldn't imagine the pain he caused you. If roles were reversed and you'd said Bucky's name? God. His head fell back against the wall with a heavy thud. "Fuck" he grunted. He loved you, so damn much and now he'd fucking lost you because he couldn't control his mouth. He wanted you, only you but knew there was no way for you to ever believe that now.

@lilrainbowcloud

@desimarie12

@abaker74

@bonkuss

@linkpk88

[abaker74]

Wrong Name Pt 1/3

John Walker x Reader

When the wrong name is said in a moment of passion is it what it seems?

Warnings: Sex, wrong name being said during sex

“New love for two of the team or a rebound and a broken heart?” was an article you happened to see while trying to read a Nasa clip Joaquin had emailed you. You never meant for your relationship with John to make it out of the tower. It was still so damn new. You and him had started seeing each other a few months before. He was really a sweetheart underneath everything. The worst part? Your team said the same things when they thought you weren’t listening.

“What do we do if he’s just using her to try to get Olivia back?” Yelena asked Ava. Neither of them knew you were in the hallway, just shy of their view. You held a hand over your mouth so neither of them would hear you. “We will be there for her. No matter what. They’re both grown” was Ava’s response.

Then you’d overheard Bucky on the phone with Sam. “This is the worst decision she’s ever made. He was with her for how many years? That doesn’t go away” you felt your heart twist. Maybe they were right? Maybe you should just break things off with John before it went any deeper, while you could still be on the same team? The truth was though you were already in love with him. You were just a fucking idiot that let your heart land where it may.

You were curled up on your bed, flipping through a notebook you shared with Yelena and Ava. The three of you used it for days when you didn’t necessarily want to talk but needed to communicate but wasn’t on a mission so this was the means you used. You laughed lightly looking at a sketch of cucumber, Yelena’s guinea pig that Bob had done on the corner of one of the pages. 

When there was a heavy handed yet soft knock at your door you knew who it was. “Yeah John?” you called out and the door opened, he peeked his head in. His blonde locks were falling into his face a little, he pushed them back and offered you a smile. He was dressed in just jeans and a t-shirt. None of you had been forced to leave the tower for a couple days so no one was really dressed outside for comfort.

“Hey sweetheart. You want to go grab dinner or something?” you shook your head “No thanks” his smile fell slightly “Did I do something?” you shifted to sit up, sliding the notebook into your side drawer “No, I just… I don’t feel like the public eye right now” he let out a breath “Oh, ok. Good. I mean…I thought I did something to you, to upset you” “No” you assured him with a smile, half expecting him to leave but he hovered, just inside the door. 

“Was there something else?” you asked, feeling your skin itch with the urge to touch him, to have him touch you but you knew if you didn’t pull away first he would never. “I miss you darlin” he admitted and you laughed lightly “I’m right here John” he nodded “I’ll call for takeout. Want your usual?” you nodded “Yeah, that’s fine”

While John was gone to meet the delivery person you took a shower. You were just towel drying your hair when he knocked again. You walked out the bathroom and across your room to open the door. He  held up the takeout bag “Here honey” you smiled “You don’t want to eat with me?” he shrugged “I don’t want to crowd you” and you felt your heart twist. God why did he have to be so fucking sweet when it was just the two of you? Why couldn’t he be the arrogant asshole? Why did he have to look like a six foot two kicked puppy? 

“Come on John” you pushed the door open a little further and he looked like you’d offered him a million dollars. You rolled your eyes and bumped your shoulder against his “Shoes off Walker and do not spill anything on my bed!” he grinned “Yes ma’am”

You’d just meant to eat with him. You hadn’t meant to eat with him then for him to ask if you wanted to watch a movie and that would result in you going back to his room with him.

John was laid back on the headboard and you were laying back against him.  He had his arms around you as the two of you watched whatever old western he clicked on. You were attempting to fight the urge to pick at him about it. When you tilted your head back however he was already looking at you instead of the screen “What?” you whispered quietly and he shook his head “You’re just really damn beautiful”

You felt your heart flip at his words. Moments like this you wanted to believe him, wanted him to want you as much as you wanted him. You smiled “If I’m so beautiful then kiss me” a smirk slipped onto his face “Yes ma’am” one of his hands came up to hold the back of your head, holding you in place as his lips crashed against yours. When his other hand slipped down and squeezed your thigh just hard enough to pull a gasp out of you he used that moment to roll his tongue into your mouth. You whined lightly against him and his grip tightened just a little. 

You broke away from his mouth, chest heaving “I um..damn” you whispered. You and John had done a lot but hadn’t quite crossed the line into penetrative sex yet. He had his reasons, he didn’t want to hurt you. You were nervous. This felt different. 

“We don’t have to do anything more” he promised, eyes resting on your lips. You wanted him so damn bad. “Do you want me John?” you asked and he nodded, “More than damn near anything I can think of sweetheart” you smiled “Are you sure?” “Yes” he replied so you nodded, turning to slip your legs over his lap, straddling him. He watched you with wide eyes. “I’m trusting you here John. Please don’t hurt me” 

“I promise you, I’ll make you feel good” he swore, pulling you down into a kiss that made your entire body feel like a live wire was run across it. How in the hell he could make you feel more with a kiss than some men had made you feel with their entire bodies was beyond you. “Quit teasing Walker” you breathed into the kiss and he swatted your ass lightly “Be nice baby. I’m gonna take care of you. I promise”

His hands slipped under your shirt, pulling it up and over your head. “So beautiful” he whispered, leaning forward to trail open mouthed kisses along your throat. Your head fell back, a moan escaping you. “Feels good” you breathed and felt him shift under you. You tugged at his shirt and he smiled “You want it off baby?” “Please” you pleaded so he leaned up far enough to tug the shirt off and tossed it. Once his chest was bare to you, you allowed yourself the opportunity to admire the skin now exposed to you, nails lightly scratching the patch of strawberry blonde hair on his chest. You caught his lips in a kiss, rolling your hips against his and his head fell back then “Damn sweetheart” you laughed “Enjoying yourself?” 

He looked up at you, blue eyes shining brightly even in the dimmed lights of his room “I have the most gorgeous woman in my lap, yeah I’m enjoying myself” you rolled your eyes “Quit flirting. You’ve got me” he laughed, pulling you to his chest “Never” and flipped the two of you so your back was to the bed “Now, let’s see how many times I can make you cum before I ever take my damn jeans off” you grinned “Lets see what you’ve got” 

Never challenge a super soldier’s stamina. Your legs were quivering around John’s head. He’d made you see stars so damn many times with just his fingers and tongue. You’d discovered he loved getting praised and if you pulled his hair it unleashed an entirely different side of him. 

“John, please baby” you whimpered and he lifted his head, pressing a lingering kiss to your clit as he held your gaze “What do you need darlin?” you tried twice before getting enough air into your lungs “Need you, god I need you inside me” he smirked, pressing kisses against your thighs “Yes ma’am” 

He slowly kissed his way up your body, when he got to your mouth the kiss he left there was so gentle, so borderline loving it made your head spin. His large hands smoothed down your thighs, calloused fingers digging in before he cursed “I don’t have any fucking condoms. I didn’t plan on this” 

“I’m covered,” you told him. You’d just gotten a new IUD a couple months before, on top of doctor’s being fairly certain you getting pregnant was a very low possibility anyways. “Are you sure? We can wait” he offered and you shook your head “Please” his head fell over on your shoulder “Don’t beg for me, I’m not worth it” your fingers buried in their hair, tugging roughly until he lifted his head to look at you. You smiled at him “Yes you are. Now fuck me” 

He nodded “Ok” and pressed a kiss to your lips before lining himself up with your opening. The feeling of him stretching your body around him had a low moan falling from both of you. “Feels so good John” you whimpered and he laughed lightly “Just what I was gonna tell you”

____________________

He quickly found a pace that had your nails digging into his flesh, his hips snapping into yours with such a force small gasps were ripped from your throat. You could feel the tension in his hips as he held himself back and knowing that was just a portion of his strength? Fuck that did something to you.

“Please don’t stop” you begged, feeling yourself right on the edge of pleasure. He slipped a hand between you, fingers finding your clit. He teased tight circles onto the sensitive bud and you came, hard, shaking around him. His pace never changed, hips never slowed. 

He worked you through your orgasm then buried his face in his neck, chasing his own release. Your nails raked through his hair, down his back. Your breaths coming in sharp gasps. He had to be right there on the edge. He used one hand to lift your body, angling your hips just right and you felt him bury himself as deep as he could inside of you, thick spurts of cum painting your walls and right before you opened your mouth to say something he mumbled “Fuck, feels so good Liv”

You froze under him. It felt like your entire body had gotten dipped into ice water. Feels so good Liv. Liv. He was thinking about her. God, you were a fucking idiot. Everyone tried to warm you. You closed your eyes, begging your breathing to even out. The feeling of his cock buried in you, his body on top of yours made your stomach turn.

“I need to get up John” you whispered after a moment, opening your eyes. He was already looking at you, the bliss of release quickly fading by a look of confusion “Ok, is something wrong? Did I… oh god please don’t tell me I hurt you?” he gently pulled out of you and went to find his shirt to help you clean up but you shook your head “I’ll just take a shower back in my room”

“You’re not staying here?” he asked and almost sounded hurt. Fuck he was a good actor. How the hell had he failed drama class? “No, I um…I’m gonna go” you whispered, standing on shaking legs as he watched you. He slipped his boxers on and took a step forward, whispering your name “Talk to me. What did I do here? You told me you wanted me. I never would do anything you didn’t want. Please tell me I didn’t cross lines”

You shook your head, swallowing down tears because you didn’t want to set off alarm bells. “You didn’t John, I just I have a meeting early with Valentina’s people I just remembered. I’ll come find you in the morning after, ok?” “Ok” he said after a moment but you could tell he didn’t believe you. He took a step forward like he was going to try to kiss you but you stepped around him, using the excuse of plucking your shirt off the foot of the bed. “See you later Walker” you told him before damn near running out of his room. 

@lilrainbowcloud

@desimarie12

[abaker74]

pet soldier masterlist

Bucky's past catches up to him, unlocking painful memories of his time as the winter soldier. The only thing that could make it worse was having to be on a team with a captured HYDRA soldier he wants to see dead. But her healing power is simply too invaluable to let go.

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

[abaker74]

You Need Me Now? | Chapter Four

Summary: After her one night with Bucky is interrupted, Miss Stark needs to cool down.

Warnings: This series will be 18+, Minors DNI | MCU Spoilers | Thunderbolts Specific Spoilers | Fluff | Smut | Ice Play | Oral (F) | The lightest bit of choking

Word Count: 1671

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: I’ve uploaded this from my phone, and I haven’t proofread once again (Edit: I have now proofread it)… that’s what @lanabuckybarnes is for ��� - Please leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue; this is just as much yours as mine. - B

You Need Me Now: @carrotlove | @seenthroughmia | @stell404 | @imaginecrushes | @lilulo-12 | @sebbymybaby21 | @rattyfishrock | @danzer8705 | @troubledsoul-black | @sexyvixen7 | @wintrsoldrluvr | @athanasiascourtesy | @baw1066 | @gh0stdyn | @mrsnikstan |

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @lanabuckybarnes | @ruexj283

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Bucky’s Apartment—Washington, D.C.

Hunched over the kitchen island, Bucky stood reading the documents Mr. Gary sent, brows furrowed in deep concentration. You stood beside him, hip brushing against his thigh, and feet bare against the cold tile.

You scooped up some fallen chilli with a torn piece of your bun and took a bite. A low hum of approval escaped your throat as you sucked residue from your thumb.

“This is better than sex,” you muttered, chewing thoughtfully.

Without glancing away from the page he was reading, Bucky bumped your shoulder. “That’s a lie if I ever heard one.”

A grin tugged at your lips. “I guess it depends on who the sex is with.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, shaking his head toward you. Then, like a graceful trash panda rummaging in the night, Bucky leaned forward, tipping his chili dog toward his chest. A splash of meat and sauce hit his white shirt, and onto his vibranium arm.

“Aw shit.” he groaned, looking between his shirt, and the chili dog.

“What happ—” You tried not to laugh as you looked up at him.

He sighed.

Your bottom lip tucked between your teeth, your eyes flickering between the tick of his jaw and the flex of his arm as he peeled his shirt. “How hard is it to get grease out of this?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Did you just ask me a laundry question?”

With a soft click, he popped off his vibranium arm, reaching in front of you to open the dishwasher. You watched as he set the arm on the bottom rack, like it belonged among the plates.

“You do that often?”

Now, in just his undershirt, he turned back to you. “What? It’s sustainable. And I thought you’d approve since Stark Industries' focus is cleaner energy.”

“No, I mean, I do approve. I just—” you chuckle softly. “I wasn’t expecting it.”

With that, he wrapped his right arm around your waist and gently tugged you toward the open space of the apartment.

“What are you doing, congressman?” you asked, a grin already etched across your lips.

Music that had been softly playing from Bucky’s sound system faded into something slower, and he rocked side to side a little. “Dancing. Isn’t that obvious?”

You rested your cheek against his chest, leaning in and following his lead as he slowly swayed you both.

After a few minutes of rocking, Bucky took a half-step back. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes before he spun you into a twirling circle. You laughed as the hem of your dress lifted slightly around your ankles. As you turned, you felt his hand leave your body—until he caught you, pulling you back to his chest.

“Show-off,” you laughed, breathless from the spin.

He placed a gentle kiss on the top of your head, and a smirk tugged at his lips. “Even with half the hardware, I’ve still got it.”

There were no words for a while. Just the music and the hum of the dishwasher. Your fingers traced absent patterns against his chest, feeling the rhythm of his chest rise and fall.

His hand slid from your back, up your side, and reached your cheek. His thumb brushes along your jaw, ghosting beneath your chin before tilting your face up. Only barely hesitated, his eyes flickering between your lips, then back to your eyes.

Slow and sure, he leaned down, his breath mingling with yours.

Your lips brushed against each other—

Then, as if on cue, a low vibration hummed from across the kitchen. Bucky’s phone.

At first, he didn’t move. Maybe he hadn’t heard it—or he didn’t want to. But it came again.

“Don’t answer it,” you whispered against his lips.

He didn’t pull away, yet he sighed. “I have to.”

“I know,” you nodded.

Bucky slowly stepped back, his eyes full of something unspoken.

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Still at Bucky’s Apartment—Washington, D.C.

The whirr of the dishwasher and the music had faded into silence. The only sound carrying through the apartment was your feet against the hardwood flooring and Bucky’s low voice. Firm but quiet. He stood back at the kitchen island, phone on speaker in his hand.

His vibranium arm, clean and dry, was now back in place. His white undershirt clung to him, and his shoulders were tense, and his jaw was tight.

You had changed out of your evening dress, now leaned lazily against the kitchen door frame in a black silk sleep gown, lace decorating the hem that brushed your mid-thigh.

At first, you stayed silent. Just watching him.

“I can,” he said, quiet and clipped. “But I don’t do that anymore.”

There was barely room for a pause before the unmistakable voice of Mel came through the receiver, cheerful and rushed: “Thank you, Congressman. Have a great night.”

Then, the line went dead.

Bucky exhaled, taking a moment before lowering the phone. He sensed your presence behind him, lips twitching into a half-smile as he turned to face you.

He saw it in your eyes—the fire—before you even spoke. You didn’t ask what she wanted. You didn’t have to.

“I need to leave in the morning,” you gave him a polite smile, keeping your voice even. “I’m gonna head to bed.”

Without waiting for his reply, you turned and disappeared down the hallway. As you moved, the slip clung to your skin, the dim light of the bedroom catching the black fabric.

Bucky exhaled heavily through his nose as he reached for a glass and opened the freezer.

He soon followed after you. The sound of Ice clinking against the glass echoed through the hallway.

“I’m not going to pretend like that call didn’t piss you off,” he said, setting the glass down on the bedside table. “And I would never insult you by acting like I didn’t notice.”

You shifted under the covers, your back still to him. The way you clutched the sheet to your collarbone showed him the tension you held. “It’s fine,” you muttered under your breath. “We’re not—you don’t owe me anything, Bucky.”

A metal hand moved under the sheets, around your waist, black and gold plated fingers spreading across the silk. Then, he twisted you over onto your back.

When you looked up, he leaned down, speaking directly into your ear, through gritted teeth. “I owe you a lot more than anything, sweetheart.”

You felt the sharp, biting, cold first. A piece of ice trailing from that sweet spot under your ear, down your neck, and over your collarbone.

You gasped. “Bucky—”

A drop of condensation rolled down your chest and between your breasts before evaporating. Only giving you a moment of soothe, before Bucky chased the chill with an ice cube between his teeth. Your back arched for him, the edge of his teeth grazing your sternum.

The sheets were gone, exposing your body. You hadn’t even noticed Bucky pulling them back. Too busy trying to keep your breathing regulated as the silk and lace of your gown began to bunch around your hips.

“Does that feel good?” he asked, brushing the ice over your ribs.

You couldn’t answer.

Clink.

Another cube met your hot skin.

Bucky traced a circle around your nipple. His cold breath fanning over your breast, his eyes darkening at the sight of the goosebumps forming.

You cried out as his lips closed around your nipple, the cold ice pressing against the skin. Your thighs clenched, the temperature contrast leaving you dizzy. You flew a hand to his hair, using him to anchor yourself.

The ice melted quickly.

His tongue became merciless, lapping you like he was trying to claim every inch of you. He gave a quick pinch with his teeth—you inhaled a hiss—before he moved lower down your body.

Clink.

The wetness of the next cube trailed along your stomach. You inhaled sharply as it dipped past the waistband of your underwear.

“Don’t—” you breathed.

“Don’t what, sweetheart?” he asked. “Don’t make you forget the way her voice sounded coming through my phone? Or, don’t make you come so hard that the only thing you remember is my name?”

“Asshole,” you rasped, your chest heaving under him.

He chuckled, sliding the underwear down your thighs, black lace gliding off your legs. He pressed his lips hungrily against the top of your thigh. Then another. Higher. Until the flat of his tongue pressed a slow strip against your core.

Clink.

The ice.

Your body relaxed when it came into contact with you.

Again, Bucky held it in his mouth using his tongue to roll it against your clit. His vibranium arm wrapped around your thigh, hand pressed into your lower stomach. Locking you down tight as you squirmed against his touch.

Began to alternate.

Tongue. Ice. Tongue. Lips.

His mouth never left you, devouring you. He only adjusted to ensure you felt everything. Every swirl. Every pulse. Every flick.

You fought against the tightening coil. Gasping, one hand clawing at the mattress cover, the other tight in his hair.

“Fuck—James—don’t fucking—” you moaned. “Don’t stop, please, James—”

That did it.

The heat of your body melted the ice cube til it was nearly done, but he didn’t need it as he went all in. His flesh hand reached up your body, wrapping around your neck as you began to unravel.

Your thighs trembled against his shoulders, your breath stuttering in pants. Then, with a strangled cry, you came.

He didn’t stop.

His tongue continued to work, letting you ride out the aftershocks. It was only when your body was oversensitive, and began to twitch against him that he relented.

Placing gentle, reverent, open-mouthed kisses against your inner thigh, he eased his grip. Rising slowly and crawling over your body.

You blinked up at him, dazed. His face was wet with you. A smug smile played on his lips, and his blue eyes darkened with lust.

He leaned down, faintly brushing his lips over yours. “Was that better than chilli dogs?”

You didn’t answer.

But your smile—that was enough of an answer.

★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮

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[abaker74]

The Order Forgot Me First - Chapter 11

☆⁠ PAIRING : Anakin Skywalker x Reader

☆⁠ word count: 3.6k

☆⁠ story themes: lovers to enemies to eventually lovers

☆⁠ warnings: spoilers to swtcw, angstttt and a bit of fluff !!!!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

"He finally understood just how badly he had lost you."

Your helmet hung loosely under your arm, your boots scraping against the cruiser's floor, fidgeting. Clones began to move around you in practised order as their voices blended in with the hum of the engine. 

You tried to shake off what Anakin had done to you. But you couldn’t ignore the pang in your heart. 

As you waited for the LAAT gunship to depart, you couldn’t miss the way you saw Rex shifting closer to you, inch by inch. 

Until he cleared his throat. 

“You holding up okay, General?” he asked cautiously. 

You blinked and offered him a tight smile. “I’m not a general,” you softly said, adjusting your gloves. 

Rex rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish smile on his face. “You could’ve fooled me.”  He said, in an attempt to make you feel better. 

You offered a humorless laugh. “I’m just here to help.”

“And you’re doing more than that,” Rex said gratefully. 

Across the deck, Anakin shifted. 

There was a subtle roll of his shoulders, his head tilting ever so slightly as if he was pretending to study the map and not eavesdrop onto your conversation. You caught it without meaning to. 

And just as fast as you noticed, you dropped your gaze. Focus on the mission. That’s all you had right now.

--- --- --- --- --- ---

Eventually, the gunship roared as it broke the dry clouds of Saleucami, red dirt and dust flying as you descended. 

You stood in the troop bay, your blaster slung across your chest and your palms sweaty. It would be a lie to admit that you’re not nervous. You had fought in battles worse than this but not without your lightsaber. It wasn’t even clipped to your belt right now. 

You were a soldier now. Just like the clones. No Jedi robes, no cloak. INstead, you had armour padded fabric and tactical plates. As soon as the ship touched down, you moved. 

Cody’s voice cracked through the comms. 

“Rex, sweep through the pass. L/n, take the ridge and get eyes on the southern basin. There could be droids underground.”

“Copy that,” you muttered. 

Once the hatch opened, the hot air hit you like a furnace. It hadn’t since you and Dev were there. Still the same dry clay pit. 

Anakin wasn’t paired with you, of course he wasn’t. He hadn’t looked at you once.  He with some of his own troops from the 501st, and you with some of his. 

Dogma and Kix were by your back, “Keep low,” you whispered. “There might be thermal signatures by the rocks. Last time I was here, there were big cave pockets that tunnel out.”

Kix gave a low whistle, “guess you’ve been here more than us.” 

You shrugged, crouching near some scorched stones and you raised your macrobinoculars. There was movement, subtly but there was movement. 

“Something’s moving,” you said, marking it. “West quadrant. Might be droids.” You pulled out your rifle. 

And then a separatist droid stumbled into view, sparking, dragging one leg. 

You shot it clean through the processor. 

And then more. 

And more.

And more. 

The first shots rang out faster than expected. 

“L/n, cut off the canyon mouth!” Cody barked through the comms. 

“Already on it,” You said with clenched teeth. 

Blaster bolts sliced through the air around you. Droids were swarming. 

Dogma rolled beside you, “Ridge is clear!” 

You turned sharply to look and then a B2 battle droid breached through the rocks and opened fire. 

Immediately, you and Dogma turned to duck under a stone, blaster bolts leaving marks on said rock. 

You waited a couple seconds for the droid to automatically reload its bullets. As soon as you had the chance, you peered over and fired once –twice– at the centre of the droid. It collapsed onto the ground, dust flying as he fell. 

Dogma turned to you, “I-thanks, Commander.” You nodded at him. 

And then there was a flash of blue that tore through the smoke beside you. 

Anakin. 

It was hard to miss him, his saber blazing and his own armour now dusted red. His broad shoulders flexed with every movement. He effortlessly and confidently cut down droids in brutal strokes. 

He moved by instinct. Memory. Muscle. He deflected bullets like they were nothing and his saber kept swinging and spinning its own rhythmic dance. 

You couldn’t help but pause to watch. You hadn’t seen him fight like this since before Dev. And even then, you were beside him, not watching from the sidelines. 

He had a careless kind of confident look on his face. His presence burned and it was impossible to not feel it.

A stray bullet flew past your head, your ears rang as you duck. It immediately broke you out of your trance, and without thinking, you covered his flank. 

You continued this until the last droids began to fall. The tunnel network began to collapse itself under repeated pressure. You had watched both Anakin and Obi-wan sweep through the perimeter. 

Everything was quiet now. Rex moved past you, his shoulders brushing yours slightly. “Good work, Commander.” He said casually, trying to keep it normal. 

You shot him a small smile and a nod, “thanks.”

Cody knelt beside one of the wounded and talked quietly with him. 

You swung your blaster across your back. You still felt exposed. Your belt felt empty. Weightless. 

Cody then came up to you, his eyes measured but respectful. “I heard that the supply unit will move through this pass tomorrow now.” He nodded to you. “This mission’s a success.”

Sighing, you rubbed your eyes tiredly. “Good job, guys.” Your boots sunk in the hot Saleucami sand, leaving footprints behind. 

And then a crackle came in through the comms. 

“Everyone regroup at Point Bravo. Perimeter clear.” Anakin’s voice came out. 

Rex and the rest of the clones marched towards the rally point. Everyone’s tired. The hot air only makes it worse. Your feet dragged behind you and every minute that passed you would try to stifle a yawn. 

You could not wait to get out of this dreadful planet and scrub yourself clean. 

Obi-wan and Anakin were ahead now, chatting with Cody and Rex about the mission. You followed maybe ten paces behind them. Close enough that you could hear their boots shovelling against the ground but far enough that you would be forgotten. 

“I assume we will have the brief the Senate after this,” Obi-wan said, trying to lighten the weight, his hand running through his hair. 

Anakin nodded, “Padme was already pressing for details on the blockade before we left Coruscant.” 

You felt yourself stiffen at the mention of Padme. 

And then you felt something so small. Something nudging your sides. Something pulling you back. You stopped walking and your boot dragged along the sand. 

Something was here. Something was wrong. 

Biting your lip, you looked back at the craters formed during the battle. And then you turned your head towards the group that are now increasingly further away from you.

“I’m gonna quickly check something out,” you called out to Rex steadily, who now turned to look at you.

The squad slowed down and Obi-wan’s head lifted to look at you warily. Anakin straightened himself too, his hand instinctively brushed against his lightsaber, his eyebrows furrowed. 

He didn’t say anything and lips tightened. His body shifted and his boots ever so slightly moved —as if he wanted to go after you. 

Without a second thought, you turned your back on them and headed back to the ruins. Towards the force disturbance. 

Your blaster was raised and ready for anything that came. Your eyes squinted as you moved towards the left, behind some of the destruction, out of sight from the rest. 

You moved some more, allowing the Force to guide you. Further. 

It was like walking through a storm where you couldn’t see, you could just feel. Feel that something was wrong. 

Your heart was pounding against your chest and then—

Whrrrrrp

A hum of a lightsaber sliced out from the ruins and aimed for your head. You barely ducked as the crimson blade slashed the air where you had just been. 

“Arrgh!” You hit the ground hard on instinct, rolling through dust and dirt. 

And immediately you began to fire your blaster aimlessly, hoping that while you fell you landed a shot. The shots were deflected with little to no effort as the saber spinned through the smoke.

The attacker stepped into view, their body cloaked, but their face…

Master Sora Bulq.

Like he was twisted by the darkside. 

Sora’s blade readied to hit you but you fired again. 

One shot.

Two shots. 

Three shots. 

Four shots. 

And without fail, each shot was deflected with casual precision. Without warning, he struck down onto you. You dove sideways, your shoulder slamming into a rock and you shrieked in pain. 

You twisted, wanting to kick out his lightsaber from his hands without getting your arms impaled but he was faster, meaner. The hilt of his lightsaber slammed in your ribs sending you sprawling out on the floor, knocking the breath out of you.

You rolled and your blaster fell out of your hands, your hands scrambling through the dirt. 

Pain flared sharply underneath your armour as you tried to get away from the crimson of the lightsaber. 

Without a second thought, Master Bulq reached out with his hands and pushed you. The force flinging your body towards a boulder. Your head slammed against the rough surface. 

Thud

You couldn’t scream in pain. Your voice hoarse and all air escaping from your lungs. 

Your ears began to ring and the desert began to tilt. Light burst as your eyes rolled to the back of your head for a moment. You slumped. Gasping. The taste of blood in your mouth. And then something wet dripping down your forehead. 

Your fingers scraped uselessly at the ground, wanting to push but you couldn’t. They had barely moved. 

Your vision blurred and the force kept screaming at you. Your eyes fluttered, trying to keep them open. 

Then there was a violent shift in the force. A snap. A fit of rage. 

Without warning, two figures emerged from the dust with beams of light swinging with them. Anakin dove in, throwing his saber down with full force. 

You couldn’t move and your ribs screamed in pain. Your mouth agape as you try to take in small breaths, your head lulling to the side. 

Hits and more hits.

You couldn’t make out anything anymore. 

Their figures were blurry and you couldn’t hear anything past the ringing in your skull. You tried your hardest to stay awake, your body falling in and out of consciousness in lapse.

There were clashes and screams of laser on laser. Obi-wan threw his own arm up, pulling Bulq to the floor. His lightsaber fell from his hands and his body slumped. Anakin surged through, his saber raised to finish it. 

Something muffled. Like they were talking. Or screaming. You couldn’t hear anymore but Anakin was pulled back by Obi-wan. 

You couldn’t feel your shoulders or your arms. It was all numb. You fell out of consciousness. And then fell in. And out. And in. 

A figure rushed to your side, the weight of their feet made a crunchy sound on the ground. 

“Hey — hey.” Their voice, closer than expected. Rougher. 

He tried to lift you up without hurting you any further but you fell limp and tired. Your body fell forward and collapsed immediately onto his chest. 

Anakin’s.

His strong arms immediately wrapped around you before you fell past him. You tried to speak but your mouth fell open. The goddamn ringing wouldn’t go away and everything felt tipsy and blurry. 

“Got you,” he muttered, so soft that it could have just said it to reassure himself.

You let him carry you, lifting your body effortlessly and so tightly that he was scared you would slip past his hands. That you would leave him.

Anakin’s breaths came fast. 

His eyes darted across your bruised lips and the trickle of blood that fell down your forehead. His gloved hands cradled the back of your head. Your skin was burning and your armour was streaked with dirt and ash. 

“Y/n,” He said louder now, watching the way your eyes were looking at him but not seeing him. “Stay with me.” His throat was closing up and he could feel his eyes beginning to sting. 

“Anakin!” Obi-wan called out. “We need to move her to the med-bay now-”

“She’s not breathing right.” Anakin’s voice shook.. His own chest heaving and stray strands of hair fell onto his face. 

“She–she…her head…and..her ribs,” Anakin struggled to find the right words. 

“We will lose her if we don’t move now.”

He couldn’t lose you. Not like he lost his mother. You were right here in his arms and he wouldn’t let you go away. 

Anakin moved fast, faster than he had ever did before. 

The hum of the ship faded into static. You weren’t sure what had happened. When the medics had begun to work on you, the cold bacta gel against your ribs. Or when Anakin had finally let go.

If he did at all. 

The world blurred. And you found yourself being pulled in. Pulled into a flicker.

A moment straight from the force.

--- --- --- --- --- ---

You were seventeen again. 

Right before the war had begun and you were just two padawans 

Smiling into your pillow late at night. The temple humming with cool ambience.

Anakin had snuck into your quarters, again. You felt his hands combing through your hair, so gently. Sometimes he would braid little pieces, and they would fall out during missions. 

You moved until your forehead pressed against his collarbone, your lips ghosting just above his skin. 

“I wish we could be together. For real.” Your voice came out, barely a whisper. 

“We are for real,” he murmured, fingers still threading through your locks. 

“Mhmm,” you hummed, planting a kiss on his neck. Anakin felt a smile growing on his face, his fingers now moved to tuck the hair behind your ear. He then leaned forward, and kissed your temple once. 

You didn’t say anything, pulling back enough just to see his eyes. His amber eyes that scanned your face in love, taking in every feature of yours, his fingers caressing the parts he just gazed at. 

You missed this. Missed him. 

Your body twitched. 

And then your monitor spiked. 

--- --- --- --- --- ---

Eyes fluttering open against the blinding medbay lights, you groaned quietly. You felt your scalp tingling and your sore limbs on the bed. 

There were bandages wrapped around your torso and some on your head. Your armour was gone and you were in a medical robe. It was hard to ignore just how useless you felt.

Your first mission back and you were already injured on the bed. You couldn’t blame yourself, really. You had a blaster and he had a lightsaber.

Beside you, on the chair, was Anakin. His chair was far too close than you liked. You were less than an arm's reach away from him. His clenched hands were wrapped around his body, his eyes closed with a tired but hard expression on his face. 

You didn’t know what to say, if you should call out to him or ignore him. 

But the force had other plans. It shifted the air in the room, causing Anakin to cautiously open his eyes, his gaze meeting yours. 

Anakin’s mouth fell slightly agape, surprised that you had woken up. He cleared his throat, wanting to find the right words to say. 

“I…” His voice came out low. 

“How are you feeling?” He came up with. 

You didn’t know what to say. There was a right between you and Anakin. Ever since the meeting, it had only gotten worse and the last person you wanted to wake up to was him. 

“Fine.” You hoarsely said. Your voice clearly hasn’t been used for however long it was you were in here. 

Anakin nodded, inhaling deeply to calm him down. 

“You had a pretty bad concussion.” He revealed, “If he had pushed you any harder…you might not have made it.” 

You stayed silent, letting the words settle in the room. Your hands absently minded rubbed the bandages, feeling the fabric in between your fingers. 

“You were out for a day...Mast-” He cut himself off. “-Sora has already been handled by the council.” 

You still said nothing. You didn’t want Anakin to be one to explain these things to you. You wanted Obi-wan maybe, or no one. Just not Anakin.

Anakin felt the tension in the room and gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing. 

And then finally, like he was debating against it, he spoke up again. 

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” 

The words hung in the air, his voice rough and apologetic. Seeing you on the floor, your body exhausted and on the brink of death. Seeing someone's lightsaber aimed at you to kill you. It changed something inside of him. He wouldn't lose you like his mother. As he waited in the medbay for you to wake, he swore he wouldn't let himself get angry again at you. He swore he would apologise and try to fix your relationship with him.

He shifted awkwardly, his boots scuffing against the tiles. 

“Back at the briefing,” his voice lowered. “I’m sorry, Y/n. I was hurt. I was angry and I didn’t mean to-” 

“Angry about what?” You scoffed, a look of disbelief on your face. “You were the one who came arguing with me at the temple.” 

Anakin was taken back by the sharpness in your voice. 

“Dev told me.” His eyebrows furrowed. 

You shook your head confused. “Told you what?” 

“He told me that you listened to my messages.” Anakin said. “For the entire year.” 

You flinched.

“And you didn’t respond.” Anakin’s voice grew louder but he tried to maintain his composure. 

You laughed in disbelief, tears began to prick your eyes. He had no idea. He really had no faith in you that he believed you would not answer him. That you didn’t care. 

“You really think I didn’t try?” Your voice broke, water began to visibly well up in your eyes that Anakin felt his stomach twist in guilt. 

“I was trying, Anakin. The stupid device broke and I couldn’t relay any messages back.” Your voice cracked. 

“Y/n…” 

Your chest was screaming in protest under the bandages as you felt your back straighten, but you ignored it. 

“You keep doing this, Anakin!” You said, your voice rising. “Over and over!” Tears began to stream down your face, blurring your vision. You couldn’t take it anymore. Even after all the shit you have been through, he had no faith. Even while you were in the med bay bed, there was no comfort. Nothing. 

Anakin felt your words hit him harder than any wound he had taken in battle. He watched your body tremble under pure exhaustion and betrayal. 

“Y/n, please.” Anakin extended his hand, trying to reach out to you but you jerked back like his touch was fire. And that broke something inside of him. He had hurt you to the point where you wouldn’t even let him touch you. 

“And Padme?”

“Padme?” Anakin furrowed his eyebrows. 

“You think it doesn’t hurt me when I see you close to her?” Your voice broke. “I used to come to you when we were together,” You pointed a finger at him. “I told you I was scared. I told you she liked you!”

Anakin’s mouth parted, stunned. “There’s nothing going on between me and Padme.” His voice was fast, not defensive but scared. Like he needed to say it before you could turn away. 

You blinked. You didn’t trust him like you used to. 

“You think I would’ve came running to you the second you fell?” Anakin’s throat began to close up. “I would have left your side as soon as I knew you were safe in the medbay. I would have left for the mission briefing like I was supposed to.” 

He swallowed. 

“It was always you.”

And then quieter. 

“It’s still you.”

You weren’t crying about your injuries or the battle. You were crying because of him. Because of what he had done to you. And he hated watching you unfold like this in front of him.

Tears began to sting his own eyes —fast and hot. 

“I didn’t know,” he whispered. “I didn’t know you tried—” 

“I did everything I could,” you sobbed. “I was so alone, Anakin.” Your voice cracked.

“And all i wanted —all i wanted— was for you to believe in me when I came back.” You choked out, the palm of your hands aggressively trying to wipe away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. 

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” He looked down in guilt, his hair falling above his eyes, hiding them. 

“I know I went too far! It’s just that–” his hands clenched, “-just something inside me — snapped.”

You shook your head, slow and exhausted. “Sometimes I don’t know who’s in there.” 

“But Y/n—” 

“I-I just…can’t do this anymore, Anakin.” You couldn’t stop crying now, your hands trembling. 

Anakin pressed both his hands to his face and dragged them down. His chest rose and fell in ragged breaths. His mistakes crushing him from the inside. 

“I’ll fix this,” he said. “I swear to the Force, I’ll fix it.” 

“I don’t want you to fix this,” You gasped in another sob. “I just wanted you there.” You wanted him to help you, support you and comfort you all those times the Council spoke to you like you were nothing. 

You didn’t want him to ignore you and in anger and rage. 

“I’m sorry, Y/n. For all of it.”

Anakin didn’t speak again. He didn’t have anything else to say. He stood up to leave, his hands shaking and his heartbroken.

He finally understood just how badly he had lost you. 

A/n: SRRY IT WAS A LITTLE LATE ive just been stuck with Uni labs all week </3 ALSOOO I REACHED 2K FOLLOWERS thxs so much yall im loving this little community on here genuinely i get so happy reading all ur asks and comments.

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[abaker74]

The Vow Spoken Through Time - Part 13

Daemon x Rhaenyra x Wife!Reader

Series: Series Masterlist

Warnings: MDNI, suggestive content

Tags: marriage, poly relationship, Daemon being hopelessly in love with his wives, Queen!Rhaenyra

Words: 700

Description: Y/N is having a rough morning. She's fired. She's hungover. She's in a stranger's bed. She's waking up in a new world? She's married?!

Rhaenyra and Daemon's day started normal. Waking up next to their darling wife before tending to their duties. The difference? Their wife is speaking in riddles and has no memories of them.

Check out more works in my Masterlist!

“How many bags must you bring?” Daemon sighed as he looked at the several suitcases you packed. 

“Everytime you ask me that, I will be adding another,” you huff. “I want some comforts of home with me! I want to bring toys for our children, and things for Nyra.”

“My love, we have more wealth than we could spend in our lifetime. Your children are spoiled with anything they could possibly want from the seven kingdoms. They can survive without these…..blocks.” Daemon picked up a Lego set from your pile of gifts for the kids.

“Nope, Legos are a necessity for every growing kid. Toy lightsabers wouldn’t be impressive to children who get a custom sword every birthday. But Legos? Every kid loves Legos.”

“Lightsabers?” Daemon’s eyebrows shot up.

“Yeah, it’s like the weapon from Star Wars,” you go to explain before remembering that Daemon wouldn’t know Star Wars either. “We can watch one of the Star Wars before we leave. You might actually enjoy the storyline.”

Daemon grunted in agreement. Walking over to your suitcases to pack away the Lego sets. You might have gone a little overboard with the gifts and trinkets from your time, but you didn’t know if you’d be able to come back to Earth if you returned to Nyra. Even if it was a possibility, you couldn’t see yourself abandoning your family. You chuckle to yourself, maybe you could bring Nyra back for a vacation. Lord knows she could use a hot tub and a massage. 

“Is something funny?” Daemon teased, sliding behind you to wind his arms around you. His body presses into yours, warm and sturdy. You lean back into the warmth, tilting your head up to look at him.

“Nothing at all,” you smile. “Just thinking about how much Nyra would like a vacation here.”

Daemon grins wickedly, turning you around before lifting you up effortlessly. Your legs instinctively wrap around him, arms draping over his shoulders. “I can think of a few things Nyra would like to do here.”

You snort a laugh, kissing Daemon briefly. “You promised you wouldn’t distract me from packing. This is definitely not a distraction free environment.”

“Would you prefer I leave you alone?” Daemon asks. From the tone in his voice, you can tell there is no chance you’re actually being left to your task.

“I would like to finish packing-”

Daemon gently sets you back on the ground, backing away to sit on your couch. He leans back, legs spread. You shameless ogle your husband. The sweatpants you bought him hang loose on his hips and his tshirt is just tight enough. It’s almost unfair that someone can look this good in sweats. Maybe you could put off packing for an hour. You stalk towards him, sliding your pajama shorts off, and kicking them away. You move to sit in his lap, but Daemon’s hands shoot out to your hips, stopping you.

“No,” he grins. “You wanted me to leave you alone.”

“That’s not what I-”

“You asked me to not distract you,” Daemon said. “I am not distracting you. If you want something, you are going to get it yourself.”

“You’re evil,” you sigh. You shimmy out of your panties, and pull your shirt off, dropping it to the floor. Daemon’s eyes graze across your body and you can practically feel them. You walk to your room, grabbing a vibrator out of your nightstand. If Daemon was determined not to touch you, you could come up with a few ideas yourself.

You come back into the living room, grinning. Daemon wasn’t going to know what hit him.

NOTE: Still alive (finally finished school). Here's a mini chapter to hold ya'll over while I write this absolute FILTH *wink* for chapter 14. ~ Lacie <3

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[abaker74]

Game Night

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: It’s game night, and Sam is being extra suspicious about your secret relationship with Bucky.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, uno

A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What". it doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10 thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

It was a Monday, and Sam Wilson was once again spiraling.

Not because he had a particularly bad day or because a rogue pigeon had decided his sandwich was a target. No, Sam’s mental breakdown was much more subtle, much more insidious.

It was because of the vibe.

The vibe was off.

At first, it was innocent. Steve had invited everyone over for "a quiet evening," which meant they were playing board games and pretending they weren't all secretly trying to outsmart each other with complex strategies and alliances.

But it wasn’t the games that were bothering Sam.

It was you and Bucky, like always.

You and Bucky entered the living room at the same time. He was holding a bag of fries like it was an offering, and you had a look on your face like you were trying to keep from laughing at a private joke. It wasn’t obvious to anyone else, but Sam’s gut tightened. He'd been through this before.

He had a sixth sense for this kind of thing.

A totally normal looking Bucky waved at Sam, but there was something about the way he did it—too casual, too... loaded. You smiled as you sat down on the couch, and Bucky followed.

Then, the thing happened.

You both reached for the same side of the couch at the same time. And you didn’t immediately pull away like people usually do when they're not on the verge of launching into some kind of... well, whatever this was.

You just... stayed there.

Sam squinted, his eyes narrowing like he was a detective trying to crack an impossible case. This was the moment. The moment when his suspicions shifted from theory to solid fact.

Sam wasn’t sure who made the first move, but suddenly—without explanation—Bucky’s arm was draped over the back of the couch like it was the most natural thing in the world.

A few moments passed.

Still no words.

Just an... unsettling silence as you both stared ahead at the game unfolding in front of you.

Sam looked from you, to Bucky, then back to you. His fingers twitched. The notepad was in his lap, but he hadn’t written a single thing down yet. How was he supposed to document what was happening?

It was... too subtle.

He turned to Steve. “Are they—?”

Steve, blissfully unaware, was deep into his Monopoly strategy. “Hmm?”

“Do you notice anything... off about them?” Sam asked, nodding toward the couch.

Steve glanced over and blinked. “What? They’re sitting next to each other?”

Sam clenched his jaw. “It’s the way they’re sitting. They’re... too comfortable. Like they’re already sharing the same DNA. You see that?”

Steve squinted for a moment, then shrugged. “I think you’re reading too much into it.”

Sam was about to respond when Tony strolled into the room, “What’s this about reading into things?” he asked casually, taking a seat next to Steve.

“They’re being weird,” Sam muttered, pointing to the couch.

Tony leaned back, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, you mean how they’re subtly acting like they’ve been married for thirty years, without the commitment?”

Sam’s eye twitched.

Tony grinned at the chaos unfolding in Sam’s mind. “Don’t overthink it, Sammy. Some people just get comfortable with each other.” He took a sip from his glass.

Meanwhile, you and Bucky were still sitting there, but now you were exchanging an absurdly synchronized look.

You both looked at each other like you were reading a secret book written in a language only the two of you could understand. The silence was thick enough to slice with a knife.

Then—just as Sam felt his sanity slip away completely—you both laughed. At nothing.

A soft, almost eerie laugh, like you were in on some joke only the two of you got.

Tony, who was now practically snickering, leaned over and whispered to Steve, “We should’ve put money on it. Sam’s on the edge, and he’s about to combust.”

Sam stood up abruptly, looking at the pair on the couch, then back at Steve, his eyes wide with the fury of a thousand unanswered questions. “That’s it. I’m gonna ask them directly.”

“Oh, no,” Steve said, shaking his head in mock sympathy. “You really don’t want to.”

But Sam was too far gone. His mind was locked in a war with his instincts. He marched over to the couch, put his hands on his hips, and shot you and Bucky an unrelenting stare.

Bucky didn’t even look at Sam, he was handing you the fries, leaning toward you. You smiled at Bucky like he was the best thing since sliced bread, and Sam felt his soul physically leave his body.

This was it. This was the moment that proved it.

"You two are literally a walking romcom," Sam spat out in a low voice, too quietly for anyone to hear except you and Bucky. "I see it. The fries. The eye contact. It’s like... like... a plot."

You smirked. “What’s your deal, Sam? I’m just getting some fries. Everyone loves fries.”

Bucky nodded, biting his lip in an attempt to stifle his grin. “Yeah, Sam. What’s your deal?”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “You guys. Are you really gonna sit there and keep telling me you’re just friends?”

Both of you paused. The air felt like it shifted, like it thickened, as if the universe was waiting for the punchline. Sam’s pulse quickened.

And then, in perfect unison, both of you said:

“We’re friends.”

Sam stared at you both, utterly dumbfounded.

“Friends?” he whispered in horror. “With... this?”

You both blinked at him innocently.

“Of course,” you said.

“We’re just good pals,” Bucky added, just barely holding in a laugh.

 “I—I can’t,” Sam muttered, trying to make sense of the absolute absurdity unfolding before him.

Bucky slapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder, like the world’s least convincing therapist. “You’ll get there, Sam. You just have to let go and stop thinking so hard about it.”

Sam made a strangled noise that could’ve been a scream or the noise of a man who had just realized he was doomed. He glanced at Peter, who was giving him a look of pure, unfiltered sympathy.

“Is this some kind of test?” Sam asked, his voice rising. “Am I being pranked? Are you two secretly married? Or, like... I don’t know, are you... trying to get a rise out of me?”

Bucky leaned forward slightly. “No, Sam. We’re just casually enjoying life... together.”

“Together,” Sam repeated, clutching his head dramatically. “I’m going to be sick.”

And then, just to make sure he was completely defeated, you reached over, casually brushing your hand against Bucky’s arm before giving him a tiny, affectionate squeeze.

Sam blinked. His notebook hit the floor with a dramatic thud.

“I knew it.” he gasped, and then, as if the universe had somehow heard him, he heard Natasha’s voice from across the room, still half-asleep:

“Sam, you’re being ridiculous. Just let them enjoy the vibes.”

Sam’s soul left his body.

Meanwhile, you and Bucky exchanged yet another impossibly synchronized glance.

Tony, still grinning, patted Sam on the back. “Don’t worry. One day you’ll look back on this and laugh. Just not today.”

And with that, Sam grabbed his coat, shook his head, and walked out the door.

Meanwhile, Bucky reached over, snagged the last of the fries, and handed them to you. “You think he’s buying it?”

You shrugged. “Nah, I think we’ve got him exactly where we want him.”

Bucky smirked. “Good. Let’s mess with him some more tomorrow.”

The room was quiet now. The chaos had died down. Steve had gone to clean up the kitchen, Tony had retreated to a mysterious project involving lasers, and Natasha was now fully asleep, curled up with a blanket over her face on the armchair.

That left just you and Bucky, still curled on the couch — the battlefield of your dramatic emotional warfare against Sam.

You reached over to the coffee table and grabbed the deck of Uno cards you’d swiped earlier. You looked at Bucky with a mischievous little glint in your eye.

“Wanna play?”

He grinned, tilting his head. “I thought we already emotionally destroyed a man tonight. Isn’t that enough chaos for one evening?”

You started shuffling the deck, your fingers moving deftly. “Just one game. Come on. I promise not to make you cry.”

“Oh, please,” Bucky said, grabbing a throw pillow and tossing it at you. “You’re only confident because you’ve been cheating.”

You gasped, mock-offended. “I do not cheat! I win with style.”

“Sure,” Bucky said, lounging comfortably as he took the cards you dealt him. “Style, manipulation, same thing.”

The game started quietly, the soft rustle of cards filling the silence. You both sat cross-legged on the couch, knees bumping occasionally. The warm, low lamp cast a golden hue over everything, and the mood had shifted from chaos to... something soft. Comfortable.

Halfway through the game, you narrowed your eyes. “You’re letting me win.”

Bucky paused mid-draw. “What?”

You pointed at his hand. “You had a +4 and a Reverse like, four rounds ago. You haven’t played either.”

He blinked, all innocent puppy eyes. “What are you talking about? Maybe I just forgot.”

You squinted harder. “James Buchanan Barnes. Do not lie to me.”

He chuckled, then leaned forward, lowering his voice like it was a secret. “Fine. Maybe I’m letting you win a little. You get this cute little proud look when you think you’ve cornered me. It’s adorable.”

Your face flushed, and you tossed your card at him. “That’s cheating in a different way.”

“It’s strategic emotional warfare,” Bucky replied smoothly, grinning as he finally laid down a card. “I’m adapting to modern combat.”

You crossed your arms, but a smile tugged at your lips. “Well, stop it. I want a fair game.”

He nodded solemnly, eyes twinkling. “Understood. No mercy.”

You resumed playing, and this time he was relentless—Reverse, Skip, Draw Two. You shrieked in betrayal as your carefully constructed hand crumbled.

“This is what happens when you ask for a fair game,” Bucky said, laughing.

“I take it back!” you shouted, laughing as you threw your hands up. “Bring back the gentle sabotage!”

Bucky leaned over, gathering the cards again, but this time he didn’t start a new game. He looked at you, expression softening.

“Hey,” he said, voice quieter now. “Being here with you… it just makes everything else fade out..”

You tilted your head, suddenly serious. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He reached over and brushed a piece of lint off your sleeve. “Feels like home. Like peace.”

Your heart melted a little, the kind of soft ache that came when you realized you were exactly where you were supposed to be. You shifted closer, your legs pressed gently against his, and rested your head on his shoulder.

He didn’t move for a moment—then his arm wrapped around you, pulling you just a little closer, like muscle memory.

“Uno?” you whispered.

“Only if I get to win this time,” he whispered back.

You smiled into his shoulder. “We’ll see.”

And in the warm, quiet room, surrounded by discarded fries and chaos-shaped memories, the two of you played on.

“Uno,” you announced, placing your second-to-last card down with a triumphant grin.

Bucky stared at you in betrayal. “You said we were being nice this round!”

You shrugged, biting back a laugh. “I was nice. I could’ve skipped you again. You should be thanking me.”

He shook his head in disbelief, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Hmm?” he asked, all wide-eyed innocence as he picked up a card from the draw pile.

You squinted at him. “Say it again.”

He leaned in, his voice low and smooth like velvet. “You heard me.”

Your heart fluttered. Stupidly. Ridiculously. And yet, you couldn’t stop the shy smile that spread across your face. You rolled your eyes and tried to keep your cool, placing your final card down with a flourish.

“Game,” you declared smugly.

Bucky groaned and dropped his hand. “Unbelievable. First you destroy Sam’s psyche, now you destroy my winning streak.”

“I’m on fire tonight,” you said, laughing.

“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes softening as he looked at you. “You really are.”

There was a pause—just long enough to feel like something was shifting again. Not in a chaotic, Sam-spiral kind of way. In the way the air gets thicker when something good is about to happen.

He leaned forward, slow and certain.

You met him halfway.

The kiss was soft. Unhurried. His hand cupped your cheek gently, thumb brushing along your skin like he’d been waiting forever for the right moment and wanted to savor it now that it was here. You melted into it, your fingers curling into the sleeve of his henley.

When you finally pulled away, your forehead rested against his, and you both just... stayed there.

No words. No teasing. Just you and him and the warm hum of everything unspoken.

You yawned a moment later, trying (and failing) to hide it behind your hand.

Bucky chuckled, pressing a tiny kiss to your temple. “Okay, game champ. Time for bed.”

“I’m not tired,” you said, already half-asleep against his shoulder.

“You just yawned into my clavicle.”

“Coincidence,” you mumbled, snuggling closer.

He smiled, shifting so you were tucked more comfortably into his side. He grabbed the discarded throw blanket and wrapped it around both of you.

“You’re staying right here,” he said softly, voice barely above a whisper.

You made a sleepy little noise of agreement, already drifting.

And as the last of the game night chaos faded into silence, Bucky pressed one more kiss to your hair, rested his cheek against your head, and held you close.

Neither of you moved for a long, long time.

Hours later, the room was wrapped in a sleepy kind of silence, warm and golden under the dim light.

You and Bucky were curled up on the couch, tangled beneath a blanket, both long since surrendered to sleep. Your head was tucked against his chest, his arm securely around you like he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon. His metal fingers rested gently against your side, thumb unconsciously tracing small, soothing circles.

It was peaceful.

Quiet.

Almost.

From the armchair in the corner, Natasha Romanoff slowly opened one eye.

She didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Just... observed.

Because of course she’d heard everything. The kiss. The whispers. The “you’re lucky you’re cute.” The affectionate laughter. The unmistakable sound of two people falling completely, irrevocably into something more.

A slow, knowing smile tugged at the edge of her mouth.

She watched as Bucky instinctively pulled you closer in his sleep, like even unconscious, he wasn’t letting you drift far. You murmured something incoherent and nuzzled into him, and he murmured something back that sounded suspiciously like your name and definitely like trouble.

Natasha shook her head slightly, amusement flickering across her face.

“You two are the worst,” she whispered to herself, barely audible over the sound of the heater kicking on. “Hopeless.”

But her voice was warm. Fond.

She leaned back into her chair, pulled her blanket tighter around her, and closed her eyes again—smiling like she’d just watched the final twist in a very long-running, extremely satisfying spy mission.

She wasn’t going to tell.

Not yet.

After all, what fun would it be if she ruined the secret when she could just enjoy watching the rest of the team slowly unravel trying to figure it out?

She’d wait.

She could keep a secret.

For now.

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[abaker74]

Was soo happy to see this finished! Loved it all the way!

Less Talk | Part X

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

A/N: We're finally here! For a minute there, I didn't think this day would come XD I hope you've enjoyed reading this series as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Thank you so much for all the love and support, I honestly probably would not have otherwise finished it!

Summary: Jake can't stand Bradley's best friend. What's more, he's probably in love with her, which really pisses him off.

CW: Swearing, angst, fluff

WR: ~4900

Masterlist | Part I

Jake leaves his mug on the counter and slowly approaches the kitchen table. He watches Bradley incredulously as the news sinks in. “Where is she going?” he finally says.

“Back to her mom’s.”

Jake’s eyebrows flit up momentarily. “That’s halfway across the country.”

Bradley nods, although he looks somewhat uncomfortable under Jake’s persistent scrutiny.

“Why?”

Bradley sighs. “I got a call from her mom a couple weeks ago.”

“I remember,” Jake says, recalling the party and your unwillingness to speak with your best friend, despite his obvious distress.

“Said she was kicked out of her program,” Bradley continues.

“What?” Jake lowers himself into the seat across from Bradley. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Bradley shrugs. “I didn’t know if she was sharing. Anyway, apparently her boyfriend called her mom and delivered the news.”

Jake’s jaw muscles contract. “I could kill him, I swear.”

“She submitted a plagiarized paper, Jake.”

Jake glances up at his friend fiercely. “Bullshit,” he says immediately.

Bradley nods. “I agree.”

Jake shakes his head. “She wouldn’t. Of all people, she wouldn’t.”

“I tried talking to her about it but, as you know, she’s been avoiding me like the plague.”

“She didn’t dispute it?”

Bradley shakes his head solemnly. “She came by yesterday to tell me that the engagement is off and that she’s leaving. For good.”

Jake glances up at Bradley abruptly, as if roused from a reverie. “The engagement is off? Since when?”

“She didn’t tell you that part either?” Bradley grimaces. “What the fuck did you two even talk about?”

Jake blinks at Bradley a couple of times and then leaps out of his seat. “Let’s go,” he says urgently, grabbing his jacket off the back of a chair. “We can’t let her leave.”

Bradley stands and takes one final gulp of beer before following Jake out of the kitchen. He takes his car keys off the hook by the front door while Jake unplugs the fan and turns off the living room lights. “Shut up,” he mutters on his way out the door when Bradley gives him a knowing smirk.

Jake skips down the porch steps and marches to his truck. “Want me to drive?” Bradley calls after him, holding up the keys to his Bronco.

Jake pulls open the door to his truck. For some reason, he feels like driving might bring him a sense of comfort. “No, I’ll drive,” he says as Bradley approaches the truck. Then, as an afterthought, he adds, looking up at his friend over the cab. “Rooster.”

Bradley glances up at him, his hand over the doorhandle. “Yeah?”

Jake sighs irritably. “I’m in love with her.”

Bradley gives him a look and pulls open the passenger door. “I know,” he replies wryly and gets into the truck.

…

“Still not picking up?” Jake asks, looking over at Bradley who solemnly shakes his head. He sets his phone down over Jake’s, having tried you from both numbers.

Jake pulls up right behind the white mustang in your driveway. Bradley winces as Jake finally yanks on the handbrake about two inches from the pristine car’s sleek bumper. Before Bradley could comment on Jake’s parking job, however, the latter shoots out of the truck and jogs up to your front door.

Bradley, somewhat hesitantly, follows suit. He stops a few feet short of the porch, though, probably deciding that Jake is threatening enough all on his own.

Mustang opens the door a crack and Jake immediately steps forward, like a dog that hasn’t quite mastered the art of impulse control. “Where is she?” he growls, sticking his face between the frame and the door that’s still latched by a chain.

“Go fuck yourself,” Mustang spits out and tries to squeeze Jake out before slamming the door.

Mistake, of course. Because Jake isn’t afraid of getting his paint chipped. He pushes his weight into the door and reaches in through the opening to grab a hold of Mustang’s collar. Then he yanks on him sharply, causing Mustang’s temple to crash into the doorframe. Jake gives Mustang another tug until his wide jaw is wedged into the open space like a door jam.

Bradley clears his throat in the background uncomfortably, but keeps his hands in his pockets for the time being.

Jake holds onto Mustang’s collar tightly while the latter pants in alarm.

“Where is she?” Jake repeats, more quietly and more dangerously than before.

“She left already,” Mustang chokes out.

“Then why are you still here?” Jake hisses.

“I’m just getting my stuff.”

“Hangman,” Bradley says in an appeasing sort of tone. “We’re wasting time.”

Jake still glares at your ex with hatred, his grip tightening around Mustang’s shirt despite his eyes bulging nearly out of their sockets. “What’s her flight number?”

Mustang shakes his head with difficulty and croaks, “Fuck if I know.”

Jake gives him a rough jolt and Bradley, again, says, “Jake, we should go.”

“What time does she take off?” Jake asks. “What airline?”

Mustang’s eyes begin to water. “Fuck that bitch,” he sputters. “She got what she deserved.”

Jake, enraged beyond words, could have probably taken the whole door off its frame in his fury, if not for Bradley coming to haul him off the porch. “We have to go!” Bradley shouts while Jake, still fuming, flares out his chest.

“Come out and fight like a man!” Jake bellows, combatting Bradley’s attempts to restrain him.

“He’s not worth it,” Bradley urges, continuing to push him down the path back to the driveway.

“What’s the matter, Mustang?” Jake jeers. “Scared I’ll put a dent in that fancy mug of yours?” He jerks away from Bradley and heads straight for the white mustang in the driveway. “What’s the point” – he yells, push-kicking the door of the car – “of all that muscle –”

“Jake! Fuck!” Bradley yelps, dragging Jake back, away from the white car, less immaculate now that it’s got a depression in its frame about the size of Jake’s heel.

Jake chuckles and a moment later, Mustang appears in the driveway, gasping in horror when he sees the state of his car. “You piece of fucking –”

“Jake, go, go, go!” Bradley shouts, shoving his friend in the direction of the truck. They hop in before Mustang can orientate himself in his distress and Jake floors the pedal in reverse the moment his engine roars to life. “Ha!” Bradley exclaims, drumming enthusiastically on the dashboard as Jake pulls out of the driveway.

Jake smirks, adrenaline coursing deliciously through his body as he accelerates toward the freeway.

…

“What is this bullshit?” Jake grumbles, smacking his steering wheel in frustration.

Bradley grimaces at the string of red lights ahead of them on the ramp. “There’s another lot farther out,” he suggests.

Jake shakes his head. “I’m not turning around.”

“Okay,” Bradley responds patiently. “I’m sure this’ll be quick,” he adds, although he doesn’t sound very convinced, himself.

Jake lets out a sharp exhale, inching forward slowly. About fifteen minutes later, they finally pull up to the parking garage. Jake peeks up at the clearance bar with a grimace. “Think we’ll make it?”

Bradley glances at the marker and then at Jake. “How big are your tires?” he deadpans.

Jake looks at Bradley with a scowl. “What makes you think they’re big?”

Bradley returns Jake’s scowl twofold. “You got a roof rack on this thing?”

“Of course I’ve got a roof rack. What kind of man doesn’t have a roof rack on his car?” Jake scoffs offendedly. A horn blares from behind them and Bradley sighs, closing his eyes. Jake ignores the sound and leans forward over his steering wheel, staring up at the bar contemptuously.

“Well, we’ll have to risk it. We can’t park here,” Bradley reasons.

Jake nods but doesn’t move. Several more horns interrupt their conversation and Jake rolls down his window to yell at the car in behind, “Have some patience, asshole!”

Bradley drags a hand over his face wearily. “We really don’t have time for another conflict,” he remarks.

Jake groans grudgingly and slowly releases the brake. They both wince as the truck rolls precariously under the clearance bar and, when it makes it through unscathed, Jake howls excitedly while Bradley lets out an audible sigh of relief.

…

Finding an available spot takes about twenty minutes and about ten years off Jake’s life. Cursing, Jake clambers out of the truck and slams his door aggressively. Bradley extracts his phone from his pocket and takes a photo of their vehicle’s location.

Jake waits for him impatiently to which Bradley replies, “You’ll thank me later.”

“Yeah,” Jake agrees, but walks briskly ahead to look around in search of signs that might point the way to the terminal.

“This way,” Bradley says, pointing to the elevators at the far end of the lot.

“This place is a fucking maze,” Jake grumbles.

“What, you never been to a commercial airport before?” Bradley jokes. Jake gives him a flat look and Bradley snorts and claps Jake on the back. “Relax, man. We’ll find her.”

Jake tries not to show just how anxious he is by giving Bradley a nod and a tight smile. He blazes into the stairwell, ignoring the slowly opening elevator doors, and Bradley follows behind him, jogging up the stairs.

In the terminal, they stop to look up at the flight information board listing all the departures taking place that night.

“Two possible flights she could be on,” Bradley says.

“Two different gates,” Jake comments solemnly.

“The first one is leaving in twenty minutes. She’ll already be on the plane,” Bradley says, “if that’s her flight.”

“Maybe she’ll be on the other one,” Jake says hopefully, starting in the direction of the second gate.

Bradley hurries to catch up with him through the crowded airport.

“Where are all these people going?” Jake mutters under his breath, pushing his way past slower moving, luggage towing individuals.

Bradley eyes him with a small grin. “They have just as much a right to be here as you do, Jake.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jake says, pushing his way through an excited group of travellers wearing parkas and winter hats. “That’s her gate up there!” He starts for it at a run despite the dense crowd around them.

Bradley follows, albeit less obnoxiously. Then, about ten feet from the gate, Jake stops short and Bradley crashes right into him. “Dude!” he exclaims, rubbing his chest.

“It’s her,” Jake breathes.

Bradley turns his head and it takes him several moments to locate you because you’re already going through security.

“Y/N!” Jake hollers, cupping his hands around his mouth.

You don’t hear him, though, because there’s a glass wall separating you from the checkpoint queue. Bradley, in an effort to help Jake get your attention, also starts calling your name. Meanwhile, Jake starts for the security checkpoint at a run, which sort of worries Bradley. “You need a boarding pass to get through –”

But Jake, completely ignoring Bradley’s warning, hops right over the stanchion behind the security officer’s back.

“Fuck,” Bradley mutters under his breath as the officer turns around in alarm and brings a walkie to his face. Other security personnel rush over in a panic and Bradley, approaching as casually as possible, says, with a wave of his hand, “It’s cool.” He leans nonchalantly on one of the glass panels near the checkpoint, adding, “He’s a pilot.”

Several of the officers look over at him like he’s nuts.

…

Jake makes it all the way to the glass doors before somebody apprehends him, and then he shouts your name again. You turn around just as that somebody throws him to the ground. Jake groans, not too pleased about having to taste this particular carpet.

“What are you doing?” he hears you screech, and he glances up with just his eyes because his face is still being pressed into the ground.

“Hey, how are ya?” he manages to say.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you repeat, more aggressively this time.

Jake winces as someone’s knee digs into his spine. “Baking a cake. What’s it look like I’m doing?” He grunts as he’s finally lifted to his feet.

You are staring at him wildly when he meets your gaze.

“Hey,” he says again, rotating his shoulders to alleviate the cramp in his back.

Behind you, security personnel have started to block off the entire area.

“Sir, we’re going to need you to come with us,” the officer still holding onto Jake says firmly.

“What? Where are you taking him?” you ask.

“You need to come with us too, ma’am,” another officer says.

“No,” Jake groans. “She didn’t do anything.”

“This is a misunderstanding,” you say. “He’s a Navy Lieutenant. Jake, tell them!”

 “No, don’t tell them that.” Jake cringes. He would prefer not to be reprimanded for this incident by his superior officers.

You stare at him as the two of you are led to a holding area near the checkpoint. Meanwhile, Jake can see Bradley scrambling past passersby to keep the two of you in sight as he holds his phone to his ear.

“Didn’t know you were planning on taking a vacation,” Jake says as the officer in charge of detaining him nods for his colleague to open the door. “Going somewhere nice?”

You give him a dirty look as you are walked into the holding room.

“Please wait here until law enforcement arrives.”

You look up at the man in alarm. “Law enforcement? He’s in the military!” you shout.

“Shh,” Jake shushes you. “Don’t yell at the nice officer,” he warns you. “We can wait,” he assures the security team.

The door closes and you look over at Jake furiously. “I’m going to miss my flight!” you scream at him. “Because of you!”

Jake sets his jaw. “Good.”

You glare at him incredulously. “How are you so goddamn selfish?”

“I’m selfish?” he retorts. “I spent all morning with you. We had sex” – Jake takes note that you cringe at the word – “and yet you failed to mention that you’ve moving clear across the fucking country!”

“What do you care? You hate me, remember?” you yell back.

“Oh, I remember,” he snaps. “I also remember your diatribe on the avocado, and how much you loathe everything I stand for. I remember your outrageous appraisal of my truck, and the ridiculous way you hold a pool cue. Your annoying inability to shut the fuck up about the stupidest shit and your equally annoying refusal to tell me about the things that actually matter.”

You blink at him with a scowl and fold your arms over your chest. “This is the worst love confession I’ve ever heard,” you grumble.

Jake exhales forcefully. “I haven’t confessed anything yet.”

You suck in your cheeks and look up at the ceiling impatiently. “I’ll wait.”

Jake releases another irritated sigh. “There isn’t a single thing about you that I’ve been able to successfully forget. Despite my best efforts.”

You meet his gaze half-heartedly but say nothing.

“You just showed up one day, out of nowhere, and I’ve been messed up ever since. Do you get that?” He stares at you wildly, realizing that he’s getting something off his chest that he hadn’t even really known was weighing on him. “You walk around like you don’t owe anybody a goddamn thing. You’re out here pretending like your actions – your decisions – don’t affect people. Well, they do, alright? You affect people! You affect me.”

You lower your gaze mutely, as though you’re lost for words for the first time ever. The very idea is preposterous, however, and Jake is sure that you’re just waiting for the most opportune moment to counter. He decides not to give you the opportunity.

“What do you want out of life?” he says with an edge to his tone because he’s anxious to get to his point.

You glance back up at him curiously.

“Ask me again,” he says. “Ask me the whole thing. Disregarding the fact that we are meaningless or whatever nonsense you spewed. Ask me.”

You gulp and clear your throat. “What do you want, Jake?”

He releases a sharp sigh, deliberately maintaining eye contact. “You,” he responds firmly. “You, you, you.” He takes a step toward you, his eyes searching yours urgently because he’s desperate to be honest for once. To lay it all out so you have the facts before you run. “Whatever the damn question is, okay?” He takes up your hands and holds them to his chest. “My answer is always you.”

You watch him with that same unreadable gaze, the one that Jake has spent months trying to decipher. But he knows that he’s gotten under your skin just as much as you’ve gotten under his. Because he knows you. So, he waits; allows you a moment to gauge his sincerity. As if tracking you down at a civilian airport and getting detained isn’t evidence enough. Your eyes well up suddenly and, unexpectedly, you move away from him. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m sorry for affecting you.”

Jake lets his hands fall when you withdraw. “I just want you to tell me the truth,” he says. “I want you to stop acting like nothing ever gets to you.”

You glance up at him fiercely and cry, “You get to me, okay? Is that what you want to hear? That I am also affected?” You draw in a sob and lean your back against the wall, hiding your face in your hand.

Jake, both distraught and relieved that you’re finally emoting, approaches you slowly. He puts an arm around your shoulders and brings you into his chest. All he wants is to express just how much you mean to him – just how far he’d go to make you happy – but all that comes out is, “I don’t want you to go,” which is partly muffled anyway because he says it with his mouth on your head.

You sniffle miserably against his shoulder and shift your weight to lean into him. “I can’t stay,” you respond.

Jake, whose entire body is both vibrating and paralyzed at the same time, says quietly. “Tell me why.”

“I got kicked out,” you whimper, as if this is the ‘why’ Jake is after.

“Not that,” he says, taking a step back so that he can look you in the eye. “Tell me why you got engaged. The morning after I – after we… Were you already engaged when you came to the party? When I kissed you?”

“No,” you say. “He proposed that night.”

Jake watches you patiently. “And you said yes?”

“Because he promised he’d confess.”

Jake stares at you. “Confess?”

“He submitted a plagiarized paper on my behalf. Right after we broke up.”

Jake grimaces. “What a fucking nutcase.”

“He was angry. But obviously he didn’t think I’d get kicked out for it.”

“Why didn’t he just come clean when shit hit the fan?”

“And get kicked out himself? He wouldn’t take that chance; his defense is coming up in less than six months.”

“So…you decided to marry him?”

“He told me he was sorry and promised he’d talk to the board as soon as he passed. I figured I’d just agree to the engagement and call it off once he came clean.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this? That day, when he announced the engagement. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

You sigh. “What would you have done?”

“Kicked his ass,” Jake responds without a moment’s thought.

“Exactly,” you say. “You’re about one offense from getting kicked out, yourself.”

Jake has no rebuttal to this because you’re sort of right on the money in this case. His last altercation nearly cost him his wings and he’s not at all looking forward to explaining this airport fiasco to his superiors. “When did you call off the engagement?” he asks.

“This morning,” you say. “Before I came to see you.”

Jake plants his hands on his hips. “So why are you leaving?”

“Well, he’s never going to admit what he did. So, I’m out of the program for good. Why would I stay?”

Jake stares at you. “Are you for real?”

You shrug. “He’s never going to leave me alone.”

“Oh, he’ll leave you alone,” Jake says firmly. “Or I’ll break his legs.”

You give him a reproachful look. “And get arrested? Lose your job?”

“Fine, I’ll break his car.”

You roll your eyes.

“I’m not letting you run,” he says, taking a confident step toward you.

“It’s not up to you.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t care.” He takes your face in his hands.

“Don’t be an ass,” you say, lisping slightly because your cheeks are squished between his palms.

Jake smirks. “But I’m good at it.”

“It’s my decision,” you say, trying to sound firm despite the aforementioned speech impediment.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jake continues. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Jake!”

Jake lets his forehead rest against yours. “You missed your flight anyway,” he mutters. “And I love you,” he adds, casually enough for it to perhaps blend into the conversation unnoticed.

But you notice it. You lift your face to meet his gaze. “You do?” you ask quietly.

“Don’t act all surprised.”

You smile mildly. “Surprised that you can admit it.”

“One of us had to.”

You gaze at him mutely.

And just as Jake is about to spiral in response to your lack of a response, the door opens and someone steps inside.

“C’mon,” Bradley urges, waving his arm impatiently. “I’m busting you out.”

“How –” you begin.

But Jake cuts you off, “Shh, don’t ask questions.” He leads you through the open door after Bradley as he surveys the immediate vicinity in all directions.

“You’re both pieces of work,” you mutter under your breath and Jake, who’s got an arm around your shoulders, squeezes you affectionately.

There is a large crowd just outside of the holding room, and a commotion near the gate. Clearly, Bradley had managed to create some sort of diversion. A subtle craning of his neck allows Jake to see exactly who it is that’s causing a scene.

“Keep you head down!” Bradley whispers hoarsely from behind, smacking Jake’s crown with annoyance.

Jake ducks slightly and looks over his shoulder at Bradley, “Was that Bob?”

“Yep,” Bradley responds. “Apparently, he owed you?”

Jake scrunches up his eyebrows as Bradley continues to jostle the two of you toward the exit. “Owed me?”

“Said he cockblocked you at your party two weeks ago?” Bradley says. “Sorry, ‘my’ party,” he adds, with quotation marks around the ‘my’.

You glance between Bradley and Jake with a smirk as the latter raises his eyebrows. “He remembers that night?”

Bradley nods, finally walking out into the sunlight. “He’s felt bad about it ever since.”

Jake glances down at you, wondering if things would have been different had Bob not shown up that fated night, blasted out of his mind. Would you have spent the night? Not gotten engaged to Mustang? Would you have told him the big secret you were keeping, thereby avoiding the whole debacle entirely? Perhaps Bob does owe him.

“Anyway, I called up the cavalry and Bob immediately volunteered,” Bradley continues, making his way to the parking garage.

Suddenly, you stop, and Bradley and Jake come to a halt and look back at you in confusion.

“Here’s the thing about a quick getaway, princess,” says Jake, approaching you to take your hand. “You have to get away quickly.”

You pull your hand out of his. “When did I agree to staying?”

“Lord, give me strength,” Jake mutters, throwing his head back to look up at the sky with a sigh.

“Maybe you can decide this at a safer distance away from where you nearly just got arrested,” Bradley suggests.

“I don’t understand the issue here,” Jake says. “I beat Mustang to a pulp until he confesses. Problem solved.”

Bradley grimaces. “I can see why she might not be on board.”

“Guys, my luggage has already been checked.”

Jake places his hands on his hips and stares you down. “What goes up must come down.”

You roll your eyes. “My mom is expecting me,” you continue.

Jake takes a phone out of his pocket and holds it out. “Simple enough to fix.”

You exhale sharply. “This has to be my decision,” you declare.

Jake shifts his jaw, his face forming a frown without his consent. He locks eyes with you and nods. “Make it, then.”

You swallow uncomfortably without breaking eye contact and Bradley retreats a few steps in the background.

“I don’t know if you know this,” you begin quietly, and Jake dares not move lest he miss a single syllable of your speech. Who knew that a day would come when he’d pretty much give anything just to keep you talking? “But I liked you probably before I even started to hate you.”

Jake gives you a cautious smile. “Probably?”

“Don’t push it,” you retort.

“Sorry, I’ll shut up,” he responds, fighting to keep a straight face. “Go on, tell me how much I mean to you.”

You sigh. “Can you refrain from being an ass for at least a minute?”

Jake makes a face. “Doubtful.”

“Uh, I can attest to that,” Bradley chimes in from behind.

“Rooster, we’re having a moment here,” Jake calls over his shoulder.

“Are you sure about that?” Bradley counters, in response to which Jake just shakes his head.

“Continue,” Jake says to you. “Please.”

You let out an irritable sigh, “I can’t tell you why I liked you, I’m still trying to figure that one out.”

Jake plants his hands on his hips. “Liar.”

You stare at him rather uncomfortably. “I had a boyfriend, remember? I had no business liking you.”

Jake narrows his eyes but stays silent.

“I think it’s because…” you voice trails off and you let out a grudging sigh.

“It’s the truck, isn’t it?” Jake asks pompously. “One ride was all it took.”

You snort out a chuckle and shake your head. “No,” you say. “It’s that.” You gesture at him and he knits his eyebrows together, intrigued. “That ‘sharp sense of humor’,” you say, mockingly repeating the first ever compliment he made you all those moons ago. “No matter how mad you make me, or how pissed I am at the world, you somehow can always make me laugh.”

Jake watches you soberly now, touched that you were finally able to express your feelings. “Don’t tell the truck that,” he mutters.

“Why?” You grin, taking a step toward him. “Does the truck have an ego problem?”

Jake’s lips form a tight, guilt-ridden smirk as you approach. “The truck might have an ego problem.”

You’re standing so close to him now that you have to lift your chin to maintain eye contact. “I might have another confession to make,” you say softly, so that your voice nearly gets swept away in the small breeze filtering through the tunnel.

Jake gulps, not sure he could handle standing at this proximity without getting a little stupid. He’ll have to keep his mouth shut because his brain isn’t the organ being prioritized at the moment.

“I think about the truck a lot,” you whisper, your eyes flitting slowly between his.

“You do?” Jake croaks, and then, clearing his throat, repeats, “You do?”

You nod. “I like how it handles the bumps in the road.”

“Well, yeah, it’s got some heavy-duty shocks, plus the ground clearance –”

“Jake,” you cut him off, unimpressed.

Jake grins. “It’s pretty well-equipped for off-roading, was what I meant to say.”

You gaze at him in amusement. “Perhaps we could try to navigate away from the uneven terrain.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

You lower your gaze with a small chuckle but, despite the smile, you look uneasy. “I need to know that you’re not going to do anything reckless.”

Jake considers your words for a moment. “Define reckless.”

You glance up at him impatiently. “Check the dictionary.”

He grins. “Fine,” he agrees. “But I can’t vouch for the truck.”

You chuckle again, rolling your eyes. “Shut up and take me home, Jake.”

“Does that mean you’re staying?”

You smile at him and start walking.

“Finally,” Bradley exclaims as the two of you catch up to him. “You guys talk way too much. We’re still fugitives, you know?”

“Sorry, I just needed Jake to know how much I love his truck,” you say with a giggle.

Bradley gives you a confused look while Jake does a double take. “You love my truck?”

You stare at him. “I thought that was obvious.”

“No.” He furiously shakes his head. “No, that was not at all obvious.” Jake steps around Bradley and stops you in your tracks.

Bradley groans in frustration, throwing up his hands. “Guys!”

“You love…” Jake say, “my truck. You love my truck. You love my truck?”

You blink at him innocently and nod. “Uh-huh,” you acknowledge and then walk around him to continue on your merry way.

Jake takes your wrist and you turn back to look at him. He clears his throat uncomfortably. “Just to clarify – so that I know we’re on the same page – I’m the truck, right?”

You press your lips together to keep your growing grin at bay and lower your gaze. “You’re the truck, Jake,” you respond coyly.

“I’m the truck,” Jake repeats stupidly. Hadn’t he earlier meant to stay quiet?

You catch his gaze and smile more freely now. “Right,” you say. “And I could really go for another ride.”

Jake stares at you for a moment, lost for words. Then he slides his arms under your butt and scoops you up so that you’re looking down at him, your feet dangling a foot off the ground.

“Way to remain inconspicuous, you two,” Bradley remarks in the background.

But Jake ignores his best friend and cranes his neck as you lower your lips to his. And he lets you cradle his face in your delicate hands and kiss him. Because, damnit, it’s high time for some action.

A/N: THE END!!! Thank you guys so much for reading! xoxo

Tag List:

I'll try my best to put the rest of the tag list in the comments but it's gotten a little messy over the years so I might not get everyone.

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[abaker74]

Taking Time Masterlist

[Updated 1 March 2025]

Maya Sunriviere was just trying to finish her last semester of high school and get the hell off this reservation. But when a man she barely knows lays some weird archaic claim on her, the tribal council steps in and tells her what her destiny will be. That won’t stop Maya from searching for another way out though.

Timeline: This story take place seven years after the events in Breaking Dawn.

Pairing: Paul Lahote x Original Quileute Female Character

Warnings/Tags: Sexual Content, Sexual Tension/Frustration, Jealousy, Controlling Behavior, Resolved Angst, Smut, Age Gap, Highschool/College, Original Characters, Giving Paul Lahote the Love He Deserves

Status: Ongoing

Find me here too: Ao3

Buy me a coffee on Ko-fi

Chapters:

One—Get me out of here

Two—Tonight's alright for a bonfire

Three—The council meets on a Saturday

Four—Sunday blues

Five—Fortune favors the audacious

Six—Set out the welcome mat

Seven—Always take the candy

Eight—Strangers who already know your name

Nine—Crashing a party you were invited to

Ten—There's more than one way to sleep with your friends

Eleven—Show them what you're made of

Twelve—Don't wake a sleeping bear

Thirteen—There's safety in numbers

Fourteen—Kicking over stones

Fifteen—You don't own me

Sixteen—The art of taking the bait

Seventeen—Never going back again

Eighteen—Never thought I'd doubt myself this much

Nineteen—That was strange to see you again

Twenty—Turning into the sea

Twenty One—Finding even ground

Twenty Two—The pack doesn't keep secrets

Twenty Three—Summer skin

Twenty Four—Jealousy has a name

Twenty Five—Get out of town

Twenty Six—The women who came before us

Twenty Seven—Turn your exes into hexes

Twenty Eight—Broken but not broke

Twenty Nine—Waking up to you

Thirty—The type of imprint that would

Thirty One—You're something to be celebrated

Thirty Two—Why do they always run?

Thirty Three—When the party's over

Thirty Four—What the council expects

Thirty Five—One last hurrah

Thirty Six—And away we go

Thirty Seven—With friends like these

Thirty Eight—Double lives without the compromise

Thirty Nine—Fall break and double dates

Forty—A side dish of surprise

Forty One—Never gonna get good at goodbyes

Forty Two—Holidays in La Push

Forty Three—Don't be late

Forty Four—In over your head

Forty Five—Yours isn't the only way

Forty Six—The temptation to be reckless

Forty Seven—The ties that bind

Forty Eight—My best friend's baby

Forty Nine—Where there's a Will, there's a way

Fifty—The only living girl in New York

Fifty One—With you in my head

Fifty-Two—Not that easy

Fifty-Three—Missed calls

Fifty-Four—Home is a person

Fifty-Five—The only answer was yes

Fifty-Six—Where'd all the time go?

Fifty-Seven—Heat wave

[abaker74]

Abandoned Memories

Pairing -Modern Thomas Shelby and Reader

Abandoned memories 1 Part 2 Part 3

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

[abaker74]

My brother sent this to me from a reddit and I squealed

Oscar Isaac characters as Sailor Moon characters because why the hell not. According to me, based on vibes

Steven Grant as Sailor Moon - Energetic, sweet, bubbly but also loyal and protective. Not to be underestimated. Both are major yearners and hopeless romantics too.

Marc Spector as Tuxedo Mask - Mysterious, brooding, secretive, cool capes. My crush on Tuxedo Mask is the reason I fell so hard for Moon Knight in the first place

Jake Lockley as Sailor Saturn - Mysterious, dark energy but they're good, both characters we've seen too little of and they deserve much more. Saturn is the guardian of ruin and rebirth and both things remind me of Jake

Nathan Bateman as Sailor Mercury - Otherwise their personalities may seem like polar opposites but they're united by their love for tech and their big brains

Poe Dameron as Sailor Venus - based solely on the fact that they both serve cunt and look good in orange

Santiago "Pope" Garcia as Sailor Jupiter - It just makes sense. Don't fuck with them.

William Tell as Sailor Mars - They have the same energy to me

Club owner!Blue Jones as Queen Beryl - These are divas who live for the show

Duke Leto Atreides as Sailor Uranus - Once again, it just makes sense to me. Also, Sailor Uranus has this navy theme going on which reminds me of Leto

Kane as Sailor Pluto - It's the whole guarding a space-time door thing with Pluto that reminds me of what happened to Kane

[abaker74]

The Taming of the Rake: A. Bridgerton Masterlist

pairing: anthony bridgerton x sister's best friend!fem!reader status: ongoing

At her wit's end after Anthony's multiple attempts to scare away her suitors, Daphne employs her best friend's help to keep her brother distracted while she tries to find a husband. It's a foolproof plan, except it ends up working a little too well. (or, a Bridgerton version of The Taming of the Shrew/10 things I hate about you)

Chapter 1 - I said, "dancin' is a dangerous game" Chapter 2 - I won't confess that I waited, but I let the lamp burn Chapter 3 - it was all by design Chapter 4 - uh oh, I'm fallin' in love Chapter 5 - they said the end is coming, everyone's up to something Chapter 6 - oh, my, love is a lie Chapter 7 - I wish I could un-recall how we almost had it all Chapter 8 - if I'm dead to you why are you at the wake Chapter 9 - in my defense, I have none Chapter 10 - coming soon...

follow @bosbas-library for updates!

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[abaker74]

Aftermath

well this ended up way longer than I meant lol! hope you enjoy @leodorable-trivium !!

PART 1

The morning light barely filters through the heavy curtains,  but it’s enough to wake you. For a long moment,  you just lie there,  staring at the ceiling,  letting the heavy weight of your own mind settle around you like a fog.

Bucky was right.

You knew he was right.

Losing Steve had broken something inside both of you. But even knowing that,  even hearing Bucky’s pain,  his love,   in every word last night,  didn’t stop the voice in your head from whispering cruel things.

He wouldn't love you anymore if he really knew you. You're tainted. Less.

You squeeze your eyes shut,  willing the thoughts away. They're lies. You know that. Somewhere deep down,  you know that.

And you know you can’t keep letting them win.

Not after hearing the way Bucky’s voice cracked,  the way he gripped your hand like you were the only thing tethering him to this world. You promised yourself last night: you're going to try.

With trembling fingers,  you reach for your phone and send a text to your therapist.

Hi. Is there any chance you have time today? I really need to talk.

It would be the first time meeting her without Bucky there beside you. The thought alone sends a wave of panic through you. But you can't and won't have this conversation with anyone else in the room—not yet.

You glance over at Bucky,  still fast asleep,  peaceful in a way he rarely is. You can’t bring yourself to wake him.

So instead,  you find a scrap of paper on the nightstand and scribble a note.

Went to see Dr. M. I’m okay. I’ll be back soon. Love you.

You leave it where you know he’ll find it. And with one last look back,  you slip out of the tower,  heart hammering,  steps shaky, but moving forward, anyway.

Brooklyn, 1935

The three of you were crammed into Steve’s tiny apartment,  laughing so hard you could barely breathe.

Steve was half-falling off the lumpy couch,  his face red,  tears streaming from his eyes as Bucky reenacted the most dramatic fall he'd taken trying to impress a girl at the market.

You were doubled over next to him,  clutching your sides.

Bucky threw his arms wide,  chest puffed out,  mimicking himself swaggering — then promptly slipped on the threadbare rug,  landing hard on his back with a loud THUD.

"See?" he groaned dramatically from the floor. "I suffer for my art."

You and Steve practically collapsed on top of each other,  laughing so hard it hurt. Steve wiped at his eyes,  still chuckling,  and nudged you with his shoulder.

"You're a terrible friend, " he said between breaths. "You should be helping him."

You snickered and offered Bucky a hand,  which he took with an exaggerated wince.

"You're lucky I'm so forgiving, " Bucky said,  pulling himself up. "Otherwise, I'd leave you two helpless losers and find some better company."

"Yeah?" you teased,  folding your arms. "Good luck finding someone else who'll put up with you falling flat on your face every ten minutes."

Steve burst into another fit of laughter,  and Bucky just grinned,  that cocky,  dimpled smile that always gave him away. The three of you melted back into a pile on the couch,  limbs tangled,  heads resting against each other like it was the most natural thing in the world.

In that tiny room,  with the rain tapping gently against the cracked windows and the smell of cheap coffee lingering in the air,  you felt invincible. Like nothing could ever touch you. Like no matter what the world threw at you,  you had each other.

And that would be enough.

The city is louder than usual. Or maybe it’s just you ,   your senses on high alert,  every sound amplified,  every step away from the Tower feeling heavier than the last. You clutch your jacket tighter around yourself,  trying to disappear into it,  trying to stay invisible,  trying to hold yourself together.

By the time you reach the therapist’s office,  your hands are cold and shaking. You hesitate outside the door for longer than you should,  staring at the brass plaque with her name on it. You can feel the familiar urge to turn around,  to run back to where it’s safe ,   back to Bucky. But the memory of his voice ,   the pain in it ,   echoes in your mind.

You force yourself to take a breath. Then another. Then you step inside.

The receptionist looks up and gives you a warm,  knowing smile. "She's ready for you, " she says gently,  like she can see the way you’re falling apart just under your skin.

You nod stiffly and walk down the short hallway to the office. The door is already cracked open,  waiting for you.

Dr. M is sitting in her usual chair,  a cup of tea in her hand,  her eyes kind. No clipboard. No laptop. Just her,  waiting,   open and patient and safe.

As soon as you see her,  the tension in your chest loosens just a little. You step inside and close the door behind you. It’s silent for a moment,  the air heavy. Then she speaks,  voice soft.

"I'm really glad you're here."

And somehow,  hearing those words,  not "how are you?" not "what happened?",   just I'm glad you're here,  makes your throat tighten and your eyes burn.

You sit down slowly,  the familiar couch feeling foreign without Bucky beside you. Your hands knot together in your lap.

You open your mouth to say something,   anything ,  but instead,  your voice breaks,  and before you even realize it,  the first tears are already sliding down your cheeks.

You cover your face with your hands,  embarrassed,  angry at yourself for falling apart so quickly. But Dr. M just waits. No judgment. No rush. Just quiet understanding.

When you finally manage to speak,  it comes out in a raw whisper:

"I think I broke something. And I don’t know how to fix it."

And for the first time in a long time,  you realize: You’re not alone in trying to figure it out anymore.

Brooklyn, Late Summer 1936

It was a sticky, sweltering night, the kind where the heat clung to your skin no matter how much you moved.

 But none of you cared — tonight was special. Tonight, for the first time, you, Steve, and Bucky were going on a real date.

Of course, not that you could ever call it that out loud. Not in public. Not in a world that would tear you apart for loving the wrong way.

You had been the one to push for it — reckless, stubborn, needing to live even if it was dangerous.

Bucky and Steve had been reluctant at first, eyes shadowed with worry. But they could never say no to you for long.

So you all cleaned up as best you could.

Steve in a too-big jacket he borrowed from Bucky, trying to smooth down his unruly hair; Bucky, as always, looking like he'd just stepped out of a movie reel, tie loose around his neck, easy grin hiding nerves. And you — you wore your best dress, one you'd patched yourself, twirling once in front of them just to hear them both stumble over their words.

"You’re gonna kill me," Bucky muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. Steve just stared, cheeks burning pink.

You took both their hands — quick, a flash of fingers brushing, nothing too obvious — and led them into the night.

The boardwalk at Coney Island was still busy at that hour, lights flashing, the scent of popcorn and sea salt heavy in the air. You kept a careful distance between you, weaving through the crowd like three friends out for a summer night.

But when you leaned in to whisper a joke in Steve’s ear, when Bucky brushed your hand under the safety of a vendor's counter, it was like electricity sparking in the humid air.

You played games at the booths, laughing as Bucky won you a stuffed bear that was missing an eye, Steve cheering louder than anyone. You bought sodas and shared them under a quiet pier, hidden in the shadows, your knees knocking together, your heads leaning in close as if the world had shrunk down to just the three of you.

Bucky stole a kiss first — a quick, feather-light brush at the corner of your mouth when no one was looking.

Steve hesitated, looking around like someone might catch him, but you grabbed him by the collar and pulled him in, and he melted against you with a soft, desperate sigh.

And there, with the sound of waves crashing against the shore and the faint buzz of laughter and carnival music drifting through the air, you felt it — the truth of it, the immensity of what you had found together.

It was dangerous. It was foolish. It was everything.

Later, walking back toward the city, you found yourselves tucked into a narrow alleyway, hidden from view. Bucky pressed his forehead against yours, hand finding Steve’s at the same time.

"You’re gonna get us killed, doll," he whispered, half-teasing, half-scared.

"Better to live and love than hide forever," you whispered back.

Steve squeezed your hand tighter. And Bucky kissed your forehead. And you knew — even then — you would risk anything for this. For them.

Dr. M lets you cry for a few minutes without interruption,  passing you a box of tissues without a word. You take one,  wipe at your face,  and eventually the shaking in your shoulders settles enough for her to speak.

"Tell me about them, " she says softly. "Bucky and Steve."

You breathe out slowly,  blinking at your hands. Your voice is rough when you finally answer.

"They're... they're everything. They've always been everything."

You swallow hard.

"I met them when I was still a kid,  basically. And even when life got messy,  and we were in different places. It never really changed anything. We were always tied together,  no matter what."

She nods encouragingly,  so you keep going.

"It was like... no matter how long we were apart,  we could pick up right where we left off. No awkwardness. No resentment. It was just us again. Every time." You can feel your chest tighten again,  but you push through it.

"And it wasn't just friendship. They were,  " You struggle for a word big enough,  one that could capture the history,  the love,  the lifetimes worth of connection between you.

"They were home, " you whisper finally. "They are home."

Dr. M smiles gently,  but there’s something almost sad in it too. "And what changed?" she asks quietly.

That’s when you feel it ,   the sudden,  hot spike of panic surging up from your gut,  curling around your ribs like barbed wire. Your breath catches. Your hands clench into fists without you meaning to. The walls feel closer. The room feels smaller.

"I,  " you stammer,  your heart thudding hard in your chest. "I don’t,   I can’t,  "

"Hey,  hey, " Dr. M says,  her voice low and soothing. She leans forward just slightly,  hands loose and open in her lap. "You're safe here. You don't have to rush. We can go as slow as you need."

You squeeze your eyes shut,  trying to force the rising tide back down. You hate this.

You hate how weak you feel. You hate how afraid you are to even say it out loud ,   like if you do,  it’ll make it even more real.

"Take a breath with me, " Dr. M says gently. You feel her breathing ,   slow,  deliberate ,   and you latch onto the rhythm,  matching her as best you can.

In. Out. In. Out.

The panic eases,  just a fraction. Enough for you to open your eyes again,  blurry and stinging.

"I’m scared, " you admit hoarsely. "Scared of what?" she asks.

You stare at the floor,  the words tearing themselves out of you.

"That... that I’m not enough anymore. That I’m not good anymore. That... if Steve knew what i did,  he wouldn’t,  " Your voice cracks again,  and you force the last part out. ",  he wouldn’t love me anymore."

The silence that follows is thick and heavy,  but Dr. M doesn’t rush to fill it. She lets it settle. Lets it breathe.

Finally,  when she speaks,  her voice is steady and sure.

"Love that real doesn’t disappear because of pain. It doesn’t unravel because you're hurting. It doesn’t leave when you struggle. If anything..." she leans in slightly,  her voice soft but fierce,  "Real love stays. It fights for you. Even when you don’t feel like you deserve it."

Something in your chest twists ,   sharp and aching and almost unbearable.

Brooklyn, 1942 — Late Evening, A Few Months Before Deployment

The night was heavy with the thick, oily scent of car exhaust and summer heat. You and Bucky were standing outside a little mechanic's shop Howard Stark had been working out of — a back-alley operation filled with half-built engines and half-truths.

The argument had started small, the way the worst ones always did. A little jab from Bucky, a sharp retort from you.

Now it was boiling over.

"You think I don't see the way he looks at you?" Bucky snapped, his voice a low, furious rasp, trying not to draw attention from the street. "He's damn near undressing you every time you walk in the room."

You threw your hands up, exasperated. "Buck, he flirts with everyone. It doesn't mean anything! That's just Howard being Howard!"

He stepped closer, jaw tight, eyes dark with a cocktail of jealousy and fear he couldn't quite untangle.

"Doesn't mean I have to like it," he hissed. "Doesn't mean I have to watch it happen like some kinda idiot."

You crossed your arms, stubborn. "And what, you don't trust me now? After everything?"

He flinched, just a little.You saw it — the hurt flashing through him before he masked it with anger.

"It's not you I don't trust," he muttered. "It's him. You're... you're too good, doll. Guys like him, they see that, they want to ruin it. Take it."

Your heart twisted, the fight draining out of you in an instant. You stepped closer, softer now.

"Bucky," you said, voice breaking a little, "he's like a— a really annoying brother, alright? Someone who thinks he's God's gift but can't even tie his own tie half the time. You’re the one I want."

He shook his head, looking away like he didn’t believe he deserved to hear that. You reached up, fingers brushing his jaw, forcing him to look at you. When he finally did, his eyes were glassy, desperate.

"Buck," you whispered, "it’s always been you."

Something in him cracked — you felt it, like a dam giving way. He surged forward, hands cradling your face with a roughness that was almost reverent.

And then he kissed you.

Hard. Hungry. Years of fear and longing and love pouring out of him at once.

You clutched the front of his jacket, pulling him even closer, kissing him back with just as much fire, feeling the world around you fall away.The noise of the street, the risk of being seen, the war looming on the horizon — none of it mattered.

Not when he kissed you like that. Not when he held you like you were the only thing keeping him standing.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless, foreheads pressed together, Bucky whispered, "I'm sorry. I just... I can't lose you, doll. I can't."

You smiled, tearful, and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "You won't. Not now. Not ever."

You let yourself in quietly, the rickety door creaking even as you tried to be careful.

The apartment was dim, only the faint glow of the streetlamp outside leaking through the thin curtains. Bucky had peeled off toward the docks, shoulders heavy but giving you a tired wink before he disappeared down the block.

Now it was just you and Steve.

You toed off your shoes, shucking your jacket, and padded over to the small bed tucked against the wall. Steve was curled up, already half-asleep, his chest rising and falling slow and steady.

He didn’t stir when you slid under the threadbare blanket beside him, but when you pressed your forehead against his shoulder, he let out a little sleepy sound and instinctively tucked you closer.

You smiled into the fabric of his shirt.

He wasn’t all that much bigger than you — skinny from too many illnesses, too many skipped meals — but he still held you like he could protect you from everything.

You laid there a while, listening to the city breathing outside the window. Then you whispered, almost like a confession, "Had a fight with Buck."

Steve hummed, still half-asleep but listening.

You told him everything in a low voice, tracing the pattern of a small hole in the blanket with your finger as you spoke — how Bucky had bristled about Howard, about how the argument had spiraled into something bigger and rawer than you'd meant.

When you finished, there was a long pause. You were almost afraid Steve had fallen back asleep when he finally spoke, voice rough but sure:

"I think... I think Buck’s scared," he said softly. "More than he lets on."

You lifted your head just a little, looking at him. He blinked up at you with those wide, too-honest eyes.

"If he gets drafted," Steve continued, "he’s worried about what happens after. He sees Stark — sees someone who could give you everything he can't. Money, safety, a future without scrappin' for every meal."

You swallowed hard, guilt twisting deep inside your chest. You hadn’t even thought about it that way. To you, Bucky and Steve had always been enough. More than enough.

You buried your face against Steve’s chest, clutching him tighter. He let you, threading his fingers gently through your hair.

"I’m not goin’ anywhere," you murmured against him, voice thick. "I love you both too much. I don’t care about any of that."

Steve smiled, tired and soft, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I know," he said. "We know. Sometimes it’s just hard to believe it, y’know?"

You nodded against him, your heart hurting for both of them.

You promised yourself, right there in that tiny, too-cold room, that you'd do better. That you’d never let them doubt again how fiercely you loved them — how whole they made you feel.

You stayed like that, tangled up in Steve’s arms, listening to the slow beat of his heart as outside the city spun and roared and waited to swallow you all whole.

But here, in this small slice of Brooklyn, you were safe.

You were home.

You don't even realize you're speaking until you hear your own voice,  low and shaking.

"It wasn’t the torture that really broke me, " you say. "Not... not the physical stuff. I could survive that. I did survive that."

Dr. M just listens,  patient and steady,  her presence grounding you like a lifeline.

"It was what they did to my mind, " you continue,  fingers twisting the tissue in your lap into a mangled,  ruined thing. "That was worse."

You glance up,  searching her face,  half-expecting to see disgust or pity. But all you find is quiet,  unflinching compassion.

"I,   I overheard them once. The doctors. The officers. They were talking about how they failed... with the last Soldier. How he,   how Bucky,   was too strong. He didn’t stay loyal after they lost control."

You have to pause for a moment,  because your throat feels like it's closing up.

"So with me... they decided to be smarter. More thorough. They said... they said I had to believe that I didn’t belong anywhere else. That the only place I was good enough for was with them."

Your hands are shaking now,  but you can't stop. It's like the dam inside you has cracked wide open.

"They started reprogramming me. Not just wiping my mind,  but planting things. Repeating things. Telling me... telling me over and over that Steve would never want me again."

Dr. M’s eyes soften,  but she doesn’t interrupt. You think you might break if she did.

"They said... Captain America wouldn’t love a killer, " you whisper. "Wouldn’t love someone dirty. Someone who..." You choke on the words,  but you force them out because you have to. "Someone who did things. Things I didn’t want to do. Things they made me do."

Your whole body is trembling now,  but you barely notice.

"And every time,   every single time they forced me to do something... to kill someone... or,  " You break off,  your voice shattering under the weight of the memories. "Or when they... when they touched me... they would spend hours after. Days. Beating me. Screaming at me. Telling me all the reasons Steve would hate me now."

You press a trembling hand to your mouth,  trying to hold back the sob clawing its way up your throat.

"You’re a monster, " you whisper,  repeating the words you still hear in your nightmares. "You’re disgusting. You’re tainted. He’ll never even look at you again."

You bury your face in your hands,  your shoulders heaving.

For a long moment,  there's just your ragged breathing and the quiet hum of the tower air systems.

Then you feel it ,   not a touch,  but a presence. Dr. M leans forward just a little,  her voice like a soft,  steady anchor.

"I'm so sorry they did that to you, " she says,  every word weighted with sincerity. "None of what happened was your fault. Not one moment of it."

You shake your head,  the shame so deep it's like poison in your blood.

"But I did those things, " you rasp. "I,   I let them,  "

"No, " she says firmly,  cutting through the spiral before it can drag you under. "You survived. You were forced. They twisted your mind,  your choices. They stole your agency. That is not the same as choosing."

You look up at her,  broken open and hollowed out,  desperate for something ,   anything ,   to hold onto.

"Steve loved you before, " she says quietly. "The real Steve Rogers ,   not the idea they poisoned you with ,   he loved you for your heart,  your loyalty,  your soul. None of that was taken from you."

You don't believe her. Not really. Not yet.

But part of you ,   some tiny,  stubborn shard ,   wants to believe. And maybe... maybe that's enough for today.

Brooklyn, 1943 — Outside the Recruitment Center, Early Morning

The world felt like it was ending.

You stood on the cracked sidewalk, the air thick with the smell of oil and the distant sound of trolleys screeching along their tracks. You could feel Steve standing stiff beside you, his hand brushing yours but not holding it — both of you too stunned, too raw.

Bucky was folding up the letter, his hands shaking even as he tried to smirk, to make it easier for you.

He tucked it into the pocket of his worn jacket, the same one he always wore when you went out dancing, the same one he’d loaned you when you got cold at Coney Island last summer.

"Guess they finally decided I’m Army material after all," he said, with a crooked grin that didn’t touch his eyes.

He looked tired.

He looked... scared.

You couldn't speak. If you opened your mouth, you knew you'd start begging — and what good would that do?

 What good would anything do now?

You felt your heart splinter.

Just like that, you were already on borrowed time.

Bucky stepped closer, his hands settling on your arms, grounding you. "Hey," he said softly, like you were the one going to war. "You’re gonna be alright. Both of you."

You shook your head helplessly. "Don’t say that," you whispered. "You don’t know that."

He smiled — that beautiful, infuriating smile — and leaned in to rest his forehead against yours. "I do," he breathed. "Because you’re stronger than you think. You always have been."

Steve looked like he was about to shatter into a thousand pieces right there on the sidewalk.

You reached for him blindly, pulling him into the space between you and Bucky, the three of you clinging to each other like you could stitch yourselves together tight enough to survive this.

People passed by, pretending not to stare. You didn't care. You never did. Not when it came to them.

Bucky’s voice was rough when he spoke again: "I need you two to promise me somethin'."

You nodded immediately. "Anything."

He swallowed hard. "Take care of each other. No matter what."

Tears burned your eyes, but you blinked them back. You nodded again.

Steve gave a broken noise of agreement, pressing his forehead against Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky hugged you both tight — tight enough that it hurt, tight enough that you wanted to scream.

And then he pulled back, flashing you both that cocky grin you loved so much, even as his eyes gleamed suspiciously wet in the morning light.

"I’ll write you," he said, trying to sound normal. "I’ll drive my sergeant nuts with how much I write."

You laughed, choked and messy.

Bucky kissed your forehead, kissed Steve’s hair, and turned on his heel before either of you could fall apart completely.

You watched him walk away — the boy who’d been your whole world, walking off into a future you couldn’t follow.

You didn’t breathe until he turned the corner and disappeared.

Only then did you let yourself collapse against Steve, burying your face in his shoulder as the first sob ripped its way out of your chest. Steve held you fiercely, his own body shaking with the force of everything he wasn’t saying.

The city roared on around you — loud and uncaring. And you stood there, clinging to the only piece of Bucky you had left, praying to anyone who would listen that he'd come home.

Brooklyn, 1943 — Small Apartment, Late Evening

The door creaked open under your hand, your arms aching from another fourteen-hour day at Stark’s lab.

You were still wearing your work clothes, grease staining the hem of your skirt, the heavy scent of metal and smoke clinging to your hair.

You were exhausted — but it was a good exhaustion, the kind that came from knowing you were doing something that mattered. Something that might help Bucky, too, wherever he was.

You kicked the door closed behind you with your heel, your hands full of papers and a sandwich you snagged for Steve — he always forgot to eat when he was working on his drawings — and you didn’t notice anything different at first.

Until you looked up.

And then you froze.

There he stood, filling the tiny living room like he barely fit in it.

Steve.

But not Steve. Taller, broader, stronger — wearing clothes too tight across his chest, his hair neat, his jaw sharper. The same impossibly kind eyes, wide and hopeful, waiting for you to say something.

You dropped the sandwich.

It hit the floor with a soft, stupid thud.

"Hey," he said, his voice deeper now, but still him somehow. "I was gonna explain—"

You shook your head hard, your heart hammering painfully against your ribs. "No. No, what the hell, Steve?!” Your voice cracked, loud and sharp in the too-small room.

His face fell instantly. "I—I had to," he said, stumbling over the words. "It was my chance to help. To finally be... useful."

"You LIED to me," you hissed, stepping back like he'd slapped you. "You went behind my back, you let them do something to you, and you didn't even think about what it would do to us."

He stepped forward, panic rising in his eyes. "I was scared you’d try to stop me. I couldn’t let you."

"DAMN RIGHT I WOULD HAVE!" you shouted, tears burning at the edges of your vision now.  "Do you have any idea what it would have done to Bucky if you—if you died trying to be something you already are?!"

You jabbed your finger against his chest — it felt like poking a brick wall now, and it made you flinch. "You were already enough, Steve."

He opened his mouth to answer, but the knock came before he could — short, sharp, official.

Your stomach dropped.

Before you could react, the door swung open and there she stood: Peggy Carter. Polished. Beautiful. Imposing.

"Captain Rogers," she said briskly, her British accent crisp as cold air. "You're needed for training immediately."

Captain Rogers.

You staggered back like you’d been gut-punched. You barely even heard the rest of what she said. Orders. Departure times. Uniform fittings. None of it mattered.

Because you knew.

You knew, deep in your bones, what Steve had just signed himself up for.

He wasn’t just going to fight. He was going to leave you, too. Just like Bucky. Just like everyone.

“Your breaking your promise.” You say lowly, knowing that it wont change anything. He had always been enough for you, but you had always known Steve wanted more.

You watched Steve glance at you, guilt and longing flashing across his face — but he didn’t argue. He didn't hesitate. He turned, gave you one last look like a promise he didn’t know how to keep, and followed Peggy out the door.

The door slammed shut behind him.

The sandwich still sat on the floor, forgotten. And you stood there in the middle of the room, surrounded by the pieces of a life you could feel slipping through your fingers.

Temporary Allied Medical Tent, Night

Bucky woke with a gasp, jerking upright so fast the world spun. The scratchy sheets clung to his sweat-drenched skin, his head pounding, ribs aching from where they’d been broken and half-mended with rough bandages.

At first, he thought he was still dreaming. Still there, in the freezing dark, strapped down, hearing the sick whine of Hydra's machines in his ears.

But no. The air smelled clean — like antiseptic and wet earth. There were cots, soldiers moving around, some with clipped British accents.

He was safe. Alive. Free.

He choked on a breath, scrubbing his hands over his face. You. Steve. He needed to find you both. Now.

He swung his legs over the side of the cot — wincing, but forcing himself upright — when a shadow blocked the lamplight.

"Bucky?"

That voice.

Bucky's head snapped up.

Steve stood there.

Except it wasn’t Steve. Or not the Steve he remembered.

The kid he'd protected, the kid who used to wheeze after climbing three flights of stairs — he was gone.

In his place was a soldier. A man.

Broad and strong, uniform stretched across muscled shoulders.

Bucky stared, his mouth open. "No," he rasped, his heart pounding in disbelief. "What the hell did you do, punk?"

Steve's face crumpled a little — like he'd been hoping for a different reaction.

"I had to, Buck," he said quietly. "I had the chance to make a difference."

Bucky shoved himself to his feet, ignoring the burning protest of his battered body. He grabbed Steve by the front of his damn fancy jacket, glaring up into those familiar — and yet so unfamiliar — blue eyes.

"You were already making a difference," Bucky growled. "You were already enough, Stevie. You were enough."

Steve didn't fight him. Didn't even lift a hand to stop him. His heart breaking at hearing that again.

"I couldn't stand by anymore," Steve said hoarsely. "You were out there, suffering — and I couldn't do a damn thing."

Bucky's breath caught, his grip loosening. A thousand emotions ripped through him — fury, guilt, helpless love. He yanked Steve into a rough, desperate hug instead, slamming their heads together in the way they used to when they were kids after a rough fight.

"You stupid son of a bitch," Bucky whispered, voice breaking. "You’re supposed to stay alive, Steve. Not throw yourself on the damn fire. I was trying to not leave her alone."

Steve hugged him back just as hard — like he needed the grounding too.

And for a second, it was just them.

Just them.

But of course it couldn't last.

"Captain Rogers," came a voice from the tent opening — crisp, professional, cutting.

Peggy Carter.

Bucky stiffened the moment he heard her.

She stood there, pristine and polished even in the mud and blood of war, her eyes flickering from Bucky to Steve with a tight nod.

"We need to debrief immediately," she said, like it was non-negotiable.

Steve hesitated — and Bucky saw it. Saw the pull in him. Saw the guilt.

But he also saw Steve take a step back.

Away from him.

Following her.

Bucky watched, his throat burning.

In the end, Steve barely spared him a final glance before disappearing out into the night with Peggy.

The tent flaps fluttered closed behind Steve and Peggy, the sounds of their voices quickly swallowed up by the clatter and hum of the camp outside.

Bucky stood there for a long moment, frozen. The ache in his ribs was nothing compared to the one opening up in his chest.

He lowered himself back onto the cot heavily, scrubbing a hand over his face, feeling older than he ever had. Older than his twenty-some years should allow.

It felt like he had lost something just now — something he didn’t know how to name. He wasn't stupid. He saw it. Steve had changed — not just on the outside, but deep down where Bucky couldn't reach him anymore.

The worst part was, Bucky had wanted to see him shine. He had prayed for it, asked for it when no one was listening. He just hadn’t realized it would mean Steve might not need him anymore.

Swallowing the grief clawing up his throat, Bucky slumped forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

His hand brushed against something stiff tucked into the breast pocket of the ragged shirt they'd clothed him in after they found him.

Frowning, he pulled it free.

It was worn from travel — the edges bent, the ink slightly smudged — but he would know it anywhere.

It was a photograph of you. Smiling that secret little smile that was only ever for him and Steve, your arms draped around both their necks from behind in the tiny apartment they used to share. Before the world cracked open.

Bucky stared down at it, his fingers trembling. The rush of emotion was immediate and gutting.

You hadn't left him. Even when he was half-mad with fever and bruises and blood, somehow you had stayed close. Close enough to tuck a memory of you next to his heart.

His vision blurred, but he didn’t wipe at the tears. He let them fall.

He thought about you — about your stubbornness, your reckless love, the way you always insisted on being in the middle of everything, even when it was dangerous. He thought about how fiercely you loved both him and Steve. How you would never give up on either of them, even when they gave up on themselves.

Bucky clutched the photo tighter until the corners bit into his palm.

You were still out there. Waiting. Needing him.

And even if the whole goddamn world changed — if Steve grew taller than mountains and Peggy Carter marched in like she owned the future — Bucky would not lose you. He would claw his way back to you with blood in his mouth and broken hands if he had to.

He pressed the photo to his forehead, breathing you in like a prayer.

"I’m coming home to you, doll," he whispered fiercely, voice shaking. "I swear it."

For the first time since waking, the fire lit inside him — battered, but not broken.

And he would not break.

Not when you were still out there holding pieces of his heart in your hands.

(Cramped handwriting, smudged in places where the ink bled from his unsteady hand)

Doll,

I don’t know if you’ll ever see this.

I don’t even know where you are right now.

Maybe you’re back home, keeping that tiny apartment together with the sheer stubbornness you’ve always had. Maybe you’re with Howard Stark and his fancy machines, rolling your eyes every time he flirts because you know he ain’t got a chance in hell.

Maybe you’re somewhere else entirely.

But no matter where you are, I need you to know something.

I’m still me. I’m still yours. I didn’t leave you, not by choice.

The was has taken a lot from me. Took pieces I don't think I'll ever get back. But what they couldn’t touch — what they never even came close to breaking — was you. The thought of you.

The way you laugh even when you’re mad. The way your hand always found mine without looking. The way you made me and Steve believe we were something better, something worth fighting for, even when the whole damn world said we weren’t.

You are still my light in all this darkness.

And I swear to you, no matter how much dirt they throw over me, no matter how deep they try to bury me, I’ll keep digging my way back to you.

I see Steve now — taller, stronger, shinier than he’s ever been. And I’m proud of him, I am. But sometimes I look at him and it feels like we all grew up when I wasn’t looking. Like I blinked and everything we had shifted under my feet.

I’m scared, doll.

Scared that when I finally make it home to you, you’ll be standing on the other side of some line I can’t cross anymore.

Scared that maybe I'm not enough after what they did to me.

But God, even if I’m not enough, even if I’m a broken man walking home on bloody feet — I’ll still walk. For you.

I love you.

I love you and Steve more than I know how to say.

You’re my whole damn heart. Always have been. Always will be.

Wait for me if you can. If you can’t... Just know you were the last thing I thought of before I fell asleep and the first thing I’ll be chasing when I wake up.

Yours, Always, — Buck

Bucky wakes up with a start,  the sheets next to him cold and empty.

For a second,  disoriented,  he thinks maybe you just went to the bathroom,  or down to the kitchen for coffee. But then he sees the note on your pillow,  folded neatly,  your handwriting staring back at him.

Bucky swings his legs over the side of the bed,  the cold floor grounding him for a second. He grabs his jacket,  sliding it over the worn henley he slept in. He glances once more at your note,  folding it carefully and slipping it into his pocket like a talisman.

He doesn't know exactly what he's going to say to Steve.

Doesn’t know if it will even matter.

But for you, for the family they almost destroyed, he has to try.

Because you deserve to know that Steve never stopped loving you.

And maybe, just maybe,   if Bucky can help mend this broken bridge,  you’ll believe it too.

his heart drops into his stomach before he even reads it.

The words are simple,  but he knows you too well ,   knows the way you hide your pain in the spaces between your sentences.

He sits there for a long time,  just staring at the paper in his hand.

He knows you’re hurting. Knows you needed space. But still,  the thought of you out there alone ,   carrying all that weight ,   it guts him.

Because he remembers. He knows better than anyone how Hydra didn’t just hurt you physically ,   they carved into your mind. Planted doubts like landmines that you're still stepping on,  even now.

He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes,  breathing slow,  trying to keep the panic from overtaking him.

You’re strong,  he reminds himself. You’re strong,  and you know how to ask for help now. You’re going to be okay.

But it doesn't stop the ache. Doesn’t stop the part of him that feels like he failed you again.

Because all he’s ever wanted ,   all he’s ever wanted ,   was for you to feel safe.

And last night,  when you broke apart in his arms,  he saw how deep the scars still run.

Bucky leans back against the headboard,  staring up at the ceiling,  and the helplessness curdles into something else. Something sharper. Something decisive.

This isn't just about you.

This is about Steve.

This is about the wedge Hydra drove between all three of you ,   and how it's still there,  festering like an old wound that never healed right.

He can't sit here anymore. He can't keep pretending it’ll fix itself.

It’s time to talk to him.

Really talk. No walls. No shields. No half-truths.

Bucky swings his legs over the side of the bed,  the cold floor grounding him for a second. He glances once more at your note,  folding it carefully and slipping it into his pocket like a talisman.

He doesn't know exactly what he's going to say to Steve.

Doesn’t know if it will even matter.

But for you,   for the family they almost destroyed,   he has to try.

Because you deserve to know that Steve never stopped loving you.

And maybe,   just maybe,   if Bucky can help mend this broken bridge,  you’ll believe it too.

Brooklyn, 1944You're on your knees in Howard Stark’s cluttered storage room, surrounded by half-taped crates stamped with PROPERTY OF STRATEGIC SCIENTIFIC RESERVE when you find it.

The letter.

Folded, worn at the edges, stained with something dark that might be mud. Or blood.

It falls out of a half-empty duffel bag Howard had tossed aside, the one he kept refusing to let you help him with. He must not have known it was even there.

You stare at it for a second, heart hammering so loud you can't hear the rain anymore.

The envelope just says your name. Nothing else. Just your name in a hand you’d know in your sleep.

Your hands shake so badly you almost rip it trying to open it.

You read it once. Twice. Three times. Your chest caves a little more each time.

And then you’re sitting there, crumpled on the dusty floor, pressing the letter to your chest like if you squeeze it tight enough, it'll somehow pull him back to you.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until the tears start soaking the page.

Howard finds you there eventually. He doesn’t say anything at first — just watches you with a kind of awkward pity he rarely lets anyone see.

You hear him clear his throat after a minute.

“I... I didn’t know it was in there,” he says. His voice is softer than usual. Stripped of the usual cocky tilt.

You scrub at your face furiously, embarrassed. "I know."

You stand, your knees aching, your whole body feeling brittle, stretched thin by months of fear and exhaustion and loneliness you haven’t let yourself name.

"I'll finish packing up the rest," you say roughly, tucking Bucky’s letter into the inside pocket of your worn jacket, right over your heart. You don't wait for Howard to argue.

You can't afford to cry anymore today.

You move like a ghost for the rest of the afternoon, stacking boxes, checking lists, triple-checking inventory Howard doesn’t even pretend to care about. He leaves you mostly alone.

Every once in a while, you catch him watching you. Like he wants to say something but thinks better of it.

Good. You don’t want apologies or pity or half-hearted promises that it'll be okay.

You already know better.

You know Steve’s not coming home the way he left. You know Bucky might not come home at all. You know that wherever they are, Peggy Carter is right in the middle of it — shiny boots and sharper smiles and perfect timing.

And you — You’re stuck here, a shadow of a life you built with them, trying to keep it from crumbling while the pieces slip through your fingers.

You miss them so much it aches.

But Bucky's letter — That raw, bleeding thing you keep tucked against your heart — It reminds you why you're still standing.

Because somewhere out there, he's still fighting his way back to you. And you made him a promise. You'll be here when he does.

No matter how long it takes. No matter how much it hurts.

You will be here.

For him. For Steve. For the family you built out of scraps and stubborn hope.

Barnes Household — Early Morning, 1944

The world outside is still and gray when Winnie finds you.

You’re slumped over the kitchen table, head resting on your folded arms, a cold cup of coffee by your elbow and the soft, worn letter clutched tightly in your hand like a lifeline.

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there in the doorway, her robe pulled tight around her thin frame, her hair mussed from sleep. There's a sadness in her eyes that cuts deeper than anything you've seen yet — that quiet, helpless sadness of a mother who’s already lost too much and fears losing more.

She crosses the kitchen soundlessly, slippers scuffing the floor. The kettle rattles gently as she sets it on the stove, but she doesn’t reach for you, not yet.

She knows better.

You sniffle quietly into your sleeve.

You hadn't meant to fall asleep here.You hadn’t meant to fall apart at all.

When the tea is steeped and the soft clink of the cup hitting the table wakes you fully, you finally lift your head.

Winnie slides a warm mug into your hands without a word. She sits down across from you, folding her hands neatly on the table, like you’re just two friends catching up and not two broken souls trying to pretend the world isn't falling apart.

For a while, it’s just the two of you breathing in the early morning hush.

Then — so gently you almost miss it — she speaks.

“You don’t have to be so strong all the time, sweetheart.”

Your throat closes up. You blink hard, but the tears are already spilling over, slow and silent.

Winnie reaches across the table and cups your face in her hand, thumb brushing over your cheek in that soft, maternal way that you barely remember from your own childhood.

"I know you're scared," she says, voice thick but steady. "I'm scared too. Every day." She smiles, small and trembling. "I miss my boy so much it hurts."

A broken sound escapes you — somewhere between a sob and a laugh.

You lean into her touch, your hands shaking around the tea cup.

“I’m trying,” you whisper, voice cracking. "I'm trying to hold everything together. For you. For the girls. For Steve. For Bucky. But I don't— I don't know if I can do it anymore."

Winnie scoots her chair closer until she can pull you into her arms.

You go willingly, burying your face in her shoulder like you used to when you were small and scared of thunderstorms.

She rocks you gently, humming some old lullaby under her breath, smoothing your hair back from your forehead like you’re still her kid too.

"You don't have to hold it all by yourself," she murmurs. "We’re family, darling. We share the weight."

You cling to her tighter, your chest heaving with all the grief and fear and love you’ve been carrying alone for so long.

And for the first time in months, you let someone else help hold you up.

Even if it’s just for a little while.

Later That Afternoon — Barnes Kitchen

The house smells like cinnamon and brown sugar, the kitchen windows cracked open to let the cool spring air breeze in. You and Winnie stand side by side at the counter, dusted in flour, rolling dough between your palms.

It’s a rare, quiet moment. The kind you didn't realize you missed until you were living here — tucked into this tiny, noisy, love-soaked house like you belonged.

Winnie hums under her breath, a song you don't quite know, while you arrange neat rows of cookies on a battered old baking sheet.

"Did I ever tell you," she says, voice light, "about the time Bucky tried to make me a birthday cake all by himself?"

You glance over, smiling already.

"It was the middle of summer," she goes on, her eyes crinkling fondly. "So hot the butter was melting right outta the fridge. He was just a little thing — maybe eight — but he wanted to do it all without my help."

You can picture it easily — a scrawny little Bucky, determined and stubborn and proud.

"He mixed everything in a cereal bowl 'cause he couldn't find the big one," Winnie chuckles. "Forgot the sugar entirely. Burnt it black as coal. I ate every bite with a smile on my face."

You laugh, wiping your hands on a dish towel.

"Sounds about right," you say, heart tugging sweetly at the memory.

Winnie watches you for a long, soft moment. Then she reaches over and squeezes your wrist, grounding you.

"I need you to know something," she says, voice low and steady. You look up, startled by the seriousness in her tone.

"I don’t know what we would've done without you." She squeezes your wrist again, as if to make sure you’re really listening. "Moving in here. Helping with the bills. Helping me keep the girls' spirits up. Working yourself half to death... You've been a blessing, sweetheart. To all of us."

Your chest aches with how earnestly she means it. How much it matters to her — even if you thought it was just what you had to do.

"I’m just... I’m just doing what Bucky would want," you say, voice rough. "What Steve would want."

"No," Winnie corrects gently. "You’re doing what you want. Because you love them. And you love us. And don't you ever let yourself forget that."

You duck your head, blinking fast as the tears sting again.

Winnie leans over and presses a kiss to your temple, motherly and fierce.

"You're family," she whispers. "Always."

You nod into her shoulder, breathing in the smell of cinnamon and warm linen and something so achingly safe it makes you want to cry all over again.

For the first time in a long while, you let yourself believe it.

The elevator ride feels endless. Bucky watches the numbers climb,  heart pounding hard enough he swears he can hear it echoing in the tiny space.

He hasn’t seen Steve in a few days ,   not really.

And now,  standing in front of Steve’s old door,  he hesitates. His fist hovers midair,  knuckles trembling.

Come on,  Buck. For them. For her.

He knocks once,  sharp and quick. There’s a pause. Then the door opens,  and Steve's standing there,  tired,  wary,  older somehow.

They stare at each other for a beat too long. Neither speaking. Neither knowing where to start.

Finally,  Bucky shoves his hands deep into his jacket pockets and mutters,  “We need to talk.”

Steve steps aside silently,  letting him in.

The room is neat,  Spartan,   everything in its place. Just like Steve. Everything always in its place,  even when the world’s falling apart.

Bucky paces once,  then turns to face him.

He doesn’t know how to sugarcoat it. Doesn’t want to.

“She's gone, ” Bucky says bluntly. “Left a note. Shes at an emergency therapy meeting.”

Steve’s jaw tightens,  but he doesn’t say anything. Just crosses his arms over his chest like he's bracing for impact.

“She’s not okay,  Steve, ” Bucky presses,  voice rising with the swell of emotion he’s been choking down all morning. “And it’s not just ‘cause of Hydra. It’s not just because of what they did to her body,   it’s what they did to her mind.”

Steve finally speaks,  quiet but steady. “I know they hurt her.”

“No.” Bucky shakes his head,  stepping closer. “You think you know. But you don’t. You don’t understand the way they twist you up inside.”

He sees Steve flinch,  just slightly,  but he barrels on.

“She’s not that girl anymore,  Stevie, ” Bucky says,  voice cracking. “She’s not the one who could walk into a room with her head high and her heart open. She’s not the one who would come running to you first whenever something was wrong. They beat that out of her. They ripped it out of her. And now?”

He swallows hard.

“Now she’s standing in front of you with her hands shaking and her heart breaking,  and you’re just,  ” he gestures helplessly,  “you’re waiting for her to fix it. Like she always has.”

Steve's face tightens,  pain flickering in his eyes.

Bucky steps closer still,  dropping his voice low,  almost pleading.

“She doesn’t know how to reach for you anymore,  Stevie. She’s scared you don’t want her. That you couldn’t want her after what they made her do.”

Steve’s breath catches audibly,  and Bucky knows the words hit their mark.

“She thinks she’s ruined, ” Bucky says,  voice fierce now. “She thinks you see the blood on her hands before you see her. And no matter how many times I tell her she’s wrong,  it’s not enough.”

He draws a shuddering breath.

“She needs you to come to her. You. Not just me,  not anyone else.”

He rubs a hand down his face,  suddenly exhausted.

“Every day you wait,  you’re losing her a little more. And if you don’t move now,   if you don’t show her that she’s still yours,  that you still love her,  no matter what,   you’re gonna wake up one day and realize she’s too far gone to reach. Because at this point she truly believes that you wont love her.. Dont love her anymore.”

The room is suffocatingly quiet.

Steve sinks down into the armchair by the window,  burying his face in his hands.

For a long time,  neither of them speaks.

Then finally,  brokenly,  Steve says,  “I didn’t know. I just... I didn’t know how bad it was. I thought she was just clinging to you because you understood.”

Bucky’s heart aches at the raw guilt in his voice,  but he doesn’t let up.

“You weren’t supposed to know, ” he says gently. “She didn’t want you to see how much she was hurting. She didn’t want you to look at her different.”

Steve looks up at him,  eyes red-rimmed.

“I could never look at her differently, ” he says,  voice thick. “She’s... she’s everything.”

Bucky crouches down in front of him,  grabbing his shoulder.

“Then you need to prove it,  Steve, ” he says. “Not with words. Not with speeches. With action.”

He squeezes once,  hard.

“You need to go to her. Before she convinces herself it’s too late.”

Steve nods,  once,  shaky but determined. “Today,  as soon as shes back.”

And Bucky finally lets himself breathe.

Because for the first time in what feels like forever,  there’s a sliver of hope cracking through the darkness.

Somewhere in London, 1944 — Behind the Bar

The night air is cold and wet, the cobblestones slick underfoot. A low fog rolls between the narrow alley walls, swallowing the sounds of the city until it feels like just the two of them in the world — Steve and Bucky — standing in the dim halo of the bar’s back light.

Bucky’s hands are jammed deep in his coat pockets, shoulders hunched like he’s trying to make himself smaller. Steve’s standing in front of him, arms crossed, jaw tight.

"Buck," Steve says, voice low, careful. "You gonna tell me what’s going on, or am I supposed to keep pretending you don’t hate me now?"

Bucky flinches, just a little. "I don’t hate you," he mutters, eyes darting away. "Don't be stupid."

"Then what is it?" Steve pushes, stepping closer, just close enough to be suspicious if someone walked by. His voice breaks, just a little. "Talk to me."

The words hang there, heavy. Bucky’s breathing hard like he’s been punched. For a minute, it looks like he won’t answer. Like he’ll just turn and disappear into the dark.

But then, Bucky rips a hand out of his pocket, scrubbing it through his hair in a rough, frustrated gesture. And when he speaks, his voice sounds like it’s been scraped raw.

"I don’t know who I’m supposed to be anymore," he says. "I don’t know what we are anymore."

Steve’s face twists, hurt flashing across it, quick and sharp. "You’re my best friend," Steve says hoarsely. "You're my family. You're—"

"—Yeah, sure," Bucky cuts him off, laughing hollowly. "Until she calls for you."

Steve goes rigid.

"You think I don’t see it?" Bucky goes on, voice rising despite himself. "The way you look at her? The way you listen when she talks?"

He’s breathing hard now, almost shaking. And the words keep spilling out, years and years of fear and doubt and love clashing all at once.

"Back home, it was different," Bucky says, softer now, almost pleading. "It was us. Even when we were dead broke, even when you could barely stand on your feet — you chose us."

Steve’s hands clench at his sides.

"But here?" Bucky’s eyes shine, and not from the rain. "Here, you’re Captain goddamn America. And I’m just... some guy you used to know."

Silence.

The only sound is the distant hum of music spilling from the bar door, muffled and wrong.

"Buck," Steve says, stepping closer, reaching out — but Bucky flinches away like he’s been burned.

"You don’t get it," Bucky whispers, voice cracking wide open. "I spent years thinking I was the one who wasn't good enough for you. I thought — someday — you’d both wake up and realize you deserved better."

Steve’s chest is heaving now too, guilt and heartbreak carved deep into every line of his face.

"And now," Bucky says, blinking hard, a single tear slipping free, "I’m just waiting for you to choose her. Choose... a life that doesn’t have to be hidden away in the dark. A life where you don’t have to pretend you don’t love who you love."

Steve doesn’t say anything for a long, shattering moment. Just stares at Bucky like he’s trying to memorize him. Like he’s realizing, for the first time, how broken he really is inside.

Then, finally, Steve moves.

He grabs Bucky’s face between his hands, rough and desperate.

"Don’t you ever think," Steve says, fierce and shaking, "that there is a world where I would ever leave you. Or her. Ever."

Bucky’s mouth wobbles, and he hates himself for it.

"You say that now," he whispers. "But what happens when the world finally sees you the way they do now? Captain America. America's golden boy. And me — just some nobody who’s too afraid to even touch you in public."

Steve presses his forehead to Bucky’s, breathing ragged.

"I don't care what the world sees," he chokes. "I care about us. About you. About her. That’s all that matters."

And then — without thinking, without hesitating — Steve kisses him.

It’s not careful. It’s not sweet. It’s desperate. Fierce. Terrified.

Because Steve knows — really knows — that if he doesn’t, if he lets this moment pass, he might lose Bucky forever. Might lose the only thing that ever really mattered.

Bucky stiffens in shock — just for a second — before his hands are fists in Steve’s coat, dragging him closer like he’s drowning.

They break apart panting, staring at each other with wide, panicked eyes.

Steve knows exactly what he’s done. Knows if anyone saw — if anyone heard — they’d both be court-martialed, maybe worse.

But looking at Bucky now — seeing the wreckage of him, and the tiny flicker of hope buried deep behind the fear — Steve knows he would do it again a thousand times over.

"I’m not going anywhere," Steve says again, voice breaking completely.

Bucky leans his forehead against Steve’s, eyes squeezed shut. Neither of them dares move. Neither of them dares breathe too loud.

For a moment, all the war, all the terror, all the hiding — it falls away.

And it’s just them.

Two boys who just want to go home.

Late 1944

The knock on the door comes late. Too late for any good news.

You’re still half in your uniform from working with Howard’s team, still smelling faintly of machine oil and dust. You almost don’t hear it over the clatter of rain against the windows.

But something — something in your bones — tells you before you even open the door.

When you do, you find Steve standing there.

Not Captain America. Not the bright, shining symbol the world sees.

Just Steve. Small again, somehow. Smaller than he should be, even in that broad new body of his. Soaking wet. Hat crumpled in one hand. Eyes bloodshot and rimmed with a kind of hollow devastation you’ve never seen in him before.

You don’t say anything. Can’t.

He steps inside automatically, water pooling at his boots. He looks like he’s barely holding himself together, like one wrong move and he’ll shatter into a thousand pieces.

You’re already shaking when you close the door behind him.

"Steve?" you whisper.

He tries to speak — you see it. His mouth opens. But nothing comes out at first. Just a thick, broken sound that slices through the room like a knife.

You cross the space between you in two steps, hands reaching for him, desperate to fix it somehow — to make it better the way you always have.

But Steve catches your wrists halfway, like he needs to feel you to even get the words out.

"I’m so sorry," he croaks, and just like that, you know.

Your knees give out. Steve catches you, pulling you into his chest, crushing you against him like he can shield you from what he’s about to say.

"It was the train," he forces out, voice wrecked. "We were trying to get Zola — Bucky, he — he slipped."

You’re shaking your head violently, like if you deny it hard enough it won't be real. "No," you breathe. "No, no, no, Steve, no—"

Steve’s hands are fists in the back of your jacket now, his whole body trembling.

"I tried," he gasps. "I tried to catch him."

You’re sobbing now, ugly and raw and feral, clutching at him like he’s the only thing keeping you from falling into the void that’s opened under your feet.

Steve just holds you, holds you like he’s trying to hold together the pieces of both your hearts at once. He rocks you gently, forehead pressed to the top of your head, whispering apologies over and over again — like they could bring Bucky back if he just says them enough.

"I let him fall," Steve says, voice so soft you almost don't hear it.

"You didn’t," you rasp, even though you can barely breathe through the grief clawing up your throat. "I KNOW you didn’t."

Because somehow, even in this nightmare, you know the truth. If there was a world where Steve could have traded places with Bucky — he would have, without hesitation.

You sob harder, your body wracked with the kind of pain that feels like it might tear you in two.

And Steve — brave, stupid, broken Steve — just holds you tighter.

"I'm sorry," he whispers into your hair. "I'm so goddamn sorry."

You don't know how long you stand there. Minutes. Hours. Maybe years.

The rain beats against the windows like a war drum. And somewhere, deep in your chest, a part of you that once knew safety — that once knew home — finally shatters.

The sobs wrack your body in endless waves.

Steve doesn't say anything else. There's nothing left to say.

He just holds you, grounding you against the terrible, unrelenting grief that crashes into both of you like the tide.

You don't even realize how loud you are until you hear the soft creak of the stairs.

Winnie.

And Becca.

And little Sarah, barefoot and wide-eyed in the dark.

You hear the small gasp Winnie lets out when she sees you — sees Steve cradling you like a broken thing, sees the devastation in both your faces.

She knows.

Of course she knows.

A mother's heart can feel it before a word is ever spoken.

You turn, still clinging to Steve, your eyes meeting Winnie's across the dim hallway.

There’s a split second of silence.

And then Winnie's hand comes to her mouth, and a small, shattering noise escapes her — a wounded, helpless sound — and her knees buckle.

Becca catches her before she falls, both of them crumpling onto the bottom step.

Sarah just stands there frozen, silent tears spilling down her cheeks.

You try to move, to go to them, but your legs won't work.

Steve gently helps you to the couch instead, his hands careful and trembling. He stays close, like he knows if he moves more than an inch away you might come apart completely.

Winnie pulls herself up after a moment, crossing the space between you all and gathering you into her arms like she did when you were a child. "Oh, my girl," she whispers, her voice cracked and soaked in grief. "My poor, sweet girl."

You cling to her, and now it's Steve’s turn to crumble, his head bowing low, shoulders heaving as he tries and fails to hold it together. Winnie reaches out with her other hand and cups Steve’s cheek, thumb brushing a tear away like he's one of her own — because he is.

"You couldn't have stopped it," she murmurs to him, voice fierce even through the tears. "Neither of you could have."

Steve makes a wrecked sound in the back of his throat, and when Winnie pulls him into the embrace too, he doesn't resist.

He folds into it like he's needed it for years.

The five of you sit there in the dim, rain-soaked house, locked in a tangle of grief and love and loss that feels endless.

Eventually Winnie gets up, gathering the girls with her — but not before pressing a kiss to your forehead and Steve’s, whispering: "Stay as long as you need."

You don't even make it to the bedroom. You and Steve end up curled on the battered old couch, wrapped around each other like a lifeline.

Neither of you really sleeps.

Not really.

You drift in and out of restless, broken dreams, waking again and again to the sound of each other's breathing, the too-quiet house, the storm still raging outside.

At one point, in the gray hours before dawn, Steve reaches for your hand under the blanket. You lace your fingers through his without a word.

The two of you lie there in the heavy silence, two hearts trying to survive the impossible weight of the boy you both loved — still love — and who should have been there beside you.

The house is too still when you finally stir awake.

At first, you don’t even remember where you are. Everything aches — your heart most of all — and for a moment, in the fuzzy haze of waking, you almost expect to hear Steve's soft breathing beside you. But when you reach out blindly, the space is cold.

Your chest tightens painfully.

You sit up slowly, the blanket sliding to the floor. It’s still dark out, just the faintest gray light leaking in through the threadbare curtains.

On the battered coffee table sits a folded piece of paper.

You recognize Steve’s handwriting instantly.

With trembling fingers, you pick it up.

My girl, I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up. There’s something I have to do. Something I owe him. I have to end this, once and for all. You — you are everything to me. Nothing else matters anymore. Not the shield, not the war, not the world. Just you. I can’t wait to come home. To build a home. A life with you like we always talked about. I’m sorry for ever making you doubt how badly I wanted that. How badly I still do. I love you more than anything. Wait for me. - Steve

The paper flutters from your fingers, landing softly on the floor.

You sit there, staring at nothing, numb.

You should believe him.

You want to believe him.

But somewhere, deep in the hollow, broken part of your heart, you feel it — the same cold certainty that had settled there the moment Steve showed up with Bucky’s dog tags in his hand.

He’s not coming back.

Not to you.

Not to Brooklyn.

Not to the life you were supposed to have.

You press your hand to your mouth, trying to muffle the sob that tears itself free.

It’s a struggle just to stand — your knees feel like they might buckle under you — but you manage somehow to drag yourself upstairs, into the bedroom you haven’t slept in since Bucky’s letter came. His old room.

You fall onto the bed face first, the scent of home — of Bucky, of Steve, of a life that’s slipping through your fingers — flooding your senses.

You clutch the pillow to your chest, curl in on yourself as tightly as you can.

And you cry yourself back to sleep.

The plane rattles violently around him, the ice below gleaming sharp and endless.

Steve's hands are steady on the controls, even as everything inside him splinters apart.

His heart is pounding, but not from fear. Not from the fact that he's about to die. No — he's thinking about you.

God, he thinks, I’m so sorry.

Your face flashes in his mind — that smile that could light up the damn world, the way your nose crinkled when you laughed too hard. He sees Bucky too — Bucky throwing an arm around you, laughing that wide, boyish laugh that always made Steve feel like everything might actually be okay.

He blinks hard.

The picture taped to the console shakes loose with the impact of another explosion tearing through the belly of the ship. It flutters down and lands against his thigh.

Not Peggy.

You.

It’s always been you.

Your hair messy from the wind, laughing at something he’d said, that soft look you only ever gave to him and Bucky. Home.

The radio crackles.

It’s Howard.

“Cap? Cap, you copy? You don’t have to do this — we’re working on a way to—”

Steve’s voice is calm when he cuts him off, though it tears him apart to say the words.

“Howard… look after them. Please. The Barnes family. And her.”

He swallows, the burning behind his eyes nearly blinding. He forces the words out anyway. “They’re… they’re all that matters.”

The static buzzes back at him.

Steve smiles faintly, a twisted, broken thing.

He angles the plane down, feels the engines screaming against the strain. The ice is rushing up at him now, blinding white and infinite.

He could almost see you there, standing with Bucky at your side, waving him home.

And then — A stab of guilt. A memory.

The hangar. Peggy's lips on his. How he hadn’t wanted it — not really — but hadn’t pulled away fast enough. Because some part of him, selfish and terrified and alone, hadn’t wanted to die without someone.

Now the taste of a stranger was going to be the last thing he ever knew.

Not you. Not Bucky.

Not home.

A single tear slipped free and froze against his cheek as he braced for impact.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered — not to Howard, not to Peggy — but to you.

The last thing Steve Rogers remembered was the memory of your laughter, tangled with Bucky's, warm and sweet and safe.

And then the ice swallowed him whole.

You don't even bother with the elevator. You take the stairs two at a time,  your lungs burning,  your legs screaming — you don’t care. You just need to find him. Need to see him. Need to know.

When you push open the door to your floor,  you almost run straight into him.

Steve.

He's standing there,  breathing hard like he’s been looking for you too. His eyes — God,  his eyes — they’re wide and desperate and broken in a way you haven’t seen since the day the world fell apart.

For a long moment,  you just stare at each other. Neither moving. Neither speaking. The air between you thick enough to drown in.

Finally,  Steve breaks first.

"Come with me, " he says,  voice hoarse. "Somewhere private?"

You nod wordlessly,  throat too tight to speak.

He leads you to the rooftop garden — the one you always loved but stopped visiting when it became too hard to breathe under open skies.

You blink in surprise when you see Bucky already sitting there,  waiting quietly on a bench.

He catches your eye and gives you a soft,  almost broken smile. It’s his way of saying I’m here. I’ve got you.

Steve looks at him,  then back at you.

"You good if he stays?" he asks,  voice low.

You glance at Bucky again. The silent steadiness of him. The way he always feels like solid ground.

You nod again.

So you all sit — you and Steve on the low stone wall that rings the garden,  Bucky a few feet away but close enough if you needed him.

It’s Steve who speaks first.

"I owe you everything, " he says,  voice cracking on the words. "I owe you my life a hundred times over,  and I didn’t even see you were slipping away."

You flinch,  and he sees it — he feels it — but he presses on.

"You were always the strong one. Always the one who held us together even when the world didn’t make sense. And I let that make me blind."

You look down at your hands — at the scars there,  old and new — and try to find your voice.

"You weren’t blind, " you whisper. "You just saw someone who doesn’t exist anymore."

Steve turns toward you sharply.

"That’s not true, " he says fiercely. "You’re still you."

You shake your head,  blinking back the burn of tears.

"I’m not, " you say,  voice shaking. "You don’t know what they did to me, Steve. You don’t know how they... broke me. How they rewired everything in my head until all I could hear was their voices."

You draw a shaky breath.

"They made me believe you would hate me. That you’d look at me and see a murderer. A weapon. Not someone worth saving."

Steve’s whole body recoils like you physically struck him.

"I could never hate you, " he says,  voice rough. "Never."

"But you didn’t come for me, " you say,  the words slipping out before you can stop them. "When I needed you most... I was screaming inside,  Steve. And you didn’t hear me."

The tears finally fall then — hot and angry and raw.

And Steve looks like he’s barely holding himself together.

"I didn’t know how to, " he says,  voice cracking wide open. "I thought... I thought you were okay. You’re so good at pretending. You’re so damn good at carrying it all and making it look easy. And I let myself believe that. Because it was easier than facing how much pain you were really in. Thats MY fault, sweetheart, not yours.”

You hug yourself,  arms tight around your body like you’re trying to hold yourself together.

"I thought if I was strong enough, " you whisper,  "you wouldn’t leave."

Steve moves closer — so close you can feel the heat of him — but he doesn’t touch you. Not yet.

"You could never lose me, " he says,  brokenly. "Not for anything you’ve done. Not for anything they made you do. You’re mine. You’ve always been mine."

You look at him then,  really look at him.

See the tears standing in his eyes. The way his hands are trembling where they’re clenched on his knees.

"I’m not clean anymore, " you say. "I’m not good. Not like you."

And that’s when Steve finally reaches out — slow,  deliberate — and takes your hands in his.

Your battered,  scarred,  trembling hands.

"You think I’m good?" he says,  voice wrecked. "You think I’m clean?"

He laughs — a short,  bitter sound.

"I’ve done things I’ll never forgive myself for. Things I’ll never tell anyone. You know that. You know me."

You shake your head,  but he leans closer,  forcing you to see the raw honesty on his face.

"If you’re ruined, " he says,  "then so am I. And I’m not letting you go. Not because of the lies they forced into your head. Not because of what they made you do."

His grip tightens.

"I love you, " he says,  voice steady now,  fierce with truth. "I love you. The real you. The you sitting right here,  right now. Blood,  scars,  pain — all of it. You’re mine. And I’m yours. If you’ll still have me."

You let out a broken sob,  and Steve finally pulls you into his arms.

You bury your face in his chest,  fists clutching his shirt like you’ll drown if you let go.

He holds you so tightly you wonder if he’s afraid you’ll slip away again.

You feel Bucky come over,  sitting beside you,  one hand resting solid and warm on your back.

The three of you — broken and bruised — but still here. Still fighting.

Still together.

You knew. Long before the knock on the door. Long before Winnie’s soft, worried voice called up the stairs.

You knew the moment the world shifted beneath you — like the ground had cracked open and swallowed the sun whole.

You were sitting on your bed, staring blankly at the crumpled letter Steve had left you — the one you kept rereading even though the words blurred now, soaked and stained from your tears. The one where he promised to come back.

He promised.

The knock sounded again, louder this time, and something deep inside you splintered.

You heard Winnie’s voice again, closer now. Hushed. Frantic. And then the footsteps — heavy boots on hardwood.

You couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

The door creaked open, slow and hesitant.

"Sweetheart," Winnie said softly, and then stopped like the words wouldn't come.

Behind her — Howard Stark.

But he wasn’t grinning like he usually did, that stupid cocky tilt to his mouth.

No — he looked broken.

His hands were trembling as he pulled off his hat, wringing it between his fingers like he could strangle the grief out of it.

He stepped into the room like he was stepping onto sacred ground. Like he was afraid he'd shatter you just by breathing wrong.

"Hey, kid," he said, voice cracking like he hadn't meant it to.

You didn’t answer. You just stared at him — at the misery carved into his face — and everything inside you knew.

Howard's mouth opened once. Twice.

Nothing came out.

He finally crossed the room and dropped down to his knees in front of you, still clutching that stupid hat like a lifeline.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Your whole body locked up. Froze like you could hold this moment back if you just didn't move. If you just didn't hear it.

"I'm so, so sorry, kiddo. He— Steve— he went down with the plane. There—there was nothing we could do. He saved everyone. He— he saved thousands."

You blinked at him. The words didn't make sense. They were just noise — a buzzing in your ears, a pounding in your skull.

"No," you said, and it barely sounded human. "No, no— no, you’re wrong, he promised—he said—"

Your hands were fists in the bedsheets now, clutching so tightly your knuckles went white.

Howard was crying openly now, fat tears streaking down his face as he reached for you, but you pulled away, stumbling back like he'd struck you.

"You're lying," you gasped, but even as you said it, your voice broke down the center.

Winnie was crying too, you realized distantly — muffled sobs against the doorframe as she pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to stay quiet for your sake.

The girls were there too, hovering behind her. You could hear their tiny, choked whimpers.

It hit you all at once. The crushing, unbearable weight of it.

Steve was gone.

Steve, who kissed the top of your head and called you "trouble" with a smile. Steve, who held your hand when the world got too cruel. Steve, who looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

Gone.

The sob tore out of you so violently you almost didn’t recognize it as yours. You collapsed forward, fingers clawing at the empty space where he should have been.

Howard caught you before you hit the floor, wrapping you up against him like he could somehow shield you from it. You didn’t fight him this time. You couldn't.

You screamed. You screamed into his chest until your throat was raw and the sound turned into broken, gasping sobs.

You hit at his arms, his shoulders, hating him for saying it, for making it real — and he just held you tighter, rocking you back and forth like you were a child.

"I'm sorry," he kept whispering. "I'm so goddamn sorry."

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that. Minutes. Hours. Maybe days. Time didn’t exist anymore. Only the hole in your chest where Steve had lived.

At some point, you felt Winnie sit beside you, her arms wrapping around both you and Howard, her own tears soaking through your sweater.

The girls crawled into the bed too, curling against you like they could keep you anchored here. You let them.

You let them because you had nothing left to give. Nothing left to fight with.

You cried until your body gave out, and then you just lay there, empty.

A ghost in your own skin.

Howard stayed the whole night, sitting on the floor by your bed, keeping vigil like he could somehow protect what little pieces of you remained.

And in the shattered darkness of your mind, one final thought echoed:

I should have told him one more time how much I loved him. I should have held on tighter. I should have—

But it was too late.

And the world would never be the same again.

The funeral was small. Intimate. Painfully quiet.

Howard spared no expense, of course. He insisted. Two marble headstones, side by side — Captain Steven Grant Rogers and Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes — names carved into the stone as if somehow that could make it feel real.

You didn’t cry at the funeral. You couldn’t. You were numb. Frozen inside, like your body knew if it let go even for a second, you’d shatter into a thousand pieces too small to ever put back together.

Winnie wept openly, her shoulders shaking as she clutched the folded flag they handed her, and you held her hand so tightly your knuckles ached. The girls stood on either side of you, clinging to your arms, their tear-streaked faces turned toward the graves like they still didn’t believe it either.

Howard stood off to the side, solemn and silent, his hat pressed against his chest. He didn’t say a word — just watched you with those sharp, knowing eyes.

As the final words were spoken, you stepped forward, laying a small bouquet between their graves — lilies and white roses, the flowers Steve once said reminded him of home. You pressed your palm to the cool stone and whispered, so softly only the wind could hear:

"I love you both. I'll keep going. I'll make you proud. I swear it."

And then you turned and walked away because if you stayed one second longer, you weren’t sure you’d ever move again.

Life didn’t stop because you broke.

You went back to school, dragging yourself to classes on trembling legs, your brain sluggish and slow from the weight of grief. You worked at the labs with Howard, throwing yourself into research and experiments, helping him build what felt like impossible dreams because at least when you were elbow-deep in blueprints and formulas, you didn’t have to feel.

You bought a house — a sweet place with creaking floors and a wide front porch. You moved Winnie and the girls in with you because there was no way in hell you were leaving them alone, not after everything.

Between the money the government gave you for Steve's service — and Bucky’s to his mother— and the steady work with Howard, things were… okay.

On paper.

You paid the bills. You kept good food on the table. You went through the motions.

But inside, you were still dying. A little more each day.

The bed you slept in was too big and too cold. The nights were endless stretches of staring at the ceiling, feeling the emptiness claw at your chest. The mornings were worse — waking up and remembering all over again that they were gone.

You stopped smiling. Stopped laughing.

Some days, you barely spoke at all.

Winnie worried. The girls worried. Howard knew.

He saw it — the way you moved like a ghost, your hands steady and precise at the lab bench but your eyes hollow and distant.

So he started working. Something reckless. Something desperate.

Something that could keep you from crumbling into dust.

The night he offered it to you, you were working late again, hunched over a table full of notes and half-assembled gadgets.

Howard set a glass of whiskey down in front of you and pulled up a chair, rubbing his hands over his face like he wasn’t sure how to even start.

"I’ve been working on something," he said, voice unusually soft. "I wasn't going to say anything yet but... I think you deserve the choice."

You blinked at him, too tired to muster more than a vague hum of acknowledgment.

He hesitated, then slid a thick file across the table toward you.

Inside — notes. Diagrams. Chemical compounds. A different kind of super soldier serum.

Not Erskine’s. Not the government's.

Howard's.

His hands trembled as he spoke: "I know it’s not what you need — nothing can fix… this," he said, glancing briefly toward the empty seat beside you. "But it could help you survive it. It could give you strength. Healing. Time. Whatever you decide."

He paused, meeting your eyes.

"You don’t have to be stuck in that pain forever, kid. I don’t want you to just survive. I want you to live."

You stared down at the file, the words blurring together as your throat closed up.

For the first time in months, you felt something stir inside you — something more than the endless ache.

Hope. Terror. Grief twisted into something sharp and desperate.

You didn’t know if you could live without them. But maybe... maybe you could try.

For them.

For the family still depending on you.

For yourself.

Your fingers tightened around the file.

And for the first time since that awful, hollow day — you let yourself believe that maybe — just maybe — this wasn’t the end of your story after all.

You did it. You went through with it.

Howard worked carefully, meticulously, hovering over you like a mother hen. The serum wasn’t dramatic like it had been for Steve — no explosive growth, no blinding light. It was subtle. Almost disappointing, in a way.

For days afterward, you didn’t feel anything except maybe... lighter. Stronger. Healthier in a way you hadn’t even realized you were missing.

The bruises from working long shifts in the lab vanished almost overnight. The ache in your joints — from long hours bent over blueprints and prototypes — disappeared.

You looked in the mirror and realized your eyes were clearer. Your skin brighter. Your body a little more... alive.

It took time, but the truth became undeniable: You were aging slower. Much, much slower.

Howard watched you carefully, taking notes, running quiet tests when he thought you weren't paying attention.

After a few years, he muttered it aloud one night, voice rough: "I can't tell if you've stopped aging completely... or if it's just so slow we'll never notice." He looked at you then — really looked — and you saw the guilt swimming behind his eyes.

You only smiled. A small, weary thing.

"Thank you, Howard," you whispered.

Because even if it meant you would outlive everyone you loved — you were grateful for the time it had bought you.

Time didn't stop.

You lived through Winnie’s passing — her soft, frail hands clutching yours, her final breath a whisper against your cheek.

You buried her next to Bucky’s empty grave, the cold winter air biting your skin as you knelt between the two stones, your heart breaking all over again.

You held Rebecca and Sarah through the funeral, their sobs wracking their tiny bodies, too young to understand the finality of death.

You stayed strong for them.

You always stayed strong for them.

Until Sarah got sick.

It started with a fever. Something small. Something treatable — it had to be.

But it wasn’t.

One night she was laughing in your arms, the next she was burning up, her tiny body shaking in your bed. You tried. God, you tried. You ran into the storm barefoot, carrying her through the streets, screaming for help. But it was too fast. Too ruthless.

By the time the doctor arrived, she was gone.

You buried her next to Winnie.

A small grave. So heartbreakingly small.

Years blurred into one another after that.

Rebecca grew into a young woman — fierce and stubborn, with Bucky’s fire and Winnie’s unwavering kindness. She called you her big sister half the time and her second mother the other.

And now — now she was packing. Boxes stacked by the door. Tears in her eyes even though she smiled.

Toddler Tony crawled across your worn living room floor, babbling happily, his chubby fingers clutching a wooden block.

You sat on the couch, arms wrapped around Rebecca as she leaned into you.

"I'm proud of you, Becky," you whispered against her hair, your voice breaking with the weight of it all. "I'm so, so proud of you."

She clutched you tighter, sobbing quietly.

"You always took care of us," she said through the tears. "I wouldn't be here without you."

You kissed her temple, holding her like you wished you could freeze time. But you couldn’t.

Life moved forward — with or without your permission.

And somewhere deep inside — under the grief and the scars — you knew Bucky and Steve would be proud too.

You were still standing. Still loving. Still living.

Even if every step forward hurt like hell.

You loved Tony like he was your own. Every giggle, every stumble, every babbled "Auntie" stitched tiny patches over the endless cracks inside your chest.

You loved Howard too — in a different way. He was your brother in arms, your stubborn, brilliant, pain-in-the-ass best friend. You were family, tied together by years of survival, grief, and the war that never really ended for either of you.

Life was good, in its strange, patchwork way.

But with Rebecca gone — thriving at university, sending letters every week, her world growing bigger and bigger — you felt something shift inside you. Something dark.

It was like you had completed the mission you'd given yourself all those years ago. Protect the Barnes family. Make sure they lived full, bright lives.

And you were... empty.

You smiled for Tony. You teased Howard. You baked pies for the neighbors, laughed at Maria’s jokes, held your chin up high like Winnie taught you.

But every night you sat by the window and stared out at the stars, your heart whispering the same prayer into the darkness:

Please. Let me go home.

You missed them. God, you missed them. It was a bone-deep, soul-crushing ache — a constant hum of loss under your skin.

You missed Steve’s stubborn smile. You missed Bucky’s wild laughter. You missed the way they looked at you — like you were home.

You tried. You tried so damn hard to stay strong.

But Howard saw it. And Maria — bless her — finally cornered him in the lab one afternoon, fire in her eyes.

"She's done everything she promised them she would," Maria hissed, voice low and sharp. "It's time."

Howard resisted. For days, he resisted.

Until he found you sitting on the porch one evening, Tony asleep against your shoulder, tears running silently down your cheeks.

Then he knew.

He took you out to dinner that Friday. The same shitty restaurant you used to sneak into during the war — back when ration stamps barely stretched and Howard bribed the owner with whiskey.

It hadn't changed. Same chipped tables. Same sticky floors. Same jukebox in the corner, warbling old jazz.

You picked at your food, sensing something heavy in the air.

Howard was fidgeting. Stirring his coffee over and over. Looking everywhere but at you.

"Just spit it out, Howie," you said finally, setting down your fork.

He smiled weakly — a shadow of his usual bravado — and leaned across the table.

"I have a new option for you," he said, voice rough.

You blinked.

"What kind of option?"

He took a deep breath. Hands trembling just slightly — not from fear, but from hope.

"I perfected it," he whispered. "The cryochamber. I've tested it. It works. I can put you under... safely. No aging. No damage."

You stared at him.

"And then what?" you croaked.

"Then you wait," Howard said softly. "You wait until we find Steve. Because I know I will. Until we bring you home."

The world tilted.

Tears flooded your eyes before you could stop them.

Howard reached across the table, grabbing your hand, squeezing hard.

"You don't have to keep breaking yourself just to survive, kid," he said, voice breaking. "You deserve to see them again. To be whole again."

You tried to speak — to thank him, to tell him you didn’t deserve it — but all that came out was a choked sob.

Howard just smiled. A sad, brotherly thing. "You’ve done enough."

And for the first time in years — hope flickered to life inside your chest.

You might be going home after all.

Rebecca sat across from you at the little kitchen table you’d all eaten a thousand meals at — her hands wrapped around a mug of cooling tea, her brown eyes glassy with emotion.

You hadn’t known how to start. You stumbled through it — your voice cracking as you explained Howard’s offer, what it meant, what you wanted.

You thought she'd beg you not to go.

Instead, Rebecca reached across the table and grabbed your hands tight, her fingers trembling in yours.

"I understand," she whispered, a tear rolling down her cheek. "I always knew... you were waiting for them."

You choked on a sob, lowering your head.

Rebecca squeezed harder. "You gave up everything for us," she said fiercely. "For me. You gave me a life when mine should have ended with that fever years ago. You loved me like I was yours."

You looked up, tears streaming now, and saw her trying to smile through her own.

"You don’t have to stay for me anymore," she said gently. "You’ve earned this. You deserve to go find them."

You broke then — leaning across the table, pulling her into a fierce, trembling hug.

"I'm so proud of you," you whispered into her hair. "You're everything they would have wanted you to be. Strong. Brave. Good."

Rebecca sniffled into your shoulder, holding you tighter.

"Howard’s gonna take care of you," you said thickly. "He’s made it all legal. You’ll have the house, the money. Everything. You won't be alone."

She laughed weakly, pulling back to swipe at her tears. "You think Tony’s gonna let me be alone?" she teased. The three year old was just as obsessed with her.

You smiled. A real one, for the first time in weeks.

Maybe even years.

The night before you left, you had dinner with the Starks.

It was a small, quiet affair — just you, Howard, Maria, and little Tony walking around, babbling nonsense to his toys.

Howard had cooked. (Well, burned some steaks, but it was the thought that counted.)

Maria poured you a glass of wine without asking, sitting close enough that her knee brushed yours.

There wasn’t much to say.

You talked about Tony. About Rebecca. About the project Maria was working on for Stark Industries.

You laughed when Tony tried to feed his mashed potatoes to the dog. You let the warmth of it — the normalcy — soak into your bones.

After Tony went to bed, Howard got serious.

He pulled out the small packet of documents — your will, your final instructions — and placed them gently in your hands.

"No one’s gonna forget you," he said quietly. "Not ever."

You couldn't speak. Could only nod as you blinked back tears.

Maria stood then, moving to sit beside you, wrapping her arms around you in a tight, unbreakable hug.

"We love you," she whispered into your hair. "You’re family. Always."

You clung to her like a drowning person — knowing this was goodbye in a way that no words could ever fix.

Howard didn’t say much else. Just squeezed your shoulder when you pulled away from Maria, his own eyes suspiciously red.

"We'll see you again, kid," he said. "I’ll make damn sure of it."

The cryochamber was nothing like you'd imagined. It was sleek, shining metal — warm under your fingers, not cold like you expected.

Howard had made it beautiful. Safe.

A cocoon. A promise.

You stepped inside in your softest clothes — one of Steve’s old shirts tucked under your arm, a photo of Bucky and Steve folded close to your heart.

Howard stood at the controls, face pale, hands shaking.

Maria stayed at your side until the very last second — brushing your hair back, kissing your forehead like you were her own child.

"Think of them," she said softly. 

You laid back. Took one final breath.

Your heart was thundering, your hands trembling — but your last thought before the chamber hissed closed around you was them.

Steve’s smile. Bucky’s laugh. Home.

And then — soft, sweet darkness.

For a long time,  you just stay there,  pressed between them — Steve’s arms locked tight around you,  Bucky’s steady hand grounding you like an anchor.

No one says anything. There’s nothing to say yet. Only the sound of your ragged breathing,  Steve’s whisper-soft murmurs against your hair,  Bucky’s thumb stroking slow circles into your back.

When you finally pull back a little,  Steve lets you go only enough to see your face.

You swipe at your wet cheeks,  embarrassed,  but Steve just cups your jaw,  thumb brushing over your skin like you're something precious.

"You don't have to tell me, " he says gently. "You don’t owe me anything."

But you do. You owe it to yourself.

You swallow hard and take a shuddering breath.

"I need to, " you whisper. "I can’t... I can’t carry it alone anymore."

Bucky leans in a little closer,  like he’s ready to catch you if you fall. Steve just nods,  wordless,  steady.

So you start to speak.

[abaker74]

protector - haymitch abernathy

masterlist

okay so i read sunrise on the reaping and it just sent me back to age 13 and i'm reobsessed with hunger games and also full well acknowledging that haymitch is low key sooo fine, but i had an idea for when he was a little bit younger and asked to do something for his favorite mentor.

-

you thought the hunger games was the worst the world could offer. you thought you were prepared. you thought you could survive. well, until you won.

haymitch knew that the capitol was the worst catch of the games. he knew what they did to other victors, and what they would've done to him. well, until they killed everyone he ever loved instead.

so when mags asked him to protect her granddaughter—you, the capitol's newest playtthing—by pretending to be in love with you, he agreed for one reason: he had nothing left to lose.

but you're not what he expected. and the longer he plays the part, the harder it is to keep his heart out of it.

because pretending was supposed to keep you safe. not make you the only thing he’s afraid to lose.

prologue

hey hello

what a party

not her

watch the stars

watched

[abaker74]

The Pull Of You - Part 9

Marvel

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader x Bucky Barnes

Soulmates - Feeling the pull between each other indicates a bond. A kiss confirms it.

Summary: You meet Steve and Bucky on a Tuesday. Steve ignores the soulmate pull, Bucky can't. There's something about you that neither can shake, even when you're wearing one of Clint's t-shirts and your unicorn slippers. After weeks of slipping into your bed Bucky decides he can't hold back anymore. He's telling you after the mission, whether Steve is all in or not. When you don't come back from the mission, they are both ready to burn the world down and the team have the matches to help. But is everything as it seems and have they been betrayed by someone on the inside.

Chapter Summary: The cracks start to show, and the reader final speaks.

Chapter Warning: Mentions of torture, water boarding, bringing a prisoner and held against will.

When Steve, Bucky and the others start to filter downstairs after quick showers, they are met with Tony’s raised voice and they quickly learn why.

Standing in the middle of the briefing room are Tony, Pepper and Peter, along with a few select guests.

“What were you thinking kid?”

“I just thought they could help. I was near Murdock’s office and I thought…”

“You didn’t think!” Tony yelled. “Stuff like this? One of us being taken, you shut it down! You don’t broadcast it to people we barely know!”

“Tony, he thought he was doing the right thing.” Pepper said softly reaching for her soulmate.

“I just thought they could help.” Peter said quietly. “You said the Wakandans were here. I’m sorry.”

“Peter, you have done what you thought was right, just as the Lieutenant did. I am sure our new friends can help too.” T’Challa told him.

Steve took a moment to scan the room. Shuri sat at the large table her tablet in hand and multiple projections across the room. Bucky had silently moved to stand behind her and his eyes flickered across the screens, taking in everything he could. Clint and Natasha moved to flank him, mirroring his actions. On the other side of the room looking like he didn’t want to be there stood a pissed off Frank Castle. Steve’s not sure if Castle’s pissed off that Peter has pulled him into this, that you’ve been taken or if that’s just his natural expression.

Resting bitch face, you’d say.

Their eyes lock, both seem to stand up straighter before Frank gives him a firm nod. Tony is still telling off Peter, the kid getting the brunt of his emotions.

“Look as much as the kid is a pain in the fucking ass,” Frank interrupts, “he was right. The three of us are as lethal in the field as any of you, you need as many eyes on this as possible and we owe her a debt.”

“What?” Steve asks.

“I found the people responsible, the actual people this time, that took my family from me. A whole stack of evidence, location, everything.”

“Y/N?” Bucky asked. Frank nodded. Stood a few feet in front of Frank and to the side of Peter were Matt Murdock and Elektra. The latter was scowling at Tony. Matt’s head was tilted listening intently. Bucky looked across at them. “And you two?”

“Does it matter?” Elektra asked.

“Just want to know who’s showing up to help our girl.”

“Your girl Sergeant? Why didn’t you tell her? Why didn’t you tell her James, how you really felt?”

Bucky shook his head and huffed.

“You don’t know us.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Elektra.” Matt interrupted.

“Yes my love.”

“Enough.” Matt told her. “Y/N, saved our lives. The trafficking ring a few months ago, down at the docks, you might of heard about it.”

“I saw the report.” Nat said. “S.H.I.E.L.D had it under observation. The building collapsed. There was no explosion. The hostages were all standing outside.”

“That building fell like jenga blocks. We were still inside making sure we had everyone. S.H.I.E.L.D had a camera set up on a lamppost across the street. She saw some bricks out of place, knew something was wrong. As it came down, we fell through a trapdoor. We came around to her standing over us talking about booby traps, buildings built in certain decades and the type of bricks and timber used.”

“Then we are all here for the same reason and the same mission. To bring Y/N home.” T’Challa home.

“T’Challa, you said earlier that you owed her a debt. What did you mean by that?” Steve asked.

T’Challa went to answer but was stopped by voices in the corridor. Scott and Hope appeared, wearing their mission gear and carrying overnight bags. Everyone turned to look at Peter.

“It wasn’t me! I swear!” He said holding his hands up in surrender. Everyone turned to look at Sam.

“Nope.”

“Actually,” Pepper confessed “that was me.”

“Is that everyone? Anyone else send a text? Make a call?” Steve asked.

“I may have put a call into the wizards of Greenwich village but they’re unreachable.” Tony added.

“And you’re giving the kid shit for calling them?” Bucky pointed out, flickering his head in the direction of Matt, Elektra and Frank. Tony snarked back and a back and forth started between them. Clint joined in here and there. The room got louder. Steve observed the room as Bruce, who’d arrived as Tony was telling off Peter, now sat in the corner with his head in his hands. Scott was introducing himself to the guests as Hope hugged Nat, Wanda and then Pepper. Sam spoke quietly to Okoye and Rhodey. Pietro whispered in his sisters ear as she also watched the room. Vision appeared at Steve’s side.

“Captain Rogers. I have a theory.”

“Go on.”

“You’re observing the room, just as I and Wanda have, what do you see?”

“I thought you had a theory, not a question.”

“You can see the team in various states of upset, they are argumentative, concerned, worried. Everyone’s emotions are running high, moments like this have happened before.”

It took Steve a split second but his eyes went wide as realisation hit him like a freight train and he turned to Vision sharply.

“They didn’t just take her for the sake of taking one of us. They took her to cause this.” Steve said gesturing around. Clint was now squaring up to Tony, as Pepper and Nat tried to keep them apart. Bucky was shrugging off Bruce as he tried to comfort him.

“That’s ENOUGH!” Steve yelled. “Knock it off! All of you! Do you think this is helping? Is this finding her?! Whoever did this hasn’t just done this to take an agent or an Avenger. They’ve done it to take HER.”

“What? Steve no, they were going to take me.”

“Actually James, if they had wanted you they would have paused the movement of the box when she kicked you out of it.” Shuri told him.

A silence of understanding spread across the room.

“So it’s personal. This ain’t just for clout.” Frank determined.

“It would seem that way Lieutenant.” Vision replied.

“Rogers is right. What you’re doing right now, the arguing, the back and forth, it’s taking away from what you need to be doing and you’re doing exactly what they want you to.” Matt told them.

“Boss, there’s a coded message on one of the S.H.I.E.L.D tip lines.” F.R.I.D.A.Y advised. “I’ve intercepted it. It contains footage of Agent Y/N.”

“Play it.” Tony ordered.

“Boss, just to warn you it’s distressing.”

A new projection opened and a video started to play. You were heavily bound to a chair, the room darkly lit. You were still in your suit but parts of it, where your trackers were, had been cut. The camera was positioned so they could see all of you but only the lower halves of your captors.

“Tilt the chair. If she won’t talk it’s time for a little water boarding. Last chance Agent, start talking.”

“Agent Y/L/N. Avengers Agent 5.”

The team watched as one of the captors leaned down and said something to you. Positioning himself on the side away from the camera and with the poorly lit room, their view of him was obscured. Their eyes continued to be fixed to the screen as the chair was tilted back and you were waterboarded. It wasn’t missed by Frank and Bucky that they were pouring the water directly over your face and didn’t use a cloth as some did.

As the team and their visitors watched the recording of you being tortured, a ripple of anger and rage spread through the group. Even Peter, probably the purest of them all, clenches his teeth. He looks away briefly but when he realises everyone else is still looking at the screen he steadies himself and looks back.

The video stops abruptly part way through your torture, with water still being poured down your face. When the team turn to look at Steve for orders, he has a darkness to his eyes that they’ve never seen before. Natasha wonders if this is what Castle looked like when he went on his rampage.

“Play it again.” Steve says.

Meanwhile…………

“I have never even heard of her, and yet you hang everything on this agent, this nobody.” The Sokovian snapped.

“She’s not a nobody.” Agent 17 replied.

“Oh I’m flattered.” You quipped, your voice hoarse, being the first time you’d spoken in days.

“Now she talks. You have anything useful to say?”

“Actually I do.”

“See, the waterboarding always works. Go on, where are the safe houses?”

“Oh it’s not that, I wanted to tell Agent 17 to go fuck himself.”

You were slapped hard across your face.

“I knew you didn’t like me but this seems a little much for not wanting to get coffee with you.”

You were hit again.

“I told you not to talk in front of her!”

You were hit again, this time it wasn’t a slap and was a clear punch.

“Enough!!! There’s a system to this! A process!”

You heard a phone vibrate and then Agent 17’s voice.

“We have orders to move forward.”

“Fine. Bring me the trolley and the knives.”

Enjoy this fic? Fancy a cuppa? My Ko-Fi.

TAGLIST

@mcira @animegirlgeeky @mrsevans90 @blackhawkfanatic @stevihj @cjand10 @abaker74 @otterlycanadian

[abaker74]

All for the Cameras

Chapter 14

Finnick Odair x fem!Reader

Here we are, almost at the end. This is not the final chapter yet, so there's hope don't worry.

Let me know what you think and, again, sorry for making you guys wait so much.

Chapter summary: the 76th Hunger Games keep going.

Chapter warning: angst, blood, Hunger Games lore so... yeah, death.

Tag list

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I'm sorry if I can't tag everyone😔🥺

After a moment to catch our breath and eat something we made up a new plan to get to the mansion.

Underground.

Which I'm not the biggest fan of, but it'll have to do.

As expected the president made his announcement of Katniss death, of the rebellion's death... well... he tried to, because Alma Coin interrupted him, thanks to Beetee's brain I'm sure, and I just know he didn't appreciate it one bit. But having the president believe the Mockingjay is dead is our chance to get close enough.

"Are you okay?" Finnick's voice interrupts my thoughts and my picking on my skin, a habit I somehow took while nervous.

"Could you not ask me that now?" I sigh, I'm not mad at him, I'm just tired, he knows it and doesn't pressure.

"Never thought I'd be able to see my own picture like that. With Panem's anthem playing, nonetheless." He jokes, but I hit his chest with the back of my hand, he probably barely felt it, but he gets my point, "sorry, not funny." He sighs, and tentatively takes my hand in his, "it's going to be alright."

"I know what you're trying to do, and trust me, I appreciate it, but I just..." I let out a shaky breath.

"It doesn't feel possible, right?" He guesses, I nod.

"Peeta asking for a nightlock pill... I just... I'm scared okay? If he's a mutt, so am I. So is Johanna. What they did to us..." I sigh again, "I'm sorry, I know we've already talked about it..."

"Then you remember that I also said I wouldn't mind repeating to you anything you need." I can feel him looking down at me, and I can sense his sweet smile.

But something else comes up to mind, after seeing his picture like that, as if he died in the arena I can't just shake it off.

"There's... one thing I need you to know, something I need to apologise for." I say, picking at my skin again, he takes my hands in his to prevent me from harming myself more, he squeezes them to reassure me, "the Jabberjays... in the arena. That was... that was my idea."

I dare look up to him, but I don't see hate, nor disappointment, not resentment. Instead he looks at me with his understanding and comforting eyes.

"It's okay." He says softly.

"It's not. Snow asked me to write down some ideas for the arena, I had to make it believable, but I couldn't think of anything deadly, but hearing your screams and Katniss'... I..." I look down again, ashamed.

"Hey.." he gently takes my chin and guide me to look up at him again, "it's okay. I promise you. You didn't have a choice, there's no need to blame yourself. Okay?"

"I didn't think it through enough and I hurt you." I say, voice breaking a little.

"You didn't."

"I saw your face, Finnick... I saw your faces and I... I was the one who did that."

"No. No, it wasn't you." He firmly says, "it was Snow, you know it." He hugs me closer to him, "you did what you had to to to survive, like us."

"Not exactly like us." Gale voice cuts through out conversation, clearly eavesdropping.

"Do you mind?" Finnick snaps at him, catching everyone's attention.

Before Gale could say anything I cut him off.

"Do you realise it's not districts against Capitol, right?" I ask, "this conception you have in your mind only proves how gullible you are. You have this idyllic vision of the Capitol you don't listen. If you hate the Capitol so much why do you trust Plutarch? Because Coin does, maybe? Or because he brought Katniss back? If it's the latter you should treat Peeta with more respect, because if you actually stop and think, instead of being a jealous prick, you would realise he helped save her all this time."

"We better go." Katniss says, more to put an end to this conversation.

I scoff one last time at Gale before joining her as I grab my things.

"I'm sorry." I tell her.

"Finnick is right. You don't have to blame yourself. We all did stuff to survive, stuff we're not proud of." She tells me, "but I'm glad you did. And I want you to know that I trust you."

I look up at her surprised.

"Really?"

"Really." She nods, "now let's go." She says to everybody.

We all gather and exit ready to head for the underground tunnels. Finnick immediately takes a protective place next to me, with Peeta, who looks at me with something close to gratitude.

"If he says something like that again, I swear-"

"No need, trust me." I hesitantly take his hand, "we got something else to think about now."

"Yes. You're right." He nods.

We do have something more important to think about now. Far more important.

--------------

As we descend into the tunnel under the city I can't help the dread I'm feeling. I try to keep my breath as steady and controlled as I can, if I keep my thoughts at bay I can be of help.

"My brother knows this tunnels very well." Castor explains as he finally climbs down, "he worked sanitation down here. Right after they made him an Avox."

If people thought they have it bad, they're wrong, Avoxes have it worse. They're literally slaves of the Capitol, I can't think of a worse punishment, death would be mercy compared to this.

My heart breaks as I look at Pollux scared expression as he takes stand in the front to lead us, facing probably the hardest part of his life.

Castor comforts him, encouraging him.

With a small gesture Pollux starts walking and soon we follow.

"Took us five years to buy his way outta here. He didn't see the sun once." Castor explains.

We walk, following Pollux and also the Holo in Katniss hands. Occasionally hiding from a vehicle approaching.

"We're tok exposed here." Katniss says, and without missing a beat Pollux leads us to a door not far and down, again, a ladder to the sewers.

"Looks clear." I hear Katniss say.

"I'd keep my eyes wide open, there's no certainty there will be no traps down here." I suggest, "Snow won't leave anything to chance."

We keep walking, aware of every small thing happening around us.

Finnick and I silently decided to be the ones to check on Peeta everytime something happens, and simply make sure he's okay. I know Finnick's also constantly checking on me, which I'm grateful for, but I don't want to take away some of his focus in case he needs it.

We pass small corridors, more tunnels, some almost full of water but, at last, we find a place to rest.

"All right, everybody. We're gonna stop here for a bit and get some rest." Jackson says, I couldn't love her more at the moment, my feet are hurting like hell.

We get settle as best as we can, I get closer to Castor and Pollux and I notice the latter signing something to his brother, I didn't see properly but they laugh, which calms me a lot.

"Thank you, Pollux." I say once I join them, "really. You're probably one of the bravest persons I know. Not everyone would've come back to such place."

He smiles at me and signs something I can't quite catch.

"Sorry, my sign skill are a bit rusty." I apologise.

"He's saying the same goes for you." Castor translate, "we can't imagine what tortures the Capitol might've used on you, yet you still relived it to help get an insight of what might be the Capitol strategies."

"Oh." I'm a little embarrassed, "that is nothing. Really."

He signs something again.

"That's a lot, so thanks to you too." Castor says, "and I agree, despite what Gale says." He adds that little part with a playful grin, something to enlighten the moment.

I let out a chuckle and decide to sit next to Finnick and Peeta.

"Are you okay, pretty boy?" I ask Peeta, hopefully the old nickname can calm him.

He nods, doesn't say much, but it's enough. I look at Finnick, who offers a comforting smile before I lower my eyes again.

Flashes of the sessions at the Capitol suddenly appearing in my head.

"Y/n... are you okay?" He asks me. I nod, but he doesn't buy it, he tries to take my hand but I avoid his contact.

"I'm fine, sorry... I..." I stutter, but I can't stop the thoughts forming in my mind, "once... once this is over you should... you should find someone who can actually make you happy." I say turning my head away from him.

"Y/n-" he starts.

"No." I stop him, "Please."

"I love you, Y/n." He says, firmly, "nothing can change that. I can promise you that."

"I don't." I tell him, "so better find someone else."

I hear him sigh, but he also lets out a soft chuckle.

"You know, I can always tell when you're lying." He says before resting his head back against the wall.

I take a deep breath and lean back too, hoping to find some rest.

--------------

Peeta's muttering wakes me up. He's getting agitated and I immediately sit up straight and on guard. Everyone else starts to wake up too.

"What is it?" Jackson asks.

"Peeta..?" I try, but he doesn't answer me.

"We gotta go. We gotta go outta here now." He pants, loudly, "Mutts! TheY released mutts."

"Breath, Peeta, breath. We're going." I go to stand next to him.

"Pollux what's the fastest way out?" Katniss asks and Pollux immediately joins her motioning in front of them.

Gale shoots a fire arrow to let us get some clues on the, otherwise, pitch black tunnel. When it seems safe, we start moving. Careful, ears ready to pick at any minimum noise. As always me and Finnick keep our eyes on Peeta, Jackson is behind everyone, weapon in hand.

As we get to a small opening, Pollux goes ahead to check if it safe, leaving us on edge until he's back and fine. I let out a breath I didn't even realise I was holding and as quickly and quietly as possible we go through the small gap.

I let Finnick deal with Peeta as I help those who still need to pass.

Lieutenant Jackson is the last one, she checks one more time the tunnel, but as she turns around mutts jump on her.

I can't help the scream I let out as I pull back immediately. They came out of nowhere!

"Run! Run!"

"Pollux get us out of here!"

We try to stay together, following Pollux through this dark labyrinth. But we get to an intersection and Castor is attacked by those creatures, blocking Katniss, Peeta, Gale ams me from the rest of them.

"Finnick!" I scream, but I can't see him, or any of them anymore. I feel a a hand grabbing me and pulling me away, I let it and run hoping to find them again soon.

Pollux leads us to a room with a ladder, to safety, but mutts are stubborn, they won't stop so all we can do is defend ourselves.

I did train to use guns and this sort of weaponry, but I've never thought I would've actually needed it. I try to protect Peeta, while I cover Katniss as she shoots her exploding arrows. I hear a scream behind me, Gale is on the ground, a mutt is abou to jump on him, but luckily my reflexes are faster and I shoot it. For good measure I throw a gun at him.

It's like they're coming from within the walls. I turn around just in time to see Peeta fighting with one mutt, Katniss is about to get attacked, though, almost out of nowhere Finnick impales the creature with his trident. I'm relieved to see him, soon the rest of the squad arrives to help.

I focus my attention on Peeta again, I shoot the mutt that's caging him.

"C'mon, everyone up!" I yell, "c'mon!"

I stay to check everyone gets on safely, Katniss motion for me to go up, I don't get far before I hear Finnick's voice calling for Katniss, I look down he threw his trident to a mutt close to her and now he has a mutt on him... and he has no weapon now.

I don't even think about it, I rush down, past Katniss and her screams for me to stop, I ignore her, too focus on shooting the mutts on him. I see some of them managed to bite into him. Once I'm out of ammo, I use the last gun I have, and thankfully it's enough to get them off so I can help him up the ladder, but he's losing too much blood and the mutts are following us.

"C'mon c'mon!" Katniss moves to let us pass before activating the Holo to explode and throws it to the mutts, killing them.

"Finnick, c'mon, one last push, okay?" I tell him.

"Let's go!"

We run again, arriving to the underground station, peacekeepers already there to shoot us, lights on the ceiling disintegrating whoever passes through, the floor exploding piece by piece.

Weake it just in time to a safe zone, even though nothing can be called safe at this point.

Katniss yells for Peeta, I look back fearing the worst, but he's just curled up on the ground.

"Peeta, we have to keep going," Katniss tells him.

"I'm a mutt! I can't keep controll!" He screams.

"yes you can!" She yells back.

"Leave me! I'm a mutt!"

"Look at me!" She orders, "look at me!" Once he does she kisses him, and thankfully it calms him a little, "Stay with me"

I suddenly feel Finnick almost falling to the ground, but Gale is quick to help him.

"Finnick, just hold on a little longer okay?" I ask, "please."

He weakly nods and starts walking too, I rush him a little and he runs too.

One last push, just one.

"I know where we are!" Cressida exclaims, "I know a place. Up those stairs."

So now she is leading us to a safe place, I just hope it's close. Without the holo is hard to say whether or not a trap is set, but there are none apparently. At least not where Cressida is taking us, which looks like a boutique of some sort.

While she knocks, I let Finnick rest against the windows.

"It's okay, we'll get you back on your feet soon. Just keep holding on." I softly say to him, he takes my hand and I let him squeeze it, I see him trying to speak but I stop him immediately, "don't stress yourself now, we'll talk once you're okay."

Once someone opens the door, Cressida rushes all of us inside and closes the door.

The woman opening, I remember her. It's hard not to, considering her feline appearance.

"Tigris do you remember me?" Cressida starts, "I'm with Plutarch's underground. We need your help"

Tigris looks at us all before leading us to a hatch leading downstairs.

"I know you. You were a stylist in the Games." Katniss states.

"Until Snow decided I wasn't pretty enough anymore." It's her answer.

"I'm here to kill him."Katniss straight up tells her, which makes the former stylist smile.

"We need medical kits, if you have some." I tell her, "please..."

She nods her head and closes the hatch.

I help Finnick sit down.

"Stay awake, okay? I need you to stay awake, Finnick." I tell him. I see Pollux sitting close to us and immediately breaks down, "Pollux.." I gently say taking his hand, "I'm so sorry."

"Gale's gonna need stitches." Cressida says, "you too, Y/n."

"Uh?" I ask confused.

"Your leg and your arm." She points.

"Oh..." I take a look, just now noticing the damages the mutts did, I didn't even registered the pain, "guess the adrenaline got useful.."

I sit next to Finnick, close to Pollux, letting him still holding my hand.

"I made it up." Katniss says all of a sudden, "all of it. There is no special mission from Coin. There's only my plan. Everyone that's dead is dead because of me. I lied."

"We know. We all knew." Cresside tells her.

"The soldiers from 13?"

"They did, too. Do you really believe that Jackson thought you had orders from Coin?" Cressida asks her, "she trusted Boggs and he clearly wanted you to go on."

"I never meant for this to happen." She looks at me, at Finnick, "I failed. I... I killed them. I'm... I'm sorry Pollux. I'm so sorry."

He squeezes my hand tighter, I squeeze it back, help grounding him.

"Glimmer, Marvel, Mags..."Peeta starts, "Clove, Wiress, Rue. What do all those deaths mean?" He asks, "they mean that our lives were never ours. There was no real life because we didn't have any choice. Our lives belong to Snow and our deaths do, too. But I'd you kill him, Katniss... if you end all of this, all those deaths, they mean something. Cinna, Boggs, Castor, Jackson. They chose this. They chose you."

I look down at Finnick, he tries to keep his eyes open, but I can tell it's getting harder for him. I'm not letting anything happens to him, not after I told him the biggest lie of my life.

--------------

Tigris brought us the kits we needed and Cressida helped me take care of Finnick and he seems out of trouble for now. He's asleep while I patch Gale up. Mostly to keep my head busy and nor think.

"I..." he starts as I clean his wound, "I just wanted to thank you."

"For what?" I ask.

"Saving my life back in the sewers." He answers, not daring to meet my eyes.

"Oh... well, unfortunately you are good with these weapons so I don't think losing such asset would've been a great move." I wave him off.

"I'm sorry," he says out of the blue, "for how I behaved. I realise now that I was wrong."

"It's not me you should apologise to. Peeta deserves your apologies more than me, and you know it." I tell him firmly.

"I'll try my best."

"Better than nothing." I sigh.

"How do you know how to patch someone up?" He asks.

"Well, you don't know Cal, lucky you." I say, and he looks at me, confused look on him, "he.. he liked some intense stuff... and... I couldn't exactly say no... you know."

"Oh.."

"Yeah..." I nod, "so I learned how to endure pain and how to patch me up. It was a good way of surviving, I guess." I notice he looks down, still ashamed of how he treated me, "as you can see, Capitol or District, we're not so different after all."

"We're not.." he nods in agreement.

Once I finish with his wound I move to care of my own.

"Let me." Cressida offers, kneeling down taking the requirements from my hands.

"Thanks." I say.

She starts cleaning the wound on my leg, which I realised it's the worse one, and my eyes stay put on Finnick laying one the ground. Unconsciously, I start picking at my skin.

"He's going to be fine." I hear her suddenly speak.

"I don't know, he lost too much blood, and that... that sprint to get out of the sewers... those stitches aren't enough... I.. "

"Hey." She stops me, "he is going to me fine."

"What if he isn't?" I ask, voice small with tears forming in my eyes, "what if I lose him?"

"Can I ask you a question?" Shw asks and I nod, "why do you push him away if you're so scared of losing him?"

The question catches me completely off guard, it leaves me thinking, actually thinking about it.

"I guess him happy but away from me is better then him dead." I say, "he doesn't deserve to have fought all this time to just... die like this."

"Everyone can see the way he looks at you, and how you try not to look at him." She smiles at me, sweetly, "I'm an expert in fake love, so are you, right? Selling it for the Capitol makes you a real good expert," she says and I can't help the little chuckle, "and trust me, I don't think there'll be anything that can keep him from you."

"He doesn't deserve it." I sadly say.

"You two suffered enough." She firmly says.

That shuts me up.

Once she's done with my leg and arm I go to find a 'comfortable' spot next to Finnick to check on him.

The others try to get some rest while they can, I hear Gale talking to Peeta, but I refuse to listen to them, both because I'm too focused on Finnick and also because they deserve some privacy too.

Suddenly sound of explosion cam be heard in the distance.

"Mortar shells." Gale states, "it's not ours. Peacekeepers must ne shellin' the rebels outside the city."

"That's not outside the city." Cressida says.

"It's not." I agree.

--------------

The rebels are close. That's all I care about, as I gently caress Finnick's hair.

What catches my whole attention is the television turning on with a mandatory viewing flashing on screen... and Snow's face appertaining.

"To all Capitol citizens more than a half mile outside the city circle, I am announcing a mandatory evacuation. Come to the Mansion. I am promising you shelter and sanctuary. All refugees, come to my home. There you will be provided with food, medicine, safety for your children, and you will have my solemn oath to protect you u till my dying breath." The president announces.

"Wish he'd hurry up with that last part." Cressida comments, making me nod in agreement.

"Our enemy is not like us. They do not share our values. They have never known our comfort and our sophistication. And they despise us for it. Make no mistake. They are not coming to liberate us. They are coming to destroy our way of life. They are coming to bury us." He says, ending the announcement.

"Yeah... one last brainwashing to the masses before calling it quit, uh?" I mutter.

"Is he still in the Mansion?" Katniss asks.

"Yes," I say.

"Yeah, I recognise the room." Peeta adds.

"Where is that?" Katniss takes our a paper map and spred it on the floor.

"About... uh... five blocks away, if I recall." I say, looking at Cressida for support, she nods.

"We're right here. Off the avenues." She point at the map, "mansions here."

"What about the pods?"

"They deactivated them." I say, :at least around there for sure. For the residents' safety."

"That could work. I could get close enough." Katniss realises.

"Eveey peacekeeper's gonna be waiting." Gale tells her.

"Next to our faces on every billboard." Cressida adds.

"Snow's offering shelter to all the refugees." Katniss looks at me, I sigh.

"I guess... I guess that could work." I tell her.

"What?" Gale asks.

--------------

While Tigris comes back after retrieving another piece of clothing to mask Katniss and Gale, Cressida and I try to give directions as accurately as we can.

"Head straight north. There's gonna be thousand of refugees." She says.

"Just blend in." I say, "don't look up. One wrong move and it's over."

"We got one shot." Katniss warns.

"Let's make it count." Gale replies.

"Good luck, Katniss." Cressida and Katniss hug, silent hope it's not going to be the last time. Pollux too has a small interaction with her as they say goodbye.

"Please, be careful out there." I tell her, tears threatening to come out, "I do want to see you again, okay?"

"I'll try my best." She says before hugging me, I give her a quick, strong squeeze before letting her go, "thank you, Y/n. Thank Finnick too, once he wakes up."

"I will..." I say, softly.

"Tigris, thank you for everything you've done." And Tigris bows her head.

"Katniss, let me come with you, okay?" Peeta almost pleads, "I can be a good distraction. They know my face.

"No, I'm not losing you again." Katniss cuts him off.

"You'll be safer with us." Cressida says.

"What if Peacekeepers are searching the houses?" Gale asks. "And if he's captured.."

"Then give me a nightlock pill, okay? I'm not going back."

I can't help but understand him, death is more appealing than being captured by the Capitol.

Katniss shakes her head, almost imperceptible. It's Gale that give the pill to Peeta, and it's Katniss to free him from the handcuffs.

"Stay alive." She tells him, before hugging him.

It feels like an intimate moment so I turn my head, praying whatever deity could still exist to make everything go well.

"Ready, Katniss?"

"Let's go"

With that Gale and Katniss exists the shop and head to the Mansion.

"Now we wait." Cressida says, "they must be here eny minute."

"Yeah.." I let out a deep sigh, Pollux put a comforting hand on my shoulder and I smile at him.

Suddenly a loud noise startles us.

"What was that?" Cressida asks, alarmed.

We hearnit again, like something falling, I realise soon it's from downstairs.

"Finnick..!" I rush back to the basement and my heart almost sink to my stomach once I notice him still on the ground, but his body is convulsing, blood everywhere.

"Finnick." I call, kneeling next to him, grabbing all I could to stop the bleeding. He's clearly in pain.

"What happened?" Cressida kneels on the opposite side, Pollux probably stayed behind to keep an eye on Peeta, just in case.

"Finnick?" I try to catch his attention, "Finnick.." he looks at me, "what happened?"

"I... I.. didn't see you so... I tried to get up..." he says, pain evident in the way he speaks.

"Finnick..." I sigh, putting pressure on the wound, "the stitches... I..."

"I'll see if Tigris has more kits." Cressida stands.

I see Finnick closing his eyes and I gently, but firmly, slap his face to keep him awake.

"Finnick, hey, stay with me." I tell him, "okay?"

"Don't worry... I'm okay..." he tries.

"Yeah, sure. Don't try it with me." I warn him.

"You're okay...You're alive... that's all.. all that matter." He tiredly speaks.

"No." I say, I can see him getting weaker, and tears are ready to spill out, "you don't get to leave me."

"You're so beautiful... my love." I can tell he's forcing himself to stay awake, but his eyelids are heavier.

"Finnick, stay with me, please." I plead, "where the fuck is Cressida..?"

"Hey... hey.." he gently takes my hand, "it's okay..."

"No... no it's not."

"It is... do me a favour?" He asks in a whisper, his voice just too weak.

"Finnick..."

"Don't blame yourself." He says.

"Stop it." I warn.

"It's not your fault." He takes a deep breath, "You took me this far.. it's okay."

"I said no, you don't get to make me fall in love with you only to leave me like this."

Silence.

I look up at him, his tired eyes on me.

"Say it again." He asks, "please.. just once."

"Stay alive and I will." I firmly say, "Stay alive and I'll tell you as many time as you want."

"It's not that easy, love... I... I'm tired." He closes his eyes again.

"You're stubborn," I remind him, "Stay with me."

"They're here." Cressida rushes back, followed by a bunch of soldiers from 13.

They immediately get to take Finnick away, I stand to follow them, helping them taking Finnick out of the baseme, but they stop me before I could followed them outside.

"Only authorised medical staff." One says.

"What?!"

"The space is limited." He cuts me off, leaving me standing there.

"Y/n!!" I hear a familiar voice. I look up, Haymitch walking to me.

"What... are you doing here?" I ask, surprised to see him here.

"Cressida communicated with us, she told us about Finnick, I knew you'd need a friend." He tells me, I immediately hug him, he keeps me close until I am the one breaking it.

"He... was bitten... some mutts in the sewers..." I explain, not caring about the tears now, "he lost so much blood, Haymitch... I don't know..."

I cry, sob, uncontrollably. He hugs me again, caressing my head to somehow comfort me.

" sshh sshh, it's okay." He whispers, "he will be okay."

"What if he doesn't?!" I exclaim, stepping away, breath getting heavier, "what if he... what if he dies?!" I take a shaky breath, "what if he dies and I'm not there? What if he dies alone, Haymitch?"

I saw something I can't quite understand in his eyes after I say this, but i get quickly disttacted by my hands, Finnick's blood all over them, and myself. I cry even more, my knees get weak and I fall to the ground. Haymitch is quick to help me.

"He won't." He says.

"You don't know that..." I can't breathe now. I try to take deep breaths, but it's useless, my eyesight gets blurry as I keep trying.

"Hey, hey, match my breathing okay, princess?" He instructs me, but it's too late... my vision gets dark in seconds.