#and i wish we got more/stronger Buck/cap moments too | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wkemeup · 4 years

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Sunrise (6)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 6.7k warnings: PTSD, flashbacks/panic attack, a hint into our girl’s past, the sweetest fluff, another book rec 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

“So, you really melted ice man's heart, huh?”

You pouted, throwing Sam a warning glare as you turned back to the stack of books on the cart.

It had only been a few days since the night on the park bench and you had seen Bucky nearly every evening since. Most of the time you’d find him waiting by the chairs at the entrance to the library for you to get off shift, hair tucked under a baseball cap and hand brushing down at the thigh of his jeans, like maybe he was nervous enough to find the evidence in his palms. He’d brighten up as you spotted him, a lightness coming over his features. You’d lead him down the residential side streets, through canopied trees and flowerbeds along the sidewalk, to spend a few hours at Luciana’s sipping decaf and nibbling through pastries.

The crowds didn’t bother him as much lately it seemed, or maybe he was getting used to the hustle of rush hour after spending so much time avoiding it. Part of you wondered whether your hand slipping into his and the constant pressure of a slight squeeze had anything to do with it. You wondered if it grounded him like an anchor when his body was eager to float off into space.

He was so impossibly sweet with you; hesitant, like Mrs. Jefferson had said the first day he wandered into the library, but still, there was a lingering charm in it. It sat in the way he looked at you, like he was trying to memorize the lines on your faces, in the way he listened to your long rambles on the latest book you were assigning him, how he had no interest in cutting you off, like maybe he could have listened to you talk for an eternity if you’d let him.

Bucky Barnes was a little rough on his edges, with some fraying seams and broken pieces, but he was still whole – still complete and wonderful and beautiful. He was soft in his undertones, glimpses of a subtle charm and confidence slipping through the cracks in the small moments when he let his guard down. You didn’t know the Bucky before the war that Sam and Steve spoke so fondly of, but you knew the man he was now and well, this Bucky was everything.

“He seems like he’s doing better,” Sam said, a little softer this time as he leaned his back to the book shelf. His arms folded over his chest, a smile resembling a sort of pride pushing up at his cheeks. “Took me months to convince him to leave the apartment long enough to check out the VA and you’ve got him down here visiting you almost every day. He’s walking through rush hour just to see you, Y/n. That’s huge for him! Hell, his face might break from how much he’s been smiling lately...”

You laughed, hushing Sam as an elderly woman shot a pointed stare in his direction. Sam held his arms up in defense.

“He seems happy, Y/n,” Sam finished as you set another book onto the shelf. “Do you get what I’m saying?”

“I get you’re implying that it’s my doing,” you said unconvinced, “but he’s stronger than you give him credit for, Sam. He would have come around on his own. He just needed time. All of you did when you got back. Clearly some more than others. But Bucky... he suffered an immeasurable loss over there. Imagine what that must be like for him to have to readjust to his own body. Of course, he needed time.”

Sam was still smiling at you, nodding along, like maybe you were only proving his point. You believed so strongly in Bucky that it didn’t even cross your mind that maybe it was because of you that he’d started to find himself again. You hadn’t known Bucky when he was holed up in his apartment, shielding himself from the light and drowning in his own anguish. It broke your heart to imagine him sitting alone in a dark, messy apartment, staring at the walls and wishing he were someone else.

You couldn’t imagine him like that because the man you knew was sweet beyond measure and he made your stomach twist into knots from a simple look across the room. It didn’t seem possible that the light could be drained from the blue of his eyes.

“I’m not trying to fix him, Sam,” you mumbled under your breath, keeping your eyes trained on the task at hand. “He doesn’t need fixing. I just... I like him and... I like spending time with him. If that means he’s doing better, if he’s starting to look more like the guy you knew, then... that’s good.”

Sam paused, pursing his lips as he studied your face for the subtle reflexes upon your features. You weren’t sure what he was looking for or maybe it was that he was debating whether to argue with you further on the subject, but eventually he resided to concede, letting out a heavy exhale.

“Just... thank you,” Sam said, relief etched into his voice. “It’s nice having my friend back.”

You looked up at him, a little stunned. “Sam, I haven’t done anything. We haven’t even...um... We aren’t...”

He smiled at you, something genuine, something softer than the cheesy grins you were used to from him. It was a glimpse into who Sam was behind the jokes and the comedic breaks in tension; a man who cared so deeply for the people in his life that he’d cross mountains to see them smile again. He’d come to your aid without so much as a second thought when you’d needed him most, when your world was thrown completely upside down, and here he was again, putting everything he had into making his friend feel whole again.

Sam put a hand on your shoulder and squeezed. “You’ve done more than you realize.”

You stared at him for a moment, a little lost for words. Could just a few extra days spent wandering around the library, sitting across a café table nursing coffee and scones, and curling up on a park bench have that kind of impact? If you let yourself stop to realize how much brighter your days felt when Bucky was in them, maybe you’d understand what Sam meant.

“Besides,” Sam shrugged as his smile drifted, “it’s nice to see you happy again, too. Moving on.”

You swallowed and it tasted of bile. The book nearly slipped from your hand.

Sam chewed on the edge of his lip, a hand swiping over the top of his head. “I know it’s been a few years since we lost—”

“Please— don’t,” you choked out.

Sam bowed his head, nodding, and you could already feel the swell in your throat. You exhaled a tense breath that struggled to push past your lungs and forced yourself to continue restocking the books, concentrating on the alphabetizing and weathered feel of the covers.

“It’s still hard for me to talk about him, too,” Sam admitted, leaning against the shelf. He shoved his hands into his pockets, a frown pushing on his lips that felt so incredibly unnatural to the man you knew. “But the pain of it doesn’t hurt as much when we have reasons to get up in the morning. Reasons to smile, still. Good things to look forward to.”

You nodded, willing yourself not to cry. It had been so long since you let yourself drift into the memory of the man you’d lost, the name behind the membership card of the loved ones left behind to war heavy in your pocket.

“All I’m saying is Bucky’s good for you too, kid,” Sam smiled softly nudging you in the shoulder and tickling your sides until a laugh escaped. You clamped a hand down over your mouth as the two of you earned another pointed stare from the elderly woman lurking in the romance section. Sam raised his hands in defense.

You wiped at your eyes, cheeks burning from grinning. “I could have told you that, you know.”

“Speak of the devil.” Sam nodded over to the top of the staircase where a man emerged, holding onto the banister; a mop of long brown hair swayed down into his face, a dark green army jacket hung over his shoulders with a sleeve draped down at his left side untouched.

Whatever remained of the lump burning in your throat dissipated, the weight in your pocket feeling a little lighter. A smile grew so wide on your checks you’d nearly forgotten the frown that had ached in the very same muscles just moments earlier.

“Bucky! What are you doing here?” you laughed as he approached, a little surprised to see him. You nearly wrapped your arms around him before you stopped yourself. You’d only gone as far to hold his hand and you weren’t even sure he’d be comfortable with it given Sam was standing directly on your left.

“Hey,” he replied nervously, pushing a hand through his hair. It looked noticeably softer, a bit of a shine to it, and you wondered if he’d started to care for it again. It was the first time you’d seen him without the baseball cap on. He exchanged a look with Sam before turning back to you. “You said that it got pretty slow on Thursdays and I just wanted to offer you some company but... seems like that’s already covered.”

“Sam can leave!”

Sam pouted dramatically at you as Bucky started to laugh under his breath. It wrinkled up into his eyes and you saw for a moment what Sam had meant; a brightness had returned to the shimmering shades of the open blue skies in his eyes in favor of the muted and darkened ocean waves you’d seen that first day in the VA.

“That hurts, you know,” Sam whined, hand clutching at the fabric on his chest as if he could reach inside and touch his own heart. “We were friends long before this one wandered on scene.”

“Bye Sam,” you sang, waving him off with a nudging on his back. Hands pressed into his shoulder blades, Sam dug his heels into the multicolored carpet under his feet to keep you from pushing him along. You started to laugh loud enough for the woman who scolded Sam earlier to turn in your direction with a scowl upon her face.

“Alright, alright,” Sam groaned. He stood up straight, brushing you off. “Have fun, kids. Buck, I’ll see you Thursday for the game, right?”

Bucky nodded; hand tucked into his pocket. “Steve’s on nacho duty and we both know he’ll bring enough for twenty people, so you better.”

Sam grinned, pumping his fist in the air. “Exactly what I want to hear.”

“Weren’t you leaving...?” you teased, arms folded over your chest. Sam stuck out his tongue at you and quickly disappeared down the steps. You could hear the rhythmic bounce of his footsteps all the way to the bottom floor. You turned back to Bucky. “So, Thursday night football, huh?”

“Steve started it,” Bucky chuckled, a nervous hand raking through his hair. “They’ve been trying to rope me into game nights since baseball season started. Never had the interest before, I guess.”

That was what Sam was talking about; the small changes in his friend, little pieces of hope embedded into each day, small allowances of motivation and joy. He was finding it again.

“And now?” you inquired and Bucky shrugged.

“Sounds like it could be nice. Haven’t watched a game with them like that since before—” He swallowed, eyes darting down. It took a minute, a short breath in and a tense exhale before he cleared his throat and pushed out a smile. “Anyway, how are you? I didn't mean to interrupt if you were hanging out with Wilson, honest.”

“Oh, don’t worry about Sam. He likes the attention too much.” You laughed, stepping a little closer.

Glancing down at his hand as he held it down by his side – not tucked into his pocket, not curled up in a fist – and you dared to reach for it. You felt the slight twinge of surprise as he jolted under the touch, but relaxed almost instantly as you intertwined your fingers.

“I’m better now that you’re here,” you said simply, running your free hand soothingly along his arm. It wasn’t unfamiliar contact but it was still new. You could tell it still felt like the first time for him any time you touched him, like he was trying to retrain his body on how to accept touch like this; something gentle and affectionate. You put as much compassion and warmth into each embrace as you could, hoping it might help alleviate some of that anxiety.

He smiled at you, squeezing your hand in return. “Was kinda hoping you’d say that.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded, a smile growing on his face as he watched your right hand slide along his arm, running over the bumps in his jacket and feeling for the muscle underneath. If it bothered him, he gave no indication. Instead, he squeezed your hand again, readjusting his fingers, rubbing his thumb sweetly along the back of your hand.

“Come on,” you nodded, gesturing to the book shelf behind you. “I’ve got more books to put away and I could use some of that company you promised.”

***

Three hours later and Bucky was sitting on one of the beanbags in the Children’s Corner, reading the latest book on a seemingly never-ending list you’d assigned for him: The Silver Linings Playbook by Mathew Quick – the story of a man determined to find the good in the bad as he navigates an evenly matched chaotic love interest, the approval of a strict, suburban Philadelphian family, and an undying loyalty to Eagles’ football.

After Bucky had helped place a few of the novels on the tallest shelves, you insisted you weren’t intent to put him to work and pushed him onto the beanbag chair. Most of the time he pretended to read while he watched you weave around the aisles. Always bright when patrons approached and sneaking a few lines of narrative from each book as you placed it on the shelf, as if you could capture a glimpse of each story and hold it for later.

You were never more than a few aisles away and he caught you peering over at him every so often, just checking to make sure he was still there. He winked at you as you caught his eye and a laugh would escape passed your lips despite your effort to hide it before you disappeared back to your task.

He was nearly halfway through the book, using the same clip you’d given him the first day of book club, when he heard the small voice of a child clear their throat.

A girl, no older than eight, stood behind you as you stocked one of the children’s shelves. She tapped on your spine and backed up a few paces, holding her hands tightly in front of her.

Bucky couldn’t quite make out what she was saying, but you knelt down to her level – the same as you’d done for the boy in the café – and nodded intently to what she was saying. Then, after scratching at your head, scrunching up your face in thought, you brought the girl over to a different aisle and pulled out a book for her.

She glanced over the cover for only a few seconds before she tugged the book tight to her chest and squealed. She thanked you quickly with an enthusiastic wave before she rushed off to a couple standing by the elevator. She wrapped her arms around her father’s legs, excitedly showing her mother the book you’d selected for her.

But Bucky couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from you. You stood from your place in the aisle as you watched the interaction between the girl and her parents; how the father patted her on the head and ruffled up her hair, much to the child’s infectious delight, how the mother picked up the book and raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

Your hands were crossed over your heart, a smile brimming bright on your face. Bucky couldn’t imagine how anyone had come to be as genuine and warm as you were; filled with an unending compassion for others beyond anything he’d ever seen before and a love in the simplicity of kindness. When you looked back over at him, he could hardly catch his breath.

“Hey,” you called sweetly, skipping up to him. The sleeves of a golden yellow sweater hung past your fingertips and you curled the excess fabric into your palms. “My shift’s over in a few minutes.”

Bucky blinked a few times, pulling himself from his stare before he glanced over at the clocking hanging high above the books. “Wow. That went fast.”

You nodded, swaying on your heels.

“Luciana’s?” you asked as you bit down on your lip, that nervous kind of look about you like you might actually believe he’d ever turn down more time with you.

Bucky exhaled a breath of relief, closing the book in his lap. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Come on,” you grinned, extending your hand to him.

You took the book first, placing it into the small bag draped over your shoulder, and slipped your hand into his. Bucky let you tug him up to his feet, though he didn’t need the help despite the sinking feeling of the bean bag chair numbing his legs. He liked the feeling of your hand wrapped tightly in his own and he liked it even more so when you didn’t let go.

“Heading out, dear?” Mrs. Jefferson called by the front desk as you passed by. She ran her eyes over Bucky, that signature smirk present upon her lips, though you didn’t seem to notice. She winked at him and he felt the tips of his ears burn red.

“Yes, ma’am! I’ll see you tomorrow,” you replied, waving her off as you pulled Bucky to the doors.

It was warmer outside than he was expecting, with children running down the sidewalk and tourists in matching t-shirts chasing on their heels. They carried pinwheels in their hands and bags of popcorn as if they’d been by a carnival – which seemed odd in the middle of Brooklyn. Another family across the street pushed a small child in a stroller with paint on her face in the shape of rainbows and a bag of cotton candy curled up tight in her hand.

Bucky narrowed his eyes, confused.

“I love this time of year,” you sighed, leaning your head to his shoulder as you walked. “Look at the sky. It’s beautiful.”

The sun was beginning its decent beyond the horizon, the dark cast of a night sky peering over the light blues as they faded into reds and oranges and a distant glimpse of purple. The stars had begun to peak through the clouds.

“Forgot how dark it can get,” Bucky said as you guided him back to the residential streets.

You shrugged. “Earlier sunset though. Makes for a nicer walk after my shift.”

Bucky smiled at that. You always managed to find the silver lings in every cloud, no matter how dark or grey or filled with rain – you found the good. He wondered for a moment, if you could manage to do the same in him, too.

“It was nice of you to come by today,” you said. You nudged his hip as you adjusted your hold on his hand with a gentle squeeze. When he looked down at you, you were smiling at him.

“Just like spending time with you.” Bucky shrugged, trying to play it off casually, though his heart was racing. You nodded slowly, the smile growing even wider on your face, though you didn’t say anything.

The sidewalks were empty on this part of the walk and while a silence had taken over between you, it was comfortable, like the wrap of a warm blanket. Your hand still tucked into his, a gentle squeeze now and then to remind him you were there, a soft humming under your breath. There was a sense of peace in it, a safety he hadn’t known in a very long time.

The quiet had been his enemy for so long. He’d done everything he could to avoid it; favoring instead the white noise of a broken satellite channel, the clanging of the radiator he’d never fixed, the static of an empty radio station. The quiet allowed too many memories to come through, memories he would have rather left behind when he boarded that plane for the last time. The quiet mocked him and pushed him so far inside himself, he was underwater.

But now—now there was a kindness in it. The quiet granted him the moments to listen for the gentle rise of your breaths and the hum in your voice. It allowed him a chance to focus on the click of your boots to the sidewalk and the way you said his name like he was something to behold. The silence gave him you.

And it was ripped away in an instant.

He felt the vibration of it, felt the rumble in his chest and the skip in his heart, before he ever heard the thunderous echo of the explosion.

No time to react, Bucky shoved you to the ground, throwing his body on top of yours, his arm casting up to shield your face. He couldn’t feel the heat of the fire, but he knew it must be close.

“Bucky!” you called, frantic, but your voice sounded too far away. His ears were ringing, his heart pounding so loudly he wondered if it could jump straight out from his chest, if it would spill broken and bloody onto your sweater below.

You called his name again, trying to grab his attention, but it was muffled, like you were calling to him from beneath an ocean.

He dared a glance back over his shoulder, searching for enemy soldiers, IEDs, tanks, trunks, anything, but he was only met with empty streets, autumn-colored leaves, and brick buildings when he was sure all he would find was dirt and desert.

Something was wrong.

“Bucky, you’re alright. You’re safe. Focus on my voice,” you called to him again and he felt the touch of something cold on his face. Your hands. Cupping at his cheeks, your thumbs brushing gently over the rush of heat on his skin. He stared down at you, breathing heavy, but you were steady, calm. “Bucky, breathe for me. Come on.”

You took in a deep breath, urging him to follow.

But no—he didn’t have time. He had to get you to safety. He had to get you out of the line of fire before—

Another explosion.

He flinched as it erupted, wrapping himself tighter around you, caging you down against the sidewalk in an effort to take the brunt of debris though he felt nothing on his back. You groaned underneath him, a slight pain in your voice.

“Bucky, honey.” Your voice was miles away. He could only hear the last remaining remnants of an echo at the end of a tunnel. Your hands pressed against his face again, urging him to look at you. Your eyes were wide as you searched his, full of concern and maybe even sadness, but no fear. Why was there no fear?

“Look up for me,” you told him gently, gesturing to the sky. “You’re safe, Bucky. It’s only fireworks. Look.”

Bucky kept his focus on you. His vision was blurry, a painful ringing piercing in his ears. When you looked up at the sky, tenderly tilting his head to follow, he saw the trail of illuminated sparks against the backdrop of the setting sun as it raced into the sky.

Then – the explosion.

He still recoiled at the sound as it erupted into his chest, but he kept his eyes focused on the stream of red and gold as it fluttered against the backdrop of deep navies and the peppered brush strokes of fading purples along the horizon, the smoke disappearing in ghosted shadows against the clouds. His lips parted in shock, his breaths coming in a little quicker.

“No, I... I thought... I was so sure it...” He couldn’t finish a sentence, his mind racing faster than he could speak. He shook his head, staring up at the outlines of the firework long after it faded, the wind carrying it away. It felt so real.

“Let’s get out of the street, okay?” you soothed, drawing your fingers down his cheeks, smiling encouragingly at him. He nodded, feeling a bit out of it, like maybe he was in some sort of trance.

But then, it happened again.

The firework exploded high into the air and Bucky pressed his face to the crook of your neck, drawing you in as close as he could manage. He was shaking as you ran your hand along his spine.

“It’s okay, honey. I’ve got you.” Your voice was the only thing keeping him from disappearing inside himself entirely. He focused on the imprint of your hand on his back, the feel of your fingertips as you traced the lines on his face. He concentrated on the heat in your breath as it touched his cheeks and the pressed of your body under his.

“I live close by,” you told him, gesturing to a street off the corner. “Let’s go now, alright? Before the next one goes off.”

Bucky nodded quickly, too lost within his own head to feel the rush of embarrassment seeping into his features. His felt nauseous, his arm shaking, his legs weak and numb as he slowly backed off of you.

As you began to stand, he noticed the tiny rocks embedded into your clothing when they fell down to the sidewalk, bouncing against the concrete by your feet. There were scrapes on your elbows and a tear in your sweater.

“Come on,” you called to him, extending your hand, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the patch of red on your skin.

But then he spotted another stream of light flying high into the sky and he reached for your hand, gripping it tight before the firework went off. Even prepared, it made him stumble on his feet as it echoed down into the empty streets.

“Focus on this, alright? Focus on what you can feel,” you said, squeezing his hand tight in your own. You picked up the pace as you guided him a few blocks away from Luciana’s, further into the residential streets.

If Bucky had been in his right state of mind, he would have thought it was rather pretty; the way the sunset cast a stunning illuminated glow onto the faded brick and the pots of flowers hanging from the windowsills. The fireworks lighting up the darkest parts of the sky in effervescent colors.

You were beautiful as you tugged him along – hair a little misplaced, leaves trapped in the fabric of your sweater, cautious looks back in his direction as you pulled him by his hand. So beautiful, it kept his focus as another firework went off and he felt the hardened pressure of your grip.

“Go on inside,” you instructed, and Bucky realized he was standing at the door to an apartment – your apartment. He didn’t even realize he’d walked up a flight of stairs and crossed inside a building.

You were staring at him when he looked at you again and it was only then he saw an ounce of fear in your eyes. You squeezed his hand. “Come on now, honey. Please?”

Bucky swallowed, nodding as he stepped inside. He tried to look around, wanted to know the sort of things you kept around your apartment; if it was littered in as many books as you carried in your bag or if it had the warm tones of the colors you wore in your clothing decorated around your living room. He wanted to look at old pictures on the wall and the stand of DVDs you held onto, even without a workable DVD player, as they piled by the television. He wanted to know so much more about you.

Even in the distance, through the walls and the locked windows, he heard the firework erupt into the sky, the flash of it echoing into your apartment and lighting up the living room, and his whole body winced.

“Couch,” you told him, quickly kicking your shoes to the mat and shrugging off your jacket. You grabbed a book from your bag and tossed it onto the coffee table. When Bucky didn’t so much as move, you took careful steps closer to him and stilled.

“Do you know where you are?” you asked cautiously, almost instinctively, like maybe you’d done that before.

Bucky swallowed, though it tasted of bile. He nodded.

You bent down to untie his boots. He stepped out when you asked him to, the slight chill of your fingertips against his ankles as you removed the shoes. Then, you grabbed his hand and led him to the couch.

You laid down with your back pressed against the arm rest, one leg draped down along the back cushions, the other hung over the side. You gestured for him to follow, patting at the space of the couch between your legs.

“I...” Bucky started, finding the words lost on his tongue. He knew it would help. The pressure, the feel of you to ground him back to reality, to keep his mind from the memories swarming back to the surface, but all he could feel was the emptiness on his left, the shame of a missing piece and he couldn’t stand for you to feel it, too.

“Bucky, please,” you urged. “Let me help you.”

The echo of another firework broke into the sky, the light illuminating your apartment, and despite Bucky’s best efforts, his body flinched.

He clenched his jaw, desperately trying to keep himself in the present moment, to focus on you and the distant scent of a pine candle on the coffee table, but all he could see was a rush of wind, sand in his eyes from the storm, the laughter of a kid far too young to be carrying a weapon of that size, the low hum of a jeep, a reflection over a hillside, someone screaming, his throat raw and burning and—and—and—

“Bucky? Are you—”

He crawled down onto the couch, sinking you into the cushions and resting the full of his body weight against you. He set his head against your chest; his ear pressed to your heartbeat so he could hear the steady thumping inside, the rise and fall of each breath. His right arm snaked up around your shoulder blades, tucking his hand against you like he was cradling a pillow.

You were incredibly still for a moment, stunned that he gave in, but then he felt you relax under him. A hum nestled in your chest as you slid a hand along his spine, drawing lines and circles to ease the tension in his muscles. The other swept against his hair, pushing it from his eyes, raking into his scalp.

You laid there with him like that for a moment, soothing your hands along the tension in his body and humming soft melodies under your breath to distract him from the fireworks as they lit up the night sky. He still flinched, but he recovered quicker, focusing on the steady beat of your heart under his ear and the movement of your hands on his spine.

He felt something warm touch other the crown of his head, a shaken breath brushing over his hair. Then, the book from the coffee table made its way into your right hand, the clip you’d given him on the first day of book club, affixed to the last page he’d read in the library that day. Resting the binding on his shoulder, you began to read.

“’When I read the actual story- how Gatsby loves Daisy so much but can't ever be with her no matter how hard he tries- I feel like ripping the book in half and calling up Fitzgerald and telling him his book is all wrong, even though I know Fitzgerald is probably deceased,’” you started, a soft smile evident in your voice. “’Especially when Gatsby is shot dead in his swimming pool the first time he goes for a swim all summer, Daisy doesn't even go to his funeral, Nick and Jordan part ways, and Daisy ends up sticking with racist Tom, whose need for sex basically murders an innocent woman, you can tell Fitzgerald never took the time to look up at clouds during sunset, because there's no silver lining at the end of that book, let me tell you.’”

Bucky sighed, sinking further into your embrace. He didn’t even notice as the final firework took its bow amongst the stars or the burst of applause in the distance, too focused on the gentle vibrations in your voice, the smell of an old book as you flipped through the pages, stealing glances up at your face as you smiled with every word.

When you finished the chapter, you closed the book and set it gently upon the table. Your hands returned to his hair, carding through it and drawing a hum from his lips.

“You alright?”

Bucky nodded, feeling a little dizzy. He certainly felt alright enough for the numbness to wash away and a steady stream of shame and humiliation to rush in and take its place. Slowly, he lifted himself from your embrace, crawling back against the couch and sitting on the edge of the cushions. You followed him, scooting up against his side.

“I’m sorry.”

Your shoulders sank. “Bucky, please, don’t apologize for—”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with this stuff, Y/n,” Bucky sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose. Bile was etching its way up his throat. He’d never felt so helpless, so small, so vulnerable as if he were no more than a child. He was dead weight on your shoulders. He couldn’t put that on you, he couldn’t let you carry the burden he’d become.

“What if I want to?”

He dropped his hand, looking over at you to find you watching him with that same desperation he’d felt to keep you safe when he’d heard IEDs exploding in downtown Brooklyn just moments before. You reached out for his hand, putting it gently into your lap when you were met without resistance and began to trace over the lines in his palm.

“What if all I want to do is be with you? What if it’s all I can think about?” you continued, a low ache in your voice he didn’t expect. You lifted his hand to your lips, pressing a kiss to the knuckles and drawing a shuttering breath from his lungs. “I’d hold you for an eternity if that was what you needed.”

Bucky stared at you in stunned silence. He was a mess, barely stable and breaking apart at the seams and... and here you were, willing to stitch him together with needle and string. You saw a mosaic when all he could see were broken pieces. His lips parted to speak, but nothing came out.

Instead, your hand made its way to his cheek, cupping at the side of his face. Your eyes softened, flickering down to his lips, the touch of your fingertips grazing over his jawline and along his neck like maybe you could feel every pulse of his heartbeat.

Could you feel his fears, too? The ones that warned him that you wouldn’t like the broken, disfigured fragments he’d become? Could you tell that he was sitting on the edge of a waterfall with the rush of water under his legs, just waiting to be pushed off the ledge? Did you know it was your hand on his shoulder pulling him back to the shore?

He leaned in closer, testing his courage, until his nose brushed against yours. So impossibly close, the heat of your breath warm against his skin. You stayed there for a moment, waiting, foreheads pressed together, until Bucky dared to close the space between.

Chaste and honest. Slow and aching. He kissed you and the first touch left him breathless, shaken as he drew in an inhale. You pulled him closer, hands wrapped tenderly on the sides of his face and he could feel your lips curve up into a smile as he turned toward you, wrapping his arm around your waist to hold you closer.

God, he’d never wished more for his left arm to find its way back to his body than he did in that moment. He just wanted to feel you in every way he could, to wrap himself around you in his entirety, to hold you the way a woman should be held.

You pulled back suddenly, laughing under your breath, and he realized your phone was buzzing on the table. You didn’t move for a second, just staring at him, trying to contain your laughter, and he found himself smiling so wide, it reached his eyes. His cheeks ached a little, too.

He realized it the moment you reached out and wiped your thumb over his lips, how you handled him with such intricacy and care, how you touched him like he was made of worth, how you looked at him like he was something to adore – he was in love with you.

You lunged for your phone, still smiling as you brought it to your ear. “Hey Nat, I’m kinda busy right— Oh.” Your face fell. “Are you alright?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, his hand setting on your knee to give it a slight squeeze.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” you said into the phone, pressing your lips into an apologetic line. “I’ll be right there.”

“Everything okay?” Bucky asked as you hung up the phone. You nodded, reaching back out for him and your hand found its way to the side of his face. You held it there, thumb brushing along his cheekbone fondly before you leaned in and pressed slow, brief kiss against his lips – something so casual, so intimate, as if you’d done it a thousand times before. He wished you’d do it a thousand more.

“I’m so sorry, but... I have to go,” you sighed, a frown pushing down at the corners of your mouth. “Please believe that I’d stay if it was anyone other than Natasha... Something happened at her job and I—”

“No apologies, right?” Bucky eased, resolving your guilt before you even had a chance to allow it to rise to full display. “You don’t have to explain yourself. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“You’re sure?” You weren’t convinced, but he could tell from the hope in your eyes that you wanted it to be true.

“Yes,” Bucky replied sincerely. With the fireworks long faded into the night sky and the gentle chirp of crickets beyond your window, the only remaining cause of his racing heartbeat belonged to the woman sitting beside him, the casual touch of your hand against his face. He turned to kiss at the inside of your palm before he lowered your hand into your lap.

“You could stay here, if you want,” you offered nervously, glancing out to the window half wondering if a new set of fireworks would begin to light against the pitch black of the sky.

Bucky shook his head, though he smiled for you. “I should head home anyway. I’ve got a book to finish.”

He reached for The Silver Linings Playbook and held it up in his hand. He had a hard time letting his own smile fall with the way you were looking at him and he tucked the book against his chest as if it could feel his heartbeat. He wondered if you picked this particular book for him in hopes he might start seeing silver linings the way Pat did along the pages of the novel— how you seemed to, as well.

If anything, you might be his very own silver lining.

“Come on,” Bucky said, standing from the couch and extending a hand to you. “I’ll walk you there.”

You bit on the edge of your smile in an effort to contain it. It did no use and for that, Bucky was thankful.

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

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rebelwrites · 4 years

Text

Let’s Get Out Of Here (NSFW)

Clay Spenser x Reader

A/N REBEL SMUT IS BACK 😜

Warnings: I think it’s just unprotected sex

Join The Group Chat Here - If You Want Tagging Manually Let Me Know 🖤

Clay Spenser Masterlist

This Months Writing

He knew what he was doing when he came strolling into the pub, straight from hitting the gym, wearing that tight shirt. He was playing a game and you were falling for it. Just like you did every single time but things never happened because one or both of you got far too drunk and ended up staggering back home. But not tonight, you were determined to get the taste of the golden boy.

So here you were leaning against the bar chatting to Jase, but got completely distracted as Clay walked in, with that god damn smirk on his face that always made you weak at the knees. And the bastard had the audacity to wink at you, sending your brain into a frenzy.

“Earth to Y/N” Jason laughed waving his hand in front of your face bringing you back to reality. “You back with us, we lost you there for a moment kiddo”

“Yeah, yeah I’m back” you nodded as you looked away from Clay and back to Jase.

That was another reason nothing had happened between you and Clay, you were deemed off limits. The first day you hung around with the guys he made it very clear you were off limits. Which sucked but you knew he was just following your dads wishes and protecting you, but it was a bit of a buzzkill with someone who you saw as an Uncle basically cock blocked you from the start.

“What were you staring at anyway?” He asked standing next to you following your gaze to a certain blonde. “Oh should have known, anything I should be worried about?”

“Nah” you laughed knocking the shot back “Well not yet anyway, just close your eyes, don’t watch me tonight or something. I’m done playing games.

“Wondered when you’d grow some balls kiddo” Jase laughed as he kissed the top of your head “Knew something would happen between you two, I’ve seen it bubbling away for the last few months now”

“So you aren’t gonna go into protective dad mode?” You asked, raising your brow at him.

“Like you said, I just won’t look, can’t do anything if I can’t see” he laughed “Go get him tiger”

You couldn’t help but laugh to yourself as you grabbed the tray of shots and your beer before heading over to the pool table where the rest of the guys were.

“Fear not the life of the party has landed” you grinned, placing the shots down on the pool table.

“But I’m already here Princess” Clay smirked, winking at you again as he reached for his shot.

“Fuck you Blondie” you grinned, knocking the shot back.

“I mean you could but I don’t think you could handle me” he laughed making you roll your eyes.

“More like you couldn’t handle me pretty boy” you winked, slapping his chest before wandering over to Sonny.

You had a plan and it was going to work this time, you were going to tease the fuck out of him until he caved. So you purposely position yourself on the pool table as you racked the balls up, your ass in his eyeline. A small smirk appeared on your face as you heard Brock say something about him staring and having a death wish.

Looking up Sonny shook his head at you laughing. He knew what you were doing, he always knew and loved watching things play out as it meant he had more ammo to throw at Clay.

As the night went on, Clay didn’t take the bait anymore and it was starting to annoy you now so you upped your game as you learn forward to take your shot, looking up from the pool cue, you locked eyes with him, slowly running your tongue over your bottoms lip before pulling it between your teeth. You didn’t know if your eyes were playing tricks on you but you swore his eyes darkened with lust and he gulped but you couldn’t say for sure.

But you weren't giving up, all you had to do was keep giving him the look whilst biting your lip and he would be putty in your hands. It also helped the dirty thoughts you were thinking as you ran your eyes over his body.

Just like you thought, it didn’t take long for him to cave as the moment you had finished the game of pool, he grabbed your wrist pulling you into his body, backing you into the wall behind you. The moment your back hit the wall you heard Sonny wolf whistle but you blocked him out only focusing on the feeling of Clay’s body pressed against you making you bite your lip again.

Your whole body was tingling and felt like it was on fire as he pinned your arms above your head, dropping his face so his lips were only inches away from yours, he was so close you could smell the beer on his breath.

“You’ve been giving me bedroom eyes for the past half an hour, time to tell me what exactly, was on your mind.” He said slowly whilst maintaining eye contact.

“Maybe you will never find out” you giggled.

“You and I both know that I will find out” he hummed as he moved his hips, slowly grinding against you, you couldn’t help but moan at the feeling, making him smirk.

Everything happened so fast, his hands moved from your wrists, running down your body until he was cupping your ass, you got the message loud and clear as you jumped up, wrapping your arms around his neck and legs around his waist, allowing him to get closer to you, his lips connected with yours as he pressed you against the wall.

The kiss was hot, heavy and full of lust. You know you were screwed as just one kiss left you feeling like you were floating so you had a feeling anything more would kill you off but it was a price you were willing to play, especially when he depended the kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth as you said the unspoken words you both had, right there in the pub pinned against the wall.

If you could you would have ripped his clothes off him right then and there but unfortunately that wasn’t an option and neither was taking this any further, especially with Sonny around.

“Oooooh shit” he shouted slamming his hands on the pool table making you and Clay pull away from each other, but maintaining eye contact. “Some babies are being made tonight ladies and gentlemen”

Resting your forehead against Clay’s you let out a breathless laugh. You couldn’t help yourself as you got lost in his eyes. There was no going back now, the line had been crossed.

“Let’s get out of here” he whispered against your lips before stealing another kiss. “Before either of us get to drunk to carry this on”

“Your place is closer” you giggled as he gently set you down on the ground, the moment your feet touched the ground you stole his cap, it just had to be done, something you always did, placing the cap backwards on your head you ran your hand down his chest, linking your fingers with his, guiding him through the crowd with everyone whistling behind you.

The walk to his place didn’t take long but the air around you was different, the banter had turned a lot more flirty and you were both itching to get behind closed doors to finish what you had started.

The moment you walked into his apartment and the door was locked you were dragged to the bedroom, and pushed down onto the bed, and a topless Clay pinned you down with his body, you felt so happy to finally be able to roam his sculpted body with yours hands.

No words were spoken as Clay dipped his head down, brushing your hair off your shoulder, placing hot kisses down your neck, instantly making you feel weak especially when he nipped at your skin. You were under his spell and was loving it, soft moans left your lips as you bucked your hips up against him trying to get some friction.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve dreamt of this moment” you breathed as he repositioned so he could get your shirt off.

“I think I can guess” he hummed as his eyes ran down your body. “Tell me something Y/N did you ever think of me whilst you got yourself off”

“All the damn time” you whispered as you fumbled with the button of his jeans. “I just hope you live up to dream Clay”

“Oh baby it’s gonna be so much better” he smirked as he unfastened your bra, throwing it across the room, taking one of your nipples in his mouth, his tongue moving slowly making you moan.

“Please no more teasing Clay” you moaned “I need you, I need to feel you”

“Mmm now that I can do” he hummed against your skin before gently biting your nipple sending shockwaves through your body. “God you know how to drive me insane” he smirked as he undid your jeans, pulling them down your body before doing the same with your thong.

“Fuck why haven’t we done this sooner” he whispered against your skin, placing soft kisses over your body. “You know this won’t just be a one night thing, I know I’m going to get addicted to feeling you around my cock, hearing you moan my name”

“Oh god Clay please” you whimpered as he ran his finger over your core.

Within seconds he was now naked, and hovering over you, the tip of his cock rubbing against your clit making you dig your nails into his shoulders.

“Tell me if I’m too rough okay” he whispered against your lips before softly kissing you as he pushed himself inside.

A gasp left your lips as the feeling of his stretching you out, you knew he was packing but didn’t know it would feel this good, he started off slow letting you get used to him but soon got the hint by your moans and started to move his hips.

“Fuck Princess” he grunted in your ear “so fucking tight”

You knew you weren't going to last long, as your moans got louder with every thrust, every move sent shockwaves through your body making you claw at Clay’s back, no doubt leaving marks but in the heat of the moment neither of you cared.

“Clay fuck” you moaned burying your face in the crook of his neck as his thumb found your clit, finding the same pace as his hips and that familiar feeling was getting stronger in the pit of your stomach, you were close and knew he knew as he thrusted harder making you bite into his shoulder from the pleasure. “Shit, shit, shit” you panted as he pushed you over the edge of climax.

But he didn’t let off, he was chasing his own high, but he was close as his thrusts were getting slower and he pulled you as close to him as physically possible, you had no time to come down from your first high as another was building, his lips connected with yours as he pushed you down into the bed, both moaning into the kiss as you fell over the edge of ecstasy.

The feeling of him laying on top of you whilst you both came down from your high was one of the best feelings in the world.

“I normally last longer than that” he laughed, nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck.

“I have no doubt in that” you giggled as you stared at the ceiling, “I mean if that was just a quickie then you are gonna put me in an early grave”

“Is that right?” He laughed, propping himself up on his elbow “wanna see how many more rounds we can go?”

“Is that a bet Clay Spenser?” You smirked wrapping yours around around his neck “because if so game on baby”

@chibsytelford @mrsmarvelous1995 @supervalcsi

@everyhowlmarksthedead @talicat713

#Clay Spenser #clay spenser x reader #clay spenser imagine #clay spenser oneshot #seal team #seal team x reader #seal team imagine #seal team oneshot

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captainsimagines · 3 years

Text

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Nine

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 9 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: strong language; use of a derogatory slur/racist language (not said by any main character); mentions of blood and injuries; angst!

Word Count: 11,200+

A/N: One more chapter after this - I should really stop labeling this as a mini-series considering it’s already over 100,000 total words lmao. Thank you for staying with me this long! I love you guys soooo much!!!

Utah Merry Hotel, January 2025, 2:09pm

“I’m being an ol’ sport, why can’t you?” You whine, stomping your feet as you trudged up the stairs to the hotel roof. “It’s our first serious stakeout in forever! I’m pretty sure Wanda shaved her legs for this.”

Steve shoots a flustered and unsettled look over his shoulder. He’s lugging the rifles and extra equipment on both his shoulders so you know he’s truly baffled because to even attempt a look over… well, that required real effort. He doesn’t answer, however; he continues upward.

Bucky and Clint are following close behind. They’re tired, huffing every few steps and grunting while doing so. Finally, Bucky whines and throws himself against the wall dramatically. “Remind me why we couldn’t just get Wanda and Sam to lift us up there?”

Steve readjusts one of the rifle straps while he replies, “Buck, I told you not to skip leg day.”

“I skip ‘everything’ day. I’m just now employed as a superhero, thank you very much. The serum should be enough.”

“Are we even close?” Clint asks and passes Bucky on a few steps. Bucky takes that as a challenge though and hoists himself more steps before giving up again.

You just watch in pure amusement. Makes you really proud that your thighs are stronger than theirs. “Just a few more flights.”

They both groan in unison. Steve has already rounded the next flight, no longer waiting on the three of you. It takes several more minutes until you kick open the roof door Steve had left slightly ajar. It’s cold outside, wind howling with icy droplets whipping through your hair. It’s only fifty stories up but it’s pretty high - you can see the tops of the trees, or branches really. It’s winter in Utah and most of the trees are naked and covered in snow. You hope Bucky and Clint, the dynamic duo no one saw coming, still have good aim in this wind after a year of vacation.

“Alright. Buck - Clint, set up over there. Y/N, you’re over there.”

“Aye Aye, Captain.”

You set up where Steve instructed. You’ve got a simple magnifier and some binoculars - you won’t have to do any shooting today, thank the Gods. Clint’s got his arrows and Bucky’s got his sniper. Steve’s waiting for a signal from Sam if need be - he won’t need to shoot today either.

“Wanda and Sam will let us know when the cars pass the barrier. The tech cannot, under any circumstances, pass through the gate right over there.” Steve points to the giant, black coated metal gate. There’s no one on duty. You made sure to evacuate the area and any staff before. The tech these goons are bringing in is all stolen Stark Tech. And according to Happy, strict instructions are to ‘blow it to Hell’.

“And if it does?” Bucky asks, grinning mischievously at Steve’s pointed look.

“What’d I just say?”

Bucky laughs and puts his hands up in surrender. “Damn, Stevie. Calm thyne tits.” He goes back to fiddling with his rifle. “Blow the tires before they reach the gates but after they pass the barrier. Got it.”

“Peter, you in position?” Steve asks and adjusts his earpiece.

You can hear Peter over your own mic. “Seatbelts look easy enough to break. I’m in position, I can easily pull them from the trucks.”

“Five minutes then.”

You all settle in. The cold has passed through the leather of your boots and your toes are paying the price. It makes you miss the rain of spring and the sprinkles of fall, when everything is drenched rather than frozen and your toes still have mobility. Your jacket is big enough but it scratches your neck every time you lean down to look through the magnifier. As the minutes tick by, you brave the cold and take it off. You’d rather conduct your part efficiently and without the constant distraction.

“It’s almost forty degrees out,” Steve mumbles beside you. He’s looking over the roof balcony and into the trees. He’s squints and refuses your offer of binoculars.

“So I get a sore throat.”

Steve rolls his eyes, “Tony put a heater in all our suits. You should have worn yours.”

“My suit is half nano. It’s excessive for a stakeout.”

He huffs but you ignore him, choosing to look through the rejected binoculars instead. He shuffles, and then there’s a warm weight enveloping your shoulders. It’s his sweater, cotton and baby blue, and he lifts the hood to cover your cheeks and ears. Your stomach flip-flops.

“Uh, thank you,” you say and zip it closed.

Steve shrugs lightly, “Don’t mention it.”

So you don’t. He doesn’t look cold besides or he’s just really good at masking it. It’s quiet now; you can’t really hear the quiet mutters of Clint and Bucky enough to join in and to not mention the jacket is eating at you. You opt for a casual conversation instead while you wait.

“Soooo… how’d your date go last week?”

Steve clears his throat and turns to you, a forced grin on his face. “They, uh, they were sweet.”

“Sweet,” you repeat, nodding at nothing and cursing yourself for creating such an awkward moment. “Going on a second one?”

He sighs and his expression actually turns truthful. “No, don’t see that happening.”

For a second, you’re appalled. Who wouldn’t give Steve a second date? He’s an absolute catch and being a famous superhero wasn’t exactly a dealbreaker for many. Or maybe it was and Steve was blaming his alias once again for no fairytale ending. “Are you kidding? Who wouldn’t want you?”

The words leave your mouth too quickly to reel them back in. Steve’s cheeks turn pinker, both from your words and the chill, and he ducks his head low as he answers. “It’s my fault, really. They were sweet but I wasn’t paying much attention.”

“Mm, on your phone? Daydreaming? Were they a bore?”

Steve chuckles, “I pulled out my phone, like, once to answer a text but I was a proper gentleman!”

The tension is slowly melting and there’s a soft twinkle in his eye as he laughs. It’s been so long since he’s looked at you this way: on his own accord and not on order. “Bucky said they were, and I quote,” you lower your voice and look over at Bucky to make sure he’s distracted. “‘Cute as hell’.”

Steve gives Bucky a warm look. “Eh, it’s fine. Wasn’t the one.”

“The one,” you mock in a deep voice. “Who texted you that it was so important to ignore someone cute as hell?”

Steve hesitates and looks over the balcony as if wishing for an interruption. But the trucks aren’t near yet and Sam hasn’t given the signal. “Uh, it was Peter.”

“Oh, don’t tell him that. He’ll feel incredibly guilty if he ruined your chances at getting laid.”

Steve shoves your shoulder a bit harder than he intended and it makes you stumble back. He quickly catches you by the arm and holds you still, a sheepish smile painting his pink face. He mumbles a quick ‘sorry’, and goes back to lean over the railing. “It’s cool, he knew.”

You fake a surprised gasp, “Even worse!”

“He needed me to stop by the compound and I did. Really, it’s okay,” Steve assures and he’s speaking a little quicker. He fidgets with his thumbs and it looks like he wants to wrap up that portion of the conversation. But he looks over at you and sighs deeply, and he rolls his eyes as his upper lip tilts upward. “Ask.”

“What’d he want?” It makes your belly all warm to know he expects this enthusiasm from you.

“Wanted me around. Buck and Wanda were out getting dinner.”

“Yeah, but like, what for?”

He gives you a knowing smile, like you walked right into that trap. “You made dinner but Peter was too nice to say he didn’t enjoy it, so he texted me knowing I would like it. Knowing I had it before. He didn’t want there to be leftovers because then you’d be sad.”

You step back and shake your head like there’s a fly swarming around. It startles you. “You left your date… during dinner… to come to the compound to eat the dinner I made instead?”

“Don’t think too much about it.”

“How not?”

It’s five minutes when Sam calls it in. You groan in frustration and give Steve a look that says the conversation isn’t over.

There are four armored vehicles and the magnifier illuminates three bodies per car. The targets will be hit starting from the last to keep the explosions out of each driver’s line of sight.

“Target acquired,” Bucky mumbles and clicks off his safety. He closes one eye and settles comfortably as he awaits Steve’s signal.

Clint tugs back an arrow, “Same here, Cap.”

“Wanda, you ready?” Steve’s voice is lower when he’s focused. He looks over at you, your hand up with an index finger raised, and waits. Wanda answers that she’s ready and Sam counts it down. The first truck crosses the barrier, then the next, next, and finally the fourth and you drop your hand in a fast swipe.

“Fire! Go Parker!”

Bucky shoots the back tires of all four vehicles and Clint shoots his arrows to penetrate through the passenger doors. Peter works fast, webs slinging from side to side grabbing one passenger right after the other. Once the trucks are empty, Clint activates the arrows and you all prepare for the explosions. The fourth car catches flame first and Wanda contains the explosion perfectly, balling it up into a weak bundle of light and string. She does the same to the third and second, bundles extinguishing just as quickly as they burst. But the first car swings out of control on manual and the explosion is delayed.

“Clint?”

Clint leans over the balcony and squints, as if it would help. “I don’t know. It’s not going off.” He’s clicking the detonator repeatedly, holding it up for all of you to see.

“Wanda, the truck! The truck! Sam!” You scream as the truck crashes through the gate and hurls closer to the hotel. The commotion is enough for Bucky to pop out from his cover and the four of you watch in horror as the truck still doesn’t stop. Clint has stopped clicking the button, but it’s no use. The truck finally explodes in an outbreak of debris and electricity. The Stark Tech reacts poorly to the strain, electric gusts of smoke fire left and right and rattle the building. It feels like an earthquake, shaking the already weak foundations and old brick. Wanda catches the bottom to better contain it and tries desperately to smother it. But the shaking doesn’t stop and the corners of the roof are collapsing.

Steve leaps to grab and pull you away and just as quickly to catch Clint’s leg before he falls over the edge. Clint is thrown back rather harshly but Steve isn’t thinking about the abuse of strength right now - no, not while Bucky slips and hangs on to a rogue pipe. Steve crawls and latches onto his hand before the pipe gives way. He yells as he tugs Bucky up with only one arm, the other having to hold onto undisturbed brick. He won't let Bucky fall. Not again.

Bucky throws his leg up and over solid ground, and you go to help Steve pull him up. Bucky’s heavy and his metal hand pinches your skin bad but he’s safe. Wanda struggles to contain the electricity but she’s succeeding. The rumbling slows until nothing moves anymore. You collapse back in exhaustion.

“Well, that didn’t go as planned,” Bucky gasps as he rubs his face.

“Is Wanda okay?” You mumble more to yourself and struggle to pull yourself back up. But the sudden weight of your body proves too much for the edge and in a horrible wave, you’re falling through. You practically file your nails as you try to latch onto falling brick.

“No!” You feel the scratch of someone’s fingers along your forearm and soon they’re digging into your skin, and it hurts but you figure it’s better than splitting your skull open. Pebbles of concrete are falling down onto your face and the smoke from the explosion is clogging your nostrils. You hang for a few seconds, like the person can’t believe they actually caught you. Then they begin pulling you up, lifting you to safety, and you claw the rest of the way only to tumble into Steve’s chest, shaking.

He pulls you into his arms but they’re restless, roaming over your shoulders and through your knotted hair clumsily. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” His voice wavers and he’s on the verge of tears, it seems. His waterline is glossy and his lips are quivering. “Answer me.”

“I’m fine, hey. Steve? I’m good.”

He pulls away and his hands hover you like he doesn’t know what else to do with them. “I’m sorry. I should have kept you close. I-” His voice cracks and he swallows hard. “You sure you’re okay?”

Disregarding his words is difficult, especially when you feel a second meaning to them, but you force yourself to do so. It’s been such a long time since you’ve seen him like this. And each time you have, it was never because of anything good. “Y-yeah. I’m good, Rogers.”

Bucky and Clint look at each other, they look at Steve, to you, and back to each other. Finally, Clint breaks the silence and huffs a light chuckle. “Are we really THAT rusty?”

Present Day, 2025, 11:45pm

The Montana skies are clear and free of passenger planes, allowing the Quinjet to swift easily on autopilot. You could never drive this thing and the building anxiety of that reality bubbles each time it makes an unsteady bounce.

Steve’s laying in the makeshift medical wing and though it’s against protocol, he’s on a secure line with Dr. Cho. She takes her time, albeit working as fast as possible too, and her light voice is fairly calm. It settles you to hear her speak this way.

‘I need you to use this disinfectant, Captain Rogers. Do not pour it on all at once… Good, now dig through gently and make sure the pliers are sanitized.’

Steve digs out the bullets himself and bites down on a clean towel. He’s biting down hard enough that his teeth make a squeaking sound against it. It takes every ounce of your willpower to not do it for him. The Montana skies are beautiful, at least. It’s a good distraction.

Steve gives a rather painful yell as he finally plucks the second bullet, cursing as a stream of blood drips onto the table. He’s got such tough skin - miracle or serum - that the bullets didn’t pass all the way through. Dr. Cho moves on to how to properly bandage the wound but Steve begins to tune her out.

Two years mucking through mud and bodies and getting patched up every other day has prepared him for whatever life may throw during this new century. Not much has changed, it seems.

When the line disconnects, Steve can finally just relax. He focuses on the soft rumble of the engine and your steady breaths.

You hold your breath as you settle the Quinjet on the open field, only half of you actually trusting automatic tech. Steve coaches you the whole time too, the little shit, and promises you’ll never be doing that again.

Steve stumbles and teeters and falls on the porch steps with a low groan. You let him fall because you know you’d only fall with him. He catches himself with the hand he’s been pressing over the bandage while the other still holds on to you. You fight the urge to crash down with him and bite your lip as you look up to the night sky.

“C’mon, Rogers,” you swallow down the increasing worry, “We’re almost inside.”

Steve huffs a pained laugh and nods. He grabs your arm again and with his remaining strength, pulls himself up,

The inside of the cabin looks comfier than the outside. You help Steve to the couch closest to the unlit fireplace before going out back to turn on the power. There’s a thin layer of ice in the grass so just in case, you scope out the garage and make sure there are snow supplies. Not that you really know what the hell snow supplies actually look like, but there’s a shovel and you figure that’s as much as your brain is going to piece together.

When you get back inside, Steve’s fumbling with the coffee maker and leaving tiny fingerprints of blood over every surface he touches. You don’t comment on them, just step back and discreetly wipe the counters each time he passes.

“Figured you’d like a pot,” Steve says.

It damn near breaks your heart how small his voice sounds. The fact he’s stumbling around the cabin making sure you’ve got your coffee fix while he’s nursing two bullet wounds damn near snaps it in two.

“Thank you,” you respond and go to lead him back to the couch. He moans quietly when he sits and again as you lay him down. “I hope you don’t think I’m sleeping here,” Steve laughs and tries to hide his wince due the uncomfortable rumble.

You smile and touch your hand to his hot cheek. His body is working overtime fighting off infection and regenerating tissue. His cheeks are a lovely scarlet red and so is the beautiful bulb of his crooked nose. He’s a little shiny, like varnish over light paint strokes, and taking the fever like a champ. “I’ll help you to the bed in a little bit. Let’s get that fever down first.”

Steve sighs, defeated, but nods. He lays his head back on the pillow and once he shuts his eyes, you get to work. The bathroom is stocked with the simple necessities: aloe vera, vapor rub, heating and cold pads, dozens of towels, and painkillers. You pop two painkillers yourself before gathering everything and dropping it on a nearby table in the kitchen. The coffee is about done brewing so you fill up a mug with bottled water and set it in the microwave for two minutes. You dip a chamomile tea bag a few times once the water is heated. There’s no teapot - you’ll apologize to Steve later.

Once Steve’s happily sipping his tea, you start on the medicine. You wet the small towels and lay them over his forehead and bare chest. You rub aloe vera on the other cuts he obtained from hand-to-hand and finally rub the vapor rub in the dip of his neck and just below his nose. Steve gives you this funny smile as you do so, scrunching his nose and wiggling it back and forth.

“Vicks,” you say as you show him the small container. “Heal you right up.”

“I bet,” he laughs. “Stuff smells like what I think liquid morphine would taste.” A laugh bursts from your chest, your first real instance of calm during these last few hours. You ignore his protests and smother more across his chest.

Steve settles deeper into the couch and returns to his tea. He’s got less sweat on his skin now but he’s still red. You go to pour yourself that coffee and return to his side. The nanotech is growing stiffer and scratching your skin but you refuse to get comfortable until Steve’s fever breaks. You’re still covered in Ernesto’s blood, the red now a hellish brown, and you try not to move your face much for risk of feeling the dry pull of it.

“Steve,” you try, but Steve shakes his head and makes sure to meet your gaze before he speaks.

“No. The less I know the better.”

It surprises you, makes you feel more guilty, but you understand. Not telling him the full truth would be beneficial in the long run. Still, your hands hug the mug closer to your chest. “Do you think I did something bad?”

His upper lip tugs upward, “Do you think you did something bad?”

You don’t think for long. There’s not much need to. “No.”

He nods, “But you care what I think?”

“Of course I do. You’re not just my Captain anymore - you’re my friend. I care even when I’m asking you if my eggs need more salt.”

“You trust me enough to correct your cooking?” He teases, but it’s a question disguised as another.

“I trust you enough to tell me if I need more salt. You’re not correcting it.” He laughs and dips deeper into the couch. The bandage is bleeding through, only slightly, so you move to find the first-aid kit.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’ll stop bleeding soon.”

You hum your disagreement. “I’m gonna keep it clean until you’re strong enough to shower.”

“You can always help me shower,” he mumbles into his tea.

Rolling your eyes, you gently nudge his shoulder as you sit back down with the kit. “If you fall, I can’t catch you, you big lug. We’d have to tell everyone we screwed in there because you falling on top of me, injured, is somehow more embarrassing.”

He allows you to remove the soiled bandage and dab around the healing wounds. He’s bruising around the sides, multiple shades of green and yellow already, and the holes are stitched rather poorly. It makes you feel a little better about your own criss-cross work - even Steve sucks at it.

“I’m sorry I had to go and get myself shot,” Steve apologizes and sucks in a deep breath when the towel drags a little too roughly.

“Yeah, what the hell happened there?”

He almost mimics you in the way he shrugs his shoulders and lifts his arms in that ‘well, fuck if I know’ position, pursing his lips and expelling a chuckle. “Had my gun trained on Ernesto. Ernesto had his own on Ramirez. Then Seda came in and Ernesto ordered Ramirez to hand his over to Seda. Played right into Seda’s hands.”

You process the explanation slowly and dab his wound a few more times before unwrapping the clean bandage. “And the damn shield?”

Steve’s embarrassed by that small detail, he’ll admit it, because he truly was blindsided by Seda’s appearance. You were supposed to be holding him down after all. “In my defense! When it’s shrunk down and in your pocket rather than latched onto one’s arm, it’s easily forgettable.”

You clean around the wound softly before placing and taping the new bandage. The conversation settles and you’re both quiet for a long, long minute. He thanks you for cleaning him up by rubbing sweet circles into the knuckles of your right hand. Finally, you can’t take it anymore. It’s like a wave of irrefutable worry and rage, all bunched together with each emotion trying to outweigh the other. That goddamn riptide, sucking you in and keeping your head below water just for the hell of it. Breathing in harshly, you fail to keep yourself from stuttering over your words. “I’m sorry.”

Steve bites back a groan of pain as he leans over to take your cheeks in his palms. The brush of his fingertips lets you know that you’ve already started crying. You don’t much care about the facade anymore. “Doll, listen to me. Listen.”

“I never meant to leave you alone.”

“You never did.”

You bark out a wet laugh, sarcastic. “I should have run faster. I should have killed him all those years ago. I should have never brought you into this.”

“You did what you had to do,” he says, fiercely. He forgets his own strength for a second, only slightly diminished from the healing process, and loosens his tight grip against your cheeks. “You did what you had to do to survive.”

“I wanted to hate you,” you admit. Your bottom lip is trembling and your hands clench together over your thighs. “I wanted to hate you so much. If I did, then you getting hurt or killed on this mission wouldn’t hurt so bad. I hated you for what you did. Because it made me realize that I could never hate you at all.”

“Hey,” he tries, hands now lowering to clutch at your own. “Stop apologizing for having a heart. Stop thinking you’re not worthy of even having one.”

Your face crumbles and Steve realizes for the first time in a long time just how much you’ve been holding in. “Why didn’t you use the stones?”

Steve’s heart clenches at the sound of the crack in your voice. He hasn’t heard that crack since Clint fell to his knees without Natasha by his side. He holds onto you tighter and prepares himself for an admission he never thought he would ever have to give. “Because Peggy told me not to.”

Something confusing happens in the middle of your chest. It clenches with anger but understanding. The answer to your question was always this simple but it looks like it’s tearing Steve apart from the inside-out.

She’s as beautiful as the day he went into the ice. All he has to do is whisper her name so sweetly, delicately, and she turns her head like she’s answering the prayer. First her knees buckle, eyes watering and blotching her vision, and she collapses on the soft grass of her backyard. Steve’s holding her the very next second, repeating that he’s real, he’s here.

“Steve,” Peggy gasps, hands shaking as she brings them to his wet cheeks. She grips and pokes and does everything so comically that Steve laughs a wet laugh when she starts smacking him. “What is going on?”

And he tells her. Everything he can remember: the good, the bad, the wretched. He spills everything, and he spills the most delicate information of their time: he’s alive, just frozen; Bucky’s alive, just hurt; the world is saved, just broken. Whether she believes it or not Steve’s not sure, but he’s so goddamn happy to see her again that he chokes every other word.

“And you? You’re happy?”

His eyebrows come together and he looks at Peggy like she’s speaking another language. She’s got the same red lipstick, same curl in her hair even if it’s longer now, and she’s filling out her dresses more. “Pegs, don’t ask me that.”

She detaches herself slowly from his arms, pausing their dance as she speaks. “Why not? You can’t expect me to accept that you stopped by to see me all willy-nilly after saving the universe.” Her lips twitch into a knowing smile and Steve melts. Her voice is sending him into a spiral, a world he never thought he would see again, and he realizes just how much he loves accents on women - especially this woman.

“I just,” he chokes out, and brushes his index finger down her cheek. “I had to see you again.”

“I get that,” Peggy says and pays no mind that the record player has stopped; she still sways gently with Steve. “But you’ve just mentioned a whole other world you’ve been a part of. You’ve got your best guy back, that Wilson fellow sounds like the life of the party, and this Agent Y/N certainly sounds like she’s been by your side through it all.”

Steve stutters in his step and holds her closer. Her stomach presses against his, and he stops abruptly. He looks down between them and runs his hand from her shoulder, down, to lay across her growing belly. “Pegs.”

She gives him the same wide and proud smile she gave him when he returned with the 107th. She lays her hand over his. “I know.” She laughs and tilts her head lovingly. “I’m happy, too.”

Steve bites his lip to keep from sobbing. He was so stupid for coming to this timeline, for ruining Peggy’s chance at happiness, for interrupting the life he already knew she created for herself. He inputted the wrong year, he suddenly realizes, and steps back arms-length from her. “I’m sorry, I was stupid to come here. I just wanted to see you and then I did, and I… I still love you, Pegs.”

“Oh,” Peggy gasps, bottom lip trembling. “Darling, do not mistake yourself, even for a second, into thinking that I do not love you too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing for having a heart.”

He wants to argue, say he’s stupid a million more times, but he finds himself listening to her gentle words. It’s Peggy, Steve thinks. She’s always been right.

“In this world you live in, you have James?” He nods. She continues, “In this world you live in, you just lost two of your most loved friends?” He nods again. He wipes his face from forehead to chin. “In this world you live in, you have met a woman who has the same stubbornness as you; has the same self-sacrificing streak, who has your heart in such shambles that you dare call her one of your best friends?”

Steve thinks of you and how broken your smile was as you waved him goodbye, hand clenching Sam’s as Steve gathered the stones and Mjolnir. He thinks of the times you’d leap onto his back and demand a ride; the times he’s saved your ass in a firefight; how his sleep has definitely improved ever since he started calming you from nightmares - he hasn’t slept so well since before the war. He nods again.

Her eyes go soft. “Steve,” she starts and Steve knows. He doesn’t want to know. “Don’t abandon the world you’ve built for yourself. Surround yourself with the people you love. Do this for me.”

“There’s so much hate and blood waiting for me when I get back, Pegs. I don’t want to-”

“There is a difference between you not wanting to and you having to.” He drops his head and focuses on the floor. Peggy isn’t done grilling him, however, and he looks back up to grant her the respect. “You must not abandon the world you helped create. I’m not saying this to be mean. I’m saying this because I know you don’t want to.”

“Pegs.”

“I see right through you, Steve. We marched together through mud and blood before. We’ve got two years of fighting side by side under our belts. I’ve seen you at your worst, and you I. I know that face anywhere.”

“I missed you, Pegs,” Steve breathes. She cups his face with her hands and draws their foreheads together.

“The stars weren’t written in our favor. But to know that you’re alive, and that you make it, and that you actually get to live,” she bites back a sob. “I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

“It isn’t my world to begin with.”

“No, you’re a man out of time. But so is James. You won’t abandon him now, will you?”

He chuckles low and their noses touch. “Stop making me feel guilty for wanting to find you, Peggy.”

She presses a soft kiss to the side of his mouth and finally breaks away. “And you won’t abandon that sweet girl who has put up with your nonsense for the last five years, you say?”

Steve shakes his head and meets Peggy’s gaze. “I’m just tired.”

“They are too, I bet.” He turns to the door and to Peggy, and she figures it’s almost time for him to leave. “You have been the archer and the brave, Steve. I’m absolutely certain you’ve been more. You will be more.”

Steve says his final goodbyes and stops to remember the fine details of Peggy’s face. The fifties are treating her well. Steve expected nothing less. Bright lights flash around him and he’s back to the world he wanted to leave, to hide from, and he sees you - and your mouth parts in shock.

“And you listened to her?” you ask.

Steve smiles, although it’s hard for him to remember that conversation. “I came back. I didn’t listen to her when she said to surround myself with people who love me, and who I love in return.”

“No, you made damn sure of that.”

“Hey,” Steve chuckles. “Don’t take smacks at me when you’re down.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Sorry, it’s just too easy sometimes.” Laughing about the two years of missed chances and spoiled friendship was not on your bingo card for this week.

“I don’t know how this is going to play out,” you admit. Steve looks so young with a somber expression: his eyebrow creases gently without wrinkling the rest of his forehead, the side of his mouth tilts downward, and his eyelashes kiss the pink of cheeks. “I decided in the moment. So I’m fuck all out of ideas on how to proceed.”

He nods in understanding. “Guess we just have to look over our shoulders three times instead of two now.”

“Simple like that?” You scrub a hand over your face and curse inwardly when you smudge your lipstick down to your chin. You ignore it. “I know we’re Avengers, but.”

“No buts,” Steve says and moves to sit up. You help him by pushing his shoulders and he accepts your help as you struggle to the bathroom. “You helped the guy and his daughter. I’m sure he’s going to be watching our backs from now on.”

You help Steve strip from his dress pants and shoes and finally remove your suit as well. The graze on your arm is covered in brown, dried blood but the wound isn’t deep. It’ll sting like a sunburn, you know that, but it’s better than being shot through. You watch Steve enter the shower and leave the curtain drawn. His bandage is soaked again but thankfully it’s from the water and not more blood. You grab a spare towel and soak it with water and soap, and rub it across your lips and chin.

“Let me do that,” Steve calls. You strip bare and bring the towel with you into the shower. Steve takes it and scrubs over your face, gently but more rough as he gets to your eyes. It’s an innocent moment of ‘ouch, scrub softer!’ and ‘surprised I didn’t take all your lashes off’. He helps clean your wound as well and once you’re both clean, he bandages you up and you him.

The master bedroom is the only room without electricity so you gather some candles. It’s like the two of you won’t admit you’re currently afraid of the dark or what may lie in it. They illuminate the room in a delicate orange and it’s such a peaceful color to briefly see before falling asleep, head tucked into Steve’s chest and his heartbeat thrumming gently with your breath.

It’s a wonder what a night’s sleep can do. Steve’s wounds are sealed and his fever is gone, but there’s a signature left behind. A pink and white patch of skin as tender as a newborn’s, a memory. Steve pours your coffee and his tea while you trace your fingers over it.

Two hours after eating a small breakfast and securing the perimeter, a soft ding startles you from the random book you’re reading. Steve’s phone shines with a message from Sam. It simply reads: ‘Clear’. Grabbing the phone and walking out onto the porch, you find Steve sitting on one of the steps he tripped over just yesterday. He’s sketching the sky and the trees, taking his time on the lines of the branches, the strokes of the leaves, and the frost over them. He looks up, studies his surroundings, and looks back down to add a detail he previously missed. He sniffs, rubs his nose, and finally notices you leaning against the doorframe.

“Hey,” he says, soft. “Any news?”

You hold up his phone and nod. “Sam says we’re clear to fly in.”

Steve looks back to his drawing. You hesitate before speaking, knowing damn well an all clear means get your ass back as soon as possible. “Finish your drawing. I’ll pack whatever we need to.” Steve’s mouth parts but he shuts it just as quickly. Slowly, he nods.

There isn’t much to pack since you brought nothing but the clothes on your backs. Everything at the hotel was collected before the wedding and should have flown back with Scott and the others. It feels awkward stealing bottled water and processed foods to hoard on the quinjet, but it’s a necessity. Steve meets you at the quinjet doors, shows you his drawing, and volunteers to take the wheel.

“You’re not volunteering. You’re ordering.”

Steve rolls his eyes, “No license, no drive.”

“What are you? A cop?”

“Don’t think for one second I won’t actually hand the wheels over and happily crash while screaming ‘I told you so’.”

Steve steers for the duration of your flight. The next few hours are spent just enjoying each other’s company, speaking of all things and simply catching up. It’s amazing how much you two missed from one another’s lives those two years.

The landing base is clear and it’s Sam who’s waiting for you as the Quinjet manually lands itself. He shoots you a gap-toothed smile and extends his arms, pulling the two of you in at the same time for a strong hug. He’s talking a mile a minute about how successful the mission was, how Fury is over the moon that it’s finally over, how the DEA is thinking of congratulating everyone one by one. It’s enough to distract Steve, who’s just happy to see his best friend again, but it isn’t enough for you. The large metal doors sealing the storage facility from the rest of the compound are thrown open. Bucky stumbles through and practically sprints over to the three of you.

“Get back on the jet,” he orders, already pulling you by the arm. You all look at one another like he’s gone mad but that’s impossible. Bucky’s paranoia isn’t something to take lightly; he’s right nine out of ten times.

“Buck, what-?”

“Rhodes couldn’t hold them. They have warrants, Steve.”

Steve hauls Sam onto the jet as well. “Warrants for who?”

“Get down from the jet without a fight and this will all go smoothly.”

There are about twenty uniformed officers surrounding the jet. They spread out in case anyone decides to run but it seems pointless to even try. Secretary Ross points his gun directly at you, proud and tall and looking just the same as you remember him. Last time you saw him was at Tony’s funeral.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you bite, and raise your hands in cooperation. Ross shakes his head and his expression contorts into one of disgust. There are red beams coming from each gun but your friends are clean - the beams are only pointed at you.

“Agent Y/N Y/LN, you’re under arrest for multiple charges of drug smuggling, trafficking of illegal goods, the murder of Ernesto Vega and Daniel Seda, aiding and abetting drug-lord Omar Ramirez, and for conspiracy against the United States of America. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a federal court of law...”

You drone out half way through. Ross finishes up the speech but no one is listening. Sam is already yelling over your Miranda Rights and Bucky’s frozen in place. Steve’s fighting his way through to Ross, pushing through the muscle until he’s face to face with him. But Ross isn’t fazed. There’s nothing left to do but exit the jet.

Immediately there are handcuffs slapped to your wrists. Two men drag you over to the containment car that’s enforced with so much indestructible material it’s almost insulting. You weren’t enhanced - they were doing this for fun.

“You’ve got it all wrong! Y/N! Y/N!”

You don’t fight. Conspiracy… you’re surprised they didn’t just shoot you dead. Steve’s still yelling, begging to be heard, but you try to block him out. It’s not your first time being arrested but it is your first time being charged with something you didn’t do. As funny as that sounds, it’s terrifying.

“Steve,” you say, and Steve breaks through some more hired muscle so he’s within earshot. “It’s okay.”

His face pulls up in pain, “No, you didn’t do this! They’re not listening!”

One of the officers pushes your head down roughly and tries to shove you in the backseat. You’re still looking at Steve. And those eyes, wounded and vulnerable, haunt him even after the door shuts and the car drives away.

There’s a privilege attached to the mantle of Captain America. Perhaps he was too blind to see it during the war or just too proud he was finally being heard and respected, but now he sees it for what it really is. It’s a mantle this country has never truly associated with the person but with the purpose. Steve was manufactured to help protect this country under government orders and when he defied that purpose, he disgraced the mantle. Seems like some people idolize the role a little too much.

But he’s still Captain America. This reality has continued to clear his name from stunts he pulls and laws he breaks. And once Steve is able to walk away without so much as a scratch, he leaves bodies behind.

Sharon. Sam. Bucky. Wanda. And now you. All people who fought his fight and weren’t granted the quick privilege of that perceived pureness and holiness. He was always ready for combat, he was built for it, but he didn’t really want it.

Did he?

Ripping that star off his chest was one thing. Accepting his new shield cemented his continual legacy as the Star-Spangled Man. He deserved to be in that cell with you. But if he learned anything about how the world works, it’s that cruelty doesn’t just win in the movies. All of his enemies started out friends and if he had to bet, he’d bet the reason they’re labeled as such is partially because of him.

So he sits and listens to everyone’s ideas and plans, vetoing and dismissing one right after the other, his mind doing jumping jacks. He’s both there and not, drowning in the fact that he made it home and you didn’t. He doesn’t know how to sleep without the sound of your snoring anymore.

He sits and listens.

The cell isn’t one you would expect for someone who has been charged for betraying her country. It’s modestly furnished: a black cot in the far right corner with a mini table beside it, a desk with some paper, and a door that leads to the private bathroom. All in all, the room’s size is that of a child’s bedroom; there’s no actual pens and pencils for risk of violent behavior and there’s a bulb camera that moves when you move.

You’ve been trapped in worse.

Countless detectives and investigators have visited already. They all ask the same questions: Why did you do it? Did Captain Rogers know? Who are you, really?

You give the same answers: I didn’t do it. Of course, every single person knows. Who do you think I am?

Every time they leave more discouraged than the one before them, refusing to compare notes with one another in case they were in possession of gold. They all ignore you when you try to ask for Steve and his wellbeing. Their faces contort, they whisper to their partners, and they shake their heads in disappointment. One even goes as far as to threaten you, warning you to keep Captain Roger’s name out of your wetback mouth or else, until he’s escorted from the cell. Not that it really matters - the manipulated ideals of these people will always blur their search for the truth. And when the truth fails to satisfy such greedy manipulations, they choose to create their own.

There is one agent who peaks your interest. He offers you gum when he settles in the chair near the door. His name badge reads ‘Kavert’; it glares in the bright lights overhead and he makes no other attempt at small talk once he gets comfortable and opens his little notepad.

That goddamn notepad, you think. Every single person before has prided themselves over it, scribbling little notes about your tone of voice, body movement, and vague answers. You never give much, Natasha had taught you better, so they always end up writing less than two bullet points before giving up.

But Agent Kavert surprises you by opening up to a blank page, spitting his chewed gum in the middle, and then he shuts it closed. He offers you a real smile, one that doesn’t look practiced or forced. It lets you study him without being so guarded or uncomfortable. He seems young, not really a rookie but it’s obvious he’s spent more time behind a desk than out in the field. His dark hair is short, sprinkled grays near his temples, and his attire screams upper level. His build is lean, his gun is in the holster on his right hip, and a part of you knows he’d put up a hell of a fight if you tried to escape.

“I was gonna comment on what lovely weather we’re having, but I don’t think you get out much.”

You’re startled into a real laugh. Satisfaction washes over his face.

“I think you’re wasting your time, Agent Kavert.”

He grins and moves to proudly pull at his jacket and present his badge. He sets the notebook to the side and leans forward to cup his hands together on his knees.

You squint at him. There’s nothing interesting about you right now: back against the wall as you sit criss-crossed on the cot, sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, hair brushed but a little greasy. Your last shower was two days ago and you figure they’ll let you have one tonight.

“Yeah, you’re right. There’s no point in hoping you’ll tell me anything you haven’t shared yet.”

“Nope.”

He hums low in his throat and tilts his head to the left. Now, he squints at you. “I just don’t get it. How did you do it? Not show up on our radar, I mean?”

It doesn’t seem like he’s calling you guilty or innocent. Already he’s one-hundred percent different from the other agents. “I wasn’t exactly hiding.”

He sits up to lean back in the chair, “Different last name, government and Avenger protection, covering your tracks so carefully even the DEA missed you.”

“You’ve done your homework.”

“Yes, but,” he starts. He acts like he’s having a normal conversation on his front porch. “It still doesn’t make sense. How could Nick Fury miss this? Tony Stark? After the whole Obadiah situation, I expected him to-”

“It’s simple, really. Do you want to know or do you want to keep making assumptions?”

He’s watched the other agents leave by this point. Some couldn’t even make you talk. So he shuts up and waves his hand for you to continue.

“Cool,” you breathe out. “First of all, I’m literally only telling you this because I’ve already been refused a lawyer or some crap like that and I highly doubt this is going to actual court. The publicity would be horrible.”

He bites his lip but you catch the little smile forming. You continue, “And I have nothing to hide. I’m sure my Captain, my teammates, and Fury himself have given their sides. Am I right?”

Agent Kavert adjusts himself in the seat and nods in response. He doesn’t dare interrupt you now.

“Good, then I’ll keep it sweet. They knew who I was. I was recruited to be an inside source, a double agent, and this wedding was the perfect chance to corner those men,” you declare, turning your hands palm up and shrugging your shoulders. “There, happy?”

“Double agent.” Agent Kavert chews over the words, rolling them around on his tongue a few more times. He’s squinting harder and you can see his brain working. The next sound to leave his lips is a heavy sigh and a feeling of immense irritation washes over you. It wasn’t enough. “Are we going to be truthful yet, Agent?”

Chuckling lightly, you rest the back of your skull on the wall. It was wrong to assume he’d be any different from the others. “Of course you don’t believe me. You want more, they all do. I don’t suppose I have anything better to do.”

He claps his hands on his thighs and leans forward again, loud and restless. “Then let’s get started, really: Did you or did you not let Omar Ramirez, Mexican drug-lord involved with Ernesto Vega, your father... imagine that, run away from a crime scene, evade arrest, and possibly leave the country?”

“You expect me to follow all those questions?”

“It’s not the time to be funny.”

“You were enjoying it just a second ago,” you mumble. He raises his eyebrows, still waiting for an answer. “Then let me put it simply: no, I did not.”

“Did you or did you not assassinate Ernesto Vega?”

“I would have remembered such a brilliant kill if it came from my gun.”

“So that’s a no… Daniel Seda?”

“His gun was pointed at my Captain. Yes.”

“Against orders, then?”

Confusion is written all over your face and you make sure the camera knows it too. There are only so many times you can repeat yourself. “Don’t you have Steve’s report? Scott’s?”

“We have to hear the story from you, Agent.”

“But that’s just the thing, isn’t it? You don’t believe me.”

He shrugs and quickly scans you up and down. Even if he doesn’t have the tangible notepad in his hands, he’s getting away with making mental notes. “The story just isn’t piecing together the way it should be. Why would Daniel Seda murder his greatest ally and friend?”

“Our mics have already transcribed that answer for you, sir. I’m sure of it. And I’ve got sources outside of the DEA and Avengers-”

“Like Maribel Rodrigo? Another smuggler who has operated inside the cartel, HYDRA, Madripoor…”

You cut him off, angry. “Not the full story.”

Tone of voice: defensive.

“Then that leads me to my next question.”

“Oh, fun.”

Tone of voice: sarcastic.

He speaks with a tinge of astonishment hidden in every syllable. “Why didn’t you do it? Kill Ernesto, I mean.”

“I was disarmed at the time. The Captain and I both were,” you answer, growing more impatient by the second.

He uses his hands to speak now, finger pointing along an invisible timeline detailing the order of events. “So you admit you were going to kill him if you had your weapon.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

Body movement: rigid.

“Or maybe you weren’t. Maybe my boss is right, maybe the FBI is right in thinking that you are a double agent leaning more towards your roots than our boys in blue.” He says this like its scripture; like it’s some holy conspiracy he’s just found evidence for. He wants you to plant words in your mouth and in this discussion so he can pluck the evidence from the ground and water it with fire.

You scoff hard, “I hardly ever wear blue when doing your job for you.”

“Was letting Omar Ramirez escape our job or just yours?”

Telling him the truth would mean losing all credibility, all titles, all trust in your work. You know what you’ve done and you don’t regret it. Ramirez was never the biggest fish and if you spun this right, then he was simply a fish who got his meal and promptly swam away. “You assume I let him go. What evidence tells you that?”

He ignores the question and instead asks another of his. “Why were your relations kept hidden from SHIELD and the FBI?”

“That’s a question for you know who.”

He shakes his head in disappointment. “You’re in a lot of trouble.”

“I bet I am. But this is not some precinct where you can get my team to turn on me so easily. And this is not a situation in which they’re lying for me. I trust that whatever the Captain has said is the answer to all your questions.”

“We’re gonna unravel this case. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

You’re suddenly overcome with a wave of sleepiness. These past two weeks have been exhausting even if you haven’t moved more than five feet from wall to wall. Having to repeat yourself to people who have already written the story for themselves is tiring. “I don’t know why you guys can’t just believe the words of myself and everyone vouching for me. We got you all the evidence. We have given you more names and connections that you’ll ever know what to do with. You don’t need to unravel anything; it’s all there! But because we weren’t able to arrest the one person you wanted, that being Ernesto, you go after me. You have White but I guess he’s not talking. And you’ll believe what you want to believe.”

“I trust my gut.”

“As simple as that, huh?” You sigh deeply and cross your arms over your chest. “You know, there’s a saying the late Agent Carter used to tell all SHIELD agents when they first started out and when they came back from missions. When she retired, it was Fury who then eased our minds.”

Agent Kavert has a harsh line creasing through the middle of his forehead and he looks deeply interested.

“There are three sides to every story,” you recite. “Your side, my side, and the truth.” A gentle shrug of the shoulders feels like all you’re allowed to give him. “I’m not lying to you but I’m not telling you the full truth either. Just my side.”

Agent Kavert shuts his eyes and bounces his left leg. He looks conflicted and unable to formulate a response at all. He’s shaking like he’s at war with himself or with the suits on the other side of the door, but no one has come knocking yet. “Let’s say I believe you. Just for a second.”

You nod.

“Daniel Seda murders Vega at his own daughter’s wedding. We managed to catch Marcus White and because of fault entirely, Omar Ramirez gets away. Because from what I heard, Ramirez was working with you.” He paints the picture rather mundane, but you shoot him a smile that tells him he’s on the right track. “And you and all the other Avengers were blindsided by Ramirez. You gathered all the evidence you were told to gather, worked together and played your cards right, infiltrated one of the most secure estates in the country, and fucked up so badly that you managed to let two of your biggest giants die?”

“I really think you got it spot on.”

He laughs dryly, “But it still doesn’t make sense. Once Vega was gone and Seda survived, where would you have fallen in this tree?”

He wants to retract his question the moment he sees your face fall with such a sincerity he wasn’t ready for. “That’s just it, Agent Kavert. I would have fallen.”

“And the other two? How would business work? Would Daniel Seda have been the head of it now?”

“Your answers are in the evidence we gathered. I know you guys aren’t touching it because you think I’m compromised.”

He stands from the chair and dusts off his jacket. “Your side, my side, and the truth,” he repeats. He goes to open the door but you speak quickly before he can leave.

“They think I infiltrated SHIELD, the Avengers, and am in bed with HYDRA because they’ve been helping Ernesto’s vision all along.” Agent Kavert stops and turns back to you. “I am a double agent whose identity was kept secret to aid this country and not raise suspicions from your part. I have seen a lot of things, have done things I’m not proud of, but I’ve done it all for a reason.”

Agent Kavert looks almost ashamed. Tone of voice: sincere.

“Me and my Captain saved lives, our own as well, and we stopped three of the most notorious drug-lords who have been at large since the eighties. We got your giants for you. And the truth is, I have discovered: through all my pain and experience... that it’s excellent to have a giant’s strength; but it is tyrannous to use it like a giant.”

Agent Kavert doesn’t know if you’re talking about Ernesto, the U.S Government, yourself, or him. His eyebrows pinch together and he slowly moves to leave the room.

It’s another week before you’re visited by someone who isn’t bringing you food or extra toilet paper. You’re picking at your cuticles when the vents above your cell begin rattling with the obvious weight of a human being. You sit dumbly on the bed, straining your ears and trying hard not to laugh as each rattle is returned with a muffled curse. The vent on the ceiling right outside your cell drops to the concrete floor.

Ernesto’s men wouldn’t go through all that trouble to kill you James Bond style. They would have just bribed a guard. So it’s a treat when the door swings open quickly and in comes a staggering Clint, keys in one hand and his phone in the other. The screen is illuminated, showcasing what looks to be blueprints. He’s got a bandaid over his left eyebrow and dust all over his clothes.

Your upper lip twitches into a silly smile. “You’re ridiculous if you thought you wouldn’t be heard in those damn vents.”

Clint makes a noise that sounds like he’s saying ‘maaaf’ and he plops down beside you on the cot. It’s absolutely hilarious he traveled in the vents and that the team approved this when in reality, they could have just sent Scott. “Just had to get past the first line of security. Plus, the blueprints said they were wider... I figure we’ve got a good three minutes before they check the cameras.”

It’s not the first time you sit in a cell with a time crunch.

The Raft is nothing special. They have you all separated by rank, meaning you were in the same vicinity as Clint, Sam, and Scott. Wanda was moved to a more secure location and you haven’t seen her since they brought you in.

There isn’t much to do in a place like this. You tried counting how many strands of hair you had but gave up once you counted two hundred; you tried seeing if the others could hear you when you yelled out to them but the cells were soundproof; you even tried filing your nails against the uneven paint on the wall. It’s like they made life in these cells purposefully horrible - like you didn’t save the world a couple times over, c’mon.

The camera fidgets over your head where you’re laying down and after a few seconds, it stops. The red light slowly fades and turns a bright yellow. You move to stand on the bed and reach for it, but a voice startles you from doing so.

“Don’t mess with my magic!”

You topple over the single pillow you were given and fall flat on the bed, scrambling to shield yourself from whoever intruded. “Jesus!”

“Oh, I met him. Strange lad, didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

There’s a moment where you think you must be dreaming. His hair is longer and hits his shoulders and he’s added some blue and yellow to his usual attire. But other than that, he’s alive. Truly, brilliantly, really alive.

“Loki, what the fuck?”

“Right!” Loki claps his hands and extends them outwards, smiling. “Ta-da!”

A few beats pass. You blink a few times just in case you’re hallucinating. Barely a week in containment…

“I’m sorry… I’m still trying to process the fact that you’re still alive!”

He scoffs low and goes to sit at the edge of the bed. “A God never truly dies, darling.”

“Well in Greek mythology-”

“Greek mythology and I have this unsettled beef that’s been going on for about five hundred years. Do not mention Greek mythology to me.”

“Excuse me, right, I should have known that was a sensitive topic.”

Loki swipes his tongue over his bottom lip and expels a laugh. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Your restraint is gone and you lunge forward to envelope him in the tightest hug you’ve ever given anyone. He returns it, sighing into your shoulder and holding you close. You pull away just to stare at him, watching his features as they move ever so slightly. It’s really him.

“I-” Loki tries but stutters. He’s studying you too and he almost looks sad. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Does Thor know?” Loki shakes his head at your question and winces when you smack his shoulder. “Loki, Thor has been grieving you for months!”

“I’m planning on it!” You don’t believe him. He goes to rub his shoulder. “Gods, I forgot you had excellent aim.”

You look back at the camera and find that the yellow light is still glowing, dim. Loki’s magic is blocking footage out or putting footage in, you really don’t know. But it’s allowing you a few moments with the man you thought you’d never see again. “Spontaneous reincarnation aside, what are you doing here? How did you even know I was here?”

“I’m on this planet for five-FIVE minutes, and the television has all these reports about you and everyone fighting each other?”

“Mm, right, right.”

Loki stares at you, amused. “... Care to explain?”

Your face contorts into a hundred different expressions until you finally settle on one of gentle guilt. “The person we were after was a friend of a friend. I made a judgement call and let him go.”

“You went against orders?”

“I went against the law.”

“Even better.”

With an eyebrow cocked, you give him a judging look. “Loki.”

His eyes crinkle from the intensity of his smile and you’ve missed him, you missed him so much. “That’s what I love about you. Barely starting out as an Avenger and you’re already realizing you can do more good in your own way.”

You groan quietly and rest your head on his shoulder. He wraps his arm around your waist and tugs you closer. “I mainly did it for Steve. Wasn’t like it was a big ‘fuck you’ to one-hundred and seventeen nations for the hell of it.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No.”

“Spoken like a true anti-hero.”

“You comparing me to yourself?”

Loki chuckles and runs his fingers through the strands of hair closest to your cheek. “Darling, I’m a God. No one comes close.” He sighs, serious again. “All I’m saying is that it’s refreshing to see the young break the rules.”

“I missed you,” you softly say. You can feel the nudge of his cheek turning upward against your head.

“Always nice to hear.”

Rolling your eyes, you move to meet his gaze. “So, no reason why you came to visit me specifically?”

Loki takes one cautious look at the camera, to outside your cell, and back to you. “I too do things for your lovely Captain.” His smile grows wider.

“What?”

He winks and tilts his head over to the giant metal doors that are starting to pry open. “See you in a minute.”

The alarms begin blazing; there is fog filling the room, and Steve emerges from that fog with a winning smirk.

You look over at Clint, half selfishly wishing he was Loki on another one of his midnight visits, and quickly do away with the thought. “So how’s life without me?”

“Oh, it’s great! The flowers are in bloom, the kitchen isn’t always a mess, and my bow and arrow aren’t misplaced because you wanted to have some fun with it,” he jokes, stretching far enough that his feet dig into your thigh like he’s trying to make more room for himself.

“Not like it’s your only bow and arrow.”

He chuckles and sits up. He does a once over of the room and adjusts the frequency on his hearing aid. “They read you your rights at least?”

You wait to respond until he finishes fixing it. You speak and sign the words slowly, “I don’t think any lawyer in America will want to take this case anyway.”

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s a career killer.”

Trying to refrain from smiling around Clint was nearly impossible. You look to the door quickly, “Two minutes?”

He shoots up straighter as he watches your hands, “Right! So we’re currently tracking down your sister-”

“My sister?”

“Steve thinks she’s our only hope at clearing your name.”

“Why is that? I told her to get as far away as possible.”

Clint sighs and scratches the skin just above the bandaid. “She stayed in Mexico all those years you were gone. By all accounts, Ernesto adored her. Because of that, her influence might clear your name.”

“But she stayed. All the more reason to believe she was involved as well,” you say, shaking your head.

“She’s barely out of her teens. Everything that happened, happened when she was a minor. She has a first hand account of the abuse Ernesto caused you. And Steve thinks that the Julian fellow might even come clean and admit to the arranged marriage. Shows a pattern of abuse by Ernesto to his own children. Could spin it to make it seem like you had no other choice but to follow his orders.”

You follow his hands slowly, some signs difficult to read but you latch onto the gist of his argument. You groan and lean your head back on the wall with a small thump. “They go against Ernesto and they have targets on their backs. Even my other siblings who are still involved with all of this won’t let it go.”

“Y/N… Ernesto’s dead. You know that.”

“His influence isn’t.”

There’s minimal commotion a few doors down. Clint realizes it’s time to leave. “It might never be. But we don’t get to live in the future.” He stands with another small groan and stretches as he prepares to lift himself back into the vent. “We’re living now, and it’s all any of us can do.”

“Clint?” You also stand and have to wave in his peripheral to get his attention. He turns and knows what you’re about to say even without the hand gestures. “They won’t answer me when I ask.”

His lips pull into a perceptive smile, “He’s okay. Doing what he does best - blaming himself.”

“Oh, okay, good.”

He’s had enough practice reading your lips to notice the sarcasm that drips from them. He hurries to lift himself up. “We’ve got about a million tricks up our sleeve. If Jackeline’s word or the evidence isn’t enough, we’ve always got Fury and his blackmail.”

“Yeah, half the guys who interviewed me look like they cheat on their wives, so.”

He genuinely laughs and jumps high, muttering more to himself than to you. “Up we go…”

The team locates Jackeline just a few days after your run-in with Clint. The building saw a triple rise in security but even then it didn’t prevent undercover agents passing all the checkpoints and sliding notes with your meals. They’d leave the tray, tip their hats, and smile like they knew the cameras wouldn’t suspect a thing.

The first note is from Bucky, with the simple message of ‘I watched a few episodes of The Crown without you… I’m sorry.’

The second comes on the same day at dinner time, this one from Wanda. ‘I think Peter is trying to flirt with your sister.’

The third isn’t slipped through with any meal, but rather through the tiny opening beneath the door. ‘Surprised we did this the legal way this time! See you soon! - Rhodey’

The final one is actually hand delivered when several guards come in to tell you you’re free to go. They’re mumbling amongst themselves, cursing the system and the privileges Avengers always get, when the smallest of the five turns to you and hands you the note. ‘I owe you one. You owe me one. Who’s counting anymore? - Joaquin’

Jackeline had been able to track down Maribel and the two of them, with such accuracy in their stories and their timelines, constructed your defense perfectly. They showed them phone records, all of the recordings from that week, had proof that you never signed a thing, and made several special deals. Jackeline promised to reveal where bodies were buried, where business was dealt with, who else was involved with Ernesto and Seda. Maribel managed to get a message to them from Ramirez, which basically cleared you from the crime they were trying to stick. Ramirez was a damn good liar, you’ll give him that, and it made you the tiniest bit sad that you’d probably never see him again.

The tipping point was when Steve turned himself in. There was no evidence that you did anything, never signed anything, never conspired behind your teammates backs. Fury made sure not to keep a paper or electronic trail. But there was evidence that implicated Steve - the contract. No matter how badly the FBI and CIA tried to make it go away, to absolve Steve from it, he didn’t back down. It was like the story they originally wanted toppled in on itself and it was actually Steve who forced you into all of this - playing your connections and forcing your hand. The contract hadn’t been voided, still hasn’t, and they really couldn’t risk another SHIELD fiasco. So it was destroyed to protect the Stars and Stripes, and in return they promised to let you go if you didn’t tell a soul. The image you’d come to despise, that tacky red, white and blue, is starting to grow on you.

‘Let me think about that and get back to you,’ you had joked. You think they let you go sooner because they feared the truth in your joke.

But there wasn’t anything to think about, ever, still isn’t. Steve pulled another sacrifice play and you wanted to get out as soon as possible to kick his ass.

You leave the prison with the same clothes you had on when you entered. They smell washed and you’re thankful they allowed you to shower before you left. You ignore the looks guards and prisoners aim at you, each trying to somehow get their hits in without actually pulling their punches. This would be a media disaster either way, didn’t matter the outcome of a supposed trial, and PR was most likely struggling to prepare their defense.

You resist the embarrassing urge to run into his arms. He’s standing right outside the gates, leaning back on the passenger side of his rusty old blue pickup, positively glowing underneath the blazing sun. You’re blinded by it, skin thanking the dangerous rays for its first touch in weeks, but it only takes a moment for your eyes to adjust. He still hasn’t shaved and his hair is getting longer, and instead of his usual tucked-in dress shirt, he’s wearing a brown leather jacket over a faded graphic tee that reads AC/DC. It was Tony’s.

You’ve only got the broken burner phone and a hair tie in your possession; it’s what was on you when you were arrested. You drop the burner in a nearby trashcan and head on over to the truck. Steve’s wide smile buckles your knees and it damn near breaks your heart. Even when the two of you weren’t on speaking terms, you still saw each other at least twice a week. Going two weeks without seeing him feels like a lifetime.

Once you're a few feet away, you stop in front of him. There are no immediate words you know to say, so you simply shrug your shoulders and give him a look that asks ‘What now?’

“Home.”

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess @supraveng @mycosmicparadise @missnighttigress

#captainsimagines #captain america x reader #steve rogers x reader #reader x steve rogers #avengers fanfiction #avengers x reader #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #marvel masterlist #marvel fanfiction #mob fanfic #reader insert #trigger warnings listed #you x steve rogers

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set-phasers-to-whump · 3 years

Text

all this time been burnin’ with a fever

prompt: labor (leftover from day 6, used as an alt)

whumpee: eddie diaz

fandom: 911

heyo! i am gonna be honest i cannot figure out whether this fic sucks or is okay. i straight up have no idea. but oh well. hopefully it’s ok! this fic is pre-buddie but i suppose it doesn’t have to be? idk its a lil different from the usual pre-buddie stuff i write. also i don’t mention it in the fic but i don’t want people to worry about him so chris is like, at a sleepover :) hope you enjoy this! (title from deleter by grouplove)

When Eddie had laid down in the bunk room, he’d felt just a little bit off. He had attributed this to the current heat wave sweeping through Los Angeles, but now, he’s not so sure.

The alarm is going off and around him, his fellow firefighters are climbing out of their bunks to respond to a worker trapped under heavy equipment at a factory. Eddie gets out of bed with the rest of them, trying to pretend like his head isn’t spinning from the movement. He takes the stairs down to the truck, not liking his chances of going down the pole with his weirdly-sweaty hands.

He feels very slightly better when he sits down in the truck across from Buck. Slightly. His head has stopped spinning. Other than that, he still feels like absolute shit. He’s hot, and horribly sweaty (he can feel his hair sticking unpleasantly to his forehead), and his whole body aches like...like something. His head hurts too much to think of an appropriate metaphor.

“You okay?” Buck asks. It takes Eddie a moment to register the fact that anyone has spoken at all, and another moment to figure out a reply. By the time he says, “I’m fine,” he’s pretty sure there’s no way in hell that Buck believes him.

“Are you sure?” Buck asks, immediately after Eddie says he’s fine. Eddie sighs. He really doesn’t have the strength to insist right now.

“Yes,” he says, and hopes that it’s enough.

“Really? Cause, I don’t mean to insult you or anything, but you look kind of terrible.”

I know, Eddie thinks. I feel it, too. He says, “thanks, Buck. You’re so nice,” instead, and Buck just shakes his head.

A few minutes later, they arrive at the factory. Wanting to prove to Buck that he’s okay, Eddie shoots up from his seat as soon as the truck parks and determinedly makes his way outside, fighting through a rush of lightheadedness and forcing himself to keep moving normally.

The team heads into the building, the 911 dispatcher relaying information about their victim’s location.

“First floor, back right corner.”

Bobby leads the way, and Eddie sticks close behind him. The air-conditioning in the building has been turned off, and the atmosphere inside is choking and dry. He feels himself start to sweat even more, and wonders how that’s possible.

“Wow,” is the first thing anyone - Buck - says, when the victim comes into view. Both of his legs are pinned under a very large machine, which appears to have fallen on its side. He’s conscious, but clearly going into shock. Hen and Chim get to work on him right away, as the rest of the team analyzes the machine and waits for the paramedics to give the go-ahead to lift it away.

“You’re good to go, Cap,” Chim says, after a moment. “He’s stable for now.”

“We’re gonna need all available hands on deck for this one,” Bobby says. Hen stands up from next to the patient to join in the effort, while Chim remains with him, monitoring his vitals.

Bobby instructs everyone to different positions around the machine. Eddie is at a corner, and he braces a hand against it as they prepare to lift. He can’t remember a time when he felt this weak, but he knows he has to fight through this, has to give everything he’s got and more, to make sure that they get this man free.

“On the count of three,” Bobby says, and Eddie puts his hands on either side of the corner, pressing his feet firmly into the ground. He can do this. He has to do this. He feels so, so bad.

“Three, two, one!”

They all lift simultaneously. The machine creaks and squeaks and comes up off of the ground, and there’s a dragging sound, and Eddie’s legs are starting to shake, and his vision is going dark around the corners and his head is hurting more and more and -

“He’s out!”

They settle the machine to the floor. The second Eddie’s hands leave the metal, everything goes dark.

Eddie wakes up to the overpowering smell of ammonia. He reaches out a clumsy hand to bat the source of the smell away and hears Buck’s voice.

“He’s awake!” This is not directed at Eddie, but the next thing he says is. “I can’t believe you.”

Eddie opens his eyes and finds himself staring up at Buck’s face, half-illuminated by what he assumes is a flashlight. “What happened?” he asks, trying to sit up.

Buck’s hand presses him back to the ground, which is where he was heading anyway - even moving slightly upwards had made his head start to feel funny, and he really doesn’t want to pass out. Wait -

“You passed out,” Buck says, his voice not quite snapping at Eddie, but getting there. “We set down that machine, and you hit the floor. You wanna explain that?”

Not really, Eddie thinks. “Don’t feel good,” he says, and this time it’s Bobby who speaks to him, stepping into his field of view for the first time and bending to crouch next to him.

“I bet you don’t. You’re dehydrated and running a fever.” Eddie senses that there’s something else Bobby is going to say, but he’s interrupted by Buck.

“Even though you told me you were fine,” Buck says. “You passed out, Eddie. You’re just lucky that the patient was stable enough for Hen and Chim to check you over and make sure you weren’t, you know, dying or anything.” He sounds angry, and Eddie doesn’t blame him. He can’t believe he passed out on the job. He’s stronger than that, better than that.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Save it,” Buck says. “You think you can get up without passing out again? We need to get you back to the station.”

Eddie shrugs against the ground. This must be a good enough answer, though, because the next thing he knows, Buck’s hands are grabbing onto his own, and then Buck’s standing and pulling Eddie to his feet.

Everything starts to spin, but Eddie resolutely does not pass out. He does lean forward until Buck is practically supporting all of his weight. They walk back to the truck, awkwardly, Buck all but carrying Eddie, Bobby walking next to them.

The ride to the station is quiet. Eddie leans his head against the window and wishes that the glass was cool. But it’s warm, just like everything else, and he doesn’t think he’s ever been so hot in his life. I want to go home, he thinks, and it’s not until Buck replies that he realizes he’s spoken out loud.

“You’ll go home,” he says. “We’re just going back to the station to get your stuff, and then I’m driving you there.”

Some kind of hopeful feeling rises in Eddie at the thought of Buck bringing him home, caring for him, even, but he squashes it down and protests because he has to. “You don’t have to -”

“I’m doing it. End of story,” Buck says. Eddie flinches a little at the hardness in his voice, but he knows he deserves it.

They arrive back at the station, and Buck tells Eddie to wait in the truck while he gets their stuff. Eddie slumps down in his seat and closes his eyes and tries to tell himself that he’s going to be fine, that it’s just a fever, but he’s aching and sweaty and exhausted and frankly miserable, and having a hard time believing that anything is ever going to be fine again.

“Hey,” Bobby’s voice distracts him from his rapidly darkening thoughts. Eddie opens his eyes and sits up a little on the seat. Bobby sits down across from him and touches a hand to his shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

That is...not what Eddie had been expecting him to say. He’d expected a stern talking-to, at the very least. Maybe some yelling. Not concern.

He finds he doesn’t have it in him to lie. “Not really.”

“How long have you been feeling sick?”

Eddie shrugs. “I only felt a little off before going to sleep. I thought it was just the heat. It wasn’t bad until I woke up.”

Bobby nods sympathetically, and Eddie wonders why he’s not mad. Before he can think the better of it, he’s asking.

“I am upset with you,” Bobby says, but his voice is gentle. “Coming to work sick doesn’t just put you in danger. It puts the team and the people we save in danger too. You should have told me how you were feeling before we went out on that call.”

Eddie nods. “I know,” he says, “it was stupid.”

“I won't argue with that,” Bobby replies. “I want you to get home and get some rest and plenty of fluids, and don’t even think about coming back here until you’re feeling a hundred percent.”

“Okay.”

Bobby stands to leave the truck at the same moment that Buck returns, his and Eddie’s duffle bags thrown over his shoulder, keys to his Jeep in hand. “You ready to go?” he asks, voice still distant but slightly less cold.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, carefully making his way out of the truck, bracing his hands against it to keep his balance. Buck steps closer and takes on some of Eddie’s weight without either of them saying a thing, and they walk out into the parking lot.

For the first few minutes of the drive, neither of them says anything. Then, they stop at a red light, and Buck turns to look at Eddie.

“You passed out,” he says, stressing the words.

“I know,” Eddie replies. “Don’t have to remind me.”

“We were on a call, and you just passed out,” Buck continues. “Do you know what that was like? Hearing something fall to the ground and realizing it was you?”

Eddie doesn’t answer. He’s too tired to formulate any kind of response, and anyway, he’s pretty sure that these are rhetorical questions.

The light turns green, and Buck starts driving again. “It was terrifying, Eds,” and a bit of softness creeps back into his voice with the use of the nickname. “We didn’t know why you collapsed. Honestly, you’re lucky that the ambulance already had a passenger, or you’d probably be at the hospital right now.”

“It wasn’t...wasn’t that bad,” Eddie says, suddenly realizing how much worse things could be - he could be in the hospital, for what is nothing more than a fever.

“Yeah, we figured that out pretty quick when Chim started checking you over. Your fever wasn’t dangerously high or anything. You’re just sick. Normal sick, nothing scary. Chim said all you needed was some rest and some water and someone watching over you to make sure you actually got those things.”

Eddie nods, although Buck is looking at the road and can’t see him. “Glad it’s you,” he says.

“What?”

“Glad it’s you,” he repeats. “Watching over me. I didn’t think...I mean...you’re mad at me. But you’re doing it anyway.”

Buck pulls into the driveway. “Of course I am,” he says. “Watching over you. And, I mean, I’m mad at you, too. Do you have any idea how stupid it was to go on a call like this?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “I just…”

“I know.”

Buck parks the car and gets out, and he’s opening Eddie’s door for him before Eddie’s hands have even found his seatbelt. Buck reaches across him and undoes it, wincing when his hand touches Eddie’s skin.

“You really are burning up,” he says. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

A few minutes later, Eddie is in bed, dressed in lightweight pajamas and lying on top of the covers because it’s way too hot beneath them. There’s a large glass of water and a bottle of tylenol sitting on the bedside table, and Buck is in his bathroom getting a damp washcloth that Eddie had tried to insist wasn’t necessary.

As soon as the cloth touches his forehead, though, he changes his mind. It feels wonderful against his overheated skin, and he sighs contentedly.

“Told you that would make you feel better,” Buck says, sinking down onto the edge of the bed. “You need anything else?”

You, Eddie thinks, but Buck is already here, taking care of him and worrying over him and making sure he’s comfortable even though he’s also still a little mad at him. It should be enough, Eddie thinks, but all he really wants is for Buck to lie down next to him. He can’t quite bring himself to ask, though. Even in his feverish state his inhibitions haven’t been lowered that much.

So he doesn’t ask Buck to lie down next to him. The extra body heat would probably be unbearable anyway. But that doesn’t mean that Buck doesn’t stay. He does, and doesn’t give Eddie much of a choice in the matter.

“I’m gonna go crash on the couch,” he says. “If you need anything, if you wake up and feel worse, anything, I’m right here, okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie says, and closes his eyes. “Thank you.”

He can hear the soft smile in Buck’s voice when he replies, “always, Eds.”

thanks for reading!!!!! i hope you liked this fic :) i feel like i usually write something that is like a little more hopefully pre-ship but i have become such a slut for pining!eddie so. here.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump6 #i guess since thats the prompt lol #think i tagged the other one i did like this wrong my b #911 #eddie diaz #labor #aka ignoring illness and working anyway #fever #my writing #i say things #oughghh complaining for a sec but work was so much 2day....too many people. idk why we were so much busier today than yesterday like.#its tuesday who tf is checking into a hotel on a monday afternoon?#apparently a Lot of ppl #anyway in other news i am currently listening to a buddie playlist. its so nice but idk how people can make such good and long playlists!#none of mine top like. 15 songs lmao and they all Suck!#ok shuttin up. goodnight!

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gothgirlmahi · 5 years

Text

Selfish

These tumblr writings have become my one way ticket to hell I hope you guys are happy lmao

Dark!Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3

Summary: Steve is your husband’s best friend but with Bucky on a mission, he jumps at the chance to become more.

Warnings: non con

A knock on the door disturbed you from your evening rituals of drinking tea and watching trashy reality TV. You turned the show down and ran to take a peek at your visitor. Steve was standing on your porch, shuffling around with his hands in his pockets.

What was Steve doing here?

Bucky was on a mission and you thought he would know that. Maybe he left something here?

You were puzzled but opened the door to greet him nonetheless.

“Hi, Steve.”

“Hey, uh, can I come in?”

Everything in you was saying no. No you can’t come in. I’m busy doing—what did they call it? Self care. Get off of my porch.

“Yeah, sure.” Stupid. You couldn’t refuse. He was Bucky’s best friend and Captain America. He wouldn’t come over if he didn’t need anything. The sooner in, the sooner out you supposed.

You all walked into the kitchen where you propped yourself against the counter and waited for him to explain himself. When he didn’t, you had to ask.

“Why are you here, Steve?” Your intent wasn’t to sound callous but you wanted to know why he was here. Your anxiety started to build as you hoped he hadn’t come with bad news about Bucky.

“I have to be honest. I came here for you.”

“What do you mean?”

He ran a hand through his hair with a nervous laugh.

“This is embarrassing. I don’t know how to put this. I care about you.”

Your heart stopped.

“Okay?” You blinked in confusion, hoping he didn’t mean what you thought. Steve shook his head.

“No, you don’t understand. I have feelings for you. I love you. I’m in love with you.”

Instinctively you took a few steps back.

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s not a joke.” He backed you into the counter, trapping you between his arms.

“I’m married to Bucky, I’m married to your best friend. Steve, I do not have feelings for you.”

He put his head down, sighing deeply.

“I was afraid you’d say that. Are you sure? I thought there were some times we really connected.”

“Steve, you’re scaring me.”

“I know. Your heart is beating fast. You should probably calm down.” “I’ll calm down when you get away from me.”

He was quiet for a moment, just staring at you and smiling. His hand came to caress your cheek and you slapped it away. His face fell, turning quickly to anger.

“Turn around. Right now,” he commanded. You shook your head, adrenaline racing through your veins. Steve had lost it.

“Steve, please. Stop. You’re scaring me.”

Steve ignored you and roughly flipped you so your stomach was laying against the counter. You tried to reach back and hit him, but he firmly held both of your hands at your lower back Steve was much stronger than you were. There was no chance of you getting out of his hold. His hips pushed against yours and you could feel his erection brushing against your ass. Tears welled in your eyes.

“Steve, stop. Please just think about Bucky.”

He groaned and spanked you hard.

“Trust me, Bucky isn’t who I’m thinking about right now.”

You tried to kick at him but his legs held yours in place while he pushed your dress over your ass. He easily ripped your panties off, exposing all of you to him. He rutted against you for a moment before pulling back.

“God, I can’t wait to have you.”

You could barely talk between your sobbing and hiccuping.

“Steve, stop! Why are you doing this?!”

“Hey, shh. It’s all okay. I’ll make it good for you. I promise.”

His hand strayed down to cover your clit and you gasped. He pulled back, licking two of his fingers before putting them back on you and rubbing. You squirmed around in discomfort and Steve pushed you harder into the counter.

Even as he played with you, you were honestly too scared to be aroused. Your husband’s best friend was literally holding you down about to take you against your will. It was fucked up on every level. You were frozen to your spot, your body tense as he dipped between your dry folds. He sighed.

“I see this isn’t working. Are you really not attracted to me?” he asked, sounding a little hurt.

As you were shaking your head, he pulled something out of his pocket. A bottle of lube. You glared at him through your tears and he smirked.

“I told you I didn’t want to hurt you. I need to get you ready for me.”

He let go of your hands and used his body weight to hold you down. Even through his clothes, you could feel how big he was as he rubbed himself against your bare ass. A few more tears fell.

He flipped the cap of the lube open, pouring some out onto his hand before setting it on the counter. His hand came to hold both of yours down again and he let up on his body weight. Two of his fingers were shoved inside you without warning, easily gliding in with the lube. He fingered you quickly, scissoring his fingers and trying to work you open. He added another finger and you cried out, clenching around him. As much as you hated it, you were getting wet for him. You could feel the slickness covering your folds. Steve laughed to himself.

“This is even better than I imagined.”

It was sick. He had imagined this. He had planned this. You had to wonder how long you had been the object of his desire. What was it about you that attracted him? Some days you weren’t even sure why Bucky kept you around so you couldn’t imagine why s man like Steve would want you. He could have any girl on the planet begging for him but he had to choose the one who wasn’t interested. The one woman that should have been off limits for him.

Steve pulled out to focus on your clit and you tried to stifle a moan with your hand. You could feel yourself getting closer. You really didn’t want to come like this but Steve wasn’t exactly asking. He laughed again at the sight of your shaking legs.

“Don’t act like you’re not enjoying it. No one’s here to hear you except me. You can cry and scream all you need to, but you will come for me.”

He was right. You couldn’t stop it. The pleasure building in your core was too much. Even as you were frightened and disgusted of your situation, your body was still reacting to him. You bit into the sleeve of your dress as you came and Steve never let up as you went through it. You bucked against his hand as you came down from your high.

When you heard him undoing his belt, all the fight rushed back into you. You kicked and screamed, trying to push him off of you. Steve was able to quell your rebellion embarrassingly quick, holding you down to the counter like it was nothing. He continued undoing his pants until he was able to pull himself out. When you felt his naked cock against you, a fresh wave of tears hit you. You sobbed and cried and begged him to stop. He wouldn’t have any of it.

Steve pushed his thick length inside of you until he bottomed out. You screamed again, shocked by how big he was and how much it hurt. He leaned to whisper in your ear as he attempted to push even further into you.

“I know it’s selfish but I had to have you. And feeling you around me is worth it. Fuck, Bucky is a lucky man.”

Steve slid you slightly off of the counter to get a better angle. One strong arm wrapped around your waist and the other over your shoulder for leverage. You squirmed and you knew it was futile but you mind kept telling you that you had to try.

He gave a few experimental thrusts inside you before picking up a rhythm. He laid himself over you, kissing at your neck and down your back while he fucked into you. Steve was a bit bigger than Bucky, uncomfortably so and you flinched every time he hit a little too deep.

“I’m being too gentle, aren’t I? You and Bucky like to hate fuck. Isn’t that right?”

You and Bucky had issues sure, and sometimes you worked them out in bed but how did he know that?

Steve tried to concentrate. The feeling of your walls snug around him kept pulling him back in. He knew it was wrong to force you into this, but it felt good. He knew he could make it good for you too. He’d just have to give you more of what you liked. The way you screamed for him only made him want you more.

“Ah, you’re gorgeous. Wish you were mine.”

He pulled you up so your back was to his chest, moving you up and down on his cock. The change in position helped your discomfort move to something else. The friction of his cock against your inner walls had you biting your lip to keep from making any noise. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing the effect he had on you.

His hand slid up to palm your breast and he groaned into the skin of your neck. The tension building in your abdomen burst and you screamed as he rutted into you. You tightened around his length, hating yourself for enjoying what he was doing to you.

Steve leaned close to your ear and whispered.

“This is a dream come true. I’m gonna cum. Gonna cum in that tight little pussy.”

Your mind flew into a panic.

“No! Steve, pull out! Please, pull out!”

“I know you and Buck were trying for a kid, but—fuck—I’m here and he’s not.” Steve buried his face in your hair as he came, filling you completely. Your lip quivered as you thought about the consequences of what he did. About what would happen when Bucky got home. About what would happen if you had a baby that looked a bit too much like the wrong super soldier...

Steve wasn’t proud of what he did, but he had to deal with his attraction to his friend’s wife. Had to have her one good time to get it out of his system. But now that he had her, he only wanted more. More of the moans he was able to draw from you. More of your tight heat clenching around him as you tried to fight your release.

And if he was lucky, you might even make him a father.

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #dark!steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark steve x reader #dark fic #dark!fic #marvel x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky x reader #dark!bucky x reader

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holylulusworld · 5 years

Text

Before it was wrong it was right...

Summary: It’s just wrong…but at the same time so good. But all the wrong things have their consequences.

Paring: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, Nick Fury

Warnings: angst, kidnapping, tension, dub-con (slightly non-con?), smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk, violence, blood, OOC Steve/Bucky (just in case)

Wrong-Right Masterlist

“You really captured Cap too?” Nat gasps.

“He came to my apartment, knowing everything. Including your role in my plan. I’m sorry Natasha.”

“Nah, he will calm down. What are your plans for Steve?”

“I never planned on hurting him until you showed me the data. Until I realize he pushed me into Bucky’s arms on purpose. I totally forgot about the reason I gave in to Bucky that day. It was Steve flirting with Claire!”

“Shit, that slut!” Your friend mutters.

“She seems to be not able to keep her hands to herself.”

“Obviously, Y/N. What now? I mean first, the Winter Soldier gets missing and now Cap. People will get suspicious sooner or later. You must be quick now. Shall I help you?”

“No, Nat, you can’t get involved even more. I already put you into danger. We shouldn’t stay in contact over the next days. I’ll send you a message after I’m done.”

“Will you kill him?”

“I’m not a killer, Natasha. I only want them to feel the pain I felt over all these years. After that, I’m prepared to live with the consequences.”

“Even if it means jail?”

“Yes, Natasha. I’m not myself for over four years. My life is barely a life so nothing can scare me anymore.”

“Whoa…”

“Promise me to not come around. I swear I will not do anything to put you or Wanda into danger.”

“I promise but if you need my help, Y/N…”

“I will call you, pinky promise.”

“You better do so.”

----

“Any idea how to get out of this situation?” Steve asks.

“If I had an idea I wouldn’t have stayed in this bed for over four days, Stevie.”

“We really hurt her…”

“Steve, this is my fault, not yours.”

“I brought you back into her life, and I flirted with Claire. She’s right about the look I gave her friend. I remembered the hot sex and forgot about my fiancée for a moment.”

“Damn, Steve, I had the hottest sex with Y/N. That’s the reason I want her back, well one of the reasons.”

“She was always shy in bed.” Steve talks back.

“Maybe as she was scared to let her inner slut out with the golden boy between her legs.” Bucky chuckles.

“You really are a pervert, Y/N is right.”

“Don’t act like your cock isn’t hard at the thought to give it to her real good. You enjoyed the video, didn’t you, Stevie.”

Clearing his throat Steve tries his best to not think about the way your noises turned him on. Or the fact he jerked off to the video more than once.

“That’s…”

“Oh, I can see it all over your face, Steve. You want to have her and not in a vanilla way. Damn you are as crazy about her as I am. We need to get out of here to win here over again.”

“How do you intend on doing this, Buck? She hates both of us.”

“But it was right before it got wrong, punk. I mean we need to get her back. I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“Dude you are scaring me with the looks you are giving me.”

“I’m not into you, Stevie. I only want to devour her for hours…days…fuck…for the rest of my life. Maybe I’m willing to share her.”

“I don’t think she will like the idea you offer to share her. Especially as she ain’t your girl!”

“Who cares about details, Steve? I mean I love her; you love her and I’m damn sure she loves us. We just need to find a way to win her over again.”

“I wish I had your confidence.” Steve groans.

“Just leave this to me…”

----

“Well, you are still alive. Congratulations boys. As I’m not a heartless bitch I bought some food and water too.” You say checking your phone about the remaining dose of the drug.

“This drug is influencing my system pretty bad.” Steve lies.

“Don’t lie, Steve, I know everything about your status due to the little bullet in your body. Don’t worry, the bullet will destroy itself and cause no harm.”

“You’re a genius when it comes to inventions.” Bucky tries giving you his brightest smile.

“One false compliment and you believe I let you go?”

“No, not at all. I’m enjoying your company, just like Steve. How about you come here, and we make our stay a bit more pleasant for all of us?”

“Seriously, Buck? You want to win her heart over by offering a threesome?” Steve mutters.

“Guys, this is too funny. Do you really believe I would ever let one of you touch me again? I may have been stupid enough to love both of you, but I’m not dumb. By the way, I told Peggy’s niece you can’t see her any longer as you are busy fucking someone else. Well, it was not me telling her so, it was you.” You chuckle.

“You little devil!” Steve grunts giving you a dangerous glare.

“Did she scream your name, Cap? She looks so boring to me.” You whisper crawling onto the bed to push Steve onto the mattress. “Did you fuck her hard or all vanilla? I bet she’s a dirty little slut underneath her boring outfit.”

“We didn’t…so far.” Steve gasps when you grind against him. Bucky is watching the scene with darkened eyes. Before he can touch you another dose of your drugs floats his system.

“What the fuck?” He groans.

“Oh, I timed the dose for you, as you are a pervert. Cap will get his next dose in around an hour.”

“I will break free and make you mine,” Bucky growls.

Turning your attention back toward Steve you shrug. “Heard this before, Buck. Don’t think so my dear. So, Stevie shall we check your messages?” You say and he glares at you once again. Simply ignoring his boring looks you grab his phone from your nightstand.

“You will not be able to get access.” He mutters.

“I know you are using a special date…Peggy’s birthday…right? The ideal woman no one can compare with.”

“Shit, Stevie this is just stupid.”

“Cut it, Buck,” Steve mutters knowing you will fail using Peggy’s birthday.

“Damn…you changed the password? Tell me the right combination and I might not hurt Sharon or your beloved Claire.”

“Never, kitten.” Steve states.

“I can still hurt your friend over there. I mean the world needs Captain America but your friend is…dispensable.” You chuckle looking at Bucky.

“Don’t give it to her…she will not hurt me…right doll?”

A grin on your face you walk toward Bucky, swaying your hips. Stopping in front of the bed you smile at him and then you punch his nose harshly. Blood is dripping out of his nose and he makes an odd noise.

“That was just foreplay. I will and I can hurt him…your decision, Cap.”

“Fine…it’s the day we…you know…the day we had our first date.” Steve says and your eyes widen.

“If this is a lie your friend will pay the price,” you threaten getting a knife out of your boots.

“I swear it’s the truth, please stop hurting him. This is insane. Let’s talk things out, make things right.” Steve tries and you chuckle.

“The mighty Captain America tries to negotiate with me? Whoa…never thought this is possible.”

Checking the messages your grin gets wider and you start cackling. “Damn she’s pissed. Whoa…even threatens to cut your cock off. Didn’t think she can be so…obscene. I like the girl.”

“Why did you have to hurt her? She’s only a good friend.”

“The gap filler for Peggy? Hmm…I did her a favor. I know how it feels to stand in someone else’s shadow, Steve. Leave her be so she can get happy with someone else. Don’t hurt her as you hurt me.”

“You will not like your punishment,” Steve warns.

“I will have a shower and prepare some food for you. Be good boys…” You say leaving the room.

----

“She forgot to turn on the device, Steve. I can’t move but I saw your hand twitch while she was turning you on.”

“I feel stronger. Not like a super soldier but like before. I will try to get up and take care of her.”

“Be careful. She has some nice new moves.”

“I don’t intend on fucking her.”

“I meant fighting moves you pervert, Rogers. I think Natasha trained her.”

“Got it. Relax Sergeant while I save your ass once again.”

“Blah…blah…Cap…”

----

Warm water cascades down your body while you try to figure out what to do next. You already destroyed Steve’s and Bucky’s relationships. You feel bad for Sharon; she seems to be nice but Claire, you hate her with all passion.

Lost in thoughts you don’t hear the bathroom door open before it’s too late as two strong hands push you against the wall. You try to break free but even without his enhanced strength, Steve is taller and stronger. In this position, you can fight him, and he knows it.

“Hmm…that’s how I like you.” Steve purrs pressing his naked body against yours.

“Why are you naked?” You gasp trying to wiggle out of his tight grip.

“I thought you want to film us too. Bucky wanted me to escape but I preferred sending Tony a message he will receive in around an hour. Enough time to make you mine again.”

“Dream on, Cap.” You spat but the hand snaking between your legs will find out the embarrassing truth.

“Dammit! Buck was right, you like getting ordered around. Does it turn you on? Do you want me to fuck you against this tile wall, marking your body?”

“Asshole.” You mutter as he starts working your clit with his fingers.

“Such a needy girl. James and I decided we want you back, we want you both. I know this is not a conventional constellation, but you will see we can make you happy. I still love you, Y/N. Give me the chance to show you how much.” Steve whispers into your ear.

“Let me go, arrest me but stop touching me…shit…stop…touching me.” You pant trying to keep your body from reacting to Steve’s touch.

“You’re beautiful, smart and strong. I will not give you up like last time. We belong together, we always did, and you know it, Y/N. Just give in to me. I can still punish Bucky if you want me to.” He says planting a soft kiss to your shoulder.

“No. Get off me, Captain Asshole!” You mutter feeling his hard cock pressing against your lower back.

Humming Steve kisses, the back of your head, nuzzling his nose into your wet hair. For a moment you want to give in, just feel a connection to him again but you are not the weak girl any longer.

Slamming your head backward you caught Steve off-guard. He didn’t think you would fight him right now. Turning around you punch his nose with full force when you try to land another swing he catches your hand in time.

“Such a well-trained girl. Natasha did a great job, but you are not able to defeat me.” Steve warns.

Rough hands grab your upper arms to keep you in place as he tilts his head to kiss you roughly. Not able to fight back you can only part your lips for the super soldier as he devours your mouth.

Pressing you with his firm body into the wall he grins at you. Knowing you can’t fight him now he believes he won but you are not someone to back down any longer.

Slamming your forehead against his you chuckle when he let go of you, so you start sprinting out of the bathroom, grabbing your coat and purse on the way, you want to leave the apartment but Steve is already behind you.

Pushing you onto the small couch he grabs your coat and purse to toss them aside. Rough hands spread your legs open so he can move between them. His weight presses you into the couch and you close your eyes.

“Mine. You were always mine, Y/N.” He whispers in your ear and you want to give in for a moment but your anger wins the upper hand so you slap his cheek harshly.

Not reacting to your outburst Steve presses his lips onto yours. You want to bite him but his tongue invades your mouth to distract you from the ‘main’ act. Too lost in the feeling of his lips on yours you whine as he starts pressing his thick cock into you.

“Steve…” You whimper when he’s bottomed out. The weight of his body, the feeling of his cock stretching you wide and his lips claiming yours brings back pleasant memories but you know this won’t last so your push against his chest.

“I want you…you’re the one…let me love you.” Steve rasps voice lower than ever before. His hips move on their own. The first drag of his cock against your walls makes you cry out. Your hands paw at his biceps so you can feel the muscles work while he pumps hard into you.

Your head lulls back, moans escape your lips and you are close to forgetting everything around you but then you hear Bucky chuckling in your bedroom and the spell is broken. Right when you want to push Steve of you he hits the right spot and the knot in your stomach bursts open. Trembling underneath the tall super soldier you gasp when he thrusts, four, five more times before filling you with his seed.

His hard body pressed against yours he lies on top of you, not intending on pulling out. As you start pushing against his chest he looks down at you. The tears are evident he went too far, brought back unpleasant memories, so he pulls gently out of you. Handing you his shirt he avoids looking you into your eyes.

“You should get dressed. Tony will be here soon and you know this will have consequences.” Steve says softly.

When he tries to touch you, your hands slap his larger one away. You don’t want a gentle gesture, you don’t want him or his friend.

----

“What do you mean with I can’t see my agent? Y/N is my responsibility. As far as I know, your two super soldiers broke into her apartment and forced themselves on her.” Fury yells.

“I can assure you this is not what happened,” Tony tries.

“Really? Cause Natasha came to me, asking for my help. We both know the doctor found Steve’s sperm in Y/N. It’s proof that at least one of your Avengers violated her.”

“I swear the Captain and James would never do such a thing.”

“Listen, she’s in your cell for over three weeks. I want to see my agent.”

“I can’t allow this…she’s not in a stable state of mind …not after Bruce told her something important yesterday.” Tony sighs.

“What do you mean?”

“Look, you are right. Both men had sex with her, but they didn’t force her. You can check the videos…I mean she had a security system and it recorded everything. One of our female agents checked the material.”

“I still don’t know why she’s in an unstable state of mind!” Fury yells now.

“Okay…fine. She’s pregnant with twins and both men are the father…” Tony yells back and Fury’s mouth falls open.

Marvel Tags

@stuckys-whore, @notyourtypicalrose, @voltage-my2dlove

All Works Tags

@meganywinchester, @shikshinkwon, @idioticsky

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vivasharkart · 6 years

Text

Cardinal Attraction (Part 2 of 2)

Part 1

Pairing: Steve/Tony

Rating: T, probably

Soulmate AU: Every person is born wearing a compass around their neck that points to wherever their soulmate is. A twist on The Avengers. I found a rough draft for this fic that I’d written THREE YEARS AGO and I needed a reason to procrastinate, so here’s the finished version! Enjoy :)

Word count: 1,959

A/N: I didn’t think Part 2 was going to take this long, but I hope it was worth the wait! So grateful for all the love the first part of this fic received, thank you so much <3

Steve

Steve couldn’t sleep.

After a full hour of tossing and turning, he gave up and decided to head down to the gym to blow off some steam. He’d been having a lot of troubled thoughts lately. His mind was a jumbled mix of past and future, with no in-between. It had been several weeks since he’d “woken up”, but even his enhanced brainpower wasn’t enough for him to get his head around this particular situation just yet. His therapist called it PTSD. At least that was one down on the extensive list of things he didn’t know. He had too many questions and not enough answers, and it was surprisingly infuriating.

The newly formed compass nestled comfortably under his shirt was probably the only thing keeping Steve grounded to sanity. The scientists at S.H.I.E.L.D. were particularly intrigued about it, especially since it was the most notable change that had occurred to his body during his sleep, but no one was sure how or why it had happened. But whatever the cause, it was helping Steve cope with the 21st century in a way that nothing else could- it gave him a sense of purpose. Right now, somewhere, somebody’s compass was pointing straight at him. It was almost as if his time under the ice was meant to be- kind of like how Sleeping Beauty needed to wait for her prince. Steve let out a wry chuckle. Grimm’s Fairy Tales references? He really needed to get in touch with the times.

But as much as his compass gave him some form of solace, it wasn’t like it didn’t raise an entirely new set of worries. What kind of person would his soulmate be? Were they as anxious to find him as he was? How was he going to find them in the first place when he knew he was constantly being watched per Fury’s orders? He’d briefly considered asking S.H.I.E.L.D. for help, what with all the state-of-the-art technology and resources they had at their disposal, but he had his reservations about getting a federal organization so intimately involved in his private life. He was already under enough scrutiny as it is, so why give them another excuse? Plus, it was kind of embarrassing.

And most importantly, why now? How was he supposed to keep up with his modern soulmate when he still had trouble operating a smartphone? How would his soulmate react when they realized he was… what he was? For one, he was supposed to be 94 years old this year. Nothing about him was natural. What if they couldn’t handle it? The word freak suddenly rang inside his head, loud and clear, a disembodied voice from a long time ago that had stuck with him through the ice, forever haunting.

Would it be better off if he never found them at all?

SLAM.

Steve blinked. He’d been so lost inside his own head that he hadn’t realized how much force he’d been putting into his punches. The last blow had taken the sandbag clean off its chain and sent it flying toward the other side of the room. He let out a deep breath he didn’t know he was holding, and was just about to set up a second sandbag when he heard footsteps enter the empty gym.

“Trouble sleeping?”

Steve looked over to find Nick Fury at the doorway. “I slept for 70 years, I think I’ve had my fill.” His eyes landed on the thick paper file he was holding. “You here with a mission, sir?”

“I am.”

“Trying to get me back in the world?”

“Trying to save it,” Nick corrected, handing him the file. Cautiously, Steve flipped it open, his gaze immediately drawn to a photo of a very familiar blue cube. His heart sank, the face of the Red Skull momentarily flashing before his eyes. “Hydra’s secret weapon,” he remembered.

“Howard Stark fished that out of the ocean when he was looking for you. He thought what we think; the Tesseract could be the key to unlimited sustainable energy. That's something the world sorely needs, but in a recent turn of events, it got stolen.”

“Who took it from you?”

“He’s called Loki. He’s not from around here. There’s a lot we’ll have to bring you up to speed on if you’re in. The world has gotten even stranger than you already know.”

You don’t say, Steve thought, absentmindedly fingering his compass. It still felt strangely new to him. “At this point, I doubt anything would surprise me.”

Nick cocked his head almost amusedly. “Ten bucks says you’re wrong,” he said, before making his way out of the gym. Steve stood there silently for a moment before turning his attention back to the file in his hands.

For whatever reason, the world needed Captain America again. His soulmate would have to wait.

Tony

“Stark, we have a situation.”

Nick Fury’s voice rang out from Tony’s Starkphone the moment he reached his hotel room. “You always have a situation,” he replied a little breathlessly, unlocking the door.

Nick ignored his remark. “We need you to come in.”

“Thought you sent Spangles to take care of the guy?”

“Loki’s stronger than we thought. Cap’s barely holding up.”

Tony let out a dramatic sigh. “Must I always swoop in to save the day?”

He could almost hear Fury rolling his eyes on the other end. “Sending coordinates now.”

“You’re lucky I’m even in Germany,” Tony grumbled as the call disconnected. Pulling off his tie and jacket, he swiftly activated the Mark VI and clambered into the suit. The Iron Man armor whirred to life around him, familiar holograms blinking into existence before his eyes, as Tony pulled up Fury’s coordinates and set a course for Stuttgart. A quick search loaded multiple videos that confirmed Fury’s words: they really had a situation. A major wardrobe situation. Seriously, what was with those antlers?

Guess it’s my job to bring some real life to the party. “J.A.R.V.I.S., back me up with a little… thrill, will you?”

“As you wish, sir.”

Tony launched himself into the air, and wasted no time flying to Stuttgart. The quinjet hovering above Cap and Loki’s ongoing battle came into view just as J.A.R.V.I.S. finished hacking into the S.H.I.E.L.D. PA system. He glimpsed Natasha behind the wheel, a look of mild confusion on her face, as AC/DC’s Shoot to Thrill pierced the thick tension of the small public square.

Showtime.

“Agent Romanoff, you miss me?”

Tony dived down, blasting Loki with a powerful shot from both his repulsors, knocking him backwards into the stone steps. Executing a flawless landing- god, he hoped someone caught that on camera- Tony brought out all his guns, training them on the dazed figure propped up on the ground.

“Make your move, reindeer games.”

Tony fully expected Loki to retaliate somehow, and was already suspiciously eyeing the weird glowing stick thing lying a few feet away, but was completely taken aback to see him slowly raise both hands into the air. Well, that was easy.

“Good move.”

He sensed movement on his left, and out of the corner of his eye saw Captain America making his way over. He looked a little battered, which was surprising considering how quickly Loki had surrendered. Maybe the hero was a little too out of time to live up to his legend. But, as peculiar as the circumstances were, Steve Rogers was his childhood hero, and after all these years of assuming he was dead, it was Tony’s first time meeting him in person. Needless to say, a part of him was kind of jittery in excitement. But only a bit.

Captain America braced his shield and gave him a slight nod. “Mr. Stark.”

Tony’s insides squirmed slightly. Be cool, be cool, I need to be cool.

Luckily, being cool was second nature to Tony Stark.

“Captain,” he replied smoothly, retracting his helmet, and turned to face Steve Rogers for the first time.

As soon as brown eyes met blue, Tony felt hot- like, really hot. As in, his-compass-felt-like-it-was-burning-a-hole-through-his-chest kind of hot. Gasping, he clutched at his chest, and out of the corner of his eye, it looked like Captain America was suddenly in pain as well, because he’d dropped his shield and had collapsed to the ground.

“J.A.R.V.I.S, what’s happening?”

“Running diagnostics now, sir.”

“No time for diagnostics, disengage breastplate now!”

“What’s going on down there?” Natasha’s voice blared from the copter speakers. Loki chose that moment to disappear into thin air, but for once nothing mattered more to Tony than the searing hot pain in his chest. J.A.R.V.I.S. came through and his chest plate flew clean off the rest of his suit just as Steve tore through the fabric of his shirt. The sight that met them both was something neither of them were prepared for, and they both gaped. Their compasses were glowing, burning.

Changing color.

It felt like the world was at a standstill, holding its breath for what came next. For a single moment, there was no one else in the infinite continuum of time and space but Steve Rogers and Tony Stark, as pure gold bled into the silver of their compasses and the fire slowly subsided. Everything felt hazy and yet so clear as they looked into each other’s eyes, the feeling of something hollow and missing finally clicking into place. For a while, they could only stare at each other, struggling to make sense of this seemingly impossible situation. Tony was the first to break the silence.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Epilogue

“Daaad, my compass is spinning again!”

Tony looked up from his Starkpad to see his son, Peter, rush into the dining room, compass in hand. Sure enough, the needle was whizzing around inside the silver pendulum, a sign that one’s soulmate had passed away. A sight that would usually be met with a solemn, tragic silence, except the Rogers-Stark family was getting a little too familiar with such occasions.

Steve strolled over, his eyebrows knitted in fatherly concern. “What is this, the 24th time?”

Tony took a sip of his coffee. “25th. That we know of.”

“And we still haven’t found the reason why?”

Tony shook his head. “I’ve looked into it and it’s not unprecedented. Cases of compasses spinning and then coming back to life- it’s uncommon, but it happens. You know, people whose hearts stop beating for a few minutes before doctors manage to revive them again… But Pete’s soulmate, whoever they are, is way past ridiculous at this point. Who has the kind of endurance to go through a near-death experience 25 times?”

“At this point, it’s like fate is messing with me,” Peter grumbled.

“I don’t know, son, fate works in mysterious ways.” Steve pat his son’s back.

“Who knows, maybe this time he’s actually dead.”

“DAD!” Peter yelled at the same time Steve let out a stern “Tony!” Tony held his hands up in defeat.

“Okay, okay, I’m just- oh, look, it’s working again. The magnetism is back on.”

Peter quickly brought his compass up to his eyes, letting out a sigh of relief. “Dad, remind me why you can’t lend me one of your jets so I can go find this guy before they go and get themselves killed for good?”

“Absolutely not, you have school. Also, we have no idea what we’re dealing with here.”

“You flew twice around the world to find Papa!”

“That was after I finished school. Also, it didn’t work.”

“You finished school at 17,” Steve raised an eyebrow.

“Honey, let’s stick to the point here…”

Unbeknownst to the squabbling family, a couple hundred miles away, Wade Wilson let out a maniacal laugh as his lungs finished regenerating.

The end?

#stony #stevetony #steve x tony #superhusbands #fanfic #marvel #avengers #stony fanfiction #superfamily #steve rogers #tony stark #iron man #captain america #spideypool

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rollinsuniversal · 6 years

Text

stars that do not give a damn

prompt fill for this anon!

pairing : seth rollins/dean ambrose (ish)

genre : angst, unrequited love

words : 2k

summary : something went wrong on that monday night. seth needs to know it won’t happen again.

a/n : this is the first ambrollins fic i’ve ever written, so bear with me if there’s any inconsistencies with their characters.

out of respect for Joseph’s real-life diagnosis, i won’t be incorporating any mentions of his leukemia here. i wish him only health and happiness, and hope he takes all the time he needs to recover.

for narrative purposes, in my version of events, roman was attacked backstage by an incensed brick lesnob and was kayfabe hospitalized, leaving seth and dean to capture the titles later that night. the original plan was simply for dean to perform one dirty deeds on seth and then leave the ring. but as we all know, that isn’t what happened.

gravity’s a heartless bitch, and she’s trying her damnedest to bring seth to his knees. if it wasn’t for the aides and medics pulling him onto the gurney, he’d most definitely have passed out by now. the ringing in his ears paired with the screams from the audience are only making his aches worse, but at least he has something to concentrate on other than the enormous, dean-shaped elephant that’s sat itself right on top of his chest.

fuck, his head hurts. it takes a ridiculous amount of focus for him to center himself once on his back, and his head feels like it weighs 50 pounds. he’s strapped in, shutting his eyes for a moment before he’s being hit on the face, muffled orders from lovell prying them open again. the gurney’s moving quickly, the crowd’s noise gradually melding into one loud roar, and it’s all seth can do to keep his chest moving up and back down again, keep his eyes open, and do everything in his power to keep from screaming his own confusion into the raucous chorus.

***

dean lost the script somewhere between that first kick and driving seth’s head into the concrete ground. as bad as seth wants to think it was a lapse in memory, or even an attempt to really sell their chaotic emotions, he knows it’s something deeper, darker stirring in dean’s head--

***

“keep me updated,” lovell hands seth his backpack, his gear having been sent to the hotel already.

“will do.” seth finishes tying up his hair and sits up on his cot, watching techs scrambling to break everything down for transport. “please tell me i can sleep.”

“sleep’s the best thing i can prescribe for you right now,” lovell assures him. “and i’ve already got you dropped from tomorrow’s card, so take advantage.”

seth nods, fiddling with one of the bag’s straps and watching a tech hustle in for a cart of first aid kits and run it in the direction of the loading docks. he swings his feet back and forth, trying to be casual and failing if the doctor’s raised brow is anything to go by.

“nothing better to prescribe?”

“by better you mean stronger,” lovell corrects, already shaking his head. “keep you up for 18 hours and make you fall over every two minutes stronger. i’ve got nothing for you.”

failing miserably, seth notes with a purse of his lips. he slides off the cot and puts his pack on, grabbing his cap and phone and leaving the doctor with a pat on the shoulder. “thanks again.”

“i don’t have to send anyone after you, do i?” lovell keeps his back turned, though the intent in his voice is serious.

“no sir,” seth responds, not without a bit of bite. “those days are behind me.”

no response. seth mutters expletives under his breath, blood beginning to boil. he zips his jacket up and pulls the hood on, tucking his chin towards his chest and keeping his face blank as he makes his way to the garage.

***

“why do you keep doing this to yourself?” dean’s voice is sharp, though he pitches his concern deep enough so only seth can hear. he keeps his body language hostile to prevent anyone from approaching them and readjusts his hold on seth, hoping it looks more like they’re deep in conversation as opposed to dean being the only thing between seth’s face and the garage’s concrete floor.

“i’m try—“ seth’s head lolls forward, his legs stiffening up so the weight of his entire body is driven onto dean, who catches him with a hissed curse.

there are eyes on them now, and dean glances around hastily, spotting mike talking with his driver by his bus and waving them over.

“what’d he take?” mike’s instantly sliding down to catch seth, helping dean lower seth to the ground and propping seth’s head up on his thigh. he motions for his driver to find a doctor and begins batting at seth’s face until seth comes to and shoves his hands away.

“hydro,” dean huffs, settling beside seth’s legs and feeling for the stiffness so he can start massaging it away.

“call it what it is, dean,” seth slurs, panting and bringing his hands to his face. “vicodin, right? mike, you know, you were there.”

mike grits his teeth, “i helped you. you came to me, remember?”

“i don’t remember you stopping me when i kept coming back.” seth groans and lifts one hand. “lower.”

dean obeys, finding the taut muscles and digging his palms in.

“is he responsive?” lovell’s voice breaks through the tension around them, and he kneels at seth’s side.

“i don’t know, is he?” seth throws his hands up, barely missing mike’s face. “go ahead and assess me, good doctor. 20 bucks says you can’t figure out what it is this time.”

“pay up,” lovell waves a small vial in seth’s face, bright yellow pills rattling around.

“you went on my bus.” seth is staring at the pills, an unreadable look in his eyes. dean tightens his ministrations, pulling seth’s focus onto him briefly. “what the fuck?”

“policy,” lovell supplies, rooting around in his bag for a bottle of water and his radio. “drink this.” he gets to his feet, muttering something into the radio.

seth snatches the bottle, angrily beginning to chug but choking with his haste. mike shoves him to a sitting position, smacking his back a little harder than necessary.

“stop fucking hitting me!” seth lurches away, trying to get to his feet. dean pulls on his leg, keeping him down and holding him still as more medics arrive with a gurney.

“i’ve gotta go,” mike grabs lovell’s arm. “make sure this disappears before it reaches the top.”

“already on it.”

seth’s placed on the gurney. everyone in the garage is accounted for and paid off for their silence. dean eventually texts roman to let him know what’s happened, though his only reaction is to ask if seth’s okay and whether or not they’re still going on the next week.

dean wishes he could be so flippant, just leave seth to his demons and only associate with him in the arenas and forget about him once he heads out.

god, if only it were that easy to forget about seth rollins.

***

“feeling blue, boss?” hugh greets seth the second he swings the bus door open. “heavy stuff.” he motions to his phone screen, where he’s watching a recap of the night.

“yeah,” seth nods, unable to ignore his faithfully jolly driver. “pretty heavy.”

“ambrose is riding with us,” hugh thumbs over his shoulder. “something about his tires being out.”

“he’s here?” seth throws his pack onto the front table, shutting the door.

hugh nods. “he looked pretty ko’d. haven’t heard a peep from him since he got on. he’s probably asleep.”

seth mulls this over, not registering his phone buzzing in his hand until hugh points to it.

“hey, rome.”

“i’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that wasn’t all part of the script.”

“good guess.” seth rubs at his neck, the muscles still smarting. “think he’s just giving the fans the heel they’ve been wanting.”

roman pauses, some indistinct noises coming from his end, then an audible click and it’s silent apart from his breaths.

“you see his face after he did it?”

“yeah.”

seth considers telling roman about his blood running cold when dean stayed on his knees after his first dirty deeds instead of leaving the ring, and the desperation he felt as he repeated assurances and pleas for dean to remember what they’d planned.

“how are you feeling?” he asks instead.

roman’s surprised inhale is enough to reveal his own confusion, but he goes with it. “sore. but i’ll be okay. how soon till you’re cleared?”

“i’ll be good by next week.”

“good.”

neither of them speak. it’s that way between the two of them pretty often now. seth can’t remember exactly when they started drifting this way, but aches as he realizes this space between them isn’t going anywhere soon. with dean switching over, it’ll only make the divide deeper, the silences heavier and all the more noticeable.

“i should go. gotta rest up.”

“yeah,” roman sighs heavily and it turns into a yawn. “me too. talk to you tomorrow?”

“sure. bye.”

“bye, bro.”

***

seth knows he’s being a coward. this is his bus, yet he hasn’t made it past the couch directly behind hugh and they’ve been driving for two hours. by now, he’s figured out that dean’s tucked away in one of the bunks between the communal and private half of the bus because of the occasional shuffling he’ll hear behind the curtain.

seth’s tired, and he wants nothing more than to rush past those bunks, dive into the shower and fall into his bed to pretend that none of this has happened. he sighs, readjusting his cap for the hundredth time before tossing it aside with a huff.

“you need some sleep, boss. you took some real damage tonight.”

“yeah, hugh, i know.”

“not trying to step on your toes—“

“i know.” seth reaches over, patting hugh’s shoulder to take the sting from his words. “i just need a minute.”

hugh nods, lowering his voice. “was i right to let him on?”

seth scratches his thumbnail across the bottom of his chin in thought for a moment. “i wouldn’t want him stranded there.”

he watches the road over hugh’s shoulder for a few moments, taking in the city lights until they blur together, his eyes fluttering open and shut a few times before he pushes himself to his feet with finality.

there’s no reason they can’t talk this out like the grown men they are. dean’s emotions got the best of him, and that’s okay. it happens. seth just needs to hear from him that that’s all it was.

hands in his jacket pockets, he lifts his chin and strides over to the bunks, switching on the light and parking himself in the middle of them before turning to the curtain he’s pretty sure dean’s tucked behind.

“i’m not too good with the long, drawn-out silences. that’s more your thing. so, if you don’t want to talk about it now, that’s okay. i just want to make sure you’re okay.”

there’s no response, and seth’s nodding to himself. “i get it. i’ll see you in the morning.” he squares his shoulders and takes a few steps into his bedroom.

“can’t hear you with your back turned to me.” dean’s voice is gravelly, tired, and coming from the bunk exactly opposite from where seth had been speaking.

the curtain opens with a swish, and seth puts his arm on the door frame, pulling himself back into the bunk space with a small smile that falls when he sees the look on dean’s face. his face is red, eyes irritated and puffy and just sad. he shifts so he’s on his side and seth immediately moves closer, raising a hand to place in that familiar spot just behind dean’s ear, but stopping himself at the last second.

“i know i said i could handle this, and i really thought i could.” dean sniffs, running a quick thumb under the tip of his nose. “but i’ve told you before, it’s just.” he gestures vaguely to his head. “sometimes the pressure just keeps building and i can’t think—“

“—i know.” seth assures him. and i hate seeing you like that. but you need to give yourself credit because you did what you were supposed to do. you did the job, and it’s what the fans wanted. did you hear the pop?”

dean scoffs dryly, keeping his eyes averted from seth. “yeah it was great. you’re not gonna say anything about what i did to you?”

it’s definitely a fair question. throughout their entire run, seth’s been the one focused on the big picture and calling the shots necessary to steer their story in the right direction. but his frustration with tonight’s plan being derailed pales in comparison to his concern for the erratic, pained way dean unloaded on him.

“do you want me to say something about it?”

“just tell me if this changes things between us.” dean mumbles. “if you want to go method and make this real, cut the cord, i don’t blame you.”

seth is already shaking his head and follows his urge this time, cupping dean’s face in his hand and bending so they’re level. dean’s eyes stay cast down, but his mouth trembles a bit, betraying how distraught the thought makes him.

“can you look at me?” seth rubs one of his thumbs over dean’s cheek, hoping to encourage him.

dean sniffs again, exhaling shakily at the touch and slowly bringing his eyes up to finally meet seth’s. seth feels his brows knit together immediately and he crowds himself closer, pressing his forehead to dean’s.

“eight years.” he asserts. “we’ve had each other for eight years and i’ve given you plenty of opportunity to leave me behind. i need you to believe me when i say that there’s no chance in hell i’m turning on you now. we’ve got a job to do and i have no idea what’s coming next, but i can’t — i won’t — go forward without you at 100%.” seth can feel his hands beginning to shake and pulls back, praying his feelings are visible.

dean’s mouth is hanging open in ponderous uncertainty, eyes shining. “i’m usually the one doing the worrying around here.”

seth raises a brow and purses his lips in acknowledgment, recalling each time he’d stumbled back from a blow to find dean there to catch him, how many times he’d been a second too slow to stop an oncoming kick or punch that dean would take to give him time to recover.

dean’s always been the punching bag of the group, branded as a lunatic to make up for his penchant for taking the brunt of the shield’s opposition. it’s broken seth’s heart more than once to see him busted up — that fateful backstage attack that left dean’s arm pinned beneath a road case came to mind — but the thought of those wounds going deeper is enough to harden his resolve and strengthen his voice as he leans in once more.

“promise me you won’t let a script make you think i don’t need you.”

“i—“ dean stops as he takes those words in, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth pensively before fixing seth with a steady azure gaze. “can you promise you’ll let me know if i go too far? no matter what it is.”

“no matter what,” seth nods. “you’ve got me and my word.”

“and you’ve got mine.” dean lurches forward, awkwardly wrapping his arms around seth, who instinctively tucks his head into the warm crook of dean’s neck.

if things were different, if the company they represented were a bit more open-minded and a lot more progressive, perhaps this storyline could end with a joyous reunion culminating in the romantic angle execs have been scoffing at since fans first got a whiff of the chemistry between the two of them. and perhaps it could’ve extended beyond the ring, placed an actual ring on seth’s finger that matched the one that felt like a hot brand being pressed into the back of his neck.

it’s wishful thinking, but not at all unwelcome or even unusual in seth’s mind. in fact, it’s been there in the back since that first meeting eight years ago, when they shook hands and seth felt as if every step he’d taken in his life had brought him to that exact spot in a humid Florida parking garage.

it pulls at his head and heart, aching in a way only the worst kinds of torture can and so he smothers it down with a light few slaps to dean’s back. the answering wobbly grunts that come from the other man reveal that he isn’t ready to let go just yet, and seth’s once again in an all-too-familiar predicament.

he won’t let dean go. not now, not ever. but that doesn’t mean he’ll enjoy the pain that comes with holding onto someone destined for another path.

for not the first time tonight, this week, or this year, he shuts his eyes and silently prays for a reprieve from the addictive anguish that is loving dean ambrose.

***

end

#ambrollins #my fic #my writing #prompt fill #this is the sappiest thing on the planet but i'm honestly just happy that i finished this

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imaginetonyandbucky · 7 years

Note

Imagine JARVIS never stops hacking into SHIELD files after Avengers first movie (Obie taught him a lesson and he wanted to protect Sir after the nuke was sent out) and of course after a while discovers Hydra, the files of the Winter Soldier and of course the mission report of December 16, 1991. Tony has time to come to terms with the fact, therefore searches for Bucky, destroying Hydra on the way, gets rid of the mind control (BARF) and later they fall in love.

prompts, winteriron, tony stark, bucky barnes, tony x bucky,February,2014

“Wakeup, Daddy’s home.” The lights in the workshop flickered to life,but it seemed empty without DUM-E and U coming to greet him.

“Goodevening, sir,” JARVIS said. “And may I say what a relief it is tohave you home. Again.”

“Thanks,Jay,” Tony said. He dropped into the workstation chair and rubbedabsently at his chest. It was strange, not to have the arc reactoranymore. Helen -- you could call your doctor by their given name oncethey’d literallyhadyour heart in their hands, right? -- Helen had done an amazing jobwith the reconstructive surgery.

“ShallI contact the usual suppliers to see about having the Malibu houserebuilt?” JARVIS asked.

Tonyconsidered it. It would take months to rebuild the place, while therepairs and upgrades to Stark Tower had been completed months ago.Bruce was already here; Tony might as well just move back to NewYork, finally get around to issuing invitations to the rest of theAvengers. “Not yet,” he said. “Arrange to have the bratsrecovered and I’ll drive out and bring ‘em back here.”

“Verygood, sir,” JARVIS said. “If you have no urgent business, I’veuncovered some information that you might wish to review.” Adisplay screen came to life and began spitting up windows ofinformation.

Tonyfrowned. “What am I looking at?”

“Whileyou were in recovery, sir, I took it upon myself to do some digging.Surmising that you would wish to know why SHIELD was not already incontrol of the Mandarin situation, I re-activated the backdoor codewe inserted into their mainframes.”

“Thesefiles are way older than that,” Tony said, flicking through them.“These go back decades.”

“Yes,sir,” JARVIS said delicately. “It appears that SHIELD may becompromised. I do urge you to particularly review the files that I’veflagged for your attention. And, sir... I’m sorry.”

[mobile readers, ‘ware the read-more!]

March,2014

“Whatthe hell, Rogers,” Tony demanded, before he’d even pushed all theway through the hospital room door. Steve’s new guy, Wilson, boltedupright in the terrible visitor’s chair. Good reflexes. The instantWilson realized who Tony was, his eyes went big and round. Fast onthe uptake, too.

“You,I like you,” Tony said, clapping Wilson on the shoulder. “Come toNew York soon, we’ll get you some new wings.” He turned back tothe bed. Christ, but Cap was a mess. “I repeat, Rogers: what. Theactual. Hell.”

Stevecracked an eyelid -- the one that wasn’t surrounded by a mass ofbruises and stitched shut around the occipital bone. “Nice to seeyou too, Tony.”

“Youdon’t call, you don’t write,” Tony complained. “Bruce and I,we’re hurt, you didn’t invite us to the party.”

Stevetried to laugh and it turned into a weak cough. “C’mon, Tony, youknow I’m not gonna call the heavy hitters for the little stuff.”

“Thelittle stuff, like our purported leadership being riddled withHydra?” Tony challenged. “Or stuff like their number one assassinbeing your old right hand man?”

Thehumor fell off Steve’s face in a hurry. “You knew?”

“Onlyfor a couple of weeks,” Tony said. “JARVIS was vacationing inSHIELD’s systems and stumbled across some red flags. I tipped Furyoff that something was rotten and he asked me to keep it under my hatwhile he set up a sting. That bastard plays things so close to thechest that his own ribs can’t see the cards.”

“Youknew about Bucky,” Steve said, sounding even more breathless.

“Yeah,well, it took me a while to figure out what to do about that, soyou’ll have to excuse me for not texting you right away with myreview of the videofootage of him murdering my parents,”Tony snapped.

Stevewent even paler than he already was. “He-- Shit, Tony, I’m sorry.Zola told me Hydra had them killed, but I didn’t realize they’dused Bucky to do it.”

“Soit looks like we’re both guilty of holding back information,”Tony said. “Were you going to tell me?”

Steve’smouth tightened. “I’ve been a little busy, the last few days,”he said. “Hadn’t quite worked it all through yet.”

“Well,you’re you,”Tony said, more lightly than he felt. “I’m sure you’d havedecided to do what was right.” He glanced at Wilson, then lookedback at Steve. “Romanov says you’re planning to go after him.”

“Ofcourse I am,” Steve said, because of course he was. “Tony, it...it wasn’t him.You know that, right?”

Tonyhad to close his eyes. “Yeah,” he sighed. “If I’d had him infront of me right after I found out, I don’t know what I would’vedone, but... Once I calmed down and thought it through, I knew. Dadrecognizedhim,and he didn’t even--” Tony had to stop, to swallow around a tightthroat.

Stevelooked grim. “I’m sorry, Tony. I am.”

“Yeah,”Tony managed. “We’re going to make those assholes pay, though.”

“Damnright we will,” Steve agreed. “For your parents andforBucky. And undo whatever they put in his head.”

“Well,I’ve got some thoughts about that,” Tony said. “A littlesomething Bruce and I were working on together. You work on findingyour boy, and I’ll see what we can do about bringing him back.”

July 2015

“It’scalled Binarily Augmented Retrofitted Framing,” Tony said. “BARFfor short, and don’t say it -- we’re working on a new acronym.”

Atthe other end of the table, flanked by Steve and Sam, Bucky Barnesstared at his hands where they were clasped in front of him. “Hydrahad a device, too,” he said, almost too quiet for Tony to hear. Heswallowed, licked his lips, swallowed again. “It... hurt.”

“Yeah,I’ve seen the specs,” Tony said. “They were literally burningout chunks of your brain. The initial concept for BARF was traumarecovery -- specifically, I was going to use it on myself,and I am very attached to alltheparts of my brain, so while it’s not exactly a skip through thepark, it’s not going to cause any physicaldamage.The way this works...” Tony considered ways to explain how thememory retrofit worked. None of the men at the other end of the tablewere lacking in intelligence, but they weren’t geniuses, either.“You ever been in an argument, and then hours later, thought of theperfect thing to say, too late to actually say it? And you keepreplaying that conversation over and over in your head, wishing you’dthought of it at the right moment, to the point where sometimes thatreplay is a stronger memory than the actual event? This is like that,but a hundred times stronger and faster. It can’t change what’shappened, obviously, but it can adjust your responsetoit, let you rebuild the lesson that you took away from it.”

“Andit will fix me?” Barnes said, intent. “It will take theselandmines out of my head?”

“Ibelieve so,” Tony said. “You’re a special case, so we won’tknow for certain until we give it a shot, but I feel pretty confidentabout it.”

Barnesworried at his lip with his teeth.

“Youdon’t have to do this,” Steve said, earnest and sorrowful.“You’ll have to witness the worst of the things they did to you.I can’t imagine how unpleasant that would be. We can find anotherway.”

“WhileI just while away my days in the Hulk Room?” Barnes said, not quitesharp. “Maybe it shouldbeunpleasant. Maybe that would be the smallest amount of justice forthe lives I took.”

“Buck,”Steve said. Tony could hear the crack in his voice from across theroom. “That wasn’t you. I keep telling you--”

“Itwas my hands,” Barnes said. He turned his hands over, as ifsearching for evidence of the blood they’d spilled. “I did it.Maybe I didn’t make that choice. But I did it anyway.” He lookedup at Tony, and it wasn’t until that moment Tony realized, with astart, that it was the first time Barnes had met Tony’s eyes sinceSteve had brought him to the Tower.

Barneshad pale blue eyes, almost the color of silver, and that gaze wassteady. “I’ll do it. Set it up.”

Theyset it up in the Hulk Room, in case Barnes was triggered. No one elsewould be able to see what he saw, Tony promised. Tony had done aprojection for the presentation at MIT, but that wasn’t a necessarycomponent of the system. And Tony figured, some things a man wantedto keep private.

Onthe other side of the glass, all Tony would be able to see werevitals and brainwave patterns, adrenaline levels and involuntarymuscle responses. Because Steve was hovering like a nervous newparent, Tony went through a session himself to show them what itlooked like from the outside, with Bruce at the monitoring station.

Hetook himself through the wormhole again, made himself stare up intothe black space and count the alien ships in their thousands. Iwill survive this,he told them, andwe willdefeatyou.

Tonylasted about five minutes in that memory, and came back to himselfpanting and dizzy, and outside the heavy glass of the Hulk Room,Bruce looked resigned and Sam looked worried and Steve looked grave.And Barnes...

Barneswas pale as a sheet, but his jaw was set and his eyes were locked onTony’s face. When their eyes met, he nodded, once grim.

Barneswas in the first memory for all of about ninety seconds when heripped off the goggles and fell to his knees, retching.

“Bucky!”Steve yelled, banging on the glass. “Bucky, what happened? Are youokay?”

“Ohgod,” Barnes gasped. “It’s so fuckin’ real...”He rocked back onto his heels and flapped a hand at Steve. “Stopthat, Rogers, you’re makin’ it worse.” He took a few deepbreaths, then looked straight at Tony, ignoring the way Steve waspractically pressed against the wall. “Let’s get this cleaned up,and get me a bucket or something for the next run.”

March 2016

Buckywas waiting for Tony outside the Hulk Room, just like always, leaningagainst the wall with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Mornin’dollface,” he said without looking up. “Ready to dance?”

Theflirting had started a couple of months ago. Progress was slow, withfrequent setbacks, and the situation needed a little humor from timeto time. Tony could only helplessly admire his determination anddrive.

“WhySergeant Barnes,” Tony gasped, firing up the monitoring equipmentone-handed, “are you getting fresh with me?”

Buckygave him a wide-eyed look. “I wouldn’t dare try it, not with youbein’ so far outta my league,” he said. “All I want’s a danceor two.”

“Yousay that now,” Tony said. “But I know what you’re reallyafter.” He tapped the last code in and the pneumatic seal on theHulk Room’s door released with a hiss.

Buckyflinched -- his work with the BARF hadn’t stopped him fromdeveloping new pavlovian responses, and that sound was guaranteed tomake him pale and queasy. It didn’t stop him, though. He scooped upthe goggles and headpiece and stepped through the door without anyhesitation.

Asthe door swung slowly shut, Bucky slipped on the headpiece, adjustingits position with the ease of long practice, and covered his prettyeyes with the VR goggles. “Maybe this time,” he said, so quietlythat Tony wasn’t sure he was hearing it right, “I’ll make youproud enough to say yes.”

May 2017

Buckyhad gone pale when they’d walked into the room with the scanner, somuch blood draining away from his face that his lips had taken on ablueish tint, and his hand had trembled in Tony’s grip. But hedidn’t hesitate, even for an instant. He climbed into the chair andvery deliberately curled his hands over the ends of the armrests, hiseyes locked on Tony as he licked his lips.

“Areyou certain you wish to remain?” T’challa asked. “If he is notfully recovered, you will be in great danger.”

Tonylooked away from Bucky only for an instant, to let T’challa see thedetermination in his eyes, and then shifted his gaze back to Bucky.“I’ve been putting my life in the hands of my tech for more thana decade,” he said firmly. “He’s clean. This is only aformality.”

T’challawanted to argue; Tony could feel it hanging in the air. Tony wasready to tell him where to stick it -- Steve hadn’t been permittedto attend this review, and it was only after some rather franticnegotiation that the U.N. had agreed to let Tony come along forBucky’s moral support.

Finally,T’challa bowed his head, accepting. “Very well,” he agreed, andturned to the Wakandan neuroscientist and the team of expertsassigned by the U.N. who would be verifying Bucky’s mental state.“You may begin.”

Acomputer technician approached and Bucky closed his eyes tightly.“Try to relax,” the neuroscientist said, a heavy Wakandan accentlending music to the syllables. “The process should be painless,but a thorough mapping will take some time.” She used a vividlyblue gel to attach several electrodes to Bucky’s face and neck, andspoke to the technician in Wakandan, which Tony didn’t speak, butbased on the way the screens on the computer bank flickered to lifeand began displaying graphs and numbers, they were going through astartup sequence.

“Mr.Barnes,” she said after a moment, “we will present a number ofimages to you, some still, some short scenes. The complete collectionof possible images is quite large; no one will know precisely whichimages you see, though there is an algorithm that ensures certaincategories are among those chosen. I -- and the analysts -- will seeonly your measured responses, as compared to the range of responsesfor that image already acquired. You need do nothing but allow theimages to appear; your subconscious response will be measured almostinstantaneously. Do you understand the procedure, Mr. Barnes?”

Buckynodded without opening his eyes.

“Doyou consent to the procedure?” she asked.

“It’swhy we came all this way,” he said, voice husky. “Might ‘swell.”

Thescientist looked tolerably amused, but pressed, “I must have aclear affirmative before we begin, Mr. Barnes.”

Buckyhuffed. “Yes,” he said. “I consent.”

“Thankyou.” She nodded at them both. “I will be watching from theobservation room,” she told them. “If you need to call a halt,you need only say so.” She left the room, very carefully closingthe door behind her.

Whenthe heavy bolts shot home, sealing them in, Bucky’s eyes flew open.“They didn’t strap me down,” he said.

“Noneed,” Tony said lightly. “You’re going to be fine.”

“I’mscared,” Bucky admitted in a whisper.

Tonytook Bucky’s hand in his own. “I’ll be right here the wholetime,” he promised.

Buckystarted to answer, but then frowned slightly, his eyes goingunfocused. It had begun.

Unableto see the images that Bucky was getting, his outward responses weresomewhat mystifying to Tony. His breathing and heart rate sped andslowed, his pupils dilated and contracted, muscles all over his bodytwitched. He smiled, he frowned, he grimaced. His skin flushed andthen faded. Once he choked out, “No!” Some time later, hewhispered, “Please,” but he sounded... happy?

“Arethey showing you porn in there?” Tony teased.

Buckycocked his head, eyes flicking around in sightless confusion. Itfaded again after a moment, and Tony kept his mouth shut after that.

Thecomplete process took hours,but Bucky never asked for a break, and perforce, neither did Tony. Bythe time it was done, Bucky was soaked with sweat and shaking like aleaf. The scanning equipment powered down, and Bucky’s eyes slowlyfocused on Tony. “They done?” he asked, his voice a hoarse rasp.

“Thinkso,” Tony said. “You okay?”

“Hell,no,” Bucky said. “That was... that was rough.”

“Yeah,”Tony agreed. “But you did great.”

“We’llsee, I guess.” Bucky didn’t look too confident.

Tonyglanced toward the door -- it would be just like those petty U.N.officials to draw out their deliberation just because they could,making Bucky sweat out of a sense of power. “Hey, after they cut usloose,” Tony said, trying for distraction, “how about dinner?Wakandan cuisine is really something, and it’s hard to come by ifyou’re not actually in Wakanda.”

“Youaskin’ for a date, gorgeous?” Bucky managed a wan smile.

“Well,if you don’t have a more pressing engagement,” Tony said, liftinghis eyebrows, “yes.”

Bucky’seyes went round. “Wait, really?”

Tonyheld out his hand, palm up, offering. Slowly, Bucky took it, and Tonyclosed his fingers around Bucky’s, smiling. “For the record,because I didn’t think you’d believe me until this was allsettled, I’ve been proud of you since the first time you said you’dtry it. And I’ve wanted to take you out for months.”

Thelight and wonder in Bucky’s eyes was worth all the heartache andwork it had taken to get to this moment, Tony thought. “I neverthought,” Bucky whispered, “never thought I’d--”

Thedoor opened to reveal T’challa, the doctor and the U.N. committeehead behind him. He met Tony’s eyes, then Bucky’s. Slow, like asleepy cat, he smiled.

~ @everyworldneedslove

#prompts #winteriron #tony stark #bucky barnes #tony x bucky #everyworldneedslove #steve rogers #t'challa #Anonymous

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