#Operational Test and Evaluation | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

recareels · 1 year ago

Text

⋆₊˚⊹♡ wriothesley + putting you back in your place (before you can even fully slip out of it!)

character: wriothesley warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, reader is a Brat, daddy kink, pet names, fem reader, dry humping, talks of spanking, use of the term sir words: 1.6k

wriothesley will never give into your bratting. just like you’ll never stop testing his patience.

The chattering of your teeth echoes throughout his office—soft, dainty, incessant, a soft hum vibrating on the back of Wriothesley’s tongue in question. Glancing up, Wriothesley’s gaze finds your shivering form easily, huddled into a small lump on his office couch, buried beneath the fluffiest blanket he has.

“Whassa matter? You cold?”

Features scrunched in a pout, you raise your head a little, glaring at him. “It’s freezing in here.”

“Yeah, but you’re always freezing,” he clicks his tongue, as if he can’t trust your judgement, but there’s a small smile on his face, his eyes softening as he stares at you.

“So?”

“So, you are not apt to complete such an evaluation. Here,” he shoves away from his desk, wooden legs of his chair scraping against metal. “Why don’t you come sit on Daddy’s lap, hm? He’ll keep you warm while he works.”

And just like that, you’re tossing the blanket off—a quickly abandoned heap of fluff on the couch cushion—and scampering towards him, eager to climb onto his thighs, to submerge yourself in his everlasting heat, to garner a shard of his strained, stretched-thin attention.

He’s chuckling as he rearranges you, large hands helping you into a more comfortable position—face buried in his broad chest, body pressed flush to his own, legs straddling his hips, the bones pressing into plush flesh as your thighs flex around him twice, a feeble attempt to pull yourself even closer to him.

“Not bringing the blanket with you?”

“Nuh-uh,” you shake your head against his sternum, nuzzling into him. “Don’t need it. You’re warm enough.”

“Oh, am I, now?” he questions as he tucks himself back into his desk, one thick arm wrapped around your waist to keep you in place. “Are you sure this whole thing wasn’t just some ruse to wedge yourself between me and my work?”

He’s joking, of course, can feel the cold tip of your nose pressing into the dip of his clavicle, can feel your icy fingers creeping their way up his shirt, burrowing into his muscled stomach and soaking up warmth.

“I would never, Daddy.”

Now, that he doesn’t believe.

“Mhmm, sure. And you’re going to behave while you’re on Daddy’s lap, right?”

“‘Course I am.”

“No funny business?”

Nodding sleepily, you press a kiss over his heart, drooling out a promise. “Scouts honour.”

And, for a moment, Wriothesley thinks you might actually co-operate—a rare but not impossible occurrence—might actually cuddle yourself against him, let his heat deliquesce your limbs and lull you comfortably into dreamland, just like he had expected half an hour ago, when he had decided it was time for a nap, and ordered such.

How utterly foolish.

Because not even ten minutes into his resumed work—just shy, actually: nine minutes and thirty-two seconds, he’d been counting—and you’re starting to squirm, hips grinding into his as your shift, gyrate, then shift again, much too calculated to be a natural movement.

“Baby,” he singsongs, pen tapping his paper twice. “I thought you said you were going to be good.”

“M’just tryna get comfy, that’s all,” you mumble into his skin, lips dragging along his protruding collarbone, leaving a steadily cooling streak of saliva.

“Misbehaving and lying? Wow, you’re really trying to earn yourself a punishment today.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“I’m not, I swear!”

“You know,” he begins conversationally, hands creeping beneath the hem of your dress, calluses grating against supple skin as his palms slide up your thighs, careful, calculated. “Daddy didn’t invite you onto his lap so your could wiggle around and make him hard.”

His grip clasps around your hips hard, fingers tensing as he holds you in place, nails sinking into the flesh just above the waistband of your panties, latching onto you in tiny stinging bites.

“It’s distracting.”

The words are spit through gritted teeth, chewed out between heavy molars, the defined hinges of his jaw clenching.

“Feels good though, doesn’t it?” your hips roll twice in his grasp, slow and forceful, the head of his cock gliding over your swelling, throbbing clit.

It nearly slips between your folds, cunt perfectly outlined by the thin silk clinging to your creases, slick material making the slide easy, panties already drenched all the way through with your arousal.

Another rock forward has his cockhead catching on your hole, and you swivel your hips in tight, fast circles, almost as if you’re attempting to suck him in through your scant clothing.

You’re sure you’re making a mess all over his uniform, sure he can feel how disgustingly wet you are from just this alone—a mere bit of dry humping and his stern, strong voice, rumbling against your ribs; doesn’t take much, now, does it?—sticky desire staining the crotch of his pants in a large, irregular patch of dampness.

“No,” he says sternly, the sheer authority in his voice making you mewl, thighs squeezing his hips again. “It doesn’t.”

His cock twitches, contradicting his words, and he growls.

His cock always gives him away.

A giggle froths in your throat, just barely kept at bay, and he growls again.

You know it’s bad to be laughing, but you just can’t help it—here’s a man with impeccable self-discipline, meticulous, iron-clad control over his own body, and you still manage to make him feel like some horny little virgin, your pelvis rutting again, this time with a vengeance.

It’s a thrill, a rush, to know you have a potent affect on a powerful man, dense heat beginning to sprawl deep within the pit of your belly, empty cunt aching as it flutters against his hard cock—a gentle begging, another surge of wetness rushing to flood the apex of your thighs.

Still, that doesn’t mean you’re in charge.

“Move another inch and I swear to the Archons—”

“You’ll do what?” you breathe into his neck, the question hot and beading on his skin.

“I’ll put you right back on that couch, in time out,” his fingers tighten to near bone-crushing, a cry cracking in your throat. “I mean it.”

Lips molding into a sulky frown, your rub your face into the curve of his shoulder.

“Not fair,” you grumble, the words low and whiny, hitching on the beginnings of a sob. “You’re a big meanie.”

A deep sigh weighs heavy on his chest, ribs decompressing as he exhales, his grip on your waist loosening just a touch.

“Look at me.”

Your head shakes, cheek nestling further into him, a stark refusal.

“Look at me,” Wriothesley repeats, his voice strict, firm, cold, The Duke seeping out past his Daddy facade. “I won’t ask again.”

The command sends a small jolt zipping through your blood, fierce dominance demanding instant attention, and finally, you obey, peeking up from the safety of his shoulder and wincing a little at the intensity of his stare.

“You know what happens to little girls who act like fucking brats,” he warns, ice blue searching your face slow and thorough.

You do—of course you do. You’ve been in that position more times than you can count.

They get treated like fucking brats.

“They get treated like fucking brats,” he echoes your thoughts. “Keep acting like a disrespectful little girl and watch what happens.”

You already know what happens: no sweets, no letters to your friends or trips to the surface, no boardgames before bedtime.

No fun.

“But—But! Maybe riding you will help warm me up even more.”

“You wanna know what else would warm you up even more? A spanking.”

The yelp that hitches in your throat, automatic and half-stifled, is gratifying, satisfaction tugging at a corners of Wriothesley’s lips, edges curling slightly.

You know he’s not fucking around.

“Is that what you want, huh?” his head dips with yours, effortlessly inhibiting your gaze from escaping his own. “Huh?”

“I—I dunno—”

“Let me revise the question, then.” His voice softens marginally, mollifying beneath your unsure trepidation. “Is that what you need?”

His eyes are attentive as they scan your face, intent on cataloging and dissecting every slight change in micro-expression, desperate to make sure that you don’t require a therapy spanking.

Is that what you need? Daddy’s strong, solid hand colliding with your bottom in perfectly timed intervals, hard enough to leave a stinging, raised imprint of his palm across your flesh but not harsh enough to procure bruises, or a soreness that lasts more than the night? Daddy’s steady voice, calm and even, calling out numbers echoing after each sharp slap!? Daddy’s thick thighs, sculpted from lean, firm muscle, grounding and pressed tight to your torso, absorbing every shudder of your ribcage, every shiver of your flesh, rippling through your form following each strike?

Do you need a safe space to scream and cry and kick, to let go in every sense of the word and then allow Daddy’s scarred hands to put you back together, piece by painstaking piece, with loving fingers and hushed affirmations? Are you acting out because you’re in dire need of something more, instead of just craving shallow attention and exhilarating entertainment?

No, you shake your head, you don’t think so.

“Words, sweetheart.”

“No, Sir.”

“That’s what I thought,” he says, stringent, but his touch is tender, fingertips trailing up your spine in a comforting caress, his other hand massaging small circles into your hip. “Try something again and you will be receiving a spanking. This is your final warning, understood?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good.” He drops a kiss to the crown of your head, then scatters a few more across your scalp for good measure. “Now, be a good girl and go to sleep for me, yeah? You clearly need a nap.”

You may always test Daddy’s patience, but Daddy always wins.

#wriothesley x reader #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x you #wriothesley x y/n #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #inky.wrio

406 notes · View notes

shu-of-the-wind · 1 year ago

Text

so today the supreme court decided to slap me in the face with a dead fish.

so the supreme court overturned chevron, which is an administrative law case that sounds really boring to read aloud. but this is extremely important precedent that conservatives have been trying to overturn since it got enacted.

basically, chevron as a legal decision that said that judges should play a "limited, deferential role" when they evaluate the actions of agency experts. basically it says, "judges don't have absolute knowledge of all things, and so they should be understanding and allow agency experts to have leeway in statutory interpretation so they can make decisions about things that they themselves are experts in." basically saying, "hey, judges don't know how to clean air. maybe the environmental protection agency should determine the best way to keep air clean."

which sounds pretty straightforward, except laws aren't straightforward like that, so this was a pretty big deal especially in terms of like...what's good for the environment. what's good for fishing rules. what's good for air quality.

chevron set out a legal test for courts to determine whether they should defer to agency decisions so long as congress hasn't explicitly discussed something to do with those terms. conservatives have wanted to overturn this for decades purely so business interests can operate without worrying about regulations.

and on top of THAT: the supreme court just allowed cities to enforce bans--with criminal consequences--on people experiencing homelessness sleeping outside.

i expected both of these overturns but it still SUCKS.

#us supreme court #us politics #i'm sick to my stomach #i'm SICK TO MY FUCKING STOMACH i'm so upset #alix is an attorney

390 notes · View notes

faggotbeloved · 27 days ago

Text

Cold Metal Biting Soft Flesh | Yandere!Curly x Captain!M!Reader

2: Blinking (A Good Thing) (~2k words)

Cw: Canon typical gore and body horror, manipulation, many short timeskips :(,

This work does not contain smut but is 18+. Minors and fem-aligned people, please do not interact. AN and taglist at the end.

Last time: You, the captain of a colonization ship, discovered the charred body of an ex-freighter captain. You, along with some of your other crewmates, set out to heal him as much as possible.

└───────────────────────┘

Curly has a remarkably strange pain tolerance–in blanket tests, his threshold is significantly higher than even the toughest member on board, but whenever he’s doing anything that you supervise–eating, talking, moving, the like, he gasps and winces and whimpers loudly and only seems to be soothed by your hands doing the task for him. You don’t blame him for unimaginable pain, but it makes it hard to do your captain's duties.

“Facial reconstruction is today,” you chirp as you enter the medbay. “We got a bunch of skin from your DNA. We should be able to at least repair your eyelids, add back your lips, recanalize your tear ducts, and see if we can get your other eye open and working,” you list, watching Curly read the captioning machine. “When we touch down on Earth, we can look at getting you an evaluation for a cochlear implant, but there’s not much we can do for your hearing right now.”

Curly nodded, his eye trained on you even when new people entered the room.

“You’ve met Rhodes, but this is Dr. Simmons; she used to be a plastic surgeon, but switched professions to come to this colony. She’s worked on a 3D model of your face and can replicate it pretty well, does that sound good?” You informed, to which Curly tore his eyes away and glanced at Simmons before looking back to you. He nodded, reaching out for you. “Yeah?” You questioned, coming closer. Curly pat the bed with his forearm nub, requesting your presence. “I’m here, don’t worry. I’ll be in the next room over, catching up on some work:”

──────────────────────

For a man with no arms or legs, you’re surprised at how good at violent behavior Curly is. His heart rate skyrocketed once you left, and he clashed teeth and bones with any doctor misfortunate enough to get near him. Soon, you were ushered back in, and you watched his erratic chest slow down into heavy gasps the second you entered.

“He got anxious, we think,” one of the colonists said. “He thinks of you as a safety net.”

“You’re talking about him like he’s not in the room. Let me see him,” you commanded, suiting up in scrubs.

You observe him on the operating table, uneasily glanced at the beeping monitors, and wrote something for him to read.

It’s okay. I’m here.

You flashed the whiteboard at him and he rested his arm on your knee. You smiled underneath your mask at his endearing clinginess.

Let’s get you knocked out so Simmons can start? :)

Curly glanced at the board, then you. He sighed and laid back, waiting for the mask to go on.

──────────────────────

It was strange. Not… repulsive, per se, but different than before. They’d reconstructed much of his eyes–plural, since the closed eye was half-blind but still worked–and had fixed his tear ducts, so now he could theoretically close his eyes and sleep. That is, if he could remember how. Actively months, but physically decades, without activating the nerves had nearly disintegrated them.

Either way, it was odd watching someone carry a conversation calmly through tapping morse code with his amputated arm (he’d forgotten about it until now) and eye-tracking devices (newly installed) while the same eyes watered and pooled with tears in a vain attempt to moisten it.

His face was even odder. You’d grown used to the single bulging eye, and now both were in use and constantly trained on you, the lids refusing to close for even a second. His face was a mess of bandages and temporary stitches holding together numerous skin grafts.

You spotted a trail of drool down the corners of his reconstructed lips and carefully swiped it off with a towel.

“You look better,” you determined, gazing intently at his face. It was a work in progress, trying to restore and heal the man who'd faced such horrors. “How do you feel, though?” You asked.

His eyes darted around a keyboard and spelled out, “Numbed 2 Hell. Am I Hot Again?”

You snorted. “Yeah. Give it time to heal–a few months until the bruising goes away, you'll be just as pretty as ever,” you assured with a crooked grin. “They say it's a wonder you can even see. Your good eye was so dry, they expected corneal ulcers, vision loss, stuff like that, but your eye was more or less okay.”

Curly nodded and stared at you for a long moment. He snapped out of it after the door to the medbay opened and looked over at the intruder, a passenger with a broken arm.

“Loud In Here. And Bright,” he typed quickly. ‘I wish I could recover somewhere more peaceful’ was what he meant to say, but he’d hoped you would come to that conclusion on your own.

As if on cue, you called for Rhodes. “Hey, do you think we could put Curly in a different room? Anywhere would be fine–hey, Curly, would you mind being put in my quarters? It's also keycard protected,” you suggested.

Curly nodded with what he hoped wasn't too much enthusiasm. “Well, it's settled. Let's move him to Captain’s Quarters.”

──────────────────────

Curly was comfortable in your quarters. You'd erected a curtain wall to give him some privacy against your nephew, but Curly preferred it open when you were busy at the computer. Your higher ups were intrigued to hear how Curly was doing—he and his crew never claimed their paycheck, so they were a missing persons case for years that nobody investigated. Every ten or so minutes, Curly would cough or make some sort of movement to bask in your attention for as long as possible until you went back to work.

“Capt. I’m Cold,” the eye tracker read. “Any Blankets?”

The only one you had on hand was a throw blanket on your bed, so you draped that over him and kept it as comfortable as possible for him, but as soon as your back was turned he raised the blanket to go over his face and inhaled.

──────────────────────

“Okay, that first one was a prototype. Proof of concept. Let's try this one,” you decided, fitting a better prosthetic hand on Curly. It was bionic, since you had all of the materials to splurge for the best, and as soon as the hand opened and closed, he used his eyelids to blink rapidly and used his new hand to wipe away the tears he felt.

“Hey, your eyelids work! And the hand! You know, your brain can actually trick you into feeling what your bionic hands feel,” you said excitedly, rubbing his shoulder gently. “Let's try the other one on,” you directed, attaching the bionic wrist to Curly’s forearm.

Once Curly got used to the arms and understood their strength, he hesitantly wrapped them around your neck and pulled you into a hug. “Thank you,” he rasped, voice heavy from disuse and of the same cadence of many hard of hearing people you'd met. You returned with your hands on his bandaged waist, gently holding him as well. “Of course, Curly.”

After a very… very long hug, Curly let out a sigh and laid back down. Once you brought the blanket to his chest, he stopped you there.

Curly typed up a quick message on the eye tracker, “Can I Try Keyboard? I Want To Type. New Hands.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Here, his wireless one’s hooked up to my laptop. I'll get my laptop up and running so you can get my attention when you need it.”

Curly nodded and began a coughing fit once he had the keyboard, but instead of using his hands he requested you to straw feed him water.

──────────────────────

Weeks passed, and with all of the medical supplies you could scrounge up, Curly looked significantly better. His prosthetics, when he chose to wear them, could easily support him and the vast majority of his skin grafts were settled. His facial reconstruction was far from healed; he still had a few months left, but he was actually more or less okay. Compared to how he came, at least.

You’d fallen into a comfortable routine: awake at 0800, and by 0900 eat breakfast with Curly and your nephew-slash-first-mate, Sealegs. Check on and mediate conflicts between settlers, and by 1000 ensure everyone is awake. Work until 1400, have a late lunch with the upper crew, and then work until 1900. Afterwards, watch some TV with Sealegs (and, by default, Curly), then sleep by 2100 if you didn’t stay up late flipping through the various health, robotics, and physical therapy textbooks you picked up on your noble quest to help this man.

You woke up, of course, multiple times a night to the emergency alert. Curly, the poor man, had somehow stopped breathing every few hours just until his heart rate skyrocketed. Upon questioning, Curly blamed a family history of night terrors and sleep apnea, because it’d be ludicrous to suggest such a kind and selfless hero like himself would choke himself just so you’d tend to him and sit by him until he fell back asleep.

──────────────────────

The first sign of healthy fat was celebrated. For too long, he lived on rations, mouthwash, and then himself. For a person so horribly harmed, it was amazing to feel a bounce back in his skin. Physical therapy, though marked by many celebrations, was far less exciting. It was like you were his crutch, but also his legs. He couldn't work with you, and he couldn't work without you.

“Come on, I want you to walk to the other side of the room,” you sighed. It had been an hour of this; he'd fumble a few steps, clumsily sign “HELP ME,” then collapse back onto the bed.

“Just ten steps, Curly. It'll be a good start,” you added hopefully, signing as well as talking into the voice to text machine. “If you make it to the painting, I’ll carry you back and we can end it for tonight.”

Curly furrowed his brows and took two steps, then three, then up to eight before he stopped to regain balance, and finally took two more steps towards you instead of the wall. He raised his arms expectantly, waiting for you to pluck him out of the prosthetic legs and carry him back to bed. “I WALK TEN, HELP ME,” he signed quickly. “THIRSTY. WATER?” Curly requested, a weak smile on his face.

Another sigh left your throat, but you couldn't stay mad at him, not when he clung to you so carefully as to not catch your skin with the prosthetic and he buried his face in your neck–out of reflex, you assumed. You laid him down on the cot, but as you stood back up he let out a protesting groan. “LAY WITH ME PLEASE,” Curly pleaded, making a spot for you in his bed, freshly cleaned from that morning. You hesitate, but the eyes he gives you makes you ignore the work you wanted to get ahead on and instead lie beside him, immediately being encased in metal arms that press you against Curly’s tachycardic heart. Soon, you fell asleep and, for the first time, slept through the night without being awoken by blaring alarms.

The next morning, Dr. Simmons woke you at 0928 for Curly’s next surgery–checking in on some bone they'd been growing for a nose surgery, then trying to compile a medical plan for when Dr. Simmons had to inevitably leave for the next colony. It took hours, but soon you had a lengthy calendar of healing times, surgery schedules, and more. Throughout all of this, you worked yourself to death keeping up with both Curly and the entire ship, trying your hardest to stick to your preferred schedule at all costs. Curly was happy to pick up for you whenever you fell asleep at your desk (he was happy to find the Captain’s duties were similar, even decades apart) and according to chat logs, he began a correspondence with your own boss to explain the situation and request to stay under your care as co-captain with Sealegs staying as First Mate. Once you awoke, you had a long talk about not using your computer with permission, but gave in to his request of co-captaining only if your boss allowed it. Which… was approved the same day.

Welcome, Grant Curly, the co-captain of the Astraeus.

┌───────────────────────┐

Thousand month hiatus for the most boring damn chapter I’ve ever made… ugh. I'm sorry, everyone who waited :(.

I took 2 years of ASL in high school; ASL, when written out, is in all capital letters, I usually see it without much punctuation, and it doesn't use filler words like ‘the’ and ‘of’, with grammar to the tune of time-topic-comment-verb, and while I'm by no means fluent, I still tried to keep it as accurate as possible for my HOH friends who are probably sick of italic English that ‘means’ ASL. Those who are more experienced and can point out flaws, by all means, do so, please.

Taglist:

@eaterof-concrete + @tfamidoingwithmylife + @onlyemb3rs (It HAS been a long time, no worries if you guys want to be removed ^^,)

#✑ captain curly.#✑ my works.#captain curly x male reader #captain curly x reader #curly mouthwashing x male reader #yandere curly mouthwashing #yandere curly #curly mouthwashing x reader #curly x male reader #curly x reader #curly mouthwashing #tw yandere

58 notes · View notes

aleskyyy · 24 days ago

Text

Fragile Anchor — Simon Ghost Riley x reader

You're a civilian psychologist assigned to assess elite, unstable military operatives. Simon "Ghost" Riley is your final and most dangerous case—detached, unreadable, and unwilling to participate in therapy. But as your sessions continue, he grows unnervingly dependent on you, seeing you not as a romantic partner but as the only thread keeping his sanity intact.

Warnings— female reader, psychological manipulation, captivity, obsession, possessive behavior, power imbalance, surveillance, mental health, implied threats, isolation, DARK FIC MDNI.

Main Masterlist COD Masterlist

The file was marked with red ink.

HIGH RISK. SUBJECT NONCOMPLIANT. AVOID PERSONAL ATTACHMENT.

You’d seen these warnings before. Your job was to fix the unfixable—or at least, make them functional enough to go back into the field.

But this one? This one was different.

Simon Riley—callsign Ghost—had been flagged for repeated refusal to attend standard psych evaluations. The military had turned to off-contract experts. Which is how you ended up flown to a remote black site to speak with a man whose face no one saw.

You met him in a secure room, flanked by guards who wouldn't make eye contact.

He sat slouched in a chair, mask in place, hands loose on his thighs like he wasn’t a threat at all.

"You the shrink?" His voice was bored. Dangerous.

“I’m not here to shrink you,” you said calmly. “Just talk.”

He tilted his head. “People don’t talk to ghosts. They talk at them.”

The first few sessions were silent wars. You spoke gently. He stared. You asked questions. He gave non-answers. But then—something shifted.

He started showing up without being forced. Sometimes he wouldn't speak. Sometimes he’d test you, saying cruel, cutting things just to see if you'd flinch. You didn’t.

Until one day, he asked, “Why haven’t you quit yet?”

You just answered honestly. “Because you’re still showing up. That means you’re not past saving.”

His laugh was hollow, echoing. “That’s a dangerous assumption, doc.”

And then he began sitting closer. Watching longer. Asking about you. Not personal questions—no, he never asked your birthday or favorite color.

“Do you ever lie to patients?”

“What’s your worst fear?”

“If you had to choose who lives—yourself or the one you're treating—who would it be?”

You answered carefully. Always carefully.

Then, he said it.

“I don’t sleep unless I see you first.”

You froze. “Simon—”

“Don’t,” he growled, voice low. “Don’t shrink me now.”

That night, someone tried to remove you from the assignment. A bureaucratic shift. An early closure.

Your room was locked from the outside. You weren’t told why.

When you confronted the officer in charge, he just shook his head.

“Ghost made it clear. If you go, he won’t cooperate. Not with us. Not with anyone.”

You found him waiting in your temporary office, relaxed in your chair.

“You threatened command?” you asked.

He didn’t deny it.

“You think I need you,” he said. “But it’s the other way around. You make the static stop.”

“Simon, this isn’t healthy. You can’t depend on me to stay grounded.”

He stood and crossed the room in two slow steps. Towering over you.

“You want to run?” he asked. “Then run. But I’ll follow. Not because I love you. But because you’re the only thing left between me and the void.”

You didn’t run.

Some part of you, twisted and afraid, stayed. You convinced yourself it was for him. That he needed help. That you could still be his lifeline.

But as weeks blurred into each other, your world shrank. He knew your schedule, your habits, your tells. You stopped receiving external contact. Your credentials were quietly revoked.

One night, as you stared at the wall of your quarters, he entered without knocking.

“I buried the part of me that cared about the world,” he said. “But you? I kept.”

He leaned close. “You’re my constant, doc. You understand what that means?”

Your throat tightened. “I’m your prisoner.”

He tilted his head. “No. You’re my anchor. Don’t ever confuse the two.”

And the most terrifying part?

You weren’t sure if you wanted to leave anymore.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley x female reader #simon riley #simon riley imagine #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #cod mw2

48 notes · View notes

usafphantom2 · 9 months ago

Text

Celebrating 60 Years of the XB-70 Valkyrie Mach 3 Super Bomber

September 16, 2024 Military Aviation

XB-70 60th anniversary

The lone XB-70 Valkyrie is photographed as it is moved to a new building at the Museum of the United States Air Force located at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, Ohio, on Oct. 27, 2015. Beginning in the late 1950s and continuing through the mid-1960s, tests were conducted at Arnold Air Force Base, Tenn., headquarters of Arnold Engineering Development Complex, in support of the XB-70 program. The now-retired aircraft made its first flight on Sept. 21, 1964. (U.S. Air Force photo by Will Haas)

The experimental legacy of the iconic XB-70 Valkyrie, which made its first flight on Sept. 21, 1964.

An article published on the U.S. Air Force website commemorates the 60th anniversary of the first flight of the legendary XB-70 Valkyrie, a supersonic bomber that captured the imagination of aviation enthusiasts and engineers alike. Known for its sleek and futuristic design, the XB-70 remains a symbol of the experimental and ambitious spirit of Cold War-era aircraft development. Despite only two prototypes ever being built, the aircraft has left an indelible mark on military aviation history.

The XB-70 Valkyrie was originally conceived in the 1950s as a high-speed, high-altitude bomber for the U.S. Air Force Strategic Air Command. At a time when technological advancements were rapidly accelerating, the U.S. Air Force sought a bomber capable of flying faster and higher than the B-52 Stratofortress, its workhorse of the era (as well as the backbone of the strategic bomber fleet today and for some more decades in the future…).

With a planned cruise speed of Mach 3 and an operating altitude of 70,000 feet, the XB-70 promised to outpace and outmaneuver Soviet defenses, which were a growing concern during the Cold War.

One of the most remarkable features of the XB-70 was its ability to “ride” its own shockwave, a design innovation that allowed it to maintain stability and performance at supersonic speeds. The Valkyrie’s iconic delta wing, combined with six powerful jet engines, gave it an exotic and striking appearance, making it one of the most visually distinctive aircraft ever built. Its outer wing panels were hinged, allowing them to be lowered during flight to optimize the aerodynamic performance at high speeds.

The XB-70 looks like an alien spacecraft from this angle. (Image credit: USAF)

The article highlights the crucial role played by Arnold Engineering Development Complex (AEDC) in the development of the XB-70.

The testing of the Valkyrie’s engines, aerodynamics, and other key components began at Arnold Air Force Base in the late 1950s, well before the first prototype took shape. The AEDC’s facilities were instrumental in pushing the boundaries of what was possible in aviation at the time. One of the earliest tests involved the air-breathing engine nozzles proposed for the XB-70 in March 1958. This was followed by extensive wind tunnel testing of scale models of the Valkyrie, where the aerodynamic characteristics of bombs dropped from the aircraft were also studied.

A technician makes adjustments to a scale model of the XB-70 Valkyrie before aerodynamic characteristics related to the aircraft are evaluated in Tunnel A of the von Kármán Gas Dynamics Facility at Arnold Air Force Base, Tenn., headquarters of Arnold Engineering Development Complex, in 1959. Beginning in the late 1950s and continuing through the mid-1960s, tests were conducted at Arnold Air Force Base, Tenn., headquarters of Arnold Engineering Development Complex, in support of the XB-70 program. Only two Valkyries were built, with only one of the pair remaining. The now-retired aircraft made its first flight on Sept. 21, 1964. (U.S. Air Force photo)

Development continued into the early 1960s, with the YJ93 turbojet engines, designed specifically for the XB-70, undergoing rigorous testing at AEDC. These engines were critical to the Valkyrie’s ability to reach and maintain supersonic speeds. However, in 1961, before the first prototype was even completed, the bomber program was canceled due to budget constraints and concerns over the bomber’s vulnerability to Soviet surface-to-air missiles, which had rapidly advanced in capability.

Although the XB-70 bomber program was terminated, the Valkyrie found new life as a research aircraft.

Three drag chutes were needed to slow down the landing roll of the XB-70. (Image credit: Reddit edit The Aviationist)

The U.S. Air Force recognized the potential of the aircraft to serve in aerodynamics and propulsion research, particularly in the study of large supersonic aircraft. Consequently, two XB-70 prototypes were completed, and testing continued, including at AEDC, where a scale version of the XB-70 inlet, paired with a full-scale YJ93 engine, was tested in August 1962.

XB-70A number 1 (62-001) made its first flight from Palmdale to Edwards Air Force Base, CA, on Sept. 21, 1964. The second XB-70A (62-207) made its first flight on Jul. 17, 1965. The latter differed from the first prototype for being built with an added 5 degrees of dihedral on the wings as suggested by the NASA Ames Research Center, Moffett Field, CA, wind-tunnel studies.

North American XB-70A Valkyrie on the taxiway with a cherry picker. Photo taken Sept. 21, 1964, the day of the first flight. Note: the left main landing gear brakes locked during the landing causing two tires to blow. (U.S. Air Force photo)

While the 62-001 made only one flight above Mach 3, because of poor directional stability experienced past Mach 2.5, the second XB-70, achieved Mach 3 for the first time on Jan. 3, 1966 and successfully completed a total of nine Mach 3 flights by June on the same year.

However, the Valkyrie program suffered a devastating setback in June 1966 when the second prototype was destroyed in a midair collision with an F-104N Starfighter during a photoshoot. This tragic accident resulted in the loss of key personnel and diminished the future prospects of the Valkyrie.

North American XB-70A Valkyrie just after collision. Note the F-104 is at the forward edge of the fireball and most of both XB-70A vertical stabilizers are gone. (U.S. Air Force photo)

Despite this setback, the remaining XB-70 continued to serve as a valuable research platform. In 1967, the U.S. Air Force transferred the aircraft to NASA, where it was used in support of the National Supersonic Transport (SST) program. NASA employed the XB-70 to investigate supersonic flight operations, but the SST program was eventually canceled in 1971, marking the end of America’s efforts to develop a commercial supersonic airliner.

The XB-70 Valkyrie’s final flight took place on Feb. 4, 1969, when it was flown to Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in Ohio. There, the aircraft was placed on display at what is now the National Museum of the United States Air Force, where it remains a testament to the audacious engineering and design of its era.

A view of the six massive afterburners on the XB-70 Valkyrie as the aircraft is towed out of its display hangar temporarily for museum maintenance. (Photo: National Museum of the U.S. Air Force via YouTube)

Though only two XB-70s were ever built, their legacy endures: the aircraft’s pioneering advancements in aerodynamics, engine performance, and high-speed flight helped shape the future of supersonic aviation.

Pilots who were to perform the first test flights for the XB-70 Valkyrie operate the YJ93 engine, the powerplant of the XB-70, while the engine is tested under simulated flight conditions in May 1964 in the Rocket Test Facility at Arnold Air Force Base, Tenn., headquarters of Arnold Engineering Development Complex. This was done to help the pilots familiarize themselves with the performance characteristics of the engine prior to the first XB-70 flight, which occurred on Sept. 21, 1964. Beginning in the late 1950s and continuing through the mid-1960s, tests were conducted at Arnold AFB in support of the XB-70 program. Only two Valkyries were built, with only one of the pair remaining. (U.S. Air Force photo)

The first prototype made a total of 83 flights, amassing 160 hours and 16 minutes of flight time, while the second prototype completed 46 flights, totaling 92 hours and 22 minutes.

The XB-70 Valkyrie, with its daring design and groundbreaking capabilities, continues to captivate aviation enthusiasts and engineers. Its story, though short-lived in terms of operational use, highlights the relentless pursuit of innovation that defines the U.S. Air Force and its engineering partners. Sixty years after its first flight, the Valkyrie remains an iconic symbol of the bold ambitions of Cold War-era aviation.

XB-70 Night Take-off. (Photo via Air Force Materiel Command History Office)

About David Cenciotti

David Cenciotti is a journalist based in Rome, Italy. He is the Founder and Editor of “The Aviationist”, one of the world’s most famous and read military aviation blogs. Since 1996, he has written for major worldwide magazines, including Air Forces Monthly, Combat Aircraft, and many others, covering aviation, defense, war, industry, intelligence, crime and cyberwar. He has reported from the U.S., Europe, Australia and Syria, and flown several combat planes with different air forces. He is a former 2nd Lt. of the Italian Air Force, a private pilot and a graduate in Computer Engineering. He has written five books and contributed to many more ones.

@TheAviationist.com

#xb 70 valkyrie #xb 70 #north american aviation #mach3+#aircraft #aviation #usaf #cold war aircraft

118 notes · View notes

edutainer2022 · 6 months ago

Text

A happy retrieval of ALL of my fanfic notes after the recent smashed phone debacle prompted to tinker a bit with a WIP long, long in the works. The focus is on the backstage of the TV-21 fiasco - in the present and in the past. Especially, the ripple effects of it on Scott, John and Virgil.

All the thanks to @janetm74!

DO-OVERS

"It isn't what it looks like!"

It really wasn't. He wished John's eyes didn't turn to hard crystal from where the brother was standing in the bathroom doorway. Scott knew the turquoise lazer scanners already did the math and counted the pills, scattered on the tiles. But it WASN'T what it looked like. Scott spilled them.

Well, technically he threw them on the floor like they were burning coals, but the intent counted, right?

His hands were shaking. Everything was wrong. TV-21 was lost. Again. No amount of upbeat platitudes Scott said to calm down and cheer up Allie could make it better. He let Dad down. Again. He didn't save what mattered to Dad most. Again. He just wanted to stop shaking. Or maybe to just stop. Maybe John, pale in the doorway, didn't need to know that.

He hadn't touched the prescription bottle in his bathroom cabinet for years. Since a smirking mustached general on a GDF committee, assembled to evaluate his claim for IR to go operational again, wondered out loud how they would know his judgement in the danger zone would not be impaired, if the GDF discharged him for being too traumatized to see straight in the first place. His therapist wouldn't be happy about that, but he stopped taking her calls around the same time too.

Today he just needed to calm down. He needed to be strong for Allie, who didn't remember Dad's first Thunderbird, and for Gordie, who did. For Virgil and John, who remembered Dad's dark, stormy grief and withdrawal from them. For Grandma, who needed him to see her son's dreams through.

One little pill, maybe two. But his hands were shaking, as the TV-21 exploding conflated with a different one behind his eyelids - so much combustion energy to take Dad away. So one pill became a palmfull. He was just staring at his hand for a while. Okay, it WAS tempting. John DEFINITELY didn't need to know about that. It would just stop. All of it. The pain, the failure, the fear, the losses. Gone. Like Mom was gone. Like Dad was gone. Nothing he said or did could make it right.

But then he saw his brothers, ashen from grief and days of crying, all clad in black suits. Again. Alone and lost without him. Again.

So he threw the pills forcefully away, as if burned. They clattered like pebbles on the tiles and skipped everywhere. That's when John came in because John too knew his tells. And now John didn't believe him, clutching his shoulders and shaking, yelling that he drank water, yelling into his comm for Virgil and a bloodtest kit. Even if it wasn't what it looked like. Not really.

***

Virgil was doing what he did best - fixing. Maybe also hiding. He couldn't fix TV-21 and Dad's shattered dream. He couldn't fix Scott's heartbreak and poorly hidden assumed failure now any more than he could fix it all those years ago. But he COULD help fix Four and with it - the mood of the despondent little Squid. One brother sorted out was exponentially better than zero brothers. Then his comm blared red.

The code was "Two-one", and 2-1 meant TV-21, and TV-21 was bad news. Bad, bad news. John's grim, tense face in the holo confirmed as much and Virgil felt the island shift and spin beneath his feet, as he legged it to Scott's rooms.

***

[Once the Tinies were settled for the night, Scott stayed down in the living room to try and catch Dad on his way out of the office. He'd been locked in there for the past several hours with the young engineer, who designed TV-21. Shaken by nearly loosing Dad to the crash, they only ever glimpsed a flash of fuming fury when Dad and "Brains" returned from the failed test flight. So Scott lingered on the couch way past the bedtime in hopes to talk to Dad some more. A mistake, as it turned out.

The teen's attempt at a smile and a simple, if heartfelt, reassurance was shot down sternly when Dad finally emerged for a glass of water and a stifled curse, only to disappear again back into the study, lit by gossamer holo-light of schematics and figures in the conference call.

"Nothing you say or do can make this right, Scott! Go to bed!"

Virgil and John watched in horror, from behind the rails of the upper floor how Scott swayed, as if slapped, when the door slamed behind Dad again. The lanky figure then doubled over, bracing himself on a chair. Scott tried and failed to gasp through a wrecking sob, clamping a hand over his mouth to suppress the sound.

The brothers were frozen in shock, hesitant what to do as Scott looked about ready to keel over. He was probably hyperventilating, air weezing with effort through constricted pain.

Virgil stepped tentatively towards the stairs, John clutching his sleeve nervously. But Scott steadied himself for a moment only to bolt through the kitchen and out of the back door into the pitch darkness.

The brothers didn't wait any longer, practically tumbling down the stairs and on to the back porch, but Scott, the high school track star, was long gone.

They would be in so much trouble if Dad caught them downstairs, awake, on a school night, but Dad obviously was... otherwise occupied.

John, pale and wide-eyed, on the verge of tears himself, kept dragging Virgil's sleeve to run after Scott. Only which way? The farm bordered on the meadow. It was already dark. Scott could be anywhere.

Where Scott went - Virgil followed. That was the way of things. It included Rescue Scouts and multiple other pursuits. So the boy tried his best to push through the stinging of his own eyes and think like big brother, the Falcon Scout, would. They needed flashlights. The night was chilly, gusts of wind rattling the loose tiles on the old barn. Scott ran out in his sleep tee-shirt. So they would need to pick up his jacket too, on the way out.

But first, they needed to placate and possibly bribe Gordie into keeping Allie from crying if he woke up. And they needed to figure out a search grid for big brother. Letting Dad in on the commotion wasn't an option.]

TBC

#thunderbirds are go #scott tracy #scott tracy needs a hug #john tracy #virgil tracy #jeff tracy needs a cuff up his head #jeff tracy needs a front row seat to his son’s angst #my fic #scott tracy needs his dad #thunderbirds 2015

65 notes · View notes

fearfulfertility · 7 months ago

Text

SURROGATE PROCESSING WORKFLOW

DRC, Facility Operations Command, Compound Oversight Unit

Date: [REDACTED]

Subject: Surrogate Management Protocols

Location: Paternity Compound 131, [REDACTED], Oregon

Objective

This document provides a detailed overview of the surrogate processing workflow employed at Paternity Compound 131. It highlights the efficiency-focused methodologies implemented throughout the process, from intake to post-delivery. Personal letters from Surrogate ID S131-279-P are included, documenting his journey from arrival to delivery to help illustrate the overall operations.

I. Arrival & Intake

Transport

"Dear Dad,

I’m not sure where to start. They brought me here in this big, quiet van, and as soon as we got off, they started running all these tests. They gave me a number and tattooed it on my stomach like livestock. They keep saying I’m doing something important for the greater good, but I'm just confused." - S131-279

Candidates are transported to the facility in climate-controlled vehicles, ensuring they arrive in stable physical condition. They are processed in batches of [REDACTED] at a time for efficiency.

Initial Assessment

Upon arrival, surrogates undergo physical and psychological evaluations to assess readiness for the program. This includes fertility screening and compatibility testing for high-multiparity potential.

Registration

Each surrogate is tattooed with a unique ID number for tracking and monitoring throughout their conscription period, imprinted just above their navel.

Compound ID: The facility they will be housed in for gestation.

Arrival ID: The order number in which they arrived at the facility.

Fetal Count: A letter to indicate the number of viable fetuses they carry:

A (1) - B (2) - C (3) - D (4) - E (5) - F (6) - G (7) - H (8) - I (9) - J (10) - K (11) - L (12) - M (13) - N (14) - O (15) - P (16) - Q (17) - R (18) - S (19) - T (20) - U (21) - V (22) - W (23) - X (24) - Y (25) - Z (26) Example: Paternity Compound 127 + 437th Surrogate to Arrive + Carrying Quattuordecuplets (14) = S127-437-N

II. Rest & Preparation

Induction & Crowd Control

"Hey Dad,

Things are getting weirder by the day. Yesterday, they gave me a shot that burned like hell and made me feel woozy. It must have knocked me out cause I woke up, and it was tomorrow morning. I don’t know what happened, but I was so sore. I just want to go home." - S131-279, Arrival Weight 170 lbs

Entry areas are designed to funnel a group of surrogates into a single file line. Short but sweeping corridors are employed so that each candidate is prevented from seeing what lies ahead and concentrates on the individual in front of it.

Hygiene Protocols

Surrogates are directed to communal hygiene zones where they undergo full-body cleansing, enemas, and sterilization procedures.

Hormonal Optimization

Subjects are administered hormonal injections and supplements to ensure optimal uterine receptivity and increase the likelihood of successful embryo implantation.

Tranquilization (Optional)

Depending on the subject’s stress levels, mild to full sedation may be administered to maintain compliance and calm.

Note: [REDACTED]% of surrogates require some form of sedative before insemination.

III. Insemination Process

Surrogates can be assigned one of three insemination methods, depending on operational efficiency, donor availability, and strategic objectives:

"Dad,

I don’t even know who I am anymore. My body feels like it’s not mine. It’s only been a week since I arrived, and my stomach is growing so fast it scares me. I can’t stop eating, and it’s like my hunger gets worse the more I eat, but I can't stop. They keep telling me this is normal, that 16 is a "good number"?! They said it was a badge of honor. Sixteen! I feel like I’m being turned into something I don’t understand, and I can’t stop it." - S131-279-P, Day 6, Weight 192 lbs (+22 lbs)

In Vitro Fertilization (IVF):

Procedure: Embryos fertilized in a laboratory are implanted directly into the surrogate's uterus.

Benefits: High precision, maximum control over embryo count, and genetic compatibility.

Usage: Preferred for surrogates assigned to carry high-volume fetuses or when multiple donors are involved.

Traditional Method (Sexual Intercourse):

Procedure: Selected donors engage in physical intercourse with surrogates under closely monitored conditions.

Benefits: Natural conception methods reduce laboratory overhead and offer efficient insemination for surrogates with high natural fertility markers.

Usage: Typically used donor compatibility is exceptionally high.

Fluids Infusion (Turkey Baster Method):

Procedure: Donor samples are introduced directly into the surrogate's reproductive tract using a sterile infusion device.

Benefits: Combines simplicity with minimal intervention—a cost and time-effective alternative to IVF and traditional methods.

Usage: Often employed in high-volume batches where rapid insemination is required or transportation to the nearest compound is infeasible.

Post-Procedure Monitoring: Surrogates remain in observation units for [REDACTED] hours to confirm successful implantation and address any immediate complications.

IV. Monitoring & Maintenance

Ward Assignment

"Dad,

I don’t think I can do this anymore. My belly is enormous—I can barely move, and I’m out of breath all the time. They keep saying I’m ‘thriving,’ but how can they call this thriving? I heard one of the staff joking about how I’m ‘one of the biggest ones yet.’ They think it’s funny. I don’t. I can feel them—16 of them—moving inside me, taking over everything I used to be. I’m not me anymore." - S131-279-P, Day 13, Weight 254 lbs (+84 lbs)

Surrogates are transferred to gestational wards, where they will reside for their pregnancies. These wards have medical monitoring stations, communal feeding areas, and resting zones.

Nutrition Protocols

Diets are adjusted to high-calorie "one-size-fits-all" solutions, such as nutrient-dense puddings designed to promote fetal growth while maintaining surrogate docility. Hormonal treatments are incorporated into meals to reduce the need for frequent medical interventions.

Weekly Checkups

Surrogates undergo routine ultrasound exams, weight measurements, and health assessments to ensure all embryos develop within target parameters.

Behavioral Observations

Any signs of distress or resistance are addressed promptly through psychological support or, if necessary, isolation protocols.

V. Delivery Process

"This will probably be my last letter. I don’t think I’ll make it much longer. My body’s breaking under the weight—literally. I'm too big, no one was ever meant to be this big. They’re moving me to the birthing wing tomorrow, and I know what that means. I’m terrified, but I don’t have a choice. I just want you to know I didn’t have a choice." - S131-279-P, Day 28, Weight 490 lbs (+320 lbs)

Pre-Labor Preparation

As surrogates approach full term (29-35 days), they are moved to birthing wings equipped with specialized delivery equipment and staff trained for high-multiparity births. Diets are radically adjusted to promote greater weight gain.

Labor Management & Delivery

Surrogates are monitored continuously, and medical staff is on hand to manage complications. Multiple babies are delivered in succession. This process may last several hours or more, depending on the number of fetuses.

Post-Delivery Processing:

Fetuses are immediately evaluated for health and viability.

Surrogates are provided palliative care as necessary.

VI. Post-Delivery Workflow

"Surrogate S131-279-P demonstrated remarkable endurance and successfully delivered 16 fetuses, average weight 14 lbs, in 30-45 minute intervals, after a 34-hour labor. The surrogate's abdomen showed extreme distension, with clear evidence of significant internal [REDACTED]. Full natural delivery was achieved, but the surrogate succumbed to irreversible [REDACTED] failure minutes after the final baby was delivered." - Dr. [REDACTED], Chief OBGYN, Paternity Compound 131

Vital Cessation Verification

Medical staff confirm the cessation of all vital signs immediately following delivery to ensure compliance with humane protocols. Time and cause of expiration are noted for record-keeping and research purposes.

Surrogate Decommissioning & Disposal

[REDACTED]

Note: As standard protocol, all personal items of Surrogate S131-279-P were recycled following his decommissioning, including the destruction of [REDACTED] paper letters addressed to a Mr. [REDACTED] Collazo.

Surrogate Output Metrics

Each surrogate’s performance is evaluated against pre-delivery projections. The Prenatal Division records key performance indicators for review, including total fetal weight, fetal viability, and gestational efficiency. Personal details related to the surrogate are then purged to save computer storage space and maintain confidentiality.

Key Metrics and Efficiency Goals

Average Per Surrogate: 8–14 Embryos

Delivery Survival Rate (Fetuses): [REDACTED]%

Surrogate Survival Rate: 0%

Cost per Surrogate: $[REDACTED]

This structured process ensures that surrogate output meets national population growth goals while maintaining operational efficiency and cost-effectiveness.

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

Click Here to return to DRC Report Archives

57 notes · View notes

forthebrokenheartedthings · 13 days ago

Text

You Better Knock - Part 8 - Your name on his file

TW: Torture, Mind Control, Emotional Manipulation, PTSD, Grief.

Word Count: 1700 +

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Winter Soldier x Reader MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH - THIS ONE HURTS. DON'T SAY I DIDN'T WARN YA.

The Winter Soldier wasn’t supposed to dream.

But lately… you'd been slipping through the cracks.

A face. A name. A flash of warmth before the frost reclaimed him.

Then they handed him a file—with your picture clipped to the front.

You weren’t a memory now.

You were a target. Or an asset.

Or worse—just like him.

They hadn’t shocked him in three days.

Which meant one of two things: He was stable. Or they were about to test something new.

He sat in the restraint chair. The metal cuff on his left wrist was loose—just enough to let the arm twitch when the spasms came.

He didn’t ask for food anymore. Didn’t ask for names. Didn’t ask why the nightmares had started to come with a soundtrack:

A laugh. A piano. A voice saying, You better knock, Buck.

Sometimes the name slipped out. (Y/N). Sometimes he whispered it. Sometimes it played in the static where the commands didn’t quite drown you out.

The technicians noticed.

So they handed him a file.

The photo was black and white.

You were seated on a bench, long coat draped over your knees, head turned like you didn’t know you were being watched.

(Y/L/N), (Y/N). Designation: SUBJECT TWO. Status: In Evaluation. Psych Profile: Unstable. Compliant. Risk.

His thumb dragged across the page.

His chest hurt.

His breathing picked up.

“Barnes,” one of the handlers said. “You know her?”

His fingers tightened.

“I… I…”

He looked at your face again.

He remembered— A ring. A hand on his cheek. Your voice: You’re alive, Buck. I’m right here.

Right here.

Then the surge hit. Sharp. Electric.

“Override,” barked another voice.

The file was ripped from his hands. His wrists re-cuffed. A tech injected something into his spine that turned the world white.

Somewhere down the corridor—

You blinked under a harsh light.

Twitching. Sweating. Your bones ached.

Your memories were there—but so were others. Sharper. Colder. Drilled into your skull with a rhythm that wasn’t your own.

You held the ring again. Clenched it in your palm.

They told you if you passed the next phase, they might let you see him.

Not as a visitor.

As an operative.

______________________________________________________________

The room was built for control.

Steel. Glass. The kind of cold that made your marrow ache.

He was strapped upright to a vertical slab. Wrists locked. Ankles pinned. He wasn’t resisting. But his breath quickened when the side door hissed open.

He knew your footsteps.

Even before he saw you.

You entered like someone already broken—head low, arms trembling behind your back. Barefoot in a gray shift uniform.

But your eyes still found him.

And in them— Something sparked.

“Winter Soldier,” came a voice through the intercom, nasal and gleeful. “You remember Subject Two?”

His jaw didn’t move.

They stepped you closer.

He flinched as they positioned you in front of him.

Close enough that he could see the faint scar at your right temple. One that hadn’t been there before.

“Commence evaluation,” said the voice. “Trigger recall sequence. Subject Two.”

You blinked.

Then opened your mouth.

Your voice didn’t sound like yours.

“Seventeen.”

His hands jerked against the restraints.

“Rusted.”

He shook his head slowly. “No…”

“Furnace.”

“Stop.”

Your voice hitched—like a knife slipping on bone.

“Daybreak.”

He groaned, head dropped, eyes squeezed shut. His arm twitched violently in its bracket.

You stepped closer. Lip trembling.

“Nine.”

“(Y/N),” he rasped. “Don’t do this—don’t let them—”

“Benign.”

A sob broke free.

“Homecoming.”

His head snapped up.

You lifted your hand.

Pressed it gently to his cheek.

Their eyes locked—one last time.

He whispered, “Don’t say it.”

“One.”

He didn’t scream.

But what followed— It tore through him like fire through flesh.

You collapsed to your knees, clutching your chest like you could claw the words back into your throat.

The intercom clicked off.

Satisfied.

They left you there.

You crawled to his feet. Rested your forehead against the cold steel of his leg.

And whispered, again and again:

“Come back to me.”

______________________________________________________________

He didn’t wake up screaming anymore.

That’s how they knew something was wrong.

The Winter Soldier was supposed to be empty.

But now he was waiting. Watching. Breathing like a man with something to lose.

They noticed first when a tech grazed his shoulder too softly—and he flinched.

Not because it hurt.

Because it didn’t.

Later, when they ran his drills, the name slipped again.

(Y/N).

Not with pain.

With a hush. Like a secret.

He wasn’t supposed to have secrets.

Then came the photo.

The one he hid.

Not consciously.

Not yet.

They’d slipped it in with the rest—targets, handlers, traitors. He moved through them like a machine.

Until your eyes met his.

The picture said: Subject Two — FAILURE

He paused.

Just for a second.

But they noticed.

In his cell, he didn’t sleep.

He stared at the ring. Just a glint of it—stolen, hidden in his boot seam.

He didn’t know how it got there.

Didn’t know why he still had it.

But it calmed him. Like an ember refusing to die.

You were somewhere below.

Sedated now. Quiet. Small.

But in his head, you still laughed. Still yelled when he tracked mud in. Still said, You better knock.

And for the first time in years—

He smiled.

It didn’t last long.

But it was enough.

______________________________________________________________

They put you in side-by-side cells.

No blankets. No light.

Just the stench of steel, ammonia, and the sound of nothing.

You didn’t speak for twelve hours.

Neither did he.

Hydra watched. Logged it.

Two perfect subjects.

Quiet. Obedient. Empty.

Exactly what they wanted.

Exactly what you weren’t.

When the guards changed and the silence hummed in that familiar way—

He scratched three slow fingers along the wall.

You caught your breath.

One scratch in reply.

Still there.

Still you.

“You awake?” His voice was sandpaper.

“Always,” you whispered.

The vents buzzed. Surveillance dipped.

“I’ve got twenty seconds before the mic loop resets,” you murmured. “You good?”

“No.”

“Me neither.”

He smiled. Just a little.

You did this every night.

Not enough to be noticed.

But enough.

Enough to remember.

“You still got it?” you asked once.

“The ring?” he murmured. “Always.”

“I picture the house sometimes,” you said. “Brooklyn brownstone. Stairs that creak.”

“A mutt who sheds too much.”

“You coaching a team you hate.”

“You in the kitchen in that awful robe—”

“It’s warm and you loved it.”

“I lied.”

You laughed into your sleeve.

Then—

“I was gonna name her June.”

He blinked.

“The baby?”

“Yeah.”

______________________________________________________________

The next day, they fed you in silence.

Bucky didn’t flinch when the tray slid in.

You didn’t look up.

Hydra logged success.

But that night—

He scratched the wall again.

“Still there?”

“One knock.”

It meant yes. It meant I love you. It meant they hadn’t won.

Not yet.

______________________________________________________________

The vents kicked on.

You lay on your side, chains cold against your ankle. You reached out, fingers brushing the wall. Two slow knocks.

His breath was already there on the other side.

“You okay?”

“No.”

“Good.”

He let out the softest laugh. The kind you used to hear when his head was tucked under your chin.

“Hurts?”

“Always,” you whispered.

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

He shifted closer. You imagined his back pressed to the same wall, both of you held together by the inches of air between.

A pause.

Then you said it.

“Do you think this was the plan?”

“What?”

“Us. Like this. Here.”

Bucky stared at the ceiling.

“No. But we were always gonna be messy.”

You smiled. You knew he could hear it.

“I still remember the night before you shipped out,” you said. “You didn’t sleep. Just kept cleaning that damn uniform like it was gonna win the war itself.”

“You cried into my chest like I wasn’t already drowning.”

“You kissed me like you were gonna live forever.”

“I didn’t.”

“You didn’t die either.”

“…Not yet.”

Silence.

The kind that said everything without saying a word.

Then:

“I still see you sometimes,” you whispered. “Before all this.”

“Where?”

“By the stove. Cussing out the eggs.”

He chuckled. “They deserved it.”

“You’d look at me like I was the only thing that didn’t scare you.”

“You were the only thing that didn’t scare me.”

A beat.

“If this goes bad, Buck—”

“Don’t.”

“If it does—”

“It won’t.”

“Just promise me you’ll—”

“I will knock,” he said. “I will come back.”

You exhaled. Like that was enough.

Like it had to be.

Later, through the static, you said:

“I would’ve loved that house.”

And he whispered back:

“I would’ve hated those stairs.” ______________________________________________________________

They came at dawn.

Hydra never gave warnings.

Two guards. Rifles lazy in their hands. One barked your number.

Not your name.

They never used your name anymore.

You looked back at the wall between you.

Three knocks.

You didn’t get to hear his answer.

Bucky fought.

It was stupid. He knew that.

They were stronger. They were faster. They had the serum and the cuffs and the gas.

But he fought anyway.

They beat him down, restrained him, injected something sharp and cold.

When he woke, he was in the chair.

The same one.

Cold leather. Steel. A bite at his wrists.

He couldn’t move.

But he could see you.

They brought you through the far door.

You stumbled. Your lip was split. Bruises on your arms in the shape of hands that didn’t belong to him.

You saw him.

And smiled anyway.

“Hey, Buck.”

His breath hitched.

You sounded wrecked. But you said his name like it still meant something.

He yanked at the cuffs. “Let her go—LET HER GO—!”

The voice came over the speaker. Calm. Clinical.

“Subject One is resisting reprogramming. Emotional trigger confirmed.”

They forced you to your knees in front of him.

“Barnes,” the voice continued, “this is your final failure point. Observe. Internalize. Let go.”

One of the guards raised the gun.

You looked up at him.

Eyes bright.

Not scared.

Not ashamed.

You leaned forward.

Pressed your lips to his knuckles—cold, metal, trembling.

And whispered:

“You better knock.”

He screamed.

The shot cracked.

Your body hit the floor.

And the scream didn’t stop.

He was still screaming when they dosed him.

When they scrubbed the name.

When they erased your voice from his memory.

When they buried you under ice, silence, and what they hoped was nothing left.

That was the day they finally made him theirs.

But it wouldn’t last.

It never did.

Not with a heart like his.

And a ghost like you. Part 9

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #james bucky buchanan barnes #the winter soldier #winter soldier #character death #marvel

24 notes · View notes

rogersideup · 1 year ago

Text

｡°✩ ♊︎ The Gemini ♊︎ ✩ °｡

Chapter four

Pink Peonies

Series masterlist

Previous part: expendable next part: Rearview

Word count: 7,972

Warnings: My blog is 18+ only. All minors or blogs without an age in bio will be blocked. Minors DNI. Mentions and descriptions of sexual acts, anxiety, and sever depression.

The week leading up to your final evaluation was nothing short of absolutely miserable.

Between losing Steve and Bucky, the only two people that made the compound a bearable place for you, fully processing your breakup with Harvey, and the stress that came along with such an important test made you feel like you were completely lost.

You showed up to work and private training like a good little agent regardless of how much internal pain you felt looking at Steve's face. You endured the two hours of uncomfortable silence with him after enduring working alongside Harvey for 5 hours, then went to the gym and worked out to make sure you stayed prepared and in tip top shape for evaluation.

But once your day was done and you were left to your own devices, it felt like you were shattering and crumbling between the walls of reality.

You could barely eat with the constant stomach ache you've had since Friday night, you could barely sleep through the sheer amount of racing thoughts in your head or the pain of your heart that felt physically broken, and in the morning you barely got yourself out of bed.

Showering and brushing you teeth felt like fighting a war, drinking water might as well have been an Olympic sport, your hair stayed up in a bun or a ponytail because doing anything more than brushing it wasn't in the cards for you.

The highlight of your day recently had been a phone call from Jane and Luca around 6:30pm, it was simple but still enough to keep you going. Your sister fed you just enough encouragement to get to your evaluation, and your nephew was just adorable enough to put a smile on your face even if it was short lived. They encouraged you to keep going, and promised they would be there for you on evaluation day.

It was a graduation of some sorts. Agents got to have close friends and family come watch and support them on the test day, and you we're looking forward to them finally getting to be in the compound with you.

However, all the happiness of Luca getting to live his dreams of seeing the Avengers compound was clouded with anxiety about Steve. You knew he would see his favorite superhero, and you knew there was absolutely nothing you could do to keep that from happening. But you were unwilling to not have your favorite little human not at such a monumental achievement in your life.

Luca watching you become an official, fully operable agent was important to him, almost more than it was to you. So you just hoped and prayed that Steve would react kindly to him, and your sister would react kindly towards Steve after knowing everything that happened between you two. For your sake and the five year old's, you needed everyone to just momentarily pretend like everything is alright.

The night before the big day had you in shambles. Your hands had been shaking with anxiety all day long, and as every minute passed and got closer to evaluation day, the anticipation killed you a little less slowly and a lot more aggressively.

You tried everything you could to calm your nerves. The animated movie illuminating your living room was going by unwatched, the comforting bowl of pho you got yourself was getting colder and less enjoyable with every individual noodle you convinced yourself you had to eat, and the quick shower you needed to take turned from a 10 minute task to a 45 minute one. You couldn't convince yourself to get in, then once the hot water rushed against your body with a comforting pressure, you couldn't convince yourself to get out.

Eventually the walls of your apartment felt like they were swallowing you whole, and no nook or cranny could provide you enough peace to calm your mind. So you threw on a big hoodie and grabbed a blanket before walking the halls until making it outside of the high tech building and onto the lawn.

You found a perfect spot tucked away by the building, it was clear enough out to see all of the stars twinkling in the night sky, and the moon was big and bright. So you laid out your blanket, and laid out on the underneath the night sky.

Rather than letting all of your thoughts and all of the new changes in your life scare you, you tried to slow them down and think through them logically. You thought about everything Steve said to you, what his feelings for you meant and how they affected what you thought you once knew about him and what they meant for you in the future.

You thought about how Harvey was probably going to fail his evaluation tomorrow, and how he would proceed after the fact. Would he give up working for Shield, or would he try again come next evaluation day?

You tried your hardest to avoid thinking about Bucky, because the situation with him was a new kind of pain. The platonic love you had for him was immeasurable, and day by day you found it harder to not forgive him. Because when it came down to it, you understood why he told Steve about your one time escapade. But for as long as Steve was upset, you knew it wasn't worth trying to mend your friendship with Bucky.

Rather than trying to run away from all of the hurt in your heart, the stars and the moon encouraged to you sit in those feelings for awhile. You got about 20 minutes into accepting them for what they were and working through them without pushing them away.

A few tears rolled down your cheeks, but you accepted those too. Instead of wiping them off your face, you just let them drip off the bottom of your jaw with the understanding that they would dry when they were ready.

Footsteps and booming laughter approaching from a distance made you sit up instead of laying flat on your back, not wanting to worry the people about to walk though the area. You tucked your knees to your chest and hugged your legs while continuing to watch an occasional lonesome cloud slowly pass by in the dark sky.

All of the grounding work you did to try and calm your mind and ease your broken heart was reversed as the laughter and footsteps came closer, and you started to recognize the people that the voices belong to. And sure enough, they came into eyesight faster than the universe allowed you to walk away.

Steve and Bucky turned the corner, and they were obviously very happy. Their laughter over what you assumed was an inside joke you were never included in didn't falter. Their happiness and humor felt insensitive at the moment, there was a split moment where you couldn't fathom that they were so jovial at time where you haven't genuinely smiled in almost a week.

You curled yourself up smaller and held your breath, hoping they wouldn't notice you or your slow falling tears. Though you were quiet, made yourself small, and sat in the dark on the grass furthest from the concrete path, they were trained to sense other people around them.

As if you had greeted them first they both stopped at the same time, their laughter fading just to give a friendly greeting to whoever was sitting out there. Only when they looked at you did you try to subtly wipe your tears and unblock your nose. With the hood of your jacket over your head, you could tell it took them a moment to recognize it was you.

You could see the very second your identity dawned on them, both of their shoulders fell and Bucky's face looked apologetic. Steve looked at his watch before looking at you.

As if you knew it was going to happen, your eyes met the grass before you let them look into his. You hadn't made eye contact with him since the initial argument, and you knew that killed him slowly and painfully.

They could both tell you were hurt, but especially Steve. Every single day he's seen you at work you looked just a little worse. It was as if you were slowly deteriorating from the person he once knew. Your big bright eyes where now dull and your eyelids were heavy, your pink cheeks were pale, your energy had sunken in.

"The sprinklers go off in two minutes." Steve told you.

Not expecting either of them to actually say anything to you, your brain couldn't process his words.

"What?" You questioned, looking up at Bucky in confusion, still refusing to look at Steve.

"The lawn gets watered every night at 10pm. It's 9:58." Bucky explained, his tone of voice was apologetic with a hint of empathy. "The sprinklers turn on in 2 minutes."

"Oh..." You understood, feeling disappointed that you had to move. "Thanks."

Expecting them to walk away, you stood up and grabbed your blanket off the grass. But when you turned around, they were both still standing there. Both still staring at you.

You moved onto the path, and they still stood there and stared. Not understanding their intentions, you cocked your head to the side and raised a challenging eyebrow.

"Excuse me?" You questioned, requesting them to stop blocking the path so you could get home and far away from them.

"Are you okay?" Bucky asked.

"Just peachy" You responded simply, pushing past their two bodies to walk along the path.

They started walking behind you, all three of you needing to get to the same elevator. Your body and mind filled with dread, hoping and praying they weren't going to follow you in and get in the same elevator as you. But just in case they were, you tried your hardest to stop crying. You were far too stubborn to let them get a rise out of you.

"You don't seem very Peachy." Bucky said. You could hear the pout and genuine concern in his voice. "We still care about you, Bug. We're worried about you."

"Don't call me that." You sadly shook your head. "And maybe speak for yourself."

Steve sighed at your comment, and you missed the way he tossed his head back trying his hardest to remain composed. He felt stuck between a rock and a hard place. Of course he cared about you, of course he was worried, but he was also mad and didn't want his words to be misconstrued as him trying to make advances towards you.

Bucky backhandedly smacked Steve's chest, trying to get him to say something. You heard the impact, and tried not to smile at Bucky trying his hardest to make it better.

As suddenly Bucky found out that Steve had feelings for you, he started recognizing that you also had very deeply suppressed feelings for him too. The difference was that you pushed them down because your heart was so disconnected from your soul from the amount of torment you went through on a daily basis. Your confidence had never been lower, you genuinely believed you weren't worthy of love, and no part of your heart was open enough to let in or accept that anyone could ever care for you the same way you did for other people.

The compound wasn't good for you, and he knew they made it worse. He wanted to fix it, he wanted both of his best friends to be happy.

"I care about you too, 306." Steve mumbled, hoping it wouldn't back fire.

You just kept walking, trying to blink back the new rush of tears in your eyes and noting that the sprinklers did really turn on at 10 o'clock.

"Why are you out here so late? You have a big day tomorrow." Bucky noted. "I know you're upset and rightfully mad at us, but I'll be there cheering you on tomorrow. No matter what happens I'm always rooting for you."

"Are you sure that's not going to make things weird?" You sassed, but your comment wasn't directed towards him. It was meant for Steve, and he felt the bitterness in every word.

Once again, you heard Bucky's metal hand make harsh contact with Steve's chest. This time it was accommodated with a small 'oof' but he had nothing to say in response to that comment.

"You're going to do great." Bucky said.

You reached the door to the lobby and Steve rushed to the handle to open it, but you got to it before he did, pulling it open and walking through, letting each of the boys hold it open for themselves.

"Thanks." You accepted.

A thick and uncomfortable silence took over as they followed you to the elevator, waited for the doors to open, then the three of you got into the small confined space together.

The silence was so intense that they could hear your tiny sniffles, and you nearly bumped Steve with your elbow as you rushed to wipe away a tear.

They rode it up to your floor first since they lived 3 floors above you, and you felt immediately relief as it stopped on your floor and the doors slid open once more.

Steve's heart thumped so hard he could hear the rush of blood in his ears. He knew this was his last chance to say something before your big day, and he knew he would kick himself if he didn't.

"Good luck." Steve offered with an artificial tight lipped smile. "It'll be easy for you, promise."

As if he said nothing at all, you got off completely unaffected by his words.

"We love you!" Bucky shouted as the doors closed behind him.

You got back to your place and bolted the locks behind you, not even letting yourself begin to unpack that interaction before diving straight into your bed and willing yourself to sleep.

Unfortunately, the morning came way too fast. Your phone was flooding with notifications from your out of state friends and family wishing you well on your big day. And as you slid into your uniform, and did your hair and makeup, you started receiving texts that your support had arrived to the compound.

Making the walk down to the training room and getting checked in was the scariest part. Once everything was set in place and you were waiting for your evaluation to start, you stretched out your arms, legs, and back while looking out into the crowd of your colleagues friends and family.

Surprisingly, you were feeling pretty good. You spotted your Mom and Dad, Sister and Brother in law, Luca all sitting clumped together. Sitting with them was Bucky and Natasha, who also brought along Tony who sat with sunglasses on and a face so straight while he pretended like he wasn't there.

Then walked in Steve, him and Commander Bennett, and Agent Maria Hill were the three leaders who graded each agent on their final and most important test.

The grading system was simple. It was pass or fail, with a note explaining why.

You could hear Luca's little voice through the small crowd of people when Steve walked in wearing his suit. His tiny little voice projecting the announcement that "Oh my gosh CAPTAIN AMERICA IS HERE!" Was just too damn cute for anyone to ignore. It earned lots of laughs from everyone in the room, and it brought a big smile to Steve's face.

Of course he immediately knew who that voice belonged to, but that didn't stop him from finding him in the crowd and waving at him. He understood why you loved the kid so much, he was just about the cutest thing Steve had ever seen.

He noticed Luca looking at you after he waved at him, so he looked at you too. You had a big smile on your face just for five year old who was bouncing with excitement, but Steve could tell the difference between your genuine happiness and the fake smile smeared on your lips.

Eventually the evaluation started. Agents were tested 5 at a time, all running the same sort of obstacle course and shooting test. By the end of each evaluation, it seemed as though each agent was struggling to catch their breath while dripping sweat. A few of them even sprawled out on the floor the second they crossed the finish line.

But you? When you finished your evaluation Steve noticed you were barely panting. Not a hair on your head was out of place, your makeup was still perfect, he couldn't even spot a single bead of sweat along your hairline.

He knew it would be easy for you, he practically passed you before you were even properly evaluated, but the way you were almost unaffected by the rigorous testing and walked away from it without batting an eye was even impressive to him.

The worst thing Steve took away from this, was the understanding of how deeply down bad he was for you. Because even in the midst of the pain of hurting each others feelings, he was immensely proud of you, and never found you more attractive than in this moment.

Because even as you walked up to the three assessors to collect your results, you still refused to look him in the eye. Although his feelings for you were completely misunderstood, he respected the way you held your ground in order to protect yourself and what you believe in.

It was a big improvement from the way you let Harvey drag you along through miles of mud and utter bullshit.

When you looked down at your papers, a very humble, yet genuine smile took over this time, and Steve was happy to see it. You didn't even bother reading the notes that were written for you before walking away quickly to unite with your family.

Steve watched from afar as your parents embraced you both at the same time. Your mom left kisses on your cheeks, your dad the top of your head. With no hesitation, your sister who had your kind eyes and familiar beauty joined the hug, followed by your brother in law, then Luca who tried his hardest but just ended up with his arms embracing your legs.

He couldn't help but to smile as you bent down and picked up the 5 year old, he flopped upside down before you lifted him up and over your head to sit on your shoulders. His belly laugh bounced off the smooth walls as he reached down and grabbed your cheeks, tipping your head upwards to look at him.

"Can I meet Captain Rogers?" He asked.

In an instant, your authentic smile turned plastic. "Who?" You joked.

Steve stood a little straighter, then made awkward momentary eye contact with your dad. Steve died a little on the inside when he politely motioned asking him to come here, presumably to meet Luca, but a part of him wondered if he had heard the news of what happened between him and his daughter. Keeping a professional face, he did consider that he was about to get his ass kicked by the man who created you.

"Look, Luca, he's coming over now!" Your dad announced.

"Oh, what a joy!" Your sister smiled wide, squeezing your arms and shaking you around a bit.

Okay, Sister definitely knows.

One deep breath for you and Steve, and your brave faces were on.

"Congratulations, Agent." Steve spoke firmly as he approached. "You did great, far beyond expectations."

"Thank you, Captain." Just like that, you made eye contact with him for the first time in a week. It was a testament to deep love you had for your family, but especially for Luca. You'd be damned if you crushed his tiny superhero loving heart, so you did your best to pretend like everything was perfectly normal. Luckily, five year olds can't see lingering pain deep behind your eyes like Steve could. "This is Luca, he's very excited to meet you. He was wondering if you would take a picture with him."

"Hey buddy! I've heard so much about you!" Steve's smile widened at the boy who was in absolute shock, staring right back at him with wide sparkly eyes and a slack jaw. "I heard you're going to join the Avengers soon, is that true?"

"I'm only 5!" The boy giggled.

"What?! You look strong enough to be an Avenger!" Steve enthused, "let me see how strong you are, give me a high-five."

Steve stuck his arm up over your head, and your nephew smacked his hand as per request. After hearing their two hands meet in the middle, Steve pulled his away and shook it off "oh yeah, we definitely have a future superhero on our hands."

"My mommy and daddy said I have to be a teenager before I can be an agent like Auntie." Luca explained.

"They sound very smart." Steve chuckled at the boy who was wise beyond his years. "Is this them?"

Wonderful. Of course Steve would be the man to introduce himself to your family completely unprompted. You watched him shake hands with your dad, sister and her husband, meanwhile your mom went for a full blown hug. In that moment you wanted to shrivel up and let the floor swallow you whole, maybe rip your mom away and correct her mistakes for the improper greeting to such a highly decorated service man. But Steve took it like a champ, and you knew he loved it, which made you want to rip him away and tell him to stay away from your mom for the rest of eternity. You wanted him to stay away from you for the rest of eternity.

Looking around for Bucky and Nat, maybe even Tony, shit, even Harvey to try and get you out of your own personal hell was wildly unsuccessful. The room was far too busy and disorderly to plot an escape plan before your Dad was shoving Steve next to you and Luca with a camera in your face telling you to say cheeeeeeeeessseeeee.

Hopefully your smiling face didn't come across as vicious as it felt when that photo was inevitably plastered across social media for the entirety of the internet to see.

Eventually you managed to peel Luca and your Dad away from Steve and herd your family around the compound and up to your apartment. As you were leaving you could see Harvey with his head down, yet all of his browbeater friends were celebrating around him. It made you roll your eyes, but once again you moved on for the sake of your family.

As you approached the door with your key in hand and family behind you, there was a big, beautiful fresh flower arrangement in front of it with a card. Your mom made some comments about how beautiful it was as you picked it up and let them inside.

You had a feeling you already knew who it was from, so you left it on the kitchen counter and decided to read the card later as you vowed to spend much needed quality time with your family.

Although the beginning of the day was emotionally exhausting, the rest of the day felt like a big breath of fresh air. Spending time with your family in your own home made the compound feel so much warmer than it ever has. A good meal, lots of laughter, and so much play time with the little one had your parents exhausted and shuffling out of the compound around 7pm after more hugs and lots of kisses.

That left Luca and his dad that we're both fast asleep on the living room rug as the TV played a Disney movie, and Jane who was sitting across from you on the couch.

"I can feel you staring at me." You looked over at her with a questioning tone.

She had a loving smile on her face. "I'm proud of you. You've turned into such an incredible woman right in front of my eyes, and I'm just so grateful that I get to look up to my own little sister. How many people can say that?"

"Well, I still look up to you everyday." You denied her complement, but she was still looking at you as if there was more she had to say. "Cut to the chase."

"You've spent a lot of time crying on my couch, I need to talk about the boy." She stated.

"Which one?" You grumbled. "I hate that there's 3 options."

"Steve." She said sympathetically. "I get to call him that because he hurt my baby sister's feelings."

"At least you didn't hug him." You shrugged. "Kind've don't care about respecting titles anymore."

"I know how much he hurt you, and I know he jumped the gun and is treating you unfairly compared to Bucky. I even know that you feel like your whole friendship with him was just his attempt at trying to sleep with you, but Smalls..."

"Don't say it." You plugged your ears and sunk deeper into the couch cushions.

Jane reached out and ripped your hands away from your ears. "The way he looks at you is just so sweet. And the way he was so kind to all of us and Luca even though you two aren't on speaking terms says a lot about his character. He's head over heels for you."

"The way he looks at me?" You scoffed. "He looks at me like an asset because he wants me to join the Avengers. They all see me like a little worker ant that's going to pick up the weight of their jobs."

"No, that's not it." You sister denied. "You know the truth and you're pushing him away because he hurt you. You hurt him too, even if you didn't mean it. I can see it in his body language that he cares for you, he seemed nervous for you today, and he looked so happy when you did well. That's not someone who's just trying to sleep with you and run."

"Well even if that's the truth, it doesn't matter because he's never expressed any of that to me with his own mouth." You explained. "You know how he handled the situation was wrong, he had no right to come at me with an attitude like that. Him and Bucky had no right to put all the blame on me. If he's having big feelings, he can express them with his big boy words. I'm not going to play a stupid little game with him like we're teenagers."

"I understand, and you're right." Jane validated your emotions. "But he seems really sweet... and he's absolutely gorgeous so maybe you should just consider my point of view."

"Ugh, his gorgeousness starts going blind to your eyes after a few hours. You get used to it, that's not a reason to forgive him." You lied.

"Who are the flowers from?" She quipped, knowing you lied straight through your teeth.

"I don't know."

"Should we read the note?"

"Nope." You looked straight forward at the TV screen. "That's not a question I need answered right now."

"Smalls..."

"What?"

"His gorgeousness never gets old, does it?" She called out your lie.

“... no." You threw your head back in complaint.

Eventually the three of them left as well. The day was getting late and Luca was exhausted from so much excitement, but the second you were alone in your apartment again you felt the weight of the compound right back on your shoulders.

Anxiety bloomed deep in your stomach and crawled up to your heart as you dragged your feet over to the flower arrangement that was left untouched on your counter. Your fingers struggled to open the card, but you got there eventually.

Before you even got to the note, you noticed that the arrangement was made of your favorite flower, pink peonies.

The entirety of your relationship with Harvey, he only bought you flowers once and it was after an explosive argument. Steve and Bucky came over the next day, and without fail both of them barked out a laugh at the flowers he had chosen because they weren't even your favorite kind of flower.

You didn't necessarily remember even disclosing your favorite flowers to them, yet they always referenced the bouquet of sad looking yellow chrysanthemums from the grocery store. Of course you reminded them that the type of flower or where he got them from didn't matter to you, it was just the effort and the gesture. The boys were fast to shut that sentiment down, because really, the pretty pink peonies weren't that hard to obtain, so how he managed to mess that up too was beyond your chivalrous best friends.

It didn't take long before you opened up the card inside and recognized the handwriting on it. There was an obvious effort made as it was written neatly and the lines were nice and straight.

Congratulations, Agent!

We're all so proud of you and everything you've accomplished through hard work and dedication. We've been keeping an eye on you, and we know this journey has been difficult regardless of how easy you made it look. Watching you grow from a rookie to the highest ranking Agent Shield has ever seen has been a privilege to say the least. Although you're skillful in battle and combat, your kind heart and determination that never faltered through the journey is what will get you far. We see all the amazing qualities that make you not just a great fighter, but a great person. We could always use more people like you, and we're here whenever you're ready. From the bottom of our heart, we hope you consider a place on our team once more.

With warm regards and no pressure,

Steve + Bucky, The Avengers.

(Okay, maybe a little bit of pressure.)

You put the letter down, not allowing yourself to break down and over analyze the potential double meaning behind each of the words. The ache pounding at the back of your skull was already a nuisance, and trying to figure out why the boys were being so nice to you after treating you so poorly and denouncing your friendship was bound to make the dull ache sharper.

You dragged your feet all the way to bed before flopping in and wrapping yourself up into the tightest, fuzzy blanket cocoon.

Even with your accomplishment today, tomorrow was your first day as an official agent, and there was more work to be done.

Just like there would be the next day, and Monday, and Tuesday, and Wednesday, and Thursday....

Well, Monday through Thursday were pretty uneventful. You dug your head into the new work assignments you got now that you didn't have normal agent training, and you loved every second of it. It was worth all of your blood, sweat and tears to get there. Then you moved on to individual training with Steve that you painfully wished could be over soon.

All week you let him talk at you, and you never verbally responded. Just as much as you didn't want to be there, you could tell he didn't want to be there either. Today the two of you just sat as he showed and explained to you the different kinds of restraints you would be seeing out in the world on missions, then he would put them on himself and show you how to get out of them.

Deep regret was the only emotion you could use to describe the feeling of saying you would finish off your last few weeks with him working through your biggest fear. It seemed like a good idea two weeks ago when you still had full trust and confidence in him, but now he was flailing ropes, zip ties and handcuffs in your face while you sat completely silent, hoping your face wasn't giving away how unsettled you truly felt by this.

Maybe it would've been better if his voice wasn't so low or monotone, maybe if he actually had changed into gym clothes instead of sitting on the floor in his well put together office outfit you would feel less intimidated.

The only words that made you feel less uncomfortable today was that he wouldn't have you practicing any of this until tomorrow. But his words sat heavily on your mind and made your hands shake all throughout the rest of your day, they made you lose sleep that night, pulled your mind away from work the day of, and made the brain noise so loud that you had to listen to music in your headphones to keep your anxiety to a manageable level just to get yourself to even walk to training again.

Trying your absolute hardest not to think about what was about to happen, you looked down at your own two feet and counted each step as you made the walk, and let the melody of your favorite song distract you from reality.

Unfortunately your music wasn't loud enough to drown out the sounds of your name being called from behind you in the hallway empty besides you and one of three people you really didn't want to see.

So, you tried your hardest to ignore the tormenting happening behind you.

"I know you can hear me, stop being a bitch." Harvey's voice cut through the peaceful music.

"Stop walking I'm trying to talk to you."

"Baby, please. It'll only take a minute."

"I swear to fucking god!" This time he shouted and grabbed your arm, yanking it as hard as he could. An excruciating pain through your shoulder manifested as a yelp and your feet stoped in their place. Keeping hold of your wrist, Harvey used his other forearm to dig into your collarbones and shove you against the wall, using his body to cage you in. "Don't walk away when I'm trying to talk to you."

He ripped one of your AirPods out of your ears and stomped it with his foot. "What the fuck do you want?" You questioned, hoping and praying the pain in your shoulder that was radiating down your arm was nothing but a short term reaction to his assault on your body.

"You blocked my phone number, you ignore me when I try to talk to you in person. How am I ever supposed to get through to you?" He scolded, getting all up in your face as an intimidation tactic.

"You're not supposed to." You sassed. "That's the point. Will you let me go now? You're going to make me late."

"Did you pass evaluation?" He asked.

"I'll tell you if you let me go."

"Of course you did." He got even closer and his voice louder. The whole font of his body was pressing into yours, creating an uncomfortable vice between him and the wall. "You never would've passed had it not been for your scheduled time to jerk off Captain Rogers every day."

"Is that what you're telling yourself to feel better about your failed assessment?" You asked, exhausted of the narrative that your success only came at the mercy of the men around you.

"Why would you think I failed?"

"Because you're sloppy, you don't take your job or the training seriously, you've spent more of you energy worrying about me more than yourself, oh, and your uniform still has the rookie patch on it." You let your words flow out of you like venom. Frankly, you didn't care if it upset him, traveled through his blood and left a toxic taste in his mouth.

Your shoulder was killing you, you were tired and angry, and in the middle of an argument with two grown men over the fact that you quite literally did not jerk Steve off. So yeah, you weren't going to bat your eyelashes and smile at a man who had you pinned against a wall.

Harvey was speechless for a moment, so you continued. "So, I don't think you failed, I know you failed. And I didn't only pass because of Steve. He helped me, but I was doing well before him and I'll continue to do well after him."

You used all your force to shove Harvey off of you, in a moment of shock from your words and behavior, he stumbled back. Then, he was angry all over again.

He tried to throw a punch right at your jaw, but you blocked it, and kicked him right in the stomach. Not hard enough to intend to hurt him, but hard enough to knock him off of his feet and flat on the ground.

With a groan and some struggle, he tried to get up. So you left your foot flat on his stomach as a statement. It quickly got him to stay down.

"Don't you ever try to contact me again. Not through my phone, not to my face, never." You practically growled, still trying to make sure he couldn't tell that he had caused you pain.

Once you were positive that you got your point across, only then did you remove your foot from his body, pick up your broken AirPod to keep as evidence, then start walking away.

“Everyone knows what you and Sargent Barnes did." His voice sounded from behind you.

You stopped in your tracks, oxygen momentarily leaving your lungs. "What exactly did Sargent Barnes and I do?" You asked while keeping a stern face, hoping it was all the same rumors that float around about you and Steve.

"I don't even have to tell you, because you already know what you did." Harvey denied your peace of mind. "Now I know what everyone else knows to. I should've never trusted that you were just friends with both him and Captain Rogers, and that you're the biggest slut in this place."

This time you really did walk away, ignoring his last attempts at getting you to bite into his bait by calling you a whore from his spot in the hallway unable to peel himself off of the ground.

Once he couldn't see you anymore, tears flooded your eyes but you couldn't tell of it was from the physical or emotional pain, and your gripped your shoulder trying to rationalize that you didn't need to go to the medical bay.

The last thing you wanted to do now was see Steve, but you hoped he would go easy on you considering the circumstances.

Your faith in his ability to be a kind and empathetic person completely faltered as your pushed through the doors to the gym and he was already angry at you.

"You're late." He told you sternly, his face was set in a disappointment.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and squeezed your shoulder, hoping the added pressure would help sooth your pain.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be late. I was on time then Ha-" You started explaining, looking at him with fear and tears in your eyes.

"I don't need an excuse." Steve grumbled, cutting you off and very obviously in a foul mood.

He started walking towards you with a rope in his hand, and your heart dropped to your stomach. "Wait, please just- I was on my way here but Harv-"

"I don't care, it's fine." Steve cut you off again. "We're already behind on time, let's just start."

He got close enough to touch you, and you instinctively took a big step back, but it didn't even phase Steve. He grabbed your hand off your shoulder and put it behind your back. Bracing yourself for the pain of him inevitably grabbing your other arm, you frantically let the words "he hurt me" Spill out of your mouth like vomit.

But it didn't come out fast enough, and before you knew it, both of your arms were behind your back and the pain shooting through your arm combined with the devastating realization that Steve didn't care about you anymore made you feel like you were going to be sick.

You could feel the rope around your wrist becoming uncomfortably tight, each knot he tied added another knot to your stomach. "Zero percent."

"What?" He questioned.

Your tears spilled over the edge. "Zero percent trust in you right now. Please stop and just listen to me for one second."

"You're only saying that because you're scared of the restraints." Steve rationalized. "I showed you how to get out, you'll be fine."

"You don't understand" You cried, feeling more and more unsettled by the second, a deep panic settling in your stomach. "Please, I'm trying to tell you what just happened and you aren't listening to me"

He finished up the knot then turned around to face you again. "This is the first time you've tried to even have a conversation with me in two weeks, why should I hear you out when you won't even begin to let me speak to you?"

Steve sat you down on a chair, and started tying your feet. Everything in you told you to fight it, but you were feeling unexpectedly scared of him. You knew you could never match his strength to fight off his efforts and you could never outrun him.

Your friend Steve was nowhere to be found, in front of you was only a dark and stormy Captain America. A weapon of a man with no intention of switching on the safety.

By unintentionally denying his affection towards you two weeks ago, you loaded him up and now the barrel was was pointed directly at your chest. Now, there was no empathy for your fear, no husbandry to make you feel more comfortable in a situation you told him you never wanted to be in, and no regard to what you just went through.

"I'm sorry, I'm just trying to tell you now because odds are you're going to hear about it eventually because-"

"Okay then I'll hear about it when it gets back to me. We really need to get this going" He told you. "Just calm down, and try to get out how I showed you yesterday."

"You're mad at me, and I get that, but I need my boss right now." You cried, yanking at the ropes on your wrists and ankles, none of them budging.

"I'm not your boss anymore, I haven't been since you passed evaluation." He told you, setting a timer on his phone for 54 minutes. "I only have an hour for training today because I was double booked. I'm going to leave you here to calm yourself down and figure out how to get out. I'll be right back there, either come get me when you're out, or I'll untie you at the end of the hour if you can't do it."

"Steve, don't walk away from me right now, I'm trying to tell you I need a medic." You said frantically, your panic attack hitting you harder by the second.

"Out on a mission we don't get to pick and choose when we get held hostage, consider this extra practice." He started to walk off.

You felt pathetic as your lungs stung with every panting breath, your hands shook as your fingers tried their hardest to untie the knot Steve made sure to pull extra tight, your stomach churned with uncontrollable fear, and your heart thumped so strongly and passionately that you could hear it in your ears despite the physical pain you felt in chest.

Whenever you had panic attacks, your skin broke out in a red splotchy tint, and the world seemed to spin around like a bad case of vertigo. It felt like the floor beneath you was crumbling and cracking with every moment passing, as the walls slowly closed in and the ceiling came down.

Black fuzzies and watery tears altered your vision as you pushed past the pain and tried to get your hands free. It only took about 15 minutes before the rope fell to the floor and the circulation rushed back to your hands. Untying your feet was a lot easier with two free hands, but still mildly difficult with Steve's knot tying skills and the sharp sting in your shoulder every time you exerted your arm.

You got out, you never doubted that you could. But that was never the point, and Steve would've known that had he ever just listened to you. That only fueled your panicked rage as you grabbed the ropes off the floor and stomped over to him, sitting in the very back corner of the gym watching you with a blank look on his face.

The thick ropes smacked the floor right next to his legs, exactly where you aimed as you snapped them out of your hands. "I have no interest in completing the rest of the hour you so graciously gifted me, and absolutely no interest in training with you ever again."

Steve was taken back by the fiery rage that was being directed at him. He knew he was being hard on you, but he was only being hard on you because he thought you could take it. "Woah, hold on. Let's just take a breather for a second."

"No, I don't need a fucking breather, you dipshit." You shouted at him, tears still flowing, hands still shaking. "I need to go see the doctor, that's what I need and that's what you're not understanding. I needed you to listen, I needed you to understand that I wasn't trying to get out of the lesson. I wasn't scared of your fucking ropes, I was scared of Harvey, and now I'm scared of you."

Steve immediately felt awful as your hand found your shoulder again, now that he was getting a better look he could tell it definitely wasn't in the right place. He gulped understanding that he let his pre-existing bad mood deepen the hole he dug your friendship into. "I'm sorry I didn't realize..."

"Now it's my turn to not care." You cried. "I didn't lose trust in you before, not even after you came into my apartment and yelled at me for what I did with Bucky, maybe a little after I found out our whole friendship was just because you wanted to get into my pants. But this stunt you just pulled? You've broken every ounce of trust I've ever given you and I don't think it'll ever be repaired."

"I- I didn't mean to." He said quietly, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have been so hard on you, I'm sorry, I was in a bad mood and I just... let it out on you and it wasn't fair."

"I don't deserve to be treated like this over one mistake, Steve. One. I'm sorry I accidentally hurt you, it was never my intention and I'll regret that till the day I die but I never deserved this." You cried. "Please just leave me alone now. I don't want formalities or pleasantries in passing, I don't want anymore flowers or congratulations, I don't want anything other than to just be left alone now. Because I can't do this anymore."

"Okay, I'm sorry." He surrendered, recognizing the agony you were truly in over this.

"This was way worse than anything I ever did to you." Your voice cracked. "It's a good thing you aren't my boss anymore, because as far as you're concerned I don't even exist to you anymore."

He couldn't mutter anything close to a proper apology or even a goodbye as you stomped away from him for the very last time.

Next Part: Rearview

OOP… angsty. Sound off in my inbox! I want to hear all your juicy opinions!

Taglist: @saranghaey @firephotogrl74 @selella @talesofadragon @ss28 @nekoannie-chan @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @spikeluv84 @crazyunsexycool @callmissrogers @xxxalicerogersxx @whore-for-chris-evans @em8rin @mulbsstuff @qualijahbydior @awkotaco24 @buckybarnessimpp @nicoline1998enilocin @buckystevelove @rogersbarber @mybuck @dbnightingale24 @ynstark @sincerelytlh @klaralovescaptainamerica @alexakeyloveloki

201 notes · View notes