#Soldier Hops

[roses-and-revolutions]

DC x DP Idea

After several years, Danny and Damian meet each other again at a gala. But there was no heartfelt reunion since the moment they led eyes on each other it was all-out war. Damian takes out a sword from somewhere and Danny just starts throwing hands.

The fighting is intense, and blood is being spilled (what are those glowing green specks?). They are screaming at each other in Arabic as it's easier to slip back to your mother tongue when in rage right? This makes the fight more personal.

Most people don't understand what they're saying but those who do look at the boys then Bruce. Bruce then back to the boys again. Like B, we know you're stupid but you fucked this person twice.... did you NOT see the red flags the SECOND TIME!?!?

The fight ends with Damian on the ground with the sword grazing his neck. He looks up to Danyal with the fear of god in his eyes, knowing that with one swift movement, he'll be dead on the dance floor. But Danny's eyes were cold and tired, they were dead. No spark, no sense of life in those chilling blue depths.

Calmly, Danny spoke to Damian. His voice was crystal clear, cool like a mountain stream.

"Just because you jumped into the fire behind me doesn't mean you felt the pain I did.  Your hand was held above the flames while I was being burnt in the fucking fire."

Damian begins to cry because he knows that Danny is right. No matter what he went through, it would never compare to what happened to his big brother. Even more so, when he feels long lanky arms wrap around him, a cool hand rubbing his back soothingly, and whispers of sweet nothingness entering his ears.

He cries because no matter what he does he will never be like his big brother.

[leffee]

Some time has passed so I decided to update my Scout ships tier list (I still like them all)

I just

Mmmmm (sorry for shitty screencap, I tried my best). Like, sir??? You can't just show me a man bride carrying a smaller man and expect me to remain normal. I gotta tell you, I regret watching Jungle Inferno so late, cause fking look at them >.>.

Can you tell I like size difference as big as possible

Anyway, I need more Saxton x Scout

Also if polys where there heavymediscout would be right up there with heavyscout

[fanaticsnail]

Love you, Doc

Hey Doc Masterlist

Word Count: 4,400

Synopsis: Eustass Kid has come down with the non-life threatening ailment known as "the common cold." It is your job to care for him, no matter who orders you to do so.

Themes: Kid Pirates x gn!reader, platonic fic, you are the doctor of the Kid Pirates, you have been injured in the leg a few chapters ago by a person from your past, platonic love confessions, swearing, cuddling, Kid is sick, teasing, aged wound care, remedial massage, medicine taking, platonic kisses, swearing.

Notes: Shout out to @thenotsofantasticlifestory for being an absolute darling, listening to my rambles, and steering me into the right direction. Love you lots, Sto.

“Hey Doc,” a flash of a high, blonde ponytail flicks through the threshold from the doorframe, “You busy?” Placing down your medical journal you ordered, authored by a traveling doctor stationed on Drum Island, you turn towards Hop and offer her a two finger salute.

“Not if something’s broken, bleeding, or on fire,” you shrug nonchalantly while giving her a once over with your pointed gaze, “Didn’t go too hard sparring with Hip again, did you? Nothing sprained?” 

“No, no, nothin’ like that! I, uh-...” she trailed off, clutching the back of her neck while avoiding your gaze. Furrowing your brows, you turn your body fully towards her while remaining seated on your rotating swivel chair. 

“Spit it out, Hop. What do you need?” While your question was more tonally a statement punctuating your order, you still assumed your position of duty of care for your crew. She slouched her shoulders, hanging her head and gesturing a single pointed finger out to the side. 

“Cap’n needs you,” she whispered, barely audible. Feeling a little proud for a moment, you lean forward and raise your hand up to cup the shell of your left ear. 

“What was that, sweetheart? Come again?” you offer with a cocky smirk. The tall, blonde pouts while sucking in a large breath through her nose. Arching her back to full stature, she points more firmly in the direction of Kid’s quarters with her lips curled back in a soft snarl.

“The captain needs you, or,” she removes her hand from its outstretched position and crosses her arms over her chest, “Technically speaking: Heat told me to tell you that, Wire told him that he overheard Killer having an argument with the Captain about needing medical attention. Satisfied?” She offered the last part with a huffy taunt, prompting you to grin back at her. 

“Not for years,” you tease her, gesturing for her to come a little closer to your position sitting at your desk, “Come on, help me up. Leg’s still not the same since the spear incident.” You place down the book and 

Rolling her eyes, she casually strolled over towards you and wove herself beneath your arm. With one hand around your waist, the other clutching your wrist, she raised you to your feet and prompted you to let out a soft hiss at the impact of the elevation. The injury to your leg had only begun to crust over, the ooze from the coarse platelets itching at the skin. Bandages only did so much to ease the pressure from the wounds to the muscles, but you tried your best to push it aside to tend to the needs of your captain and your crew.

“Ah, shit,” you laughed through the pain, feeling the prickle of pins and needles pooling to your foot after having your leg elevated for so long beneath the desk. Hop chuckled along with you, giving your hip a gentle pinch while aiding you to stand properly. Without even finding the need to open your mouth, she wordlessly handed you the cane Kid fashioned for you to balance on. 

“Thanks, Hop,” you offered her a half-smile, removing yourself from her grip and looking to your desk. Scrunching up your nose briefly, you arch your brow up at her. 

“Did Wire tell Heat to tell you what type of medical attention he overheard the captain arguing with Killer about?” you offer her a sly smile, reaching for your satchel below your drawers, “Or am I going into this blind like the Reck incident a couple months ago?” 

“Honestly, I have no idea. Heat told me nothing,” she overemphasized her words by swiping her right hand in front of her chest. You shook your head, snorting out a soft laugh while throwing the loop of your satchel over your shoulder. 

Taking a moment to pause, you took a quick glance back at the medical journal and rolled over in your mind the last chapter of wound care and advanced treatment. Internally arguing with yourself for under a second, you decided to take a vial of oil extract from a medicinal plant to promote healing treatment for aged wounds and scars. If your captain was down with something, he might be more pliant in allowing you to experiment with your newfound knowledge. If not, there was always Killer who would always allow you a go at him with medicinal practicing.

“Alright,” you give her a soft nod, “Thanks again, Hop. I’ll go see to him now. Go back to whatever you were doing, or hide here to avoid duties. I don’t mind, just don’t touch the instruments.”

“Aye, Doc,” she offered you a soft salute, plopping herself down on your elevated bay bed and flicking through one of your medical magazines. You chuckle at her, shaking your head at the ease she made herself at home in your office, before hobbling your way down the hallway towards the steps up to Kid’s quarters. 

Slowly bracing yourself on the wooden wall, you took your time walking up the steps to not overdo your injury. While the Kid Pirates were more inclined to ignore the roaring ache you felt lingering beneath your skin, you wanted this to heal properly: taking your own advice, no matter how much you fought the urge not to. The Captain and the three commanders worked hard to save your leg, especially Heat, and you didn’t want to do wrong by them by having to lose it if you didn’t care enough for yourself. 

As soon as you made it up the last step, you heard a large rukkus and commotion from behind the door. Elevated voices, spluttered coughs, and mucusy sniffles ricocheted through the wooden walls and down the lengthy corridor. 

“I don't-,” the voice of your captain crackled, his usual tone more nasally than his usual cadence, “-And then I-!”

“-Get them, I swear, Captain. Doc needs to come and see you,” Killer’s soothing tone was more harsh than it usually was. It was unlike Kid and Killer to be fighting like this, especially for so long given the time it took to communicate it back to you. 

Exhaling more than what you had prepared for yourself, you hang your head while mentally preparing to deliver him his treatment of choice. Considering it was not that long ago that you, yourself, had suffered with this sort of affliction, you knew you would be able to endure being in the same room as your captain without much risk to yourself. Killer wore a mask, likely shielding him from catching the most of the illness, much to your joy. 

This could only mean one thing, and one thing only. Eustass “Captain” Kid had the non-life-threatening ailment known as: the common cold. 

With a lengthy inhale, you straightened your spine and rolled your neck around on your shoulders. With several pops of bone and muscle, you shrugged off the last of your inhibitions and readied yourself for an afternoon of treating your captain of his illness. Thanking your prior preparation of including several bottles of various tonics and honeyed anti-inflammatories, you brought your knuckles to the door and rapped on the wooden surface. 

You couldn't fight back the smile that rose upon hearing a repetition of “Please be Doc, please be Doc, please be Doc,” from the blonde first-mate. The door creaked open in a harsh tug, halting at three inches as the blue and white mask of Killer peeked through the small crack. 

“Oh, thank fuck,” Killer exhaled, his shoulders falling in a large slouch, “Please, in. In, in, in,” he ushered you inside Kid’s quarters with a hand floundering on your shoulders. You grimaced as you balanced out your weight on your injured leg, hobbling to adjust to a comfortable stature. Killer took a minute to insure you were safely tucked inside Kid's quarters before using a spurt of energy to flee from the room with a sheepish air to his actions. 

“He's all yours, Doc,” the jovial, teasing tone of the first mate cut through the air and prompted you to almost growl as Killer closed the door behind himself. Staring at the chipped paint of the wooden door, you heard a spluttering cough from the corner of your captain's quarters. Far away from the coziness of his bed, you turned to view the hulking figure of your captain hunched over his desk, his shoulders donning his large duvet as he scratched etchings onto a blank sheet of pressed paper. 

“Captain?” you slowly asked, turning away from the door and stepping towards his desk, “Captain, are you alright?” 

“Go away,” the nasally voice growled from beneath the shroud. His right arm continued to roll the utensils within his digits and scratch inked blots into the pages. “M’working. Go do doctor things, Doc. Find someone else to torment.” 

Rolling your eyes, you saunter over to the desk and peer over his shoulder. The page was littered with sharp lines of various sizes, neat notations within the marines depicting metallic elements on the periodic table, and heat temperatures for soldering purposes. You shake your head and slowly reach over your captain's shoulders, perching your hands over the duvet and giving the taut muscles a gentle squeeze. 

“I am not here to torment you, Cap,” you confess to him, tugging at his shoulders until his broad torso slunk against your chest. He pressed his head back against your chest, slowly leaning to the side and peering from the corner of his eye up at you. “I'm here to look after you.” You smile sweetly down at him, reaching up and smoothing your digits over his fluffy red hair. 

Eustass Kid’s bottom lip protruded, his eyelids swollen and puffy, and nostrils peeling skin from the swollen corners of his nose. His eyes began to water as he sniffed back another blocked rumble of air through what could manage to pass through his nose. 

“Do you want me to look after you, Captain?” you ask, truthfully knowing the answer he was desperately pleading with his eyes, but wanting him to speak it anyway. Taking a deep inhale through his raspy, crackling throat, Eustass Kid brayed out his answer in a forlorn whine. 

“Ye-es,” he wailed, leaning fully into your arms and closing his eyes. “I can't breathe, my mind is foggy, I can't lay down without my fuckin’ nose dripping all over the place, and I can't fuckin’ sleep while that's the only thing I really want to do. I haven't slept in three fuckin’ days.” The floodgates of Eustass Kid’s needs were broken like a dam, each word rolling over the other as you ushered him over to his large bed. Gently prying his duvet from his shoulders, you guided him to his bed while he continued to whine hoarsely. 

“My throat feels like I've swallowed glass, my eyes won't stop leaking, my ears keep popping and crackling, and there's this infernal ringing going on like a mosquito is trapped in my eardrum.” You ushered him to sit on his bed, propping him into a reclined position with his right arm propped over his stomach with a pillow beneath it, and his left stump elevated. Finding more pillows in his personal linen cupboard, you stuffed a few more up to hold him comfortably upright before tucking the duvet over his waist. 

“Sounds like you've got it bad, Cap,” you nodded sympathetically, locating your bag and popping the seal, “Tinnitus in which ear, hm? Left or right?” 

“Left, I think. It's like a buzz at this stage, don't pay it any mind,” he nodded, feeling the weight of his eyes falling like anchors over his glassy orbs. “What's really fuckin’ bad is my arm. It feels like it's still there, and it's like fire in my skin,” he looked down at his missing left arm with pain written on his features, “I can feel my hand gripping hard, like I can't let go of something important. S’always shit when I get sick, and this time it's just tauntin’ me.” 

You sigh empathetically, looking briefly down at your still healing leg before you continued to ready a cocktail of medication for your captain. Antibiotics, probiotics, pain relief, blood thinners, muscle relaxants, and sleep aid was calculated and lumped in according to his height to weight distribution, and adjusted for more comfort to his high pain tolerance. Usually, you would make fun of him for acting like this, but this vulnerability had you feeling closer to your captain than ever. You hastily clutched the vial you packed into your satchel within your palm before walking with your knees towards the reclined posture of the large red-head. 

“Take these with some water. I know it's shit, and it'll hurt your throat, but I'll get Killer to make you some lemon and honey tea to aid with the sting,” you nodded, reaching up your hand to his lips and popping the assortment of pills within his painted lips. Watching as he held them in his mouth briefly, you reached the top of his drawers for the glass of water you knew Killer put there a few hours ago and drew it up to Kid’s lips. He eagerly gulped down the contents, wincing at the hard pills lodging in his raw throat, before swallowing them down obediently. 

“You'll start to feel better in about ten minutes,” you nod to him, placing the water glass on the bench top beside the bed, “And while we wait, I'm going to see what I can do about your arm.” Reaching into your pocket, you uncorked the vial and poured a generous amount of oiled liquid into the center of your palm. Rolling your hands together, you warmed the liquid with the heat of your skin before drawing it towards the scarred left arm of your captain. 

“Keen for me to experiment a bit with your skin?” you quirked at him, hovering above and awaiting consent from the hulking figure of your captain. 

“You said you're gonna take care o’ me,” he grumbled, huffing and pouting like a petulant child, “So hurry up and do it already. I fuckin’ hate feeling like this, and I just-... I just-...” His eyes welled up, prompting him to turn to the side and hide his face from you, “...I just don't want to be in charge anymore. I can't be in charge anymore. I feel like absolute dog shit, and I just-... I need help sometimes.” He turned his orange eyes up at you, begging within his rounded orbs, “Please, Doc? Just make it stop? Please?”

Immediately pressing your hands to his arm, you give his muscles a constricting grip and roll the flesh beneath your digits. 

“Tense up with me,” you order him, squeezing his bicep with the intentional strength in a few key areas, “And then release.” You relaxed your grip on his arm, holding the grip over his flesh and thumbing along the veins. As he tensed his muscle, you tighten your grip, “Now hold it,” you nod, your hands shuddering beneath your strength, “And release.” 

You coached him through this method a few more times, rolling his skin between your hands and feeling the ripped and repaired muscles beneath his skin. Moving up your eyes, you focus on Eustass Kid’s face as it contorted in agony. The way he sucked in his lips and grit his teeth matched the telltale signs of him trying not to cry. 

Only ever seeing this expression on him once before, you decided to use a different method of care. 

“Doing so well, sweetheart,” you bore your fingers into his solid flesh, coating each morsel with the oil and sculpting his pain away with circular motions, “You are so brave, Kid. You bare the weight of our large crew, you have done so much for everyone. Captain I-.” Your words caught in your throat, feeling the tension in his muscles pull taught as you held firmly against his arm. 

“Say it. Whatever it is. Please, Doc,” Kid nodded, fighting back through the pain and urging you along. While the two of you were distracted by focussing attention on Eustass Kid’s pain, you remained ignorant of the door opening and closing behind the blonde-haired first mate reentering the room. 

You inhaled a deep breath, humbling yourself and giving him something truthful to focus on rather than gritting his teeth through the praise he often craved. 

“Captain, I'm proud to serve under you,” you utter to him, gently rolling your digits over the base of his healed scarring. Thumbing over the stump, you focus your eyes on his flesh, “We are all proud of you. I-...” You halted your motion, closing your eyes and lighting up your soft smile on your lips, “...I have loved every minute of serving you as your doctor, regardless of what I say most of the time. I love you, Captain.” 

Looking at the mess of oozing oils over his skin, you feel his right hand gently reach up to clasp your forearm. 

As Kid made to open his lips, using his words to mirror your admiration back at you, his mind did not match what curled on his tongue. 

“Hah! You love me? Pfft, what a fuckin’ softie, Doc,” he slunk back against the pillows once more, his eyelids growing heavy and weighted beneath the growing intensity of the medication. “You're a little shit most of the time. A real pain in my ass, and you ruin a lot of my projects and fun by banning them. Shoulda kicked you off the crew years ago.” 

Your jaw slackened, eyes widening as your brows furrowed beneath the weight of his words. Just as you were about to bark back a witty retort of your own, he silenced you by lazily rolling your name over his palate. 

“But I fuckin’ love you,” he confessed in a breathy tone, a dopey smile tugging up his face, “Take’n such good care o’ us. Keepin’ me in line when I start with the bullshit. Always bein’ nice, in your own sadistic way.” He gave your hand two warm taps before the medication pulled him down in a warm recline. 

“I love you so damn much, Doc. I need you to know that,” his tone grew slower, his yawn tugging his lips up and his voice muffled beneath the wide inhale, “I love you.” His head lulled to the side, his lips parting as sleep finally caught up with him. His breaths came out in rattled breaths, saliva mixing with mucussy underlay of his firey illness. 

“And just like that, you're out like a light,” you chuckle to yourself, cradling his left bicep and laying it down beside him. Gently tucking in his duvet over his broad torso, alongside removing the pillow from his stomach, you smooth over the plush material and secure the captain beneath the shroud. Giving a brief pause, your eyes raked over his face and noticed his breathing was relaxing with each inhale. 

“Rest well, sir,” you nodded, slowly inching yourself off the bed and wincing through the shooting pain up your leg. Just as you rose to stand at your feet, a slow drawl crooned from the corner of the room. 

“What? No kiss for your captain, Doc?” Killer teased you, finally making his presence known as you hobbled away from the captain’s bedside. “No little stroke on the forehead after the professions of love? Not even a gentle cup of his clammy, sick cheek?” 

If your scowl had the ability to sear through metal and bone, the look that bloomed in your eyes would've sent Killer to his grave. 

“Caressing and kissing my unconscious crewmates is not my forte,” you spat in return, upturning your lip and snarling at the blonde. He was taken aback by your menacing altitude, raising his hands at his sides while he shook his head softly side to side. 

“I meant no disrespect, Doc,” he lowered his head and stooped to your height, “I was just playing, as we always do. Are-... Are you alright-?”

“-No, I'm not,” you growl in return, reaching for the cane and propping yourself up with it. “I had to hear from Hop that Heat told her, that Wire told him, that he overheard you telling the captain to ask for medical attention from me.” You leaned on your cane, feeling your hand shake under the weight of your body. “Do you know how fucking ridiculous that is, Kil? How fucking stupid that is? How worthless that makes me f-feel?” You choked on the last few syllables, feeling the well of emotions finally simmer in your chest and rise in your throat. 

“Hearing Kid, joking or not, say he wanted to kick me off this crew while I'm treating him?” you fought back your tears, finally succumbing to the emotion and having the liquid sear down your cheeks and drop onto the floor. “I can take a lot of shit, Kil. But this? This? This fucking took the cake.” 

The noise from your deep confession managed to stir Kid from his medicated slumber, his body fighting the sleep in a bid to remain awake for your words. He heard every lick falling from your snarling lips, every passionate exclaim causing him to slink back down and listen intently. 

“And when I tell someone I love them? Platonic or not, I don't enjoy being laughed at, or made fun of when I say somethin’ fuckin’ stupid like that,” your eyes drew to Killer's mask as you bore your soul to him, unaware of Kid attempting to sit up in his bed further. “When I-!”

“-Get over here, both o’ you,” Kid interjected, causing both Killer and you to snap your attention over to the captain reclining on his bed. 

“Captain, I-,” you began, prompting Kid’s raspy growl to drown out your repose. 

“-I don't wanna fuckin’ hear it,” his left arm wobbled, patting the pillow in a bid to call you over further, “I'm not tellin’ ya’ both again. Get the fuck over here, now. You too, you big asshole.” 

Killer rolled his shoulders back, his muscles and bones clicking as he kicks off his boots and saunters over to you. Without giving you a moment to reject his order, Killer hoisted you up and slammed your back gently on the large bed beside your captain. Nestling you within the crook of his left arm, he tugged you closer into his embrace, cradling you against his chest, while Killer moved to Kid’s righthand side. 

“Now, you little shit,” Kid growled playfully into your ear, “You're gonna fuckin’ sleep, I'm gonna fuckin’ sleep, and Kil? You're gonna fuckin’ sleep. We're all sleepin’, ya hear?”

“Cap’n, I need to tell Wire that he's in charge-,” Killer attempted to convey, hushed by Kid harshly tugging him into his chest and locking him against his body. 

“-And I don't fuckin’ care. You're cranky as all hell, and Doc is too, ain't ya?” he chuckled down into the crown of your head, stroking it with his cheek, “Now you're both gonna sleep. I don't care how long you sleep for, but you're gonna sleep.” 

“Cap, I-,” you try him, prompting Kid to bark down at you in response. 

“-I don't fuckin' care. Go to sleep, so-...” he took a moment to yawn, his voice groaning at the back of his raw throat, “...-so I can sleep. You're both loud, and I need the people I love close to me. So shut up, and be close to me.”

He turned his face towards Killer, puckering his lips and pressing them against the top of his mask. Emphasising his kiss, he moans an overenthusiastic hum against the cool metal. 

“Mmm-ah,” he releases Killer’s mask from his lips, laughing as he watches the first mate gently punch his arm. “Night, Kil. Enjoy your snooze.” Kid then turns to you, using the stump of his arm to coax you towards his lips. 

Gently fighting yourself away from the captain's affection, he wins by pressing his lips to your forehead and offering the same exaggerated moan. 

“Mmm-ah,” his grin splits up his cheeks as he watches you becoming visually flustered by his actions. “Night, Doc. Sleep tight.” Kid rolls into his back, holding both you and Killer tucked tight into his armpits and sighs a raspy breath of glee. 

“Love you, Kil. Love you, Doc,” he smiled, closing his eyes and truly basking in his two crewmates offering him comfort. He felt Killer adjust himself to make his mask comfortable above his cheek, nestling against the redhead's side. You do the same, giving up on the notion of fleeing from the captain's embrace and drawing your own comfort within his bicep. 

“Love you too, Cap,” both you and Killer whisper in unison, feeling the call of slumber sing it's sweet song under the comfort of Kid’s warm embrace. 

It wasn't an unheard of thing, sleeping beside your crewmates and offering them comfort. Bubblegum often came to either you or Killer when he needed that extra care, and you would always give in when he needed that softness from you. 

But this felt different. 

The soft, likely cold medication-induced love professions after a hard cry with one another made you, yourself, vulnerable to this embrace. Your care for Kid and your crew, the love you all share unlike anything you had ever encountered before. Feeling raw, you draw your hand over Kid’s waist and tuck your face against his chest. As you felt yourself well up once more, a hand came up and cloaked your own beneath its warmrh. Slowly peaking from the corner of your eye up, you notice Killer's hand covering your own and thumbing over your knuckles. 

“Love you, Doc,” he whispered over Kid’s heavy breathing, giving your digits a gentle squeeze, “I mean it, and so does he. We all love you. You're perfect for our crew, and Kid has never wanted to ever kick you off. He was just sayin’ it to-.”

“-I love you too, Kil,” you whisper in return, gently rolling your hand up and squeezing his palm, “And I know. I was just being silly, and a little bit vulnerable after the injury. I know, okay?” You shifted closer to Kid, adjusting so you were comfortable and offering Killer one final quip before your eyes weighed beneath the call of sleep took you. 

“Now do as your told, and fuckin’ sleep would you.”

“You too, Doc.”

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory @nerium-lil @sinning-23

[irispink-lad]

Ranking Scout ships but it's based on how Spy will approve of it. Bc i think it's funny when he gets all protective for being an absent father

Starting from the bottom is Soldier: Very obvious here, war criminal, basically homeless, has a raccoon for a pet for godsake. Way to into joining a war then anyone should be really. He's a lawyer yes, but everything else just can't be ignored. He's also very loud, he needs someone who can tune Scout out not match his energy.

Sniper: Same reason, he doesn't care if Sniper's an aussie or a kiwi. Everything else about Sniper is relatively...okay, at least he has enough manners, just keep it away from him. But that can't exactly happen when the jar pissing, van life, hunts for his food, man is dating his son.

Saxton: Way too old for Scout, also way too dangerous for him as well. While yes, is rich so it able to provide, but he can also provide Scout death as getting into deadly situation is literally his hobby (srry if too short idk what else to say about Saxton)

Medic: While yes, way to old for Scout. At least he knows that Medic will treat Scout right. Provide for him protect him heal him, really just keep Scout in check when he's getting too reckless. But he also knows that Medic is bashit crazy and wants to experiments in ways then just science. And he sadly knows that Scout is more then willing to comply.

Engineer: Similar to Medic, Engie can provide, protect, defend, and keep Scout's head out of clouds. But...he's from Texas...Now don't give him shit because he said he didn't care if Sniper's Aussie. Being Texan is a whole different thing. He's been there unfortunately for way longer then he'd like to admit. And he does not like the place, and some of the people there. Kind people really, but also messy people as well.

Demoman: A real good drinking buddy, but a boyfriend? To Scout? Very hit or miss, on one hand, he's hardworking, attentive, responsible. But from what he's learned he has many jobs, meaning that Demo's too busy for Scout. Also a very heavy drinker, he knows that Demo would never hurt Scout in his state of drunkness. But he does know that Scout is someone that can easily be influenced and thus become a drunker as well.

Heavy: The man's an actual good candidate for dating Scout. He's smart, strong, knows how to provide, protect. Can keep Scout down to earth. He just finds importance in things that really shouldn't hold that much importance. Sasha? Sandwiches? Really? If there comes a time where Heavy had to choose Scout over Sasha. Spy knows that Heavy's choosing Sasha, sure with hesitation but he still chooses a gun over an actual being

Pyro: Pyro's a very respectable man. He can keep up with Scout while slowing him down, overall get along with Scout the most. Always hanging around him and being able to share most of Scout's interest. It's just...the pyro vision really, Spy thinks that might effect Scout somehow. Also the fire, but Pyro's a professional.

Miss Pauling: Now there's someone who can check off all the boxes. Can provide, can protect, can take care of, can defend, can put Scout in his place when need be. She's also Scout's age, perfect woman really. If only she wasn't practically married to her job.

[ribs02]

yeah sorry ill go now

[punks-never-die205]

Captured

fem!reader x Eustass Kid (+the whole crew)

6,705 words

Summary: You wanted to try consensual non-consent and decide to role-play having been captured by the crew. Poor helpless islander you is going to be the captain's meal - but not before the crew preps you.

CW: CNC (obviously), role-play, degradation - LOTS of degradation, cum play, oral given, fingering received, anal oral received, double penetration, spanking, begging, group sex, bondage, blind-fold, nipple clamps, forced orgasms, tickle torture, sex on the deck, toe-sucking, mdni

Captured.

Your hands and arms are bound with coarse rope, and the blindfold over your eyes is secured with more rope. Passed roughly between calloused hands, you can hear little more than lecherous jeers and japes. Tugged and tossed and shoved you barely knew which way was up.

Eventually your clothes could take no more and the first resounding rip was like blood in the water for a pack of sharks. Greedy hands tore more and more, and despite how you moved or how you begged they continued, until there was nothing left but shreds hanging from the ropes that held your arms snugly behind your back.

Hands steadied you as more forced your legs into a wide stance. When you brought your knees together the hands shifted, forcing your legs wide by your thighs and denying you any ability to hide your pussy.

“No!” You cry, trying to close your legs.

“Aw, what a sweet, shy thing you are.” Says a voice by your ear. “It’s a shame to hide such beauty.” A hand cups your face, tilting your sightless gaze back. “You should thank us.”

You shake your head, bucking against the hands holding you. “N-no! Let… let me go, please.” You say it in a small voice, the embarrassment of being expose already rushing blood through you.

“Certainly, sweet miss.” The voice by your ear promises. Rough hands on your side make you jump. “Once the captain shows you all the ways you’re beautiful, I promise.”

You can’t help the shiver that rolls through you and the men around you chuckle.

“Alright lads, prep this fresh whore for the cap’n!” The voice yells and you yelp as the greedy hands from earlier return.

You can’t track the number of hands on you, but they steer clear of your privates for a long while. Instead they seem content enough to rub and scratch your legs and thighs, making you jerk from fleeting ticklish sensations. The teasing takes a turn when you kick, someone’s fingers at the sole of your foot having tickled you.

“Oh, that’s how it is, eh?”

“No! No I’m sorry, it tickled, I didn’t-!” Your words shatter into a squeal as you are held firmly and tickled. Your screeching laughter overpowers the jeers of your captors, and you thrash uselessly as they tickle your feet, the backs of your legs, your sides, and your neck.

You can’t hardly breathe from laughter, and they give you only the barest moments to catch your breath enough that you don’t pass out. You can hear them teasing you, but it’s impossible to know what they’re saying over the sounds of your own gasping laughter.

“Listen to this bitch enjoying herself!” A harsh voice like gravel and velvet cuts through everything else and they grant you a moment to catch your breath. It must be the captain for them to calm down so much. You’re panting, sagged in the hands holding you, shivering from the anticipation of whatever is going to happen next.

“Already into it, new blood?” He questions and you know he’s addressing you even if you can’t see him.

You shake your head. “Please, please just…. Let me go.”

“Heh. We’re in the middle of the sea, little toy. You want me to throw you overboard?” His voice is quieter and you can feel him looming over you.

“Please, I -.” His laugh interrupts you and you bite your lower lip.

“Begging to be tossed.” His tone is incredulous. “Problem is, I don’t chuck fresh meat until I’ve had my fill.” You feel cold metal against your stomach and jerk from the sensation. He gives you a moment to settle before moving the cold metal digit up your stomach and between your breasts.

“Hmmm… Wire, eat this whore’s ass.”

“What?” You question, not sure you heard him right.

“Aye aye boss.”

“Bubblegum, you got long fingers, work that tight cunt, but just a little.” The captain grabs your face, at least you think it’s him, turning you this way and that. “I don’t want to split this mini roast in half, but I do want to hear her beg.”

“Happily, boss.”

He squeezes your face until you open your mouth, and then spits in it.

“Anyone who wants can keep tickling her while the others work. No reason for her not to enjoy the prep.” The dark chuckles skitter through the crew and you whimper.

“Once she cums or passes out, she’s mine.” He commands and you hear the heavy boot falls as he walks away.

You’re lifted into the air with ease.

“No! Wait, please, don’t-ahhmphgh!” Fingers in your mouth garble your words as you’re made to understand there’s no room for your protests. Hands hold you in position and a thick wet tongue licks a stripe along the curve of your ass. You buck and cry out before big hands grab your cheeks and spread them open.

You protest against the fingers in your mouth but there’s no stopping the tongue that presses against your asshole. Groaning, you whimper as you can’t stop him from pushing past the tight ring of muscles. Wet and slick and naturally tapered he pushes into your ass easily.

Saliva lubricates the way as he stretches you open. It feels so weird, and so good, you can’t muffle the pleasurable edges of the next garbled sound that leaves you. The noise is an invitation to the other one, and when fingers spread your labia you buck and try to move away.

Wire’s hands grab your thighs, pulling your legs wide and pressing you against his mouth. Other hands steadied you, but his grip made it impossible to get away from the finger teasing slow circles against the entrance of your vagina.

The fingers in your mouth press in deep, making you gag on them for a second before they ease up. Just as you’re able to clear your throat, one of Bubblegum’s fingers push into your pussy. You suck in a breath of surprise.

“Fuck, she’s soaked.” Comes, you think, Bubblegum’s voice. “Look at this, it’s practically a rope of slick.” He says, pulling his finger out.

There’s a scattered murmur of agreement among those gathered that you were the neediest fresh roast they’ve ever prepped for the boss’ meal.

“What a proper slut you’ll make.” Came the voice that spoke to you at the start. “Do it proper Bubblegum.”

“Of course, Killer.” He says, pressing to fingers against your sopping hole and slowly working them in. “Me an’ Wire will make her cream real good before she passes out.”

The hands on you tightened as his fingers pushed deeper and deeper. A rough hand on your hair has your head supported and immobile.

“Deep breath, little whore, we don’t want you to pass out too soon.” Killer instructs and you find yourself breathing deep. “There’s a good girl.”

Wire’s tongue makes you grunt at a surprising rush of pleasure, and Bubblegum’s fingers twist and scissor inside you, teasing sweet spots as he slowly eases you open. You’re already giggling, the pleasure is going to make it worse and you know it’s coming, and the nerves are already dancing through you.

You can’t do anything except tense when they start tickling you, so well are you held in place that all you can do is tense and scream. The first rush breaks and you’re laughing, gasping, and screaming for them to stop.

“Gods! Fucking no! Stop! Stop! Gods-dammit I - hahahahaha, no I can’t - hahahahaha!!” Bubblegum’s thumb presses against your clit and you moan loudly nearly cumming before devolving into laughter again. It’s everything you have to breathe, you can’t defend against the sensations slamming into you.

Someone grabs your left tit and there’s a sharp sting as a clamp is set on your nipple. You scream, but it’s more laughing pleasure than pain and then someone grabs your right tit roughly.

“No don’t!” You beg as the clamp is set on your other nipple. “Fffffffffuuuuuuuuuuck, hahahahhaha!”

Swears dot the laughter, and those are only broken by big gasping gulps of air as you breathe in desperately. Every time you think you’re going to finally peak and orgasm and end this, someone tugs on the nipple clamps and the jolt pulls you away from the edge.

Bubblegum is teasing your clit relentlessly, his fingers messing with the tender spots inside you as Wire seems intent on reaching your stomach with his tongue. You can’t comprehend how long it feels like it is, it has to be an impossible length. You can’t focus on either enough between the tickling and random tugs at your tits.

“When she cums I’m going to pull these off.”

“No!!”

“Oh she’s all for it,” comes the laughing response.

“No! Do-aaaaahahahahahaha-Don’t!”

“Oh but you’re so close.”

“No! Please, no I -.”

“She throbbed on my fingers when you said it,” Bubblegum says. “I bet she’s just being shy.”

“I’m not, I’m not, I’m - fuck, fuck!” You can’t feel the tickling as the orgasm has built up and pushed everything else aside. The edging had made the newest swell impossible to ignore. “No, no, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, no!” You cry as the inevitable pleasure crests and slams into you.

The guttural pleasure ripped from your lips turns into a bellow as the clamps are pulled off your nipples. The rush of blood back into them is all pins and needles and you’re sputtering and spitting as you cum through the prickling pain, your desperate pleasure splashing down Bubblegum’s arm.

“Fuck yeah, look at that.” He says, pulling his long fingers out of your trembling cunt. “She really liked it.”

You can’t do anything except sob as Wire’s tongue wiggles out of your ass. The entire thing was too much and you can’t even find the energy to deny Bubblegum’s words.

Hands move you, with a little more care than before, and you’re shuffled into someone’s arms. The din of the  crowd fades as you’re carried into a different area.

“Hey Little One,” Killer says softly and you realize you’re in the hall leading to the workshop. “How’re you holding up?”

“I think Wire was trying to reach my brains.” You reply quietly, a soft huff of laughter escaping you. “That was intense though.”

“Yeah, we didn’t hold back much. You good? Round two’s coming up.”

You nod. “Y-yeah. I’m good.”

Killer grunts. “Shivering in anticipation?”

“Lil’ fear.” You admit, licking your lips. “Bubbles made me squirt, and…”

“If he can do that, what’s Kid gonna do?” Killer hums and you nod.

You hear a door open and Killer’s tone changes. “Whatever the fuck he wants, whore.”

Killer tosses you, and you weren’t expecting it. You yelp in surprise, landing heavy on something soft. Soft was rare in the workshop, so either Killer had taken you to the captain’s quarters, or Kid had set up something for you.

Still bound and blindfolded the space was quiet after Killer left. You shifted, moving enough to sit yourself up. The soft thing you’d landed on was Kid’s coat, and the fact made you throb a bit. Getting such gentle treatment in the middle of such a rough session was a subtle reminder of how safe you really were.

No matter what was going to happen.

The silence dragged on, and for a moment you’re starting to wonder if you aren’t alone in the room. Kid often smells like the workshop, but as you’re currently in the shop it’s hard to say what’s it and what’s him. The heavy boot falls earlier were also for show.

Kid could be deadly quiet when he wanted.

On your knees, you start to stand and his voice halts you.

“Stay.” He grunts, and you do, kneeling back down on the coat. “Heh, the boys prepped you good. Doin’ as yer told all meek and shit.��

You can feel the blood rush through you, but arguing now would be useless.

“Spread those knees apart and lean your head back,” he commands. You hesitate, but just for a second, and spread your knees apart, tilting your head back so your nose is pointed toward the ceiling.

“Look it you being a good slut. Fuck that’s hot.” His flesh hand grips your hair roughly, holding you in place. “Open those cock-sucking lips, and take what I give you.”

You shake your head as much as you can in the tight grip. The bitter smear of precum coats your lips as his cock presses against your lips.

“Either I cum in your mouth, or I’m going to make sure it shoots up your nose. All you’ll smell and taste for a month is my cum.” He says it evenly, like he’s giving you a choice between cake or pie. “Your call.”

You consider pushing the line, but of the things you’re willing to risk, having cum instead of snot in your nose is not one of them. You open your mouth and hear Kid chuckle.

“Smart choice. Now stick out your tongue, I want to see you being eager for this.” He commands, a breathlessness to his voice.

You stick out your tongue and no sooner than you do he pushes the head of his cock into your mouth. He only pushes about halfway in before you start to choke, and he pulls back, letting you breathe before forcing it deeper. He pulls back again, letting you sputter and breathe before pushing in deep again. You’ve never deep throated him, but you’re getting a crash course. Once more and you can feel your nose get buried in his pubes.

He holds you there for a long moment, hissing a swear as you squirm and gag against the thick length. He lets you up enough that you can breathe and pulls you back down, slamming his cock down the back of your throat in a few dizzying pumps. It’s all you can do to breathe until he holds you against his pubic hair once more for a second.

He pulls you back again, pulling the blindfold off before cumming on your face while you’re still coughing and gasping. The blindfold is off, but with thick globs of cum on your face you can’t open your eyes. Even if he hadn’t done so, you could barely see through the thick tears from choking on his cock.

Kid smears all the tears, snot and cum on your face, before he leans down and kisses you. The kiss is heavy and demanding and you grunt and squirm, but he doesn’t relent until his tongue’s fucking your throat the way his cock had been a minute ago.

When he lets go you collapse into the coat, coughing and gasping. There’s no pleasure in the actions, but you’re still turned on by the rough treatment. You’d wanted him and the crew to honestly use you, and Killer was right - no one was holding back.

Especially not Kid.

“You’re a tough little cut of meat.” He muses, walking around the workshop. Your eyes are still gummy and you don’t want to force them open, so you’re not exactly where he is. “I think I’ll put you in the cradle.”

“… the what?” You had a sudden image of being forced into a diaper and you weren’t sure that was really something you were okay with in this context. He knew how to push you to the edges of your capacity, but this was maybe the wrong edge.

“A nice rig that will put your ankles above your head, but also cradle you so you can watch my cock split your sweet little cunt open.” You can hear the grin in his voice as he moves around. “Or maybe I’ll just fuck your ass until you’re shitting spooge for a week.”

You get to your feet slowly. There was no one to really go, but the tone in his voice made you want to run. It was objectively a bad idea - well, bad in the sense that once Kid caught you the tenor of the evening could shift.

A hand around your throat, and a body at your back nearly makes you screech. You had no sense of Kid being behind you, but he held you in place easily.

“Leaving already?” He questions and you can’t nod or shake your head. Instead you just stay still in his hold. His fingers tighten against your throat for a moment, before he leans you over and smacks your ass. You yelp, squirming as he lands a second smack on the other cheek. Crying out again you try to twist away from the sting.

Kid holds you in place easily, spanking each cheek with whip-like snaps of his hand over and over until your ass was hot, red, and swollen and you were begging him to stop.

“Sorry! I’m sorry! Stop, please! I- hnnngh!” Kid’s thick finger presses into your vagina and your legs almost buckle.

“You really are a twisted little slut.” He muses, fucking his finger in and out of you a few times before he grabs the ropes at your arms and lifts you up.

Kid sets you in the rig he mentioned earlier. He’s fast, and you’re not going to give him a hard time with the fresh sting still throbbing against your ass, so it only takes a couple minutes for you to be secured in place. There’s a moment of quiet and then a warm rag on your face as he cleans up the mess around your eyes.

“I want you to see this,” he grins as you blink up at him blearily. Kid is fully clothed. All he’s missing are the belts, and his pants are open. He gives your eyes a moment to adjust before he taps his cock against your clit.

You feel your stomach drop. This is a session. It is one hundred percent sex with someone who you have already had sex with before. As much as you’d handed over your “rights” in this session, you weren’t actually captured by big bad evil terrible pirates.

And yet, somehow, Kid’s cock looked impossibly large. Whether you had sunk into the session itself too far to really hold onto the fact that you’d taken that beast before, or if you were simply nervous because of your current immobility, you weren’t sure.

“That’s - that’s not gonna fit.” You say it with enough conviction that Kid almost laughs.

Illustration of The Cradle

He rubs it against your slit, teasing your clit with the weight of it. “Oh, it’ll fit.” He leans in a little, spreading your labia and really rutting his cock into your folds. You can’t stifle the gasp of pleasure from the pressure against your clit.

“Needy whore like you, you’re gonna take it all.” He assures you.

“I’m not…” You bite your lip as your toes flex.

“Not what?” Kid’s finger is under your chin, pulling your gaze up to his eyes and away from the eldritch demon he’s rubbing into your clit.

“A.. A…” You can feel the heat rushing to your face, and the grin on Kid’s face says he can see the embarrassment radiating off you. “Needy whore.” You manage, but it feels like a lie, and you look away from him.

“Uh huh.” He scoffs, reaching out and teasing your nipples. You gasp, the cold from his metal hand catching you off-guard. His touch is so precise with his prosthetic that you often forget it’s cold as sin.

He plays with your tits until you’re panting, feet and toes squirming, arms shifting behind your back, making the ropes groan. You can’t move enough to get away from it, and Kid is exacting and relentless. Biting back a moan you stop yourself from begging - you can’t. You just got done saying you weren’t needy.

“I’ll believe you,” Kid says, rutting against your clit again while he keeps teasing your nipples. “If you can endure this without moaning like a needy whore.”

You start to speak, ready to accept his terms, but as soon as you open your mouth Kid twists your nipples and really grinds into your clit. He doesn’t twist them harshly, but the added stimulation is enough to shatter your word into a rough moan.

“Heh.”

You can feel the heat from your face down to your shoulders. This utter bastard.

“Don’t worry, mouse.” He says, causing you to look up at him. It’s the first time anyone’s used your usual nickname since the session started. “You’re my favorite needy whore.”

He puts his hands on your ankles, pressing the head of his cock against your cunt. He’s not pushing in enough to enter you, but it won’t take much. He presses in and eases off, letting the pressure tease you while he grins down at you.

“Mine.” He reiterates, shifting his eyes down before looking back at you. “Watch it.” He commands, and your eyes shift down to his cock pressed against you. “Keep your eyes on it, and watch how well you take all of me.” He huffs the words, pushing in with enough force to finally start entering you.

The stretch seems more than usual, and you remember that Bubblegum barely prepped you compared to how Kid usually did. Kid eases back a little when your breath starts coming out faster and then pushes in again, working himself in slowly.

“Relax,” he murmurs. “Fuck you’re tight. Little slut’s really into this, huh?”

You shake your head. “Yeah,” you moan and Kid laughs.

“Conflicted much?” He says it like a question, but he’s not expecting an answer, pushing in further. “Almost there. Told ya’.” Kid’s hands tighten against your ankles a little as he pushes completely inside you. Moaning he rolls his hips and presses into you, barely moving and just bullying his cock in as deep as he can.

“N-no, wait, wait - Kid!” You gasp, your body shaking as the pleasure rushes up inside you so unexpectedly you’re breaking character. “Cum! I’m gonna cum!”

Kid grins as he continues to do what he’s been doing, leaving you to shiver and gasp beneath him. The orgasm hits you hard and the whorish scream ripped from you devolves into a growl. He’s still pressing into you, making the same deep, slow movements that threw you over the edge so quickly, and it keeps sending jolts through you.

“Wai— wait! I’m gonna, you’re gonna- oh gods it won’t stooooop!” You cry, shuddering against the cradle as it keeps you securely in place.

“Gonna cum again?” He muses, keeping the same pace. “Let’s see how many times you can cum like this. Never tenderized a fresh piece like this before, I’m curious.”

“M’not — Nnnnngh! —  fresh!” You gasp, shaking your head as the second orgasm begins to claw it’s way into you. “Gods, fuck, oh hells, shit, fuck, fuck, fuck!” You swear as you cum again, gasping and sucking in big heaving breaths.

“Oh you are for this.” Kid asserts, still not letting up. “Come on, sweetheart, one more. Just give me one more. I won’t force more than three out of you this time.”

“Can’t, I can’t,” you gasp, tears running down your cheeks. “Holy fuck hells,” you sob as Kid continues. Despite all your protesting and swearing you aren’t using your safe words, and his eyes are on you. He’s so focused on you that the ship could be sinking and Killer would need to bodily tackle him to get his attention.

“Yeah you can. One more,” he grins as you nod, managing little more than a babbled sob in response. “Good girl.”

You shake your head as your body goes taut again. Kid’s hands hold onto your feet, keeping your toes from curling as you cum, more immobile than you’ve ever been before. You make some incoherent and odd sounds, too addled from the back to back to back orgasms to manage anything else.

The pleasure is intense, addicting, and overwhelming. It’s his presence alone that makes it something you can be swept away by, instead of something to fear. Even if it overwhelms you, you know that Kid will keep you safe.

He has mercy as promised, and slowly pulls out of your trembling cunt. The empty feeling pulls a whimper from you and he grins, hand against the side of your face.

“Shhh, there you go. I got you.” His voice is soothing, and the caress is grounding. “You did good, mouse.”

“You… you didn’t,” your voice is shaky, the ropes against your skin are sending shivers through you, you’re still on edge so much.

“Hm? Oh, don’t worry.” He pats your face. “Take a moment, fresh meat, I’ll fill you up plenty.” He assures you, running his hands over your feet, legs and hips. “Need a change of position?”

You wiggle your toes and flex your fingers and take a moment to check on your pieces and parts as you slowly come down. You shake your head.

“I can stay like this.”

Kid’s smile turns devious and he grabs onto the cradle. “Good.” He steps on something and there’s a clunk that shakes the whole rig. He pushes and it starts rolling.

“What - wait, where are we going?”

“Back out on the deck. The crew did such a good job prepping you, little roast, they deserve to enjoy the feast.” He explains, opening the doors and pushing you out into the hall.

“I… I can’t take them all.” You’re back into your role, but you’re also being serious.

Kid only looks down at you and you swallow hard. You can use your word if you start to ache, and you don’t think he’d leave you to such an ordeal without keeping a close eye on you. You were, after all, just playing at being fresh meat.

You shift in the rig, struggling against the ropes. You’re not blindfolded anymore, you’re going to be able to see everyone watching you. It’s not going to be just the feel of the sun on you’re bare skin, but the heat of everyone’s desires on you.

The crew erupts in cheers when you come out onto the deck. Somehow their exuberance makes it more embarrassing.

“Seems a shame to let Wire’s hard work go to waste.” Kid says, catching something that Heat tosses him. “And I did just promise to fill your ass so full you’ll be shitting cum for a week.” He squirts thick lube onto his cock, before sticking the applicator in your ass and squeezing.

“Cold!” You gasp, squirming against the rig. Chuckles ripple through the crowd as Kid pushes into your ass with the crew all around. Even with the lube he works in carefully, and the consideration makes it feel good. You can’t keep quiet, between the stretch, the squelch, the pleasure and the attention, you’re too turned on.

“Listen to that whoresong.” You hear someone murmur.

“Ah, she tightened up at that.” Kid sneers, pressing his thumb into your clit. “Don’t try to hold back now.” He warns, rolling his thumb, teasing your clit as he works his way into your ass.

“Please!” You gasp, eyes darting around to the crew. Most had their cocks in their hands, eyes plastered to the show.

“Ah, right, you’re a needy whore.” Kid muses. “Killer, undo the cradle. Let’s get her hands free so she can show her appreciation for all our hard work.”

Killer cuts the ropes from your arms, and then unlatches the part of the rig keeping you facing Kid. He leans you back slowly after you unfold your arms, and now you’re laying on your back, your legs still tied in place as Kid pushes flush against your ass.

You moan sweetly from the sensations and two people grab your wrists. Wire and Killer put your hand on their hard cocks and you begin stroking them before they can even demand it of you. Killer calls you a good whore and Wire calls you a useful slut and you nearly cum from it. Heat comes up by your face and presses his cock against your cheek.

“Just lick it,” he says. “I’m sure a hungry thing like you wants to choke on it, but we wanna hear you moan.”

You lick, grateful to have something you can focus on while surrounded by the crew like this.

“The rules are simple!” Kid barks, addressing the crew. “Whether this whore gets you off or you handle it yer self, you cum on the meat. This fresh bitch is desperate to be properly dressed.”

“Aye, Aye Boss!!” Comes the resounding chorus.

Kid fucks your ass while you jerk off Killer and Wire, licking and kissing Heat’s cock. You can hear the musings and murmurs of the rest of the crew while you moan against Heat.

“Fuck, it’s too hot.” UK swears, coming over to you. Heat steps back and holds your head, making you watch as UK cums across your breasts.

“Say thank you-.” Kid begins to demand, but the entire situation crashes in on you and you moan loudly, cumming against Kid’s cock. He stutters and then slams into you roughly a couple times, cock twitching as he fills your ass. “Fucking hells,” he laughs, the rest of the crew sharing his amusement. “You really are a needy whore.”

“Thank you,” you sigh and hear a couple people call you a good girl.

“UK, get that strap for me.” Kid orders. You hear the words, but don’t really register them, too focused on sharing the warm haze of pleasure with those around you.

Wire cums next, coating your belly. He steps back and Reck takes his place at your hand. Heat doesn’t take much longer and he decides to have you swallow it. Kid says they can worry about stuffing you after you’re coated, but before someone can take Heat’s place UK comes back.

He hands Kid what looks like a strap on, and sure enough it is. Kid pulls out of your ass and puts it on. The strap is in the top position, and Heat helps you watch as Kid pushes back into you, the strap filling your cunt and Kid’s cock bullying back into your ass.

“Gods, fuck!” You swear as you’re filled up nicely. The strap is small, comparatively, but with both it and Kid in you, you feel intensely full. “Hnnngh, please, oh shit.”

“Heh, you don’t even know what your begging for.” Kid grins, setting a slow and steady pace, making you shiver and twitch.

Quincy comes up and takes Heat’s place. She straddles the rig with a little help from Killer, her dripping pussy over your face.

“You can scream into it,” she explains, before sitting on your face. Quincy holds onto your head and grinds into your mouth, easing up just often enough to let you breathe.

You can hear Kid saying something, and a moment later Killer leaves your hand and you feel the warmth of his cum splash against your stomach. Someone else’s cock is in your hand and you fall into a rhythm, stroking two cocks while you lick and nuzzle into Quincy’s cunt, all while Kid fucks you. The steady pace of his begins to pick up and you grunt into Quincy, moaning and gasping heavier when she lets you breathe.

She lifts up for a bit and tilts to look down at you.

“Deep breath, lil’ roast.” She commands and you take a deep breath. As soon as Quincy presses back into your face something presses against your clit and immediately vibrates.

Powerfully.

You scream into her pussy and she grinds into you. You can feel yourself heading toward your own orgasm, but Quincy gets there first. A rough grip of your hair and a satisfied swear are the only indications she’s cum on your face - you were already too covered and smeared with slick and juice to register a difference.

She leans back, a warm smile on her face, as she looks down at you. “Boss, I wanna stay here for a minute.”

“Heh, sure. Enjoy the front row seat while I make this bitch cream.”

Reck and the other crew member you can’t see with Quincy in the way, hold onto your hands and thrust into your palms, relieving you of the need to think about stroking them while you came closer and closer to your orgasm. Quincy ruts her pussy into your collarbone as you moan and whine.

“You’re so cute like this,” she grins, and you realize there’s a collection of crew mates gathered around, some with their cocks in their hands, but most just watching your face. “You were begging earlier, screaming from those clamps, but now it’s just gonna be pure pleasure.”

“Can’t wait to see all your different orgasm faces.” Boogie says, looking at you from over Quincy’s shoulder.

“Don’t, don’t look!” You gasp, trying to pull your hands away. Neither of them let go, and instead you’re trapped.

“Fuck she begs so good.”

“Quince,” Jaguar’s voice is heavy and husky. “I might get you.”

“S’alright, but let her cum first.”

“Y-yeah.” The large man stands nearby, stroking his cock with a glassy look on his face.

“Shit, shit shit shit,” you swear as the crescendo reaches its peak. Your body tenses and you hear Kid swear before he turns up the vibrator and slams heavily into you, shaking the rig. Your soundless expression shatters and you cry out. The sweet cry turns into a toe-curling moan as Kid forces you to ride it out, emptying another load into your ass.

“Fuckin’ hells.” Jaguar growls, unable to hold back. Quincy tells you to keep your eyes closed and a second later he cums on your face, the spend falling into your mouth as you’re still moaning from the orgasm. Kid moves the vibrator away and you start to come down from the high. You hear Reck swear and he coats your hand in cum before the other crew member pulls free and cums on your leg.

Quincy gets off you and Hip comes over and cleans the cum away from your eyes before grabbing your cheeks and kissing you. You have no idea whose cocks are in your hands, but they’re fucking your palms instead of expecting you to stroke them while Hip makes out with you.

“Hip that’s hot as hell.” Jaguar says as a few others chuckle.

“I wanna suck on her toes.” You aren’t sure whose asking, you’re too addled from all the orgasms since the session started.

“Sure. Anyone wants to suckle those sweet tits can too.” Kid says. He’s slowly moving his hips, taking a break as he recovers. “Kill, get House ready, Heat keep an eye on the lil’ roast. She might pass out from this, but I want to avoid that.”

“Aye boss.”

“We’re gonna break you, little roast.” Kid says, speaking loud enough to cut through your haze. Hip leans back, and makes sure you’re hearing the captain. “You won’t be able to find satisfaction anywhere else, once we’re done.”

“Oh gods,” you swear as someone’s lips wrap around your toes, their tongue licking everywhere. You want to pull your foot away, but your legs are tied to the rig.

“I’ll get the other foot.” Compo says, and you squirm.

“N-no, don’t - fuck, it feels so weird!” You cry as Compo’s lips wrap around your other set of toes. “It’s too much!”

Hop and Emma step up on either side of you, each grabbing a tit and holding it in place before leaning down and teasing your nipple. They kiss, lick, and nibble on the hard nub and the guys fucking into your hands have to work to hold you in place as you thrash against the stimulation.

“She’s so sensitive.” Hop muses before sucking on your tit and making you moan. “I’m kind of jealous.”

“Fuck she’s squirmin’ so much I don’t even hafta move.” Kid muses. “Bringing me back to life like you can’t live without my cock inside you, slut.”

“Can’t, I can’t!” you sob, letting out a musically salacious cry. “I need it, I need it - fuck - fuck me please, please! L-let me be you-you’re good whore, please!”

“That’s my girl!” Kid laughs, putting his hands on your hips and pulling almost completely out of you before thrusting back in harshly. You moan as he hilts inside you, and he repeats the action, ripping another heavy groan out of you.

He picks up his pace, slamming into your over and over, pushing the air and sense out of your body. You’re trembling from the bruising thrusts as much as you are the teasing of your tits and the splatter of cum across your neck. You’ve never been so soaked in spend like this before and the entire thing is deliriously hot.

Broken concepts dance in your mind, coherent thoughts shattered by the pleasure that fogs your very sense of self. You were his lover, his toy, his newest conquest, his slave, his best friend - everything from in and outside of the session mingled in your mind and all you were sure of was that you were nearly sated. All the hunger and need and curiosity and desire was coming to a head and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

Heat cradles your head as you drool and babble.

“Don’t fight it,” you aren’t sure if he says the words or if you just understand the look on his face. “By the seas, you’re blissed the fuck out right now. Don’t hold back, let it rip you apart and pass through you.”

No one is in your hands as your fingers flex shut tightly. Tears stream down your face as you shake your head and sob. The pleasure is so overwhelming you’re almost afraid of it, but you’re surrounded by people who won’t let you stay drowned, no matter how much it pulls you under.

You relax into the crescendo and scream as the euphoria lights your body on fire. It’s a primal sound, something like a growl and the sort of groan that vibrates your ribs. In any other setting it would sound ridiculous, but now it just marks the lack of control you have as you’re forced to feel so much at once. The shiver in your limbs and the way your body roils despite being tied and held down were all involuntary - there was no control within your grasp.

You lost all sense of time in the thick swell of pleasure. You only know that if you did pass out it wasn’t for long, you could see Heat watching you, and there was no escape from the harsh euphoria as Kid made sure to fuck every twitch and whimper out of you before finally showing mercy.

Using the Cradle’s design, Heat raises the backboard up just enough to sit you up a little as Kid pulls free from your throbbing holes. There’s a proud smile on his face, and he caresses your cheek with his hand.

“Good job, Mouse.” He says, bringing your hazy gaze toward his eyes gently.

“Good job, Mouse.” You murmur in response. You want him to know you’re at least conscious, but you can’t think of any other words at the moment and so you just repeat what he’s said.

“You’re really out of it,” he says with a soft chuckle. Compo and someone else undo the binds at your ankles, rubbing your legs and slowly bringing them down.

“Don’t worry. I’m going to take care of you.” Kid promises, pulling you into his arms and cradling you against his chest. “You did real good.”

“Did good.” You repeat, giving him an exhausted smile.

“Yeah.” He kisses your forehead moving away from the crew as they get to work cleaning and breaking down the session.

Kid took you to his private bath, cleaning you up carefully and checking in on you as you slowly came back to your senses. He reassured you that you weren’t just a piece of meat, and that he loved you in so many different ways.

Aftercare was the only time he used that word, and it was the only time you said it back.

[beepartcollection]

Never stop drawing!

Left is Oct 5th, 2013- Right is February 1st, 2025! 12 to 24 years old :3

[browsethestacks]

Comic - New History Of The DC Universe #01 Cover

Art by Scott Koblish

DC Comics (2025)

[theactioneer]

Body Count, "Body Count's in the House" (1992)

[fishwolfcrow]

Hop on tf2

I should be sleeping it's midnight here and I need to study

Take these low quality begging your friends to play games with you gifs I made in capcut

Last two belong to larrypuppet on YouTube if you're seeing this I can remove the gifs if you'd like

Video credit, the rest were found on tenor gifs

[letmeborrow20dollars]

The Nightingale, Prologue

description: In 2012, after the Chitauri attack on New York, Tony Stark and Bruce Banner get a call from Nick Fury. SHIELD has uncovered a forgotten HYDRA base chock-full of security measures, encrypted files, and of course, a cryo-pod. When the subject is taken out of cryo-suspension, they come to the realization that this super soldier isn't so foreign after all. Grace Rogers, sister of Steve Rogers, has been held captive by HYDRA and used alongside the Winter Soldier for years (but they don't know all those details yet).

In the 1940s, Grace Rogers, a Brooklyn nurse, is attempting to ignore the tension between her and her brother's best friend, Bucky Barnes. When they finally give in, Grace's happiness is fleeting as she navigates joining the frontlines as a medic, losing loved ones, an affair rooted in vulnerable desperation, and grueling torture after she is kidnapped by HYDRA while on a covert mission.

Grace, brainwashed by HYDRA, becomes the Nightingale, a weapons developer and the brains behind all of the Winter Soldier's missions, all the while not remembering that her now literal partner in crime is her presumed dead fiancée.

a/n: I have been crafting this in my head since I started watching Marvel like 8 years ago...and no, it's not the most original, but it is very detailed, pretty close to canon (aside from the OC part), and fleshed out. I hope you enjoy Grace as much as I do!

read on ao3 here

August 16, 2012: Avengers Tower

Alone in his lab, Tony Stark stood over his red and gold Iron Man suit, tinkering with the battered motherboard and quietly muttering to himself. During the recent Chitauri attack and Tony’s subsequent missile-fueled trip through an interdimensional portal, his suit had taken damages that required a complete revamp and recalibration of the electronic system. With ACDC blasting, he didn’t notice Pepper standing in the doorway until her voice cut through the noise. Or, rather, he pretended not to notice.

“Tony,” she called, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe. She waited a beat, then glanced at the man standing on her left.

“Stark,” SHIELD Director Nick Fury growled, almost shouting over the music.

Tony cursed to himself. He could already feel the migraine building at the base of his skull. “Can’t hear you,” Tony shot back, imploring Nick and Pepper to leave him be. “Busy.”

“JARVIS, cut the music,” Pepper said, louder this time. The music died abruptly, allowing silence to fill Stark’s lab, with the only audible noise now being the electricity of the suit cracking beneath Tony’s mechanical manipulation. “Tony.”

Tony sighed and lifted his safety goggles onto his forehead. He blinked, attempting to allow his eyes to adjust to the harsh LED lab lights. “What, Fury? If this is another lecture about the ‘collateral damage’ from the New York invasion, save it. I’m already funding the clean-up.”

Nick walked down the steps, his expression unchanged as his boots thudded across the floor until he was eye-to-eye with Tony across the workbench.. “This isn’t about the invasion. It’s about what we found.” Tony cocked an eyebrow. “SHIELD has been doing some…reconnaissance after the attack on New York, trying to figure out if there are any entities that may pose a threat domestically. You know, before we refocus on our intergalactic visitors.”

“If you’re trying to suggest that I’m a threat, you can save it, Fury. I explained to the military the parameters of my suit when I first came forward with–”

Nick held up a hand. “No, Stark, come on. You really think I would come in here and…it’s not important. What’s important is the HYDRA base we found. An old HYDRA base in the Caucasus Mountain Range. Heavily fortified, sealed files, encrypted systems we haven’t seen since the Cold War.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Let me guess – you want me to crack some codes? Maybe you need a few fancy gadgets to help your guys storm the place?”

“Not exactly.” Fury leaned in, narrowing his eyes. “Inside that base, we found a single cryo-pod. All that security, all those reinforced walls, for one frozen asset.”

Tony scoffed, his mind flicking back to the image of Steve Rogers, a living star-spangled relic from another era. “Great. And you want me to play Dr. Frankenstein?” Tony started to move his lab goggles back down over his eyes. “Come on. We don’t need to do this again. Just let it be, keep the thing on ice.”

Fury’s jaw tightened. “This isn’t a request, Stark. Banner’s on the Quinjet, already prepped. I want you up there and ready to go in fifteen. We need to know what – or who – HYDRA thought was worth protecting this much.”

Tony met Fury’s one-eyed stare, the two men locked in a silent standoff for a beat longer than necessary.

“Fine,” Tony said, breaking his stare and pushing off the workbench.

With that, Fury turned and strode back up the steps, his coat snapping behind him like a war banner. Pepper lingered a moment longer, her eyes catching Tony’s. He gave her a quick, reassuring nod, and she turned to follow Fury out of the lab and back upstairs, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floors.

Tony glanced back at his damaged suit, his jaw clenching. Wonderful. Can’t wait.

October 20, 1936: Brooklyn

“Thank you,” spoke Steve Rogers, just eighteen and still painfully thin despite the layers of his late father’s old black suit, stood stiffly at the front of the church, his hands clenched at his sides as he forced a tight, strained smile. His eyes were bloodshot and hollow as he forced himself to nod and murmur his thanks to each passing mourner.

Beside him, his sixteen-year-old sister, Grace, stood in an old black dress, the too-large sleeves swallowing her whole. The dress had been their mother’s, as well as the old wool shawl draped over Grace’s hunched shoulders. She stared down at her scuffed Mary Jane shoes, also hand me downs from her mother. Grace forced herself to look up intermittently and accept a hug from each random stranger attempting to remind Grace how her mother would be proud of her.

“Thank you,” Steve uttered, his voice hoarse as he forced himself to meet the tired, sympathetic eyes of the gray-haired woman passing by. “Thank you for coming. It... it means a lot.”

The woman offered a faint smile as she reached out to squeeze Steve’s hand. “She was a good woman,” the woman whispered. Grace wanted to roll her eyes at all of her mother’s mourners. Funerals were nothing more than a chance for people to prove just how caring and neighborly they were. None of these people showed Sarah, Grace’s mom, the same kindness for more than a week after their dad died during the first World War.

Steve, who was now not only the man of the house, but Grace’s only protector, forced himself to swallow the lump rising in his throat. He took a shuddering breath as he noticed Grace crossing her arms stubbornly. He forced himself to stand a little taller, if that was possible, his shoulders squared as the next mourner approached.

“Thank you,” he whispered again, his voice coming out low and broken as his eyes flicked to the thin, trembling form of his sister beside him, her glassy eyes still locked on the dirty floor beneath her feet. “Thank you for coming.”

Grace flinched at the sound of his voice each time until the church emptied out. The overcast sky had turned to a fine, misty drizzle by the time the siblings turned onto the uneven sidewalk leading back to their small Brooklyn apartment.

Steve walked a half-step ahead of his sister, his shaky hands shoved deep into the pockets of his too-large black overcoat, his shoulders hunched.

Beside him, Grace walked with her head down, her dark hair falling in curls over her too-pale cheeks, her own shaky hands clutching tightly at the frayed edges of her mother’s shawl, almost pulling herself into a hug, as if it was her mother instead of the shawl wrapped around her. Around her neck was a silver heart locket. Also from their mother. Grace wanted to have the heirloom piece buried with their mother, but Steve begged her to keep it, stating that she would regret it if she didn’t. She knew he was right.

Steve didn’t look at her, his eyes fixed on the wet pavement. He could hear the almost silent gasps that slipped past her cracked lips as her chest heaved with every step.

He knew she was crying.

He could hear it in her hitching breath and small sniffles. He could see it out of the corner of his eye in the way she kept clutching tighter at the shawl, almost white-knuckling the fraying threads as she refused to look up beyond her own two feet.

But he didn’t say anything.

Grace was too stubborn to cry in front of him. She always had been. Even as a little girl, she had hated the thought of being seen as weak, especially because she didn’t want her brother — her frail, always-sick brother — to see through the cracks in her carefully-constructed emotional armor. 

So Steve pretended not to notice. He forced himself to keep walking, his breath coming in short bursts, reminding him that he needed to pick up some more ephedrine for his asthma.

They reached the narrow brick building that housed their two-bedroom apartment just as the rain began to pick up again, the heavy droplets splattering against the pavement and filling the empty streets with a percussive echo.

Steve fumbled for his keys as he forced himself to keep his head down. He unlocked the creaking door and stepped aside to let Grace slip past and fumble for the light switch as Steve kicked the door shut behind them.

Grace had shed her shawl and was now sitting on the old couch in the living room, methodically folding the shawl and placing it in her lap. Steve shrugged out of his own coat and silently moved to the kitchen to fumble with the old stove, then to fill the dented tea kettle with cold tap water. 

Steve reached for two chipped, mismatched mugs that cluttered the shelf above the sink. Grace pretended not to notice Steve periodically turning around and checking on her, each time giving her a half-smile, half-frown.

The tea kettle whistled, and neither of the siblings spoke as Steve absentmindedly mixed two mugs of dime-store hot chocolate with the water. The last time they had shared watered-down hot chocolate must have been three or four winters ago, but it felt right for the moment. Steve shuffled into the living room and handed his sister a mug, the less-watery mug of drink.

Steve reached for the dial of the battered radio before sitting down next to his sister, who was now clutching the shawl to her chest in between sips of hot chocolate. The radio crackled as quiet, slow jazz filled the apartment. Grace still wasn’t looking at Steve, but she leaned against his shoulder, her closing her eyes.

Neither of them spoke. They just sat there, side by side on the overstuffed couch unmoving, until Steve noticed his sister had slipped into a slumber, probably the first time since their mother’s death. He was tired and wanted to move her to her bed, but he wanted to make sure she was able to rest uninterrupted. So he stayed there.

That is, until the front door slowly creaked open. Steve looked up to see Bucky Barnes, his best friend, slowly make his way into the apartment, still dressed in black from the funeral, where he had been the first guest to arrive and last guest to leave.

“I figured you might need someone to relieve you from big-brother duties,” Bucky spoke softly, gesturing to the sleeping Grace, who was still gripping her mother’s shawl.

“It’s fine, Buck, she’s just sleeping,” Steve whispered.

“Yeah, well, you like you could use some of the same thing. No offense,” Bucky said, offering Steve a half-smile. Steve opened his mouth to protest against his friend’s offer, but Bucky beat him to it. “I’ll make sure she’s alright. Go.”

Steve nodded, and slowly let his sister fall into a sleeping position on the couch. Bucky placed a thin quilt over Grace and softly took the shawl from her hands before smoothing it out and placing it on the kitchen table, right next to where one of the many bouquets of sympathy flowers was resting. 

Steve looked back at his sister, who was still asleep on the couch, and Bucky, who was turning down the radio and finding a spot on the ratted recliner in the corner, before heading to his own room to sleep off the heaviness of the day.

August 16, 2012: The Quinjet

The Quinjet’s engines hummed steadily, cutting through the frigid air as it approached the snow-covered peaks of the Caucasus Mountains. 

Within moments of touching down on the snowy ground, the hatch to the back of the jet was opening with a hiss. Tony Stark followed Bruce Banner and Nick Fury, who were exchanging hurried questions and comments about the state of the base.

Inside, Tony found himself leaning against the metal frame of the makeshift lab set up in the cargo hold, his eyes darting between screens displaying HYDRA’s old base schematics and the cryogenic containment unit strapped down in the center of the bay. The reinforced glass chamber was engulfed in layers of steel restraints and plastered with biometric locks.

Banner stood across from him, his gaze fixed on the manilla folder in his hands, rapidly thumbing through the translated HYDRA documents Nick had handed him back on the jet. His dark brows furrowed as he digested the top-secret Soviet information.

“HYDRA pulled out all the stops for this one,” Bruce muttered to himself, pausing to adjust his glasses before looking up at Tony. “These are encrypted files dating back to the 1940s. Whatever – or whoever – this is, it’s not your run-of-the-mill science experiment.”

Tony crossed his arms, eyes locked on the dark cryo-pod. “I’m starting to get the feeling we just signed up to open Pandora’s freezer.”

Bruce huffed a small, humorless chuckle while attempting to show Tony the files. “It’s more than that. HYDRA didn’t just freeze this person – they built this fortress specifically to keep this asset hidden away. The amount of redundant security protocols, environmental stabilizers, and suspension systems… it’s overkill, even for them.”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose before glancing back to the pod. The silver casing was covered in thick, frost-covered glass, with the faint outline of a human figure barely visible through the layers of ice and condensation. “So what are you saying, Banner?”

Bruce hesitated as he threw aside the file folder. “I’m saying that whatever’s in there is important enough that HYDRA didn’t just want to keep it frozen or locked away – they wanted to keep it forgotten.”

Before Tony could respond, the Quinjet's door whipped open once more, and Nick Fury stepped into the cargo hold. He glanced at the pod, his one good eye narrowing as he took in the layers of reinforced metal and ice.

“Tell me something good,” Fury barked, folding his arms as he came to stand beside the two scientists.

Bruce adjusted his glasses, now swiping on a tablet to pull up live biometrics of the cryo-suspended subject. “Vitals are stable. Whoever’s in there is in deep cryogenic stasis – no signs of cellular degradation or neurological damage. But there are some certain…irregularities.”

Fury cocked an eyebrow. “Irregularities?”

Bruce hesitated, glancing at Tony before continuing. “The brain scans are off the charts. This subject’s neural activity levels are more intense than anything I’ve seen before, even compared to Rogers. Whatever HYDRA did to this person, they pushed the boundaries of human cognition and memory storage.”

Tony snorted, forcing a smirk. “Great. So we’re defrosting a genius. Just what I needed – another overachiever trying to one-up me in the lab.”

Fury either ignored or missed Tony’s smart-ass comment, his eye still locked on the frost encasing the pod. “I want both of you ready to contain this situation if it goes sideways. Whatever is locked in there has been kept hidden away for a reason.”

Tony felt his arc reactor hum a little louder against his chest, almost as if it had noticed the creeping sense of unease taking over Tony’s body. He tried to ignore the tightening in his chest as he glanced back at the pod, catching a brief glimpse of the curled figure encased in the ice.

“Alright,” Tony said, forcing his voice into a casual tone as he tapped his arc reactor, the cool, blue light reflecting off the glass. “Let’s crack this thing open.”

April 5, 1937: Fulton Street Diner

“I’ll be back in ten, Myra!” Grace called as she ducked out the back door of Fulton Street Diner, eager for a break.

The hinges groaned in protest as the humid spring air swept over her face, not helping with the thin layer of sweat that was already building on her forehead. She fumbled for the crumpled, half-empty pack of cigarettes jammed into the pocket of her too-large apron, finally feeling the burns on her fingers from her less-than-cautious handling of hotcakes. Grace stood beneath the buzzing alleyway light, its intermittent flickering giving her a headache.

That’s at least what she wanted to attribute her headache to. It could be from the light. Or it could be the three-page essay, two arithmetic sets, and chemistry diagram drawing that Grace had waiting for her when she got home. Or it could be the rent that was due in six days and the fact that Steve’s health issues led to him being let go from yet another factory job. Or it could be the itchy stockings she had been wearing since she got ready for school this morning. Grace would like to think it was just the stockings. 

Grace pulled a cigarette from the crumpled pack, and she placed the stick between her teeth while she fumbled with the tiny, dented metal lighter she had swiped from the lost-and-found bin behind the counter. She cupped one hand around the flame as she inhaled, allowing the bitter, stale smoke to fill her lungs and settle in the pit of her empty stomach.

Grace closed her eyes as she exhaled the smoke in a slow, even stream.

The faint, muffled strains of The Mills Brothers drifted from the battered radio behind the diner counter and could be heard through the walls as she took another drag, her head tipping back as she forced herself to relax.

“Didn’t know you were a smoker, Rogers.”

Grace’s eyes snapped open, her pulse spiking as the deep voice pulled her from her moment of peace. She fumbled with the cigarette, nearly dropping it as she attempted to hide it behind her back. She locked eyes with the tall, broad-shouldered figure standing in the middle of the alley, his soft, blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he stepped closer with a smile plastered on his face.

Bucky Barnes crossed his arms over his broad chest, one eyebrow arched in amused disbelief.

Grace ignored this as she took another deliberate drag. 

“Thought you were supposed to be the smart one,” he teased. “Aren’t you supposed to be saving up for new shoes?” He playfully nudged her worn shoes with his own boots. “You’re wasting your money getting smokes instead.”

Grace rolled her eyes as she forced herself to stand a little taller. “Oh, give it a rest, Barnes,” she muttered. He was going to tell Steve, and then she would get another lecture, but she didn’t think there was anything wrong with her having a small moment of reprieve during the day. “You’re not my dad.”

Bucky chuckled, his head tipping back as he leaned against the brick wall beside her. “Yeah, well,” he shot back, “I’m pretty sure your dad wouldn’t want you wasting your hard-earned tips on a bad habit.”

Grace snorted. “Yeah, well,” she muttered, her voice coming out low as she exhaled another thin stream of smoke into the humid aid between them. “My dad’s not around to say anything about it, is he?”

Bucky’s smirk faltered briefly as he looked away for a moment.

“Yeah,” he murmured, as he plucked a cigarette from Grace’s pack. “Guess not.”

Grace’s eyes widened as she watched Bucky tuck the cigarette between his own lips, his eyes flicking to the dented metal lighter clutched in her hand. She hesitated for a moment as Bucky leaned in. She flicked open the lighter for her friend as Bucky took a drag, lighting the end of his own cigarette.

His broad shoulders relaxed as he exhaled, tipping his head to the side. “We’re not telling Steve about this,” he said, smirking around the cigarette resting between his teeth. “He’d have both our heads.”

Grace let out a huff of laughter, resigning herself against the brick wall again. “Fine. But you owe me a pack.”

August 16, 2012: Undisclosed Region in the Caucasus

The heavy steel doors of the cryo-chamber groaned as they slid open, thick layers of frosty fog emitting from the protected core. The pod’s core was a monstrous thing in and of itself – six inches of reinforced glass, thick metal clamps bolted to the floor, and biometric locks glowing faintly through the icy fog.

“Alright, let’s see what HYDRA thought was worth all this security,” Tony muttered, his fingers flying over the glass screen as he initiated the defrost sequence. The pod’s hidden mechanisms whirred, thin jets of steam escaping as the internal temperature slowly began to rise.

Bruce stepped closer. “Vitals are stable,” he spoke, eyes cautiously monitoring the pod. “Core temperature is rising. We should have a visual in a few minutes.”

The glass slowly began to clear, the thick layer of frost cracking and melting into thin paths of water trickling down the curved surface. Tony’s eyes narrowed as the faint outline of a human figure began to take shape – small, slender, and curled into a fetal position with wrists and ankles bound. Dark, curly hair floated in icy strands around a pale, hollow face.

Tony took a sharp step back. Bruce stepped forward. The figure came into full view – a young woman with her eyes closed, her lips tinged blue, and her fingers clenched into tight fists. A weathered red star could be seen on the left sleeve of her otherwise all-black uniform.

“This is who all the security was for?” Tony muttered, that sense of unease climbing again. “A 20-something-year-old girl?”

Bruce’s brow furrowed as he leaned in closer, trying to make sense of the faint readings flickering across the control panel. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Tony’s jaw clenched, his eyes flicking back to the girl’s face, her dark lashes resting against her pale cheeks. “Okay…okay,” he mumbled, thinking of any explanation. “The neural activity readings. She had to have been some kind of test subject…but this isn’t what they did to Rogers.”

Bruce shook his head. “No. It’s more than just physical enhancement. Her brain activity is…I don’t know…But why keep her here, tied-up, frozen, and locked away?”

A few feet away, Fury furrowed his brows as he watched over the scene. He shook his head slowly as he, along with the two scientists, realized that the cryo-pod’s inhabitant was someone who looked no more than six or seven years out of high school. 

Fury took a slow, measured step closer to the pod, his one good eye narrowing as he leaned in. The stabilization of the girls’ body temperature allowed her muscles to relax, and her head lolled to the side, giving them a better view of her face, but only Nick seemed keen on paying attention to this aspect of the girl.

For a moment, Fury’s breath caught in his throat, his mind flicking back to the small folder holding the information of SHIELD personnel that worked on Project Rebirth – the project responsible for the creation of Steve Rogers. He remembered one of the old, grainy photographs – a young woman, dark-haired and wide-eyed, standing with her arm around a pre-serum Steve Rogers. He remembered it so vividly because it was the same photo the Smithsonian had used for her memorial in the Captain America Exhibit.

Grace Rogers.

The name whispered through his mind like a ghost as he took a deep breath, but before he could fully process the thought, the girl’s head twitched, and her lips parted in a faint, almost imperceptible sound that was muffled by the thick glass.

Bruce stiffened, his eyes widening as the girl’s head jerked to the side again, her chest heaving in shallow, ragged breaths as she slowly started pawing at her restraints.

“Tony,” Bruce whispered. “She’s… she’s trying to say something.”

Tony’s jaw tightened, and he could hear his pulse pounding in his ears as a choked sob escaped the girl’s mouth.

As the last of the cryo-fluid drained from the machine, the girl’s eyes suddenly flew open wide with fear and darted around the room as she thrashed against the restraints. A guttural, animalistic scream tore from her throat.

“Jesus,” Bruce whispered, his own pulse racing as he stumbled back a step.

Tony felt his fingers tighten around the edge of the control panel, his mind racing as the girl’s scream echoed through the frigid, sterile chamber, her limbs still straining against the steel-lined restraints.

Fury took another slow, steadying breath, his good eye locked on the girl’s terrified expression.

He didn’t say it, but he knew. He knew exactly who she was. He knew he would pretend to not be sure about this "theory". Most importantly, he knew that Steve Rogers had no idea his little sister was alive.

June 28, 1938: James Madison High School, Brooklyn, NY

The crowd in the small, stuffy high school gymnasium had already begun to thin by the time Grace finally made her way down the narrow, creaking wooden steps at the side of the makeshift graduation stage. Grace forced herself to stand a little taller, her jaw clenched and her head held high as she scanned the small crowd for the familiar, too-thin, too-pale figure of her older brother.

She spotted Steve first, with his narrow, hunched shoulders standing out against the rest of the mass. He was still clutching his cap to his chest, and his bright eyes were shining with pride as he pushed his way through the crowd.

Following behind him, Bucky towered over the rest of the crowd and looked just as proud as Steve.

The siblings met in the middle of the gymnasium in a hug, and Bucky joined in, easily enveloping both of the Rogers.

“You did it,” Steve spoke, his voice shaking with the force of his barely-contained pride. “I’m... I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Steve,” she said as Bucky released his hug. “I...I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Don’t go getting all sentimental on me, you two,” Bucky interjected, pulling Grace’s graduation cap off of her head and clutching it to his chest in feigned dramatics. “You know I can’t handle the waterworks.”

Grace let out a hearty laugh. “Shut up, Bucky,” she muttered. “I’m not crying.”

Bucky offered Grace a faint, crooked grin. “Alright, alright,” he teased as he clapped Steve on the back. “Let’s not turn this into a sob fest. We’re supposed to be celebrating, remember?”

Grace smiled back. “Celebrating?” she asked, her head tipped to the side in a rare, defiant gesture of pride. “On whose money?”

“I might have a few nickels to spare,” he shot back. “And besides, I still owe you one, right? Consider it a graduation present.”

Steve let out a faint chuckle as Bucky squeezed his shoulder. “You just don’t want her holding it over your head the next time you drag us out to Coney Island,” Steve warned his friend, smirking.

Bucky just grinned. “You know me too well, Rogers, and Gracie here, too,” he muttered, poking the girl in the side.

Grace rolled her eyes at the nickname. “Barnes, how many times have I told you not to call me–”

“Oh, hey,” Steve whispered, cutting her off. “Isn’t that Amos? The kid from your English class? The one who used to walk you home after study hall?”

Grace froze in place as a slow, burning blush crept up the back of her neck.

“Oh, shut up, Steve,” she muttered while attempting to turn around and spot the boy her brother was talking about. “He was just being nice.”

Bucky snorted. “Nice?” he teased. “Kid was practically drooling every time you walked past him in the hallway.”

Grace’s eyes went wide with embarrassment as she turned back around, locking onto Bucky’s amused face as a fresh wave of heat flooded her cheeks. “Enough, Buck,” she muttered.

Steve just smirked as he leaned in and said, “Well, it looks like he’s coming over here to say hi.”

Grace’s breath hitched in her throat as she turned and locked eyes with a brown-haired boy who was, in fact, walking towards her. Behind her, Bucky and Steve shared a knowing grin. 

“Hey, Grace,” Amos spoke, offering Grace a toothy grin. “I... I just wanted to say congratulations on making valedictorian. You... you really deserve it.”

Grace felt her cheeks flush even darker, and she hoped no one noticed her trying to smile through her nervousness. Amos and her had been in class together for years, and she was always helping him finish homework, especially during baseball season.

“Thanks, Amos,” she said, swaying on her heels. “That... that means a lot.”

“Yeah, well, maybe we can go to the pictures together sometime now that you don’t have all that schoolwork,” the boy propositioned, to which Grace eagerly (almost too eagerly) nodded her head. “Okay, swell…I’ll see you around, Grace.”

As soon as he was out of earshot, Steve and Bucky burst into barely-contained snickers, much to Grace’s dismay. 

“Can it!” Grace playfully shoved the boys, who were now making kissy noises. “Both of you.”

August 16, 2012: Undisclosed Region in the Caucasus

The air in the hold felt colder than ever as the girl in the pod thrashed violently against her restraints, her eyes scanning the room, her chest heaving with panicked breaths. Her fingers clawed at the air, and her nails scraped against the now cracked glass as guttural screams tore from her throat.

“Jesus,” Tony muttered, stumbling back as the girl’s head snapped, her fear-stricken eyes locking onto him for a single beat.

Bruce flinched and silently slowed his irregular breathing in an attempt to avoid turning into the other guy; the girl’s screams echoed through the chamber, her limbs straining against the restraints as she twisted and writhed, her head jerking back and forth like a cornered, rabid animal.

“Get the sedative,” Tony barked. “Now!”

Bruce lunged for the medical kit on the workbench, his fingers fumbling with the latch as the girl let out another almost inhuman scream, her muscles locking up as her eyes rolled back in her head and her fingers curling into fists. With one swift motion, she snapped her hands free of the restraints binding her wrists and took a swing at the glass, the only thing between her and the panicked scientists.

The girl’s head snapped back again as she cocked her arm to give another blow. Her voice cracked as she let out a stream of harsh, guttural Russian. The glass started to form cracks as she had now broken free from the restraints binding her ankles and was attempting to kick her way out.

“Пожалуйста, нет!” (Please, no!) she gasped, her eyes darting around the cramped chamber as if searching for some hidden enemy in the shadows. “Я не вернусь!” (I will not go back!)

She shattered the front panel of glass as Bruce handed Tony the tranquilizer. “Damn it,” Tony muttered, his heart pounding as he took another cautious step forward, wary of seeming threatening as he struggled to figure out how to reach her. “Just hold still, sweetheart.”

With a quick, desperate lunge, Tony jabbed the needle into the girl’s neck, just in time for him to avoid facing her rage. His thumb pressed down hard on the plunger as the clear liquid flooded her body. The girl’s head fell, her muscles locking up as her eyes rolled back in her head, and as Tony lowered her to the ground, she looked at him with pleading eyes as a single tear fell down her cheek.

For a single moment, the room fell silent, with the only sound being the faint, echoing click of the syringe falling to the metal floor.

“Jesus,” Bruce whispered, his own pulse racing as he ran his hands through his hair and stepped closer to Tony and the now-unconscious girl. “What the hell did they do to her?”

Before Tony could respond, Nick slammed on the door to the cargo hold, opening the makeshift lab up to the freezing air.

“Get her on the Quinjet,” Fury snapped, his voice sharp and commanding as he stepped over the shattered glass of the syringe. “Now. Before she wakes up again.”

Bruce stumbled to gather their materials as Tony hoisted the girl’s limp body onto the nearby stretcher, her dark hair falling in tangled, sweat-soaked curls.

They rushed her down the ice-covered corridor and out onto the snow-covered landing pad where the Quinjet waited, its engines already whining in the thin, frigid air.

As they loaded the girl on the jet, securing her wrists and ankles with metal restraints once more, Fury stepped up beside them, reaching for his radio.

As the Quinjet roared into the air, Fury turned to Tony and Bruce, his jaw set, his voice grim. “I have a theory,” he muttered, his one good eye glancing back at the girl. “But I need you two to confirm it before we bring Rogers into this.”

Tony felt his stomach twist, a prickling sensation creeping down the back of his neck. “What theory?”

Fury hesitated. “Her appearance matches Grace Rogers – Steve’s sister. She was declared MIA not too long after Rogers went into the ice, but they never found a body, and SHIELD’s records on her always seemed a little too…convenient.”

Bruce felt his blood run cold, his eyes pausing on the girl’s limp form as his mind raced to process the implications of what Fury had just said. “Wait, you’re saying this is…?”

Fury met Bruce’s perplexed gaze. “I’m saying that if I’m right, we just found Steve Rogers’ little sister – and she’s been in HYDRA’s hands for the better part of seventy years.”

May 10, 1940: Brooklyn, NY

The cramped, cluttered apartment was dark and silent for the first time in a while. Grace assumed that Steve was out somewhere with Bucky, which allowed her to have a moment to just breathe without having to mind someone else any attention. She stood hunched over the chipped countertop and placed her medical bag down as she took a slow breath. 

The long, grueling shift at the hospital had left her exhausted and achy, her eyes stinging with the strain of too many hours spent awake. Thanks to the program offered by the Kings County Hospital, she was going to be able to follow in her mother’s footsteps as a nurse. And all it took was three years of long, grueling hours and emotionally taxing on-the-job experiences. Almost two years in and she was starting to realize why her mother slept all the time.

The sharp, metallic clang of a fist pounding against the apartment door sent a jolt of panic through her body, and she whipped around as the faint stench of whiskey drifted in through the cracked door frame.

“Grace!” came the low, slurred voice from the hallway, with a bitter anger lacing the shout. “Grace, I know you’re in there! Open the damn door!”

Grace’s breath hitched in her throat, her fingers clenching into tight, white-knuckled fists where there were permanent marks in her palms from her fingernails. She debated ignoring her high school boyfriend’ angry calls to open the door, but she knew he wouldn’t leave until he had seen her.

“Grace!” he snarled, his voice low as he shook the door handle with force. “Open the damn door! I know you’re in there!”

Grace hesitated for just a moment, and then, without thinking, she reached for the door handle and opened it with a smile, attempting to discourage Amos from getting any more upset than he already was.

Amos swayed into the apartment clutching a half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey in one hand, his bloodshot eyes locking onto Grace’s face as he let out a sharp, bitter bark of laughter.

“There you are,” he slurred, his voice low. “My sweet, little Grace. Too good to come see me after work, huh? Too busy patching up little kids and their ouchies to bother with your own boyfriend?”

Grace’s jaw tightened as she instinctively stepped back. “Amos,” she whispered. “You’re drunk. You need to leave.”

Amos’s gaze narrowed, his fingers gripping hard around the neck of the whiskey bottle as he took another stumbling step toward her.

“Oh, I need to leave?” he snarled, his voice coated with bitterness as he reached for her. He clamped around her wrist with a bone-crushing force. “I’m not going anywhere, Grace. You’re not gonna just walk away from me. You hear me?”

Before she could react, his free hand shot out, the back of his calloused, whiskey-slick knuckles crashing against her cheek with a sharp sting that sent a wave of white-hot pain shooting up the side of her head. Grace wobbled back, crashing against the edge of the kitchen counter as her eyes filled with tears.

It had become a routine since Amos was fired from his carpentry job nearly five months ago.

“Amos,” she choked. “Please...stop.”

Amos let out another sharp, bitter bark of laughter, his eyes narrowing with a violent spark of anger as he reached for her again, clamping down around her shoulders as he shoved her back against the counter.

The sound of the apartment door swinging open behind them sent a fresh wave of panic racing through Grace’s chest, her glassy eyes snapping open as the too-familiar sound of Steve’s footsteps echoed through the living room.

“Grace?” Steve called, his voice panicked as he rushed into the kitchen, his face going slack with shock as he locked eyes with his sister, her frame still pinned against the kitchen counter by Amos’s rough hands. “Grace, what...what the hell is going on?”

Before Grace could react, Bucky shoved past Steve, tearing through the apartment as he grabbed Amos by the collar and yanked him away from Grace, his fingers clenched into white-knuckled fists as he shoved the smaller boy back against the wall behind them.

“Get your hands off her,” Bucky snarled, his voice dangerous as he gripped Amos' throat. “Or I swear, I’ll break every bone in your body.”

Grace stumbled away from the kitchen counter, not daring to look away from Amos and Bucky.

Amos let out a choked whimper, his eyes switching nervously between Bucky’s furious face and Grace’s frazzled expression as he tried to wrench himself free of Bucky’s iron grip.

“Bucky,” Grace whispered as she reached up to brush a trembling hand over her stinging cheek, a fresh wave of shame and fear crashing down. “Let him go.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched his eyes still locked on Amos’s. For a moment, no one moved.

Then, with a low growl, Bucky released his grip on Amos’s throat, shoving the smaller boy back against the wall.

“Get out,” Bucky snarled. “Get out, and don’t come back. You ever touch her again, and I’ll make you regret it.”

Amos let out a faint choking noise as he scrambled to his feet. He stumbled toward the open apartment door, too shocked to look at Grace. The apartment door slammed shut behind him and the faint sound of his unsteady footsteps faded into the hallway.

Finally, Steve stepped forward, his face still flushed with anger as he reached for his sister.

“What the hell were you thinking, Grace?” he snapped. “You’re smarter than this. You should have more self-worth than to let someone treat you like that.”

Grace’s eyes filled with tears as a new blush, a blush of embarrassment, taking over her face.

“I know,” she whispered. “I know, Steve. I know.”

Bucky glanced at Grace's downcast face as he took a slow, deliberate step toward her. “Steve,” he muttered, shooting his friend a sharp warning glance. “Take it easy.”

Steve’s head snapped up. “Take it easy?” he spat. “She let him into our home. She let him hurt her for God knows how long.”

Grace’s breath hitched in her throat. “Fine,” she choked as she shoved her way past her brother. “Fine. You want me to go? I’ll go.”

The apartment door slammed shut behind her as Bucky shot Steve a disapproving glare. “Real nice, Steve,” he muttered, his voice bitter. “Real nice.”

Bucky knew where she would go. The narrow, dimly-lit alley behind the diner she worked at in high school.

He found Grace leaning back against the brick wall, her eyes closed as she inhaled from a cigarette, just as he had seen her many times before.

The soft noise of footsteps on the pavement behind her sent a panic through Grace as she whipped her head around to see Bucky stepping into the pale, flickering circle of light where he joined her against the wall

They just stood there, Grace staring down and Bucky staring at her.

“How long?” Bucky muttered, breaking the silence as he watched the girl he had known since they were both barely tall enough to reach the counter of this very diner. “How long has this been going on?”

Grace hesitated for a moment, not meeting Bucky’s gaze. “Two months,” she whispered, lying through her teeth and hoping Bucky didn't press her for the real timeline.

He should have seen the signs. He should have known. He should have put the pieces together sooner.

But he hadn’t.

Now, he didn’t say anything else about it all. Instead, he removed the cigarette from Grace’s fingers and took a slow drag. 

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Grace didn’t mind someone seeing her cry.

August 16, 2012: Avengers Tower, Medical Lab 1

The Quinjet’s engines roared as they let the Caucasus Mountains fall away behind them, the turbulence jostling the medical gurney strapped to the center of the hold.

Grace lay slumped against the restraints, still unmoving, though Tony made sure to check every few minutes.

Bruce sat across from him, adjusting his glasses, as he sifted through the files from the cargo hold. 

Nick Fury stood at the far end, silent.

Finally, he turned to Tony and Bruce. “Alright,” he muttered.. “I suppose you two deserve some answers.”

Tony’s head snapped up. “Yeah, that would be nice,” he muttered. “What the hell did we just pull out of that bunker, Fury?”

Fury hesitated. “I’m not sure,” he said, his voice grim. “But if it’s what – or who – I think it is, then we have a lot of work to do.”

Bruce spoke up. “You said she’s Rogers’ sister?”

Fury nodded. “I don’t have confirmation yet, but based on what I know about Grace and what I’ve seen here…she might be.” Fury looked back at the girl. “She was part of the medical staff for Project Rebirth, recruited before she was deployed to the frontlines as a nurse. She worked under Howard, assisting Dr. Erskine with the early stages of the super soldier serum project.”

Tony froze. “Wait, hold on,” he snapped, his eyes narrowing as he leaned forward. “You’re saying my dad worked with her?”

“Maybe,” Fury said. “If this really is Grace Rogers, then yeah – Howard knew her. They worked together...she studied under him.”

Tony’s fingers flexed at his side. “But my dad never mentioned her,” he muttered. “Not once. Not in any of his journals, not in any of his notes…nothing.”

“She was young – barely 23 – and a woman. SHIELD wasn’t exactly eager to admit that they had someone like her on the payroll, even off the books. She wasn’t the clean-cut, all-American hero type. She was a nurse – a field medic – not a soldier. Howard probably kept her involvement quiet to protect her, keep her off the radar,” Nick explained.

“So you’re saying she might have…” Bruce questioned. “What? That she… survived?”

“I’m saying it’s a possibility,” Fury maintained. “But I need proof. I need a DNA match before I even consider telling Rogers about this. We can’t afford to get his hopes up based on a hunch.”

“Alright,” Tony muttered, his jaw tightening as he glanced back at the unconscious girl, the vibrations of the engines humming through his feet as the Quinjet cut through the freezing, gray sky. “Let’s get the DNA test done, then.”

May 17, 1940: Brooklyn, NY

Grace Rogers silently trudged down the cobblestone streets of Brooklyn after another long day at the hospital.

She had barely spoken to Steve in days, their argument over Amos still echoing in the back of her mind like the sting of a fist against her cheek. She had been avoiding their apartment as much as possible, spending her nights in the overcrowded nurses’ dormitory at the hospital and her days bouncing between the bustling noise of the emergency ward and the too-bright, too-clean sterility of the operating theater.

She hadn’t seen Bucky since that night in the alley behind the diner, his silent comfort still burned into her memory as clearly as the bitter taste of the stale cigarette smoke. She had half-expected him to come by the apartment, to try and talk to her, to try and coax her out of whatever dark, lonely place she had retreated to in the aftermath of her breakup with Amos.

But he hadn’t. And Grace wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

She reached the building that housed her and Steve’s apartment but hesitated for a moment before heading inside as she caught a glimpse of the flickering streetlight out of the corner of her eyes.

Then, without thinking, she turned on her heel and headed for the diner alley. She knew it was a bad habit, but she opened her pack as soon as she reached the end, ready for her hazy moment of silence before she went home and faced her brother.

“Long day?”

Grace whipped her head off of the brick wall and locked eyes with a broad-shouldered figure. The man gave a half-hearted smile as he reached up to scratch at the stubble along his jaw.

“Bucky,” she whispered. “What...what are you doing here?”

Bucky just grinned, fully this time as he tipped his head. “I was in the neighborhood,” he replied. “Thought I’d grab a cup of coffee. Figured you might be here.”

Grace fought back a smile as Bucky took his place next to her on the wall, holding a cup of coffee that had likely been made by Myrna this morning. She never made two batches in one day, just hoped no one would drink it all before they closed.

“Come on,” he muttered. “Take a load off. You look like hell.”

Grace let out a chuckle. “That’s what I’m doing, isn’t it?” She asked, gesturing to the cigarette between her fingers. Bucky held out his flimsy paper cup and Grace accepted, taking a slow sip.

It had become a quiet, unspoken routine. After her long, exhausting shifts at the hospital, Grace would take the long way home and find Bucky, already leaned up against the brick wall with two cups of weak, watered-down coffee.

They would stand there for hours. They rarely spoke, their conversations limited to half-formed thoughts or stories from the emergency department and shared, knowing glances.

But that was enough. It had become a kind of silent understanding, a mutual, wordless agreement to just be there for each other, to share the quiet ache of loneliness and exhaustion without judgment or expectation. And without mentioning Steve.

August 16, 2012: Avengers Tower, Medical Lab 1

The steady hum of the monitors filled the sleek, glass-walled lab, the harsh, sterile light shadows across the polished metal countertops and flickering computer screens.

Grace lay strapped to the gurney, her lips parting only for quiet mumbles as the sedative began wearing off.

Tony leaned against the edge of one of the counters as he eyed the DNA scanning sequence displayed on one of the computers. The flickering screen rapidly scrolled through lines of genetic code as it processed the blood sample he had hastily collected on the Quinjet.

Bruce stood beside him, glancing nervously between the girl and the screen.

Nick Fury stood at the far end of the lab, his jaw set, his gloved fingers flexing at his sides as the sequence continued to flash and click.

The seconds stretched into what felt like hours as each new line of genetic code was processed. Finally, with a soft, mechanical beep, the screen froze, and the final results flashed onto the display.

SUBJECT: DOE, JANEMATCH: 99.9%RELATIONSHIP: SIBLING – ROGERS, STEVE

Tony felt his stomach twist, his pulse spiking as the confirmation hit him like a physical blow.

Next to him, Bruce scrolled through the page, attempting to find something indicating a mistake in the reading.

“Holy hell,” Tony said flatly. “It’s really her. It’s actually her.”

“Jesus,” Bruce said to himself. “What the hell did they do to her?”

Tony went into skeptic mode. “This doesn’t make any sense,” he muttered as he glanced back at Bruce, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Why the hell would HYDRA freeze Steve’s sister? What did they want with her?”

Nick interrupted the frenzy with an announcement. “I need to make a call. Rogers needs to know about this.”

Tony scoffed and waved Nick away. “Yeah, yeah, good luck with that. We’ll be here hoping she doesn’t wake up.”

Tony felt an all-too-familiar tightness in his chest, a creeping sense of betrayal and disbelief that his father – the man he had spent his entire life trying to live up to – had kept this from him.

“I don’t know about you, Banner,” Tony muttered to the other man. “But I wish I called in sick today.”

March 17, 1940: Behind the Diner

Tonight, it was raining. Hard. Grace’s cigarette had been put out by the heavy drops, and Bucky’s paper cup was getting soggy. But he didn’t say anything, just stayed there, waiting in the cold until Grace seemed to breathe a little easier.

He glanced over at her, her shoulders not so tight anymore. “You’re not walking home in this, are you?”

Grace managed a faint smile as she forced herself to meet his knowing gaze. “I’ve walked through worse,” she spoke softly. “It’s just a little rain.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. Her and her pride.

“Grace,” he started his rebuttal. “Don’t be stubborn. My place is just a few blocks from here. You can crash on the couch. It’s better than catching pneumonia.”

Grace hesitated for a moment as she felt a faint blush creep up in the nape of her neck.

She should say no. She should laugh it off, wave him away with a half-hearted excuse about needing to be up early for her shift at the hospital, just like she always did. She should thank him for the coffee, toss her cup into the ever-overflowing dumpster, and slip back out into the rain-soaked darkness.

But she didn’t. 

Instead, she took a slow breath and looked back up at the taller man, who was now using his jacket as a makeshift umbrella for the both of them. Besides, he was just a friend lending a hand. And a couch. And a jacket.

“Alright,” she whispered as the blush creeped to her cheeks. “Alright, Bucky. Lead the way.”

Bucky’s eyes softened, his shoulders relaxing just a little as guided her out of the alley, ensuring that his jacket was covering her more than him.

August 16, 2012: Avengers Tower, Communications Room

Nick Fury paced the length of the small communications room, his boots clanging against the polished marble floor. He reached for the phone clipped to his belt and took a slow, steadying breath.

He had made countless difficult calls in his career – informing families of fallen agents, negotiating hostage releases, calling in airstrikes on targets too dangerous to let live – but this one felt different. More personal. More complicated. Finding Steve’s sister all preserved and ready to enter the new century would have been great. But finding her all preserved in a HYDRA base was a different story.

“Rogers,” he spoke evenly. “This is Fury. Are you alone?”

There was a brief pause, followed by the faint sound of a television clicking off in the background.

“Yeah,” came Steve’s voice, his tone tinged with an underlying note of confusion. “I’m alone. What’s going on, Fury?”

“I need you to come to Avengers Tower,” Fury said grimly. “Now.”

There was another brief pause, this time followed by the muffled sound of Steve’s feet clanging against the floor as he moved away from the television. “What’s going on?” Steve asked again, his voice tense. “Is something wrong?”

Fury hesitated, then forced himself to speak. “I need you to come to the Tower,” he repeated. “It’s… it’s about your sister.”

There was only silence on the other end for a few moments, but Fury knew Steve’s mind was starting to race.

“My sister?” Steve asked carefully. “What…What do you mean? What happened? Did you find something?”

Fury pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t explain right now,” he said, tightening his grip on his phone; “Just…get to the Tower. Now.”

Fury heard Steve exhale loudly. “I’ll be there in ten,” Steve said before hanging up and dropping his phone onto the edge of the kitchen counter. He stumbled back a step, wondering what news Fury could possibly have about his little sister. Steve steadied himself. “Ten minutes.”

September 3, 1940: Bucky’s Apartment, Brooklyn, NY

The first time Grace stayed over at Bucky’s apartment, it felt strange, unfamiliar, even though she had done it countless times during their childhood. But that was when Steve was there. When there were no unspoken understandings.

The surprisingly tidy living room was filled with the scent of old leather, and Grace curled up beneath the quilted blanket Bucky had tossed over her shoulders without a word.

She had fallen asleep listening to the radiator in the corner and the white noise of the rain pounding on the ground outside. She had woken to the quiet sound of the radio and the unmistakable scent of burnt coffee drifting in from the kitchen as Bucky leaned against the door frame, offering her a crooked grin.

“Morning, Gracie,” he had spoken, his voice gravelly as he reached for a chipped coffee mug to pour her a cup. “Hope you like your coffee strong and bitter. It’s the only way I know how to make it.”

Grace smiled, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and chiding him for the use of that nickname. She took a sip of the coffee and made a face up at Bucky. “And burnt, apparently.”

From that night on, it became a habit that neither of them ever bothered to question or analyze too closely. They began bypassing their silence in the alleyway and instead began taking smoke breaks on Bucky’s balcony, though those had become fewer and farther between. Bucky would pour a cup of weak, watery coffee and sit beside her on the couch as they shared the comfortable silence.

Grace always stopped by after her days at the hospital, but she didn’t always sleep over. However, when the rain was coming down too hard, or the wind was blowing too sharp, or sometimes for no reason at all, Bucky would catch her elbow as she went to leave, tipping his head to the side and offering her that same crooked grin.

“Stay the night, Gracie,” he would murmur. “You know my couch is comfier than your cot at the hospital.”

Grace would pretend to roll her eyes at his use of her nickname as she fought off the heat from her pink-tinged cheeks.

“Oh, fine,” she would mutter. “But only because I’m too tired to argue with you, James.”

He would chuckle at using his real name and reach for the old deck of cards on the shelf above the stove. He would shuffle the worn, dog-eared cards with practiced ease.

“Alright, Gracie, but don’t think I’m going to take it easy on you just because you’ve had a rough day. I’m in it to win it.”

Grace would let out a low laugh and sigh as she reached for her mug of coffee. He had gotten better at making sure it didn’t burn.

They would play cards for hours as they shot each other sharp, teasing glances over the water-stained tabletop. And sometimes, when the games dragged on into the early hours of the morning, when they had moved to the couch over a game of War and the weak light of the streetlamp was their only source of light, Grace would find herself leaning into Bucky, falling asleep not out of exhaustion, but out of comfort.

Bucky would sit there, quietly and contently observing the girl leaning against his shoulder. And without quite realizing what he was doing, he would reach up to brush a strand of Grace’s curls behind her ear as she faded into slumber.

In moments like that, Grace would let herself hope for more rain, more stolen moments over cards, more nights spent curled up on Bucky’s sagging couch as the creak of the radiator and the crackling jazz tune drifted into the air around them.

In moments like that, Bucky would find himself looking at her for just a little too long, his softening eyes lingering on her long eyelashes and pursed, sleeping lips. 

But he would never tell her that.

August 17, 2012: Avengers Tower, Medical Lab 1

The automatic doors to the medical lab hissed as Steve Rogers hurried into the room so brightly lit you couldn’t tell it was creeping into the early hours of next day. The sharp, chemical scent of antiseptic stung his nostrils, and the faint, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor echoed in his ears as his eyes raced around, searching for Fury until he finally processed the sight of the figure strapped to the medical gurney in the center of the room. A small female figure with dark curls, twitching under the bright lights.

Grace.

It was her, unmistakably. 

She shook with each breath as the last traces of the sedative slowly wore off. Her head lolled to the side as her eyes fluttered, not quite opening yet. 

Tony and Bruce stood beside the gurney, watching the encounter nervously. Steve had yet to acknowledge them, and they stiffened as he took a slow, unsteady step forward.

Fury lingered in the corner instinctively tracing the holster on his hip. This wasn’t going to be one of those happy family reunions.

Steve caught his breath as he carefully examined the figure, sure that he was dreaming.

“Grace?” he whispered. “Grace… is that you?”

Grace’s head jerked to the side, as her eyes popped open.

For a brief, heart-stopping moment, her glassy, unfocused eyes locked onto Steve’s, and her lips parted in a faint, breathless whisper as a flicker of recognition flashed across her pale features.

But then the flicker was gone, replaced by a sudden, sharp burst of panic as she strained against the thick, metal restraints as the heart monitor started beeping frantically in time with her ragged, uneven breaths.

“No, no, no,” she gasped, her voice panicked as she lifted her head and jerked it back, slamming herself on the gurney. Not once, not twice, but repeatedly. “Где я? Что происходит?” (Where am I? What’s happening?)

Steve watched helplessly as his sister thrashed around.

“Grace,” he whispered again. He reached for her shaking hand, his heart breaking at the sight. “Grace, it’s me. It’s Steve.”

Grace paused her thrashing for just a moment to take a double-glance at Steve, a big man who now seemed so small. In an instant, her eyes darted away again, her pulse spiking as the heart monitor continued to beep frantically, and she began attempting to twist away from the brother she did not, or could not, recognize. She writhed against the restraints, clawing at the air as she let out a choked, animalistic sob.

“Пожалуйста, нет!” (Please, no!) Her chest heaved. “Не трогай меня!” (Don’t touch me!)

Steve felt his heart shatter as he stumbled back a step, and he watched his sister’s contorted, panic-stricken face as she thrashed against the restraints, continuing her screams in Russian. 

“Jesus,” Tony muttered, his own pulse spiking as he reached for the edge of the gurney. “We need to sedate her before she hurts herself.”

Bruce stumbled forward, and he reached for the small, glass vial of tranquilizer on the nearby workbench. “Steve,” he spoke hurriedly. “You need to back up. I’m sorry.”

Steve couldn’t do a thing as he watched the two scientists stick her with a needle and inject the sedative.

He had imagined this moment a thousand times. The day he would be reunited with his sister. He never imagined it like this.

February 28, 1941: Bucky’s

It had been snowing this time, and Grace and Bucky had already completed the methodical dance of pretending like she was thinking about leaving. It wasn’t like she was avoiding Steve, or that she really needed a free cup of joe. She just wanted to stay.

Grace leaned back against the cushions, her fingers still wrapped tightly around the not-so-awful mug of coffee Bucky had pressed into her hands as soon as she walked through the door.

She had barely managed to kick off her damp, second-hand shoes and shrug out of her flurry covered coat before Bucky had tugged her down onto the couch beside him, holding his own cup of coffee in hand.

“Long day, Gracie?” He had teased, shuffling the deck of cards as he had done so many times before. “Or just a long walk?”

Grace had managed a half-cocked smile as she forced herself to sit up. “Both,” she had muttered. “But don’t let that fool you, James. I’m still going to kick your ass at rummy.”

Bucky had let out a low, comfortable laugh at that. “Oh, we’ll see about that, Gracie,” he had spoken, fighting against the burning lump rising in his throat. “We’ll see.”

They had played cards for hours, just like always. But now, the battered deck of cards lay forgotten on the coffee table. And they still weren’t tired.

Bucky reached for the dial on the side of the radio next to the couch, and the familiar strains of the jazz tune faded into a slow, mournful ballad, the crackle of the singer’s voice echoing softly through the room.

Grace let out a quiet scoff to herself in response to hearing the change in genre.

“What?” Bucky poked. “You got something against Billie Holiday, Gracie?”

Grace shook her head smiling, that blush creeping back up her neck. “No,” she said softly, forcing herself to look away from the man. “I just...I didn’t think you were the sentimental type, James.”

Bucky gave a crooked grin before he reached for her, tugging her to her feet.

“Come on, Gracie,” he invited, one hand nestled into the curve of her waist as he began to sway to the ballad. “Dance with me.”

Grace let out a chuckle at Bucky’s poor rhythm, but placed a hand on his shoulder and began to sway along. She took a clumsy step to the side, her frame crashing against his shoulder as she let out an embarrassed squeak.

Bucky just chuckled. “Here,” he whispered as he gestured down, guiding her feet onto the tops of his thready socks. “Just follow my lead.”

Grace didn’t have any air left in her to laugh, so she just offered him a toothy smile, caught off guard by the out-of-routine intimacy.

“Maybe one day, Gracie,” he whispered as he tipped his head down to rest his chin against the top of her head. “I’ll teach you to dance the right way.”

Grace smiled, shaking her head against Bucky’s chest, now so close she could hear his heartbeat. 

“What?” Bucky lifted his head and looked down at her, smirking coyly. “You don’t think I have what it takes?” 

Grace felt the blush rising again. “No…I didn’t say that…I just–”

Then, all at once, the moment shattered as the creaky radiator cut through the air, and both individuals stepped away from each other.

Bucky let out an uncomfortable chuckle, his own cheeks now creeping with pink as he reached up to scratch at his stubble.

“Sorry,” he muttered, shooting her a nervous glance. “I, uh... I guess I’m just tired. Long day. You know how it is.”

Grace looked back at the man, forcing herself to blink away the tears that tempted the corners of her eyes as she shot him a reassuring smile.

“Yeah,” she whispered, swaying on her heels ever so slightly. “Long day.”

They stood there another quiet beat as the Billie Holiday ballad finished.

Finally, Bucky broke the silence. “Take the bed, Gracie,” he offered.  “I’ll take the couch.”

Grace hesitated for a moment. “Alright, James,” she whispered. “Alright.”

August 17, 2012: Avengers Tower, Medical Observation Deck

Tony and Bruce stood around a hologram display in the observation deck, carefully reading through files found in the Caucasus. Steve was quietly sitting in the corner of the room, eyes downcast while he listened to the scientists try to process the information they were seeing.

“JARVIS, pull up the image files,” Tony muttered.“I want to see what HYDRA was doing to her.”

“Of course, sir,” JARVIS replied. The lines of text vanished from the display and were replaced by a series of grainy photographs, each more horrifying than the last.

The first image flickered into focus as the pair of scientists leaned in closer, their gazes locked on the nightmarish scene captured in the photo.

Grace knelt on the metal floor of a small cell, her sweat-soaked hair clinging to her cheeks as she clutched her bloodied hands to her chest. Her eyes were filled with terror as she looked at the camera, with the photo presumably taken by one of HYDRA’s scientists. There was what looked to be a puddle of vomit on the ground in front of her.

Steve looked up for a moment, then instantly regretted it. His heart sank into his stomach and he himself was fighting back vomit as he tried to force himself to look away before the next photo appeared on the display.

This photo showed Grace with a thick mouthguard in, which was barely noticeable due to the large metal headband surrounding her temples. Grace was bolted into a chair, restrained by her arms, legs, and neck.

Steve started sweating when he noticed Grace’s fingernails were torn off. 

“Oh my God,” Bruce whispered to himself. “They were…”

Tony tightened his grip on the edge of the table. “Electroshock. Trying to condition her. Reprogram her.”

The image flickered again, replaced by a third photo – Grace was strapped to a hospital bed and there was a thin tube leading a steady stream of blue liquid to an IV in Grace’s arm. The serum. In the photo, Grace was contorting her body as if she was possessed, and you could tell she was in pain as she threw herself backwards and attempted to claw at the skin around the IV. 

Steve felt his pulse spike as he remembered back to the pain he felt during his own injection. “Where the hell is Fury?” he interrupted. “He has a lot of nerve…some sick show-and-tell for my kid sister who doesn’t even recognize me?” Steve paced towards Stark. “And then he just leaves? Now I’m supposed to trust you two to–”

“Rogers–” Tony started, holding his hand up to calm Steve down, “I need you to–”

“You need me to what ?” Steve swatted Tony’s hand away. “I need you to do something helpful instead of–”

“Steve,” Tony said firmly, gripping Steve by the shoulders. “We are helping. Fury is sorting through everything else we found in that lab. It was a big lab. It was all just for her, okay? We have no clue what we are getting ourselves into, and we’re not trying to get anyone killed in the process, including your sister. Now either take a breather or go sit down.”

Tony released his grip on Steve as an uncomfortable silence filled the room.

Bruce, ever the mediator, broke the silence. “Steve, we don’t have to keep going with the photos right now,” he said softly, not making eye contact with the blonde man.

Steve swallowed hard and shook his head. “No…I…I get it. I’m sorry…I just–”

“I know,” Bruce said, “but these photos will help us help Grace.” Bruce looked back at Steve, who was sitting in the corner again, face buried in his hands. “Just…don’t be afraid to step out.”

Steve’s eye twitched as he looked back up from his hands, nodding in response to Banner as the display flicked to the next photo.

This time, the photo showed Grace staring back with empty eyes. She had a muzzle on, but Steve had seen those eyes many times before. He had seen them when he told her about Bucky’s fall. He had seen them when he yelled at Grace unnecessarily. He had seen them at their mother’s funeral. Grace looked small in comparison to the dark emptiness in the background of the photo. She was in some kind of aircraft, and she had her arms wrapped around her torso – almost as if she was hugging herself. She might have been wearing a muzzle, but this didn’t hide the spot near her left ear where there had clearly been a chunk of her hair ripped out.

The image flickered again. This image showed Grace hunched over in her metal cell again, but this time, you could see the detailed outline of her bruised and battered spine through her hospital gown, and if you looked past her protruding elbows, you could see every single one of her ribs. She wasn’t looking at the camera anymore.

Tony thought back to his own time of isolation, back in the cave. He looked a bit like that when he returned. He looked starved too.

The next photo was a stark contrast between the previous. Grace stood in the front of her cell, her eyes full of rage and her lips curled into a snarl. Behind her was the lifeless body of what looked to be a HYDRA doctor, his white coat soaked with blood. There was no real weapon visible in the scene, but Grace clutched onto what looked like an ink pen. 

Bruce knew what it was like to be that angry. 

Bruce was so distracted by his own thoughts that he almost didn’t look up for the last photo of the sequence. In this photo, Grace was in a different room, this one also all metal, save for the twin-sized, blood spotted mattress she was sitting on. She still had empty eyes, but she was crying. The muzzle didn’t cover the large metal collar around her neck, chaining her to the wall behind her. Grace was sitting curled up tightly, but it didn’t change the fact that you could tell she was naked.

Steve leaned over the trash can on his right and threw up.

March 10, 1941: Fulton Street Diner

The small, crowded diner was loud with the clatter of plates and the low murmur of a dozen overlapping conversations. The air was thick with the greasy smell of fried eggs and coffee, but it was much better than the smell of the dumpster in the alley behind the diner.

Bucky leaned back in the cracked vinyl booth, one arm stretched across the backrest. Grace sat beside him, her head tilted as she stirred the whipped cream remains of her chocolate milkshake with a long, silver spoon. It was Bucky’s birthday, but he had bought the shakes, insisting the Rogers siblings save up for new coats or shoes.

Steve sat across the booth, frowning slightly as he watched the two of them. He noticed Grace’s faint, wistful smile. He noticed the way Bucky’s arm hovered just a little too close to her shoulder, his fingers brushing the fabric of her dress each time she shifted in her seat.

He had been noticing the small, quiet changes for weeks now. The way Bucky’s gaze lingered on Grace a little too long when he thought no one was looking. The way her eyes lit up when he walked into a room. The way she tried to hide the nervous tinge that crept into her cheeks whenever his name came up in conversation.

It had started as a nagging suspicion. But now, sitting here in the cramped, noisy diner, watching the two of them share a small smile over celebratory milkshakes, he couldn’t pretend to not see it anymore.

Steve set his milkshake spoon down with a decisive clink. Both Bucky and Grace glanced up, their small, secretive smiles fading as they caught the perplexed look on his face.

“You two…” Steve said with a mix of concern and frustration. “You’re not...you’re not getting ideas, are you?”

Grace stiffened beside Bucky, her spoon clattering against the side of her glass as her eyes widened, the color draining from her cheeks. Bucky’s easy, lopsided grin faltered, his arm slipping from the backrest as he straightened in his seat. 

“C’mon, Steve,” Bucky said, forcing a strained chuckle as he leaned forward, his forearms resting on the edge of the table as his fingers twisting together nervously. “What are you talking about?”

Steve let out a slow, heavy breath, his gaze meeting Grace’s before looking back at Bucky. 

“I’m not an idiot, Buck,” Steve said curtly. “I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. The way you act around each other. I know you’re close, but this…,” he said, gesturing between the two, “whatever this is, it’s a bad idea.”

Grace looked down at her milkshake glass.

“Steve, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky said, still forcing a smile.

Steve scoffed. “I know my sister, and I know you. And I know that whatever this is, it’s a mistake. A disaster waiting to happen.”

Grace felt an ache bloom in her chest.

“Steve,” Bucky said. “You’re my best friend. I’d never do anything to hurt you or Grace. You know that.”

“But you have to admit that it would be insane to think this is a good idea,” Steve said, finally starting to relax. “To think that this...wouldn’t end horribly for both of you.”

The words hung in the air as Grace eyed Bucky through her peripheral vision. Then, she looked up and forced a smiled at her brother. “You know I’m smarter than that, Steve.”

And then Steve stood, feeling accomplished enough to leave the pair alone. “I know,” he said before teasingly pointing at Bucky. “But this guy…this guy takes stupid with him wherever he goes.”

They all laughed, Steve louder than the other two, before he slipped out of the aisle and out the front door of the diner, leaving Bucky and Grace sitting in silence – a silence that was no longer comfortable.

August 29, 2012: Avengers Tower, Medical Observation Deck

Steve sat in the observation room, his eyes fixed on the monitor displaying a live feed of his sister. Grace was currently asleep, the only time she was out of her restraints. Banner told Steve that they would have to take things as slow as possible, but even progress this small made Steve feel hopeful. Tony and Bruce shuffled into the room, Fury following behind them.

Nick set a small box on the table in front of Steve before sitting down.

“We found something while clearing out the rest of the cargo hold,” Nick explained. “Back at the base where we found her. They were still clearing out some of the lower levels, and found a crate stashed behind a false wall in one of the holding cells. That box was in there. It looks like HYDRA kept some of her personal items. Things they didn’t bother to destroy.”

Steve leaned forward and pulled the box closer. “Personal items?” he muttered. “Like what?”

Nick hesitated. “Photographs. Letters. A few pieces of jewelry. We thought…well, Banner thought maybe they could help with the memory reconstruction. Give her something familiar.”

Steve felt his breath catch in his throat as he slowly pulled the lid open to reveal neatly stacked black-and-white photos and yellowed letters nestled inside.

Steve meticulously emptied out the box’s contents onto the table, noticing the smeared ink and familiar, flowing script that covered the pages of stationary. “I don’t see any jewelry.”

“Give me a minute, will you, Rogers?” Nick muttered. He carefully reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small drawstring pouch. From that, he pulled out a silver locket. The thin chain was knotted as though it had been worn regularly. Also hanging off the chain was a silver ring, its small diamond glistening under the harsh observation deck light.

Steve inhaled sharply. He reached for Grace’s necklace – the necklace that was once their mother’s. He thumbed the diamond nestled in the hillock of the ring, silently remembering how Grace showed it off to everyone she met. How Bucky wished he could have bought her a nicer one.

Bruce and Nick watched Steve examine the jewelry while Tony curiously sifted through the photos. Stark looked up to ask about one of the photos but paused when he saw what was in Steve’s hands. “Is that…?”

Steve looked up quickly, pulling himself out of memory lane. “Her engagement ring,” Steve said with a wistful smile. “The locket was our mom’s...I…I don’t know…” He took a deep breath. “I have no idea how she managed to hold onto them all these years.” 

Tony looked at the all-American super soldier as he passed Bruce a photo. Bruce examined it, finding a much softer, much brighter Grace. She was wearing a polka-dotted dress and laughing unabashedly as a tall, clean-cut man enveloped her in an embrace from behind. The man, who Bruce recognized as the late Sergeant Barnes, was smiling into Grace’s rosy cheeks. Banner smiled sadly at the photo. 

“Maybe…maybe that will help,” Bruce reassured Steve. “Maybe it will help her remember.”

March 11, 1941: Bucky’s

The door to Bucky’s small apartment creaked open, the hinges groaning in protest as Grace stepped inside. Bucky followed close behind, reaching past her to flick on the living room light.

Grace dropped her coat onto the back of the couch and reached for the deck of cards still on the coffee table from their last game.

Bucky closed the door quietly behind them. He ran a hand through his hair, silently anticipating the tension after yesterday’s conversation at the diner.

For a long, heavy moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, Grace cracked a smile and let out a nervous bark of laughter. “I can’t believe Steve,” she said, her voice high and thin, the words tumbling from her lips. “He thinks... he thinks you and I... that we...”

She couldn’t finish the sentence, her words dissolving into another burst of shaky, half-hysterical laughter, her hands clutching at the fabric of her dress as she swayed on her heels.

Bucky blinked at her, his brows furrowing, his lips parting slightly in confused, wary surprise. But then, slowly, a lopsided grin crept across his face, his own shoulders relaxing just a bit as he let out a chuckle.

“He thinks we’re sweet on each other,” Bucky said, each word dripping with forced, incredulous amusement. He leaned back against the kitchen table as he shook his head, his eyes sparkling with exaggerated mirth. “Can you imagine? You and me?”

Grace pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, muffling her uncertain laughter. “Insane,” she managed. “Completely insane.”

Bucky let out another humorless laugh, his head tipping back as he forced the words out. “What, you think I’m gonna start bringing you flowers? Writing you love letters? Whispering sweet nothings in your ear?” He shook his head, looking back down at Grace with a dull pain in his chest. “C’mon, Grace, you know better than that.”

Grace eked out a half-choked snort as she forced herself to match his easy, joking tone, to pretend that the idea of falling for him was this ridiculous. “And what, you think I’m gonna start batting my lashes at you, swooning like some lovesick girl in a dime-store novel?” she shot back, her eyes narrowing in exaggerated suspicion. “Please. I’d rather fall down a flight of stairs.”

Bucky laughed quietly as he forced himself to ignore the ache in his chest and push away the simmering warmth that spread through his veins every time she looked at him.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah, that’d be just like you, wouldn’t it? Tripping over your own two feet instead of admitting you might actually like me.”

Grace’s breath caught, her eyes widening for just a fraction of a second before she shot him a defiant glare. “Please,” she smirked. “I’m not that clumsy.”

They both fell silent then, the faint, echoing sound of their forced laughter lingering like the ghost of the Billie Holiday ballad they once danced to. They stood there, their eyes locked. 

And then, slowly, Bucky’s eyes slipped away from hers, and his hands slipped from the edge of the table as he turned down the narrow hallway that led to his bedroom.

“Get some sleep, Grace,” he muttered quietly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Grace watched him go, her heart still racing as she sank into the couch behind her.

And as the door to Bucky’s room clicked softly shut, Grace convinced herself for just a moment that it really was all just one big joke.

August 31, 2012: Avengers Tower, Medical Lab 1

The harsh lights of the medical lab shone down on Bruce as carefully adjusted the portable EEG scanner bolted to the side of the medical gurney, glancing between the readouts on the monitors and a trembling Grace sitting on the bed, strapped into restraints.

Grace forced herself to take a breath as she scanned the room. Her sweat-soaked hair clung to jagged scars that criss crossed her cheeks.

Bruce gave Grace a small, reassuring smile as he fidgeted with the tablet housing the two-way translation program patched together by JARVIS.

“Alright, JARVIS,” Bruce muttered. “Translate, real-time. Keep it simple.”

“Of course, Dr. Banner,” JARVIS replied. “Beginning real-time translation now.”

Bruce took another look at Grace, who was staring back anxiously, her fists white knuckling the sheets of her makeshift bed.

“Okay, Grace,” Bruce spoke softly. “I brought something for you. Something I thought might help you remember.”

Grace’s eyes met Bruce’s for a moment as she tried to comprehend the second voice translating Bruce’s words. 

Bruce reached into the small case sitting on the edge of the nearby workbench, careful not to look away for too long as he pulled out the silver locket.

“This is yours,” Bruce said gently. “You wore this. It…it meant a lot to you.”

Grace stared intently at the necklace, eying the diamond of the ring dangling from the flimsy chain. Her fists unclenched and her chest heaved as memories of another life – a life she couldn’t quite place – flickered at the edges of her fractured mind.

Then, without warning, without even realizing what was happening, Grace’s mind went blank and her fists balled up again. She let out a choked yelp, snapping her head back as she threw her body against the gurney’s mattress. The necklace fell from Bruce’s hands and clattered on the floor as he rushed to Grace’s side. She spasmed violently against the thick, padded restraints bolted to the side of the gurney.

“Нет!” (No!) she screamed, her restrained limbs shaking. Grace’s fingers clawed at the air as she continued thrashing and snapping her head back. “Перестань! Я не буду!” (Stop it! I won’t!)

Bruce felt his heart skip a beat at the sight, and he looked up to the observation deck, hoping to signal someone else down for help.

“ты меня обманываешь!” (You trick me!) she screamed, her voice broken as she continued throwing herself back, now aiming for the metal sides of the gurney. “мне жаль…” (I’m sorry…)

Tony burst into the room, lunging towards one of the small syringes of sedative hilted on the wall above the workbench. He could feel the arc reactor humming in his chest as he carefully jabbed the needle into the side of her neck.

As Tony pressed down on the plunger, Grace clawed at his wrists and pleaded in a soft whimper, “Мне очень жаль…Я не хотел. Пожалуйста…не надо больше.” (I’m so sorry…please, I didn’t mean to. Please…no more.)

Grace let out one final sob before collapsing, and still holding onto Tony, she gasped out, “ты заставляешь меня... я больше не хочу причинять себе боль.” (You’re making me…I don’t want to punish myself anymore.)

August 3, 1941: The Rogers’ Apartment

Tonight, Bucky had come to Grace. He was pretending like it wasn’t because he didn’t trust him and Grace to be all alone. Pretending like he wanted Steve to be there as a reminder that Bucky shouldn’t say out loud exactly what he had been thinking for moths.

Steve was setting up Scrabble at the table as Bucky silently watched Grace sip coffee out of a chipped porcelain mug. She stared blankly at the small black-and-white television sitting on the counter.

Bucky leaned against the doorframe. “You know, Gracie,” he said. “If you keep drinking coffee this late, you’re never gonna get any sleep.”

Grace glanced nervously at Bucky. “Maybe I don’t want to sleep,” she uttered in response. “Maybe I’ve got too much on my mind.”

Bucky slowly stepped closer.

“Yeah?” he whispered, his eyes locked onto Grace’s. “What’s on your mind, Gracie?”

Grace swirled the mug of coffee around. “Nothing,” she whispered as she watched the coffee slosh around before forcing herself to look up and speak a little louder. “Just… just thinking about the future, I guess. Thinking about what comes next.”

Bucky took another step forward. “What, you thinking about finding a nice fella?” he teased. “Settling down? Getting a little house in the suburbs? A white picket fence, two kids, a dog?”

Grace tilted her head ever so slightly. “Maybe,” she spoke, not playing into Bucky’s remark. “Maybe I’ll settle down. Maybe I’ll find some nice guy to marry, raise a couple kids, live happily ever after.”

Bucky cautiously leaned in closer. “What about me?” he murmured, not teasing her anymore as he held eye contact with the curly-haired woman standing just a few inches in front of him. “What if I want to be that guy?”

Grace felt her mouth run dry as she searched to find the words to say. But instead, she let out a forced laugh, the sound barely reaching her cheeks as she looked away, stealing a glance at Steve in the next room.

“Don’t get any ideas, James,” she whispered, looking back at the taller man with a halfhearted smile. “I’d eat you alive.”

Bucky reached for the stubble on his jaw as he stepped back. “Yeah,” he said, giving Grace a lousy attempt of a reassuring grin. “Yeah…I guess you would.”

August 31, 2012: Avengers Tower, Medical Observation Deck

Back upstairs, Bruce breathlessly took a seat at the table and rested his head in his hands while Tony stood next to Steve, who was solemnly staring down at his now-sleeping sister.

“What the hell was that?” Bruce muttered to the other men. “What just happened?”

Tony clenched his jaw before turning around to face Banner.

“I thought… I thought the locket might help,” Bruce explained. “I thought it might trigger something – a memory, a connection – but…but I didn’t expect that. I didn’t expect her to…to react like that…I mean, what was that – some kind of…some kind of PTSD panic attack?”

“That was more than just a panic attack,” Tony said. “That was…that was something else. That was a full-blown meltdown. Like…like she was–”

Tony beelined to grab the tablet sitting on the table in front of Bruce. “She said something about punishment…I don’t – JARVIS, read that translation back to me.”

“Yes, sir. Ms. Rogers apologized for her reaction to the necklace and said ‘stop it, I won’t,’ followed by ‘you trick me’, ‘please, I didn’t mean to’, and ‘no more’,” the AI voice recalled. “The last thing Ms. Rogers said before going unconscious was, ‘You’re making me. I don’t want to punish myself anymore.’”

Steve’s gaze was still fixed on the limp body of his little sister as he listened to JARVIS emotionlessly recite his sister’s cries for help. He hesitated a moment before turning around. “You think they conditioned her to hurt herself if she starts to remember?” he offered in a low voice. “Like…like a failsafe? Some kind of self-punishment protocol?”

“It’s possible,” Bruce said. “It’s…it’s possible they built some kind of trigger into her conditioning.”

Tony fidgeted with the tablet. “Yeah,” he spoke curtly. “something to force her back into line.”

“We’re going to have to be more careful,” Bruce said to himself. “If we push her too hard, if we show her the wrong thing…we could send her even further back into her conditioning.”

Steve looked back down at his sister. “Yeah,” he whispered. “A lot more careful.”

December 11, 1941: The Rodgers’ Apartment

The windows of Grace and Steve’s apartment shook with every gust of wind that whipped through the snow-covered streets below. The soft, metallic clink of ice-laden power lines mingled with the radio, but this time, it wasn’t a slow ballad or a soft jazz tune. This time, it was the sound of dread settling over the city.

“...American forces in the Pacific continue to regroup after the devastating attack on Pearl Harbor earlier this week, as President Roosevelt prepares to address the nation once again...”

Grace Rogers sat curled up on the couch wrapped in her mother’s shawl. Steve was in bed, sick with the flu as Grace listened to the radio, attempting to digest the waves of shock and fear tumbling through her mind.

A soft creak came from the kitchen as Bucky practically tiptoed into the living room.

“Hey,” he whispered, lowering himself onto the couch beside her.“You, uh…you holding up okay, Gracie?”

Grace looked over at Bucky, whose face was riddled with worry.

“Yeah,” she murmured back. “Yeah…I’m…I’m fine. Just… just trying to wrap my head around it, y’know, James? It…it doesn’t feel real.”

Bucky frowned slightly. He could see Grace force herself to exhale.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah… I know what you mean. It… it doesn’t feel real.”

The two of them sat shoulder-to-shoulder in suffocating silence, both looking down at the ground. For a moment, Grace thought she might collapse into him and cry.

Then, without warning, Bucky gently reached for her hand.

“Gracie,” he spoke softly. “I’ve been…I’ve been thinking about something.”

Grace snapped out of her daze and looked into Bucky’s blue eyes as he rubbed his thumb over hers.

“About…about enlisting,” he continued, Grace already furrowing her brows in confusion. “You know…joining up. Doing my part. Going over there and…and fighting. Making a difference.”

Grace’s eyes glossed over as she struggled for the words that had caught in her throat, the words that might keep him from leaving, the words that might make him stay.

“Bucky, you…you don’t have to—” she started, shaking her head softly. “You don’t have to go. You…you don’t have to put yourself in danger like that. You don’t have to—”

Bucky leaned his head in, tightened his grip on her hand. “I don’t have to?” he whispered. “What are you saying, Gracie? Are you saying you want me to stay?”

Grace looked down at their interlocked fingers and gave a slow blink, allowing a tear slide down her pink cheeks.

She wanted to look up at him and tell him that she needed him to stay for her own selfish reasons, that she didn’t want to roll the dice and gamble on the chance that he may not come back.

But instead, she forced herself to look away.

“I just…I think it’s really brave of you,” she uttered with as much sincereness as she could muster. It was brave of him to want to go. Of course James Barnes would want to go, would want to put his life on the line for others. She took a breath before continuing, “To… to want to make a difference. That’s…that’s really brave, Bucky. Really brave.”

Bucky’s heart dropped at the use of the name ‘Bucky’, and he bit his lip to fight back asking Grace to give him a split second of honesty, to tell him what she was obviously hiding. Instead, he softly let go of Grace’s hand and leaned back into the couch.

“Yeah,” he whispered, his voice strained and broken. “Yeah…thanks, Gracie.”

September 2, 2012: Avengers Tower, Medical Lab 1, 3:41 a.m.

Grace’s eyes slowly fluttered open, her chest rising and falling in short bursts as she softly stirred under the blankets haphazardly piled around her. For just a beat, she mistook the metallic hums of the air vents for the tinny crackles of Bucky’s old radio. 

Then, she looked down and saw the heavy restraints laying unbuckled next to her. 

She wasn’t at home. She wasn’t under a pile of too-thin quilts and asleep on her too-creaky bed. Her eyes flicked around for some kind of familiarity until she caught a glimpse of silver on the ground below her. She forced herself to sit up and untangle her limbs from the heap of white blankets that reminded her of her days at the hospital in Brooklyn.

Grace delicately stepped down from her cot and reached for the silver locket. She exhaled softly at the sight of her engagement ring and carefully clasped the necklace around her neck. She thumbed the engravings of the silver heart, and for a single, heart-stopping moment, she felt at peace.

Then a voice came from out of nowhere. “Мисс Роджерс, вы хотите, чтобы я позвонил доктору Баннеру?” (Ms. Rogers, do you want me to call for Dr. Banner?)

Grace jumped at the sound and stumbled back into the makeshift bed. She looked around the dark room for the source of the foreign voice, but she found no one.

“What…?” she whispered. “Who…who’s there?”

“Мисс Роджерс, хотели бы вы сейчас говорить по-английски?” (Ms. Rogers, would you like to speak in English now?) The voice spoke.

“Please, I…I don’t want any trouble,” she said in a panicked voice. “I just want to go home.”

Grace caught sight of the glass door on the far side of the room as she pressed her fingernails into her divots in her palms.

“Please wait while I call for Mr. Stark.”

Grace looked around, now frantic. “Stark?...I don’t…I don’t understand…” A light flicked on from above. “I…I have to go…I have to go home.”

Grace dashed to the door and rattled the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. “Please,” she croaked. “I’ll just leave. Please, please just let me go home.” She shook the door with force.

Upstairs, Tony was already in action as Bruce lifted his head from the table. Tony glanced downstairs to see a terrified Grace banging on the glass door of the medical lab room.

“What…,” Bruce said, still half asleep. “What… what the hell is happening, Tony?”

“Sir,” JARVIS replied. “Ms. Rogers is awake. Her heart rate is spiking, and her EEG readings are irregular. She appears to be speaking in English, and she is in a highly agitated state”

It was Steve’s turn to panic, and in just a few seconds, he went from eyes closed and head resting against the wall behind him to bolting in the direction of the lab. “Where is she?”

“Steve, Steve, wait–” Tony called, Bruce following closely behind.

Grace’s pounds on the door echoed through the stairs, muffling Tony’s warnings to Steve. “Rogers, do not go in there, you don’t know what she–”“

The door to Grace’s room hissed open and Steve stumbled into the room, locking eyes with his sister’s as she backed against the wall. She looked back at him as if he was a ghost. To her, he was.

“Gracie,” Steve whispered as he slowly made his way across the room. “Gracie, it’s me.”

“Steve,” Banner warned from behind. “Don’t.” 

Grace let out a pitiful cry, her face twisting in betrayal. “You don’t get to call me that,” she spat. “You…you left. This..this is your fault, Steve. You…you let him fall! You…you took him from me, and then you left and–”

“Gracie, please,” Steve pleaded, still making his way to his sister, who was pressed against the wall. “I’m here. I’m here. I didn’t let him go. I’m here. You’re here. We’re safe. We’re safe.”

Bruce slowly reached for a syringe, its vial already loaded with sedative.

“No!” Grace screamed. “No, you…you promised me, Steve! You promised me you’d keep him safe!” She pointed her finger at him. “You lied! You…you lied, and then you left me all alone! Where were you, huh?”

Steve reached for his sister only to be shoved away.

“Gracie, I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. I should have been there. I should have protected you. I’m so sorry, Gracie. I’m so sorry.”

Grace shook her head, her vision clouded with angry tears, and when she looked up, she saw a man with dark features standing slightly behind Steve. She froze.

“You…you…,” her voice dropped as she locked eyes with Tony. “Howard? But you…no, no…no, this can’t be real,” she whispered to herself, no one daring to make the next move. “It’s not real.”

Then, without warning, Grace lunged in Tony’s direction. “You…” she snarled, “you liar! You coward!” She scratched him across the face, blind with rage. She shoved him backwards. “You weak, pathetic excuse of a–”

Steve attempted to pull Grace off of Tony, but she had her fingers locked in the man’s hair, still screaming while she violently yanked at him, “I trusted you! And you couldn’t even–” 

The needle sunk down into Grace’s neck, and as Bruce injected the sedative, she collapsed into Steve, but her gaze never moved from Tony. “I…I needed…,” she murmured through gasps, “you promised…but you…you…” Steve held her as Grace’s legs went wobbly. “You selfish…”

Her eyes rolled back in her head as she crumpled onto the floor completely. She softly let out whimpers until she lay motionless, her head only supported by Steve’s arms. 

No one moved until Bruce spoke up. “Get her back in restraints.”

January, 1942: Postal Exchanges

Letter #1: Bucky to Grace (Day 3 of Basic Training)

Dear Gracie,

I’m writing this from a bunk that feels like it was designed specifically to break my spine. The guy next to me snores loud enough to scare the coyotes away, and the food here is some kind of science experiment gone wrong. If I survive this, it’s gonna be a miracle.

You’ll be happy to know I haven’t tripped over my own feet yet, despite the drill sergeant trying his best to run us into the ground. The guy’s got lungs like a bullhorn and a face that looks like he’s been chewing on nails since birth. Makes me miss your sweet disposition and the way you only yell at me when I deserve it.

Steve’s letters keep telling me to keep my head up and “show ‘em what Brooklyn’s made of.” Thought about signing his name up for the next drill just to see how far that patriotic spirit takes him.

Tell him I’m fine and that I haven’t punched anyone (yet). Miss the way you two keep me grounded. Feels weird not having you around to tease me about my hair or yell at me for burning the coffee.

Take care of yourself, Gracie. Try not to get into too much trouble while I’m gone. If you do, make sure Steve’s around to keep you from accidentally burning down the apartment.

Write me back, alright? Just so I know you haven’t gone and joined the circus without me.

Yours (platonically),James

Letter #2: Grace to Bucky (Day 5 of Basic Training)

Dear James,

I can’t believe you’re really gone. The apartment feels too quiet, and Steve keeps moping around like someone kicked his favorite puppy. I tried to cheer him up by making breakfast, but I burned the toast and nearly set the whole kitchen on fire. Steve says you’d never let me live it down, so I guess I’ll just have to perfect my cooking before you come home.

I still can’t wrap my head around you being a soldier. I keep picturing you barking orders and terrifying some poor recruit who can’t figure out which end of the rifle is up, though I know it’s probably the other way around. All the girls in the neighborhood keep asking about you. I’m trying to keep them at bay, but you know how they get when someone mentions your name.

Steve keeps telling me you’ll be fine, but he doesn’t see how you can’t sit still for two minutes without starting a fight with gravity or some poor, unsuspecting piece of furniture. If you get yourself injured because you tripped over your own gun, I’ll never forgive you.

I miss you. It’s not the same here without you. Keep your head down and your fists up. And please, don’t let the drill sergeant break that big head of yours.

Write me back, James. I’m starting to forget what your handwriting looks like.

Your friend (and nothing more),Gracie

Letter #3: Bucky to Grace (Week 2 of Basic Training)

Gracie,

Didn’t think I’d be so desperate to hear from anyone, but getting your letter made this hellhole bearable. I read it twice, mostly because I couldn’t stop picturing you nearly setting the apartment on fire. Makes me almost wish I’d been there to see it. Almost.

Steve’s right, though—you really should stay away from the stove. We both know you enjoy my cooking better anyways.

Training’s getting tougher. They had us out running for hours yesterday. Thought I was gonna die right there on the field. Guess I’m not as tough as I thought.

They gave me some downtime today, so I thought I’d write you again. There’s a kid here, probably not much older than you, who talks about home the way you do—like it’s this place you hate but one you’d fight the whole world to protect. Makes me wonder if that’s how you still feel about Brooklyn. Can’t imagine you anywhere else.

Bet Steve’s still trying to make sense of the quiet. Bet you’re still telling him he worries too much. I can practically hear you saying it, even from here.

I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. And quit trying to scare off the neighborhood girls—it’s flattering, but you know I’d rather hear about what you’re up to than any of them.

Write soon, alright? I’m starting to forget what your laugh sounds like.

Always (but not in that way),James

Letter #4: Grace to Bucky (Week 3 of Basic Training)

Dear James,

I’ve read your last letter about a hundred times. Steve caught me grinning at it like an idiot and made some crack about how you must have finally admitted you’re not as big adn bad as you pretend. I told him you’re still trying to make basic training your personal playground.

I keep telling the girls at the diner that you’re a pain in the neck, but they still swoon when I mention your name. One of them actually asked me to send you a handkerchief she embroidered. I told her you wouldn’t know what to do with it if you got it.

Steve’s taken to fussing over me more now that you’re gone. I think he’s scared I’m gonna up and disappear too. He won’t say it, but I see it in his eyes. You’ve gotta come back and tell him to quit hovering—he’s driving me crazy.

Keep writing me, okay? It’s the only thing keeping me from losing it. Just don’t go getting yourself hurt, Buck. I don’t think I could handle that.

Your friend (and nothing more),Gracie

Letter #5: Bucky to Grace (Week 4 of Training)

Gracie,

If you tell Steve I actually miss his worrying, I’ll deny it. But I do. He’s always been too good for this world. Makes me feel like a real ass for leaving you two behind.

That handkerchief thing made me laugh so hard I nearly got caught by the sergeant. I don’t need some stranger’s embroidery. But yours? Maybe. Just make sure it doesn’t smell like smoke.

Keep your chin up, Grace. Knowing you’re waiting makes this place feel less like hell.

Yours (but not like that),James

September 2, 2012: Avengers Tower, Medical Observation Deck

The heavy, reinforced door clanged shut behind the men as Tony, Steve, and Bruce shuffled into the observation room. Footage of Grace’s motionless form was displayed on the monitors mounted on the walls.

Tony slowly lowered his hand from the fresh, jagged scratch marks running down the side of his face. “Jesus Christ, Rogers…did you teach her that one?” 

Steve didn’t look at Tony. “She called you Howard,” he muttered. “She…she looked right at you and called you Howard.”

Bruce watched as Steve stood up straight and turned towards Tony, the super soldier's face dripping with disgust as he said, “She was…she was blaming him for something. She said he lied to her. That he…that he promised her something, and then he left her.”

Steve’s jaw tightened as he played through the scene in the lab.

“She said he abandoned her,” Steve continued. “She said he left her. Lied to her. Used her and then left her.”

Tony’s head jolted up, his eyes locking onto Steve’s.

“Don’t,” Stark snapped. “Don’t you even start with that. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Steve scoffed.

“I know what I just saw,” he shot back. “She didn’t just call you Howard. She tried to claw your eyes out. She was screaming at you like you’d personally betrayed her. Don't you think HYDRA would teach their agents to be a bit more covert than that? That...that wasn’t just a glitch in her programming, Tony. That was real.”

The corners of Tony’s mouth twitched in aggravation.

“And what exactly are you implying, Rogers?” he spat. “You think my father did something to her? Took advantage of her? That he abandoned her? Like she said, you weren’t there.”

Steve stepped forward, his fingers flexed at his side.

“Yeah? Well, I know Grace,” he argued. “I know she wouldn’t have just let herself be used like that. Not unless she thought he would come back for her.”

Bruce quickly stepped between them, his eyes shifting nervously.

“Hey,” he interrupted as he cautiously raised his hands in a calming gesture. “Let’s not jump to conclusions here. None of us have any idea what happened. For all we know, she’s just confused, latching onto the first familiar face she saw.”

Tony’s ground down his jaw as he stared at Steve.

“Why did she suddenly switch to English, huh?” Bruce pressed. “She hasn’t said a word of it since we pulled her out of that cryo-pod, and now she’s rattling off full sentences like it’s 1945. What triggered that? What made her suddenly remember how to speak English?”

February, 1942: Postal Exchange

Letter #6: Bucky to Grace (Week 5 of Training)

Gracie,

Alright, I’ll admit it. I’m starting to miss Brooklyn. The way the subway rattles beneath your feet, the smell of fresh bagels in the morning, the way the summer air sticks to your skin like syrup. Mostly, I miss the people. The way Steve never knows when to quit and the way you always manage to trip over the same crack in the sidewalk on the way to the diner alley.

I caught myself thinking about that day we spent at Coney Island last summer. The way you dragged me onto that rickety old Ferris wheel, your hand clutching mine like you thought the whole thing might collapse beneath us. I kept telling you to look at the view, to stop squeezing my fingers like you were trying to break them, but you just kept staring at the bolts and cables like you were expecting them to snap any second, rattling off something about objects in motion.

I still remember the way your laugh echoed in my ears when we finally got to the top, the way the wind whipped your hair into a tangled mess, the way you clung to my arm like you never wanted to let go.

It’s a good memory. One of my best. I keep coming back to it when things get tough out here, when the nights get too long and the days feel like they’ll never end.

I know you’re just a letter away, but it feels like you’re a world apart. Write me back, Gracie. I need something to look forward to.

Yours,James

Letter #7: Grace to Bucky (Week 6 of Training)

Dear James,

I got your letter today. Read it twice, then once more just to be sure I hadn’t imagined it. I’m glad you still remember that day at Coney Island. I do too. I still have the picture you took of me with my hair all wild and my face flushed from the wind. I remember you making some wisecrack about me looking like I’d stuck my finger in a light socket. I should’ve thrown you over the rail.

Steve asked me why I was smiling so much when your letter came. I told him it was because you’d probably tripped over your own feet again and written me a whole letter about it. He just rolled his eyes and called you hopeless.

I miss you, James. I try not to think about it too much, but it creeps in sometimes, in the quiet moments, when the world feels too big and the apartment too empty. I miss the way you make the walls feel a little less close, the way you can turn a bad day into something worth laughing about.

Don’t get too cocky about that, though. I still think you’re a pain in the neck.

Come home soon. I’m starting to forget what it feels like to have someone tease me until I’m ready to throw something.

Yours,Gracie

Letter #8: Bucky to Grace (Week 7 of Training)

Gracie,

I’m sitting in the mess hall, crammed between a bunch of sweaty, exhausted recruits who look like they’re about to drop dead into their slop. The food here still tastes like cardboard, but I’m too tired to care.

Your letter got me through another rough week. I must’ve read it a dozen times, just sitting on my bunk, trying to picture the way your face scrunches up when you’re trying not to smile, the way your eyes light up when you’re pretending to be mad at me. I’d give just about anything to see that right now.

Sometimes, when I’m running drills or cleaning my rifle for the hundredth time, I catch myself thinking about you. You’re like sunshine. I keep telling myself to cut it out, to keep my head in the game, but it’s like trying to quit breathing. 

Tell Steve I’m fine. Tell him I miss him, but not as much as I miss you. And those cigarettes.

Write soon, Gracie. I’m starting to think I might not make it through this place without your smart mouth keeping me sane.

Only yours,James

Letter #9: Grace to Bucky (Week 8 of Training)

Dear James,

I read your last letter by the window, the one that creaks whenever the wind blows just right, the one you used to bang your elbow on whenever you tried to sneak in after a late night at the bar. I could almost hear your voice in the words.

Steve’s started asking me why I keep looking out the window like I’m expecting someone. I told him I’m just trying to catch the mailman, but I think he’s starting to get suspicious. He always did have a way of seeing through me, even when I was trying my hardest to keep things to myself.

I miss you. I try not to say it too often, but it’s the truth. I miss you in a way that feels too big for my chest, like it’s going to split me open if I don’t see you soon.

I hope you’re still keeping that big head of yours out of trouble. I hope you’re still smiling, still cracking those dumb jokes that make me want to hit you.

Write me back soon, okay? I need to know you’re still out there, that you haven’t forgotten me in all that dust and noise.

Your sunshine,Gracie

September 2, 2012: Avengers Tower, Medical Lab 1 & Observation Deck

As Bruce cautiously stepped inside the lab doors, the door hissed shut behind him, causing Grace to flinch. She sat curled up in her cot, still restrained from the events of a few hours prior, and she stared blankly at the cold, metal wall in front of her, her eyes still bloodshot and unfocused.

“Grace,” Bruce started, stepping closer to the cot. “Grace, can you hear me? It’s Bruce. Dr. Banner.”

Grace didn’t respond.

“Мисс Роджерс,” JARVIS chimed in. “Доктор Баннер пытается поговорить с вами. Хотите ли вы ответить?” (Ms. Rogers, Dr. Banner is trying to speak with you. Would you like to respond?)

Grace flinched at the sound, her head popping up to meet Bruce’s gaze before darting away again. She muttered something in Russian.

“JARVIS, can you translate that for me?” Bruce said, stepping even closer and offered her a glass of water.

“She said, ‘Please, just leave me alone,’” JARVIS replied.

Bruce hesitated before slowly backing away from the woman, and without another word, he slipped back out of the room.

Upstairs, Tony, Steve, and Nick huddled around the table as they watched the footage from Grace’s outburst.

The video showed Grace lunging at Tony, clawing at his face as she shrieked about betrayal, lies, and broken promises.

Nick let out a low, dry chuckle, his one good eye narrowing as he watched Grace yank Tony by the hair while Steve attempted to pry her away.

“Well,” Nick muttered. “Can’t say I blame her. Stark does have a face you just want to punch.”

“Are you serious?” Steve snapped as he intently eyed Fury. “You think this is a joke? That’s my sister you’re talking about. She’s not some…some lab rat you can make jokes about.”

Nick didn’t bat an eye as Steve scolded him.

“Relax, Rogers,” Fury said. “I’m just saying, the girl’s got some fight in her. You should be glad. It means she’s still in there.”

Steve rolled his eyes, about to argue, when Tony interjected.

“Yeah?” Stark asked. “Well, maybe she wouldn’t have to be fighting like this if your organization hadn’t just let her fall into HYDRA’s hands in the first place.”

Fury tilted his head in amusement. “Watch it, Stark.”

“Maybe she wouldn’t have to be fighting like this if it wasn’t for your award-winning dad and his–” Steve started.

Bruce stepped into the room just as Tony opened his mouth to fire back.

“Guys, come on,” Banner spoke over the bickering. “This isn’t helping. We need to stay focused. We need to figure out what triggered this. You can rip each others’ heads off all day long, but you’re never going to get your questions answered if you don’t help Grace.”

February 27, 1942: Brooklyn, NY

The snow had come down hard the night before, blanketing Brooklyn in a thick, sparkling layer of white that crunched with every step. Grace pulled her woolen coat tighter around her shoulders, and one gloved hand clutched tightly around the paper bag of groceries she had just picked up from the corner market.

She had nearly reached the front steps of her apartment building when something cold and wet exploded against the side of her head, the shock of it sending a spray of powdery snow down the back of her collar.

Grace whipped her head around with a mix of surprise and irritation. Her fingers tightened around the paper bag as she looked for the source of the snowball.

“Hey!” she shouted, her voice high and sharp, her eyes narrowing as she turned in a slow, wary circle, her boots slipping slightly on the icy pavement. “Who the hell—”

Another snowball whizzed past her ear, narrowly missing her head as it shattered against the iron railing of the stoop beside her.

Grace let out an outraged huff, her cheeks flushing a bright, angry pink as she turned, her eyes still searching the snow-draped shadows beside her building.

“Alright, you little punk,” she muttered, her breath puffing out in short, furious clouds as she took a step onto the icy street. “You’ve got about three seconds to show yourself before I—”

A third snowball arced through the air, this one hitting her squarely in the chest and knocking the paper bag from her hands, the contents spilling out onto the cobblestone in a clattering, chaotic mess of canned soup.

Grace let out a small, startled yelp, her arms flailing as she staggered back, her feet slipping on the ice beneath her boots as she struggled to regain her balance.

“That’s it!” she shouted, her voice echoing off the brick walls. “You’d better hope I don’t catch you, you—”

But then, a familiar, rough laugh cut through the frozen air, the warm, crackling sound of it stopping Grace dead in her tracks.

For a moment, she thought she must have imagined it, that her mind was playing cruel tricks on her, that the long, lonely weeks of waiting had finally driven her mad. But then she saw him, his tall, broad-shouldered form half-hidden in the shadows, his dark hair mussed and tangled from the wind, his bright, blue eyes sparkling with mischief as he stepped out into the glow of the streetlight, his lips curled into that familiar, crooked grin that made her knees feel weak.

“James?” she whispered.

His grin widened as he took a steady step toward her, his gloved hands slipping into the pockets of his thick, woolen coat as he tilted his head, stopping for a moment to examine the scattered groceries at her feet before locking onto her flushed face.

“In the flesh,” he said, taking another step towards her. “Miss me, Gracie?”

Grace felt her legs turn to jelly as she took an unsteady step toward him.

Then, with a small, choked sob, she broke into a run, her boots slipping and sliding on the icy pavement as she hurled herself at him, her arms outstretched.

Bucky’s eyes widened in surprise, his own breath escaping him as Grace slammed into him, her body crashing into his frame with enough force to knock him off balance.

As his boots slipped on the slick pavement beneath his feet, they tumbled backward into the snow, a sharp, breathless yelp escaping Bucky’s lips as his back hit the cold, powdery ground with a thud, the breath knocked from his lungs as Grace collapsed on top of him, staring at him with a grin.

At first, they just laid there, all tangled together in a heap of limbs and damp, snow-covered clothing, their eyes locked.

Then, slowly, a small, trembling laugh bubbled up from Grace’s chest. “You...you jerk,” she whispered, her breath hitching, her hands still clutching desperately at the front of his coat as she leaned down, her nose brushing his, her lips hovering just inches from his own. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Bucky let out a rough, breathless chuckle, his arms wrapping her into a hug, and as he buried his face in the soft, dark curls at the nape of her neck, he whispered, “Missed you too, Gracie,” his breath warm against her skin. “God, I missed you.”

September 2, 2012: Avengers Tower, Medical Lab 1

Bruce adjusted the thin, wire-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he entered the lab, the cameras buzzing softly, following his path as the doors shut behind.

Grace didn’t look up as the doors shut.

Bruce hesitated before attempting to address her again.

“JARVIS,” he said quietly. “Can you translate for me? I don’t want to scare her.”

“Of course, Dr. Banner,” JARVIS replied. “I am ready when you are.”

Bruce steadied himself before beginning his questions.

“Grace,” he asked. “Do you remember what happened last night?”

JARVIS translated his words into steady Russian, as Grace searched around the room for another voice.

“что...что ты имеешь в виду?” (What... what do you mean?) she asked. “я...я не понимаю.” (I... I don’t understand.)

And as JARVIS translated back to Bruce, Grace frantically looked around the room again. “что это? кто это?” (What is that? Who is that?) she asked.

“The voice you’re hearing,” he assured her, “That’s JARVIS. He’s...he’s not a person. He’s an artificial intelligence, a computer. He helps us with things around the tower. Security, communication, translation...that sort of thing.”

Grace fidgeted with her blankets as she listened. 

“And...and I should probably tell you,” Bruce continued. “It’s... it’s not the 1940s anymore. It’s 2013. You’ve...you’ve been in cryo for a very long time, Grace.”

She looked at him with confusion, almost as if she wanted to say something back.

“Alright,” he spoke. “I know this is all very confusing. I can’t imagine what it must feel like to wake up in a strange place, surrounded by strange people, and...and to not remember how you got here. I just...I just want to help you. I just want to help you remember who you are. If... if you’ll let me.”

JARVIS continued translating as Bruce studied Grace’s face for any signs of hostility. She hesitated, and then, slowly, she gave a hesitant nod.

February 27, 1942: Brooklyn, NY

The snow crunched beneath their boots as they made their way back to Bucky’s, their gloved hands still tangled together.

Bucky glanced down at Grace, giving her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze as they reached the front steps of his building.

Grace stumbled slightly on a patch of ice, her breath hitching, her hand tightening around his as she let out a small yelp.

“Easy, Gracie,” he chuckled, wrapping a steadying arm around her waist. “Wouldn’t want you breaking that pretty neck of yours before we even make it inside.”

Grace let out a giggle, and that familiar heat crept up her spine.

“God,” Bucky muttered, mindlessly kicking the door shut behind them and helping Grace shrug off her coat. “I can’t tell you how good it feels to be out of that goddamn training camp. I swear, if I had to spend one more night on that thin, lumpy cot with Collins snoring two feet away, I would’ve shot myself just to put myself out of my misery.”

“Was it really that bad?” Grace prodded with a smirk on her face. “I thought you were supposed to be tough, soldier. I thought you liked a challenge.”

Bucky smiled as he made his way to the couch.

“Oh, I like a challenge,” he started his rebuttal. “But basic training? That’s just cruel and unusual punishment. Half the guys in my unit could barely run a mile without collapsing, and don’t even get me started on the food. I think they’re trying to kill us with canned beans and powdered eggs.”

Grace plopped next to Bucky on the couch, reaching for the quilt that had accompanied her through many rainy nights.

“You poor thing,” she teased. “I had no idea you had it so rough.”

“You wouldn’t last a day, doll,” he said through a toothy grin. “I’d give you an hour, maybe two, before you started crying for your warm, comfortable bed and your nice, quiet apartment.”

Grace’s cheeks flushed a deep, rosy pink.

“Maybe you’re right,” she murmured. “I’m not exactly cut out for military life.”

Bucky’s grin softened as the room filled with silence.

“You should stay the night,” he muttered. “Take my bed. It’s a hell of a lot more comfortable than that lumpy old couch, and you’ve got a long walk back to your place in the morning.”

“But you just got home,” she whispered. “You should take the bed. You’ve been sleeping on a cot for months. I’ll be fine out here.”

Bucky reached out for her hand again, instinctively tracing her wrist with his thumb.

“Gracie,” he softly urged. “Take the bed. I insist.”

Grace hesitantly released his hand and made her way to his bedroom, shooting him a sweet smile before she gently closed the door behind her.

And maybe it was because she couldn’t hear the creak of the radiator, or maybe it was because it didn’t feel right to not be sleeping on his couch, but as Grace lay down to sleep, she couldn’t stop thinking about what Bucky had said earlier. About his breath on her neck or his hands wrapped around her waist as he murmured, “Missed you too, Gracie. God, I missed you.” 

And she couldn’t fall asleep.

But it was probably the radiator.

She tossed and turned, trying each pillow in hopes that sleep would find her.

But Grace was still thinking about his laugh that felt like home and their collapse in the snow that felt like it was driven by the force of the past two years. She was still thinking about how they lay tangled together in the powdery white, their breath mingling in the laughter.

She squeezed her eyes shut as she adjusted the blanket.

It had been so easy, so natural to fall back into the familiar rhythm of his presence. All it took was a few moments to fall back into their familiar patterns of nicknames and teasing. And it felt right.

But it wasn’t, and she knew it. 

She opened her eyes, swung her legs over the edge of the creaking bed, and slowly rose to her feet.

She took a small step toward the door and pursed her lips, silently cursing herself for even thinking about going out there to him.

Grace sat back down.

Then, again, she stood up 

She walked to the door, then stopped.

This was a mistake.

She sat back down.

She should never have agreed to stay the night. She should have insisted on going home, should have forced herself to turn around and walk back out into the snow-covered streets, should have kept her distance.

But she hadn’t, and now here she was, sitting on the edge of his bed, her pulse racing, her mind spinning with a million different thoughts, wishes, and regrets.

She stood back up.

She would just go out there and insist he take the bed. She was used to the couch anyways.

The door loomed before her as she gathered the courage to reach for the doorknob. 

But then, before she could open the door, it creaked open, and in the faint flickering of the streetlamp from just outside, there he was.

Neither of them moved as they locked eyes, both surprised at the others’ presence.

Bucky took a step into the room, his calloused hands reaching up to brush a curl out of her face as closed the door behind him, the faint, metallic click of the latch echoing softly.

Grace felt that familiar blush creep all the way to her ears as Bucky stepped even closer, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze.

“Gracie,” he whispered, his voice low and rough, his eyes flicking down to her lips. “I was just... I thought maybe you needed...”

But before he could finish, Grace met him in the middle, her hands slipping beneath the woolen fabric of his sweater as she pulled him down, her breath warm and shaky.

In an instant, Bucky had his other arm wrapped snaked her back, and she followed his lead towards the bed behind them, their breath coming in desperate gasps as they grabbed at the hem of each other’s clothes.

Grace felt the metal frame behind her knees, and Bucky’s breath hitched as Grace pulled him down. He held the delicate curve of her neck, keeping those dark curls out of her face with one hand as he lifted her back onto the mattress with the other. 

He moved his hands to the fabric of her dress, his thumbs brushing lightly against her shoulders as he slipped the material down her arms, his breath coming in jagged bursts, and Grace tugging at his hair in response to his stubble brushing against her neck.

Bucky’s solid frame covered hers, and she clung to his sweater, pulling at the fraying edges in an attempt to get it off of him. Bucky whispered her name, his rough hands running over the back over her thighs as he pulled her closer.

“I love you,” he murmured into the crook of her neck. He tightened his grip on her, his fingers digging gently into the bare, flushed skin of her sides. “God, Gracie, I love you.”

Grace felt the red that was once localized to her neck spread down her legs as Bucky softly groaned in response to her lifting her hips in search of friction. 

“I love you,” she whispered back between soft pants. She pulled him closer, wrapping her arm around the back of his neck as he softly nipped at her neck. “I love you, James.”

Grace gently pawed at the belt holding up his gray slacks, and she heard him give a faint whimper before pulling away from her neck and meeting her eyes.

“Gracie…are you sure?” he whispered.

She bit her bottom lip as she nodded, running her thumb over the stubble right under his bottom lip.

Bucky’s gentle whispers coaxed Grace to finally be the one to let someone take care of her, and Grace’s mewling panting followed Bucky to the high he had been holding out on for so long as the warmth of soft gasps and the faint creak of the mattress ushered them into morning.

[mintypsii]

sanuso runaway AU - where Usopp leaves syrup village after his mom dies to look for his dad and ends up at the germa kingdom, growing up with Sanji as the doctor's lab assistant

That's basically the gist of it, there's a LOTT more but I just wanted to share some of the art I made for it (came up with it with a friend of mine)

In short -> sogeking is usopp's clone (the kids aren't aware of this) and was created to help germafied sanji on missions (sanji's scores began to improve after he met usopp so judge decided to keep him for more infiltration or espionage based tasks, hence "stealth black" since he's considered weaker than his siblings)

reiju's here too :) she and sanji have a bit of a rocky relationship (it gets better!!) but she's besties with usopp and hangs out with him at the lab to make ,, various concoctions

I'll make another post with more art and info later (I HAVE A LOTTT) so i'll tag em with (#op runaway au) hehe ,, feel free to send asks about it too!!

EDIT: HE FINALLY GOT A TUMBLR @arttlars !!!!!!! blame him for all of this

[nights-flying-fox]

You've encountered a concerned Leo looking for his nephew.

What do you do?

Context and bio stuff

[Hop might be jealous of this Leo. He wants a sword too...]

@tmntaucompetition

[viridis-bestia]

So hey, Gmod is a nice ''game''.. ''app'' thing.. yay!

[grey-tumbles-and-falls-down]

i wish the winter soldier was a lesbian sometimes

[tha-wrecka-stow]