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dontforgetoctober3rd · 1 year

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Life Eternal (Chapter 3)

This is an HOTD fanfic based off *another* fanfic, Second Sons by @avengingangelfanfic (I highly recommend reading their amazing fic first! )

Read the beginning of Life Eternal here : Prologue , Chapter 1 , Chapter 2

Rating: M (graphic depictions of violence, mentions of depression, death, depictions of war)

Word Count: 3600

Summary: Set 44 years after the initial events of Second Sons, Daemon Targaryen, son of Aemond and Lyanna, struggles to find his way due to his parents' fame. Who will he go to in order to solve this problem?

Disclaimer: The events in this fic are NOT canon to the canon events of AvengingAngel's story! It was just an idea bouncing around and I asked for permission, which was graciously given (thank youuuu), to put it in words. Gif credits for any gifs used will be in the images themselves. With that in mind, thank you for reading.

[18 YEARS AGO]

The war had not been very long, only about half a year, but the losses were devastating.

Most of it had been fending off raider parties and executing spies while amassing the necessary soldiers to match the Dothraki army’s numbers. Khal Drogo’s advisors had estimated it would take the new King on the Iron Throne over a year to persuade his subjects to form a force as formidable as he had, and so victory had all but been guaranteed to him. It had only taken the King Jacaerys a little over a month to gather a force of 400,000 to match Drogo’s 450,000.

A witch who had fled to King Jacaery’s side, her two children in tow, had provided a way for the Northern armies of Lord Cregan Stark to arrive in time: a magic portal that they would arrive with, but not return (whatever remained of them after would have to go back home on foot). Khal Drogo had his advisors executed.

King Jacaerys had appealed to the people not only as their ruler, but as a man. “I want what any man and woman in my kingdom would: to avenge my mother and stepfather, to protect my children and to live free of the cruel yoke of slavery.” It had stirred the people, to know that their King considered slavery a threat to even himself, having dragons and all. Many lamented they had to stay where they were, unable to do any “real fighting”.

“No.” King Jacaerys had said firmly. “We need you just as much as the most fearsome berserker on the battlefield. We need our fields tended, our animals cared for. We need a home to come back to.”

He had repeated the same words he spoke in the giant, majestic Dragonpit of King’s Landing in every village he and Baela flew to. Eschewing the large cities where the great houses resided (sending family members on dragonback to them instead), they had descended upon the surrounding farming villages and tiny trading hamlets. Many a tavern owner had been honored to host them, stories of such things sure to be passed down their families in the years to come, how they had once fed Jacaerys the Defender and Brave Baela a pint of ale with a meat pie.

To deal with this threat to his kingdom, Jacaerys favored a more direct type of approach: take out the leader in an attempt to splinter his army. Many failed assassinations followed, the bloodriders’ numbers dwindling down to a mere four, but Khal Drogo himself evaded the Stranger and arrived on Westeros. Swimming giants made landfall first, and the first fight of the war began, occupying the dragonriders in a section of land away from where Khal Drogo then flooded the shores with his screamers and elephants for a couple of months.

Khal Drogo had planned a sort of pincer attack, but Prince Aemond had relayed this information to the King in time via his own planted spies. Half of the enemy forces had been waiting in Essos to set sail so they might arrive a few days after a planned battle with all of the Dothraki army together, to replenish the ones who were the first wave arriving on Westeros, in an effort to exhaust King Jacaery’s assembled army with a sustained attack.

Princess Rhaenys, The Queen Who Never Was, fell first. She had been tasked with leading the initial assault on the elephant hordes in the first enemy arrival on Westerosi lands and managed to take out most of the scorpions and catapults before being blindsided by a flying wizard’s blast. King Jacaerys and Queen Baela had still been occupied in dealing with the giants a ways away.

Prince Aegon the elder and Crown Prince Aemon had been with Rhaenys.

They finished the job she had started, Aegon’s twins following their lead on their own dragons, bathing what remained of the elephant army in a blinding wall of fire. The wizard who had killed Rhaenys had attempted to blast Jahaerys as well, only to be stopped by Aegon the Elder’s sword flying through the air and impaling itself through his throat. Prince Aegon had launched it like a javelin using momentum from his dragon Sunfyre, stopping the assailant midair and sending him careening to the ground. A long ribbon of blood had escaped from the body as it fell. Prince Daeron’s dragon, Tessarion, had just arrived and snatched another wizard who had sprung into the air behind Aegon, a blast already sizzling in his hand and aimed at him. Prince Aemon’s dragon had latched onto the unfortunate man at the same time, the two dragons ripping him apart with ease, splattering their riders with the entrails and blood. The group had then allowed themselves a small moment of joy, cheering and laughing with relief at Aegon II’s close brush with death.

Oversees, Prince Aemond and Princess Lyanna rained hellfire upon the remaining forces that were waiting to set sail, focusing on taking out the remaining giants and elephants. Queen Rhaenyra’s four children by Daemon (Aegon The Younger, Viserys, Visenya and Aemma) gladly helped with their own dragons. Prince Lucerys and Princess Rhaena provided air support to the thousands of slaves that defected to the assisting forces of Braavos and Pentos. Prince Joffrey and Prince Valerion ambushed the last of the enemy soldiers attempting to flee. It was a quick battle, but losses still came.

Gendry, Princess Lyanna’s much loved sworn shield, died on the ground along with hundreds of foot soldiers. Prince Lucerys lost a leg, but kept his life. Lord Rickon Tully fell, along with both Cargyll brothers. It was not a happy trip back to Westeros to rejoin the rest of King Jacaery’s army.

Back in Westeros, the dragonriders could only do so much after the first battle without risking killing their own people also. Defending from the ground was also not an area that Khal Drogo expected much of a fight in but a fight is what he got as he tried to converge his massive horde into one area. Prince Doran of Dorne and Lord Royce Baratheon of Storm’s End commanded the ground forces. Men and women numbering in the hundreds of thousands spread out over the Crownlands to fight for their King and defend their homes. The efforts of Rhaenys were not in vain, having no catapults or spear launchers of any sort to use themselves, Drogo’s land army struggled mightily.

The soldiers of King Jacaerys' took every opportunity they could to weaken Drogo's forces. Flaming walls of bagged up livestock feces were used to suffocate sleeping enemy camps. Enemy battalions making their way to the location of battle through the Kingswood were ambushed constantly.

Over and over, the Dothraki were baited and chipped away at, until the day of the final battle.

Lord Corlys handled the enemy on the ocean, making short work of Drogo’s shoddy fleet of mercenaries and inexperienced Dothraki sailors. They had thought to keep their supplies off land in order to better protect them, but House Velaryon decimated them. There had been moment where the Velaryon fleet seemed to have reached a wall of ships, but soon all hope disappeared for the opposing side: on the horizon, roaring and spewing huge plumes of flames, were Caraxes and Syrax flying towards them. It was a short fight and Lord Corlys had his revenge for Princess Rhaenys, whose dragon he had seen fall from the sky in the distance those first few days of the war.

Back on land, no terms were offered on either side. The armies had at last come together in a sea of soldiers across from each other.

Villagers had long since fled the area, under protection of the rest of the Dragon Blade’s daughters, Lady Alicent Tully leading them away.

The carnage immediately began on the fields and went on through the night.

Several times, Royce Baratheon maneuvered his men to corral the Dothraki into spots the dragons could target with ease. His wife Catelyn would then burn them to a crisp on her dragon Alduin.

Lord Cregan Stark with his men did the same for King Jacaerys on Vermax, Prince Doran’s soldiers repeating the method for Queen Baela on Moondancer.

A smaller faction of Khal Drogo’s army had thought to steal away towards King’s Landing, planning to loot the city and then flee back to Essos.

Prince Maelor and Princess Helaena, tasked with defending the city, met them on their dragons. Scores of Dornish archers pelted the Dothraki continuously with arrows from all over the walls, many smallfolk stationed beside them spraying those who came close with boiling hot oil. After a time, Maelor came back to the Red Keep victorious. Helaena had flown off to join her husband in the final fight.

The turning point in the battle came with the arrival of Prince Aemond and the rest of the dragonriders who had gone to Essos to do away with the threat of a second wave.

It seemed since they saw the cause was lost, Khal Drogo’s army (what was left of it) fought even more fiercely. They knew they were all to die and were intent on taking as many as they could with them.

As morning came, the battle slowed and came to a full stop when King Jacaerys rode his dragon into a skirmish, quickly dismounting and slowly raised the head of Khal Drogo himself to what was left of the Dothraki army. They tried to flee. Vermax burned them from the ground where he stood by Jacaerys, with Moondancer showering them in fire from above as she flew by, Queen Baela yelling enthusiastically.

Victory had come, but at a grievous cost. Catelyn Baratheon had been wounded, seemingly mortally so. In his desperation, Lord Royce had taken her unconscious body and declared he would take her to better maesters in King’s Landing. To everyone’s shock, Catelyn’s fearsome beast Alduin let Royce mount him. He shot to the sky and flew so swiftly many wondered if they had really seen it happen.

Many of Prince Doran’s family had fallen in the battle. He had only his wife, children and one sister left. Lord Cregan and his lady wife had also fallen in battle. So many great houses now had new, younger Lords and Ladies stepping up to take charge.

The most heart wrenching loss of all had yet to be widely known, many dismissing the rumors flying around. In a secluded group of tents, Prince Aegon the Elder was holding the hand of Prince Aemond, who was fading fast. Aemond held onto the hand of Princess Lyanna beside him, who was too injured to speak but kept her eyes upon Aemond.

Aemond looked into her eyes as well, speaking to Aegon the entire time. Aegon took no issue with this, they were saying goodbye after all. Let their final memory be of each other.

“Our boy, Aegon…our son..please..!”

“You do not even have to say it, brother!” Aegon spoke angrily, tears flowing freely.“Helaena and I will look after Daemon.”

Aemond began to cry as Lyanna suddenly lay stiff. She was gone from this world. At least she had heard Aegon promise…hadn’t she?

“Aegon, please..love him-” Aemond gasped. He was pale and sweaty, bloodfever having long since set in. His skin was the same ghostly shade as his hair, no color left in his lips.

“Like I said, Helaena and I will care for him.” Aegon promised fiercely, clutching his brother’s limp hand to his chest. He had noticed Lyanna and knew Aemond was not far behind in following her. His chest felt like it was on fire with the grief but he had to get the words out before it was too late. “Of course we will! He is our blood, born of the little brother and good sister who we love with all our hearts, love more than anything. He will never suffer what you both suffered in childhood! We will tell him of you both, we will teach him the sword! We will drag him to the library, to your favorite reading spots, to the very place where you asked for Lyanna’s hand! We will-” Aegon suddenly went silent, looking at what used to be his brother and Lyanna. They were no more. Aegon screamed and screamed until Heleana came running, and then she too joined in the screaming. The next tent over, King Jacaerys and Queen Baela were being tended to. Jacaerys looked to Baela, their faces shattering with the realization upon hearing the horrible wailing. Circling above the sky, Vhagar and Skydancer roared in agony.

[18 YEARS AGO, A FEW MONTHS AFTER THE WAR]

“He is here, my Lord.”

“Make ready the chambers. I can’t see him staying the night, but the gods might gift us another lovely storm and I’d rather not have our new king calling for my head for sending his uncle home in such weather. Inform the cooks to butcher a lamb.”

Lord Royce Baratheon looked at the scene outside his walls. Prince Aegon the Elder, calming Sunfyre, greeting the guards who came up to him and then making his way towards the castle.

Royce reflected about the war while he left the balcony and went to the nursery to wait for Aegon…

The entire kingdom was just pulling themselves from the ashes of the Great War against Khal Drogo’s army, rebuilding their homes and healing their wounds. Catelyn had not been the same since learning of her parents’ deaths. Everyday, she wasted away in their chambers, eating only when Royce fed her himself. The maester had informed them both she would never carry another child again. Her sisters visited in turns, but rarely so. Their own families needed them.

Little Daemon would not stop his sniffling, his older nephew Alphonse his only comfort aside from nurses.

The children clung to Royce whenever he visited the nursery, crying all the while that they wanted their mother. Alphonse, in particular, had sensed something was very wrong. 6 years old, Lyanna herself had tasked him with protecting Daemon, a job he had taken very seriously. Everywhere the little lord-to-be went, he carried his uncle with him. He had kept asking his father these past months when Lyanna and Aemond would be back for Daemon and could he please go visit King’s Landing with him when they did. He wanted to keep teaching Daemon how to hold various practice weapons, he was showing promise with the sword and would surely know how to properly swing one by his second nameday.

He asked again today when his uncle’s parents would be back. It broke his heart, but Royce had to finally be straightforward with his eldest son.

“Do you remember our old hound? The one with a gimp leg?”

“Biscuithead! I miss him.” Alphonse had learned of death before the start of the war, thankfully though things that weren’t quite as violent and traumatic. He looked at his father expectantly, swaying his sleeping uncle in his arms from left to right. He looked far older than he should, bearing such a responsibility. Royce hated to be the one to be changing his son’s view of the world for the worse yet again, but it had to be done. He had shielded him from everything for far too long.

“Aemond and Lyanna have gone the way of the dog, my boy. They are dead. They will not be coming back. Not ever.”

Alphonse immediately teared up, worry in his whispery voice. The lad was still afraid of waking Daemon. “...but they are Daemon’s mother and father. How can a mother and father die?” Alphonse choked back a sob, trying to be brave but quickly spiraling into distress. At Royce’s nod, a nearby maid claimed a sleeping Daemon from Alphonse, spiriting him away to a different room in the nursery. “Father…are you going to die?! Is mother going to die?!”

Royce quickly embraced his crying son. “No, no, no…I am not dying, my sweet boy, I am not dying.”

“I don’t want you to die!”

“Hush, now! Your mother and I have many many years ahead of us. We are not dying.”

Royce looked to the doors opening, guards announcing Prince Aegon.

Alphonse had not even noticed, he was still sobbing, face buried in his father’s chest. Royce met the gaze of a very haggard and tired looking man. Aegon had come for little Daemon, finally. He had been told in the ravens he did not even need to ask it, but Aegon would keep his son safe as well, until Catelyn was well enough.

More than likely until Alphonse felt ready to leave, Royce thought. He did not see his son betraying a promise made to the Princess of Hearts.

[PRESENT DAY KING’S LANDING]

“Alphonse, come! Daemon has business he needs to see to without you hovering about.” Royce called, already mounted on his horse, ready to ride away with the rest of the remaining Lords in the keep to the hunting camp. His two other sons laughed at Alphonse, though not in a bad-natured way (Orys had been chosen to remain at Storm’s End with his dragon and so was not present).

Daemon smirked at Alphonse. “Go on, then, nephew. An honorable son always obeys his father.”

Alphonse scoffed as he mounted his own horse. “Hmph. As if you obey yours without question? Have you yet spoken with him?”

Daemon laughed. Others might take it to mean as a jest against his dead father, but he knew who Alphonse spoke of. “Never you mind. Off with you, and do not forget what we talked of a few days past.” he admonished. “You know what will happen if you do not take action.”

“Yes, yes…” Alphonse rode away smiling.

Daemon watched as the large party left the courtyard. It was the final group to leave to the hunting camp, before Aegon and Heleana made to arrive with the twins to get the celebrations going. They would leave tomorrow. A full day with them to himself, Daemon thought. He made a note to thank the King later, for surely it was his doing that the hosts themselves would be staying here for a whole day. Lady Alicent Tully was also staying behind. She had difficulty walking now, at her great age, and preferred to spend her days in the library or being wheeled around the paths in the Godswood.

A great deal had occurred upon his return from Storm’s End. Daenerys, for one, had been nowhere to be found. Helaena had informed him she had gone ahead to the site, to “help set up”.

To avoid my nephew, more like…Daemon had thought. No matter. He had persuaded (and slightly threatened) Alphonse to finally seek her hand. His mother’s dagger had been of some help.

“Present it to her as your betrothal gift. Do not make it seem like duty or an obligation. Tell her the choice is entirely in her hands, and mean it.” Alphonse had looked a bit panicked at this. “No, do not give me that look. When my father asked for my mother’s hand, he made it clear it was she who would be deciding if they would be wed. He didn’t even tell her that he was her potential betrothed until that was understood. No You must marry me! None of that.” His nephew had grumbled at the time, but now he was on his way at least he had seemed more agreeable and Daemon was satisfied with things.

To truly love someone, you had to be at peace with the idea that their happiness might not lie in being with you. It had been a tough tonic for Alphonse to swallow, but swallow it he did. Daenerys was the only one who held his heart, and he wanted her to be happy.

Daemon walked through the keep, steeling himself for what was coming next. He hadn’t been the easiest child to care for, but his aunt Helaena and uncle Aegon had managed. They both treated him well and reassured him they needed no apologies but he still felt extremely guilty. Every childhood tantrum had been met with punishment, but also gentle patience.

“I HATE YOU!!” he had screamed one day, just shy of 8. The dragon keepers had declared Paarthurnax large enough to ride and Daemon had wanted to fly immediately, wanting to visit Alphonse who had been on his yearly visit home for the harvest. Nevermind the fact that a saddle still needed to be made and fitted properly. Helaena had not allowed it. They had been breaking their fast and Daemon had thrown his pumpkin juice at her in response. The maids had frozen in horror, not sure what to do, but Aegon had sighed and simply dragged a screaming Daemon from the table by the wrist.

“I HATE YOU! Let me go! I HATE YOU!!” With each yell from Daemon, a curious face turned to look. Aegon nodded greetings to the stunned passersby, as if nothing was amiss.

“Yes, yes, you may hate me all you like, but do so from the nursery.” Aegon had said. “You are not to leave the area for the rest of today. Supper will be brought to you. This will be your punishment for what you have done. We do not throw things at others, especially our own kin, we use our words.”

Daemon had been sure an injustice had been done to him. “I’m not stupid! You won’t let me ride because you HATE ME. You and aunt Helaena HATE ME!!”

At this, Aegon had issued a vehement denial “We do not hate you and we never will. We both love you with all our hearts.”

“Then why can I not call you kepa and aunt Helaena muña?”

He still remembered how sad Aegon had looked when he had asked that. It had caught him completely off guard. Only now as a man did Daemon understand how much it probably tore at his uncle’s heart.

Stopping right before the library, he saw the doors were wide open, Ser Tommen standing guard right by. Daemon went in to speak with the two people who had raised him.

#Life Eternal Chapter 3 #lmaoooo what have i gotten my self into #fanfic based on fanfic #hotd fanfic #second sons by avengingangel #i really cannot stress this enough but my writing is nowhere near the caliber of AvengingAngel's so plz judge me kindly!#i'm begging #i'm trying to improve my writing #and by god if the only way to do it is by embarrassing myself on this hellsite then SO BE IT #I can't believe what this has evolved into tho #i think i've broken 10k words by now #ive never written 10k words for a single subject IN MY LIFE #but Second Sons really is that top tier #its so good it inspired me to do fanfic of it #you have to read it especially if you love soft Aemond fics where he lives happily ever after!#anyways here is my mess

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yanderenightmare · 4 years

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could we get the bnha yanderes with a darling that’s actually really fond of their dark side and revels in the attention

yandere ! BNHA headcannons

TIP-JAR

goodiebag WARNINGS: anxiety, arson, drugs, guilt, delusions, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, mind control, DUBCON, yandere-themes

BAKUGO KATSUKI - KACHAN

He had planned to be sweet, similar to his scent of caramel as opposed to what destruction he was capable of. He had planned to be patient, to tolerate whatever screams and cries his darling might have reacted with, but what he was met with wasn’t horror, but… something strangely akin to what he would call gratitude or even excitement or even lovesickness. He thinks she surprised herself more than she surprised him with how easy she folded, but once he got over the shock and not to mention the suspicion her compliant nature beckoned from him, he was only motivated to go harder, to be rougher, to be as intense as he had wished but had held back. She likes the attention, despite it being overwhelming and scary and brutal at times, she still likes it, maybe even because of it. Once he got over the fear of her acceptance crushing under the full weight of his obsession, he became cocky about it. She’s his little freak and he has the confidence and the reassurance to tease her for it now, thoroughly amused with how her eyes cross paths and her brows knit together, drooling and mewling with his hand wrapped around her throat, squeezing her neck with her tight little pussy clenching around his shaft as he drives into her. He exploits it, finding such great amusement and entertainment in hearing her pray for him to go harder and faster, even as she begins to cry, limbs shaking as she continues to beg for him, eyes like opium, wide and void with pooling darkness.

DABI - TODOROKI TOUYA

Dabi had expectations. Expecting his little darling to not fully be at peace with his self-proclaimed ownership of her, he had decided to not pay her objections any mind. He decided that the hard way was the best way from the very start. But… his darling didn’t meet him with the type of reluctance he had expected. Sure, she was crying, but when he reached out his hand she didn’t bite like the sort of animal he’d expected, but rather, reached out ever so timidly and eyes so wide and glossy and sparkly and in search for some comfort. He couldn’t be harsh when she was being so sweet, he couldn’t be anything but appreciative when she curled up on his lap like such a soft little thing, hands gripping onto his shirt, sobs that seemed too tame for him to scold her, besides… it felt… nice. It felt nice to be the source of comfort as opposed to the factor of discomfort. It felt like absolution. He used to think he’d find clinginess annoying, but his little darling is clingy in all the right ways. Latching onto him when she’s crying, after a bad dream, all throughout the night, even when he’s the source to her pain, when he makes her jump up and down on his cock, her arms wrapped around his neck, fingers intertwining in his raven locks, legs around his torso, running to hug and welcome him home, kissing him, telling him how she missed him, how much she loves him, how much she needs him.

SHIGARAKI TOMURA

He’s so confused. He kidnapped her. Kidnapped her. Took her, abducted her, stole her, forced her away from a life with little regard to her feelings on the whole ordeal, subjugated her to a tiny room with more flying specs of dust than light allowed to shine through the windows. It’s not even like he’s a handsome kidnapper either. Is she insane? Why is she looking at him like that? Why isn’t she afraid, why isn’t she swatting his hands away when he reaches to touch her? Why is she touching him? How can she touch his wrinkles, his scars, his cracking breaking skin? How can she touch his hands, his scarred deadly bloodied hands? And what is that look on her face? If he didn’t know any better he’d call it fascination, curiosity perhaps… adoration? No. No, no, no, no way. No way she’s simply just… accepting… enjoying… just as simple as that. To be honest, he’s feeling slightly freaked out, alarmed, concerned. This isn’t natural. This isn’t healthy. She should at least cry, if only just a little bit. But no. No, her fingers playing curiously with his hair when he’s playing videogames. At least she doesn’t talk to him like they’re chummy old pals, then he’d really feel the thin hairs at the back of his neck rise. But, when he touches her milky skin with his sandpaper-fingertips she doesn’t squirm, and when he pushes those same fingers knuckle deep inside her she doesn’t tell him to stop. He finds himself quickly enjoying testing the boundaries of his little darling, boundaries he’s yet to have found proof of.

SHINSO HITOSHI

He was expecting for there to be some debate surrounding his ownership of her, he was preparing to teach his little pet a thing or two about who was boss early on, but… she seemed to slip right into her role so naturally. Instead of him teasing her, she’s teasing him, mocking him, making him feel as though he has no control even as he stares into those wide milky orbs who no longer have the ability of mobility, yet still has the power to inch her lips into that eerie playful catlike grin, as though she’s excited, as though spiked with untamed thrill. She’ll talk to him as though there’s no danger, as though he won’t have her mind in his clutches by the end of it, almost as if she’s counting on it, waiting for it, coaxing him with words of her own. They’ll play like cat and mouse, one always either tempting or chasing the other. She’ll even laugh, eyes bright and vivid and spiked and twirling as she lets him catch her time and time again, in a way that makes him believe he’s the one that’s been captured. He’s surprised, to say the least, surprised because his little darling is in fact a little devil, a little baby-faced angel-eyed demon, who enjoys how the darkness feels against her skin, who loves how his inky-fingers feel when tampering with her mind, and has darkness of her own to drown him with too.

TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS

He was preparing for a wild beast, but was happy to find his little darling settling in as though she understood that in the comfort of his house is where she belonged. Calling it a kidnapping became weird and sounded foreign when referring to their arrangement, especially when he came home to his darling in her apron, cooking, cleaning or sleeping so soundly on his couch you’d think she’d done so her whole life. She doesn’t flinch when he touches her, she rather leans in to greet the touch, her eyes heavy-lidded and joined with his gaze. And when he comes home, some days all broken and bruised and bloodied and smoke-ridden, his feathers ragged and plucked, she’ll fuss. Fuss and pamper and coo and take such good care of him, softly and sweetly patching him up, messaging wings, give his torn lip a kiss, stroke a careful hand through his locks. She’ll be so perfect, like an angel, a living breathing real-life angel. Or a guardian, something he’s always wanting. Someone to make him feel safe and loved and protected, despite him being the hero and his darling being the victim to his villainy.

MIDORIYA IZUKU - DEKU

Here he was thinking she couldn’t possibly be any more of an adorable little darling than what she already was. He’s not used to being wrong about his calculations, he’s not used to liking finding faults in his calculations, but he has to admit he was pleasantly surprised with how his darling accepted his feelings easier than what he had expected. He had assumed it to be a lengthy and gradual and careful process, he was prepared to take his time, be patient, be supportive, but… his darling portrayed little of what anxiety symptoms he had imagined: panic-attacks, quaking, crying, screaming. She seemed more honored than anything. Amazed to have caught the eye of the Midoriya Izuku, the number 1. Hero of not just Japan, but arguably the whole world. She felt proud, bashful to be getting the attention, but thriving in it despite herself believing it was misplaced. Wanting to return Izuku’s worship, cherish, awe with appreciation of her own at every given turn. She would still yelp when he picked her up to carry her about, but who wouldn’t when his arms are the sizes of pillars. Though, the sound of surprise would always be followed by the sound of laughter, school-girl giggles that felt like the fluttering of butterflies against his chest. Also, when she slept on top of him. With one of his hands placed on the dome of her ass and the other holding a book up for him to read, the small feel of her drumming pitter patter heartbeats against his ribcage, so cute and comfortable and safe.

CHISAKI KAI - OVERHAUL

He was expecting a fight, he was expecting annoying migraine-evoking screams, he was expecting thrashing, causing waves to fall onto the bathroom tiles when she was in the bathtub. He was expecting the worst, because that’s what good business men do: expect the worst, prepare for the worst, and find refuge in the fact that it was far from what hell they had imagined. But… it’s rare to be met with the exact opposition of what you had predicted, which was what had happened. There was no war, there was no fight, there was no riot, there wasn’t even the hint of resistance. There were still small tremors of fear though, yet far less than what he had foreseen. The type of fear you find when bringing home a new pet, more careful hesitant curiosity than actual fear, as though trying to find comfort in your surroundings, as though trying to settle in. He looks like a dangerous man, yet… her eyes aren’t terror-wide but big with anticipation, with a strange form of thrill. And though her actions remained feather-light she was still the first one to reach out, she was still the one to ask to witness the demolition and recreation of his quirk, she was still the one that chose to tie the knot to his tie in the morning. Though he was the one to have found and taken her, she was the pioneer.

TODOROKI SHOTO

Not much can change what Shoto has planned for his darling’s future. Whether she enjoys it or hates it, it will be accepted. What he plans to do with her, what soft-tinted or red-violent passions he plans on bestowing upon her, the fact that she likes it from the start hardly matters when through time she was going to learn to enjoy it anyway. He was always going to lick up her skin with his flames or make her skin whisper upon the threat of being frozen, until she’s a sweat-slicked feverish mess in his lap, and he was always going to take good soft care of her afterwards. But, he must admit, he’s surprised to find that the aftercare is such a sweet pleasure, seemingly rivaling what blissed-out state he can reach when playing with his little darling. He knew he would enjoy it, but… he could never have imagined the motherly touch his darling gifts him with, what tender smiles and heavenly laughs and the way she tangles herself with him, limbs an unruly yet comfortable knot. What more, when she asks to see his quirks, wants him to make frost-flowers on the windows or in the shower on the glass-walls, when she holds his hands as he creates little lanterns of dancing tendrils and wisps, ones she can tickle with her fingertips as they twirl in his palm. The way her eyes light up with that childlike-wonder he never seemed to possess when he was young, makes him feel a different type of warm far from burning.

TIP-JAR

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sunnyville36 · 3 years

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Mamihlapinatapai {part 1}

See {overview} for more info!

Pairing: Bang Chan x Female Reader

Themes: royal au, medieval au, court intrigue, arranged marriage, original characters, mutual pining, slow burn

Warnings: mentions of death/war, emotionally abusive parents

Rating: Mature

Word count: 4.2k

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Mamihlapinatapai - (noun, Yagán origin) a silent acknowledgement and understanding between two people, who are both wishing or thinking the same thing (and are both unwilling to initiate)

Bond | Kingdom of Gu, present day

“Good morning, Your Highness,” you called, entering the prince’s room and walking to open the curtains, revealing the cloudless sky behind them. Of course a beautiful day like today would have to be ruined by the very event you were here to collect Chan for.

Chan’s head peeked out from around the dressing panel, smiling softly as you pressed the shirt he’d clearly been looking for into his hands. “Good morning Y/n.”

“Your father’s in quite the foul mood this morning,” you said, leaving Chan to finish changing as you tidied up his dresser and prepared the many pins and beads bearing the royal crest that would adorn his formal attire for today.

You could hear the scowl in his voice as he grumbled, “Only he could manage to be upset during an event solely orchestrated by him and his insufferable band of so-called advisors.”

You nodded your head, indulging him in his ranting. Better he get it all out now with only you here to hear than cause a scene in front of the court. The prince took his responsibilities seriously and hardly ever openly clashed with his father, no matter how much they disagreed. But this had been an exceedingly upsetting matter for him, and, by extension, you as well. You’d spent the majority of the last week attempting to keep the peace between him and his father, as well as show your support for your friend as best you could.

Chan stepped out from behind the screen, and you had to stop yourself from doing a double take at the man in front of you. A far cry from his normal outfit of loose breeches and dirtied, tattered tunics, his cleanly pressed white shirt was tucked neatly into snug fitting black trousers, accentuating his broad shoulders and trim figure. You were sure he hated the confines of such an ensemble, but you were equally sure he would turn every head in the kingdom during today’s events, and you smiled at having the privilege to see him here first as he struck a nonchalant pose and asked, “So, how do I look?”

“Very handsome,” you replied, stepping up to pin his bright red cloak around his shoulders and set to work attaching the fineries to the outside.

“You do as well. Look very nice, I mean,” he corrected sheepishly, pose all but forgotten and head tilting forward as a blush formed on his cheeks.

You glanced upward, smoothing his hair that had gotten tousled from his rushed dressing. “Thank you, Your Highness,” you replied quietly. You decided to throw in a humorous quip, hoping to lighten his mood as you finished decorating the course, red fabric. “We couldn’t have the prince’s personal attendant looking like she’d just had a spar with a knight and lost, now could we?”

“Certainly not,” he laughed, then quieted as he continued, “And you’re still wearing the flower.”

You reached your hand absently up to the flower that was perched behind your ear, and you felt his fingertips ghost over yours as he gently pushed your hair to sit behind it.

“Of course, Your Highness. Is it not our tradition that I wear it until it is completely bare of petals?”

“Mhmm… our tradition,” he hummed, his hand lingering next to your cheek.

“We really must be h-heading out.” You cringed at the unsteadiness of your voice. You needed to get out of here, needed to get him out of here. You straightened the clasps of his cloak and tapped your hands on his chest.

“There. Now you look like a real prince charming,” you said, forcing a smile to your lips that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

He shook his head as he half chuckled, half grimaced at your words, lips forming into a straight line. “Then I suppose we must go meet my future wife.”

You Have My Bow | Kingdom of Gu, 19 years ago

“Mama, Mama, look what Papa made for me!” you squealed, bounding into your tightly-packed cottage and nearly crashing into your mother’s legs as she stood boiling soup at the stove.

Your father had taken you to the woods that morning, your favorite place to go with him when he had a rare spare moment away from the castle. You had thought he was taking you for your usual ritual: fishing by the river’s edge in the hopes of catching something to use for dinner. Instead, when you reached the riverbank, your father knelt down and pulled a tiny child’s bow from his knapsack, small enough to fit in your four-year-old hands.

“I’m going to teach you how to use this bow Y/n. Not many girls will know how to, but you need to be able to fend for yourself and your mother if anything should ever happen to me.”

“Why would anything happen to you Papa?”

“Well, Papa helps the king to keep our home safe, and there are some people who might want to make it unsafe.”

“Like the Lajorans? Or the Mirohans? The ones with the missing princess?! Or the Sillans? I heard old man Jerrald talking outside the tavern, and he said Lajorans like to ...”

“Yes, just like those,” your father interrupted your enthusiastic babbling, “though you shouldn’t believe everything old man Jerrald says, alright?” You nodded as he continued, “The king does everything he can to keep the peace, but sometimes our peoples get into fights. Really big ones, where people use swords and bows like this. And I want to make sure that if that ever happens, if one day a fight should come here, that you can keep yourself and your mother safe. Do you think you could do that for me, Y/n?”

You’d agreed of course, your little body bouncing with excitement as he pulled you in for a hug then took the bow and began to show you the basic principles. The two of you had spent the rest of the day practicing, and you couldn’t be more excited to show your mother what you’d learned.

“Y/n be careful,” your mother admonished, kneeling down to your height as she gave you a tight squeeze. “Now let’s see what that father of yours has cooked up for you this time.”

“It’s called a boo!” you all but shouted, whipping the bow out from behind your skirts and drawing back the string in a mock archer’s pose.

“A bow, Y/n, it’s called a bow sweetheart,” came your father’s voice from the doorstep. He crossed the small space to pull your mother into a tight embrace as he said, “And be careful with that in the house, or your mother will have my head.” You nodded back at him and he sent you a mischievous wink over her shoulder.

Your mother turned to face him with a wary smile as you started galloping in circles, pretending to ride an imaginary horse. “Giving our already rambunctious child a deadly weapon, Minhyuk? You want to get her into trouble, I see.”

“Julietta, you worry too much,” your father whispered, pressing his lips to her temple in a gentle kiss. “Besides, I’d be more concerned about the trouble she’d be in if she didn’t know how to take care of herself.”

Little did you know that everything you learned that day would soon come crashing into your life, taking many precious things with it when it left.

All That Glitters Is Not Gold | Kingdom of Gu, present day

You struggled to keep up as you walked behind Chan, the two of you heading to the throne room where you were sure a very short tempered King Bang would be waiting to reprimand you for your tardiness. Sure enough, when the guards opened the doors, you saw the king pacing in the small space in front of the raised thones, his head snapping up as he heard your footsteps approach.

“You’re late. I told you to have him here 20 minutes ago Y/n, did I not?”

“It’s not her fault,” Chan defended. “Besides, they’re not here yet, are they?” He gestured around to the otherwise empty hall, save for the usual servants and guards, then slumped into his seat at the right hand of his father’s.

“You would do well to lose that attitude before they do arrive. I will not have you embarrassing yourself or this court because of your petty feud with me.” Chan gave a hollow laugh at that, eyes closing to block out the mere presence of his father.

You took your place behind Chan’s throne, hands coming up to rest on the ornately upholstered back. You liked keeping your hands there; it made you feel like you were supporting Chan in some way, the closest you would ever come to being able to actually hold his hand the way you wanted to right now.

After a few moments, you heard the telltale sound of trumpets and the growing shuffling of a group of approaching footsteps. Chan straightened in his seat and his father took his place at the head of the room.

The doors opened, and you were greeted by a small party of what appeared to be political ministers and guards, in the middle of whom stood a woman clad in a yellow gown. She was beautiful, golden hair spun up into a twist and a delicate silver circlet resting above it. You would know she was a princess from a mile away.

The Gu herald spoke first, gesturing towards the two men seated at the thrones. “May I present His Majesty, King Bang Geun of the Gu Kingdom and his son, His Royal Highness Bang Christopher Chan, crown prince of the Gu Kingdom.”

The gaggle of people gave a quick bow, then parted to allow the woman through. She stepped to the front, then dipped into a low curtsey. “I am Princess Korenna Dormio of Lajor,” she spoke, her high, clear voice ringing in the chamber. “It is a pleasure to meet you both.”

The king stood up, walking towards Korenna with you and Chan trailing behind. He took her hand and kissed the top of it, his voice exclaiming in a fake bright tone, “We are honored you could join us in our kingdom! May I present my son, Christopher.”

Chan stepped forward at that, hand outstretched to take hers. “I prefer strangers to call me Chan.”

You could feel the icy gaze King Bang was sending to his son, but he pressed on, ever the politician.

“This is Y/n. She is Chr- err Chan’s personal attendant, and will be at your service during your stay. Go to her with whatever you may need.”

Korenna eyed you with a curious look, and you knew why. It was unusual, though not entirely unheard of, for a prince to have a woman as his personal attendant. Not only did they complete duties for him in the domestic sphere, but they also served a professional purpose, a sort of squire, scheduler, and strategist all in one, roles typically reserved for men. The unique circumstances surrounding the time of your’s and Chan’s upbringing had made having you as his attendant a logical choice, but you could understand her concern about the man she was supposed to marry spending most of his time in the company of a woman she knew nothing about.

You knelt into a curtsey, head leaning forward as you heard Korenna’s voice. “A pleasure to meet you Y/n.”

“You as well, Your Grace,” you responded. Glancing up, you saw that Chan was not even looking in her direction, gaze apparently trained on a fascinating branch just outside the rightmost window. Well this was off to a wonderful start.

“Very well,” King Bang said tentatively, “I will let you two become acquainted. Y/n, I believe you were given their itinerary for the day?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

As the king made his way to mingle with the rest of Korenna’s visiting party, Chan turned to the both of you, eyes almost glaring at the princess.

“I don’t want to be here, and I doubt you do either, so let’s just get all of this shit over with so we can go back to our normal lives.” With that, he stalked towards the door, leaving you and a highly affronted Korenna to follow in his wake.

***

The next few hours only got worse.

The pair were thrust immediately into making a multitude of decisions about the wedding ceremony: What kind of flatware did they want? Which cakes were their favorite? How should the shrubbery around the edge of the garden be trimmed? And all the while you stood between them, relaying information to the various servants charged with these tasks and corralling the two royals between each of their stops.

Your latest one was with the palace groundskeeper, to determine what flowers would adorn the wedding canopy.

“We can always have tulips brought in from the highlands, Your Grace.”

“Tulips are fine, but I was thinking something more along the lines of white roses or lilies.”

Chan’s annoyed huff at her words was impossible to miss.

“Can you at least try to give some input about this?”

“We’ve barely met and they have us making all these asinine decisions about something weeks away! What do you even care what I have to say about flowers anyway?!”

“I don’t want to fight with you about this.”

“Isn’t that what your people are good at?! Picking a fight with someone who never asked to be involved in the first place?”

You hated seeing Chan like this. His normally kind, generous, and thoughtful demeanor, that you knew to be his real self, not just some facade put on to impress the nobles or win ladies’ affections, was being replaced by this antagonistic attitude, intent on ruining any chance of finding common ground with this woman. You knew he was doing it to protect himself, both from his father’s antics and from his own fear of being open, of letting someone in and risking actually wanting to keep them there. But under different circumstances, you knew he would never want to be seen treating anyone like he was right now, let alone a princess from another powerful kingdom. And she didn’t seem to be so bad; if she felt the same malice as he felt towards her, she at least did a better job of hiding it. You needed to stop him before he did something you knew he would regret.

“Your Highness, I believe Prince Minho wanted to brief you on the latest border patrol, seeing as he is back in the city for the time being. Why don’t you meet with him while I escort Her Grace to the ladies afternoon tea?”

“A wonderful idea,” Chan muttered unenthusiastically and began walking towards the closest castle door as you guided the princess in the opposite direction. You looked back and locked eyes with him, reading the expression of thanks on his face.

When you were out of earshot from Chan, Korenna turned to you almost immediately and asked, “Is he always this standoffish?”

You were unsure how to answer that question, wanting to make it clear he wasn’t always like this without getting her hopes up that he would change his attitude about this particular situation any time soon.

“His Highness is not especially fond of this arrangement. It has nothing to do with you personally, Your Grace.”

“Well I am also not especially fond of this arrangement, but it’s the arrangement we have at present and at least I’m attempting to be civil towards him.”

“Perhaps you should tell him of your similar feelings, to establish some common ground?”

Korenna became agitated at that suggestion, visibly tensing as she said, “And risk my father finding out I feel that way. Absolutely not.”

You understood that apprehension, that fear. Stories of her father, King Eunther, had spread often throughout your kingdom, and from what you heard, you knew he was not someone you wanted to cross.

You walked in silence for the rest of the way, until you rounded the corner into the courtyard where you could hear ladies’ voices and the gentle clinking of fine china. Korenna turned to you, placing her hand on your arm.

“You and him seem to be… close. Maybe you could talk to him, ask him to try to appear like he doesn’t despise me and everything I do or say?”

You had a feeling that would only make it worse, his oldest friend asking him to grin and bear it for the “good of the kingdom.” You also knew his political protest against his father might not be the only reason for his general disdain of everything that had happened the past week. But Korenna seemed like she was genuinely trying to put in some effort, and you couldn’t bring yourself to outright deny her request.

“I will try, Your Grace.”

As you left Korenna in the garden, you reached up to feel for the flower by your ear, and found that all the remaining petals had fallen off.

Arrangements | Kingdom of Gu, 1 week ago

“Have you heard anything? From the staff, about what this announcement might be?”

Chan was walking briskly ahead of you, voice coming out slightly strained. You knew why; his father calling an unscheduled meeting with the entire court, alluding to some mysterious “announcement,” had everyone on edge, Chan most of all. The king still kept his son in the dark about the majority of his political proceedings, much to Chan’s frustration and chagrin, and no one but his closest inner circle had any inkling as to what this might be about.

“No, Your Highness. It’s been quiet in the servants’ quarters; everyone is equally surprised.”

“Well, whatever it is, promise to take my side?”

“Have I ever not?”

The two of you entered the throne room, and despite your knowledge of what a full court gathering was, you were still taken aback by the sheer amount of people present. Every nobleman, every knight, every person who wasn’t otherwise occupied was here, filling the space along the wall and facing the dias at the head of the room where King Bang sat, the empty seats to his right and left standing out amongst the crowded room. Even Prince Minho, the king’s nephew and second in command of the royal guard after Chan, was back from his post on the Lajoran border.

Whatever this announcement was, it was serious.

Chan approached his seat next to the king as he usually did on occasions like this, but was stopped by his father’s voice.

“Chan, please remain there. You are the subject of my announcement today.”

You saw Chan’s face pale as he remained in the center of the room. You were still standing behind him, debating whether or not you should stay beside him or step back to one of the walls where the servants stood. As you scanned for your mother in the crowd, that question was answered for you.

“Y/n, you too shall stay where you are. I will have instructions for you as well.”

You bowed your head slightly in acknowledgement of his order, and took your place slightly behind Chan’s left shoulder to await whatever insane proclamation King Bang was about to make.

Nothing could have prepared you for the words that left his mouth.

“Chris, I have made you a wedding match. You are to be married to Princess Korenna of Lajor in six week’s time.”

The entire room was silent, every person holding their breath to hear what the prince’s reaction would be. This was not something anyone was expecting, Chan least of all. It took every ounce of your willpower to school your face into a neutral expression as you tried to contend with the hundreds of thoughts flooding your mind.

Chan was to be married? To someone from Lajor? One of Gu’s oldest enemies suddenly wanted to form an alliance, and through marriage? What would that even entail? Who would hold what powers? Why was the ceremony so soon? Who would be in charge of the preparations? How would this change your relationship with Chan?

After what felt like hours, but was more likely only several seconds, you heard Chan’s voice echoing one of your thoughts out loud.

“A Lajoran?! But father, they are responsible for - “

“You need not remind me what they are responsible for, Christopher.”

“Then I don’t understand, how did this come about?!”

You couldn’t stop the low ringing slowly building in your ears, accompanied by a sudden wave of nausea. You vaguely registered the king’s voice, explaining how King Eunther had approached him, how he agreed “it was time we put that mess behind us,” and how his daughter would be a suitable match for the Gu prince. Your mind wandered, remembering how many times Chan had told you he never wanted to be used as a pawn in his father’s political games, how he hated the idea of being forced to marry a stranger. You couldn’t seem to register any other information, thinking solely about Chan, the man you’d known since childhood, your friend, having to be married off to satisfy his father’s need for power. Finally, a loud voice cut through the fog in your head.

“Y/n, are you listening? Look at me when I’m talking to you, girl!”

You looked up in surprise to see the king’s unpleasant expression looking down at you. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Chan’s pained face turned slightly towards you, waiting to see why his father had kept you in the center of the room as well.

“I apologize, Your Majesty.”

“You will serve Princess Korenna when she arrives for her introductory stay here a week from today.”

You heard a scoff from next to you and glanced to see Chan’s face growing angrier by the second. “First you lay this on me, now you’re taking away my servant?! How do you expect me to cope with all of this?”

You sucked in a sharp breath at his words. You knew he was simply talking in a language his father would understand, explaining how it would be an inconvenience for him to not have someone available at all times of the day, to keep track of his schedule, to clean his clothes, bring him his meals, prepare his horses and armor. But you couldn’t help the sting of being referred to as a “servant”; surely Chan saw you as more than that, just as you saw him as more than just your future monarch.

“You will manage with half of her normal attention,” the king answered, his tone laced with a hint of irritation at his son’s current attitude. “Besides, you’ll spend most of your time with Korenna, so she’ll be with the both of you regardless.”

The anger was coming off of Chan in waves, so palpable you felt like you could reach out and touch it. Finally he set his jaw, facing his father.

“Is that all you had for me?”

“Well that’s all for the matter of the marriage yes but - “

Chan turned on his heel, walking out of the room to the sound of hushed whispers and his father’s increasingly pitiful protests.

You wanted nothing more than to run after him, to pull him into your arms and soothe him, tell him everything would be alright. But you knew better than to leave, not having been dismissed by the king yet. So you stood there, heart aching so badly, feeling exposed, like everyone could see the shattered pieces of it that had fallen at your feet.

“I’ll go look for him,” you heard Minho say as he passed by you, the king nodding and waving his hand to dismiss the rest of you. You heard your mother calling for you but you ignored her, wanting to get out of that stifling room, to go somewhere, anywhere where you could be alone. You knew where Chan had gone, where he always went when he was upset and needed time to think, but no one bothered to ask you in their search for him.

***

He returned to his room that evening like you knew he would, the door creaking open as you stood across the room ironing his rarely used formal wear with the glass smoother.

His voice came out choked as he whispered, “I’m sorry for what I said. For referring to you as my servant.”

“It’s alright, Your Highness. I know you were upset - “

“That’s no excuse.”

Feeling his presence close behind you, you turned to him, reaching for his hand. “I forgive you.”

He brought his other hand to your cheek, and when you looked up, you saw his eyes staring at you, imploring you to stay, to talk to him. It was so tempting, the desire to give in, to lean in to him and let him hold you like you knew he wanted. But you had to be strong, for him and for yourself. And you knew if you stayed, if you opened up to each other, tried to confront the feelings you knew you still had and could only hope he reciprocated, neither of you would ever recover. So you took his hand from your face, holding both of his in yours between you as you said, “You should get some rest, Your Highness.”

“Y/n please,” he murmured.

“It is done. There’s nothing you or I can do.”

He made one last attempt, turning and holding your wrist lightly, but let you go as you pulled away. Opening the door, you wished him goodnight, desperately trying to hold in your tears as you left. Your footsteps took you down the hall quickly, but not before you caught the small sound of a sob coming from behind his door.

{part 2}

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harryissuchalittleshit · 3 years

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Five Men Who Broke Lily's Heart And One Who Healed It

For training prompt Tuesday, @petalstosarah, I told you I would make it angsty. You can read it below the cut or on Ao3!

1. Michael Evans, 1971

Lily could remember the day her father left like the back of her hand.

It had been sometime in quiet days after Christmas, but before New Year’s. He had stood in the doorway, his suitcase packed, his jacket on, his life with them erased from the walls of their home. She would see him again, just a small handful of times, but it would never be the same. He would never be her father, not like how he had once been before.

Lily would cry for hours and hours and hours after. Christmas would never be the same after that. She would find ways to stay away from home, from her mother and sister during the most festive time of year.

Michael Evans would never return to them. He would never pick Lily up and spin her around in his arms again, he would never kiss Iris again, he would never wink at Petunia and smile as they shared their own private joke again. The thing was, he would never be in their life again, not as he used to be, as he wanted to be, no, the separation would never go away.

He wasn’t breaking just his eleven year old daughter’s heart, he was breaking up a family. He was showing his daughter’s that faithfulness wasn’t a thing. He was showing them that men couldn’t be trusted.

How could they? He wasn’t faithful to their mother, he wasn’t kind to her, he broke the trust they had once created.

He broke the trust his daughters had in him.

Michael Evans was the first man to ever break Lily’s heart, and she would remember that. She would remember him and that cold, cold morning when he left. Lily and Petunia sitting side-by-side at the top of the stairs, their mother, Iris standing at the bottom, trying to protect them even then.

Michael Evans would die a few years later, when Petunia had left the house and Lily was away at school. Iris would get the last laugh, but even then it wouldn’t be kind, it wouldn’t be nice.

Either way, the damage was done.

2. Remus Lupin, 1973

The next one would be Remus Lupin.

He wasn’t a man yet, just a kind sweet boy who was thirteen. He studied with her in the library, they passed notes in Arithmancy as none of their friends were with them. They spent hours and days together, just the pair of them, just having fun and discovering a new friendship.

Until it became too real.

Lily would forever keep the photo of her and Remus, taken a warm and sunny day, the pair of them studying in the library, only looking up at the sound of the shutter clicking. The camera was a gift from her father, old and worn down, but still able to make something beautiful.

She would always have a copy, it would be framed, it would move from home to home with Lily. A document of a friendship that she loved, that she cared about, that ended one horrible day over a discovery made public.

She wasn’t afraid of Remus, no one could be afraid of a boy that tucked in his sweaters, and owned more cardigans than shirts, and who sing ever Beatles song as long as he heard the first few notes. No one could be afraid of a boy whose smiles had to earned and his laughter fought with well timed jokes. No one could be afraid of a boy who slept like the dead and studied as if his life was in danger.

No one was afraid of Remus Lupin, but he wasn’t just Remus Lupin.

It wasn’t the admittance of the truth, it was the lie to cover it up. Lily hated being lied to, it made her feel like she was eleven and crying into her sister’s shoulder as their father left to never return again. Broken trust, from a broken man.

It would take almost a full year for Lily to let her guard down again around him, a year of apologizes and passed notes and studying in the library together. It would take a year of whispered conversations and explanations for everything to go back to how it was.

It would take time for the trust to reform.

3. Sirius Black, 1976

When people hear the name Sirius Black, they think trouble.

They don’t think of a broken boy, of a child thrown out of a broken home. They don’t think of tattoos and motorbikes and leather jackets. The first word is trouble, the second is Marauder, the third is brother.

For Lily, it’s unfaithful.

Lily had known him for five years at this point, she had classes with him, she had been partnered with him more times that she could count, she had held his hand after he received Howler after Howler. She didn’t know what it meant to be a Black, but she did know what it meant to not feel at home in your own childhood home.

She knew what it felt like to not belong.

And with that they bonded, they drank tea and told stories about their siblings and cousins and parents, they shared their life. They were friends because none of their other friends got it, they were friends because they needed someone else to understand.

The pact had been simple. They would write during the summers, swap war stories twice a week of their craziness. They would share what they knew, what they could tell, what the other could understand.

But after a week in, Lily got radio silence.

Another week passed, then another, then another, unanswered and unopened letters littered her desk. Worries went unchecked.

Her worries grew, they went into overdrive, she cried herself to sleep. This boy that she loved, that she cared about, that knew her and the life she lived, was forced into during the summer and holiday visits had abandoned her.

This boy who knew everything, who understood everything…he broke her heart in the most selfish way.

Sirius Black would come back, he would squeeze her hand when Howlers came to him at Hogwarts, he would cry on her shoulder when his brother would die years later, he would walk her down the aisle on her wedding day. But he would also take something from her that summer, that long and hot and cruel summer without the lifeline of someone who understood a bitchy sibling and parents who didn’t know how to love a child different than them.

It would take months for Lily to love him again, but she would fall for his heart break all over again. It would never be his charms and jokes and infectious laughter that earned her heart, it would be his familiar tragedy and the way he helped save her.

4. James Potter, 1977

The first time Lily ever kissed James Potter, it was because he broke her heart.

Years and years and years of mixed feelings, of fights and arguments that never seemed to blow over, of day dreams and pining looks and lingers touches. It had been stupid, all of it had been stupid.

Love was stupid.

It was overrated, irrational, and life ending. And yet she fell.

She fell because despite all of the fights, all of the day dreams, all of his smiles and rushed words and his stupid, stupid ticks, she had always loved him. He had the rights to her heart when they met at eleven on the Hogwarts Express. She, going away from everything she knew at top speed, and he, surging forward towards everything he wanted.

She had always been a sucker for kind eyes and a nice smile. She just didn’t realize it until it was much too late.

Until her heart ached whenever he was near, until her head grew dizzy when their arms brushed, until she looked at him and saw everything she could ever want. This was a boy, no man, that you did fall in love with at first sight. That you let kiss you in the rain on a cold November night. That you cried over in bed because you couldn’t sleep at night.

James Potter was a man that love touched and didn’t let go.

It took Lily much longer to realize that she should’ve.

He broke her heart with a kind smile, his hazel eyes bright with laughter, his hair a frizzy halo around his head. He was tall and tan and so beautiful that it hurt to look at him, it hurt to try and smile and pretend that her heart didn’t want him.

James Potter was a man that didn’t deserve rejection.

It would take another month for her to pluck up the courage to tell him. To whisper her love for him on the last warm day of the year. It would take her time for her heart to mend itself, for her brain to forgive the pain in not allowing herself to love him. It would take Lily the rest of her short life to forgive him.

It would only take a moment to kiss him though. She would remember the fire in her veins, the aching in her chest, the fuzziness in her head. She would remember the warmth of his hands, the soft feel of his lips, the small moan that he made when she touched his throat.

She would remember the feeling of her heart knitting itself back together, slowly and carefully, but enough to feel whole again.

5. Peter Pettigrew, 1980

It would be much too late when Lily realized that Peter Pettigrew was the reason for her biggest heartbreak.

It would be long after her son was born, with soft spikey black hair and tan skin and her green eyes. He would be talking and walking and laughing when Lily realized that the tiny little man with sad blue eyes and anger in his heart betrayed her.

Betrayed James, betrayed Harry.

He would cause her death, so young, so prematurely, so unnecessary.

He had made her son be marked as an equal, a baby boy with a toothy grin and bright eyes, a baby boy who smiled and found laughter in everything. A baby boy who called him wo-my and giggled when Peter threw him in the air and always fell asleep in his arms.

Peter had broken her heart when she heard the door blast open, when she heard James fall to the floor, when a man who hated her because of her birth killed her.

But she felt the sadness much earlier. Looking at Peter hurt, not in the way it once had with James, no, it hurt because he was growing smaller, thinner, paler. He was no longer happy, he shied away at smiles and laughter, he grew unfamiliar.

He broke her heart long before the mark appeared on his arm, his greatest shame.

He broke her heart, and somehow, it was like he knew before it all came to an end.

1. Harry Potter, 1981

“Mama loves you.”

Lily stared at her son, his chubby cheeks and dark hair, his tan skin and toothy smile, she stared at her own eyes and tried to find the strength to say something else. Her baby boy was going to die and it was her fault.

“Mama loves you Harry,” she whispered, hoping and wishing that he would know that she never wanted this for him. Her baby boy, her only child, she would never have another, she would never live pass this next moment.

Harry would never know her, never know James, he would never know the love she had for him.

One more man to break her heart.

Go ahead, break my heart. You can break it a thousand times if you so desire. It’s been yours break since the day we met.

She had once stood in front of James and told him that he could end her, break her heart over and over and over again. But even then the words hadn’t been meant for him, they were for Harry, they were for their son.

“Mama has had her heart broken so many times, Harry,” whispered Lily, desperate to get the words out, to let her baby boy know how much she loved him. “But you are the one that I’ll never be angry about, you are the one that I loved most.”

She wished that she could kiss James one last time; that she could hug Remus and tell him how much he meant to her; that she could cry into Sirius’ shoulder and hold his hand; that she could say goodbye to her father once again; that she could be the one to murder Peter.

She wished that her son could grow up loved and safe and protected.

She wished that she could hold him and never let him go, never put him down again.

She wished that the green light wasn’t the same shade as her eyes.

“Mama loves you Harry, forever and ever Heartbreaker.”

#lily evans #james potter #sirius black #harry potter #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #marauders #training prompt tuesday #angst #my fics #lily has trust issues #lily has family issues #I had to bring the angst #I wrote this instead of sleeping

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kalee60 · 3 years

Note

Carol Danvers as Bucky's older sister!

Hmmmm - nonnie... I've never thought about this - but you pose an interesting scenario... One that started to oil the rusted gears in my head... (And apologies it's taken forever to respond - the joy of RL has hit me recently - but I'll always answer at some point!)

So I'm thinking this is definitely an AU modern!Bucky verse, and I totally see this Carol -

Looking out for her slightly younger bro Bucky - who I imagine looks a little like this...

They weren't real siblings of course. Bucky was ten years younger and a scrap of a kid who lived with his mom next door to Carol and followed her and her best friend Maria around like a lost puppy craving attention.

Carol of course resisted the little Punk that had attatched himself (uninvited) to their adventures in the forest behind their home.

She'd tried to lose him on more than one occasion, but he was wily, following stealthily, before parking himself in a tree high above to watch them as they played resistance fighter pilots on Endor dodging fire from an AT-ST.

He was Han Solo of course. The ping ping of his gun helping their fight - he never missed a shot.

Reluctantly, Carol and Maria's duo became a trio

Bucky completed their chaotic rag tag team - always up for an adventure, a prank. He was quick to laugh, infinitely kind and smart.

When Bucky's mother passed away suddenly - the Danvers took Bucky in - there was never any question on where he would live.

Bucky from that moment on called Carol Sis and always had her back. Especially when the sexist pigs came for her when she joined the Air Force.

He was only 13 and full of indignant rage that she be treated differently - only he had permission to tease her. Not these white haired men wearing suits.

She then proved them all wrong and became their best pilot.

Then Captain

....

Then she disappeared.

Bucky was inconsolable - his Sis was gone - but he always - always - believed she'd come back, even though he'd been told to give up hope.

So he and Maria kept Carol's legacy going, Maria in the Air Force and Bucky joining SHIELD, headhunted from college - ending up lead engineer on the Triskelion.

Then, unexpectedly, he received the news he'd been secretly waiting a life time for. Carol was back.

23 years later

And she was no longer just Carol - she was more...

At first Carol couldn't believe that the grown man standing before her was her little brother, that Maria with her lined face and quick smile had aged so much and that Monica was her own woman - smart, resilient and so capable (Maria later told Carol that Monica modelled herself after Carol - she may have got something caught in her eye at that tidbit...)

Carol on the other hand, had not aged a day.

It was disconcerting at first, trying to find her feet within SHIELD, especially after saving multiple other galaxy's from destruction without having a 'boss' - but she did it with Bucky's unerring help.

She'd missed his teasing and how he could always make her feel like she was home. Carol even didn't care when Bucky started to say that her Emperor Palpatine-like powers were actually pretty lame.

Who wanted to fly and in space anyway?

Carol was just grateful Bucky and Maria didn't appear to be scared of her and her powers - which were brutal and spectacular all at once.

Bucky ended up, once more, being her rock.

Carol tried her best to keep Bucky out of the line of fire, hard when he also worked for SHIELD - but her biggest mistake came when she introduced Bucky to the Avengers.

To Steve Rogers in particular.

The trouble was - Steve was a good guy, great in fact, and when Carol had given him the shovel talk - she only received a wide blue eyed indignant look in response and had clearly offended her fellow Captain.

And when Bucky burst in to the control room to tell her to 'mind her own business' that she didn't get a say in who he saw, and that although he wanted her blessing, he'd go without because he loved Steve... Carol realised her little Bro had grown up.

Without her

And although it took a long time to adjust, she thanked God they still had weekly dinners at the Danvers and Carol could still whip Bucky's impressively thick thighs with a half-wet rolled up kitchen towel (which always ended in a war) then blame him for drinking all the OJ direct from the carton.

Some things, Carol realised - never changed.

And family for her - was everything.

~*~*~*~

Thanks nonnie for helping me put fingers to keypad for the first time in months! This was fun, hopefully I managed to give you a tiny bit of what you were after ❤️

#Bucky Barnes #Carol Danvers #Bucky and Carol are siblings #head canon #kalee answers #kalee rambles #stucky #if you squint #mywriting

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lifenodaijobu · 4 years

Text

Just a little list of my soft Draco obsession

For @vemodalensx

Theres a few here but I’ve left some out since the list was getting a bit long. I might make another list with more.

The list separated between cute Draco and vulnerable Draco just so you can choose whether or not you want a bit of sadness with your softness ^3^

Oh and ofc it goes without saying that the whole list is Bottom Draco hehe

Cute Soft Draco

Flower Crowns (2.4k words)

It started with a single flower 🥀 Draco makes flower crowns for Harry and that is how the whole school finds out about them. A happy dose of Harry with flowers in his hair, and a smitten Draco.

Dreaming of you (21k words)

Harry has nightmares, he wishes for a night when he can sleep without nightmares. What happens when he starts dreaming of Draco Malfoy? Draco left the wizarding world after the war, he's a librarian and lives peacefully in muggle London, what happens when Harry fucking Potter shows up at his work place?

Honey (

Harry is sick of Draco's oh-so-adorable endearments.

The Care and Management of Volatile Veelas

Harry adopts a Veela. He really didn’t mean to.

Quidditch Wife (Part 2)

Theres no real summary for this except for It's got all my favourite guilty pleasures, like protective!Harry and vulnerable!Draco, with a side of jealous!Harry and SportyQuidditch!Harry (and I think the top!Harry rather goes without saying).

All our pieces....fall right into places series

The first story: Draco had had a crush for a while and now that he had Harry in his bed...He was everything that Draco needed.

Trick or Treat

Harry had no idea that he was such a fetishist - a fact which he discovers on Halloween.

Pretty

Harry finds a pair of stockings in the back of their dresser.

The Sweater

After being forced to room together in 8th year, Draco and Harry become friends and decide to continue their living arrangements post Hogwarts. The only problem is, Draco can't seem to stop stealing Harry's clothes.

1095 Roses for a life time

Being woken up by the lips of your boyfriend is always a nice surprise, especially on the morning of yours third anniversary of dating, which leads to hot and passionate morning activity. But all this is just to indulge in themselves, Harry's surprise includes roses and a promise for a lifetime. Will they be the right choice?

Get your kinks out

Harry plays seeker for the Magpies, and he discovers that one of his teammates secretly wears lace panties. What begins as a sexual relationship becomes increasingly complicated by Harry’s fame, Draco’s family, and Harry’s ambivalent feelings about dominating Draco.

Can’t say no

Draco really has the worst friends. When they put a spell on him that he has to say no to everything Harry says.....things don't turn out well.

That time when Harry proposes and gets turned down because of his horrible friends.

What Draco wants

Out of anything a petty fight with Harry Potter could have led to, Draco Malfoy least expected it to end with him bent over a table, questioning his relationship and feelings for Potter, and having the best sex of his life.

Criminal

Things were going just fine for Draco Malfoy. He successfully conned and counted cards across Europe and America, amassing a small fortune, along with a lengthy rap sheet. That was until he made the grave mistake of returning to England for a high stakes card game and got himself caught – by Harry Potter no less. Now, Draco is stuck in England under Auror Potter’s guard with no friends, no distractions, and no escape. How the hell will he pass the time? And since when did Potter get so bloody fit?

Things Change

Harry and Draco's friends notice something different about them when they fight. See what they find out when they walk down an empty hallway.

Whats a little veritasium between two sworn enemies?

Draco Malfoy has a nasty habit of always coming across such bad luck no matter where circumstance presents itself and unfortunately that doesn't seem to change when his bloody nemesis Harry Potter over hears him talking about Veritaserum potions in the hallways past curfew. ( It was Pansy fault really)

Harry wants to know what the Slytherin boy is up to, especially with how nervous Malfoy is, but is that ALL Harry wants to know?

Mr Right Now - side note: Cedric/Draco

What do you do when you're feeling down about your ex? Make him jealous! Story features Cedric Diggory and Draco Malfoy trying to win back their loves, but somehow end up falling into each other's arms

For the love a kitten

With Voldemort Dead, life is not easy for Harry as Old friends become enemies and old enemies become friend. With the return of three Slytherins, Harry life is turned upside down.

How to prepare for a wedding night

I have a neighbour. He is stuck in a loveless relationship and an arranged marriage. He has zero experience in bed. He needs my help so that his love life won't suck for the next few decades. He needs a sex teacher. Oh... and the neighbour happens to be Draco freaking Malfoy. And I might be a little tiny bit in love with the git...

Draco's Scent

In which Harry can't be around Draco for long without the boy's stupid smell messing with his mind, and he really, really hates that.

Turn The Heat Up

Wonky Cooling Charms result in interesting revelations

Flirt

Draco and Hermione make a devastating duo at the Ministry as the respective Department Heads of Wizarding Culture Preservation and Muggle Relations. When Harry Potter gets involved in their latest joint project, Draco can’t seem to stop himself from constantly flirting with him even when it doesn’t seem to affect the golden boy at all. He’s wrong. Harry is most definitely affected. Includes Slytherin shenanigans, Draco sucking at quidditch, and Harry trying not to be charmed. Draco POV.

Angsty/Vulnerable Soft Draco

The Draco Malfoy incident - side note: I cried big time

Draco Malfoy is best friends with a Hufflepuff. A HUFFLEPUFF! He's also partnered with a redhead git, trying to hide from an obsessive green-eyed saviour and has become overly fond with sunrises. It's exhausting. Can't a man plan an assassination in peace around here?

I’m not in your dreams

Draco has dreamt with Harry's voice since he was fourteen, so there's no doubt for him about who his soulmate is. Now, in their Eighth Year, Harry has finally dreamt with his soulmate's voice too. The problem is that Draco was born mute.

Yours for the taking

Draco was raised to be the perfect Omega, but there are things even he cannot endure. When he discovers just what Tom Riddle's plans for him are once he's claimed him he is confronted with an impossible decision. Only one thing remains clear: he will never be able to go back home.

Luckily, Harry Potter is there to save the day

Rough on you - side note: Dark Harry. This is more vulnerable Draco than soft Draco so please read the tags before you start the story :) I was unsure whether I wanted to add this here but hey-ho

"I'm the only one that can give you want you really want." Harry spun Draco around and held his arms at his side and he pressed against his back, whispering against his throat. "That can force you, that can humiliate you… that can hurt you, and you want it. You want me."

Harry is having a bad day. Draco just cannot learn to keep his mouth shut. Neither of them would have predicted it would lead to this.

But who guards the dragon?

This is an expansion of my one-shot, It'll be Okay. You don't have to read it first, it will be in the story. Requested. DMHP Sub/Dom relationship. Slash. Don't like, don't read. Harry thinks a few thinks through, then comes into his creature inheritance. He finds out that he is the dominant mate to one Draco Malfoy. But things are never easy for the boy who lived

Taken For Granted

Having pined for Harry for long enough, Draco decided that it was time to give up and move on. What happens when Harry realizes too late what he's lost?

Mourning

Harry returns to school to complete his NEWTs. There he finds a much changed Draco Malfoy and surprisingly subdued Professor Snape.

In your arms, rests my world

Harry presses his mouth to Malfoy's forehead; he wants to tell him that he’ll never leave, that he wouldn’t dream of it.

“You make me feel safe, Potter” Malfoy whispers. “You keep me safe.”

Inside your mind

Goyle's taken it upon himself to act as Malfoy's personal, one-man guard and Harry can't help but feel like it's only making the bullying worse.

"I'll Protect You," and you can seal that with an Unbreakable Vow

His friends may tease but Harry doesn't feel bad for keeping a close eye on the Slytherin boy of one Draco Malfoy, after all someone has to do it. So when Harry secretly follows the pure-blood boy out past the courtyard, there's nothing strange or unusual about it; nor is it wrong.

Unfortunately the same can not be said for the scenario Harry accidentally stumbles upon as he can't help but stare in horror. It's not just wrong. It's absolutely despicable and Harry, well, Harry just has to do something about it.

A Big Black Sky

Draco shifts his head as he turns to look at Scorpius, his cheek touching the pillow. "Did you know that…" He pauses, his throat convulsing, and it sounds audible in the silence, besides Michael's steady, even breathing from the other bedroom.

Scorpius is staring back at him, in wait of something new to learn, a beautiful and intelligent child. He has Draco's mind. He has Draco's eyes and nose and mouth and hair. He is his. All his. All he has of Michael are his wild curls and the green of his eyes, and sometimes he looks into them and imagines that they aren't Michael's, but someone else's.

Draco leans his head closer, biting the quiver out of his lips before he breathes a laden and shuddering exhale, and he whispers, "You are my star in a big black sky."

Song To Say Goodbye

Draco should have remembered that life doesn’t always turn out the way you want it to. Somewhere along the way he forgot to always be careful and was left with nothing. It was hard enough getting himself together the first time, can he do it again?

Small spoiler for Song to Say Goodbye below

Its not Drarry Endgame: he ends up with a OMC cuz Harrys a big dickhead

#soft draco #cute draco #vulnerable draco #draco malfoy #harry potter #bottom draco #drarry #fic rec #drarry fic rec

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sunmoonandeddie · 4 years

Text

apartment 4d

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 2,621

summary: There’s nothing Bucky loves more than the widow down the hall and her son.

warnings: Tiny bit of angst and some cussing. Mostly fluff.

a/n: Thank you so much to @indyluckycharlie for commissioning this! I hope you enjoy!

Bucky Barnes was a simple man. He loved his family, Steve, his apartment, and you.

You, the pretty widow. You and your son, Eugene, lived in 4D, right down from where he lived in 4A. After your husband had died in the war, you’d been forced to move since you couldn’t afford the nice house you once had.

And maybe he’s sick. He’s gotta be, considering the fact that you had lost your husband in the same war that he’d been fighting in, that he’d lost his arm in and almost his sanity with it. He’s gotta be sick, right?

Because otherwise he wouldn’t dream of coming home to you and Eugene, of sweetly kissing your cheek. He wouldn’t want to teach Eugene how to tie his shoes and shave his face when the time came.

Speaking of.

A grin spread over his lips as he came up the stairs and saw you trying to unlock your front door while also holding your baby boy on one hip and your groceries in the other. Your son, clad in a cute little outfit that looked almost like a sailor’s uniform, whined as he tugged at your hair.

“Baby,” you cooed, wincing as you tried to not get upset. It had been a really rough day and him pulling your hair was just making it a little harder since you were trying to open the door. “Please don’t pull Mama’s hair.”

“Hey, you want some help?” Bucky called out from the top of the stairs, his hand still holding onto the rail.

His voice breaking the silence startled you, judging by the way that you jumped and dropped your keys. “Oh, uh… That’d be lovely. Thank you,” you said, giving him an exasperated smile as he came over and grabbed them from the ground.

“Here, let me help,” He said after opening the door. He grabbed some of your groceries, though he couldn’t take all of it since he’d left his experimental prosthetic at home. Howard was still tweaking the design since it hurt if he kept it on too long.

“Thank you,” you breathed out as you managed to get inside and you set Eugene on the floor with a few of his toys. “Today has just been a nightmare. Eugene gets overwhelmed so easily and the supermarket was horrifically packed…” A snort. “I’m sorry. I’m rambling. You probably have things better to do than listening to me complain.”

But there was almost nothing that Bucky would love more than to listen to you complain about literally anything for the rest of his life. “No! No, don’t worry,” he insisted as he stepped towards you. “I don’t mind…”

Your eyes felt hot as you tried to fight tears, your cheeks flushed. “Sorry… I hate crying…” God. Here you were, crying in front of a man you hardly knew.

“You really don’t have to keep apologizing,” he insisted as he set the groceries he was holding on the kitchen counter.

The dark green countertop was a stark contrast to the white wood of the cabinets and a compliment to the soft green walls. It wasn’t light enough to be mint, but not dark enough to be forest. He could see the care that you clearly put into your home just from the kitchen, considering the fresh greenery that framed the circular window, a potted plant sitting on the sill.

Eugene was talking animatedly to his toys in the living room, completely unaware of their conversation in the kitchen.

Somehow, even with the nightmare you had claimed to be through, you still looked absolutely stunning. There was a stain from what he suspected might’ve been Eugene’s lunch on your chest, and the victory rolls in your curls were starting to fall. Your fiery red lipstick was a little smudged in the corner, and before he could even stop to think, he reached across the counter top and gently wiped it away.

“There,” he breathed out, his voice barely audible. There was a sparkle in the depths of your eyes that he wanted to capture and hold onto forever. A kiss at the corner of your lips.

And he didn’t deserve such sweet things. Not after everything he’d done.

He couldn’t stain you red with his sin, put a traitor’s ring on your finger.

“Thank you,” you breathed out, your eyes locked on his.

And it was like he suddenly forgot his own argument.

He’d fall to his knees at the altar of your love and beg for forgiveness. He’d repent until he was repenting his own name and etching yours into his heart.

“Mama?”

And your son. He��d do everything he could to love him and show him what a real man was if you’d let him.

If you’d let him love the both of you.

“Yes, my love?” you asked as you scooped him up and placed him on the counter.

The spell between you two hadn’t been broken, just… momentarily suspended. There was still the magic that came from a moment clinging to the air. The domesticity of it all was so apparent as your eyes met his for just a second.

“Can Mr. Bucky stay for dinner?” He asked, tripping and stumbling over his words like any toddler would.

A honey sweet smile spread over your lips as you looked up at him. “Well? Can Mr. Bucky stay for dinner?” You asked.

And he did. He stayed for dinner. And then stayed for dinner the next night and the next.

Bucky stayed for dinner seventy-two times before you invited him to stay the night.

You two had shared a lot in the last few months. You’d completely fallen for him, somehow letting all your walls down.

The sheets softly rustled as you climbed into bed, your heart pounding. You’d made sure to wash them that same morning, wanting them to be fresh for when he came over.

Your nicest nightgown, a shift made of soft blue silk, slid against your skin as you peered up at him, watching as he slowly undid his shirt. The metal of his prosthetic gleamed in the soft light coming from your bedside lamp. Warm orange light lit up his face and made him look like some sort of Donatello sculpture.

“Um… This isn’t too pretty, so I understand if you don’t wanna look,” he said, his hands visibly shaking.

“I can handle it,” you insisted, inhaling sharply when he let his shirt fall from his shoulders.

The left side of his chest was a spider web of pink scar tissue. It stretched halfway across his chest and almost down to the waist of his pants.

Bucky grimaced as he reached up with his flesh hand and undid his prosthetic, biting his lip to keep from crying out. It disconnected, and he carefully set it to the side. What was left of his arm was even more scarred up, though it had clearly been operated on to make it easier for the prosthetic to be attached. “I told you it’s not pretty,” Bucky grunted.

But you simply opened up the blankets for him to crawl in, watching as he toed off his shoes before letting his pants fall to the ground. “All of you is pretty, James,” you murmured as he climbed in beside you. Your hand found his cheek, your thumb running over the soft skin. He’d recently shaved and the stubble had yet to grow back.

“Not as pretty as you, darling,” He said as he wrapped his arm around you to pull you to his chest. His lips pressed to yours in a happy sigh, your foot running up his leg.

“James?”

“Mmhm?”

“I was thinking…”

He was still kissing you, though his lips had migrated from yours and were giving attention to your cheeks and your neck. “Yeah, baby doll? ‘Bout what?”

“Halloween is coming up…”

A kiss to your chest.

“Yeah…”

His hand sliding up your thigh.

“And I was thinking…”

His nose nudging against your collarbone.

“Mmm…”

His thigh moving between yours.

“What if you came trick-or-treating with Eugene and me?” You asked, flustered beyond belief. Bucky and you had started getting frisky a few weeks after you met—it wasn’t like you were a blushing virgin, after all—but he still managed to get you all worked up in a matter of seconds.

He leaned back, his blue eyes wide. “Really? You’d want that?” He asked curiously. “But… But we haven’t told him that we’re… you know.”

“I know,” you said reassuringly as your fingers ran through his shortly cropped hair. “But… I want to tell him.” You kissed his forehead, your leg hooking over his waist. “My… My husband wasn’t a kind man. He didn’t hit me or anything like that, but… He wasn’t good. I didn’t know men could be good until you came along.” Tears pricked your eyes as you cupped his cheek, letting his head rest against your chest. “I want you. And I want Eugene to know what a good man is. I want him to be a good man like you.”

He nodded, sniffling as he nuzzled further into your neck. “I want you. And I want him. I wanna be your family. Your husband.”

“Let’s start with trick-or-treating.”

It was a few weeks until Halloween, but Bucky went all out. He got his mom, Winnifred, to make the three of you matching outfits, making you look like a scarecrow family.

“Thank you for doing this,” you said softly to the older woman as she helped you get Eugene into his costume.

“I can’t think of anything else I’d rather be doing,” she insisted quietly, taking a deep breath. “You know… They told me he was dead. I got a telegram telling me that my son was dead because he fell from a train.” Her blue eyes, so much like Bucky’s, were already glassy with tears. “And then one day… He just wasn’t dead anymore. He was on my doorstep with nothing but the clothes on his back and one arm less than when he’d left.”

Your heart ached for her, for the mourning she had done and the grief that still clearly lingered in her heart. “I only got a telegram, too,” you said after a few minutes, letting her do your hair. “When they told me my husband died… I just got a telegram. And the last thing…” You coughed to clear your throat. “The last thing I said to him before he left was if he signed up to go fight in a war while leaving me at home pregnant, then he wouldn’t have a home to come back to.”

“We all say things we don’t mean,” Winnifred said kindly, her calloused fingers gently twisting your hair into an updo. She placed little pieces of hay here and there to match your costume. “And I’m sure he knew you didn’t mean it.”

Your eyes drifted to the living room, where Bucky was sitting with Eugene on his lap as he read to him, already in his costume. “I’m lucky to have Bucky.”

“He’s lucky to have you, too,” Winnifred said with a smile. “I hadn’t seen him smile or laugh in months… and then all of a sudden he’s coming over for Sunday dinner and talking about some girl he met that lives down the hall…” She took a step back, finishing up. “There. You’re all done and ready to go.”

It was rather chilly outside, but you weren’t really paying attention to the weather. Your heart was too warm from watching Bucky walk with Eugene, hand in hand as he helped him go to each house to get his candy. His sweet little, “Twick or tweat!” made you grin every time.

You didn’t get back to your apartment until almost ten at night, and it was way past his bedtime. Giving him a bath was an adventure as you both worked to get him all cleaned up in a mess of splashing water and bubbles. Eugene found it hilarious to try to get the both of you as wet as possible, his cheeks flushed with delight.

“Okay, buddy. Story time, okay?” Bucky said as he tucked him in, the both of you sitting on either side of him. “You get one book and then you gotta go to bed. It’s real late.”

Eugene nodded, his eyes starting to droop. Now that the rush had faded, he was quickly becoming more and more sleepy. You gave it about five minutes before he was out like a light.

“The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams,” Bucky said softly. “There was once a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid. He was fat and bunchy, as a rabbit should be; his coat was spotted brown and white. He had real thread whiskers, and his ears were lined with pink sateen. On Christmas morning, when he sat wedged in the top of the Boy's stocking, with a sprig of holly between his paws, the effect was charming.”

Your eyes were soft as you watched him, your fingers scratching your son’s scalp as he listened as intently as he could. What had you done to deserve Bucky? What God had you pleased so much that he deigned you worthy of his presence?

His voice was like deep velvet as he continued to read, smooth as molasses. And if you weren’t careful, you were sure to fall asleep just like your son was.

“One evening, when the Boy was going to bed, he couldn't find the china dog that always slept with him. Nana was in a hurry, and it was too much trouble to hunt for china dogs at bedtime, so she simply looked about her, and seeing that the toy cupboard door stood open, she made a swoop. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘take your old Bunny! He'll do to sleep with you!’ And

she dragged the Rabbit out by one ear, and put him into the Boy's arms.” Bucky grinned down at Eugene as he saw his eyes start to flutter shut, continuing to read, “That night, and for many nights after, the Velveteen Rabbit slept in the Boy's bed. At first he found it rather uncomfortable, for the Boy hugged him very tight, and sometimes he rolled over on him, and sometimes he pushed him so far under the pillow that the Rabbit could scarcely breathe. And he missed, too, those long moonlight hours in the nursery, when all the house was silent, and his talks with the Skin Horse. But very soon he grew to like it, for the Boy used to talk to him, and made nice tunnels for him under the bedclothes that he said were like the burrows the real rabbits lived in. And they had splendid games together, in whispers, when Nana had gone away to her supper and left the nightlight burning on the mantelpiece. And when the Boy dropped off to sleep, the Rabbit would snuggle down close under his little warm chin and dream, with the Boy's hands clasped close round him all night long.”

“I think he’s asleep,” you whispered as you looked up at him, having snuggled down in the bed. The moonlight lit up the room, giving a halo-like glow to everything around the two of you.

“I don’t mind,” he said, his arm sliding around both you and Eugene, bringing you two close as he continued to read.

You stayed awake for as long as you could, a faint smile on your lips.

"’Wasn't I Real before?’ asked the little Rabbit. ‘You were Real to the Boy,’ the Fairy said, ‘because he loved you. Now you shall be Real to everyone…’”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n

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fallen-gravity · 3 years

Text

Soft Hearts and After-Midnight Talks

Ford can’t let go of the past. Mabel can’t stop worrying about the future.

Put together, they’re a melting pot of insomnia and overwhelming emotions.

AO3 Link

Love had never come easy to Ford.

As a kid, his father always said it wasn’t manly to show affection. It made a man weak to wear his heart on his sleeve, and he was merely doing him a favor by showing him tough love, because out in the real world the men who put their emotions first would get torn to shreds.

His mother tried her hardest, but she too had times where she was too busy running her psychic hotline or helping Pa run the pawn shop to pay him much attention.

Ford supposes the closest he ever had to unconditional love as a kid came from Stan. Whenever Ma or Pa were too busy, or the kids at school were screaming and running from his deformity, he knew he could always rely on Stan to be there for him. He’d always been the one to throw a punch for him, to talk him through a panic attack, patch up the scrapes and black eyes he’d received from Crampelter, or even assure him that getting a B minus on an exam wasn’t the end of the world, even if his eyes were rolling into the back of his skull the entire time he said it.

But even that sort of love felt fickle. The night of the science fair, it felt as though something inside of Ford shriveled up and died, and he knew that the rejection from West Coast Tech was only the half the cause of it.

When Stan drove off into the night, it’s as if he took that shriveled up little piece of Ford with him as his grand final fuck you.

After that, Ford tried everything he could. In college he buried himself into the research he was most passionate for, but that could only get him so far when Fiddleford would drag him to bed and force him to be alone with his thoughts. He’d tried going out drinking to forget said thoughts, but he learned the hard way that he was an emotional drunk and alcohol only made those thoughts worse.

If there’s anything he did know, it’s that this lack of love in his life could probably explain how he was able to fall for Bill’s cunning tricks so easy.

“Unlovable?” Bill’s words still rang in the back of his head. “By the time this portal’s finished, you’ll have the whole world at your feet! You’ll be a household name! There’ll be thousands cheering the name Stanford Pines, the man who changed the world!”

What a fool he’d been, blissfully ignoring all of the warning signs for even the slightest chance that a gateway between worlds could earn him love.

What an even bigger fool he’d been to turn away his brother’s love even after ten years of nothing but fear and resentment standing between them.

Ford sighs. He knows, logically, that dwelling on the past will only make things worse. He knows things are okay between him and Stan now. They’re setting off on their first journey on the Stan-O War II next week; things couldn’t get any better between them.

But he also knows that insomnia and intrusive thoughts are a package deal. He’d tried sitting out on the front porch to gaze at the stars and feel the late-summer air on his face to relax, but his inner demons always find their way.

There’s a tiny knock on the doorframe behind him. He jumps at the noise, and turns to see who else could possibly be awake at nearly three in the morning. He’s half expecting Stan, but to his surprise it’s Mabel, sleepily rubbing at her eyes with one hand and holding a half-empty cup of ice water in the other.

“Grunkle Ford?” her voice is groggy and strained. “Is that you?”

“Mabel?” is the only comprehensive response that comes out. “What are you doing up so late?”

“Dipper cursed me with his insomnia and now I can’t sleep” she pouts, and takes a sip from her cup like it’s a shot glass as he joins him on the couch. “Why are you still up, Grunkle Ford?” she squints. “I feel like I should ask you the same question”

He chuckles. “Nothing you need to worry about, dear. I’m just doing some thinking”

“Hmmm…” she squints long and hard at him, like she’s trying to read his mind. “Okay, but I’m watching you. I’m the expert at annoying people until they tell me what’s bothering them”

Ford can’t help but smile. “Noted,” he replies, and shifts his position so he’s facing more towards her. “What about you? I’m the expert in insomnia, so I can’t imagine it’s the only thing keeping you awake"

For the briefest of moments, Mabel’s playful smile drops. She hides the sudden shift by taking another sip of water.

“What? Psshhh…” she dismisses the thought with a wave of her hand. “That’s silly! Everyone knows insomnia means you can’t sleep for no reason. Some expert you are, Grunkle Ford”

She smiles, but it’s strained, and fake, and nothing like the usual smile she flashes when she’s joking around.

“Mabel.” Ford says once, in a firm yet soft tone, and she winces.

“Okay, fine” she mumbles, and drinks the rest of the water from her cup before she continues. “I’ve been having some dumb thoughts too”.

Ford shakes his head. “There’s no such thing as a dumb thought, Mabel. Even if it’s bothering you, it’s indicative of how you’re really feeling” he pats gently at his lap, inviting her to scoot closer. “Maybe I can help” he smiles, ever so slightly, ever so softly. “Even us experts mess up in our own fields sometimes”

She moves too quickly into his arms for a hug for him to read her expression properly.

“Then I feel like a big dumb hypocrite” Mabel murmurs into Ford’s sweater, her voice on the edge of breaking.

Ford frowns, and places an arm around her to reciprocate the hug. “What for?”

Mabel scrunches up his sweater in her fists. “I...I made this whole big ordeal about Dipper wanting to stay here with you after the summer’s over for the apprenticeship, and I still don’t want us to be apart, but…” she buries her face into his sweater, like she’s ashamed of herself for even daring to speak them. “...now that summer’s actually over, and Dipper and I are supposed to be leaving in the morning, I’m not sure I even want to leave”

Her voice finally breaks, and she sniffles into his sweater. “Everyone’s always saying that the real world is so scary, and high school is the worst, and all these things about not knowing what you had until it’s gone, and...I don’t want it to be gone, Grunkle Ford, I love Gravity Falls. But I can’t just tell Dipper that, because then he’ll get all worried, and think that he did something wrong, because he’s already apologized for what he said when we were fighting a thousand times, and-”

Ford gently grips Mabel’s shoulders to cut her off, and pulls her away to make her look him in the eyes. “Mabel, are you going through all of this trouble because you’re worried you’re going to...miss Gravity Falls when you get home?”

“Not just the town!” Mabel exclaims, and rubs at her eyes with her wrist. “I’m gonna miss everything! I’m gonna miss the Shack, I’m gonna miss my friends, I’m gonna miss you and Stan,” she counts off on her fingers and sighs. “I miss everyone at home. I do. But now that I have so many friends here, I don’t want to feel like I’m leaving them behind”

There’s a brief pause, but before Ford can open his mouth to respond, Mabel goes on, murmuring so quietly it’s as if she doesn’t mean to speak out loud at all.

“Or...I don’t want to feel like they’re leaving me behind.”

...Oh.

The fear of being left behind.

Forgotten.

The fear of becoming….unlovable.

That….Ford knows better than anybody.

“Mabel, listen to me,” Ford gently tugs on her chin to force her to make eye contact with him. “Nobody in this town is ever going to forget you. It doesn’t matter if you’re gone for a year, or three, or ten, I can guarantee that the next time you step foot in this town everyone’s going to remember the name Mabel Pines”

“You...really think so?” she blushes.

“I know so,” he nods. “And it’s got nothing to do with Weirdmageddon, or saving the world, or any of that. It’s because you’re magnetic, Mabel. You’ve got a personality that everyone loves. I bet that pizza delivery man you became pen pals with is just sitting at home eagerly awaiting his first letter from you”

She giggles. “I don’t know about that…”

“Still,” Ford continues, “You’ve shown kindness to everyone, Mabel. People don’t forget kindness easily.” he gestures out towards the forest. “Gravity Falls may not be your home, but the people who lived here sure don’t seem to see it that way. You’re not just a tourist, or just some kid visiting her great uncle, you’re one of them.” he beams. “They’re lucky to have had you, Mabel, even just for the one summer”

Her eyes have pools of tears in them, but the beaming smile on her face outshines them. She hurls herself at him in a tight hug, burying her face deep into his sweater.

“I’m lucky to have you too, Grunkle Ford” she murmurs. “I love you”

I love you.

Ford hasn’t had those words spoken to him since he was a kid.

I love you.

It feels like he’s floating on air, and the most grounded he’s felt in decades. It’s freeing, and exhilarating, yet it’s comfortable, and warm. It’s unfamiliar, yet everything he ever lost.

The words ring in his ears and bounce around in his chest before they settle comfortably into the piece of his heart that had been broken for decades.

I love you.

Mabel Pines, after everything he’s put her through, loves him.

A sound escapes him that’s halfway between choking and sobbing. He pulls her even closer into his arms, and silently vows to never let the cruel world dig its pessimistic claws into her for as long as she lives.

“I love you too,” he manages to whisper, and gives her a smooch on the top of her head.

#my writing #gravity falls #ford and mabel bonding #sweater twins #ford pines #mabel pines

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kikis-writing-world · 4 years

Text

Think Happy Thoughts

Summary: Poe is resisting the interrogation techniques of The First Order after Kylo Ren captures him on Jakku. The main way he’s keepng sane: thinking of you.

Pairing: Poe Dameron x F! Organa/Solo Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Rating/Warnings: Vague descriptions of torture, blood and pain. It’s set in the interrogation scene of TFA from Poe’s POV so... SMUT there is like, 1.5 sentences of Smut, but it’s there! lol No beta/editing as usual.

A/N: So this isn’t as lighthearted as that post, but I once posted a joke about Poe sleeping with Kylo Ren’s sibling and he finds out when he’s probing Poe’s memories for the map. I like how this turned out though and I have an idea for a follow up with Poe and F! Organa/Solo Reader.

Poe wasn’t sure if there was any part of his body that didn’t ache. They’d sent in trooper after trooper, droids, officers - it felt like the whole First Order had come through the room, all looking to get information from him. He gave none. When they slapped, punched, zapped, threatened- he didn’t give in. Every new form of interrogation or torture they rolled out, he grit his teeth through the pain and hit them with some smart-ass quip. He wished his voice held more bite and less pain, but he wasn’t going to let up.

He was scared but he wasn’t going to show these sons of banthas that. He didn’t like his odds of making it home this time. Shackled to the interrogation table he couldn’t talk, shoot or fly his way out of this one. All he could do is try to protect the information he had and hope they grew tired of him being uncooperative sooner rather than later. He wasn’t worried about himself, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t worried about others.

BB-8, wandering around Jakku. His Dad, who already lost his wife to the war. Leia, who had lost so many people over her lifetime. You…

God, he hated that he would be leaving you behind. You both knew the risks of this damned war, both understood the likelihood of the two of you living happily ever after grew slimmer with each mission. You two never promised to make it back to the other, knowing one day it was likely going to become a promise you couldn’t keep. Despite every logical part of your minds knowing this was a possibility, he knew that you would be heartbroken.

He shook away the thought, trying not to dwell on the image of you collapsing into Leia’s arms as you sobbed. As you grieved him. Instead he tried to focus on the time he had been lucky enough to spend with you. Glances shared in the dining hall. Quiet moments snuck out of base, exploring the surrounding terrain. Moments holding each other when one of you returned back to base after a dangerous mission.

The relationship had been secret at first. It had made sense at the time, neither of you wanting to flaunt your found happiness when the galaxy was feeling the pressures of the war. Both of you had seen how the war affected the relationships of your parents and the friends around you. He was more scared to tell Leia than you were.

“Of course she’ll be fine with this, she loves you!” You would laugh, trying to assuage his worries.

“That’s what makes it worse. I’ve got nowhere to go but down.”

You had been right, of course. When the two of you finally broke the news to her, she just smiled that knowing smile of hers. Of course she already knew. There wasn’t much on this base she didn’t know about, let alone her daughter and her best pilot falling in love. She warned you both, telling you it wasn’t easy to love during a war, but supported the happiness you had found in each other nonetheless-

“I had no idea we had the best pilot in the Resistance on board.”

Poe lifted his head from the table as his thoughts were interrupted, not needing his eyes to adjust to recognize the inky black mask of Kylo Ren. It took a moment to see only one of him, instead of three.

“Comfortable?”

Despite his fatigue, the ache that radiated down to his bones, the sinking of his stomach at the sight of the man, he knew he had to keep strong. Even if it was just on the outside. “Not really.”

Unbothered, Ren continued. “I'm impressed. No one has been able to get out of you what you did with the map.” The expressionless helmet stared down at Poe, trying to intimidate him.

Poe almost wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t quite get the air into his lungs. “Might wanna rethink your technique.” He challenged.

There was a beat of silence. Poe forced himself to keep staring at the blank mask. It was unnerving, but he would never back down to this coward who wouldn’t even show his face.

Ren moved his hand slowly, raising it in front of Poe. He shifted in his restraints, preparing for the torture to continue. Ren never touched him, but he felt something regardless.

He grunted, trying to shake off the feeling. A buzzing in his ears, a pressure in his skull. He fought against it and it only got worse. The pressure changed to a near stabbing feeling. Millions of pinpricks in his brain. His ears filled with sounds, his mind’s eye seeing images- Ren was in his head. Digging through his memories, searching for the information he was keeping from them.

Poe forced himself to think elsewhere, just like he had for the other torture he’d gone through. It was always easier to ignore the pain when he thought of you. Thought of protecting you.

His head crashed back into the headrest, but he wasn’t sure if he had done that or Ren had. He whimpered at the growing pressure. Everytime his memories focused on you, it felt like someone flipped a switch for a different memory. Always back to the village on Jakku.

Your smaller hand in his as you walked through the hanger together- Lor San Tekka’s hut- Your smiling face, lit by the tiny candles he’d smuggled into the dorms as he tried to treat you to a candlelit dinner- The kindly older man handing him the leather satchell-

“Where is it?” Ren demanded, trying to follow the memory. Trying to make Poe follow the memory of that leather sack.

You, in his lap in the cockpit of his X-Wing, squealing and holding onto him as you begged him to go faster- his X-Wing, still on Jakku- Trying to tell the man to hide before The First Order arrived- Your lips on his, your soft cheek under his palm as your fingers tangle in his curls, you taste like caf and candy-

“The Resistance,” Poe grunted, breathing heavily as he tried to keep control of his own thoughts. He swore, he could taste caf and candy over the coppery taste of his own blood. “Will not be intimidated by you.”

The pressure increased, making him squirm.

Running through the desert, the satchel heavy in his hand. He can feel the wind in his hair- not the wind, your hands running through his hair as he kisses down your neck- it tastes like the desert, of the sand that catches the breeze. He runs to the X-Wing, sweating in the desert heat even at night- sweat drips down his neck as he thrusts into you. You’re under him, gripping his arms as you whine his name up at him. Your own skin shines with sweat in the dimly lit room, warm skin flush against him. He moans your name back to you-

He can’t explain it, but he feels the energy change. The pressure in his head goes from a pulling to a pushing. Instead of pulling the memories of Jakku forward, he’s pushing the memories of you away. The feeling of you being pushed away sits heavy in his gut.

“Where... is it?” Ren demands once more.

You’re laughing at his joke- you’re shot on the training course- you’re putting up your hair- you’re bleeding from a cut on your hand- the X-wing’s engines sputter- you’re crying- you’re laughing- you’re screaming while warning alarms go off- BB beeps-

He can’t keep up with the images swirling in his mind. Happy memories of you. Upsetting memories of you. Jakku. BB-8. The Map. Poe Screams as he fights it.

“You take this. It's safer with you than it is with me.”

It doesn’t stop. The memory doesn’t switch. It plays like a holovid in his head and he has no control over it.

��You get as far away from here as you can. Do you hear me? I'll come back for you! It will be alright.”

All at once it’s gone. The memories, the pressure, the pain. He can barely breath, he feels dizzy. Black spots creep into his vision - is what he’s seeing real, or is it another memory? He’s not sure.

“The best pilot in the Resistance will be the reason they fall,” Ren mocked. Poe could barely hear him over the rushing of blood in his own ear. “Did you get that title through skill, or did it come with fucking the Princess of the Resistance?”

Poe sputtered, feeling like he was going to be sick. He wanted to talk back, to say something to defend himself, to defend you. He physically couldn’t.

“Don’t worry,” Ren chuckled darkly as Poe’s consciousness started to fade. “I’ll make sure my darling sister knows you thought of her right up until you gave away the information that kills them all.”

Sister?

Poe collapsed against the interrogation table, unconscious.

Tagging: @wickedfrsgrl @din-damn-djarin @dinthisisthe-wayson @vonschweetz

#Poe Dameron x Reader #Poe Dameron x F!Reader #Poe Dameron x Organa/Solo Reader #Poe Dameron imagine #Poe Dameron fanfic #Poe Dameron drabble #WookieTales #Poe Dameron #Lemony Fresh

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alirhi · 3 years

Text

okay. let's do this shit.

Guess what, bitches? Mama bear's back and angry all over again. Remember when I said I might dive into a ragepost about how Bucky's treated after completing the one about Loki? This is it. This is the post. Welcome to fucking Thunderdome.

I will actually try to keep it civil. No promises, but I'll try. and I will not be accepting "constructive criticism" about my rage. Just so we're clear.

Got it? Good. Let's dive in.

In case you don't want to read the whole thing (I know I get wordy) here's what this whole post will boil down to: BUCKY NEVER HAD A FUCKING CHOICE. NEVER. NOT ONCE IN HIS ENTIRE ADULT LIFE.

Now, quick reminder: I don't read comics. I know nothing about Bucky's comic canon, except what Sebastian liked to bring up as often as possible during TWS/CW promotions: at some point, Bucky boned Nat. XD Since Bucky only exists as a Marvel property, I won't be bitching about other source material being disrespected like I did with Loki. This is all MCU, my dudes. And honestly? That's enough, because though we don't see nearly enough of Bucky for my liking, we do manage to get a rich, deep backstory to him in the material we're given, partly thanks to better writing in the early days of the MCU, and partly thanks to Sebastian Stan's phenomenal acting. Unlike the writers of the Loki series, Seb knows how to show, not tell. And gods, what stories those eyes show...

Let's start with the army. In an old post illustrating what an absolute BAMF Bucky Barnes truly is, I mistakenly said he enlisted, and a kind soul educated me on the incredible attention to detail Marvel used to pay - in this case, Bucky's ID number. 32557038. As this kind, eagle-eyed soul pointed out to me, the first two digits of that number - 32 - signify that Bucky was drafted, specifically from the NY, NJ, DE area (that last part is rather obvious, as Bucky and Steve are from Brooklyn lol). Bucky didn't choose to go to war. He was drafted. He was forced to fight, or go to prison.

Bucky was born in 1917, which means - again, as someone pointed out to me a while back - he came of age during the Great Depression. As a child, he would likely have seen his parents living comfortably and able to shower each other and him and his sister with gifts and fun memories, and then POOF. Stock market crashes when he's only 12-years-old, and life becomes brutal and painful. He manages to have some fun with his best friend Steve, and spends his teens/early 20s chasing girls and keeping his stupid, stubborn, tiny friend from getting beaten to death.

Steve constantly has something to prove. He's absolutely got what my mom always called "little man's disease", and Bucky's just doing his best not to roll his eyes too much at this asthmatic chihuahua constantly trying to beat up Tibetan mastiffs. While Steve keeps lying on his enlistment forms (an actual crime) trying again and again to get into the army and prove what a badass he is (definitely not), Bucky's had enough trauma and upheaval in his life and he just wants his stupid friend to calm tf down and live. Enjoy the fact that he doesn't have to go to war and get his limbs blown off.

And then he gets fucking drafted. This sweet, resigned realist who knows exactly how dangerous the war really is, is forced to put on a uniform and go fight strangers alongside other strangers thousands of miles from everything he knows. And on his last night of freedom, when he just wants to hang out with his friend, see some cool gadgets, and dance with a pretty girl, his stupid angry chihuahua friend feels the need to lie and try to enlist again.

Okay. Gotta get back on track. Ragepost about mistreatment of Bucky, not how much Steve annoys me. Sorry. Anyway...

Bucky's drafted, accepts his shitty lot with a brave smile, and is shipped off to Europe, where he is captured by HYDRA and presumed by the Allies to be KIA. Instead, he's strapped down, tortured, and given the HYDRA version of the super serum against his will. Steve rescues him, and Bucky knows he can't leave his idiot friend to his own devices to get his head blown off, so he dives right back into the fray. And then he falls off a cliff, loses most of his left arm, and is declared dead...again. This one's pretty damn valid, though lol. Without the serum no one knew he'd been shot up with, there is no way he would have survived that fall.

Here is where Bucky's story gets truly heartbreaking: His autonomy, his ability to consent is stripped from him through electroshock torture/brainwashing. The trigger words are conditioned into him during this process, and boom. Ten words in Russian, and Bucky Barnes is gone. Even the confused, hurting shadow of him is gone, leaving only a perfectly obedient killing machine, with Bucky's pretty face. He's strong as all hell, though, so they can't keep him fully under their control for long, not without more torture, when the disorientation of being fucking frozen wears off on longer missions.

I cannot stress this point enough, guys: Bucky. Had. No. Choice. Not like the draft, where his choices (go and get shot at, refuse and go to jail, or dodge and run to Canada) just suck. No, he literally didn't have a choice. He had his ability to choose stripped from him. If that's too complex a concept to really sink in, try this: His brain was fucking raped. Repeatedly. For decades. Nothing the Winter Soldier ever did was Bucky's fault. Nothing. Ever. Not remotely, no matter how you fucking slice it. Bucky is not an assassin. I almost said "not a killer", but he was a soldier, and a sharpshooter. He definitely killed when he was himself, but that was in a war, not a series of assassinations.

So far, imo, so good. This is just a rundown of Bucky's pre-show backstory. I don't love what he had to suffer, but I do love how it was treated in the movies. People were afraid of him, but when they knew the whole situation, Steve, Nat, and Sam rallied behind him. Natasha had plenty of reason to want the Winter Soldier dead; he'd tried to kill her multiple times and almost succeeded. Sam had no reason to help Bucky at all; he didn't know him, didn't trust him, and again, TWS had tried to kill him. But he stood by Steve, and when Bucky showed the clear difference between himself and TWS, Sam stood by him, too, and fought alongside him.

And it's very realistic, imo, that Tony didn't give a single fuck that Bucky had no choice. He watched this man murder both of his parents on tape. If TWS had killed my dad and I saw proof of it, I'd try to kill Bucky, too. Grief wins out over logic. Most emotions usually do. And that's a very important point we're going to come back to in a few minutes.

Bucky was really only in like ten minutes at most of IW and Endgame, and for multiple reasons I hate those movies, so I'm just gonna skip them, kay? Kay. On to the main event!

Here's where I get pissed off. Even if I didn't have an unhealthy attachment to this character, or the depth of appreciation for his tragic backstory that I do, the lack of continuity between the movies and the show alone would still piss me off. It always does. Don't even get me started on Joss "Continuity? What continuity?" Whedon and his (iconic, but flawed) shows. Ahem. Back on track...

Let me just get one little thing out of the way real quick: I fucking LOVE The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. I love it. This show amazed me when I first watched it, and I still love it after many more viewings lol. I have only ever watched it all the way through without skipping over as much John Walker shit as possible the one time lol but I love how Sam and Bucky interact, and I fucking adore how Sam's arc was treated. I just wish they'd show the same care and attention to Bucky.

Because what they did to Bucky in this show is a fucking travesty. There was a tiny ray of hope in the pilot, when he called out Dr. Bitchface for being a terrible shrink. I thought that would be the start of him realizing he needed to find someone else and ignore the damaging shit that woman was telling him. But...nope. No such luck.

The show really had a strong start, I'll give it that. We see Bucky having nightmares of his time as TWS and struggling to hide how his traumatic memories are affecting him as he tries to live in the world again. He befriends the father of one of HYDRA's victims, which can't be good for Bucky (and we're shown it's definitely not when he sees the shrine in Yori's home to his late son) but it's sweet, how he's trying to connect and reach out to someone who's hurting and lonely.

They drop the ball a little with the whole... Bucky can hack a fucking car, but can't figure out Tinder thing. Had they just run with the fandom interpretation of the tiger photos line, that it shows that Bucky is bi and left it at that, I'd have been okay with it (and no, that is not because I ship Sam/Bucky. it's because Bucky is and always has been a certified nerd who loves technology and has consistently shown very little issue learning to use new gadgets). The outdated flip phone he handed his terrible court-mandated shrink was a burner; I liked that theory when I read it, especially since it's the only time we see him even holding a phone that old lol. This all could have fit the "Bucky is a sassy bisexual nerd" narrative and it'd be okay. Instead, the director was like "NOOOOOO that line was just to show how old he is and how he can't figure out all this newfangled technology!" Woman, you had him remotely driving someone else's vehicle with a tablet. That is NOT a man who can't figure out a damn smart phone!

But that's just a minor annoyance. What fills me with absolute rage is how everyone - not just the shitty therapist who lashes out at and purposely triggers her traumatized patients, but EVERYONE - Sam, Zemo, people who should fucking know better ALL treat him like he's a psychopath and a ticking time bomb. Like he chose to take the serum and he chose to kill for HYDRA, and he's just seen the error of his ways. *barf*

Bucky in the movies is established to be a victim, through and through. His guilt over what he was forced to do is natural, and that he sees himself as a monster makes sense... but that doesn't mean it's correct. The one and only thing I ever liked about Steve Rogers is at least he got it. He pointed out that none of it was Bucky's fault, he tried to show him that he was worth saving. That's the other reason I refuse to talk about Endgame. This post will get a WHOLE LOT LONGER and a lot fucking angrier if I open that door.

Zemo supposedly knows everything about HYDRA and super soldiers... So why does he treat Bucky like he's a corrupt serial killer? (this, for the record, is why I don't like Zemo) Why does he never point out that Bucky was given the serum against his will, or that his actions, when he had control of them, proved that he was never corrupted? Bucky never wanted to become superhuman. Bucky didn't even want to fucking fight!

Sam, despite constantly resisting the label, is shown very clearly to be Bucky's friend. By episode 3, he cares. He worries about how Bucky is getting lumped in with the other super soldiers in Zemo's speech... But he never really defends him. He says "what about Bucky?" but he doesn't point out that Bucky's a good man, he's fought so hard to help people, he does everything he can to avoid killing... And that fucking speech in episode 5. I was with him on "you gotta stop looking to other people to tell you who you are." I was like "YEAH! Tell him, Sam! Bucky, you're WORTH SAVING, boo! Your value does not hinge on someone else's opinion of you!" And then... Sam dropped the ball.

He not only continued the disturbing pattern of victim-blaming in this show, and in Marvel/Disney properties in general, but he gave really dangerously bad advice! No one in their right mind, mental health professional or no, would EVER tell a traumatized former assassin (whether he was responsible for his actions or not) to go confront his victims' families out of the blue with no warning and no one to mediate and keep things from going to shit. Yori already knew his son had been murdered because he was in the "wrong place, wrong time." How is it being "of service" to tell him you're the one who killed him?! Remember how I said Tony's reaction to learning the full truth about his parents' deaths was valid and would be an important point later? Hi! Welcome to later. THAT is the natural reaction to facing the man who murdered your loved one(s). And even if Yori didn't get angry and lash out, HOW IS IT "HELPING" HIM OR BRINGING HIM "CLOSURE" TO KNOW THAT HIS FRIEND KILLED HIS FUCKING SON?!?!?! This man befriended him, bonded with him, watched him grieve... And now he's learning this is the man who caused all his pain and heartache to begin with? That is so toxic and psycho I just... I can't even... UGH.

And then there's the equally toxic and damaging "deeply traumatized person just needed a stern talking to and a hug to be ALL BETTER AGAIN" ending. I loved seeing Bucky happy and socializing, but it was too soon, and it was unearned. And it sends a fucking awful message to people actually struggling with PTSD, and to their loved ones who don't know how to help them. Heaping more blame on them and then hugging it out is NOT helpful!

This show could have been damn near perfect with just two changes. That's all. Just two. 1) Someone, anyone, bringing up the reasons why Bucky was never a villain in his presence. Someone being in his corner and reminding him, like Steve did, that it wasn't his fault and he's not going to "snap". 2) More time devoted to Bucky's healing. Actual fucking healing, not the shit they tried to pass off as a magic fix-all. He can have his happy barbecue moment, just don't frame it as "everything's great now!" Healing isn't linear, and there will be both good days and bad. Some of the most fragile people in the world have the brightest smiles.

If we get a season 2, which this amazing show absolutely deserves, and they address this stuff, all will be forgiven in my book. Expanding on his story and his journey toward healing will help to reframe that "happily ever after" garbage as something more realistic. But as it stands now... Fuck Marvel.

#fan rant #ragepost #long post #bucky barnes #mcu #captain america #the first avenger #the winter soldier #civil war #tfatws #mcu spoilers #stop victim blaming #victim not villain #never a fucking villain #bucky deserved better #fuck marvel #fuck disney

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captainsimagines · 3 years

Text

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Seven

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 7 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: abusive parental relationship; strong language; canon-level violence (explosions); mentions of alcohol poisoning; mention of Infinity War/Endgame deaths; perceived domestic partner abuse (no such thing actually happens!); concussions and minor injuries; mentions of arranged marriages; mentions of drug smuggling and human smuggling; lying; ANGST!

Word Count: 14,100+

A/N: So close to the finish line...

Spain, 2024, 5:07 pm.

“Get the damn ice cream, Peter. I’m not holding you back.”

The kid sped down the sidewalk as fast as his feet would let him, skips in his steps and ignoring the chastising yells from Bucky.

“You’re letting him have sugar?” Bucky whines, sluggish in his own steps. The Spanish summer sun was blaring, burning your forehead and building the same cold craving in your throat. It was just the three of you, carefree but melting, happy but annoyed with the constant proximity of each other. The villa (if you could call it that, it was more of a cottage) was listed as having three rooms - not the two you were stuck with. Bucky was at the last inch of self-control, begging you to switch with him - if only for one night - because ‘the kid fuckin’ talks in his sleep, doll! One more night and I might smother him.’

It was Bucky’s idea to take a little vacation. A year after the blip and only a few months after Peter’s world was turned upside down, a vacation seemed like the best choice. Preferably somewhere that was quiet and somewhat rural - somewhere you guys won’t be easily recognized.

So the three of you packed and flew across the pond. In all honesty, you hadn’t even told the rest of the team where you were going besides Wanda. One day you were greeting them in the common room and preparing lunch, the other you were throwing your suitcase in one of the two vacant rooms in this little Spanish cottage. The three of you were truly off the map in terms of late notice.

“Let the kid live. He’s having a mid-life crisis at eighteen.”

“I’ve had more mid-life crisis’s than his age combined. He’s not special.” The pointed look on your face had Bucky sighing in small defeat. “Okay, okay.”

These past two weeks in shared solitude, even if this trip was supposed to be relaxing, was beginning to melt into a tiresome routine. Well, just nights. The days were mild at best. And to make matters worse, you and Bucky had been dodging the team’s calls, messages that you left for voicemail. Bucky had clicked ‘end call’ more times than he could count and his excuse was always, ‘ the kid doesn’t want to leave, doll.’ Even annoyed with Peter, Bucky wanted only the best.

It was only a matter of time until your phones were tracked and you were forced to come home. Everyone probably knew where you were anyway - you weren’t exactly hiding. But since you already got a good two weeks in, you figured they had taken some sympathy.

“Think we can get him to visit a museum today or something?”

Bucky shrugged, lining up at the coffee stand near the ice cream cart. “Saw him checking out banana bread recipes last night. Seems more like a baking day.”

You could go for some banana bread. Ordering two iced coffees and making more miscellaneous small talk while waiting for Peter to order, you studied the streets of Spain. The country had suffered greatly when, cruelly, more than half their population disappeared. Left in proper ruins, no one believed it would ever recover. But then there was an election, a change in the structural government, and it just… did. They rebuilt themselves better than any country had, in your opinion.

It was a rather calm day with minimal people out and about. It was exactly what you guys deserved after every mission - in your case, after a long month of PR recovery after that bar fight alongside Sam.

“You bake, Barnes?”

He smiled fully, “Any chance I get.”

“You guys want anything?” Peter yelled out, bouncing lightly on his heels as he waited. You waved him off. “You sure? It’s pretty cheap for summer prices!”

After rejecting Peter’s dozen ice cream questions and offers, the three of you decided the heat was a little too much to bear, even with sunscreen. Peter spoke most of the way. Something about that banana bread.

Bucky, being the baker, helped him choose the best recipe of the four Peter had bookmarked and soon the kitchen was only half dirty with eggs and mashed bananas.

“What do you mean a cup of baking soda, kid? Use your eyes,” Bucky yelled in second hand embarrassment. “I don’t think a cup of baking soda goes in anything.”

“Read right here, dude,” Peter poked at his tablet. “A cuuuu... okay. Okay, I see what I read wrong.”

“You two better be making me some good ass banana bread today. I don’t want to throw up!” You had opted to let the two men have their fun in the kitchen. You tried to bake, but you were more of a cook than anything else.

“You could be reading out the directions.”

“I could do a lot of things,” you respond with the emphasis on “could”.

The doorbell interrupted your no-so-real argument. Peter snickered, “You could get the door.”

With a displeased grunt and a straightened middle finger to the kid, you opened the door to find two people who were definitely not invited. Clint, with this magical and massive smile on his face and Steve, with his eyebrow cocked and arms crossed.

“Oh, would you look at that. Guests! Welcome to our humble abode!”

“Now, how and why?” Bucky groaned. But his actions contradict his words as he went to give Steve a hug, covered in flour and all.

“Hey, Clint,” you mumbled, purposely ignoring the super soldier side-eyeing you. “Care to tell us what you’re doing here?

Clint returned your warm smile, “See, Cap? They’re safe. Can we go now?”

Steve rolled his eyes, arms crossed over his chest in a rather demanding way. “We’re here to take them home, Clint.”

Bucky scoffs.

“Eh, you might be. But I’m here to soak up some of this Spanish sun.” A low grunt sounded in the back of Clint’s throat as he spoke. He was already making his way to pick at the mashed ingredients.

“You heard the man, pal,” Bucky slaps Steve’s shoulder, leaving him at the door as well. Awkwardly left alone, you blow a small raspberry and step aside to let Steve in. Bucky continues, “We’re here to soak up some sun. And I’m not done soakin’.”

With great protest, Steve maneuvers Bucky away from the kitchen and into the hallway beside the master bedroom. With both super soldiers out of the way, you finally go to help Peter with mixing. “Why did he come, really?”

Clint shrugs, arms deep inside your cabinets and collecting whatever desserts you had pre-packaged. “Honestly? I think he missed you guys.”

“All this drama because he misses Bucky? He could have just shown up declaring truce and had a nice little vacation,” you mumbled, glaring at Steve from behind.

“Think he felt like he needed an excuse to even show up. But they really are asking for you guys back home. Threatened to arrest your ass.”

“Lucky me.”

You could make out snippets of their tiny argument up ahead.

‘You could have called.’

‘You haven’t been answering the phone, Buck.’

‘I’ve been relaxing.’

A heavy sigh.

‘I just thought we told each other everything.’

‘Believe it or not, Steve… but I’ve got more friends now. Isn’t that what you wanted? I’m not trying to ignore you, I - I just needed to help another friend out this time.’

Peter, with great care, washes his hands and makes sure there aren't any random mashes of banana on his clothing before he side-steps you and Clint to interrupt the very ‘private’ conversation between the super soldiers. “Hey, Mr. Steve- Cap, hey.”

Steve immediately lets his hard gaze falter. “Hey, kid. You doin’ good?”

Peter nods in response.

“He’s doing great! Much needed vacation that still isn’t over.”

“Buck.”

Inserting yourself may not have been the best option. “Give it up, Rogers. We’re on vacation. And until the kid says he’s ready to go home, we go home.”

Peter fumbles, “Oh, please don’t put me on the spot like that. I’m not good with confrontation.”

Bucky quickly answers before Steve can, “It’s not confrontation, Peter. We love being out here and if it’s helping your mental health, we’re not going to take that away from you.”

Steve blinks and his expression looks like one of hurt. “You think I wanna do that? The literal president has been asking for your location. You’re not allowed to leave the country.”

You shrug, “Well, no one told me that.”

“Buck, you were just granted immunity three months ago. And you go and drop off the face of the earth?”

“I’m literally in Spain.”

Steve blinks again. He really can’t believe he’s got to deal with two people with similar personalities. “Your point?”

“On Earth…?”

Clint decides to make his presence known. He has even inserted the poured batter into the glass tray for you guys. “Why don’t we just stay with ‘em, Cap? God knows you need a vacation, too.”

“We have two rooms. You’d be bunking on the floor,” you say, pointing to random areas on the floor.

Clint waves his hand in the air, “Not the worst place I’ve slept in.”

“I’m being hounded day and night to bring you three home.” Steve looks about ready to burst into tears of frustration.

“Turn off your phone?”

Steve whips his head and stomps to close the few feet of distance between the two of you. “You really think it’s that easy? You really think I wasn’t worried when my two best friends just disappeared one night and didn’t tell me?”

Two.

Best.

Friends.

Before you could even comment, Bucky puts on the dramatics. “We ran away together, Stevie. We meant to tell you.”

Steve takes a moment, just staring at the ceiling and piecing together his thoughts. “Joke all you want, Buck. I’m bringing you home.”

“Ste-”

“No!” He’s stomping back to the front door now. “I’ve had enough! I can’t stand not knowing where you guys are all day when bad things keep happening in this world. Just… just come home.”

All is quiet besides the quiet munching of Clint and his rogue cookie. Steve’s face did this thing when he was at war with himself, anxiety crawling up his arms or panic weighing his empty stomach down. His face drained color and that perfect renaissance oil lost its blush, blended paint that turned a murky gray. A masterpiece lost in storage.

“I can take the couch,” you whisper, arms erupting in goosebumps. “You guys can stay the night and we’ll go home tomorrow, okay? Or somewhere pre-approved, I guess.”

Bucky didn’t argue. Neither did Peter.

Steve's imaginary painter adds the softest pink back to Steve’s cheeks as you compile a mess of blankets and pillows for him.

Present Day, 2025, 7:15 am

There’s a warmth near you as you begin to lazily shuffle against the sheets, heavy on your chest but comfortable all in all.

There are no worries, no sudden bursts of Avenger business, no fights needing to be fought. Simply Steve warm against you with sunlight draping over his bare and freckled shoulders.

The serum enhanced for the sole purpose of strength and survival. And sure, it healed the body quicker than the average human body could naturally, but the one thing it couldn’t do was strip personality.

Steve had freckles splattered along his broad shoulders and down to in between his shoulder blades, light in color and all similar in size. Something a lot of people hated about themselves and tried to cover up while others tried to mimic. The serum was supposed to heal damaged skin, sunburnt areas, birthmarks, and even moles - at least, that’s what the official 1943 report had claimed.

But over the years, Steve had continued to age and grow into his new body. And while he couldn’t get dangerously sick anymore, anything unknown could still occur. No one had the same serum as Steve and last Tony had heard, Peggy had spilled the last remnants of Steve’s original DNA (blood they took before the procedure) in the Hudson. Bucky seemed to be experiencing the same natural changes as well.

It had been proven that neither Steve nor Bucky could carry or transmit diseases, experience abnormal cell production, nor could they develop a lifelong ailment without severe reason.

So imagine everyone’s surprise when Clint called one morning while deep in a routine mission (somewhere in Africa, you really don’t remember) to relay the news that, ‘you guys aren’t gonna fucking believe this - yeah Rogers, I’m telling them the hilarious news right now - Steve’s appendix just up and exploded last night - hey! He just stole - hold on. Give me back my hearing aid, you abelist fuck!’.

Steve had stretch marks on his back from the procedure, his elbow still hurt from time to time after he had snapped it a year ago, and the white scar above his right hip reminded him that even super soldiers are not exempt from the wonders of the appendix.

His breathing was slow and his eyelids flickered. Seemed he was enjoying his first deep sleep in a while. You craned your neck to try and read the cable box across the room, slightly making out a seven in the front before you gave up. You were due for your annual eye appointment, anyway.

Steve did have perfect eyesight though, so damn him.

You shrugged the sheets from your arms. He was on his stomach, cheek planted on your chest and right foot dangling off the side of the bed. His left arm was draped over your middle and his right was tucked inside a pillowcase. His hair draped over his forehead and some of it was still tucked behind his ears.

Careful to not wake him, you gently traced the ridge of his nose with your index finger, resting it on the tip that always turned bright pink regardless of mood. Once at the end, you went back up to trace it again.

“Beak,” you whispered more to yourself, and you bit your lip to suppress the overwhelming urge to giggle.

Steve was here, next to and near you, and he was so warm.

You could have stayed in bed for hours, sleeping and cuddling and fucking, and you would bet your left kidney that Steve wanted that too. It was impossible to question it, it had to be, because Steve was too genuine. You had met hundreds of men in your life: some the literal devil, some cowards, some reserved, and rarely, some genuine at heart. Steve fit some category that didn’t even exist.

You wanted to love him and hate him. You wanted to make love and fuck him. You wanted to kiss him and annoy him. He checked a box that didn’t exist but that you would just have to reserve for him. The annoying little shit who could lift Thor’s hammer.

The door almost ripped off its hinges by the brute force of someone’s leg. You didn’t even fully register being crushed by Steve until his elbow stabbed you right in the gut.

“Rogers!” you groaned in pain and half trying to reach for your pistol on the bedside table.

There was a collective gasp of surprise (and maybe terror) from the people that just broke down your door. After yesterday’s unplanned run-in with Ramirez, no doubt this was called-for.

“Oh, hell…” Sam grumbled, lowering his gun the second he realized two of his friends were sharing one bed. “Lemme guess, the other bed’s mattress was too firm but this one’s just right.”

Bucky stood behind him, a knowing smirk plastered on his smug face. He looked between you and Steve, ignoring the way Scott was practically pulling his shoulder down in pure fits of laughter. Didn’t take much for Scott to tip himself over and almost drag Bucky down with him.

“Couldn’t you knock?” Steve nearly yelled, body still trying to shield yours even though you were fully dressed. You were struggling to push him away in pure embarrassment, but he seemed intent with this form of protection.

“You weren’t answering your phone! We changed our check-in times to seven instead of eight, remember?”

Steve, ever the gentleman, brought the sheets up higher for you and finally lifted himself out of bed.

And Bucky, ever the gentleman who has been spending way too much time with Clint, nodded his head toward you. “You two fuck?”

Mouth dropping in humiliation, you pulled the sheets up over your head and screamed into the temporary cover. Steve sputtered over whatever explanation he was thinking of pulling out of his ass.

“You two fucked,” Bucky smugly confirmed.

Steve pulled on the nearest shirt and went to kick Scott, who was ‘criss-cross apple-sauced’ on the floor and laughing way too loudly. “Is it really any of your business?”

“Man, that’s an answer!” Sam was about to fall into the same fit as Scott.

Annoyed, and fueled by that annoyance, you ripped the sheets off and marched for the bathroom. “You really want to know, you nosy little fucks? We did fuck and he made me come three times. Ask him how, I’m sure he’ll teach you a thing or two, no matter how embarrassed he may seem right now.”

You left him alone. You literally just exposed him and you left him alone with the wolves.

All was quiet until Sam blew a small raspberry. “Three times?”

Bucky didn’t need to speak to show he was about to tease the hell out of you. He simply sipped his coffee until he emptied it, and then refilled it. You couldn’t even finish a single mug yet because you were waiting to break the tension.

Looking around the hotel bar because he still valued your privacy, Bucky made sure to keep his voice low. “Three times?”

Half wanting to slap the smirk off his face and the other half wanting to announce Steve’s naughty accomplishment, you settled for pouring more coffee into your mug.

“Don’t you dare hold what I said against me, I literally had just woken up.”

“Mm, yeah. I remember how you literally moaned Thor’s name when you were startled awake from a nap in the living room.”

“Bucky!” you yelled, turning your shoulders inwards when you received a few odd looks from other early risers. Well, some were early risers. The person closest to the door was an agent, as was the other eating breakfast at the bar. “You promised you would never mention that again!”

He shook his head with amusement, “I can’t believe you swore me to secrecy when Loki basically told everyone.”

“He-!” Choking on your own spit, you slid lower into your booth. “That mischievous, conniving, son of a bitch.”

“In all honesty, I think that was his way of flirting with you.”

“Telling everyone I had a wet dream about his brother?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t be the first.”

You smirked, “Oh, trust me. I know.”

Bucky squinted, guilty in his spoken words. “All I’m saying is, it’s nice that you didn’t just write Steve off with us, as if nothing happened.”

It made your heart swell that even in a moment with you, Bucky would still always protect Steve.

“I would never. We actually talked last night and he really apologized.”

“Really?” His eyes were hopeful.

“He did. And as cliche as it sounds, one thing led to another.”

You realized your earlier words were contradictory when Bucky sighed sadly, “This better not have been a one time thing. I’ll strangle you both.”

You scoffed and finally took a piece of that blueberry muffin on your plate. “Screw you, Barnes. It’s Steve we’re talking about. I’d give him the world if I could.”

That made Bucky blush. “God, I’m stupidly happy for him. I always said he’d need to find a dame who had as big of a mouth as he does.”

Rolling your eyes, you offered him some of that muffin. He gladly broke off a piece. “Don’t go marrying us off just yet.”

“Doll, he almost imploded when we discovered you slept together. Teasing him about proposing might just kill him.”

You laughed at that. Although Steve had admitted he regretted the time you lost, there wasn’t any chance he would push you any further. He was probably comfortable with taking things slow, no matter the history. You had that in common.

“Seems we’re all just gonna have to make sure we don’t cause his demise.”

Smiling as he chewed, Bucky played with your feet under the table. Safe moments like these always occurred before a mission, no matter how simple or heavy they were. And like people love to say, you never fought with each other before. Just in case.

Going to bed angry was another thing entirely. That, the whole team was proficient in.

“You ready for tonight?”

Yesterday had definitely turned you against the very concept of family reunions, what with the small ache between your shoulders. You were angry with Seda, with Ernesto, disappointed with Ramirez, and neutral toward your sister.

God, your sister. This would be the first time since you left Mexico for school and SHIELD that you would be seeing her, as well as your other siblings. Jackeline was perhaps the only sibling you had some real memories with. Everyone else was already deep in the business or far away from the chaos. The team only knew of two other siblings who rsvp’d. The others: radio silence.

“Part of me just wants a normal family wedding. I’m kinda hoping we can just end it all tonight.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Bucky chuckled, finishing off your muffin for you. “You’ll get some closure soon enough.”

There was no such thing as closure. Just less of a constant sting.

“Bucky,” you spoke seriously now. “My father made Steve sign something yesterday.”

“He told us at the debrief yesterday.”

“When did you have a debrief?”

Bucky scooted in his booth, quickly explaining. “Uh well, it wasn’t so much of a debrief as it was a simple overview. Just a heads up.”

You tilted your head, somewhat unconvinced. “Uh-huh… but we could void it, right? He had a fucking notary there and everything.”

“We can declare it void, yeah Y/N,” he grabbed your hand over the table. “He won’t get tangled in this.”

With a heavy sigh, you gripped Bucky’s hand tighter. “I’m really glad you guys are gonna help us.”

He returned your smile. “Anything for family.”

Family.

After all these years of self-hatred and despising your own blood, you blinded yourself of the simple truth that you already had a real family. Whether you were accepted after Sokovia, or after you helped Steve escape with Bucky, or after those long five years, you were accepted. And you accepted them right back.

The briefing goes as expected. Didn’t seem like anyone was going to live down the now obvious fact that you and Steve had slept together after years of unnoticed pining. You simply took the teasing in stride, better than Steve even, who stuffed his face full of chips in embarrassment.

The plan was simple but ever-evolving. The three of them will hang back: Bucky at the hotel, Scott and Sam at the nearby base with Torres. The base was fifteen minutes from the estate, hidden behind those same pine trees but the perfect cover - it was a nearby diner. Steve will still take the shield, FRIDAY was installed on your personal phones, and any weapons you attached to your person were specifically made to deter metal detectors. Once in, it was mingle, mingle, mingle.

There were going to be a thousand questions to answer: What in the world is Captain America doing here? Is he here to cause trouble? Are you two seriously dating? So, Captain America being one of us means holding Thor’s hammer was a myth, aye?

Then you would move on to the more important guests. Jackeline’s greeting would be more of a reunion. But flying under and over the radar had to walk the same line - you needed to mix in with the crowd and make sure they see you participating, but then escape for a little while to continue the mission.

Once in, the task was to electronically and physically retrieve everything Scott didn’t have time to yesterday, plus the new information Ernesto got for today and tomorrow. His latest emails, list of contacts, checks, birth certificates, video evidence.

“Do we all know our duties?”

You wanted to wrap up Steve’s commanding voice and keep it a special secret, a secret that was yours and the team’s to share.

“We got it, Cap. For the tenth time this week - you two okay?”

Sam was rewarded with a slanted smile. “Everytime you ask me that, I’ll lie.”

He nods, “At least you admit it. You’re not alone in this.”

“For years,” you continued, “It’s been that way. I guess I’m both ready for it to end and not. I want them behind bars. I don’t want the repercussions.”

“Makes sense,” Bucky agrees. “At least part of the fight will be over.”

Beside you, Steve clenches his jaw. “We’re always fighting.”

Bucky grins at him, “Yeah.” There’s a sparkle in his eye as he leans forward to squeeze Steve’s thigh. “At least it’s not with each other anymore.”

They weren’t lying when they said vibranium was lightweight. Felt different from nano-tech and was an obvious change from your regular body suit. You felt protected and stylish. Good, because even though you weren’t obligated to impress those vultures, there were still a few cousins and extended family members you wanted compliments from. And?

The black turtleneck was warmer than you expected and didn’t strangle you. You were a bundle of velvet bliss right now. The cuffs were a golden brown, completely made from vibranium. Modeling in the mirror, you whispered a few ‘pew-pew’s as you blocked pretend bullets. C’mon, golden bracelets? You were basically Wonder Woman.

The tights were your own, thin and black and you could still see there were faint bruises on your knees from training. Once all that was situated, you pulled on the long skirt and tucked in the bottom of your shirt, glad the way the high-waisted design sucked everything in. The skirt was the same golden brown as the cuffs, shorter in the front and wavy as it draped down the back, barely reaching your ankles. You tied the skirt’s belt in a tight bow and pulled on the black boots Shuri had also sent you. The heel was thick and short, and the boot was pretty tight around the top of your ankle.

Time was ticking on that well-deserved goody basket you were meaning to send to the royal siblings.

Hoop earrings, three rings dressing your left hand, a simple golden necklace - now you need to do your hair and make-up.

Steve was just patiently waiting for his turn in the bathroom, bless his heart.

“Scott said the files are in his personal belongings. We suspect he’s planning to smuggle over fifty people tomorrow. Their records should be hidden away in those belongings, too.”

Sam always kept a leveled head in dire situations like these. He was rational and helpful, always waited until the job was done and everyone was safe before he had a drink or a cry. It was safest, perhaps the most fair thing the Avengers could do for the public after destroying half the cities they fought in. The media didn’t need to know about the late-night fights, alcohol poisoning, or frequent therapy sessions. Your coping methods were all different - Steve has no doubt Sam will immediately pack an overnight bag and Bucky to visit his sister and nephews once the wedding concluded.

Steve? Well, Steve was surprisingly calm, all things considered.

“You get any hits yet? Anything from Ramirez that could help us find those people sooner?”

Sam sighs sadly, shaking his head. “It’s looking like we’re heading into a full-on fight.”

That’s not what Steve wanted to hear. A ‘full-on’ fight almost always had accidents, misfires, innocent casualties, and a few cuts and scrapes to add to his own personal collection.

“Sam,” Steve puts down the files in his hand and shuts off his monitor to signal he’s done researching for the night. “I really don’t know how to thank you.”

“You know,” Sam smiles at him, “I’m gettin’ real tired hearin’ you say that.”

Steve huffs out a laugh. Sam gently exhales - Steve can feel it.

“You two really are the same.” Sam points at Steve and to the bathroom door. “Always apologizing for shit you can’t control.”

Steve looks down to his feet, a blush in his pale cheeks. After failing to clip his cufflinks on his own, he holds his arms out to Sam who happily clips them for him.

“Is it real?”

Steve pauses. He doesn’t really need to think about it because he knows. He’s known for a while even if he was on autopilot. The pause only serves to help him catch his breath from the happy prickle that crawls up his spine. “As real as second chances go.”

Sam laughs and claps his shoulder, “I get it. We seem to get a hell of a lotta those.”

Now that the mission was truly kicking into gear, fucking full speed ahead, Steve had no other choice but to pull shreds of Captain America from that metaphorical attic of his. Took everything in him to revert back, never fully, and each time would be different from the last. Sometimes it was mentally draining being responsible for a whole team and creating the plans, other times he regretfully felt like a colonizer, an intruder who followed orders from the top and was forced to execute them. This time around, he was stepping into uncharted territory, but still familiar, and he had a million roles to mime.

“Steeeve.”

His smile was instant and he gravitated to your voice. “Hmm?”

“So, I have an idea for a hairstyle,” you reply, throwing open the bathroom door with a brush in one hand and the other holding the top layers of your hair up. “I got enough hair for it.”

“Tell me about it. It gets in the way of everything.”

“Haha.” You rolled your eyes, still trying to shovel more hair higher. “I curled it, so all I gotta do is tug this upper half up into a ponytail while the rest stays down. But can you help? My shoulders still hurt and I haven’t taken my advil yet.”

Steve shuffles back into the room to grab you two pills before he replaces his hands with yours. “So, just lift it up?”

You hum confirmation, watching Steve in the mirror as he pulled your thick curls higher, snapped the hair tie between his teeth, and tied it all. He pulled the strands outward so the high curls still fell around your face. The hairstyle would have been easier with extensions (for a much fuller look) but if you had to throw your body around these next two days, you’d rather save yourself the embarrassment of having them pulled off.

“Thank you,” you blush. These moments were so intimate, so sweet, just you and Steve. “You need any help?”

Steve looks down at himself. He had already tied his own tie. He could style his own hair and comb his beard. “I think I’m good. Forgot to pack cologne, though.”

“I’ve got some perfume in my suitcase. There should be one in there that isn’t too flowery.”

Steve rolls his eyes and turns to leave. “Not really a problem, doll.”

Pulling on his suit jacket and reaching for your suitcase to set it on the bed, he miscalculated the balance he was so obviously lacking. Instead of toppling head first himself, he fumbles your suitcase and spills its contents on your bed. He stills for a second, looking to the closed bathroom door to see if you popped your head through to ask what the hell that sound was. But it remained closed, and Steve silently groaned because of his clumsiness.

He tries his best to roll the clothing items back in, cursing whenever he would accidentally squeeze a perfume bottle you had hidden in there. He counted three. The one he picks smells like roses.

Amongst the ruins he finds your passport, multiple IDs, and two pairs of sunglasses. He chuckles to himself and thinks, we’ve been here for four days and she hasn’t worn these once.

A torn piece of paper stood out from the pile, folded neatly in its own envelope but still damaged.

CLINT

Curious, Steve opens the envelope, wholeheartedly expecting to find the written contents from the archer himself, but pauses when he reads the simple sentence, in your handwriting.

‘After careful deliberation, I have come to the conclusion that I want you to have all my video games.’

If Steve didn’t know any better, and judging by the multiple other letters peeking through the torn tape from the corner of your suitcase, it sounded like a goodbye letter.

“What’s taking so long?”

Startled, Steve shoves the letter under the pile of clothes. “Uh, my clumsy ass spilled your clothes everywhere so I’m being good and fixing everything.”

“...annoying.”

Still, you stayed inside the bathroom.

He glanced back just to make sure. And he knew he shouldn’t be snooping, the guilt was already eating away at him, but he now noticed the lump under the torn tape and another envelope poking through.

They were all signed for different people. Bucky, Wanda, Peter, Rhodey -

The devil on his shoulder drowned the cries of the angel.

Opening his, he prays for his quick reading skills to aid him before you realized what he was doing.

Steve,

Believe when I say that I thought I would put a bullet in my father before he could. Whoops…

I don’t really know why I’m writing these letters besides the thrill of morbidity for my untimely death or because I’m an amateur writer on the side. I never know what to say to you, anyway. Whether it’s in person or on paper. I’ve got a hundred drawn-up speeches in my head I almost say to you. But they don’t come out when I want them to and it seems a bit much to write out the words to several imaginary crumpled pieces of paper.

This will have to do.

Steve, I know for a fact, deep in whatever soul I have left, that you are a good man.

When the world fell apart, I held on to you. I don’t know why. Natasha bugged me about it, sent me those signature smirks of hers whenever we did anything remotely weird. She believed something was going on between us and I would get so angry with her because it was like she saw something I couldn’t. And I wanted to see it. Wrap it up for myself and live in the softness.

You slept by my side when I would ask, you let me look through your private sketchbook to help ease my mind, and you would jump at every chance to shield me from danger. Even when you know I can take care of myself. I don't know how many times I have to remind you.

I don’t understand why you shut me out after we brought our friends back. And at the time, it hurt like hell. I literally wanted to kill you and then myself. It made no sense, it still doesn’t. I won’t lie and say it still surprises me or that it no longer hurts. ‘Cause I’m numb to it now and the pain is more of a dull ache.

But I guess you had your reasons, no matter how hurtful, how ridiculous, no matter how stupid.

Fuck, why didn’t you get some of that life Tony had always wanted for you? The question eats me alive. Maybe you did move on, maybe you would miss us too much, I truly don’t know. When you confessed to wanting some form of that life when we rescued Wanda, it just confused me more.

Then my father basically declared war and you cut me out. I can’t help but think you stayed behind to help me finish this, what with that righteous streak of yours, but if it is the case, then I am so sorry.

You deserve to live, Steve.

Guess what I really want to close with is this: find that life you always wanted. Buy a boat, or a cabin in the secluded woods and become a lumberjack, travel, open your own art museum - hell, erase all traces of your identity and sell painted landscapes for a living.

In any form you find it, just try. You know I’m always rooting for you, and I’m always by your side. No matter how annoying and smart-mouthed you may be.

There’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be than here, there, and everywhere with you.

With as much love in me,

The swirl of your name leaves him disoriented, and slightly paralyzed. Steve licks the envelope closed.

Steve puts the very existence and contents of your letter to the back of his mind for the time being. He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, no time to dissect it word for word. He’ll focus on it later. He still doesn’t know what reaction he should be experiencing. The letter was unexpected, yes, but it’s the matter of you writing a goodbye letter - as if you weren’t going to make it out of here alive. And that about saws Steve in two.

Steve thinks the elevator comes too fast and wonders what he could do to stop time. The mics on your neck generate enough noise for you to hear the static on the other end. No one is currently online, and Steve cherishes the little moments he’s getting before having to transition into ‘Captain America’ mode.

There wasn’t much time today to truly bask in the afterglow. The moment the elevator opens Steve literally drags you inside and captures your lips in a rather chaste kiss. It surprises you momentarily but you’re responding, and it’s fluid and familiar. The kiss is brief, but it feels as if your years mold into this single act, and Steve’s smiling wider than he has today when the first thing you say as you part is that maybe you chose the wrong shade of lipstick because it looks too damn dark on his lips.

The elevator reaches the ground floor and he looks over at you one last time in the privacy you’re afforded. He’s got that good ache in his chest again and it’s both calming and a little bittersweet, because staring at you is like staring at the sun - it hurts to look at for a long time but oh, so tempting.

The lawn was separated into two halves with only one fully decorated and the other still under a tarp, hidden because it was mid-construction and to not spoil the surprise. Over to the side, just left of the large lake, there was an extra tarp the workers were manning in case the clouds in the sky decided to cry.

Jackeline had chosen violet as her main color scheme, with golden hues stitched alongside. The flowers, soft lights, marble floor, and desserts were all violet; the curtains and tarps, plates and glasses, flowers on the wall, and Jackeline’s rehearsal dress were all gold. Ernesto must have spent over a million dollars in the decorations alone.

Everyone donned their best designers and since only family was in attendance today, the little amount of people were easily outdone one right after the other. In total, there were fifteen guests, and that included you and Steve: Ernesto, Seda, the groom’s father, Jackeline’s mother, two of your half-brothers, three aunts (sister’s of Ernesto), two cousins, the maid of honor, and Marcus White.

They have already fawned over Steve, some with a major guard up as expected, but as Ernesto explains the specifics, everyone becomes more pleased than weary. ‘It was just too good to be true that the Avengers were all good’, someone announces. Steve grips your hand just a little tighter.

The mere absence of Ramirez was enough of an answer: he really was going to be eliminated.

Across from your private corner, cheers and claps sound as the happy couple finally emerges. Even your father leaves mid-conversation to go greet her.

She’s a fifties masterpiece. Her dark hair cascades in uneven but gentle layers, framing her face and she’s both glossy and matte. Her skin is darker and her eyebrows are fuller, widow’ peak and strong jaw, thin neck and perfectly rounded shoulders. She has a painted blush on her high cheekbones, dark eyeshadow and a faint cat eye, and the reddest, fullest lips that are already spitting wit as she greets her more serious guests. Her voice is high but steady and she’s so obviously the center of attention, she’s the literal bride, but you bet she could take over the room even if she wasn’t. Her fiancé, surprisingly enough, trails behind her as if he too is in a trance, greeting the same guests and attempting to match her enthusiasm. She’s making herself known, and she’s succeeding.

It isn’t until she locks her sight on you that Steve finally mumbles a quiet ‘woah’ underneath a shaky breath and you can’t blame him, dear god you can’t, because seeing her for the first time in six years is eating away at you. She’s nineteen, young and sweet, and still trapped in the world you were planning to destroy.

Her first reaction is to run into your arms and hold you tightly, the force swinging you from side to side. Her giggles are contagious and you find yourself reacting similarly, grip tightening as she begins to ramble about how much she missed you and how proud she is that you have saved the world ten times over. The statement is overwhelming, but you find yourself nodding along in place of anything verbal.

Steve is patient as he witnesses this family reunion, standing at your side with respect and a tint of scarlet staining his cheeks. Finally, Jackeline turns to greet him and for a scary second, Steve sees Peggy.

“No way!” She keeps her voice low. “I could have sworn my bit-... uh, my bunch of tias were lying about you really being here.”

Steve shakes the fifties image from his head. The resemblance, even if Jackeline has more slanted eyes and a larger forehead, is uncanny. “Thank you so much for inviting us. The ride up was a bitch but we made the most of it.”

Jackeline stutters over her own laugh. “Oh.” She looks to you with a wide grin. “Oh, he’s a keeper.”

“Thought so myself,” you grin back. “You should hear him swear during a football game.”

“All men turn into animals when their teams don’t live up to expectations.”

Her accent is thicker than yours. Living in New York for over 10 years definitely helped smooth over some dialect and create your own voice. But Jackeline’s, considering she had never lived outside of Mexico, was thick and silky and resembled a place you no longer called home.

She pulls the man behind her forward, effectively interrupting and ending the conversation he was having with one of your cousins. “This is Julian. Julian, this is my one and only sister and her boyfriend!”

Julian, bless his heart, holds out a slightly shaking hand for you to shake. You do so, and try to convey calmness through it. When you watch his glance fall to Steve and feel his hand start to shake yours more rapidly, you can’t help but stifle a laugh.

“It’s an honor!” Julian finally says, voice deep and wracked with some nerves. He shakes Steve’s hand when he gets the chance. “Captain.”

“Please,” Jackeline rolls her eyes. “He’s just like us! You should be swooning over my sister, who is probably going to be the one to kill you if you ever hurt me.”

Julian blinks. His eyes go from Steve to you, contemplating his next move without wanting to seem rude. He nods in your direction. “I don’t doubt you would. Excuse me if I came off as rude. I’m just starstruck by this one here, is all.”

His accent matches Jackeline’s.

Steve waves his hand through the air. “You are not the first tonight, son.”

Sometimes you forget that Steve is an old man. Biologically, he’s in his mid-thirties. Ever changing and growing old as normal, but his soul is old. From a different time and out of it. The mere nickname he just gave Julian, no doubt because of his young age, leaves you averting your eyes and turning away to smile up at one of the many golden chandeliers.

“I really hope you enjoy tonight. The party may seem small right now, but trust me, half of Mexico will be dancing with us tomorrow night.” Jackeline bounces in place, hand intertwining with Julian’s, and she leans in to speak more clearly with you. “Meet me later? We have so much to catch up on.”

Agreeing, you watch the happy couple leave to converse with the few other guests.

Steve turns toward you, eyes squinted in amusement. “Is she really cheating on him with a man of the cloth?”

You can’t help the involuntary snort that leaves your nose. “The photos were watermarked, right? Time stamped? Maybe they’re old.”

Steve huffs a laugh and grabs two champagne glasses as the tray flies by him. “She’s got a way about her. Reminds me of a dame from this book I read a while back.”

Sipping your drink, you ponder. “What book?”

“The one where the dude gets shot at the end.”

“Oh, you mean every book from the 20th century?”

Steve laughs, “That twenties one!”

Mouth dropping, you push at his chest and turn to walk away. “You did not just compare her to Daisy from The Great Gatsby!”

Steve follows. “That’s the one! Honest! She has this way about her!”

It’s not long after a few dances and photographs that you’re all seated for the actual dinner. There are three long tables, two parallel to each other and the main one perpendicular. You don’t know if it’s a power move or whatever, but your name cards are placed on one of the parallel tables. But it doesn’t bother you much since you have a front view of Seda and your father.

Dinner is a six-course meal. Not that you assumed any different - Ernesto really went all out for his youngest child (that you know of). Your mics are picking up conversations left and right so you’re actually able to enjoy the meal. Salad, soup, a weird looking appetizer that’s actually quite delicious, the main course of either chicken/fish/or steak, and two desserts. All throughout, Steve is actually having the time of his life being fed so well.

“Answer me this,” Steve leans in to whisper in your ear. “Are those hearts or paper airplanes hanging from the ceiling?”

You smiled against the ridge of your champagne glass, “You mean those clay flowers?”

“Is that what they are?” He pauses for a long second, squinting.

“Are your eyes going bad?”

“Eyes don’t go bad.”

Your mouth falls open. “Your eyes are going bad!”

“Again,” Steve holds up a finger. “My eyes are just fine, not bad.”

Something else to add to that list you had made in the morning.

“This is fucking fantastic.”

Steve, still trying to casually squint, huffs. “Annoying...”

You bump his shoulder and lean in to whisper quietly. “Turns you on.”

Steve just blushes.

It’s like he forgets where he is for a second, what with the great food and surprisingly good conversation with one of your brothers beside him. Steve’s already built a much stronger rapport with the thirty-something year old man than you have. There’s a stab of guilt for a second, a need to duck and drown in shame, when you realize you can’t even remember his name.

Ernesto stands to announce toasts. His is brief and not all that fatherly, but it’s the longest you’ve heard him string some nice words together. Seda follows, brief as well, and includes a childhood anecdote about her. Jackeline’s mother is a young woman, somewhere between forty and fifty, and her toast is only a sentence long - ‘Solo quiero que estas contenta, mi amor.’ For the first time tonight, Bucky voices his thoughts over the mic with a quiet and sad sounding hum.

Ernesto lifts himself from his chair, swatting away his men who go to help him. He has the microphone again and he’s walking toward you, face neutral. You know better than to refuse in front of this big of a crowd. Steve squeezes your hand before you stand and he remains beaming up at you from his seat.

You’ve seen it in the movies - raise the glass, say some words, end it nicely. It’s what you do. But it feels surreal, almost unnerving when you don’t recognize the faces looking back at you.

“Here’s to you,” you lift your champagne glass, looking around at the happy yet solemn faces at the small table.

“You deserve all the happiness available to you. You are so lucky to have each other,” you finish the toast and drink your whole glass. There is no applause, just sad smiles in response. You’re not asking for much, you never had.

Tony and Pepper share a quick kiss, thanking everyone around the table quickly as the two cakes are being cut. Their wedding was limited, with only a few people in attendance. Whoever was left. Tony’s cabin could obviously accommodate more people, but he had only requested the gathering of those he could stomach to see. But when that turned out to only be Pepper and Happy, he was forced to open the doors to more.

So, you accepted your chocolate cake from Rhodey as he handed it to you. Shared some quick chit-chat with Steve and Natasha; greeted Thor as he made his first appearance in a while, hair now longer and baggy clothes hanging from his body, a tortured smile on his aging face; and sat through Happy’s own speech, enjoying his refreshing and joyful attitude.

But now you stood in front of the kitchen sink, staring at the hidden picture frame behind the mugs - a reminder of what was really missing from this special day.

You studied Peter’s awkward smile and demeanor, his expression youthful and frozen in time. He became foggy, silver clouds blotting his cheeks and his hair went white, and soon the sink sounded with a tiny ‘clunk!’ as you wept silently.

You felt a hand slide into your own, squeezing with care and understanding. You looked up to see Steve, his eyes watching your face. He gave you one more gentle squeeze, the same tortured smile as Thor’s on his beautiful face, and walked to his room to retire for the night.

Glass raised in the air, you swallow in hopes of not choking over any word because of your nerves.

“Here’s to you,” you start, already deciding this was going to be like pulling a band-aid. “May this world treat you kind, and that you are kind to each other, and that it’s all that matters.”

Steve forgets to drink. He can’t seem to shake the feeling of wanting to cry.

Everyone watches as Steve leads you onto the dance floor which is intimidating with its glittering violet light and marble that resembles polished glass. If these were the decorations for the rehearsal dinner, Steve can’t even begin to bet on how tomorrow’s going to look.

Steve holds you close, one arm wrapped around your waist and the other framing your spine. It’s like a tight hug. “Do you enjoy dancing?”

You step on his foot once again. “Shut up, Steve. Tell me your real thoughts.”

“Who, me?”

“Steve.”

“You suck at dancing.”

“There it is.”

It isn’t hard to sneak away once everyone piles onto the dance floor. Steve shares a few dances with your aunts before excusing himself to use the bathroom.

The mission itself goes rather smoothly. Infiltrating and collecting information was childsplay. Amateur. You’ve done it a thousand times and your father isn’t exactly a tech wizard. Neither is Seda.

You find the electronic bank records Scott couldn’t yesterday, as well as a detailed spreadsheet (more like a hitlist) dating ten years back. In the same file, this actually only slightly encrypted (slightly), are the names of high-level players involved. It’s color-coded, some names familiar because of their involvement with Hydra, and it’s only a matter of seconds before you notice that red means eliminated, black means still at large, and blue means ally.

There’s a lump in your throat as you scroll through and find Steve’s name, thankfully in blue. It’s expected, so you simply move on, until you find yours. And it’s in black.

It should terrify you, have you running for the hills and tucking your tail between your legs but you’re won’t because Steve’s name is blue.

That’s all that matters.

There’s still no concrete information about the shipment, nothing online or on a loose post-it note. It’s non-existent and that’s suspicious and you don’t know why you don’t voice that to Steve. He’s listening at the door and responding to Sam’s questions. You and Scott are the hackers of the group after all.

You scan through drawers and cabinets, snapping photos of things you can’t take just yet and filing the papers you can. Papers detailing contracts and miscellaneous connections: lawyers, doctors, politicians, police. Once that’s done, you shrink the evidence to the size of a fingernail with the help of Scott’s tech and hide it in your bra.

Surprisingly enough, the two of you are able to slip out of the office and the first couple living rooms undetected. Until Jackeline herself appears, pulling down her dress as she exits the bathroom. Steve, stunned by the presence of anyone, pulls you toward his chest with unfocused strength. You hiss loudly and naturally go to cup your injured elbow. It takes a moment for Steve to realize what he’s done and who he’s done it to.

Jackeline nearly stumbles over her heels out of pure clumsiness but her mouth parts as she notices you and the harsh sound you make. If she truly saw or heard anything, she’s keeping it to herself it seems.

“Ernesto wanted to see me before we called it a night,” Steve says, letting go of your arm and taking a step back. He doesn’t outright say he’s sorry; he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to. So he braves a smile, sends you a look, and excuses himself.

No conversation ever comes naturally - or, rather they take at least minimal effort from either party. You say the first thing you can think of and that’s to congratulate her again.

Your rambling sort of sounds like the toast you gave earlier, but Jackeline either doesn’t want to embarrass you or simply doesn’t notice. She waits for the pause in your voice before she finally speaks.

“Before I start, don’t hate me for this.”

“That’s not a good way to start a sente-” Your face is smacked to the side absurdly hard and you can feel the sting at the base of your neck. You look back at your sister with wide eyes.

“You couldn’t leave the world dead? He was finally dead!”

Baffled, you rub at your sore cheek. “Why am I the one getting the most blame for that? I followed a fucking raccoon around and I didn’t even snap my fingers!”

“Sorry,” she blinks, eyebrows scrunching as she thinks of the next thing to say. “Sorry, I just… it was that easy to kill him and then he just… wasn’t.”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but you were also dead.”

“I was.”

“And we brought back trillions.”

“I know.”

Never once did you wonder what your siblings might have thought. More than half of them were separated from this life, while a few remained and conquered their allowed sectors. Ernesto had never discussed which of his children would take over his seat. But when he was dusted and Seda assumed power, it was clear not one sibling wanted anything to do with it. Or they were just too scared to outright disobey Seda and his tyranny.

Jackeline stands tall, shoulders straight and chin held high. She didn’t seem to worry about the repercussions of her actions - she knows who you are and what you are capable of. The smack seemed deliberate but restrained.

“So?” It’s the only word you can muster up.

“Please don’t judge me.” Her confidence falters and her eyebrows push down even further. “I know you know.”

“You gotta spell it out because I know a lot of things.”

Sighing deeply, she grabs the hand you’re using to rub at your cheek. She grips it tightly as she speaks. “I love him. But he’s impossible to love now and I can’t do anything about it.”

“Oh, Jackeline…”

You could have contacted her. You were on social media - you could have followed her, maybe messaged her annually - hell, called her once in a while to simply check in. The ticket you got was always a temporary one: go to school and find a way to make the trade routes easier to travel. School finished, you found Fury, and you created an alternate identity and background plan to trick your family into doing just what they ordered. And during all that time, Jackeline was barely in her pre-teens, probably scared and alone and missing her only sister. This was just you throwing that smack out of proportion but there was truth in it all. Wasn’t there?

“Julian’s okay. I agreed to this arranged marriage. I’m sure I can grow to love him,” she shrugs, biting her lip as it begins to quiver.

Her eyes are no longer happy - perhaps that was the wrong word to use after she had just confided in you about the reality of her upcoming union. But they definitely seem more dull in comparison to the joyfulness she presented earlier tonight.

“Jackeline, you don’t have to-”

“No, I was gone those five years. He had to move on.” You drop your shoulders and lean forward to give her a hug. No matter how badly you wanted to wrap your hands around Ernesto’s neck, they had more use tenderly wrapped around your sister.

Relishing the feeling for only a moment longer, Jackeline is ignited once again. “Besides, I should be telling you that! I saw the way that… that fascist pulled you. If he’s hurting you, I’ll kill him.”

Your eyes must be bulging out of your head. “Oh.”

She looks at you as if you’re going to admit abuse and confide in her like she did you. “No, it’s okay. Steve’s perfect, he’s… wonderful.”

Jackeline shakes her head rapidly, “Don’t you lie to me. I know what I saw.”

“I’m not lying. But you gotta trust me. I’ll explain later-”

“Explain what?”

Seda breaks the conversation and you forget to curse inwardly. Instead, a mumbled ‘fuck’ is heard. It only serves to fuel the flame. Jackeline flashes a rehearsed smile, and she truly is your sister because for a sad moment she looks exactly like you.

“Explain why she never returned my calls to be my maid of honor! I swear, this one is always so busy she forgets I exist!”

“She is,” Seda agrees, grinning like he already knows what the original conversation was about. “Always busy.”

Jackeline keeps the same smile and is about to continue fanning the flames when Seda interrupts again. “Jackie, your father wanted me to speak with your sister alone for a moment. It has to do with tomorrow’s shipment.”

“Yes, of course. Don’t keep her for too long, okay? Tomorrow’s a late start but we all need our beauty sleep.” Jackeline leaves and fails to look over her shoulder to double check on you.

Seda steps closer, arms swinging casually like he’s pondering the possibilities of what he could do without Steve present. But instead of focusing solely on him, you listen to the soft sound of Bucky’s voice through the mic as he tells you that he’s listening in and he’s here.

“What did she say to you?”

“Is it really any of your business?”

He snaps immediately, gripping your cheeks in one hand so you can’t move your head. “When will you learn to keep your goddamn mouth shut around me?”

“You asked.” Smacking his hand away would have been frowned upon before, but not anymore. Free reign if need be. “Besides, when will you learn that that will never happen?”

“You can’t believe anything she tells you. Ernesto’s only two daughters are mistakes, both threats to his reign. Never submissive, always asking questions-”

You grunt almost comically, “Men and their irrational fears of women… What did I ever do to you?”

He pauses and you notice how his angry eyes always seem to water from his frustration. “You brought him back.”

“I also brought back trillions.”

“You know,” his face does something unpleasant. “Before Jackeline was dusted, she had been seeing that priest.”

“How could you possibly know-”

“He was so devastated by her loss. Found God, became a changed man.”

“Seda, what are you playing at?”

“She came back.” He lifts one finger. “He couldn’t resist.” He raises another. “Didn’t take long for Ernesto to find out.” The third one is the last, and he mimics a small explosion as he concludes. “But don’t worry, we took care of him.”

You never once believed the Devil was this angry, red demon with horns atop his head and a sharp tail, voice booming as he ruled the underworld with the weapons of pain and suffering. He didn’t possess or haunt random places. If anything, the Devil himself was simply a metaphor, a representation of the evil in a living world. It only made people comfortable to create an image, no matter how ridiculous.

Once you even thought the Devil was Hades, and he wasn’t all that bad when it truly came down to the root of all problems. He oversaw the underworld but he didn’t take life, he didn’t cause the pain, he simply watched and ruled. That maybe Hades was real considering Thor was, and he was just chilling in the underworld bored out of his mind.

But the evil the Devil represented was a constant in this world already, in your life from start to finish, and Seda’s eyes held something unspeakable. Dark brown eyes almost black, left cheek twitching with the urge to smile grotesquely, the tense nature of his broad shoulders. He was no massive man, a few inches taller than you, but he was a giant in a world in which Hades lacked and the Devil persisted.

“But Julian-”

Seda scoffs, “Julian was her rebound. Got mixed up in the business, with Ernesto - but I don’t doubt he loves Jackeline.”

You’re this close to breaking the man’s fingers. He doesn’t stop counting his supposed triumphs. “When were the pictures taken?”

“Don’t do that,” he laughs as he finally steps away from you. “Ask your real question.”

Your smile was involuntary. So was Seda’s. It was the one thing you had in common: smiling at things that weren’t funny. “Did you threaten him? Torture him? Kill him yet?”

“... Jackeline will never know.”

Your mouth parts slowly like you’re still digesting his words. “You unimaginable bastard.”

If you had to bet, you would have placed all your money on Ernesto being the giant to fear. He had hurt you in countless ways, used you and discarded what he didn’t like, put you in the line of fire for his own gain. He had taken pleasure in knowing you hurt, in knowing what you had lost and suffered. He mocked your sacrifice time and time again. And there was a sentence you had never uttered out loud for fear of what you might do, or what anyone hearing you might do, that Ernesto had said one chilly November night only a year after the world returned. It was a thought so suppressed you almost always forgot it had been real. ‘A shame the Widow did what she did - what an unbelievable asset wasted over something pointless.’

No one outside your circle could possibly understand. They didn’t have to - but to dismiss the main reason he was retaking his tainted throne... insanity.

But something in Seda’s voice moved even the most dormant areas in your soul. The giant was a man with nothing and everything to lose but with the power to choose which. Staring at him for too long prompted an uncomfortable sting across your waterline like his glare burned. Such a normal looking man with short dark hair and an aging face. He stared at you with a set look, one that told you he knew something you didn’t. Like he controlled giants even bigger than him. He wasn’t Hades, who restrained himself and hid in the shadows of a world he was forced to rule - he was the Devil’s metaphor, with red strains licking his tan skin and eyes sharp enough to puncture.

With a small tilt of his head and a strangled grin, he finally turns to leave. “Have a safe drive home.”

After saying a quick goodbye to Jackeline and securing the estate, you hurried to get to your car and leave. Ernesto had just sent you a quick nod of the head and reminded Steve he needed to see him again before the wedding started. All your leftover energy literally went into pulling open the passenger door.

Out of instinct now, you wait until the car is past the gates and a good mile from the hidden entrance before speaking freely.

“We get everything?”

The night is dark and you can barely see the outline of the trees. The sky is covered with gray clouds and there are no lampposts to provide light. It’s really just your headlights. “I think so. I think.”

Steve can sense the hesitancy in your answer. “What’s wrong?”

You shake with an exaggerated shiver, “Seda was being creepy… just more than usual.”

“What do you mean?” Steve was probably communicating and online with Sam during his conversation with Ernesto and completely missed the one you had with Seda.

“Fuckin’ didn’t think it could get weirder, but Jackeline mentioned how this was basically an arranged marriage and then Seda,” you stop suddenly. The uneasiness was creeping back.

“An arranged marriage? Fuck, what else is this mission going to throw at us?”

‘Captain?’

Steve’s hands accidentally swerve the steering wheel as response to the small fright. “... Was that your phone or mine?”

You fumbled through your mini purse for your phone. “Me. Hey? Friday?”

‘The one and only. I hope that didn’t frighten you because I really need your attention right about now.’

Steve chuckles, eyes straight ahead as he drives. “That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

‘My readings are picking up something strange. The vehicle, even if I’m not able to virtually connect, seems to be stalling.’ Torres did curse you two before you left for renting a car made before 2013.

“What do you mean? It’s working just fine.”

You set your phone down on the dash to start looking around the interior of the car.

‘The pedal, yes Captain. But I’m afraid my readings are focused on the brakes.’

You bite your tongue and scrunch up your nose. What else could possibly happen tonight? “That’s always fun to hear, great. Greaaaat.”

“Friday, what are you picking up?” Steve’s voice is more stern and even if he’s not doing it on purpose, he’s trying to ignore your coping mechanism of joking during dire situations.

‘It seems that when they took the vehicle for parking, they attached something to the brake lines. Sort of like a trigger sensor. Do not slow down.’

“We’re stuck? We can’t stop?”

‘Everytime the Captain de-accelerates, the sensor heats up. That’s what my readings are.’

“Fuck,” you unclipped your seatbelt and turned your body toward Steve. “Fuck!”

“Friday, what do we do?” The least Steve could do is be the level-headed one here.

‘Exactly what you’re thinking, Captain. The shield’s in the trunk.’

“We can’t exactly get to it!” You don’t mean to scream at Friday. You’re sure she’s used to adrenaline induced attacks guided toward her and never about her.

‘The burners were produced by Stark Industries for our very own spy unit. They are equipped with a taser, flashlight, and laser.’

Jumping so your feet were planted firmly on the passenger seat, you make sure everything is in place: the stolen files, your gun, your phone, and earpiece. “Keep your foot on that pedal, Rogers. I don’t feel like blowing up tonight.”

He releases a shaky breath, hands turning pale from the grip he has on the steering wheel. “You and me both.”

“Friday?” Your voice is only slightly timid, but you manage to move your body out from the front seats and to the back.

‘The laser, Agent Y/LN. Cut through the seats.’

Nodding along to her instructions, you search for the burner under your skirt and unstrap it from the holster. Pulling its ancient antenna outward, Friday verbally guides you through the very simple instruction. The laser blasts out unexpectedly at first making you squeal, which in turn causes Friday (a literal AI) to chuckle. You’re thankful the antenna was facing the back seats already.

“Doing good back there?”

You respond with a low grunt as you carefully carve out the largest rectangle you can create. “You better have shoved the thing close. Any stop signs up ahead?”

Steve’s getting worried now, but instead of putting you more on edge, he hides it pretty well. “Thank god this place is in the middle of nowhere.”

You don’t even give his response acknowledgement as you finally pull the leather, metal, and weird cushion filling away and spot the shield. “I got it, got it, got it.”

‘My sensors suggest you’ll have a good five seconds to escape the vehicle once the Captain releases the pedal.’

You make sure your hair is in the tightest ponytail known to man and that your skirt is bunched up in your free arm. You strap the shield onto the other. “Steve, you gonna be alright?”

His eyes are still focused on the road, but he braves a look in the mirror back at you. His voice is stern but not demanding. “I know you hate the damn shield but bend your legs, jump sideways, and tuck your head.”

“Yeah,” you nod along. Damn straight you’ll put your hate aside for one second if it’s here to save your life. “You better jump on time, you understand me?”

“Sam,” Steve keeps the speed steady and tries to ignore the way his heart is pounding from the sound of you kicking open the back door. “Sam, Widow. Widow.”

Before you jump, the asphalt a never ending, rapid glare of absolute darkness, you leave your phone on the seat in case Steve still needs her. “Friday, send Sam and Torres our location. They’re the only ones who can fly in undetected. Tell them what you told us.”

‘Will do, Agent Y/LN.’

“Be careful.”

You smirk at him, “Don’t be a hero and crash this one into the ice, yeah?”

You don’t wait for his reaction and instead take the plunge. The shield makes a hard impact with the asphalt down below, screeching for what seems like an eternity before slowing down. You did as instructed: knees tucked into your chest as far as you were able, head doing the same. By the time the ride finally ends and you’ve gone partially deaf, you can make out the sound of a loud explosion a close distance away. The heat from the sudden burst of wind nips at your face. You’ve also gone partially blind.

Your poor boots are definitely ruined and there’s a faint tell of a bruised ankle in the works. The arm attached to the shield will also need to be popped back into place - it shouldn’t feel this loose. Luckily, your head and torso were completely unscathed.

Lifting yourself up the best you could without straining anything too much, you noticed the car still in flames but driven off the road.

“He jumped, he jumped, he jumped,” you repeat, limping as quickly as you could, shield still attached to your arm. The closer you get the clearer everything becomes, regardless of the smoke. “Steve.”

You squint through the orange light and the dark of night. The fire wasn’t all that loud in its crackles and it doesn’t take you long to realize while tapping your ears that you lost your earpiece.

“Steve,” you try again, adrenaline still pumping but panic seeping in. As if on cue, you can make out his body laying far away from the car relatively unharmed. “Ah, shit.” You drop down on your knees and wince involuntarily. Slapping his cheeks doesn’t wake him up, neither does gently shaking him. You don’t want to do anything to hurt him more.

The sound of gravel popping kicks you back into spy mode. Hide. This was a hit, of course it was, and they were coming to see their job done.

“You so owe me,” you groan as you unstrap the shield to throw it into the woods, the faint tell of it hitting a tree enough to make you work faster. You hook your arms underneath Steve’s armpits and bend your knees, breathing in deeply and out a few times before pulling him with all your strength. There’s pain shooting up your arm but you try to ignore it. Small whimpers escape you as you pull harder and finally make it a good distance from the wreckage. You sit Steve, still unconscious, behind one of those massive pine trees and sit next to him after retrieving the shield.

It’s only two black SUV’s that come to check their hard work. They’re bending down and using their own fire extinguishers, snapping their own photos, the works. It isn’t until Seda walks over to admire the wreckage that you have to bite your bottom lip to keep from screaming.

You’re seated in front of Steve now with the shield in front of you when a sudden movement to your left startles you. Before you scream, however, a hand covers your mouth.

“Shh, shh.” Sam. Your eyes fill with tears.

“I’ve got him. Torres is coming for you, alright? I’m the only one who can carry him out.”

It doesn’t take much to convince you. You’re silently helping Sam strap Steve against his chest as Seda and his men are now investigating the woods. You can hear them close, cursing and yelling about finding you.

“Go a little further. Down there,” Sam points in front of you. “Torres is parked and waiting. Go.”

“Don’t drop him.” Sam stifles his laugh.

You follow his directions, limping as quickly as you can, and finally find Torres, your second knight in shining armor of the night.

After an all clear from the medical team, Steve is left alone in your hotel room to rest. He still hasn’t woken up but Helen isn’t worried since his scans show no major damage. Small talk with the rest of the team fills in the time but it’s like you’re not really there, merely a participant on a loop. There’s a bitter taste in your mouth and you’re covered in scratches and smoky ash and you can’t shake the feeling of wanting to kill something.

Your father wanted you dead. And showing up to the wedding was just going to anger him more but it had to be done. But you were tired, so fucking tired, tired to the point where you couldn’t sleep or rest.

You let your hair down but stay in your tattered clothing, making yourself useful as best you can. You answer questions, you review footage, you draft up some reports. Bucky tries to sit you down at one point, but he backs off when you simply shake your head and give him that famous broken smile.

You’re sitting at your desk trying to save some of your phone’s cloud through the connected email. Sam has already ordered you a new phone. On the computer to your left, you’re scanning and uploading the files you stole tonight. On the right, your little butterfly is transcribing conversations from yesterday.

The transcription is finished before the uploads. It prints.

SEDA: ‘Ernesto needs to know how many more women we can get from Jonathon. I thought you said your Italian contact was up to date?’

UNKNOWN: ‘He is. But the women are coming from here instead. Got a load of ten just now.’

SEDA: ‘The shipment goes out during the wedding. Not before, not after. We can’t fuck this up for Ernesto and we cannot have the stars and stripes finding out.’

UNKNOWN: ‘Ernesto plans to mention it to him tomorrow.’

SEDA: ‘Then make sure he keeps quiet about it.’

The bitter taste in your mouth returns and you have to run to the nearest bathroom.

Steve wakes just an hour after, disoriented but able to discern who he is. “What happened?”

You’re standing at the foot of his bed, having just got there a few minutes before, practically on the verge of tears. “... Did you know?”

There it was. Any hope of truly coming to terms with this new world order or his role in it, any hope of feeling like he did before he succumbed to the American war propaganda and became a science experiment, crumbling before him. The heavy weight that were your shoulders, crumbling like shaky mountains. His own, tense and straining and urging him to get out of bed.

He’s been in the trenches when the smell of gas and blood clogged his nostrils and made him dizzy. He’s experienced loss a thousand times over, just heinous instances of despair where he swore he was torn in two. He’s lost on his own accord and pretended like the world was still on its axis.

And he knew his time was up. He just thought he’d have more than a day to enjoy it. “I was going to tell you.”

It’s like the air is punched out of you. “You knew?”

“Please, listen, please,” he scrambles out of bed.

“What the fuck, Rogers?”

“Ramirez told us yesterday. I swear I only found out yesterday. Yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” You’re stepping away from him. He’s almost on his hands and knees and you’re stepping away from him. “Before?”

Steve makes a pained noise. “Yes, but please-”

“No! You kept this to yourself and you had the fucking audacity to share the same bed as me?”

“Please, let me explain-” He tries to reach out but you side-step him. He reacts like you’ve shot him.

“Don’t touch me, Steve!”

“Please, just let me explain. We all know - Bucky, Sam, Torres, we all know.”

Your face does something he’s never seen it do. “Fuck?”

He’s talking faster now, words just spilling on the floor and into the air and he doesn’t know what else to do. “We’re tracking it. We have a plan set. We were supposed to tell you tomorrow before the wedding.” He stops to take in a breath. “I was going to tell you.”

“You went behind my back.”

“If I would have told you, you would have done something horrible tonight! We need your father alive to find those people!”

Eyes wide in shock and anguish, you step further away from him. Each step was the equivalent of a dagger plunging deep into Steve’s heart, twisting and burning its way to the depths of his vulnerability. He wanted to succumb to the pain - after all, he deserved it.

“That would have been my choice to make!”

Now he pushed forward, shoulders hunched and palms turned upward as if he was pleading for a crumb of understanding. “I was gonna kill him.”

He drops to his knees, arms wrapping around your waist. You remained perfectly still, a tree stump with no cover. “I was gonna shoot him between the eyes when I first found out. But if I had done that, then we would never know the location of those people.”

His weight was pulling you down and you felt his wet cheek against your stomach. “I deserved to know.”

His grip tightened, “You did. But if you would have known-”

“I would have known. Period.”

He had to know how much he weighed. But Steve leaned his body onto yours harder, afraid you would vanish and god forbid turn to dust. It didn’t really register in his mind that, even though he was holding you in place, you weren’t exactly trying to escape his hold either.

He had let you go once and he’ll be goddamned if he let you go again.

“It ate me alive. I hated doing this-”

You pushed against his shoulders and sensed his reluctance to let go. Instead, you look down at him and tense your jaw. “Steve, you don’t hate me, do you?”

His face dropped and his grip loosened. You should just slap him across the face, Steve thinks, because how in the world were you thinking that at this moment? Never did he think you would find a way to twist this - to somehow blame yourself for his mistake. Took a long time to see it, but you were just as righteous as he was. It would get you both killed someday.

“Why do you think that? What in the world would make you think that after all this time? After everything?”

He lets you push him away so he could stand but he makes sure to keep his hands on you. A tangible promise that you are real.

“You agreed to help me catch a drug lord. You didn’t sign up for this extra mess.”

“We may not always know what we’re up against,” Steve began, sniffing and wiping at his wet face. God, he felt like such a mess. “But I could never fucking hate you. Don’t even think that.”

“You sure?” your voice cracks, hands slightly shaking from the need to touch him too. “Captain America didn’t sign up for this.”

He shakes his head almost violently, “No, no. Don’t go there. I am not him, I haven’t been him in a long time.”

“Steve-”

“No! I’ve hated the title for a while now. I’m done. I’ve hated my reflection for years and years.” The tiny whine in the middle of your throat gurgled and your hands moved instantly to cup his cheeks. “I represent no one but myself. I’m tired of others thinking I’m the same man from ten years ago, or the same man from the forties, or the same man from last week just because they’re enamored by that star on my chest.”

He tilts his head to lean into your touch, “I am helping you because it’s the honorable thing to do. I signed up for this work, I intend to finish it. Not Captain America, but me - Steve, me.”

“You’re still making me feel like it’s something you have to do.”

“I admit that I was never overly fond of the idea of being wrapped up in this,” Steve admits, hands now cupping yours over his cheeks. “But toppling this empire will keep you safe.”

As heartwarming as that sounded, you broke the fantasy. “The minute we take the giants out, they’ll elect someone new.”

“But we take the giants out. The giants that hurt you.”

He’s right, like always.

“Steve,” you say quietly, bringing his face closer to kiss away his tears. You’re struggling to keep the tippy-toes and your ankle is screaming for a break, but you persist. “You should have told me.”

“I know.”

“No more secrets.”

“None, I swear, I promise.”

Biting your lip to keep from crying, you make sure his eyes are locked on yours before you speak. “I’m not walking away this time. I’m not leaving you. Not again.”

Steve’s mouth releases a big burst of air like he was holding it in, and he wraps you in a hug that promises the same.

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess @supraveng @mycosmicparadise @missnighttigress

A/N: Wooooo that took forever lol xxMoni

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slythergirlimagines · 4 years

Text

I’ve Got you- hurt!Reader x Sokka

Thank you to @nataliahaslosthershit for the request! I hope I did it justice:) Masterlist

Summary: You and Sokka get into a fight that results in you getting kidnapped. Fluff and angst!!(Also the gif isn’t mine! I don’t know who made it but I definitely don’t own it!!)

I’ve Got You- Hurt!reader x Sokka

You never imagined that your life post-war would involve more war. Peace had not been quite as instant as everyone had hoped when Zuko became Firelord. Several rebel groups were organizing, and there had been at least one known assassination attempt against Zuko.

That’s when Zuko had put Sokka in charge of neutralizing Ozai’s loyalists, and because Sokka was your best friend, you couldn’t say no when he asked you to join him.

Now you and Sokka were staking out a village thought to be rife with rebels, and you’d never been more miserable in your life. The heat was stifling and the village was going through a drought, so food and water had been limited. You couldn’t help but feel like this was a waste of time.

“Sokka nothing is happening. Clearly we got our intel wrong, we’ve been here for three days and nothing!” You threw your hands up exasperatedly.

Currently you were camping on the outskirts of the town, hidden by the dense forests. You’d been here for three days, checking things out and asking around. Though there were whispers of a rebel stronghold, you had yet to find any solid proof. It had been three days of absolute hell.

“Relax, y/n. We’ll find out something soon.” Sokka assures you.

He is sprawled out across his sleeping bag, his long limbs taking up a majority of the cramped space in the tent. After the war, Sokka had experienced an incredible growth spurt. He was now taller than his father, and it didn’t hurt that the rest of him had filled out too. Your best friend had serious muscles from training, and it was becoming impossible not to notice in this tiny, miserable excuse for a tent.

“Can you at least keep to your side!” You snap at him. You don’t really mind, but his flippant attitude and the fact that you hadn’t slept or eaten properly in days was really getting to you.

Sokka sits up on his sleeping back and arches an eyebrow. He studies you for a moment, and then rolls his eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me!” You snap.

“You’re so touchy!” He says, crossing his arms. His sleeveless tunic gives you a very good look at his strong biceps.

“I’m not touchy, I’m right!” You say, voice increasing in volume. “You know I’m right Sokka. We’ve found absolutely no evidence of anyone conspiring against Zuko. We shouldn’t even be here right now. We should be at home, in real beds! We can reevaluate the situation from there.”

“Y/n I told you, my instincts are telling me....” he starts, but you cut him off with a frustrated groan.

“Your instincts?!” You all but shriek. “Sokka your instincts have been right a grand total of twice!”

You jump up off your sleeping bag, suddenly unable to sit still any longer. There’s barely enough room for you to stand without crouching. You have a very powerful urge to pace.

Sokka furiously jumps up as well, but the small height of the tent forces him to bend over.

“My instincts are right this time!” He says, jabbing a finger at your chest.

You scoff batting his finger away, and his face turns red from anger. It’s been a long time since you’ve had a fight as bad as this one, but you think maybe he’s also been ready to explode.

“If you’re so done with being here why don’t you just leave?” He shouts, getting in your face. You’re breathing the same air, and his blue eyes flash in defiance. “It’s not like I need you anyways!”

Even in your anger, the statement hurts. You decide to channel all that hurt into anger, you can be sad about it later.

“You know what? Fine. I’ll go, I should have never even come in the first place!” You seethe.

“Then why did you?” He throws his arms up.

“Because I didn’t want you to get hurt!” You yell back. “Because we’re a team and I always have your back! And mostly because you asked me to!”

Sokka’s hair has fallen out of its wolf tail, and the long pieces fall just past his ears. It accentuates the square of his jaw, the slight stubble that’s grown during their stakeout. It’s ridiculously attractive for no reason at all.

Sokka’s face flits through a multitude of expressions before he settles on indifference.

“I don’t need you to protect me.” He says. “I don’t need you here, so if you want to go just go! I don’t want you here.”

He turns his back to you, and his heavy breaths shake his shoulders.

This time you can’t keep the hurt out of your voice, and when you speak it’s watery with angry tears.

“Fine. I won’t bother you again.” You storm out of the tent and into the forest.

In your anger, you don’t really pay attention to where you’re going. Tears blur your vision, and rage guides your limbs. You swipe furiously at your tears. You will not cry over Sokka of all people.

But his words hurt you more than you thought they would. You were a team, and you had been that way since the beginning. Ever since you had joined the Gaang and found out that you an Sokka fought incredibly well together you had been inseparable. You had been through everything together, and you had always had each other’s backs. You had always needed each other.

Maybe Sokka was telling the truth. Maybe he needed space and you were smothering him, but he was all you really had in the world. You had no home or family to go back to, and the truth was you loved him.

Somehow in the midst of all the chaos, Sokka had wiggled his way into your heart and made a home there. You couldn’t imagine your life without him, and after the war when you had both stuck together, you had started to think maybe he felt the same way.

But now it was very clear that he didn’t. Maybe he asked you because he felt sorry for you, because he knew you had no where else to go. Of course that was it. You were just his charity case. How pathetic.

Your spiraling thoughts are broken by the snapping of a tree branch. You hate that you instantly think of Sokka.

“Sokka?” You ask into the darkness. You were foolish not to walk blindly into the woods. Why hadn’t you followed the road?

Blinking against the dark, you try to make out the owner of the sound. No one responds to your question, maybe you’re just being paranoid. Quickly, you start walking in the direction you think will lead you to the road. It’s incredibly dangerous to be out here alone.

Again, you hear a twig snap.

“Who’s there?” You demand, trying to sound braver than you are. Still there’s no reply. You turn to keep walking, and then you are ambushed.

Someone tackles you to the ground, and in the dark it’s impossible to make out more than just inky shapes.

You start fighting vigorously, but the person holding you down is much stronger than you are, and your efforts are futile.

“Let go of me.” You spit, not giving up. The man on top of you butts his head into yours, and you go limp. Colors dance in front of your eyes, and you’re too disoriented to fight.

“Alright, I got her. Let’s take her to the boss.” Someone hisses in the dark. It isn’t the man on top of you, so there has to be more of them. Even if you weren’t injured you couldn’t take all of them. With a sinking feeling in your gut, you realize Sokka’s instincts were right.

“Rebels.” You manage to wheeze out. Your adrenaline is starting to kick back in, and you think maybe if you distract them you’ll have a pretty good chance of running away.

A man chuckles in the dark.

“Bright isn’t she.” He says, sarcasm lacing his words. You’ll never get a chance to run with this man’s weight on you. You’ll have to let them start to move you. Make them think you are weak.

You let yourself go completely limp, and throw in a few whimpers for effect. The man on top of you leans in close enough for you to make out his sneer and smell his breath.

“I’ve got her.” The man says, and he moves his arms underneath you to lift you up. Fast as Zuko’s lightning, you knee him in the groin and roll out from under him.

You scramble away trying to will your aching muscles to move, but your head is pounding and your already limited vision grows blurry.

The man is back on you in no time, and this time when he tackles you, you pass out.

_________________________________

When you wake up, your head is pounding and your mouth is dry. Where are you? You move to get up and realize that you are tightly bound to a chair. You pull against the ropes and they saw into your skin, leaving behind welts.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” A lilting voice says in the dark. “I am excellent at tying knots, you’ll never escape from them. It would be easier for us to just play nice.”

You blink against the dim light, and shakes start to come to life. In front of you stands a middle-aged man. He is tall and imposing in the enclosed space, and for the first time, you realize you are in a prison cell.

The man wears the deep red robes of Firenation, and of it wasn’t clear enough before, you know that you are now indeed dealing with Ozai loyalists.

“What do you want from me?” You ask, managing to sound calm despite the danger you are in.

The man smirks at you, and starts walking slowly around your chair. Your anxiety increases as he moves behind you and you lose sight of him. Your basic instincts scream not to let your enemy out of sight.

“You and your boyfriend have been asking a lot of questions.” His smile is razor sharp and dangerous. The hair on the back of you neck stands up as you start to calculate your chances of survival. And Sokka, he mentioned Sokka. Was he ok?

“Here’s what I want.” He says smoothly, watching your struggle. “All I want is for you to cooperate with me. There’s no need for me to harm you if you just comply.”

You feel something cold hit the side of your neck, and a chill runs down your spine when you realize it’s a knife.

“I don’t like to play games. I would really rather you be honest with me.” He warns.

You jut your chin out defiantly. You know he wants information about Zuko or Firenation. You won’t give him anything. You won’t let this idiot hurt your friends. You think about Sokka, alone in his tent and then freeze.

What if they found him, or hurt him? The man laughs at your facial expression.

“Not so brave now, are you?” He tuts. He moves around to face you, but continues to hold the knife to your neck. “Don’t worry we haven’t hurt your precious boyfriend. Yet. Do what I say and we won’t need to.”

You try to rationalize to yourself that he needs you alive for information. The weight of the blade digging into your neck seems to contradict that notion. Sokka’s face flashes in your mind, and you know you have to be brave for him. Hopefully he’ll get himself somewhere safe. He’s an excellent fighter, and it would be hard for them to take him. You know that’s why they chose you instead.

“Who are you?” The man asks, bringing you back to reality. “Who do you work for.”

“My name is Li, and I don’t work for anyone.” You say the practiced lie. You had stolen and adapted Zuko’s undercover personality as your own for these situations. Sokka preferred to be a different person every time, but it was easier for you to lie when you used the same one over and over.

The man studies your face for a long time, and then smacks you across the mouth, his baggy sleeves swing from the power of the blow.

“I told you to be honest with me!” He says. His black eyes are crazed. “If you’re not going to be honest, I’m going to have to hurt you.” He half sings.

“Tell me your name!” He says with more force.

Again you repeat the same lie.

The torture lasts for what seems like hours. The man finally leaves to take a break, leaving you sore and broken. You have a split lip, both your eyes are almost swollen shut, and you have bruises all over. You don’t think you were ever this banged up in the war.

“I’ll break her soon enough.” He tells someone outside, presumably a guard. You wait until you hear the cell door slide shut before you slump into your seat.

The pain is incredible, but you’re proud of yourself. You hadn’t given anything away, just maintained a forced silence. You hoped you would be able to keep this up. You briefly think about Sokka, but it’s too painful. He’ll be ok, you know he will. Eventually, you think he’ll come find you.

Just as you start to think about him, Sokka’s face swims before your eyes. He’s so real you could swear he’s really there.

“Y/n.” He whispers, reaching a hand out to stroke your face. He stops just before he touches you, and lets it drop. The horrified expression on hallucination Sokka’s face is so plain that you can see it through your blurred vision.

“Sokka...so real...” you manage to grunt out. There’s so much you want to tell him, apologies and confessions fly to your lips but you don’t have the energy to say anything except a mumbled “sorry.”

“Y/n, I’m here. I’m here and I’m getting you out.” He whispers. You smile the best you can despite your injuries, and stare into his intense blue eyes. If Sokka were here, this is the exact face he would be making. You’d seen it so many times that you’d recreated it perfectly. You were really impressed with hallucination Sokka and your ability to conjure him up.

At least you got to see him again, because right now it feels like you’re going to die in this cell. Hallucination Sokka starts on your bonds, and you can almost feel the rope grinding against your skin. No, no wait, the ropes are most definitely falling away from your wrists. That must mean...

“Sokka??” You ask, tears in your eyes.

He pops back up in front of you, and you swear you’ve never seen a more perfect sight. His dark skin and blue eyes, his strong build. Sokka has always made you feel safe, and it holds true even here.

Sokka reaches a large hand up to cradle your face, and when he touches your skin, you can feel it’s warmth. He’s here, he’s really here. You chant it like a mantra over and over again in your head.

“I told you I’ve got you.” He says. “I’m going to get you out of here, but it’s probably going to hurt. I’m going to have to carry you.”

His voice is strained like it always is when he’s trying not to show his emotions. You nod, trying your best to be brave. You trust Sokka, and he’s here. He’s got you.

Sokka leans down and shifts his arms underneath your body. He lifts you up in a smooth motion, and cradles your against his hard chest. The jostling causes searing pain to tear through your limbs, and you cry out before you can help it.

“I’m sorry!” Sokka cries, wincing at your pain. “I promise it’ll be over soon.” He mumbles into your hair. He presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, and then he’s running.

Sokka meets little resistance when he leaves, and you’d like to ask but the pain is too much. You can feel the change when you get outside. There’s a breeze blowing, and it wraps around you in a soothing way. You never thought wind could be such a relief.

Sokka continues to run for an incalculable amount of time. The rough terrain of the forest does you no favors, and by the time Sokka slows down, you’re in so much pain you can barely see straight. There’s some sort of commotion, and you can hear people shouting in the distance.

“I need a healer!” You hear Sokka yell.

Everything is too much for you, and your head lolls back.

“Y/n!” Sokka yells, panicked. “Stay with me, y/n! Don’t-”

Everything goes dark before you can hear the rest.

———————————————-

It’s too bright when you wake up. Everything hurts, but you can move this time at least. Anxiety shoots through you when you remember what happened.

“Sokka!” Your voice cracks, and you groan. “Sokka?” You squeeze your eyes shut against the light. Man your head hurts.

“I’m here!” His voice is gruff, but flooded with relief. You feel a squeeze around your hand, and realize that he’s been holding it the entire time.

You pry your eyes open, and blink against the light. Your eyes find his blue one, and they’re filled with worry and emotions you can’t really name but they make your stomach flip all the same.

“You look like shit.” You tell him. And he does. You’d be shocked if Sokka has slept at all since you came here.

“I look like shit?” He says, and laughs humorlessly. “Y/n, you’ve been tortured within an inch of your life and it’s all my fault.” He says, and you can hear the anger in his low voice, but you know it isn’t at you.

“Sokka...”

“No, just don’t y/n.” He says, voice shaky. He drops his head into his hands.

“Sokka, seriously-”

“I didn’t mean it.” He says suddenly, urgently. His head snaps up and his blue eyes bore into yours with an intensity that takes your breath away. “None of it. I’m so sorry that I’m such an idiot, y/n.”

“Sokka.”

“I do need you. I need you more than anyone in my life, and when you aren’t there it’s horrible. I never want to be away from you again. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and seeing you there in that cell all bloody, Ive never been more angry in my life. I should have killed him. No,” he says shaking his head, jaw locked, “I would have killed him. If I hadn’t had to get you out....”

Unsure of what to do to make him feel better, you grab one of his hands, bringing it to your face.

“Sokka, you got me out. You saved me. I’m here because of you.” Emotion floods your voice, and it seems to do the trick, because all of his anger deflates.

“I never should have said those things.” He says.

“I said some pretty mean stuff too. Especially about your instincts, which were both right and saved my life.” You say, giving the hand on your face a squeeze.

Sokka laughs lowly. It’s a small sound, but it’s something. It makes your body tingle.

“I mean it, you know. What I said. You’re the most important person in my life, y/n. You know how I am with stuff like this, how I always mess it up, but when I saw you in that cell....” he trails off, and then shakes his head.

“I love you.” You say, and it shocks you how easily it comes out of your mouth. “I love you, Sokka. I need you too.”

Sokka’s whole face lights up, and you watch as his eyes soften. He breaks into a crooked grin, and laughs a little breathlessly.

“You love me?” He asks, in awe.

“Yes you idiot.” You laugh, and then wince when the effort strains your muscles.

“I love you too.” He says, face resolute. Then he bends down, and places the gentlest of kisses on your lips. It’s feather light, almost teasing.

“Sokka!” You groan when he pulls back. “Give me a real kiss.” You demand, pouting.

Sokka laughs and shakes his head.

“Not until that lip is healed. Then you’ll find out how a real man kisses.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you.

“I don’t want to kiss a real man, I want to kiss you!” You exclaim.

Sokka puts his free hand on his chest.

“Hey! I’ll have you know I am a very real man.” He says, puffing out his chest.

The sounds of your laughter coalesces, and you both stare at each other with warm eyes. Here with Sokka, everything feels right again.

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed reading! Check out my other writing under my tag slythergirlimagines. I take requests for multiple fandoms and I also do Hogwarts House Sortings. Swing by my blog to check everything out, and don’t be afraid to request:) My asks/messages are always open. Also I am working on “Just Us and Some Hugging” Part 2, and my other requests so keep an eye out this week!

#slythergirlimagines #sokka x reader #sokka x y/n #atla fanfic #atla #sokka #avatar the last airbender #sokka fanfic #aang #katara #zuko #toph #fanfic request

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ironhusband · 4 years

Text

Five times Rhodey cried

Rhodey doesn’t cry much. Nearly never, in fact. It’s not like he’s emotionally stunned or anything like that, he just doesn’t show happiness or sadness or anger through crying. It’s not like he doesn’t feel or shows all those emotions. It’s just that he’s an Air-Force man, and he’s been building towards that his entire life. He’s professional and obedient, and he’s seen and been through worse. He couldn’t cry when he’s on tour, so why cry when Bambi dies? His family and Tony tell him he’s weird, but his fellow soldiers get it.

When he does cry, it’s only during big, life changing moments, when he knows his life will never be the same and he’s glad for it or mournful for it or both.

~~~

The first time Rhodey cried (”that he remembers,” Jeanette likes to tease him) was when he got his ROTC acceptance letter. His mama was the one to bring it to him, grinning from ear to ear while she handed him the letter.

When Rhodey touched the envelope, he was nervous. “It’s a small envelope,” he hesitated.

“So?” Jeanette encouraged him, “you’re the top of your class. The Air-Force will be stupid to reject you.”

“Maybe they just went for someone else,” Rhodey tried to excuse, “probably a lot of people applied and MIT is hard to get into, so-”

Jeanette grabbed the envelope right from his fingers, and Rhodey scrambled to get it back, “Jean, give it back!”

“You’re being ridiculous! You’re mourning something before you even know the answer! If you stopped struggling, and let me open the letter, you could mourn for real!”

“Kids,” their dad said, exasperated, “Jeanette, give Rhodey his letter back.”

Jeanette sighed, “only if he opens it.”

“I’m going to open it,” he tugged at the letter.

Jeanette handed it back. Rhodey sat down, grabbed the letter opener, and prayed under his breath-

“I got in,” he muttered, shocked, though suddenly he didn’t understand why, and then he was crying, “I got in!”

His family whooped and cheered and gave him a group hug and Rhodey could only laugh and cry, happy that the thing he’d been building towards his entire life was going to happen.

~~~

If you asked the public which of them cried during their first time, they’d probably say neither. Tony’s friends would probably not hesitate before knowingly saying “Tony.” Rhodey’s family and Jarvis will say “both” being painfully aware of the pining on both ends, and Rhodey’s army buddies will playfully rib him about crying during sex, but only Rhodey and Tony know the answer is just Rhodey, and Tony will never let him live it down.

In Rhodey’s defence, it’s before the sex, not during, and he tired was of the repression DADT forced him into and he it wasn’t his fault that his family and Tony’s affectionate touches made him unprepared for no one even hugging him for a month, and he became a little tocuhstarved when he got his first leave.

His first stop after he got his leave was Tony, because he was closer, and because Rhodey knew his family could likely survive without him for a few more days, but Tony was probably already dead.

It was more quiet than he expected it to be. The Air-Force changed Rhodey, and they both knew it. It took awhile before they found a topic which didn’t land them in awkward silence. They talked about Tony’s inventions, Tony’s trips across the globe, Rhodey’s new friends, the letters he got from Tony and his family. It was nice when he could see how excited Tony became as he rambled and it was nice that Tony laughed at the same jokes Rhodey’s friends made Rhodey laugh at. But it wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t carefree, and there was this tension between them, until Rhodey let it slip, “I missed you.”

Tony seemed surprised by this, hadn’t expected the admission. They both were more men of actions rather than words. But then Tony’s gaze turned soft, and he was getting closer to Rhodey. Rhodey noticed how Tony grew a few inches while Rhodey was gone, and it makes him sad that he didn’t get to see it. Tony got closer, and Rhodey was suddenly thinking of something else because Tony was really really close, and Rhodey truly did miss him.

“I missed you too,” Tony admitted, fingers softly touching Rhodey’s chin just a bit to angle him up, just a bit to drive Rhodey insane, just a bit so that their lips touched.

Kissing Tony differs from any other kiss Rhodey had. It’s slow and gentle, but still somehow... all consuming. Life changing. Purely amazing. Maybe Rhodey would look back at the kiss one day and realize that technique-wise, it was terrible, but in that moment, kissing Tony was everything.

He’d been pining for Tony ever since he first told him he was brilliant, and after enlisting, he found out that the saying about absence making the heart grow fonder was true, because he’d spent most of his time missing Tony. It felt so overwhelming, Tony’s fingers grazing his nape, his breath against Rhodey’s lips, Tony’s hip bone biting into his hip. It’s everything he missed, and everything he wanted, and it was so overwhelming, but so good.

When Tony pulled back, Rhodey was breathless and had tears in his eyes, and it wasn’t because the kiss was breathtaking or tear-bringing. Tony was.

Tony ruined the moment, of course.

“Aw, honeybear, are you crying?” Tony teased, “didn’t know I had that effect on you.”

Tony was still chuckling when Rhodey shoved him down, when Rhodey muttered, “yeah, yeah,” and kissed Tony again.

~~~

If Rhodey made a list of all the things most important to him, his family, his job and Tony would tie for first place. Well, sometimes depending on the week, if Rhodey was frustrated at Tony or DADT, those last two would be knocked down a few grades, but his family was always first place, no matter how annoying his baby sister was sometimes.

So of course he cried when he got a new addition to his family.

He was pacing in the waiting room, concerned and nervous, but mostly excited. He was happy, and he couldn’t sit still for it, no matter how many times Tony pulled him down to sit next to him.

When Lila’s wife finally called for him, he basically ran to the delivery room.

He found Jeanette there, seeming exhausted, but happy with the new-born baby girl in her arms. When she noticed him, she grinned, mentioning for Rhodey to come closer. “Jim, meet Lila,” she said, tilting the baby so Rhodey could look at her beautiful face.

“Can I...?” he asked and Jeanette nodded, handing Lila over to Rhodey carefully.

The weight in his arms and the way the baby’s face was squished against his face, felt right, felt nice. He already knew this would be one of his favorite things to do whenever he would babysit for his sister. “Hey, baby girl. I’m your uncle. I’m going to spoil you rotten.” Lila yawned and grabbed his finger, and suddenly tears overwhelmed his eyes, and he felt a sob coming.

“She’s a fast learner,” Tony pointed out (since when was he beside him?), and then he looked at Rhodey’s face, smiling fondly when he told Jeanette, “Rhodey’s about to cry his eyes out.”

Jeanette laughed, “oh my god.”

Then the dam broke, and suddenly Rhodey was weeping, sobs making his entire body shake.

“Maybe I should take Lila away,” Tony suggested, and Rhodey could only tearfully nod. To Jeanette’s surprise, once Lila’s was in Tony’s arms, Rhodey, instead of running out of the room to cry in private, hugged her tightly, whispering, “I’m gonna be the best babysitter, you’ll see, me and Tony, anytime you ask, I love Lila so much already, Jean, she’s gonna be such a smart, beautiful, amazing girl. I love her. I love you.”

Jeanette didn’t question it, only hugged him back, and whispered back, “love you too, big brother.”

~~~

Rhodey didn’t cry during the three months Tony was gone. Tony wasn’t dead, so there was no reason to, right? Right. He’d get him back home and everything’d be okay again. No reason to cry. He wasn’t going to cry. There were a lot of times he really wanted to cry.

It was only when Rhodey got Tony back home safely and Tony showed him the arc-reactor that suddenly Rhodey felt it all. Something about the scars around Tony’s chest, and the thought of an engineering marvel inside Tony’s chest, the idea that something so scary, so untrustworthy was keeping his love alive... Rhodey just felt it all. The exhaustion from looking for Tony, the weight of the rumors that could end his career, the frustration at the endless sea of lifeless sand, and that-

“I could have lost you,” he said, surprising both of them, and then he gathered Tony in his arms and let out a tiny sob, “I was so close to losing you.”

Tony hugged back, “shh, Rhodey, it’s okay. You didn’t lose me. I’m right here.”

“I almost lost you,” Rhodey said again, “I nearly believed I lost you. I could have lost you.” Rhodey sounded like a broken record at that point, but he didn’t care.

“Shhh, everything’s okay. You didn’t lose me. I’m right here. And from now on, we’re only riding together. You’ll never lose me again. Right?”

Rhodey only weakly nodded against Tony’s shoulder, trying not to think of Tony’s corpse on a operating table after a surgery gone wrong, but focusing on him being alive, and with him, right now.

~~~

It’s not something Rhodey advertises, but before Rhodey settled on the more realistic career of being in the Air-Force, Rhodey wanted to be a superhero. He admired Batman and Superman and Captain America and told his parents that when he was big he’d be rich like Batman and have a flying suit that had super strength like Superman and Captain America’s superpowers. The only evidence of that dream was in the Rhodes family picture album and Tony’s screen saver of him in a Captain America costume (no matter how much Rhodey begged Tony to change it).

So, it wasn’t an exaggeration to say that War Machine was a dream come true.

It first happened several weeks after Tony healed from Palladium poisoning. Rhodey took a break from his job and War Machine to just be with Tony, hold him a little too tight to remind him that Tony almost died but he isn’t gone, and make up for their fight. Then duty called, and Rhodey didn’t hesitate when he got in the War Machine armor.

“You look so good in it,” Tony sighed and leaned up to give him a kiss, “proud of you, honey. Go kick some ass.”

Rhodey smiled and almost shrieked in delight when he was flying again, almost having forgotten how good it felt (granted, the last time wasn’t so great, but now he had free will so it was better than ever).

When he got back, Tony was already dragging him to the living room, excitedly talking about the news, and how it was nice to keep track of Rhodey and then Rhodeyy saw the headline of the news. “Superhero War Machine resurfaces” it read.

“You’re famous now,” Tony teased, but then he took a double take at Rhodey’s face and asked, concerned, “Rhodeybear, are you alright? Does this trigger the fight for you, or something?”

Rhodey, mostly not hearing him, could only say, “I’m a superhero.”

Tony smiled, “course you are, babe. I was only joking about the sidekick thing.”

Rhodey’s grin grew, “I’m a superhero!”

“Yeah, I kno-” but then Rhodey was throwing Tony in the air and laughing happily and Tony was too stunned to finish his quip.

“I’m a superhero!” he felt like shouting that from rooftops.

“Hon, I thought you knew,” Tony shook his head, still winded even after Rhodey put him down, “why is this such a big deal?”

“It’s a huge deal, Tony!” he said, cupping Tony’s face, his eyes brimming with tears ready to be shed, blurry vision on his husband, “I’ve got everything I ever wanted.”

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orsuliya · 4 years

Text

Alright! Time for part 3 of married!Awu/XQ headcanons. This time? It’s all about the children!

There is nothing unplanned about Awu’s second pregnancy. The subject of children comes up again not long after Awu reunites with Xiao Qi after the so-called death of the latter. Their days in Ningshuo may be filled with the hustle and bustle of preparing for the upcoming march on the capital, but evenings and nights? Those are for holding each other close in search of comfort and reassurance. If not for that, Awu would scarcely have the strength to let Xiao Qi out of her eyesight during those first days and weeks.

During one of those quiet Ningshuo evenings Awu finally breaks. She has had to be strong for so long, all the while half-believing she would never be allowed the luxury of being weak in her husband’s arms again, that even now it takes time for her to let go and simply cry. When tears finally do come out, so do all of Awu’s past fears, leaving her one by one in an unstoppable torrent. Fear for those reliant on her, for the orphaned country and for her own fate; all of those are carefully listened to and soothed with words, silent affection and sense of complete togetherness.

One of those fears? Had you died, had you truly left me alone, what would I have of you for all the years to come? she asks, her voice muffled, her face pressed into her husband’s neck. There is a good reason why she was prepared to die after exacting her revenge. Far too many sleepless nights in Hulan had been spent imagining the long, dreary years of her widowhood. Ten, twenty, thirty years of loneliness, seeing her nephews and nieces being born and then growing up, with nothing, not even her husband’s sword to put in that bloody chapel; would that have been her fate?

She hits him – not too hard, but hard enough for it to be more than a playful tap – when he says that, in time, she would remarry and find happiness again. Would you?! she demands angrily, then softens, once she reads the answer in his eyes. A man should take responsibility from the beginning to the end. Not even a bloody sword to be mounted on the family altar, she laughs tiredly. You owe me, my Prince Yuzhang, you owe me and I shall be your most merciless creditor. Give me a child with your smile, one with your hands and eyes, she demands, pressing insistent kisses to that smile, to those hands and eyes, and then and only then will I consider myself satisfied.

He would, you know, he would have given her a dozen children if that were only possible, but surely she must know that it is not, it can never be in this lifetime. Awu can have anything else for the payment of his debt; he knows he owes her and will give her all that she may wish for that she does not already own. She wants children? Fine, she may have all the orphans in Ningshuo for the raising, if that will bring her joy. But he doesn’t, can never regret putting her health above all else and would give her five more miracle flowers if he had to…

Yes, Awu finally shuts her husband up, unable to take any more of this lethal sincerity. How? Well, the exact method I shall leave to your imagination, but the gist of it is as follows: Xiao Qi is not getting off that easily. They can and will have that child. How? Well, Awu might have plotted with Doctor Shen towards that goal and it will work this time. Maybe not now, maybe it will take another few months or years of fiery needles, but it’s not like they are in hurry. There is no way Awu will agree to have a child in the middle of a civil war, so her husband should really get on with restoring peace in all Cheng. Not right now! In the morning should be soon enough.

____________________________________

It does take some time, first to restore peace and then for Awu to actually get pregnant. In the meantime, she does take all the orphans in Ningshuo as an advance on that debt, not to mention their first son and daughter, Xiaohe and Qinzhi.

Doctor Shen, who – struck with a sudden premonition – had moved to Ningshuo among much grumbling and trembling over the contents of his priceless apothecary, is rewarded with the dubious honour of playing witness to Xiao Qi’s complete meltdown. The first thing our brave general does upon hearing of his wife’s pregnancy is to hug her and refuse to let go for a good while, not that she protests. The second thing? He panics like he’s never panicked before. Doctor Shen comes upon his noble patron, well, not hyperventilating, we’re talking about Xiao Qi here, remember. But certainly in throes of a good old anxiety attack. It’s… an experience for the good doctor, that’s for sure.

Thankfully Doctor Shen manages to talk Xiao Qi out of his wildest ideas. Like, for example, shutting Awu in her rooms in the middle of Ningshuo Fortress and standing guard over her until the baby is born. Yeah, that was not Xiao Qi’s proudest moment. Doctor Shen promises not to tell anyone of this sudden bout of unreasonable behaviour and keeps his word… for about three days, when he gladly throws Xiao Qi under the bus in order to ensure Awu’s full compliance with his own, medically justified safety measures.

Mind you, even Doctor Shen cannot work miracles, which he comes to bitterly regret in those next few months. Panicked Xiao Qi and worried Turnip Wang make for a truly hellish duo and Ningshuo soon experiences a steady trickle of accomplished doctors from the capital. Some of them have clearly been dragged out of their comfortable practices under duress, for others it’s quite an adventure. The latter soon find themselves put to work; no use in simply standing around and deliberating over a stunningly healthy woman when there are actual patients in need to be seen to!

____________________________________

Awu considers Xiao Qi’s debt fully repaid the moment she sees her son smile for the first time. Xiao Qi, an overachiever that he is, doesn’t quite agree… and a few years later they try for another child; this time it’s a daughter. One - as Xiao Qi likes to brag - as beautiful as her mother and isn’t it lucky that he has an army fit to guard the greatest treasures in all Cheng? Awu thinks that it would serve him right should Treasure the Younger marry an officer of that very army in the future. She doesn’t, by the way, but that is an entirely different story.

The children are named Yunshuo and Yunning, which is a reason of much good-natured teasing. Even among the children themselves. Yunning, once she grows to an age when she starts to assert her dominance, insists that really, her brother should listen to her in all things. He may be older in years, that much is true, but Ning always comes before Shuo, everybody knows that!

Jinruo’s words come true after all: Xiao Yunning is Awu’s tiny copy, only, according to Awu herself, twice as bossy and confident. Xiao Qi never questions this claim, at least not out loud, but Uncle Asu has no such qualms and immediately provides a good half-dozen stories to that effect. Now, Yunning has every chance to grow up spoiled with a mother who applauds her strong character, a father who might seem strict, yet folds like wet paper at the first sight of a trembling lip and a whole bunch of playmates only too easily coaxed into following her commands. And she very well might have... if not for one Hu Yao (who is alive and you won’t convince me otherwise, ha!). The younger Hu, a true Ningshuo legend, enjoys great authority among recruits and veterans both; she proves a match for a head-strong girl like Yunning, although only barely. No, Hu Yao’s pupil doesn’t become a general in her own right, choosing another path instead… but she keeps up with her training in the years to come.

Xiao Yunshuo, affectionately called Xiao Xiao, is no warrior in the making, being of a rather gentle disposition, something that he never grows out of, for all that this gentle disposition later turns out to hide a character of pure steel. Oh, make no mistake, Yunshuo is perfectly competent with weapons and on horseback, but it is not something that comes naturally to him, nor does he find much joy in fighting. This becomes blatantly obvious once he starts advanced training. Every child under Awu’s care is taught enough to be able to defend themselves or know when to run away, but nobody is forced to persist with military training, should they not wish to. Yunshuo persists all the same, making continuous progress. It’s only natural that he does: he’s rather frighteningly smart, that boy, and he works hard.

A bit too hard, as it turns out. Xiao Qi becomes suspicious of his son’s behaviour and makes sure to ‘accidentally’ come upon one of Yunshuo’s solitary and completely unsanctioned training sessions. Why, he asks and becomes rather angry once the truth starts coming out. No, not with Yunshuo. With himself, for not preventing this whole issue from existing in the first place. See, Yunshuo thinks it shameful that he, the firstborn and only son of Prince Yuzhang, the greatest general and warrior Cheng has had for generations, will never be able to become a worthy successor to his famous father. No, nobody has said anything, but Yunshuo is not stupid, he knows what he is and is not capable of!

Xiao Qi takes a minute to consider his next words carefully. In the end, he tells the truth: when he was a bit older that Yunshuo is now, he had no valuable skills, no education, no family and no real hope for the future. Signing up for an army was pretty much the easiest choice to make for somebody who didn’t really have all that much to live for. Killing people? Is not that difficult. All it takes is a good sharpened sword and some basic training. Learning to protect people, well, that was a bit harder; took Xiao Qi some years and a lot grief and pain to master that. Everything else – building a true home, making peace for yourself and everybody else, and creating a lasting, better future? That’s Awu’s forte and her work. There is no shame in having different skills, explains Xiao Qi. Find what you do best and make sure that it is of use to somebody. That’s it. Whatever Yunshuo’s skills, as long as at the end of the day he is be ready to use them to protect what is dear to him, he will be a warrior in his father’s eyes.

Xiao Yunshuo takes his father’s words to heart and, when the time comes, relays them to his own children. He never becomes a one man army, for all that he takes care not to let his skill with weapons go to rust. He does, however, become a great lord and statesman, and a startlingly brilliant strategist to boot; his advice is greatly appreciated by his older brother, the brave General Xiao Xiaohe… as well as by his brother-in-law, the Emperor of Cheng himself.

In Ningshuo, despite all his merits and great dignity, Xiao Yunshuo stays Xiao Xiao long, long after becoming a father himself.

____________________________________

Xiao Yunning is widely held by the ministers of Cheng to be the cause for at least a quarter of their grey hair. And all because of one rather tiny, if rather infamous deed. Okay, maybe not that tiny… But it is not Yunning’s fault that Xiao Qi had made such an impression on a bunch of delicate noblemen over twenty years earlier!

Once His Imperial Majesty, one Ma Jing, successfully negotiates puberty, it becomes a matter of national importance to supply him with a wife of appropriate station, character, beauty and fertility, the first and the last being the most important, of course. The true war over who will become the Empress of Cheng does not start until His Imperial Majesty becomes a fully-grown man; that is not until the Prime Minister’s eldest daughter comes of age. Having another Wang Empress is seen as inevitable by many; others are rather eager to see the streak of Wang Empresses die a final death. The idea of courting a foreign princess gets briefly thrown around and then soundly rejected. It’s a pity that all of His Majesty’s marriageable cousins with even a drop of Ma blood have the same family name, says somebody who sounds suspiciously like a true Classist Wei. For a moment there is complete silence as the thoughts of everyone present turn to the one cousin who is neither a Ma or a Wang.

See, Xiao Qi and Awu could easily make their daughter an Empress… if they thought that it would make her happy. They have nothing against Jing’er, why, he’s a beloved nephew to them both and they have taken a good measure of his character during the time he spent in Ningshuo, which amounts to a good couple of years. If they were to be honest, Yunning could use a husband this good-natured and conciliatory, and Jing’er would do well with an Empress of Yunning’s strength of character. There is also the matter of a rather touching childhood crush… but since Yunning herself has nothing but derogatory words for this whole imperial marriage mart mess, there is nothing to be done. Nothing to be done at all, as Xiao Qi quite readily assures his brother-in-law, adding that being an Empress is not an easy fate and one that he would not wish on anybody. Asu, long-used to not truly understanding Xiao Qi’s ambitions or rather the lack thereof, takes this assurance on its merits and goes back to planning his own daughter’s imperial wedding.

Rather surprisingly it’s Jing’er who becomes the greatest obstacle to Asu’s dynastic plans. Somehow he never really says no… but no mercenary father can ever pin him long enough to force him to say yes to any of the myriad of candidates. This stand-off lasts for some time, to Xiao Qi’s quiet amusement and Turnip’s frustration. Awu, on the other hand, becomes rather pensive, although she refuses to share her suspicions with anybody. It’s not like she has any proof…

...until her daughter provides her with all the proof she could have ever wished for.

The day another group of potential candidates is to be presented at court, Xiao Yunning pulls a Xiao Qi, causing many a minister to relieve their old trauma. Yes, she marches into the throne room accompanied by six of her companions, most of which do rather poorly at concealing weapons under their dresses. Yes, she climbs the stairs without as much as a by-your-leave. Yes, she does all of that while wearing clothing in a colour appropriate for the occasion. In this case? Wedding red. The main difference is that Ma Jing is a much wiser Emperor than Ma Zitan and grants Yunning’s petition immediately and with good grace.

The reason why Yunning did what she did, leaving Jing’er with no choice but to accept her suit? Well, that childhood crush might have been rather more than a crush. Really, Yunning would have had it in the bag the day of her coming-of-age ceremony, were His Imperial Majesty not such a noble bore. I cannot condemn you to carry this burden with me before you really know what you want, he said, every word disgustingly noble and self-sacrificial. You are not somebody who can be caged, so go and spread your wings and I shall wait for you for as long as it takes, he offered in a rather suspiciously bland tone of voice. Really, one could almost believe that Jing’er actually bought into that silly rumour that Xiao Qi requires every prospective son-in-law to fight him with live steel. Which, by the way, is not true. He only ever fought two rather persistent young lordlings who couldn’t understand that Qinzhi’s no means no.

Everything ends rather well for all interested parties, although Turnip keeps grumbling about having an unfairly deceitful brother-in-law. Awu quickly shuts him down, if only to get in her own portion of shameless teasing. See, if Xiao Qi wanted to avoid such situations, then he should have given his children a better example. This quickly devolves into a round of Yuzhang-style teasing, which prompts a stark realization from Xiao Yunning. She might be the Empress-to-be now, but even being thrice an Empress would still give her no power to stop her parents from being a pair of embarrassing old people in love. Jing’er, ever the conciliator, shows his diplomatic skill by proposing that she might have her revenge… by being one half of a pair of embarrassing young people in love.

The Wang Princess of that generation, a rather lovely and wise young woman by the name of Wang Xu, is not all that sad about losing a chance at the throne. Why, her tastes were always rather specific and in general ran more to generals than delicate young nobles. Now, this Xiao Xiaohe looks like an interesting specimen and certainly worthy of taking a closer look, should one be in-market for a pet general of one’s own...

#Awu and XQ headcanon time #I am losing the plot and all my dignity to boot #who cares not me #I have some very naughty headcanons about big hands and pregnant bellies #but that is best left to an adult-only edition #I am always open to inspiring asks wink-wink #which may come one day who knows #monarch industry #the rebel princess

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