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winterarmyy · 2 months

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Against All Odds | Part I

An arranged marriage with the duke's illegitimate son!bucky.

Summary: In a medieval kingdom where magic and political intrigue are woven into the fabric of society, Y/N, the youngest daughter of a noble Earl family, finds herself in an arranged marriage to James Buchanan Barnes, the illegitimate son of the Duke. Known as the Winter Soldier, Bucky's reputation as a monster in war had instilled anxiety into Y/N's heart. But that fear quickly begins to crumble when she discovers that her husband is not the brutal figure society depicts him to be.

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III (end)

Words: 8.1k++

Pairing: duke's illegitimate son!bucky x noble!female!reader

Warnings: fantasy/medieval au, i did not write this with much knowledge of fantasy nor medieval lore. I write it solely for plot and the couple dynamic lmao. if you're expecting full blown fantasy novel; this ain't it, man. anyways, 18+ contents, no minors allowed, nsfw, cunnilingus, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, loss of virginity, praise kink, breeding kink (if you squint), marking kink (i think), soft fluffy smut, a wee bit of dirty talk. soft!reader and even softer!bucky. (idk what else, so tell me if there's something i miss.)

P/S: This is the fic for an idea I had earlier this year. The first chapter will only cover the original post but what happens next is something you will need to look forward on the upcoming chapters. Enjoy your read!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N stood in front of the grand mirror in her chamber, her reflection staring back at her with wide, fearful eyes. The delicate lace of her wedding dress was the opposite of the twisting anxiety in her stomach. Today, she was to marry James Buchanan Barnes, the illegitimate son of the Duke of the kingdom, a man labelled to be more beast than human.

He was known as the Winter Soldier, a title whispered with both fear and awe. Tales of his gruesome feats in battle, his merciless brutality, and his cold, metal arm was deemed as a horror story for the children in the kingdom. People spoke of him as a monstrous weapon, a beast moulded by the Emperor to do his bidding without question or hesitation.

Y/N had heard the stories many times before; and it has always been a hushed conversation that floats around whether a ballroom of a gala, or at the tables of the garden parties, sometimes even in between the racks of books in the library.

They always painted a picture of a man who lived only for war, devoid of humanity.

She couldn't help but let these tales feed her imagination. What kind of man was he truly? Did he revel in the violence, or was he a prisoner to his fate? Y/N shuddered at the thought, her heart heavy with fear and uncertainty.

Her father, the Earl, had made it clear why she needed to marry him. It was a political manoeuvre, a strategic alliance to strengthen their family's position. The duke, Bucky's father, wielded considerable power, and their union would bring the Earl closer to the heart of the kingdom's influence.

And when he heard that the duke was looking for a wife for his bastard son, he knew that she would be perfect. That was when Y/N, the youngest daughter, became the pawn in this game. Her father's ambitions certainly outweighed any consideration for her feelings or desires.

Y/N had always longed for a marriage of love, a dream she clung to despite her circumstances. She was a hopeless romantic through and through; much like her late mother. She remembered the nights when her mother would read to her and her siblings, spinning tales of prince charming and valiant heroes.

The fire crackled warmly in the hearth as her mother’s soothing voice filled the room. Y/N and her siblings, her older brother Eric and sister Clara, lay tucked under blankets, their eyes wide with wonder.

"And then the prince, with a heart full of love, swept the princess into his arms, vowing to protect her forever," her mother read, her voice a melodic whisper.

Y/N, her eyes sparkling with innocence, declared, "When I grow up, I want to marry a prince charming too!"

Clara, ever the practical one, nodded in agreement. "Me too! He has to be brave and kind."

Eric, being a little boy, scrunched his nose in distaste. "I don’t want to get married. I want to be a knight!"

Their mother chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from Y/N’s forehead. "It does not matter if he is a prince charming or a humble knight. As long as you marry the one you love, that is what truly matters."

Y/N's heart ached at the memory. How she wished her mother were still here to guide her through this terrifying day. The gentle knock on the door brought her back to the present.

"Lady Y/N, it’s time," one of the maids said softly.

Y/N took a long and deep breath, smoothing down the fabric of her dress. She followed the maid down the corridor, her mind a swirl of emotions. Reaching the grand doors of the church, her father waited for her.

"Remember, Y/N," he said, his voice stern. "Do not mess this up. Just endure it. And you'll be fine. This is the most useful you can be to our family."

Her heart sank further; yet she nodded obediently.

Compared to Y/N, her elder brother, a celebrated swordsman, and her sister, a master in the art of business, had always outshone her in their father's eyes. Y/N's talent with languages; ancient and modern – was seen as a useless skill, something that brought no tangible benefit to the family.

Her father had never been cruel when she was younger but everything changed when her mother died. In fact, everyone in the family had lost a piece of their soul when she left. Now, his lack of affection only increases the number of scars on her heart.

The doors opened, revealing the crowds of high-ranking nobles; who were mostly strangers – staring at her. Some were judging her; some pitied her. She reminded herself that she was doing this for her family, for the greater good. But the little girl inside her who dreamed of prince charming certainly felt a pang of sorrow.

As she walked down the aisle, her legs trembled, and her hands shook so violently that she had to clasp them together to steady herself. From afar, she saw the silhouette of the man she was destined to marry. His tall and huge figure stood out compared to anyone in the hall. As she got closer, she kept her gaze fixed on the floor, too afraid to look up at her husband-to-be.

When she finally reached the altar, the priest began the ceremony. His speech was long and dragging, giving Y/N too much time to entertain her growing curiosity that she dared to glance up at the man next to her. Even from behind the veil, she could see his towering and broad-shouldered build, his presence commanding the room. His long hair was slightly untamed, and a scruffy beard framed his face. His metal hand, glinting in the sun that leaked through the church’s windows, was a jarring reminder of the rumors that surrounded him.

There were no heartfelt vows to recite to each other; only their promise of "I do" was exchanged. And that was the first time Y/N heard his voice. It was deep and resonant, sending a shiver down her spine; but there was a certain warmth in it that contrasted sharply with his fearsome reputation.

When the priest announced their union and Bucky lifted her veil, Y/N was struck by the unexpected gentleness in his eyes. They were a brilliant, mesmerizing blue, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe. Bucky's eyes softened as he looked at her, his gaze tender and almost reverent. Slowly, he placed one hand gently around her waist, pulling her slightly closer. His other hand came up to cup her cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle against her skin.

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as he leaned in, her breath catching in her throat. When his lips met hers, they were soft, warm, and so unexpected. She could smell his cologne; an earthy, woodsy scent mixed with a hint of something fruity; like peaches or tangerines. It made her head spin and her heart jumped all at the same time.

The kiss was gentle and unhurried, very much differs to the forceful gesture she had feared. As he pulled away, Y/N found herself blinking slowly, her cheeks flushed and her fear momentarily replaced by confusion and a surprising awe. She was caught off guard by the tenderness of his touch, the way his lips had brushed against hers so gently.

Could the rumors about him be wrong?

"I’m sorry if I startled you," he said, his voice low and gentle. "I hope I didn’t scare you, my dear."

Y/N blinked slowly, trying to process the sudden shift in her emotions. The fear that had gripped her so tightly seemed to dissipate, replaced by a confusing mix of relief and intrigue. Her hands, which had been trembling, now rested at her sides, feeling strangely steady. Her eyes met his, and she could see softness in his gaze that contradicted the harsh rumors she had heard.

“I—no, you didn’t scare me,” she managed to say; her voice barely more than a whisper. She took a deep breath, her cheeks getting warmer as she processed the endearment he just called her. On the other hand, her mind was racing as she tried to reconcile the man in front of her with the fearsome figure of the Winter Soldier.

Bucky’s eyes mellowed even further, his gaze glazed with a tenderness that seemed to pierce through the weight of the room. A warm smile spread across his face, and he held her gaze with a comforting assurance.

“Good,” he said, his voice carrying a gentle affection. “I’m glad to hear that.”

The reception that followed was a blur of faces and polite conversation. Y/N moved through the crowd, accepting congratulations and well-wishes, but her mind was elsewhere. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Bucky than the rumors suggested. Every time she caught his eye, he gave her a small, reassuring smile that made the butterflies inside of her go wild.

As the evening drew to a close, they were escorted to one of the Emperor’s palaces, a grand and opulent residence that was to serve as their temporary home before they traveled north to Bucky’s territory. The palace, with its lavish furnishings and golden accents, seemed to mock the uncertainty Y/N felt. She had been assigned a chamber to prepare for the night, and the palace maids were bustling around her, helping her into a set of elaborate, far-from-modest lingerie.

The palace’s maids’ whispers and side glances did nothing to ease her growing anxiety. Their condescending tones and occasional snickers were laced with cruel speculation about how roughly Bucky would treat her. The more Y/N overheard, the more her apprehension grew. Despite the gentleness Bucky had shown her earlier, she found herself doubting its sincerity.

Could he really be the caring husband he appeared to be, or was it all just an elaborate show?

The maids finally left, their laughter fading down the hallway, leaving Y/N alone in the grand chamber. Her heart raced, and cold sweat formed at her brow as she sat quietly on the edge of the ornate bed. She kept her gaze firmly on the floor, her hands fidgeting in her lap. The room felt enormous, its sheer size heightening her sense of isolation and dread.

The door creaked open, and Bucky entered the room. Y/N’s heart nearly stopped as she heard the heavy, measured footsteps approaching. She couldn’t bring herself to look up, her body tense and her mind a swirl of panic and unease. She almost held her breath entire when she felt the slight indentation of the mattress beside her.

“Y/N,” Bucky’s voice was soft and coaxing, a distinct difference to the coldness she was expecting. “Look at me.” He continued. She hesitated momentarily; torn between obeying and disobeying but ultimately decided to raise her eyes to meet his.

The sight of him; his upper body bare, revealing a tapestry of scars and the stark metal of his prosthetic arm; made her breath hitch. Her eyes traced the lines of his faded wound, particularly the jagged marks where his shoulder met his metal arm. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow and concern. Her fingers, almost of their own accord, reached out to trace the contours of his chest and shoulder.

Bucky let the innocence of her touch to trace the most tainted parts of him; however noting her trembling eyes, he misunderstood her apprehension. “I want you to know, Y/N,” he said, his voice firm yet gentle, “that I will never hurt you. You are safe with me.”

Y/N shook her head, her heart aching. She felt an unexplainable pain growing in her chest as she gazed at him. Her fingers still lightly touching his scars; her eyes, full of unshed tears, silently asked a question she was too afraid to voice. “Does it still hurt?” she wanted to ask, her expression betraying her concern.

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with affection, and he took her hand in his, holding it tenderly against his chest. “Don't worry. It does not hurt anymore,” he said with a reassuring smile.

The connection between them was electric, charged with a deep, unspoken understanding. Bucky’s gaze was steady and filled with a depth of unspoken emotion that took Y/N’s breath away. “I know this is difficult for you, Y/N,” he said, his voice laden with sincerity. “But I promise, I will do everything in my power to make you happy.”

His words and the way he looked at her left Y/N feeling both comforted and overwhelmed. For the first time since their wedding, she felt a genuine, flickering hope that maybe, just maybe, their marriage could become something more than a mere political arrangement. Bucky’s assurances, his gentleness, and the tenderness in his eyes began to dissolve the fears she had harboured since the beginning of their union.

As they sat there, the weight of the night’s expectations seemed to lift, replaced by a fragile but growing trust. Y/N had entered this marriage with a sense of duty, convinced that she would have to endure the consummation of their union as a matter of obligation. But Bucky’s tenderness, his understanding, and the sincere reassurance he had given her began to change her perspective.

The idea of fulfilling her marital duty had initially felt like a burden she had to bear. She had steeled herself to face it with resignation, convinced that it was merely another part of her role in this arranged marriage. But now, she found herself reconsidering. The idea of being with him no longer felt like an obligation but a possibility of something more profound and intimate.

Y/N hands softly toyed with the delicate strings of her sheer lingerie, pulling it softly as her doe eyes signalled her husband of her intention. Bucky, sensing the shift in her demeanor, looked into her eyes with a mixture of concern and affection. “Are you sure, my dear?” he asked softly. “I want you to feel safe with me and not afraid of me.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered as she met his gaze, her own eyes reflecting the depth of her emotions. “I am,” she said with quiet conviction. “I feel safe with you, James”

Bucky's hand naturally went to brush her hair behind her ear, “It’s Bucky, my dear,” he corrected softly.

“Hmm?” she asked, slightly puzzled.

He chuckled warmly. “You can call me Bucky from now on. It’s a nickname only a selected few who I trust and love knows.” Her eyes sparkled at his choice words; trust and love.

“Bucky…” she tested the name on her tongue, the syllables feeling strangely intimate. Upon hearing his name from her lips, Bucky’s heart swelled, almost bursting from his ribcage. He hummed in approval, “That's right, my dear. I’m your Bucky.”

His reassuring smile grew wider, his calloused thumb gently stroke her cheek causing a shiver to strum all over her nerves; sending an emerging desire. One she had not fully acknowledged until now. The way he looked at her, the pure and raw endearment in his eyes, and the softness of his touch stirred something deep within her.

As the moments passed, Y/N realised she wanted this. She wanted to feel his lips on hers, to explore the warmth of his hands, to connect with him on a level she had longed for. The yearning for his touch, which had been dormant under layers of fear and uncertainty, now surged forward with undeniable intensity.

Without fully understanding why, Y/N found herself leaning closer to him, her breath coming in soft, eager gasps. She whispered, her voice barely audible but full of longing, “Bucky, please.”

Bucky’s expression softened, and a tender light filled his blue eyes, “May I?” he asked, his voice low and gentle as he held out his hand. There a shy hesitation before she finally placed her hand in his.

With a gentle but firm pull, Bucky lifted her onto his lap, his careful hands beginning the process of undressing her. Each movement was full of care, yet almost deliberate, as he slowly removed her dress, leaving her in nothing but the flimsy lace piece covering the sacred area between her thighs.

Bucky's eyes roamed over her bare skin, admiration clear in his gaze. Y/N could feel the heat of his gaze, the way his eyes traced every curve and contour of her body. The intensity of it made her feel both vulnerable and cherished, a potent combination that sent pleasurable shivers all over her body.

Seeing the hunger in his blue eyes, she felt the warmth of his body and caught the scent of him; the same once she noticed at the church; warm and comforting. Her breath quickened, and she found herself unsure of what to do or where to place her hands, feeling like a deer caught in headlights.

Noticing the subtle panic, Bucky reached for her hands and guided them through the thick strands of his long hair. “You can touch me as you please, my dear,” he whispered, his voice soothing as he reassured her. He leaned in to kiss her bare shoulder, then moved up to her neck, along her jaw, leaving a trail of warmth on her skin.

Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, the softness surprising her. The intimacy of the moment, combined with his gentle kisses, began to dissolve the last remnants of her anxiety. The feel of his lips on her skin was electrifying, each kiss sending waves of sensation she never felt before.

Bucky’s hands, still careful and tender, caressed her back, drawing her closer to him. Her breath hitched as he kissed the valley of her breasts; soft gasps escaping her lips as Bucky begins to lick and sucked on her delicate skin; likely trying to mark his claim on her.

Every touch and little kisses he left sent shivers straight to her already dripping core. And by the time his lips grazed her nipple, her body jerked forward; in response, unintentionally dragging her aching pussy against his thick thigh.

His lips latched around her right nipples as he licks and sucks the hardening skin; lapping at it as if he was feeding from her. The sensation was overwhelming, yet she found herself leaning into his touch, her body responding to his gentle ministrations. The grip on his hair grew tighter as the strings of moans poured out her lips.

Bucky’s large hands find their place on her hips, guiding her to gently rut on his thigh. Trusting him, she followed his lead as he continue to grind her clit through the thin fabric she was wearing; introducing the sweet friction in on her core. Bucky pulled back slightly to look into her eyes, his expression filled with a mixture of subtle affection and desire. “You’re doing wonderfully, my dear. Can feel your pussy leaking on me. Do you feel good?” he murmured as he dipped back to kiss her neck.

Oh, he was filthy with his choice of words but surprisingly she was not mad about it. In fact she didn’t even notice the whimpers purring in her throat upon hearing those sinful words.

It was as if Bucky recognized that needy sound she made; it caused a smile to spread on his lips. She can feel it grow against the skin in between her breasts, “My my, is my sweet wife feeling needy right now?” he teased playfully as he effortlessly lifted her up and laid her down on their bed.

Placing himself in between her soft thighs, his lustful gaze trained on her naked body; he admired the marks he has left on her breasts, the wet patch on the flimsy fabric covering her cunt, and the way her breath shuddered when he teasingly grind his harden cock against her.

Y/N can feel the contrast of his hands on her thigh, one warm, one cold. Her eyes drew her attention from his hands to his gorgeous face. Oh, the pure unfiltered lust in his eyes was pulling her in so effortlessly; seducing her to submit her body and soul to him completely. Shying away from his stare, she dragged her view down to his chiselled jaw, his broad chest then slowly to his beautiful abs.

She admired his body as much as he did of hers.

But what was more prominent out of all, was the way she could feel his erection throbbing against her heat. Blood went rushing towards her face when Bucky guided her hips against the confinement of his cock, which in response; causing her hands naturally found their way to cover her face in embarrassment.

A deep chuckle bubbled from Bucky’s throat; he found her reaction to be absolutely endearing. He leaned down towards her, one hand holding himself up and another tenderly pulling her hands away, then drawing it close to his chest, right against his beating heart.

Having nowhere to run, Y/N’s teary eyes drowned in his ocean blues, “Don’t hide from me, dearest.” He peppered a delicate kiss on her forehead, then on her nose, then on her cheek. She could feel the prickly sensation of his beard grazing on her skin. It was ticklish and a little bit painful and yet weirdly enough, it felt good that it naturally made her want to nuzzle it more.

But before she could, Bucky’s lips were already making their way down to her stomach. Her body responds to how soft his lips trailing down; and further down until she could feel them on her clothed core. A surprised yelp fell from her lips as he tore the last piece of clothing from her.

“Now, hands away from your face, my dear. I want to see that beautiful eyes of yours when I eat your sweet pussy.” his voice was honeyed when he made himself comfortable in between her thighs. His hands reached upwards to intertwine both of her hands with his own; acting as a restraint to restrict her from covering her face.

Y/N almost sat up upon hearing his words, “Eat what now?”, the question she had in mind was unable to be vocalised; due to her confusion. Prior to marriage, she had learned about sex and its purpose in her marital studies. Unbeknownst to her, the knowledge she had was few and limited for academic purposes only. Which means there were only the few illustrations of penetration depicted in books and the process of how children are bred as a result of it.

So what does he mean when he said those words? While she was still lost and confused, Bucky on the other hand was in his own world; completely and utterly transfixed on the glistening need of her cunt. She was dripping wet; the juices covering her slits perfectly; her scent was intoxicating and if it weren’t for the fact that this is her first time, Bucky would’ve ate her like a man starved of touch. But, he can’t do that. Not tonight. He wanted to be gentle; to cherish her, to love on her.

Seeing the darkened clouds in his eyes as he stared at her private, Y/N braved herself to ask, “What are you– ohh hmmm” her sentence ended up transforming into a toe curling moan as she felt Bucky’s wet tongue flattened across her weeping core. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as he dragged her clit into his mouth and sucked. He strummed her clit with his tongue, causing her to arch her back and he took the opportunity to push his face further into her cunt; licking and sucking quite the literal soul out her.

It felt amazing but her self-consciousness won the battle in her head, she let out a whimpering plea, “Buc--bucky st-stop. That’s dirty.” as she gripped on his hands, trying to escape from his grip. Bucky growled against her in response to her futile protest. The sweet vibration only caused her pleasure all over her fluttering core.

When Bucky pulled away for a moment; it caused her to feel a sense of loss. “It’s not dirty, my dear. In fact, it’s so sweet.” His lips moved to kiss on her inner thigh, murmuring against her skin as he left yet more of his marks on her, “So fucking sweet.” He releases his right hand from hers, just to rub his thumb on her clit, slowly dragging it in between her slit; smearing her wetness all around her throbbing bundle of nerves. Her thighs trembled to the sensation of his rough movement of his thumb and a string of shaky mewls fell out of her.

“But..” she tried to protest but immediately stopped when Bucky brought his soaked thumb to her mouth. Her lips were wet from how he gently smeared the juices on her, “Taste yourself.” He lured her softly. Hesitation glints in her eyes as her cheeks redden. Bucky’s eyes grew tender at her watery ones, he whispered lowly, “Sweetheart, do you trust me?”

She does; but she does not trust her own voice to not come out sounding like a needy moan, so she simply nodded. Bucky’s pink lips spread into a smile, “Good girl. Now, open up.” he coaxed lovingly.

Y/N opened her mouth as she was told and let Bucky slip his thumb inside; he was not shy to smother her juices across her tongue, coaxing her to suck on it. To get a taste of what he was having. “It’s sweet”, she thought to herself. A muffled moan purred in her throat at the thought of her husband enjoying the taste of her.

Bucky smirk grew at her reaction, “Tastes good huh, sweetheart?” he pulled his thumb away, leaving her nodding to his question. “Now are you going to let me enjoy your pussy?” his brow quirked when he tilted his head to the side. How can she deny him now? Her eyes glazed with need as she replied, “Yes, please”.

Her mouth falls open in anticipation as a low moan creeps up her throat. Bucky’s tongue slips past her folds, she watched him between her legs, savouring her pussy with his unfiltered groans vibrating against her sensitive spot. Breathless moans and incoherent pleads fall from her mouth as the soft and firm tip of his tongue circled her swollen pearl and flicked it. Bucky’s hands went to her hips, guiding it in time with her own movements, giving her partial control to set the pace.

“Buckyyyy.” She gasped as she alternated between wanting to push his head away or keep him in place. Meanwhile, the man in between her thighs had lost himself; consumed by pure desire the more he drank from her cunt. His tongue moved faster against her clit when he noticed the beat of her throbbing cunt increased. She was going to come. He was sure of it.

The way that she was practically creaming on his tongue drove him near feral. He kept lapping at her juices as if it was the sweetest honey he ever tasted; fuck he even sucked her clit in hopes to force out more of her nectar to leak; then he’d lap on it again.

The sweet cycle had pushed Y/N over the edge, her eyes rolling back as pleasure and her hips slightly lifted as pleasure surges through her veins.“Oh oh Bucky please please.” She didn’t what she was begging for as she chanted his name. “I’m gonna, ‘m gonna–“ her words died as she squealed; her body trembling in pleasure.

His tongue moved faster against her clit; her cum was dripping out of her; coating his beard but his frantic licks didn’t stop even when she continue to gush on his tongue.

“Bucky please, sensitive..” It was too much; her orgasm, her swollen clit, his tongue. Everything.

Unfortunately for her, Bucky was far gone to stop now. He had the taste of her cum, now he wants nothing more than to have it again. Despite her protest, Bucky held her hip down, interlocking his hands across her stomach to keep her in place and continue to lick and suck on her overstimulated cunt.

Her whiny pleas didn’t come across as a sign for him to stop; instead it kept him going causing him to bury his face further in between her legs. His cock continued to throb in his pants, probably leaking with so much pre-cum and in need of some sort of relief but he ignored it. He wants nothing more than for Y/N to cum on his tongue again.

And that is exactly what happened next.

The moment she fell over the edge, Bucky pushed her even harder against him as her whole body spasmed. He maintained his pace on lapping up at her all throughout her high as her hands went from his hair to the headboard, trying to hold her limp body upright. Y/N took a moment to gather herself together, panting heavily as she regained their senses; while Bucky was swift to pull his pants off and throw it to the side.

He grabbed on her hips, holding her firmly in place as his heavy leaking cock nestled between her aching pussy. “Are you sure about this, my dear?” his hot breath fanning against her neck as he gently ruts into her heat. Even though Bucky can see the darken lust in her eyes, he still wanted to make sure that she was sure of her decision.

Y/N’s heart swelled at his concern, and she found herself smiling, a genuine smile that reflected the warmth she felt inside. She pulled him closer and kissed him, pouring all her newfound trust and affection into the kiss. “Yes, Bucky. I am very sure. ”

Bucky quickly responded with equal passion, his tongue slipped in between her lips; exploring the warmness of her mouth, the softness of her tongue. Their muffled moans filled the silenced room, his hands moved to caress her sides, drawing her even closer before breaking away from the heated kiss.

Resting his forehead on hers, his eyes trained on her beautiful face; not wanting to miss his chance to witness the pleasure contorting on her expression. He nudges her clit first, rubbing it slow and sensual before trailing down to her entrance. Gradually, he inches closer, he pushes in and through the tightness of her sacred channel.

Delving impossibly deep, her tightness wrapped around his thick cock until the tip of him reached the deepest parts of her. The sudden feeling of fullness on her untainted pussy caused her to experience both pain and the delightful sensation inside her. The ecstasy of being so knitly connected to each other caused both of them to simultaneously let out moans and groans of raw pleasure.

Bucky waited for her to adjust to his size; leaning down to pamper her with the softest kisses and praises that tears started to swell in her eyes. It was as if Bucky knew exactly what she wanted to hear, how she wanted to be treated and what makes her feel good.

“You’re doing so good, my dear.”

“Look at how perfect your pussy’s taking my cock. So perfect.”

“Made for me aren’t you, sweetheart?. Made to be loved by me, made to be stuffed full of my cock.”

“I promise you’ll be safe with me, Y/N. Always.”

When Y/N finally gave him the permission to move, Bucky kissed her pouty lips and murmured sweetly, “Thank you, my dear.” His hands travelled to find her ankle; which he then gently prop her calf over his broad shoulder. He started pumping in and out slowly, letting her get used to the friction.

Bucky couldn’t help but to groan out to the feeling of her wet hole gripping his cock ever-so-tightly. It was slippery and dripping, that he almost completely slid out of her. Gripping her closer he continue ramming himself back in, deeper, harder; sliding in and out of her at an even pace. Each force of his cock causing her body to jerk in ecstasy; hitting that good spot in her so perfectly.

“S-shit, sweetheart,” he moans deep and heavy as he felt her pussy tightening around him. His metal hand slid in between them and his thumb hones in on her clit. The coldness of his finger made her jolt at first but when he proceeded to rub and pinch on it, everything suddenly started to feel too intense; so incredibly good.

With his fingers assaulting her clit, each thrust of his cock and every deep guttural moan and groan coming from Bucky, she felt her release was growing closer. Bucky also started thrusting faster and harder; he knew he was about to come. Especially when he can feel how much pre-cum has been leaking inside her.

He leaned and rested his forehead on hers, his needy ruts became more and more irregular when her pretty doe eyes looked up at him, “Cum for me, my dear.” his lips brushed against Y/N’s as he coaxed her to her sweet release. His thrusts got harsher and deeper and the friction of his metal finger working on her clit got her cunt to frantically tremble around him, “I wanna feel you milk my cock, sweetheart. Then, I’m gonna my pump cum inside you until you’re leaking.”

Although his words were debauched to no end, however Y/N could sense his genuine affection for her. She felt his sincerity in the way he looked at her, in the way he held her, in the silenced gaze they shared. Overwhelmed with pleasure, her nails dragged across Bucky’s back as she moaned and screamed out his name; letting the high took over her body.

“Fuck,, sweetheart. I’m gonna cum!” groaned as he took in the sound of her pleasured mewls. He ruthlessly grinds into her, savouring the feeling of her cunt tightened around him. With one last rut, he thrust his cock, balls deep inside and let his warm white strings filling her up to the brim. His cock twitches in her fluttering cunt, his legs tensing with every small grind he makes, groaning lowly at her as he bites down on her shoulder, almost drooling on her as he emptied himself completely into her.

Y/N continued to let out strings of soft moans as he pulled out from her leaking cunt; all swollen and sensitive. While she thought she could finally catch some breaths, she didn’t notice the way Bucky was biting on his lip at the sight of his cum dripping out of her, or how his hands lazily tugging on his now hardened cock.

“Dearest?” Bucky hovered above her as he cradled her by her flushed cheeks. She smiled sweetly as she leaned to his touch, “Yes, Bucky?”, she was anticipating him to utter more of those soft words and praises to her; but instead his lips curled into a devilish grin when he slid his cock back into her, immediately pulling a long sinful mewl of his name from her. Bucky hummed approvingly in response; he gently brushed his lips against hers, “May I fill you up again?”

As the morning sun streamed through the windows, Y/N slowly stirred awake. She reached out, instinctively searching for the warmth of her husband beside her, but found the space empty. A pang of loneliness touched her heart, but it was quickly replaced by curiosity when she saw a bouquet of bluebells, her favourite flower, placed delicately on the bedside table.

Next to the bouquet was a note. With a small smile, she picked it up and began to read.

"My Dearest Y/N,

I hate to leave you alone this morning, but I must ensure our journey home is smooth and safe. I trust you slept well, and I promise to return to your side as soon as I can.

Yours always,

Bucky"

The words written on the note were filled with sincerity and reassurance that made her heart flutter. She smiled, a blush creeping across her cheeks as she wondered how he knew bluebells were her favourite.

Just as she was lost in thought, the door opened, and the palace’s maids entered the room. Their faces were a mixture of curiosity and impatience, clearly expecting to see a frightened and bruised young bride.

However, when they saw Y/N's skin, they temporarily froze in their spots. Her skin was indeed bruised, but each one of them recognized the marks for what they were: love marks, not signs of harsh abuse that they were expecting. The traces of Bucky's possessive love were prominent all over her neck, chest, and inner thighs, leaving Y/N blushing as the maids, too, found themselves flushed with embarrassment.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” one of the older maids muttered under her breath, her tone laced with irritation. Another maid, with a more condescending sneer, huffed. “Looks like we lost the bet, ladies. Who would have thought the beast could be so... tender?”

Y/N’s cheeks burned with a mix of embarrassment and pride. She could feel their resentful glances and knew they were not pleased with the outcome. The marks on her body were a testament to the affection and desire Bucky had shown her, and despite the initial fear, she now wore them as symbols of the unexpected bond they had begun to forge.

The head maid, who had been the most vocal the night before, now seemed to handle her with an edge of bitterness. The other maids, who had been so quick to judge, were now silent, their eyes wide with resentment.One of the younger maids, braver than the rest, couldn’t hide her frustration. “Well, my lady, I suppose you’re alright, then?” she asked, her voice barely masking her disappointment.

Y/N looked at her, considering the appropriate response. If it was up to her, she ought to punish every single one of them for not knowing their place. Unfortunately, they were not her maids to begin with, but the palace's staff. Otherwise, she would likely fire each one of them.

The memory of Bucky’s affection and care filled her heart, leaving no room for anger or resentment. The warmth of his embrace and the gentle way he had treated her made the maids' behaviour seem petty and insignificant.

She could still feel the lingering touch of his lips on her skin, the way his hands had caressed her so delicately, and the sound of his reassuring voice. Her body was still tingling with the remnants of the previous night's intimacy. Her skin bore the marks of his love, not of brutality, and each bruise was a testament to the passion they had shared. It was completely different to the vile expectations of the maids.

A small smile playing on her lips despite the blush that still coloured her cheeks. "Yes," she said softly, "I am quite alright."

The maids exchanged annoyed glances, their expressions a mix of frustration and disbelief. Their muttered disappointments were tuned out as Y/N focused on the lingering warmth from the night before.

She couldn't hear a single thing except her heart beating to the thought of her husband. She missed him already. Who would’ve thought she’d be swooning for him so soon?

She found herself yearning for his presence, the comfort of his touch, and the sound of his reassuring voice. The memory of his gentle kiss and tender words lingered in her mind yet again, making her heart flutter.

As the maids continued their work, Y/N hoped they would at least perform their duties well enough to cover up for their childish behaviour. She wanted to be ready to see Bucky, to greet him with the same warmth and affection he had shown her. Despite their rudeness, she resolved to focus on the positive, cherishing the newfound bond with her husband.

Bucky stood at the head of the table, his stern expression and commanding presence filling the room. He was reviewing the logistics of their journey home, his voice cold and decisive as he issued instructions to his knights. His trusted knight, Sam, was detailing the possible hotspots for bandits they might encounter along the way.

"We'll likely face trouble here," Sam said, pointing to a spot on the map. "We should send some of our best men ahead to clear the path."

"Agreed," Bucky responded, his tone unyielding. "Deploy the knights in advance. Ensure the path is secure before we proceed."

Sam nodded and continued outlining the plan. He paused, expecting Bucky to reconfirm, but noticed a change in his leader's face. The harsh lines softened, his eyes filled with a tender warmth, as he stared intently at something across the room. Before Sam could look or utter a word, Bucky turned and walked away with determination.

Sam followed Bucky's gaze and understood immediately. "Ah, that's why," he muttered to himself as he watched Bucky approach Y/N. The change in Bucky’s demeanour was striking. He moved with a grace and warmth that was at odds with his usual stern and imposing presence.

Bucky’s eyes softened as he took in the sight of Y/N. He admired her beauty with a gaze filled with awe and adoration. The way he looked at her was as if he was seeing a vision he had longed for, a rare and precious gem that had finally come into his life.

As he extended his hand toward her, a gesture usually seen as etiquette but now entirely with different meaning, especially with the hearts bursting our of his blue eyes. Y/N’s face lighting up with a shy smile, took his hand; almost too eagerly. Bucky's fingers closed gently around hers, his touch tender and reassuring. The contrast between his usual, fearsome reputation and the gentle way he interacted with her was profound, making it clear that his feelings for Y/N were deeply genuine.

Bucky kissed the back of her hand, his lips softly caressing her knuckles. "My dear," he greeted her, using the endearment he had chosen when they first met at the altar.

The scene seemed like it was pulled raw from a romance novel that the surrounding staff and knights simply watched in shock and awe. "Did he just..." one knight whispered, eyes wide. "Called her 'my dear'?" another finished, equally stunned.

Sam, who had witnessed firsthand the monstrous side of Bucky in war, found himself in a state of utter disbelief, jaw dropped loose. He had seen Bucky’s sword painted blood-red, his face splattered with the gore of countless enemies. The Winter Soldier was a force of nature on the battlefield, his brutal efficiency leaving a trail of carnage in his wake. Sam recalled the sight of Bucky’s cold, unyielding eyes as he cut through foes without hesitation, his armor and weaponry gleaming with the blood of those who dared oppose him.

And yet, here he was, the same man who had struck terror into the hearts of many, now standing before Y/N with a tenderness that seemed unimaginable. Sam could hardly believe his eyes. The disparity was pronounced and bewildering. Bucky’s expression was soft, his movements gentle as he held Y/N’s hand in his.

“I’ve missed you,” Y/N said softly, her eyes shining with affection. She truly did, it would be a lie that she didn’t felt the ache in her heart when she woke up alone that morning. The emptiness beside her had felt profound. The bed still carried his scent, a lingering warmth that whispered of his recent presence. Even though the separation had been brief, as evidenced by the thoughtful note and the bouquet of her favourite flowers he had left behind, the loneliness she felt was palpable. His absence, however fleeting, had created a void that left her feeling incomplete.

Bucky’s heart seemed to burst with emotion. He couldn't care less about the gawking staff surrounding them as he pulled her close and kissed her deeply. She initially froze, caught off guard and embarrassed, but soon melted into his kiss with a blossoming confidence.

As their lips met, memories of their tender and passionate night together surged through Bucky's mind. The way she moan his name, the taste of her cum, the tightness of her pussy gripping on his cock, the way his cum leaked out of her, every single sinful scene replayed in head; infinitely. The intensity of the moment was overwhelming, and he found himself nearly losing control. Reluctantly, he pulled back from the kiss, his breath uneven and his gaze filled with an unspoken hunger.

"God, what should I do with you, hmm, sweetheart?" Bucky whispered, his voice laced with seduction as he continued to place gentle kisses along her cheeks and jaw. His lips brushed softly against her skin, whispering how much he had missed her and expressing a wistful desire to stay wrapped in the warmth of their shared bed just a little longer.

Y/N’s soft giggle rang out as she felt the roughness of his stubble against her delicate skin. The sound was like music to Bucky's ears, brightening his mood and filling him with a profound sense of joy. Despite the joyful exchange, he reluctantly ended the sweet torment, his kisses lingering just a moment longer before he pulled away.

“We should be ready to begin our journey shortly,” Bucky said, his tone shifting to a more practical note when e turned to Sam, who had approached during their moment of intimacy.

“Y/N, this is Sam Wilson, he is one of my trusted knights.” Bucky introduced, his gaze shifting to his wife. Sam gave a respectful nod to Y/N, a hint of surprise still evident in his expression from witnessing Bucky's affectionate display. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Y/N.”

Y/N smiled warmly at Sam, appreciating the introduction. “The pleasure is mine, Sir Wilson.”

Sam, sensing that the formality was unnecessary given their imminent interactions, decided to ease the situation. “Just Sam, my lady,” he said with a friendly tone. Y/N repeated his name with a touch of amusement. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Sam.”

Bucky, observing the growing camaraderie between his wife and his trusted knight, couldn’t help but feel a twinge of protectiveness. The easy familiarity between them seemed a bit too casual for his liking. His eyes narrowed slightly as he gave Sam a warning look. “Watch it, Wilson.”

Sam, not missing a beat, chuckled at Bucky’s protective demeanour. “What’s the matter, my lord? Can’t handle a bit of friendly conversation?”

Y/N, noticing the playful tension and Bucky’s slight irritation, couldn’t help but laugh. The contrast between Bucky’s usually soft demeanour that Y/N had witnessed and his current protective stance were both endearing and amusing. Her laughter lightened the mood, making Sam’s teasing even more enjoyable.

Bucky's stern gaze softened as he watched Y/N’s laughter, though his protective instinct remained palpable. Steering the conversion back to the preparations, he allowed a faint smile to tug at the corners of his mouth despite his earlier warning.

“I trust you can escort my wife to the carriage,” Bucky said, his voice serious but tinged with a hint of a smile. “However, I expect you to maintain proper distance and adhere to these additional guidelines.” He paused, ensuring his words were clear. “No unnecessary physical contact or overly familiar behaviour. And if you could, avoid any casual conversations that might be misinterpreted.”

Sam looked at Bucky in disbelief, shaking his head with a bemused expression. “Seriously, Barnes? You’re laying down rules for me to keep my distance from your wife now?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Consider it a precaution. I’d rather not have any misunderstandings.” Sam chuckled, rolling his eyes as he complied. “Understood. I’ll make sure to follow your... guidelines.”

Y/N watched the exchange with amusement, her earlier shyness melting away into a warm appreciation for Bucky’s protectiveness. The scene, tinged with a touch of comedy, only deepened the connection between them.

Bucky, intent on making a point to Sam while expressing his affection, pulled Y/N close and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. The gesture was both intimate and deliberate, a subtle yet clear indication to Sam that she belongs to Bucky. “I’ll join you shortly, my dear,” Bucky said softly, his voice filled with warmth as he gazed into her eyes.

Sam, unimpressed by Bucky’s display, rolled his eyes at the seemingly childish antics. “This way, my lady,” he said with a hint of impatience. Y/N nodded in agreement but paused before turning her back on Bucky. With a loving smile, she whispered, “I’ll see you later,” before following Sam.

Bucky watched as Sam guided Y/N away, his gaze lingered with a mix of affection and something much deeper; an unspoken sadness. As their silhouettes walked further and further away from his sight, a sombre glaze settled over his eyes.

Beneath the surface of his composed exterior, his heart ached; the was a silent reflection of a pain he had hidden deep within his heart. It was a lingering sorrow that had shadowed him ever since he stood at the altar, the weight of unvoiced grief clinging to him as he gazed at his future bride.

Part II >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Wondering why he was in the feels at the end? We’ll know it soon enough. I’ll see you in the next parts! Thank you for reading!

#bucky barnes au #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky fluff #bucky smut #bucky angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes angst #winter soldier!bucky #medieval!bucky #duke!bucky #grumpy!bucky #soft!bucky

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blondephil · 6 months

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hello (one of the) resident phannie data analyst(s) here with some parasocial stats on dnp’s movie tastes! following: distribution of dan and phil's ratings overall, movies they each rated 5 stars, their lowest-rated movies, and the similarities + differences in their tastes

(lore moment: yes i am a data analyst in my real job. yes i surprised myself with wanting to do this in my spare time. but then i remembered when we read dracula in college (yes i was an english major) and i graphed like, how many times dracula was referred to as vampire versus monster or something. so i shouldn’t be surprised.

first up, their overall rating patterns and by ~special status~ (i.e., wall-e, kill bill, avatar, lmao, plus big hero 6 for the fun of it)

dan’s rated 304 movies and phil’s rated 305. both of them have mean and median ratings of 4 with min 1 and max 5.

both rated kill bill vols. 1 and 2 a 5. wall-e got a 4.5 from dan and a 4 from phil (phake phans). both gave avatar a 3.5. and big hero 6 3.5 (dan) and 4.5 (phil)

rating distribution:

i did analyses here by genre but i need to fix the output (i’m writing all of these based on the markdown document from my phone on the subway, but i need to fix the outputs and i don’t have my computer. so those are pending but there are other genre analyses that i could do & haven’t yet!)

while i was sorting through the data i got the impression that dan overall rated movies higher than phil. so, among movies that they've both rated, here's some information

number of movies dan rated higher than phil: 65

Empire Strikes Back, Blade Runner, Return of the Jedi, My Neighbor Totoro, Back to the Future II, Nightmare Before Christmas, Toy Story, Phantom Mence, Donnie Darko, Attack of the Clones, Finding Nemo, Oldboy, The Notebook, Batman Begins, Brokeback Mountain, WALL-E, (500) Days of Summer, Up, The Hangover, Drive, The Cabin in the Woods, The Avengers, The Dark Knight Rises, Life of Pi, Skyfall, The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, Whiplash, The Amazing Spider-Man 2, Room, The Hateful Eight, The Force Awakens, Manchester by the Sea, Deadpool, La La Land, Moonlight, Rogue One, Call Me By Your Name, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2., Wonder Woman, Spider-Man: Homecoming, I, Tonya, Thor: Ragnorak, Phantom Thread, Roma, The Favourite, The Lighthouse, Toy Story 4, Midsommar, Ad Astra, Knives Out, Soul, The Green Knight, No Time to Die, Don't Look Up, Spider-Man: No Way Home, Turning Red, Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness, Thor: Love and Thunder, The Banshees of Inisherin, The Fabelmans, Glass Onion, Beau is Afraid, Barbie, Oppenheimer, Poor Things

number of movies phil rated higher than dan: 55

Star Wars (New Hope), Blair Witch Project, Requiem for a Dream, Memento, Ocean's Eleven, Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, Iron Man 2, Thor, Captain America: The First Avenger, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, Moonrise Kingdom, Iron Man 3, Gravity, Prisoners, The Wolf of Wall Street, The Grand Budapest Hotel, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, The Imitation Game, Nightcrawler, John Wick, Gone Girl, Big Hero 6, Jurassic World, The Martian, The Revenant, Nocturnal Animals, Split, Get Out, Baby Driver, The Disaster Artist, Dunkirk, The Shape of Water, The Greatest Showman, The Last Jedi, Ready Player One, Crazy Rich Asians, A Star is Born, Rocketman, Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood, Joker, The Rise of Skywalker, The Invisible Man, A Quiet Place Part II, Greenland, Tenet, Malignant, Eternals, The Matrix Resurrections, Scream (2022), Nope, Prey, Talk to Me, Avatar: The Way of the Water, The Super Mario Bros. Movie, Mission Impossible - Dead Reckoning Part One

number of movies they rated the same: 99!

Alien, ET, Gremlins, Back to the Future, Top Gun, Aliens, Home Alone, Silence of the Lambs, Jurassic Park, Pulp Fiction, The Lion King, Se7en, Scream, The Fifth Element, Titanic, The Truman Show, The Matrix, Magnolia, Spirited Away, Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, Spider-Man, Lost in Translation, Kill Bill, Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, Kill Bill Vol. 2, Mean Girls, Howl's Moving Castle, Children of Men, The Dark Knight, Pontypool, Inglourious Basterds, Avatar, Toy Story 3, Inception, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, Black Swan, The Social Network, 21 Jump Street, The Hunger Games, Silver Linings Playbook, The Conjuring, Snowpiercer, Her, Thor: The Dark World, The Hunger Games: Catching Fire, Boyhood, It Follows, Guardians of the Galaxy, Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance), Interstellar, Ex Machina, The Witch, Avengers: The Age of Ultron, Mad Max: Fury Road, Inside Out, Ant-Man, Captain America: Civil War, Your Name., Arrival, Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, mother!, It, Blade Runner 2049, Hereditary, Black Panther, Annihilation, A Quiet Place, Avengers: Infinity War, Captain Marvel, Us, Avengers: Endgame, Parasite, It Chapter Two, Marriage Story, Uncut Gems, 1917, Black Widow, The Suicide Squad, Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings, Dune, Last Night in Soho, The Batman (2022), Everything Everywhere All at Once, X, The Northman, Top Gun: Maverick, Bullet Train, Barbarian, Pearl, M3GAN, Dungeons and Dragongs: Honor Among Thieves, Evil Dead Rise, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 3., No Hard Feelings, Saltburn, Priscilla, Society of the Snow, Saw X, Leave the World Behind

i didn't analyse this by genre or anything, but i could -- so if you're interested lmk!

the 5 movies with the most different ratings between dan and phil

- Iron Man 2 (dan: 2, phil 3.5)

- The Greatest Showman (d: 2.5, p: 4)

- Malignant (d: 3, p: 4.5)

- Scream (2022) (d: 2.5, p: 4)

- Beau is Afraid (d: 3, p: 1.5)

Interesting that even though dan has more higher rated movies, 4/5 of these ones phil rated higher.

next, their 5-star movies

dan's five stars: 80

Alien, Empire Strikes Back, ET, Blade Runner, Gremlins, Back to the Future, Top Gun, Aliens, Stand by Me, The Grave of the Fireflies, My Neighbor Totoro, Back to the Future II, Home Alone, Silence of the Lambs, Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, Jurassic Park, Nightmare Before Christmas, Schindler's List, Pulp Fiction, The Lion King, Toy Story, Fargo, Scream, The Fifth Element, Hercules, Neon Genesis Evangelion, Titanic, The Truman Show, The Matrix, Fight Club, Magnolia, The Emperor's New Groove, Donnie Darko, Moulin Rouge, Shrek, Spirited Away, Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, Finding Nemo, Kill Bill, Oldboy, Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, Shaun of the Dead, Kill Bill Vol. 2, Howl's Moving Castle, Revenge of the Sith, Brokeback Mountain, No Country for Old Men, The Dark Knight, Inception, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, The Tree of Life, 21 Jump Street, The Avengers, Life of Pi, Skyfall, Under the Skin, Whiplash, Dawn of the Planet of the Apes, Interstellar, Mad Max: Fury Road, Sicario, The Hateful Eight, La La Land, Arrival, mother!, Blade Runner 2049, Avengers: Infinity War, First Man, The Favourite, The Lighthouse, Parasite, Midsommar, Uncut Gems, 1917, Dune, Everything Everywhere All at Once, Top Gun: Maverick, Oppenheimer, Poor Things

phil's five stars:

Star Wars (New Hope), Alien, ET, Gremlins, Back to the Future, Top Gun, Aliens, Home Alone, Silence of the Lambs, Jurassic Park, Pulp Fiction, The Lion King, Scream, The Fifth Element, Titanic, The Truman Show, The Matrix, Magnolia, Requiem for a Dream, Memento, Spirited Away, Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, Kill Bill, Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, Kill Bill Vol. 2, Howl's Moving Castle, The Dark Knight, Inception, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, 21 Jump Street, Interstellar, Mad Max: Fury Road, The Revenant, Arrival, Dunkirk, mother!, Blade Runner 2049, Avengers: Infinity War, Parasite, Uncut Gems, 1917, Dune, Everything Everywhere All at Once, Top Gun: Maverick, Terminator 2: Judgment Day, The Shawshank Redemption, Gladiator, Little Miss Sunshine

overlap: 39

Alien, ET, Gremlins, Back to the Future, Top Gun, Aliens, Home Alone, Silence of the Lambs, Jurassic Park, Pulp Fiction, The Lion King, Scream, The Fifth Element, Titanic, The Truman Show, The Matrix, Magnolia, Spirited Away, Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, Kill Bill, Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, Kill Bill Vol. 2, Howl's Moving Castle, The Dark Knight, Inception, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, 21 Jump Street, Interstellar, Mad Max: Fury Road, Arrival, mother!, Blade Runner 2049, Avengers: Infinity War, Parasite, Uncut Gems, 1917, Dune, Everything Everywhere All at Once, Top Gun: Maverick

& their lowest rated movies...

dan: matrix resurrections (1) , thor: the dark world (1.5), the rise of skywalker (1.5)

phil: crimes of the future (1), attack of the clones (1.5), thor: the dark world (1.5), don’t look up (1.5), the matrix resurrections (1.5), doctor strange in the multiverse of madness (1.5), beau is afraid (1.5), black bear (1.5)

not even chris hemsworth could save thor the dark world, i guess (kat dennings, though…)

movies they logged on the same date:

note that this is like, non-exhaustive, because this is only based on their diaries that list the date. i think in reality they've watched most of these movies together. frequently dan logged a couple days after phil which aren’t shown here. procrastination queen

Pontypool, Eternals, The Northman, Nope, Barbarian, The Banshees of Inisherin, Glass Onion, The Super Mario Bros. Movie, Beau is Afraid, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 3., Mission Impossible - Dead Reckoning Part One, Saltburn, Poor Things, Priscilla, Saw X, Leave the World Behind

movies that one logged and not the other:

dan but not phil: 85

The Exorcist, Stand by Me, The Grave of the Fireflies, Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, Home Alone 2, Schindler's List, Fargo, Romeo & Juliet, Hercules, Men in Black, Neon Genesis Evangelion, The Mummy, The 13th Warrior, Fight Club, The Emperor's New Groove, Moulin Rouge, Shrek, Legally Blonde, Monsters, Inc, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, Scooby-Doo, 28 Days Later, Matrix Reloaded, Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl, School of Rock, Matrix Revolutions, Saw, Shaun of the Dead, Shrek 2, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Revenge of the Sith, The Devil Wears Prada, Borat, Casino Royale, No Country for Old Men, Death Proof, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, There Will Be Blood, Tropic Thunder, Slumdog Millionaire, Moon, District 9, Fantastic Mr. Fox, The King's Speech, We Need to Talk About Kevin, The Tree of Life, X-Men: First Class, Prometheus, Argo, Les Miserables, Django Unchained, World War Z, Pacific Rim, Under the Skin, 12 Years a Slave, American Hustle, The Babadook, The Lego Movie, x-Men: Days of Future Past, 22 Jump Street, Dawn of the Planet of the Apes, The Theory of Everything, Green Room, Sicario, Spotlight, The Big Short, 10 Cloverfield Lane, The Conjuring 2, Train to Busan, Hacksaw Ridge, Doctor Strange, Hidden Figures, Logan, You Were Never Really Here, Game Night, Isle of Dogs, First Man, The Ballad of Buster Scruggs, Suspiria, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse, Glass, Hustlers, Pig, Violent Night

phil but not dan: 86

Jaws, The Terminator, Beetlejuice, Die Hard, Terminator 2: Judgment Day, Groundhog Day, The Shawshank Redemption, Leon: The Professional, The Usual Suspects, The Frighteners, The Sixth Sense, Being John Malkovich, American Beauty, The Green Mile, Gladiator, Catch Me if You Can, Elf, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Little Miss Sunshine, Pan's Labyrinth, The Prestige, Zodiac, Spider-Man 3, Iron Man, Juno, Lake Mungo, Twilight, Zombieland, Kick-Ass, Brave, Evil Dead, The Great Gatsby, Now You See Me, Monsters University, Man of Steel, About Time, Dallas Buyers Club, Edge of Tomorrow, The Hunger Games: Mockingjay Part 1, The Hunger Games: Mockingjay Part 2, The Boy, Raw, Finding Dory, Suicide Squad, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, John Wick: Chapter 2, Lady Bird, The Ritual, Happy Death Day, Deadpool 2, Ocean's 8, Ant-Man and The Wasp, Bird Box, Booksmart, Crawl, Spider-Man: Far From Home, The Platform, Black Bear, Palm Springs, The Empty Man, The Innocents, Titane, Old, Free Guy, The Black Phone, Fresh, Watcher, Bodies Bodies Bodies, Ambulance, Aftersun, Crimes of the Future, Fall, Bones and All, The Menu, Sanctuary, Do Revenge, Smile, Hellraiser (2022), Mr. Harrigan's Phone, Plane, Missing, Infinity Pool, Past Lives, Knock at the Cabin, Scream VI

i’m interested to see how this varies by genre!

miscellaneous non-statistical things that made me parasocially emotional and/or laugh during this process:

they watched nope together on christmas eve 2022 <3

dan rated moulin rouge a 5 <3 nature boy <3

he also rated shrek a 5. of course. (valid).

4.5 from dan and 4 from phil from the notebook

5 from danny for brokeback mountain <3 and a 4.5 from philly

cmbyn, yes, has its issues, but dan rated 4.5 and phil 4

the shape of water got a 4.5 from monsterfucker phil lester (dan gave it a 4)

surprisingly phil rated rocketman higher than dan! surprising because dan liked so many musicals

dan gave hustlers a 3.5. i don't know why i think this is funny, but i do. phil doesn't have it logged or rated, lmao.

a 4 (d) and a 3.5 (p) for barbie!

phil gave twilight a 3. lol.

phil also gave do revenge only a 3.5. tragique.

phil watched a LOT of horror alone in october 2022 (aka while dan was on tour). anyway he's just like me <3

#dan and phil #dnp #phan #dan howell #phil lester #twitter says letterboxd should have been gatekept i say 1) know your phannie history! 2) this is nothing their usernames are so obvious you #think they didn’t know this would be found? be fr!

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buckrecs · 1 year

Text

2023 𝙗𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙮 𝙗𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙚𝙨 𝙛𝙞𝙘 𝙧𝙚𝙘 3

masterlist | ✨- fav fics | status - completed

All of them are COMPLETE Series.

1. Galavano by @ichorai

Bucky x Reader

a series that follows the hero galvano through the events of the mcu!

2. Time (D)rift by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor

Dark!Bucky x Reader Apocalypse AU

The end has come and gone as you keep waiting for your own.

3. Uncontrollable by @fictional-affairs

Bucky x Widow!Reader

The year is 1992. The Winter Soldier is under HYDRA’s control, and the Red Widow is under Dreykov’s control, but when they find out their organizations are working together to have them kill each other, they decide to make a deal.

4. The Lake House by @rustytricycle

Dark!Bucky x Dark!Reader

You decide to spend the summer before Freshman year of college with two of your girlfriends at one of their parents’ lake house. It turns out that Captain America and his two best friends are staying next door. Bucky thinks you might be his perfect girl. But are you too perfect?

5. turn a blind eye by @sergeantxrogers

Bucky x Reader

The Winter Soldier was cold. Brutal. Unflinching. A machine formulated to comply. Bucky Barnes was the sun warming your skin, your happy pill. Loving him was like bittersweet liquor, sickeningly sweet when you sip, harsh and burning when you swallow.

6. Rooftop Sessions by @forever-rogue

Bucky x Therapist!Reader

Y/N is a therapist that works with war veterans that ends up meeting a mysterious stranger who asks for her help.

7. it’s all fun and games, until you catch feelings by @prettyyoungtragedy

Bucky x Reader

You’re pining after Steve and Bucky is pining after Nat, what better way to distract yourself from those two perfect humans than to distract yourselves with each other?! Fuck buddies it is then.

8. oh my delightful heart by @prettyyoungtragedy

Sequel to it’s all fun and games

Bucky Barnes is the sweetest dumbest most adoring boyfriend any girl could ever ask for...

9. Follow My Lead by @ciarawritesmarvel ✨

Bucky x Reader

You and your new friend Wanda are enjoying a day together at the Avengers Tower, her giving you a tour around the place when you both run into the infamous Bucky Barnes. Moments later, he’s introducing you to Sam as his girlfriend and placing a kiss on your temple and you’re not sure you’ve ever been so confused in your life.

10. The Maid of Mr. Barnes by @disasterofastory

Mob!Bucky x Reader

You get a job as Mr. Barnes's maid. You heard about the notorious gangster, but since you desperately need money and a place to live, you are not in a position to be picky.

11. Guiding Light by @wkemeup ✨

Bucky x Avenger!Reader

It was supposed to be a simple mission. Get the intel and go home. Until everything goes wrong and you’re taken captive by Hydra. While you struggle to stay alive and hold your sanity, Bucky begins to lose himself to a darkness and gives into the soldier because he doesn’t know how to breathe without you. Not until he brings you home. If he even can.

12. Home | Better by @softlyspector ✨

Bucky x Reader Modern AU

Bucky comes home from his second tour overseas, after a long time away from the reader.

13. Mad For You by @i-am-a-closet-fanfic-fiend

Bucky x Reader Modern AU

Nat hosts a costume masquerade. Bucky meets the Alice to his Hatter. Shenanigans ensue.

14. Sanguis Sanguinis Mei by @captainscanadian

Vampire!Bucky x Vampire!Reader

It took Bucky Barnes two centuries with the blood of his blood to realize how much he loved her. This is their story.

15. Another World by @sinner-as-saint

Alien!Bucky x Reader

In a futuristic world - a millennium from now, you and your team rescue and care for stranded and hurt otherworldly beings; who are held captive and kept on Earth against their wills. You save them from the bad guys who exploit them. You help them adjust to your planet’s life, and give them their freedom back. Then one day, while on a rescue mission, you come across a human-like extraterrestrial being; in a cryogenic chamber, with a missing arm. And nothing is ever the same again…

16. Picking Up The Pieces by @gogolucky13

Bucky x Reader Modern AU

Bucky chooses to stay in his tumultuous relationship knowing you’ll be there to pick up the pieces, until finally you’re not.

17. Knight In Rusty Armor by @revengingbarnes ✨

Knight!Alpha!Bucky x Queen!Omega!Reader

For the sake of politics and to get rid of you, their omega daughter, the King and Queen of England marry you off to the King of France. Settling into an unfamiliar monarchy is a tedious process all by itself, but a new problem arises soon after your arrival at your new home. One of the Knights turns out to be your true mate. Your Alpha. The one you are meant to be with. But you’re mated to someone else. And that someone else is the King of France.

18. The Escaped Bride by @marvelouslytrekking

Pirate!Bucky x Reader

Being forced to marry someone was not something you wanted, but when it turns out that it is to your best friend, who you secretly loved, things weren’t so bad. Unfortunately, good things don’t seem to last and when the worst happens, you refuse to sit around and be miserable. Will you find true love again, or will your life be turned upside down?

19. Plot Twist by @winterarmyy

Mafia!Bucky x Reader

An arranged marriage with mafia!bucky.

20. The Road Goes Ever On and On by @rocketrhap3000 ✨

Bucky x Single Mom!Reader

Life as a single mother of a three year old certainly has its struggles. But when a sweet stranger makes his way into you and your little boy’s life, a one of a kind connection sparks.

21. you’re my desire by @marvelouslizzie & @notafunkiller

40s!Bucky x Reader

Your best friend drags you out on a double date. You were supposed to be Steve Rogers’ date but plans change pretty quickly and you end up in Bucky Barnes’ arms.

22. Death Do Us Part by @sgtjbuccky ✨

God Of Death!Bucky x Mortal!Reader

For centuries, the God of Death had known two things about mortals. One, they were his job, his to collect when their days came to an end, and two, they were obnoxiously odd beings. Their purpose ceased to make sense to him. Never did he understand why they created a life for themselves, why they loved, why they loved other mortals when they knew that none of it would last forever. It was nothing but sheer stupidity, but that was until he met you. A mortal unlike any other. A mortal that would make him question everything. A mortal that would teach the God of Death how to live.

23. Lost In Each Other by @majestyeverlasting ✨

Dad!Bucky x Mom!Reader

For Bucky, one of the best things to come home to is family. Especially after a day at work. So he's pleasantly surprised when you want to show him a new dress after dinner one night. And it just so happens that little Eden and Jamie find a way to work themselves into the equation. But it all makes for good fun and memories you will never forget.

24. Fight For Me by @littleseasiren

Bucky x Reader

After years in an abusive relationship, you finally get out. When the Avengers decide to raise awareness for your Battered Women's Home, you bump into Bucky Barnes, the hottest, most complicated man you've ever met. He thinks you're too good for him, but when your abusive ex reappears, Bucky knows he has to keep you safe - by any means necessary.

25. call me baby by @cherryrogers ✨

Biker!Bucky x Reader

Returning to Brooklyn for the summer after a year of travelling from city to city, you hadn’t expected to find your best friend, Peggy Carter, hopelessly in love with a biker, and when she decided to introduce you to the rest of his club, you hadn’t expected to fall for one either — that was until you met one with pretty eyes and a habit of calling you baby.

26. Static Verse by @theconstantsidekick ✨

Bucky x Enhanced!Reader

Tony Stark's sister's a fucking badass, codename—Static. Here's her story through the MCU.

27. Bygone by @borntobewondering

Bucky x Reader

You and Peter get sent back in time, and you fall in love with someone unexpected.

28. Clockwork by @aries-writingblog ✨

Bucky x Reader

Bucky has moved on. He’s found a place in the new world of the 21st Century. Found peace. But the past is always half a step behind him, waiting to snatch him backwards- like clockwork.

29. Deny the truth, set the world on fire by @lizatill

Bucky x Reader, Dark!Winter Soldier x Reader

He knew that she was having an affair...she denies, but the love marks on her body are still there. She can't tell him the truth, it will break him - the Winter Soldier is indeed inside of him, fucking her at night and Bucky doesn't remember.

30. Carnations by @viollettes

Bucky x Reader College AU

It’s a simple concept: Students can buy flowers for each other at the carnation sale. Red flowers are for love, pink flowers are for friendship, and white flowers are for expressing secret admiration. A carnation fundraiser, an iota of possibility, and a longtime secret crush on your hot best friend - what could go wrong?

1K notes · View notes

imagineteamfreewill · 14 days

Text

From the Dead - Five

Pairing: Soldier!Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: Hearing loss, pregnancy, nervousness, nausea, mentions of PTSD, and fluff

Summary: Dean Winchester died as a war hero during his third tour overseas. He left Y/N behind, and she decides that she needs a change. She leaves Lawrence to work at Camp New Moon, where a mysterious visitor shows up almost five years after Dean first left for his tour.

A/N: This is the final part of the “From the Dead” series. As always, thank you for supporting me whether I’m writing Supernatural or Marvel, both here and on other websites. I hope you enjoy!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

From the Dead Series Masterlist

The months practically fly by after Dean receives his hearing aid. As part of his therapy, he creates a list of things he wants to do now that he’s back in the States, some of which you’ve never done together. One by one, you check things off the list. You spend sunsets—and a few sunrises—snuggled up on the beach by the lake, and when the fall hits, you and Dean are able to get away for a few weekends for hikes in a nearby state park. It’s on those nights at the lake and in the cabins you rent at the parks that Dean talks to you more about his tour. He can’t tell you all the details, especially since Sam is still advising you on whether or not to sue for everything you’d been put through, but he talks to you about his life in the village. Sometimes you lay together in bed as he talks, and other times you sit facing him so you can read his expressions. Sometimes he cries. You do too. It’s cathartic for both of you.

When winter descends on the South, you take him to Atlanta for some of the Christmas festivities. You go to a concert, go on a fancy date at an even fancier restaurant, and walk hand in hand while you look at Christmas lights. His family drives down for the holidays, and you put them up in a few of the empty staff cabins. Mary tells you one morning while you’re watching the sun rise over the lake that she understands why you’d want to stay at New Moon. It’s one of the best Christmas gifts you get.

Dean surprises you with trips to the zoo, aquarium, and museums. He takes you shopping, compliments you with every new thing you tried on, and he carries your bags. He cooks you elaborate meals and brings you picnic lunches. You’re pretty sure that he and Meg text because he always seems to show up for lunch on the days where you need his company the most.

Life is sublime, even on the rough nights when you sleep very little. Dean’s nightmares wake you up on occasion, but you don’t mind. He shows you his love in a thousand little ways, and lying with him and comforting him is one of the few ways that you do the same. You both lay on your sides, facing each other, and you murmur reassurances in the dim light from the bedside lamp. You’ve gotten used to sleeping with it on, especially now since you found out that the darkness is something that worsens his PTSD.

Some nights, you stay up late worrying about the girls. Others you spend sitting up with them or talking with them when they need support, or intervention. Oftentimes, on those nights, you walk back to your cottage in the dark, following the path with just an old plastic flashlight to guide you. Your phone is usually dead and you’re always bone-tired, but without fail, you open the door to find Dean waiting up for you on the couch. He has the TV playing low in the background, and if you haven’t eaten dinner, he has a plate of food ready to be reheated for you. He listens when he can, too. You tell him whatever isn’t confidential, and he listens in silence with a hand on your leg as you curl up to him on the couch, or he holds you close as you lay together in bed, just like when you listen to him talk about his time overseas.

It’s on one of these nights in early March when you’re curled up together, sometime just past midnight, that you realize you’ve been home late almost every day this week and that Dean had been alone almost all day, every day. Your thoughts roam back to the first dinner you’d had with his family since his return. He’d thrived in the living room bustling with people he loved, and he’d lit up any time he’d interacted with his niece and nephew. You haven’t seen that exact look on his face since.

“Dean?” you murmur. He doesn’t answer right away, but he keeps stroking your hair, so you carefully turn your head on his thigh to look up at him. He took his hearing aid out an hour ago, which meant he probably just hasn’t heard you.

“You need something, sweetheart?” he asks, looking down at you.

“Do you… Do you still want kids? We haven’t talked about it since you got back, but before your deployment…”

He hums thoughtfully and sits up a little more on the sofa. You sit up when he moves, pulling your legs in and propping yourself up with one arm on the top of the back cushions. He keeps looking at the TV, but you can tell that he really isn’t watching it. The show is something pedantic—a black-and-white sitcom from the 60s that only comes on during late-night television. It’s one of a few that are on rotation during your late night talks, and you know enough from the subtitles that you’ve seen this episode at least three times.

“Did you hear me?” you ask, reaching out to gently touch his arm with your fingertips.

Dean nods. His eyes still stay focused forward. “I heard you. I’m just… thinking.” He turns to look at you after a second. The furrow between his eyebrows is pronounced, and his lips purse ever so slightly as he searches your face. “Why? Are you—?” He glances down at your stomach, just for a split second.

Quickly, you shake your head and scoot closer on the couch so that your calf is pressed up against the side of his thigh. You reach out and grab both of his hands in yours. He turns slightly more towards you, and his thumb drifts over your knuckles as you answer,

“No. No, I’m not pregnant. I just…” You trail off and look down at your joined hands, trying to put thoughts to your words. Finally, you sigh and look back up at him, squeezing his hands. “When we were at your parents’ house, with Sam and Jess and their kids, you seemed really happy.”

“Those little guys are awesome,” Dean replies, chuckling lightly. The worried crinkle between his eyebrows relaxes at the memory. “I had no idea how much I’d really missed them until we got there. The videos you’d shown me on your phone weren’t nearly as good as the real thing.”

“It wasn’t just that. It was the way you cuddled and played with Jacob, and the way you held Ella and talked to her. You love them.”

“Of course I love them, Y/N, they’re my niece and nephew.”

His voice is patient as he gives you the reminder, and though you know that he isn’t trying to make you feel bad, you still find yourself searching for the right words to get your point across. You’re exhausted, and your thoughts are already scattered.

Maybe I shouldn’t have even brought it up, you think.

Nonetheless, you nod and squeeze his hands again. “I know. I just… It reminded me of all those conversations we had before you left, you know? And I see the way you look at babies and little kids whenever we’re in town. Anyone could tell that you want a kid of your own.” You pause and shake your head a little. “I don’t know, it’s late. Maybe I’m just thinking too much. If it’s gonna happen, it’ll happen, right? I mean, if that’s what you want.”

Releasing him, you rub your face with one hand and stand from the couch. He looks up at you, watching in silence as you gather your dinner dishes, along with the mug he’d been drinking from when you got home. Your stomach twists as you move, and though you hope he’ll speak up and put you out of your misery by giving you some kind of response, Dean says nothing.

“I should shower,” you tell him. The lights in most of the cottage living area are off already, and the light from the TV casts strange shadows over him and the couch. It’s enough light for you to see Dean already looking away from you, staring at the long wooden coffee table you’d bought from a thrift store shortly after starting at the camp.

As you pass by, however, he scoots forward on the couch and reaches out. His arm blocks your path and his hands rest on your opposite hip, holding you in place. Your heart skips a beat.

“I do want kids,” Dean admits, quieter than before. He holds your gaze. Though the room is dark, the hesitance in his expression is clear.

Has he been thinking about this too?

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, dishes still in hand as you wait for him to continue. He doesn’t, so you set the dishes on the side table to his right and take matters into your own hands.

“Yeah?”

Dean’s shoulders slump and he nods. “Yeah. I didn’t want to bring it up. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? What for? Why didn’t you want to bring it up?”

Carefully, you lower yourself to sit on his thigh with your back resting against the arm of the couch. You drape your legs over his lap. Dean reaches his arm behind you and holds your hip to help you keep your balance on his legs, and almost immediately his thumb is rubbing small arcs on your side, back and forth at a steady tempo. His other hand rests on your thighs. It’s warm over your legs, and you can feel his body heat even more where your shirt has come untucked, revealing the bare skin on your side where his thumb has found purchase. He’s almost too warm to be this close to him, but you can’t bear to complain, not after so many painful years apart. You rest one arm over his shoulders, and with the other you cup his cheek, turning his face so you can look at him properly.

“I was nervous that you’d changed your mind,” he admits. The low sound of the TV almost drowns him out, so much so that if you were any farther away, you’d be straining to hear him. “It’s been so long since we talked about it, and I wasn’t sure if that was still what you wanted.”

His next words go unspoken: with me. Dean has never expressed it outright, but you know that he still sometimes feels insecure about wearing his hearing aid and his struggle with PTSD from everything that happened overseas. You’ve joined him for several video sessions with his therapist, and you know that they’re working on strategies to deal with both of those things. You try not to interfere or give your opinions on his recovery—he needs a wife and a partner, not a second therapist—but you support him in every way you can without overstepping. You never want him to feel alone because of what he’s been through.

You lean in to kiss him on the cheek opposite your hand, and you smile gently as you say, “I love you, Dean. It’s still what I want, but even if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t change things between us, at least not on my end. You’re still my main man, no matter what. Kids have never been the endgame. It’s always just been you.”

The lines on Dean’s face relax, smoothing out to reveal the faintest smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. They’re just starting to reappear now that the winter is fading and he can comfortably spend more time outside. Your stomach untwists as he smiles back at you. He shifts the hand on your hip and squeezes it just a little.

“I love you too, Y/N. No matter what.”

Dean kisses you on the lips, and it’s long, slow, and sweet. He’s warm against you. You’re bone-tired, but you close your eyes and kiss back, soaking up his warmth and the feel of being in his arms after a long day at work. It’s heavenly. You never would have predicted this moment a year ago. If someone had told you that Dean wasn’t dead and that he’d find you at New Moon, and that you’d be having a conversation at one in the morning about having kids, you would’ve thought they were crazy. Now, however, you’re just grateful.

After a few moments, Dean eases his arm under your legs instead of resting it over them, then stands. He carries you to the bedroom and you relax in his arms, keeping your eyes closed for the short walk. When he sets you down on the edge of the bed, you open your eyes to look up at him. You brace your hands on the mattress behind you to keep from toppling backwards as the memory foam dips under your weight.

“I don’t want to stress about this,” you tell him. “I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t help anything. If it happens, it happens.”

He nods in agreement, then yawns. You chuckle and sit up a little more so you can stand without fighting against the mattress. Dean always complains that it’s too soft, but you like the way you can sink into it after a long day.

“Get to bed, soldier,” you order, patting his arm. “You’ve got work in the morning.”

A month ago, Dean had decided he was ready to get back to work. You’d offered to put him on the payroll at camp as a maintenance worker or groundsperson, but he’d opted for an online position, at least for the time being. It’s a dull job compared to his work with the military. Secretly, you’re thankful that he’s chosen a safe route and that he’s feeling well enough to get back to work, but you also worry a little. For as long as you’ve known him, Dean’s been a hands-on type of person. He likes to build and fix and create. His therapy appointments are virtual too, which means that he spends most of the day cooped up in the cottage, sitting at the kitchen table or on the couch in front of a laptop. Not only is it not the healthiest thing for him physically, you know that he pushes himself to work harder than anybody should, simply because the job seems so much easier than what he used to do. Plus, being that he’s home most of the day, he’s taken on most of the cottage upkeep, cooking, and shopping so that you can spend as much time together as possible whenever you are home. You don’t mind that as much, but it does make you feel a little guilty.

“I’ll wait for you to be out of the shower,” he replies, but you shake your head.

“It’s okay. You’ve waited up long enough for me, De. You need to sleep—you’ve been burning the candle at both ends just so you can see me in the morning and at night, and I’m starting to get worried. You were falling asleep during your meeting the other day when I came home for lunch, remember?”

“I’m fine,” he insists.

Sighing, you wrap your arms around his waist, reaching up until your hands press against the middle of his back, between his shoulder blades. Your cheek presses up against his chest and you close your eyes again. He returns your embrace, and after several long moments, you feel his body relax against yours.

I could go to sleep right here, you think with a tiny smile.

“Come on,” you say as you finally pull away, then pat him on the chest with one hand. “Go lay down. I’ll be there in a minute, okay? Get the bed warm for me.”

He nods in agreement, and you step away. You hurry to get your pajamas from the dresser before heading into the bathroom. Dean had changed long before you’d gotten home, as he always did on late nights like these. You need to shower, but you know Dean would force himself to stay up until you’re ready to go to bed too, no matter how much you push him and try to coerce him to take care of himself first. You’re exhausted, too, and the thought of having to shower before you can crash isn’t appealing.

So, you forgo your normal shower and stick with simply washing your face and brushing your teeth after changing into the pajamas. You can shower in the morning, even though it means you’ll need to change the bedding sooner than usual. Though it isn’t quite as hot as it normally is this time of year, the humidity makes everything sticky, and you’ve spent most of the day outside. A thin layer of sweat coats your skin, making even your pajamas feel gross.

When you turn off the light and step out of the bathroom, Dean looks up from the book he’s grabbed from his nightstand. It’s a novel, if you remember correctly, but you’re not sure what about. The cover picture has a cactus on it. It’s probably another western—he’s been catching up on some of his favorite authors since Sam convinced him to get a library card in December.

“You didn’t shower,” he notes, clearing his throat and sitting himself up further against the headboard. He doesn’t fool you, however. You know that he’s been nodding off instead of actually reading the library book. He’s been on the same page the past three nights.

“I’ll shower in the morning,” you reply. You throw your clothes in the hamper against the wall. “I need to change the sheets anyway, so it’s not a big deal.”

Dean hums and sets his book back in its place, then reaches over to pull the covers open for you. You climb into bed and wait until he’s dimmed the lamp beside his nightstand to cuddle up against him. The room grows darker once he does, and your eyes take a second to adjust, but you can still hear Dean’s dog tags clink as he shifts to get into a comfortable position with you at his side. You slip one arm over him, resting your hand on his chest as you close your eyes. To no surprise, it doesn’t take you long to fall asleep.

The next morning, Dean’s asleep when you wake up, which is a rarity. Despite the fact that you’re somehow still exhausted, you know that you need to get up before he does. If you doze until he’s awake too, he’ll want to get up and make you breakfast while you shower, meaning that he won’t get the rest he needs. His PTSD symptoms start rearing their ugly heads whenever he’s overtired, and you don’t want that for him.

Showering without waking Dean would be tricky, but after a few moments of lying in the dark, you find a solution. There’s a small bathroom attached to your personal office in the main camp building, and though you haven’t used it in a while, you know that it’s clean and that it still has your normal soap and shampoo. Before Dean, you spent most of your late nights sleeping on the futon in the office, then showering and dressing in the bathroom, rather than trekking all the way back to your cottage. You hadn’t had a reason to go all the way home back then, but now you do. The shower hasn’t been used in almost a year. This morning, however, it will come in handy.

As silently as possible, you roll out of bed and gather up the few toiletries you’ll need that aren’t already in the office bathroom. You pull on a pair of sweatpants over your pajamas, plus the faded Stanford hoodie you’d gotten in support of Sam shortly after marrying Dean. You grab a bag for the toiletries and a set of work clothes to change into after you shower, then shove your feet into a pair of sandals and slip out of the cottage to head towards the main cluster of buildings.

The sun is barely up. It casts an ethereal glow over the grassy field that separates your cottage from the rest of the camp. Dew dampens the path, and it makes wildflowers and the tips of grass blades glitter in the lingering sunrise. In the trees, birds sing and coo. The soft tap of your feet on the stones is the only other sound.

You pause to breathe in deeply, then exhale. Mornings at New Moon are special to you, especially after a long, stressful night. They remind you of why you stayed—every girl needs the peace and calm that the morning brings. They deserve it. You’ve certainly needed it many times yourself.

“You’re up early.”

You turn, already speaking as you meet Meg’s steady gaze. “I needed to shower, but I didn’t want to wake Dean. He’s been staying up late for me every night.”

She mutters something in acknowledgement, then tucks her phone in her jacket pocket as you close the distance to join her outside the only empty cabin, which she’s been checking for trespassers. It’s on the outskirts of the camp, and the four girls that had occupied it for most of last year transitioned to a more traditional foster home only last month. From what you’ve heard from their social worker, they’re on the path to reunification with their family.

Now that you’re closer, Meg’s giving you a strange, almost curious look, and you frown when she lifts her chin. Her eyes glitter with a secret.

“I’m a little afraid to ask,” you say, “but do you know something I don’t?”

She chuckles and crosses her arms in front of her. Her lips press together in a smug smile. “How are you feeling?” she asks.

Unsure of what she means, you start walking towards the office. Meg falls into step beside you, just as you knew she would.

“Fine, I suppose,” you slowly reply. You’re careful to give vague answers, just in case she’s looking to start a tiff just for her own amusement. “Why?”

She shrugs. “Just wondering.”

A minute of silence passes as you walk together, and the path changes from stone to gravel. It crunches beneath your feet, and all around you, life begins to stir in the cabins as the girls wake and get ready for the day. They’ll be coming outside with their counselors and gathering outside the dining hall within an hour, which means time is running out if you want to shower and have time to mentally prepare for the day.

Meg holds the office door for you and you mutter your thanks, then head down the hall to your personal office. You’re just reaching the door when she calls your name from the lobby.

Turning, you raise your eyebrows expectantly. She stands near the receptionist desk, her hands at her sides, and for a second, a genuine smile flashes across her face. It’s quickly replaced with her usual nonchalant look, however, so quickly that you aren’t entirely sure that you’d seen it. You must be more tired than you’d thought.

“You should take a test,” Meg says.

You frown at her, confused, and set your bag of clothes and toiletries at your feet, against the wall. “A test?”

She nods, widening her eyes as she repeats, “A test, Y/N. You know, the tests you keep in the first aid closet? For those rare, special emergencies?”

For a moment, you just stare at her. There are very few emergencies that you handle at the camp. True, due to the nature of your job, you’re trained in a litany of thing, ranging from first aid and de-escalation to basic animal control and building maintenance, all of which is in addition to your psychology degrees and training, but the rest of the camp staff is so well-trained that rarely do situations ever become actual emergencies that you need to handle.

If you’re handling a first aid emergency, however, you do basic triage before an ambulance can arrive. You keep most of the supplies in your office, both in a cabinet and in a bag, but there are also small first aid kits in all the cabins, as well as in every building and down by the lake.

You shake your head, a little baffled by Meg’s strange behavior and comments. Neither one of you needs any kind of first aid right now, at least not that you’re aware of. Turning, you reach for the doorknob on your office door, but you stop as soon as your fingers graze the metal. It’s as if lightning has struck you, and you immediately straighten, dropping your hand back down to your side as you whirl to face her again.

“What?” you exclaim, shocked at her brazen assumption. “Are you serious?”

She shrugs and leans against the wall opposite the desk, her arms once again crossed. Her stare, as always, is unrelenting, but suddenly it makes your skin itch with anticipation. Does she know something about you that you don’t? You pride yourself on being self-aware, but is it possible that you’ve missed something?

“You’ve been nauseous on and off for almost two weeks now, and you’ve been moody. More than some of the girls, actually,” she huffs.

You narrow your eyes and cross your arms, almost a mirror image of her. “Really? Moody? That’s your argument for this, Meg?”

“Don’t hurry to prove me right,” she teases, and you quickly drop your arms again, heat rising in your cheeks. “You’ve been constantly complaining of being too hot and then too cold all week, too. Didn’t you say that was one of the things your mother-in-law complained about when she was pregnant with Dean?”

It was, and a strange feeling rises inside of you now that you remember the conversation you’d had with Meg about it. How she remembered such a detail from a random discussion you’d had almost months ago is beyond you, but it doesn’t matter. She’s put the thought in your head, and with it comes another reminder—your period hadn’t come last month, and you’ve been due for almost a week now. If it was coming, it would have been here already.

You inhale shakily and give her a terse nod.

“Right,” you say. You smooth your hands over your thighs, trying not to seem so blown away by her hypothesis. “Okay. Okay. I’m—” Shaking your head, you close your eyes and try to focus on the mental to-do list you’ve made for yourself. Then, after a second, you grab your bag from the floor. “I have to shower.”

Meg nods. “Shower,” she repeats.

“I’ll see you later.”

She nods again, then turns on her heel and walks out of the building, leaving you standing in the hallway. You stay still for a second, listening to the front door open and close. Outside, Meg shouts at someone for standing on a bench, but the sound of her voice fades as she gets farther away from the building. Finally, you turn and open the door to your office, then quickly close it behind you.

You close your eyes and press one hand to your stomach, over the sweatshirt. It’s bulky over your pajamas. Logically, you know that if you are pregnant, the baby would still be too small to show, but it feels wrong not to feel for a baby bump now that it’s been suggested.

Not daring to get your hopes up just yet, you let your hand fall as you march to the locked metal cabinet in the corner of your office. It’s mounted to the wall and reaches almost to the ceiling, and the pregnancy tests are at the back of the top shelf. You don’t use them often, considering that New Moon is only for girls, but you keep them on hand just in case you need them for a new arrival. You’ll be lucky if the test is still good, considering you haven’t had to use one in so long.

You dump the bag from your cottage on the desk, then fumble with your keys until you find the right one. The bag falls over and knocks a pen off the desk, but you ignore it as you unlock the cabinet, pull over your rolling desk chair, and carefully climb up on it to grab one of the tests. After checking the expiration date, you tuck the flimsy cardboard box under your arm and head to the bathroom, not even bothering to close the cabinet or right the bag that’s tipped over and dumped onto your workspace. All thoughts of showering and getting ready for the day are gone. They’ve been replaced with a nervous energy that buzzes beneath your skin, making your fingers feel weak as you open the box.

The lock on the bathroom door is sturdy enough to help you feel a little bit more secure as you take the test, all the while trying to take deep breaths. Your heart feels like it’s beating too fast, and you aren’t sure if it’s because you’re nervous or excited. Maybe you’re both.

Calm down, Y/N! Freaking out isn’t going to help anybody!

You wash your hands and read the back of the box again, checking the wait time printed in tiny black letters. The test sits precariously on the countertop, in between the sink and the edge of the counter closest to the toilet, and you give it a wary glance before unlocking the bathroom door and going to sit in your office while you wait. After setting the timer on your phone, you end up pacing in front of your desk instead, from the wall to the futon and back again.

Finally, the timer goes off. You flinch at the loud ringing, then hurry to silence it. Your hands fumble with your phone and you stay tense when the office falls quiet again. Silently, you slip it back into your pocket and go back into the bathroom. When you reach the sink, you brace your hands against the front of the bowl, on the thinnest part of the counter. You stare at yourself in the mirror for a long few seconds, pointedly not looking down at the test that’s resting only a few inches from your hands. Inside your chest, your heart pounds even harder than before and your hands shake. Everything feels so unsteady, from your head to your feet, and for a second, you worry that you might pass out. Closing your eyes, you try to take a few deep breaths to calm yourself and to slow your racing pulse.

You’re reaching for the test on the counter when there’s a knock at your office door.

“Y/N? You in there?”

“Yes!” you yelp, almost too loudly. Your hand, outstretched and only an inch from the test, knocks it sideways, sending it clattering to the floor, along with a tube of toothpaste.

Dean calls for you again and you frantically scramble to right the bathroom. You practically throw the test onto the counter. It slides into the sink, and you’re pulling the bathroom door shut behind you just as Dean pushes the office door open from the hallway. He meets your eyes and you force a smile that you hope seems normal.

“You left before I was up,” he says. He’s dressed already, in jeans and the green jacket you’d got him for his birthday, and his hair looks damp from the shower.

Accepting a kiss on the lips, you hum a little and let go of the door handle to wrap your arms around his waist. Can he feel your heart beating too hard inside of your chest? What about your hands trembling against his back?

“I needed to shower and I didn’t want to wake you up. I have a shower here that I used to use when I was by myself.” You tilt your head back slightly, towards the door behind you.

Dean frowns. “You could’ve showered at home.” He looks down at you, and not only does his frown deepen, but the furrow between his eyebrows appears again. His worry lines are out in full force. “What’s wrong?”

Your stomach drops. Are you supposed to tell him? What if the test turns out negative? What if—?

“Sweetheart,” Dean soothes, pulling away so there’s space between the two of you. He takes your shaking hands in his and searches your face for an answer to his concerns. “What’s on your mind? I can see all the gears turning in there.”

The tips of his fingers touch your temple. You swallow thickly and look away. A line of dust lays gray on the hardwood where your old rug used to be. You moved it just last week to clean, but apparently, you’d missed it.

“Did I do something?”

Frantic, you shake your head and find his eyes. “What? No! No, of course not.”

“Then what is it?” Dean steps closer, crowding close in a tentative way that allows you enough time to move away, if you want. You don’t, and you let your eyes fall closed as you breathe in his scent and soak in his warmth. Your hands move to clutch the sides of his shirt, pulling him infinitely closer until your front is pressed against his again. Then, for the first time all morning, you relax. Your shoulders slump and you rest your forehead against him.

“I think…” you finally say after a minute. You take a breath, willing the words out on your next exhale. “I think I might be pregnant.”

There’s silence in the moments that follow, and though you know he’s probably just processing the news, it kills you. You stay frozen in place, unable to move as you wait for Dean to speak.

Finally, you release his shirt and step back, just enough that you can see his face without tilting your head at too uncomfortable of an angle. He’s staring at the closed bathroom door behind you, with both eyebrows raised and with long creases along his forehead. His whole body is tense and the longer he stares at the door, the deeper the furrow between his brows becomes.

“Dean?” you prompt. “Say something, please.”

“You think? Or you know?” His voice is hoarse and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, then looks back down at you.

“I don’t know. I took a test. I was just about to look at it when you knocked.”

“Oh.” His eyes flick up again, over your shoulder at the door, then down to your face. The second hand on the wall clock ticks as you stand near each other, Dean processing the news and you holding your breath as you wait for a more concrete response from him. The ticking feels louder than it did before. Has it always been that loud?

His fingers against your cheek make you look away from where you’ve been watching the black plastic line clunk around the circumference of the clock face.

“What do you want it to say?” Dean asks.

You inhale shakily and search his eyes, hoping for an answer to the question. “What do you want?” you ask in return.

Dean shakes his head, then runs his hand over your shoulder and down your arm until he can lace his fingers with yours. You glance down at your joined hands, unsure of why he’s not answering. He’d told you only just last night that he wanted kids. His hesitation makes you wonder if something’s changed in only just a few hours.

“It’s not up to me. It’s your body, Y/N.”

The words tumble out before you can even formulate the thought. “I just wasn’t expecting this so soon. I thought we’d have more time with just the two of us. What if this changes everything? What if it’s not everything we thought it would be?”

“We’ll still have time together,” he tells you, gently squeezing your hand. “It just might be less than we’d anticipated.”

“Would it even be a good thing if I was pregnant now? I know you said last night that it’s what you wanted, but we also said—”

“We said that if it happens, it happens,” Dean interrupts. “And if it’s happening now, then that’s a good thing. If it happens later, that’s also a good thing.”

You nod and take another deep breath. The butterflies in your stomach are out in full force. You have to close your eyes as you take breaths, trying to stave off the sudden wave of nausea that accompanies your worries. Dean’s hands in yours keeps you grounded as you breathe through your nose.

When you’re finally feeling more settled, you open your eyes and silently glance behind you at the bathroom door.

“You want me to wait out here?” Dean asks.

Swallowing thickly, you shake your head. Tears burn in your eyes, and you wipe them away with one hand, embarrassed by your reaction. “Why am I so scared? We just said that this is supposed to be a good thing.”

Dean squeezes your hand again. “This is a big thing, Y/N. It’s okay to be scared. I can be brave for both of us, okay?” He smiles a little, his lips pressed together, and you nod in response, inhaling deeply through your nose.

You feel stuck in place. Part of you wants to go look at the test, but another part of you is rooted to the floor, keeping you in this moment. The results of the test could turn your life upside down for the second time in a year, and you aren’t sure if you’re ready for that. What if you aren’t a good parent? What if you aren’t able to do your job while you’re pregnant? What would you do instead?

“Hey.”

You blink, then meet Dean’s eyes again. Another tear rolls down your cheek and you sniffle, wiping it away with the back of your free hand. His smile has disappeared, and now he watches you with a concerned frown that makes his lips turn downward at the corners and makes the wrinkle between his eyebrows reappear.

“There’s nothing to be scared of, sweetheart. We’re in this together, and I’m with you no matter what. Do you want me to look first?” he asks.

After a few seconds, you nod. You don’t know what to say, but you know it won’t matter to Dean whether you speak or not. He’ll do and be whatever you need in this moment, just like he always does.

He releases your hand and carefully steps around you, opening the bathroom door to retrieve the test from the sink. You’d left the light on in the bathroom when you’d shut the door, and now it floods your office from behind you. Dean’s footsteps are soft and his jacket rustles as he picks up the test, and you hold your breath as you listen for some kind of sign or clue as to the results. When there isn’t any, you turn in a circle to look at him.

“What’s it say?”

His profile gives you very little information about the results, and you take a tentative step forward when he doesn’t move or say anything. Maybe he just didn’t hear you? His bad ear is on the other side, but it’s still possible.

“Dean?” you prompt, stepping closer a second time. You wonder if he’s disappointed and that’s why he hasn’t said anything. The thought makes you nauseous again.

“You’re pregnant,” he answers. His voice shakes as he stands staring down at the plastic stick. It’s so small in his hand, and an image of him cradling a tiny newborn flashes in your mind.

You freeze a few feet from the bathroom threshold. “It’s positive?”

He nods and looks up, meeting your eyes. Tears glisten on his lower lash line, and you press your hands over your mouth, inhaling deeply as your heart leaps inside your chest. The wrinkle between his brows is gone once again, replaced with the kind of shock you’ve only seen a few times, the first being when you’d told him you’d loved him all those years ago.

“We’re having a baby,” Dean tells you, letting out a laugh. A smile grows on his face as tosses the test onto the counter and closes the distance between you in two long steps. He crushes you against him in a tight hug.

Too shocked to hug him back, you let Dean wrap his arms around you and lift you off the ground. Your feet dangle for a second before your instincts catch up with you. Hurriedly, you move your hands from your mouth to his back as your legs come up to wrap around his waist. You bury your face in the crook of Dean’s neck as you smile. Your cheeks already ache and you’re blinking away tears, but it doesn’t matter.

“We’re having a baby!” you exclaim. He spins around with you in his arms, and you push away from his neck and pull one hand from his shoulders so you can cradle his cheek in your palm.

Dean’s eyes are alight with joy, making the green of his irises seem even more vibrant in the morning sunshine coming in from the office window. Your smile matches his as the scruff on his jawline scratches at the soft skin of your palm.

“You’re gonna be a dad,” you tell him, gently rubbing your thumb over his cheekbone. “You’re gonna be a great dad.”

He takes a few steps, then sets you down on the only clear space on your desk, beside the bag you’d brought with you this morning. You let your legs fall from around his waist so they bracket his hips, but you don’t drop your hand from his face.

“I love you,” Dean says. He brushes the backs of his knuckles over your abdomen, and you laugh when it tickles. There’s no bump yet, but the effect is all the same. Dean smiles wider, his eyes flicking to your stomach, then back up to your face. “I love both of you.”

You laugh and pull him down for a kiss. “We love you too, Dean Winchester. Forever and ever.”

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

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luna-rainbow · 1 year

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So…I saw a Blu-ray featurette on Bilibili where the writers and directors talk about Bucky, with key quotes like:

Cap 1 and Cap 2 both show that Cap’s allegiance, more than anything, is to Bucky Barnes, his best friends since when he was Steve Rogers, the 100 pound weakling. (Nate Moore)

The Winter Soldier has such a complicated history. We wanted that to have a real presence to it, to see the harshness with which he was treated. He’s both good and bad, hero and villain. (Joe Russo)

That’s the most heartbreaking scenario in his life, Bucky was the guy who’s always been there. Those are the scenes that make the action scenes worth it. What are you willing to compromise and sacrifice and forfeit for the greater good? And that is close to home for Steve. (Chris Evans)

Here’s Bucky Barnes, who’s been the Winter Soldier for 80 years, who in his own way was a Prisoner of War (Nate Moore)

Members of Hydra in Russia secreted him away to a missile facility in Siberia. He was treated with the same level of security as a nuclear weapon. (Joe Russo)

Suddenly, the main guy you have to defeat is your best link to the most pleasant memories you have of your childhood and of your past. (Kevin Feige)

We all know what happened between “Bucky is Steve’s strongest allegiance,” “his biggest sacrifice,” “his best link to his most pleasant memories” and Steve needs to retire into another timeline.

But what exactly happened between “Bucky Barnes was a prisoner of war and treated very harshly by Hydra” to “he needs to make amends for what he did under Hydra”?

#bucky barnes #steve rogers #anti endgame #tfatws critical #stucky

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jobean12-blog · 1 year

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Finding Home (10)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Animal Rescue AU)

Word Count: 1,887

Summary: You and Bucky make a big decision and you're overwhelmed with happiness... for everything.

Author's Note: So this is the final chapter for my Finding Home story with Animal rescue!Bucky! I'm sorry it took me so long to get to this but then the Buck's and Noble server Summer Send Off Event gave me a great idea (using the song September, by Earth, Wind and Fire-listen HERE) on how to end it and my sweet friend @newgirlintheneighborhood sent me THIS great post that just made it all come together. Thank you all for the inspo. You can definitely read this as a stand alone but I will give you a few little bits of info just in case:

-Bucky and Sam own an animal resuce called Shelter to Soldier which helps rescue animals find homes with veterans (and everyone else too)

-Reader first saw Bucky when he was walking Alpine on a leash down the streets of the city

-Bucky has his metal arm in this AU since he's a war hero/veteran and he's come a long way both by himself (with Sam's help) and with reader in their relationship

-He rescued the dog Winter (mentioned in this story) and he's a white German Shepard with three legs (he's a war vet too)

-Bucky rescued Alpine from the streets and the cat has been a big help during his rehab

-This part takes place about 2.5 years after reader and Bucky have met

Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics Thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: lots of super soft and sweet fluffs, LotR references, the animals and kisses!

Finding Home Masterlist

The morning light peeks through the thin curtains of your bedroom, warming and illuminating your skin. You slowly open your eyes and see Bucky’s soft profile, his eyelashes fluttering ever so slightly with his even breathing. Winter is at the base of the bed, keeping your feet warm, and Alpine is perched atop the spare pillow on Bucky’s other side.

The moment you shift your feet you hear the thump of Winter’s large white tail and then feel him rise up and do a big downward dog stretch.

“Oh big stretch Winter,” you coo quietly, giggling as you watch him try to tentatively hop over Bucky’s body to get closer.

Alpine lifts his head and blinks at you several times then seems to glare at the dog who is still desperately trying to find a place to settle between your body and Bucky’s.

Bucky starts to move, his long legs tangling even more with yours as he wraps you up and curls you into his bare chest. Winter finally finds a suitable spot next to Bucky, the dog’s big white body pressed into his side and his tail still thumping on the bed.

“Mornin’ doll face,” Bucky mumbles as he nuzzles your neck.

Winter let’s out a small whine and pushes his wet nose into Bucky’s skin while Alpine paws at the top of Bucky’s head.

“And mornin’ to you two fuzzballs,” he adds, peeping one eye open to survey the bed.

The moment he locks eyes with Winter, the dog scoots closer like a worm and starts to nose his shoulder. Alpine promptly joins in by chasing the glittering rays of sunshine that dance along Bucky’s metal arm every time the breeze blows through the curtains.

“It’s a party already,” Bucky chuckles.

He pulls you impossibly closer and hums into your skin, placing a soft kiss under your ear.

“Morning baby,” you whisper, inhaling his scent.

Winter, apparently unhappy with the possibility of you two going back to sleep, starts to lick Bucky’s cheek and cover it with kisses. Bucky’s large hand lands on Winter’s head and he scratches him before lightly giving him a shove.

“Winter, down boy,” he says. “I’m busy.”

Winter doesn’t give up, only shimmying closer and becoming more determined in his quest for kisses. You sit up and take in the scene, smiling widely when Alpine starts to bat at a piece of Bucky’s long hair that’s laid out across the pillow.

Without warning you lean down and press a big kiss to Bucky’s other cheek. The corners of his eyes crinkle with his smile and you continue to pepper his skin with kisses, hitting every spot you can find.

Winter seems to catch on as his tail swishes faster and he keeps up his licks on Bucky’s other cheek. Your lips trail along Bucky’s jaw, then you nibble his ear, then move back down and cover the whole side of his face with more kisses, catching the corner of his mouth before doing it all over again.

“Best. Morning. Ever,” he sighs.

After several more wet kisses from Winter and sweet ones from you, and even a few paw bats from Alpine, Bucky slips free and flips you over onto your back, dislodging everyone in a heap of blankets and pillows.

“Oops,” he says sweetly, but there’s mischief dancing in his eyes. “My turn!”

He pins you down with his body and proceeds to smother you with feather light kisses on every inch of skin he can find. You arch into him, wiggling beneath his body which makes him rumble with pleasure.

His kisses become slower as he moves along your neck and when he reaches your lips he hovers just above them as he stares into your eyes.

He brushes his nose to yours and presses a kiss to your mouth before slowly rocking his hips.

You moan out his name and nibble his lip before pulling away.

“What?” he pouts. “I was just getting started on having you naked.”

You smile against his lips. “I have an idea for a wedding date.”

His pout disappears as happiness takes over his expression.

“I’m listening doll,” he says, but continues to place butterfly kisses along your face.

“So we had talked about Fall and I was thinking September might be nice. Not too cold but hopefully not too hot if we do it toward the end and there’s a special date that would be perfect.”

“Still listening,” he hums as his lips graze your collarbone. “Which date?”

“How about September 22nd.”

He stills, his lips still pressed to your skin. “I know that date,” he muses, finally lifting his head to meet your eyes.

You nod with a giggle.

“It’s Bilbo and Frodo’s birthday!” he says excitedly. “That is perfect!”

“YAY!!!” you squeal, doing a dance under him.

He sits up and pulls you into his lap.

“I can’t wait doll,” he whispers.

“Me either Bucky.”

“We just need to find the perfect spot.”

“Exactly.”

You both sit in comfortable and cuddled silence for a few moments before he breaks it.

“What about in Central Park? I bet there’s a tree we could find that’s big like the party tree in the Shire!”

“You’re such a dork and I love you.”

He beams at that but before he can get you under him again, Winter has nosed his way between you two, impatiently asking for love too.

“Alpine and Winter are coming to the wedding of course,” you add.

“Of course doll,” Bucky says. “Besides, I think they would be like Merry and Pippin and invite themselves anyway.”

You bury your head in his chest and laugh.

“So September 22nd is our day,” you whisper, toying with his dog tag.

“September 22nd,” he echoes.

He’s just about to kiss you when your eyes go wide and you yell out, “OH! And we can play that song at the wedding and on every anniversary…you know the one by uh…um…it goes ‘do you remember…’.”

He studies you, waiting for you to think of more.

“Is this a song from Lord of the Rings?” he asks, looking confused.

“No, no, it’s by…OH MY GOD Bucky, it’s an older song…”

As you start to recall the lyrics you sing them and shake your body to the rhythm.

His face brightens in recognition and he grabs his phone, typing quickly into Google.

“Got it,” he chimes just before ‘September’ by Earth, Wind and Fire, starts to play.

You both start to sing along and Winter begins howling with his pack, much to the dismay of Alpine who seems to want to disappear into the pillow.

“Wait!” Bucky says, pausing the song. “Don’t they say the 21st night of September?”

He clicks on the lyrics and rewinds the song, singing along as he reads. “Yep they do!”

“But that’s not Hobbit day!” you say.

“We’re definitely sticking with the 22nd baby doll. It’s perfect.”

In a fit of excitement you curl into Bucky’s arms and kiss him all over. Winter takes the opportunity to smash himself under Bucky’s arm and even Alpine saunters over to join in the happy cuddle pile.

~September 21st of the next year~

“You need…”

Those are the only words you get out before Bucky’s mouth is on you again, your body pressed into the wall and his hands wandering under your shirt.

“Bucky,” you gasp, gently pushing on his chest. “You need to go. Nat will be here soon and then we’ll never hear the end of it!”

He pulls away slightly but lifts his arms so he can plant both his hands along the wall on either side of your head, caging you in.

“I don’t wanna,” he whines. “This is the last night before you’re officially my wife and I want to make it count.”

“We spent all day making it count,” you giggle, grabbing his shirt and pulling his mouth back to yours.

Your fingertips trace the broad width of his shoulders before delving into the hair that hangs loosely at the nape of his neck.

“Thought I needed to go doll face,” he smirks against your lips in between kisses.

His metal fingers dance along your skin, inching higher until he’s toying with the little boy in the center of your bra.

“I should never have agreed to this girls night,” you pout.

He nibbles on your extended bottom lip before deftly unhooking the clasp of your bra.

“Now who’s whining,” he teases.

“Buck!” you squeak. “Fix that!”

“Well, lemme see here,” he starts with a grin before he lifts your shirt so he can stick his head under it.

Instead of fixing your bra he kisses your skin as he loosens the silky fabric more.

“BUCKY!” you admonish playfully as you try and push his head out. “You’re stretching out my shirt!”

“It’s my shirt,” he says from inside, his voice muffled.

There’s a loud knock on the door followed by Nat’s excited shouting.

“Shit,” you grumble. “Shit, shit.”

Bucky reluctantly pulls his head free but not before he has you pinned to the wall again and he quiets any of your protests with his kiss.

When he pulls away you’re breathless and flustered.

“I’m going out the fire escape,” he says with a wink.

“What?!? You can’t do that!” you whisper shout.

“Better than getting yelled at!” he says as he grabs your hand and rushes into your bedroom and to the window.

He opens it and then turns back to you, pulling you into his arms and kissing you breathless all over again.

“I love you. More than anything. And I can’t wait to marry you.”

“I love you the most Bucky. I can’t wait either.”

With one more kiss he slips out the window and starts to climb down. The banging on the door becomes louder but you can’t tear your eyes away from him.

“Give Alpine and Winter kisses for me!” you shout down to him. “And Sam too!”

You giggle when Bucky gives you a scowl.

“Sam will be lucky if I don’t punch him,” Bucky jokes. “And don’t worry, I’ll make sure the babies are well loved and ready for tomorrow!”

Once he safely reaches the ground he looks back up and blows you a kiss, mouthing ‘I love you,’ before running down the street toward Sam’s apartment.

You watch until he’s out of sight then rush to the door and open it.

“It’s about time!” Nat screeches. “Is he here!?!”

“NO!” you say and throw up your hands in surrender. “It’s just us girls. Not even Alpine and Winter are here!”

She pushes past you and looks around suspiciously.

After a thorough inspection she turns back your way, one eyebrow lifting to her hairline.

“WHAT!?” you ask, going to cross your arms over your chest.

You stop mid gesture, realizing your bra is still unhooked and hanging off you under your shirt.

Nat stares at you and you stare back but it only lasts a few seconds before you both burst into laughter.

Once you’re calm again, Nat asks, “he just left didn’t he?”

“Down the fire escape,” you giggle.

“I knew he was perfect from the moment we saw him walking Alpine across the street,” she states with a warm smile.

“Me too,” you reply dreamily. “Me too.”

@blackwidownat2814 @buckysdollforlife @goldylions @hiddles-rose @randomfandompenguin @book-dragon-13 @lizette50 @mazarinqueen @matchat3a @abigailbeloved @pineprincess @lalalalokii @blossomedfloweroflove @danireal17 @ginger-swag-rapunzel @buckybarnessimpp @mugi-chwan95 @hibernocaledonian @gloriouspurpose01 @adoringsebstan @aedicn @thepurpletie797 @buckrecs @openup-yourmind @lettersandsodas @kingfleury @moonlightreader649 @kmc1989

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #animal rescue!Bucky #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes imagine #animal rescue au #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #finding home au

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rippersz · 1 year

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ᴀ ꜰᴏᴏʟ'ꜱ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ

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(Brienne of Tarth x Named Reader; Angsty; Hurt/Slight Comfort) (TW: Suic*de attempt; Suic*dal ideations/thoughts; Slight Romanticization of mental illness)

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“An autumn whisper between the maples kept urging: Die with me.” ~ Anna Akhmatova

---

A Fool’s Death.

That’s what they call it.

A Fool’s Death. You’re a coward if you do it. You’re a lazy bastard if you live with thoughts of it. You’re a selfish prick of a soul either way.

There’s no winning and there’s no losing. There’s no talk of it. Not even a mention. Not even a whisper. And if there is, you are spoken of. Judged. Scrutinized until The Fool’s Death becomes your death. Until the village and its people and everyone in your family are forced to spit upon your narcissistic bones and claim you disowned even though there is nothing left to claim and nothing left to disown. Just a corpse that is cold and dull and useless.

Cold and dull and useless.

You think that’s how you’ll do it.

Winter has already carried her snow and chill and winds into the region, laying it all upon the land like a warm blanket around a small child’s body. Painting everything white and leaving it to glisten to sludge beneath the eventual heat of the spring sun. A perfect time for rebirth. A perfect time for death.

—

Your hands shake as you slowly pull open the door to your quarters, wincing while it creaks and groans, forcing you to stop every time a noise rings out into the empty hall. Your heart, pounding away in your ears, ruins your sense of hearing while you stand like a statue within your own doorway. Anxiety slips through your bones. Fear pulls at you. The last desire you have is to wake everyone in the castle and call attention to yourself. No, having eyes and ears on you while you lay in the snow and wait for the freeze to set in is less than ideal. A Fool’s Death, after all, is never A Fool’s Death if done with company.

So once you decide that the corridors are empty and you can slip out through the back entrance into the kitchens, you do exactly that. A singular torch is lit, burning away within its stone perch, nearly beckoning you closer with its dancing flame. You trail toward it and stop there, watching it for a moment, reveling in the last bit of warmth that your skin will ever feel. You know that some hours later, when the moon is long gone and the clouds block the sun and the stars keep themselves veiled, you will no longer be able to feel fire. You will no longer be able to feel ice. You will no longer be able to feel the breath in your lungs leave you in short pants. It will all bleed into the same numb feeling. And you will freeze until Mother Nature tells you to thaw. And once your body has been revealed to the changing air of the seasons, once the earth’s creatures start to take advantage of your indirect kindness, you also know that your frozen flesh will not be mourned. Because no one will cry for you. And no one will beg the gods, both old and new, to bring you back. And no one will waste another precious breath worrying about who you were.

You, who were just another soldier out of an army of hundreds. A faceless woman. A person easily replaced. Inconsequential in every sense of the word. Your family was dead, your acquaintances were no more than good mornings and good nights, your position would be filled as soon as you broke rank. And no one would notice your absence. The Lord Commander wouldn’t even blink. The royal family wouldn’t even spare a thought. Though then again, it wasn’t like you deserved their thoughts, their sympathies, their prayers anyway. You weren’t a war hero and you weren’t important and you didn’t do anything beyond follow orders and live your life. Well- that last bit would change, of course. As soon as you pull yourself away from the torch and get going.

The chill of night is a harsh contrast from the few minutes of firelight, but you find that your body, already shivering and slow beneath the thin white nightgown, doesn’t take true notice of the cold. You’re only propelled forward by a distant urge. A previously agreed upon understanding with no one but yourself: This was necessary. This is what it was going to come to anyway, whether you died a fool sooner or later. This was the way of the world and you were just another pawn amongst the masses. Going to war, front of the line, hoping to die in glory.

But there was no glory there. There was no glory in your measured footsteps and there was no glory in your sagging shoulders and tired expression. And there was no glory in your desire. How could there be? How could the good gods ever wish to touch you after your blasphemy? How could you hang your soul out to dry and still expect to find your place in Nirvana? They will call you a coward. They will call you a fool. They will call you a rotten whore and they will say that they wish you’d done it sooner. They will walk past your nonexistent grave without a wandering thought as to what your name was. You could’ve saved everyone the trouble, they will say. Could’ve saved them the breaths. Spared them of your quiet awkward presence. Making everyone uncomfortable. Leaving the men to tease and toss aside the idea of censoring themselves just because you were a woman. Not the only woman, but a woman nonetheless. Of course they held their tongues when The Lord Commander walked past, or sat at the table, or existed and breathed in their general vicinity, but that didn’t matter. Brienne of Tarth was not always around to control them nor comfort you - not that she did the latter anyway. You weren’t important enough for that.

And the universe seemed to agree. The path was laid out before you, lit by the silver moon, traced by the glow of the white ground. You’d decided on your resting place only a few days ago. During a morning patrol with some of the newer trainees, you came across a spot of smooth Earth. Two logs, parallel to each other, framed a large empty patch of snow. From where you stood, it looked like a beautiful painting that had yet to be finished. There was no subject- no goal- no lesson to be learned- no deeper meaning and no unintentional intentional wicked talent. But before that could be rectified, before it could be completed, it would have to be ruined. Once you’re long dead, you’ll find the time to apologize to Mother Nature, but as you trek over the last hill, you’re more focused on becoming one with the frozen ground.

The site of your death is far enough away from civilization, near the edge of a tall cliff, so any wandering strangers won’t bother to come too close. Well that’s what you tell yourself, living in hope as per usual; but in reality nothing is stopping another living creature from stumbling across your frozen corpse. The snow is thick, yes, but not thick enough to hide all of you. And the sun is only some hours away from rising. Oh well. It won’t matter anyway. You’ll be passed out by then, icicles hanging from your eyelashes and blue coating the lining of your lips. Your heart will be quiet, weak, in your frozen chest. Your hands will be limp. And the rest of you will be blanketed by the sweet tasty frost of death, creating a home for its festering teeth. Teeth that will bite and gnash and taste and tear - but their attacks will be in vain. You will be numb. So wonderfully, perfectly, fatefully, numb.

And your fingertips, for what it’s worth, are already tingling with the beginnings of it.

The beginnings of it.

‘It’ being your end, of course.

‘It’ being the thing you want. Desperately.

‘It’ being the Fool’s Death you were born to have.

Oh so poetic it was…

Oh so… lovely.

…

You blink suddenly, forcing the chilled tears out of your eyes. Damn wind… so cold… so refreshing… Your knees bend to crouch into the snow, slow and exhausted like the sluggish looking of your eyes. ‘Hello’ the snow grins- beams- smiles so cheerfully up at you, ‘come to see me again, have you? It’s only been a few days. But I have missed you so much. We all have missed you so much.’ And you glance up to take in the ‘we’; the looming trees and the deep blue sky and the twinkling stars and the sweet bright moon, and you nod to yourself. Yes. This is how it is. This is the perfect atmosphere.

This is the glory of a Fool’s Death.

This is the peace of a Fool’s Death.

This is salvation.

No loud men and no flickering fires and no furs and no royals and no company and no messy thoughts and no sleepless nights and no terrifying dreams and no days of forced starvation and no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no hope, no love, no happiness, no reason, no reason, no reason no reason no reason to live live live live live live live- live!

The thin white slip on your body shields you from nothing. Your palms sink into the soft fluff of the ground. Instantly, upon laying down, you’re soaked to the bone. Water finds itself languishing along your body, playing games and laughing while it gathers in your scalp and dances on your fingertips. And the snow, whispering near your ear and beckoning you to salvation, stretches its hands and says ‘Come, dear friend. Come rest here. I am soft. I will give you everything you want.’ So you rest. And you give in. And your body relaxes; your muscles unclench and the tension slides from your shoulders as a sigh bubbles past your lips.

Is it one of relief? One of stress? One of defeat? You’re not sure. You don’t know. Your heart is shuddering- pulsing- with excitement, but it’s a mystery as to why. Death is not supposed to feel good. Death is not supposed to feel powerful. Death is not supposed to feel like you’re finally grabbing life by the balls and saying HAH! THIS IS IT! THIS IS MY MOMENT! THIS IS MY DEATH! MY END! AND YOU CAN NEVER TAKE THAT AWAY FROM ME.

… So why does it feel that way?

Why does it feel so good?

…

…The night is quiet. It does not have answers for you. The moon looks on with unblinking eyes. You feel yourself grow heavy.

But the deed is not over yet. There is still one thing left to do. Slowly, the snow falls away as your limbs stir. They move on autopilot, not drawn by the thoughts in your head but again pushed by that faint desire.

Heels digging, nails running blue, curling into the snow, pushing it away - only to drag it back five minutes later; hastily working to complete the masterpiece. Desperate to become one with the Earth and fall into oblivion. A deep, bone-cold, quieting oblivion that will leave you shivering before it leaves you dead. Even beneath the blanket of snow that caresses your skin, that lays over your bare legs, that nuzzles the sensitive parts of your body, you begin to shake. And you begin to think.

The thoughts, interestingly enough, don’t freeze like the rest of you does. Instead, they grow. Swirl like a winter’s storm. Obsessive and rough, they pull you under like they always did.

This is great, isn’t it?

No, you think in response to yourself. It hurts, actually.

Oh stop whining. It will be worth it.

Why? How?

For years, it has been worth it.

That doesn’t answer anything. How has it been worth it? Is that why I’ve been hurting so much? For the sake of worthiness? Or something else?

Well you never felt worthy of anything else.

But I feel worthy of this?

Death? Yes. Everyone is worthy of death. Even The Lord Commander.

…What does she have to do with this?

You know what.

Your hands grasp at the snow, mindless and desperate. Pulling and pulling and pulling - clawing at the crisp white so it can cover you until no part of you is left to the air. Shielding you from the hatred of the universe. From the angry eyes of the gods. From the venom of the men. From the disinterest of the women. From the world… and its lack of care for you. And its lack of positivity. And its rude- disgusting- vile- way of treating you. And its overwhelming desire to kill you before you could kill yourself.

Too late now. We’re at least one foot deep in the ground! This is it. Keep digging. Keep digging. Keep digging! No stopping here! No energy left. Nothing left, actually. Not a goddamn thing. Nothing. Nothing at all.

Nothing at all….

Nothing.

At all.

Your eyelids flutter shut.

—

It’s two hours later when Ser Brienne of Tarth starts to wrap up her last duty of the evening.

A quick patrol of the furthest border is something not necessarily reserved for The Lord Commander, but is more of a safety measure she enforces upon herself before retiring for bed. Exhaustion pulls at her before she sets out, yes, but sometimes the nightmares… the white walkers… they leave her paranoid. Expectant of an attack that will never come. Worried about an enemy that no longer exists. Thus, she does it alone - and with only the royals’ knowledge.

It’s always a quiet affair, drawn along quickly by her and her steed Valour. They work with sharp eyes and a torch through the dark, stopping every few paces to listen for threats. There aren’t any, of course, but that doesn’t stop her from clip-clopping along the terrain with tense shoulders and keen senses, looking through the din of the torch’s fire in her hand. She has to be careful not to set her furs alight, but it’s not a hard task. Keeping it level, shunting it toward the ground and out toward the trees, proves to be more difficult. There’s no use in a flame if it can’t illuminate a damn th-

HUFF.

Valour’s hooves press into the snow, leaving them to stop - suddenly, quickly, with a jerk - as hot breath puffs from her nostrils and curls into the air. She’s tense, Brienne realizes. Tense and alert, with white ears twisting to take in sound. They stand in silence. Blue eyes watch as the animal’s head turns - first to the left and then to the right. But aside from the night and the usual rustle of the world, there is nothing. Nothing to hear, nothing to notice, nothing to fight or defend. Nothing to… find?

With one last sweep of the flame, she catches something quick. It’s nearly unnoticeable. Buried beneath the snow, but not one with the ground. It’s foreign. Out of place. A mere lump with no distinct beginning and end. Brienne chances a glance down at the horse, interest and apprehension dancing through her veins once she sees Valour’s eyes have caught the same thing. The same… intruder. The same issue.

When she slides off of the horse, half expecting to see the thing rise from the ground, one hand shoots to her sword. It waits. Curls around the hilt. Stretches beneath her glove. Twitches with adrenaline.

But there’s nothing. Not even a tremble beneath the dirt.

“Stay,” she whispers to Valour, moving the hand from her blade to gesture, palm facing the ground, for the horse to stand in wait.

And as cautiously, as quietly, as she can, Brienne approaches the mystery. She rounds one of the logs, taking notice of the odd placement, and tries not to wince each time her boots make a small crunch in the silence. Footprints will no doubt be left behind, but that doesn’t seem to bother her much as she catches sight of another pair in the distance. They’re small, the knight notices. With no distinct shape if not for a slight curve. The snow is kicked up, forced from its smooth blanket. Hurried in their demeanor. But slow in the amount of distance between each print.

Human, she thinks.

Human indeed, the snow hums; bearing all to see as it glistens beneath the firelight of her torch and brings Brienne to her unsightly treasure.

Frosted skin. A soaked nightgown. Arms and legs bitten by the chill.

Dead, she thinks.

No. Alive. The snow breathes.

—

Someone is taking off your clothes. They’re cold, sticking to you, and little grunts follow as bits of your nightgown rip with the effort. Your body is shocked, shivering so hard that the stranger can’t keep you still and isn’t quite sure what to do. Eventually, a mind is made up and you’re stripped completely - then covered with woolen hose. At least two pairs- both of which are too big for you and hang by the feet and are quite loose around the waist, but the dresser doesn’t seem to care. Trousers are next. How many pairs? You don’t know. Then shirts. And furs. And even a pair of leather gloves that droop at the fingertips and gape at the wrists - but they’re warm and lined with wool and you can’t feel your body but that’s okay. You didn’t want to anyway. More grunting and growling and small whispered curses follow until you’re very much tucked into a bed far bigger than your own. It’s warm. Good. You’re numb and half-dead, but it’s good. Lovely, really. And the outside world doesn’t call your name as you close your eyes.

Waking up was not on your agenda.

It wasn’t even in the cards.

And you don’t really want to - but the universe never cared for your opinion. And it did what it wanted whenever it wanted anyway. So you have no choice.

Thus, your eyes flutter open and your lungs expand with breath and suddenly the world comes flooding back in one confusing twist of fate. Nausea wastes no time in tearing you down; instantly going to churn in the pit of your stomach and curl in the back of your throat and pound against the skin of your temples. A deep groan slips from between your chapped lips. The lining of your skull feels as though it’s been replaced with cotton.

The snow really took its chance, didn’t it? Brutal. Ruthless. At least the Earth doesn’t lie to you. At least the Earth doesn’t save you.

But someone did. Someone has.

They’re actually shuffling over; measured footsteps sounding like big loud stomps in your head. You close your eyes. Everything is too bright. Everything is too much.

“Morning.”

Hm. The voice sounds familiar. A bit wonky, like it’s far away, but familiar. You don’t have the energy to respond so you just let out a grunt and allow it to taper off into a weird rumbly hum.

“Hey,” there’s a sudden clicking noise near your ear, making you jolt and snort when your eyes flick open. There are fingers - long pale fingers snapping beside your head, falling silent when you glare up at the offender, only to find-

“Lah Commandah?!” Your tongue and throat are stiff and achy, keeping your speech limited and your voice strangled. You grimace at the sound and instantly try to growl the discomfort away, but she cuts you off.

“Don’t do that- you’ll just make it worse.” It comes out in a huff and silences you with ease.

She doesn’t look or seem very happy, which in turn makes you frown. It was a shot straight through the heart when the Lord Commander was in a bad mood - which surprisingly wasn’t always. In fact, she’d grown a little softer over the years. The tales talk of her unwilling attitude and stubborn pride, but sometimes she’s full of wit and humor. And on the best of days, she’ll give the most successful troops a small smile and a bow of her head. The only sign of ‘You did well’ that anyone would ever get from her. You’d never gotten a reaction like that before.

I wonder why she didn’t leave us out in the snow.

“Can you sit up?” Glacier blue eyes run over your face.

You’re not sure what you look like but you suppose it doesn’t matter. She’s seen worse.

“Dun-no, Lah Commandah,” you breathe, trying to do exactly that.

After the fifth try of shifting your arms and legs and quickly running out of strength, she seems to get the hint and suddenly large strong hands are sliding under your arms and tugging you up, then pushing you back. It’s done in one swift movement, leaving you dizzy while you rest your head against the wooden headboard of-… of a bed that certainly isn’t yours.

No, you’re definitely not in your own room. The layout is completely different. It’s more… it’s not pretty but it’s better looking than your own. Complete with greys and blacks and silvers and even a hint of red here and there. The fire that’s been crackling steadily in the background is clean and well-kept, where your room doesn’t even have space for one at all. And the curtains are drawn over the windows covering the right wall, leaving the place shrouded in a darkness that would have existed there anyway even if the curtains were open - it’s nighttime, pitch black outside, and suddenly you’re very much aware of the fact that you’ve kept your Lord Commander- The Brienne of Tarth- out of her own bed for more than a day.

By the time you blink yourself out of your dizzy distracted haze and try to find her form again, she’s already busy doing something else. Wringing out cloths over a bowl… and then returning to your side. Your lips, chapped and still tinged blue, open in an effort to say something- anything- but then a soft hot cloth is draped over your forehead, covering your temples, and suddenly you don’t have a damned thought left in your mind. The feeling is so nice. So blissful. You could stay like that forever.

If only the universe showed you mercy.

“It’s been two days since I found you,” the Lord Commander says, placing the bowl down gently on the side table beside the bed. Her eyes glance over your coverings, making sure the furs and gloves and shirts are all still in order. They are. She was very thorough before. She would not have made a mistake. There was no room for error.

But there’s room now for judgment. Judgment and disdain, and you’re terrified of those things and you really don’t want to have to hear her tell you that you’re a stupid wench and that the rest of the troops will forever make fun of you for your idiocy, so you swallow and wince and your hands twist together in your lap. The leather of the gloves is soft, well-worn, and the wool is only the tiniest bit matted - and you can’t help but admire the craftsmanship as you bring them up to your abdomen. They’re obviously not your gloves, just as everything else is not yours either, but you don’t know what to do first: apologize or thank her.

Honestly, you don’t really want to thank her - because she ruined your plan - but at the same time, she saved your life. Whether you wanted to end it or not doesn’t matter… because she would’ve helped you no matter what. And perhaps you’re selfish for being a little bit angry about it, maybe you’re being self-centered and dumb, but you can’t help the feeling of bitterness creep into your heart. You wanted to die… and she took that from you. She wanted you to live.

It was a duty. She doesn’t want anything. Anyone would have done it.

But that’s not true.

The men would have left you. Or hurt you. Or anything else.

But there she is, having gone through the trouble of saving you… and she’s looking down at you with a frown on her handsome face and a furrow to her light brows that seems like it never leaves and you wish so terribly that you could just tell her-

“I-m sorr-ey.” It’s a pathetic rasp of an apology, but it’s out of your mouth before you can catch it.

She blinks. You don’t know why her expression changes, why it softens into something less stern and concerned, but when it does you feel your breath catch in your throat. How anyone could see her as anything less than glorious is something you’ll never understand.

“Why were you out there.”

It’s a demand.

You look away, baring your eyes to the fire.

“…I sl-leep-wa-lk someti-”

“Bullshit.” She spits, one hand reaching down to curl into the bit of blanket that drapes over the side of the bed. Her expression has twisted back into one of anger. “Don’t you dare lie to me.”

But what other choice do you have?

How could you be honest?

Why did she, of all people, have to find you? And why like that? Why couldn’t she have walked into the bathhouse during the few times you’ve wept your eyes out in the steamy silence? Why couldn’t she have caught you staring at your horse, dread in your eyes as you fantasized about running away and never looking back? Why couldn’t she have stumbled upon your vulnerability when you were still willing to live?

Why did it take a Fool’s Death to finally grasp her attention?

You want to tell the truth… but you can’t.

You can’t.

So you lie again.

“Was out- on a s-strollll. Got- um- lost.” You try not to cringe at the sound of your own bad grammar. Turns out not having full feeling back in your mouth does indeed prohibit being able to speak properly.

The Lord Commander doesn’t seem to care much. In fact, she doesn’t seem to be focusing on that at all. Instead, her face has grown slack - and she’s looking at you hard. Leaning both of her hands on the side of the bed, broad shoulders going up near her neck, eyes peering through light lashes - like she’s using her stare alone to dig holes into your soul and she doesn’t need to say anything in order for you to understand that she simply doesn’t believe you. And why should she? Your lies are so obviously half-baked; only muddying up the truth; ruining what little of it can be said.

Still. She doesn’t let up. Her gaze starts to burn. Shame tugs at your cotton-lined skull. Guilt claws its way to the surface.

Pink lips, scarred on the top right, part slowly. There’s a soft inhale. You brace yourself, clutching your warm hands into fists.

“You were buried,” the Lord Commander says, barely even blinking as she looks at you. “Covered with snow.” She shakes her head and allows it to fall to her chest, letting out a scoff so quiet you had to strain to hear it. “One of the smartest soldiers I have… and you expect me to believe that you got lost on an evening stroll?” Her head comes up, eyes pinning you in place with such dull ferocity that you can’t look away. “You can’t be serious.”

It’s at that exact moment when you realize that you’re sweating. It is the amount of warm things covering your body? The clothing and the furs and the gloves? Or is it your Lord Commander’s attention? And the fact that it’s never been placed on you like that before? With such… such focus. Such- dare you even think it- care?

You swallow against the nervous lump in your throat.

‘One of the smartest soldiers I have…’

Well if you were as smart as she thinks you are, you’d be fucking honest, wouldn’t you? Yeah. You’d tell her the truth. You’d admit that you’re a coward.

But you can’t.

You can’t.

She spends all of that time training you, keeping an eye on you, making sure you’re fed and well-rested and looked after in her own roundabout Lord Commander type of way… and you repay her with…with what?

With suicide?

So disgraceful.

So horrible.

So shitty of you.

How terrible can a person be?

How-

“Are you crying?” Your Lord Commander gapes, certainly caught off guard by your sudden emotion.

“N-no?!” You stutter, just as shocked to find yourself reaching up and smearing salty tears along your cheeks.

Oh how embarrassing-!

You stupid girl!

This is why you wanted to do it in the first place!

Because all you do is just fucking embarrass yourself-!

“N-no? No- s-sorr-y La-Lor-d C-Com-”

“Enough with the Lord Commander,” she admonishes, cutting off your bumbling apology with a swift tsk. “In private, it’s Brienne.” Then she hesitates before letting out a sigh and taking a seat next to you on the side of her bed. “…I’m not your superior here.”

All you can do is blink.

I’m not your superior here.

So what are you?

That’s all you want to ask.

What are you to me then? What is this now?

But even if you did find the courage, you’re not sure what she’d say.

“Okay,” you sniff, trying your damnedest to stop the tears.

But they’re a direct result of your aching heart. And aching hearts have veins that scream in agony, wishing for nothing but silence. Utterly tranquility. The very absence of tension-filled life. And you can’t get rid of aching hearts and screaming veins without getting rid of yourself…. And your only chance to do that was destroyed. Trampled upon. Interrupted.

I just wanted to die. It rests on the very tip of your tongue but never spills out into the air.

Brienne is so clearly unsure of what to do; she’s sitting rigid in her spot and staring at a mark on the floor. You want to tell her it’s okay. You want to tell her that she doesn’t have to comfort you. You want to tell her to just let you go back into the woods again… let you find yourself back in the snow. And she can go on with her life and forget it ever happened.

But you can’t.

That’s not how it works.

That’ll never be how it works.

Foolish girl.

“…Why were you out there, Anya?” Brienne’s voice is softer than fresh lilies.

You know why.

“…I c-can’t- I-”

Her head turns. Midnight blue eyes trace a line from your neck to your face, taking in the exhausted circles beneath your eyes and the blue-ish tinge to your skin and the utterly defeated look that blooms behind your expression. A war happens in you, taking place in the span of a moment, and you can do nothing but blink through lingering tears and stare at her.

“I can’t.” It’s a whisper. A confession all on its own.

I can’t… because you’ll think I’m a coward. And you’ll hate me. And I already hate myself enough for the both of us.

Brienne’s lips form a hard line, but she doesn’t say anything. She just peers back down at the floor and allows silence to creep into the room and lay between you both like a tired direwolf on its last legs.

The fire burns in the background. The sweat on your body cools. The dizziness in your head subsides.

It’s going to be okay, some part of you speaks. It’s going to be okay.

But you’ve told yourself that before, haven’t you?

And look where that got you.

It has to be at least 30 minutes later when Brienne finally speaks.

“There was a girl I knew once, in my early youth,” you watch her mouth move, enchanted and confused. Where was this going to lead? “She was older than me by two years. A pretty girl- like you.” Your heart trips over itself, but you don’t have time to dwell as she continues. “My father saw that, out of the very rare few, she was good to me - and so we were allowed to play often. For her it was ‘horsies’ and ‘hide and seek’, for me it was ‘swords’ and ‘knights’.” There’s a soft smile on her face, half hidden by the natural shadow of her body facing away from the hearth and half lit by the fire that lived there. Her lips twitch and she begins again. “We did everything together. She was a village girl but that didn’t matter… until it did. Time eventually caught up to us and we were forced to live our lives on our own. No more days of play and no more sharing stories.”

A soul-deep sadness settled into her eyes. She had yet to look at you. Maybe because it would make her too vulnerable… maybe because she didn’t want you to cry again. Either way, you felt yourself frown. Why was she telling you this? What happened?

And as if she could read your thoughts, she continues.

“By the time I was old enough to decide that I wanted to leave, she was already married. Kind husband, even though I only met him once. It was when I stopped in to say goodbye. I wanted to tell her that I’d write, whenever I found the time and place to do so.” Her hands, you notice, are fidgeting - running over and pulling each other quietly within her lap. The natural lines in her face grow darker as she falls back into her memories. “…I didn’t know she was struggling. I was so busy with my own life. My father’s wishes, my training, my fights with the men who challenged me… our communication grew slim. So I didn’t- I-… well.” Brienne swallows. “Her husband answered the door and when I asked after her, he burst into hysterics.”

Your heart stops.

She- no… She didn’t….

Brienne’s head goes up, her eyes turning to look at the ceiling - keeping her tears in her eyes, resistant in letting them fall. Resistant in being weak. You want to hold her and let her cry, but you know it’s not the time. She sniffs and her chest heaves with a sigh and it takes everything in you not to start sobbing. Tears build, they fall slowly, but your throat aches with held back sounds of distress.

“…She ended her life two days before I arrived.” A pause. Then- “A butter knife…,” she scoffs out a laugh and shakes her head, still pointing her face skyward - as if the gods have all the answers to her grief. “… I didn’t know what to do with myself. I didn’t know what to do with her husband. So I gave him my condolences and I left. Cried in the woods for as long as I could and kept going. And since then, I haven’t stopped.”

Despite her efforts, tears still creep over her eyelids and race down her cheeks. They mirror the ones on your own face - warm and sad and annoying in the stiff little trails left behind.

And you sit like that for a while, silently crying. Her gaze stuck to the heavens, thinking about the friend she lost; and your gaze stuck on her, thinking about the possible metaphor behind her actions. Behind the full circle-ness of it all. She couldn’t save her friend but she saved you. What did that mean in the grand scheme of your lives? What did any of it mean? How would you continue to train everyday after seeing your Lord Commander cry? After witnessing her care?

She saved us. She saved us. She saved us.

“Thank you,” comes your hoarse whisper- the first in-tact thing you’ve said since waking up.

The sound of your voice tugs Brienne out of her stupor and draws her eyes to your sad face. You don’t have the energy to give her a sympathetic smile, so you settle on a soft look. If it says all you need it to say, she doesn’t show it - but she does look away quickly and reaches up to brush the tears away.

“What for?” It’s rough - hard - a sliver of the tough Commander she’s used to being.

No no no - don’t go back to that. Your heart is safe here. I won’t judge you for your tears.

“…Saving me.” It’s more courtesy than anything as you say that, but it’s fine. You’re not magically going to wish for life again after Brienne shares a sad story with you… though it already has your heart struggling against its achy confines.

Brienne shakes her head, the gold of her hair catching the fire’s light so beautifully that you have to take your eyes off of her in order to catch your breath. If we were her friend in her youth, we would have surely fallen in love with her.

“You shouldn’t have gotten to that point,” her voice is watery- muffled with the lingerings of sadness. “No one should.”

You nod. What else is there to say? What else is there to admit? Clearly she knows. Clearly she understands. And yet… you’re still curious…

“…Why do-n’t you hate me f-or it?” Your words come out in a squeaky whisper, but you don’t care. You just need to know. You just need to make sure that you’re not reading things wrong- that there’s a chance she may actually care- and that perhaps there is a reason to stay…

Brienne doesn’t respond immediately. It’s clear that she takes a few moments to bring herself back to the present. To clear her throat and wipe her eyes again and sniffle a few times and then turn back to you. She’s tried so hard in clearing herself up, but the eyes have never lied. And you see the sadness breeding there. Festering. Sadness is wicked. You don’t know if you’re the cause of it.

“You’re strong, Anya." A pause. "Training wouldn’t be the same without you.”

But you know she means to say Nothing would be the same without you.

---

Something I've been working on for a bit. It's not as good as I hoped it would be, but I'm tired and my back hurts so whatever. I hope you're all doing well.

And if you're not and you need some help, here's the National Suicide Hotline: 988 - And the link https://988lifeline.org/

It's gonna be okay, my friend. One second at a time. - Yours, Rip x

---

#rippersz #fanfictionwriter #fanfic #fanfiction #brienne of tarth #brienne of tarth got #brienne x reader #ser brienne #ser brienne of tarth got #ser brienne of tarth #angsty #angsty fic #mental health issues #mental health problems #mental health issues tw #be safe #I love you #brienne of tarth x reader #brienne of tarth fanfic

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valkyrieandstrangeridingaragorn · 11 months

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There's things I am understand from Tony Stans when they write 'Steve mistake ',

1. They will using reason Steven choose bucky over tony

2. Steve hide / lie the fact about tony parents death

3. Steven is not read accord and not make negotiations about accord

4. Steve recruit clint, sama and wanda and make them in raft. So it's steve mistake

From the four point the third point is bothering me. I am not gonna lie I kind forget the detail civil war but, steve did and the only one that read accord. Also if I am not wrong Ross didn't give chance go steve and everyone to negotiations about accord at all, I meant he said avenegrs onel have three days accept or retired. I menat what kind f&** is that. They have no time to negotiations about accord at all

And Tony said the can make negotiations after they sign the paper, that not how work. You can't make negotiations after to signed the papers, the UN won't considered that they want control, you signed you follow what is inside

So I think it's was weord they blame steve no want negotiations at all. Because there's no time for that, also Steven considered the accord if they for innocent protection and not for government to controlling innocent peoples. So why they keep point that?

I think they need to come up with excuses, half-truths and lies because no matter how hard the Russos tried to paint both teams as equally right, Team Cap is the only one in the right.

To your first point, Steve is against the Accords way before Bucky is even in the picture.

This is something that not only the haters but many fans seem to forget: Not everything Steve does has to do with Bucky. He has a separate life and a mind of his own, and those Accords go against everything that makes him who he is.

To your second point, Steve had no way of knowing Bucky had murdered the Starks. Zola said this:

Zola: "For 70 years, HYDRA has been secretly feeding crises, reaping war. And when history did not cooperate, history was changed." Natasha: "That's impossible. S.H.I.E.L.D. would've stopped you." Zola: "Accidents will happen."

And this was shown:

This required Steve to assume Bucky had been the only Winter Soldier at the hands of Hydra. He could have guessed but he didn't know for sure. And going to Stark to tell him "I found out your parents were murdered but I'm not sure of what happened", over 20 years after the fact is not exactly ideal. Not to mention Stark had hacked Shield's systems two years prior. He didn't exactly do a good job of digging there, and Steve and he weren't that close.

To your third point, whoever says that is lying. Steve is the only one shown reading the Accords:

My man has perfect memory. He knew very well those Accords were an abomination.

And to your last point, Sam, Clint and Wanda have agency and they knew what they were getting into before they went to the airport. Unlike Peter Parker who was lied to by Stark, Steve was very clear that he wanted his team to know who and why they were fighting, and the consequences of doing so. Even with a stranger like Scott:

They chose to follow Steve because they knew it was the right thing to do. Clint left his family, Wanda risked her life and her freedom, so did Scott, Bucky and Sam. All of them followed and did the right thing because they're heroes, it's what they do.

Ross knew very well what he was doing. As Secretary of State, not only did he keep the Accords under wraps until only three days before the UN meeting, he kept from the entire team that an Accord is not the same as a law and it was a constitutional violation to try and enforce it on the team and the citizens.

They had no time to negotiate. They would have needed to lawyer up and do everything in a short period of time: the meeting was in Vienna and they were in NYC, if you count the time it would have taken them to get there, the time they needed to find a lawyer they trusted to go through the whole thing and come up with a good enough case to stand up not only to the US Senate but the UN… yep, they had no time to do so. That was Ross' plan all along.

Stark telling Steve the Accords could be amended after he signed them was no more than an attempt at manipulation. There is something important to keep in mind here: Stark would NOT be affected by these Accords at all. As shown in the movie, he broke them when he flew to Siberia and nothing happened. Ross called him and he put him on hold, and nothing happened.

Stark is used to doing whatever the hell he wants (like basically telling the government to suck it when he refused to give them his suits. What happened to him? Nothing) and facing no consequences whatsoever. So in his mind, signing these papers means nothing, he can break them whenever he feels like it and he'll find a way to get away with it. For Steve and Wanda, the Accords were a direct violation of their civil rights. It's not the same.

Steve was never against accountability. The Accords were:

#team cap #steve rogers #anti tony stark #anti sokovia accords

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restinslices · 6 months

Note

I found your twilight post with the Lin Kuei brothers amusing and relatable 🤣

Can you do headcannons on watching marvel movies with the reader? Captain America is my favorite character in the movies lol

The MCU is huge so lmk if there was something specific you wanted to know about

Bi-Han

I don’t see any of them watching a lot of movies so you definitely introduced it to him

He takes the longest time to finish the movies because it’s not on the top of his list when it comes to concerns

He’s one of those overly critical watchers so he’s annoying as fuck to watch movies with

I can see him liking Ultron

Why? I think he’d like the concept of Ultron and understand why he’s thinking the way he is

The type to agree with Thanos until someone points out he could’ve just doubled the resources

His favorite Phase is Phase 3 purely because Hela is his favorite character in the entire MCU

He’s legit upset she was killed off

I’d say which show is his favorite but I only watched Wandavision and TFATWS so moving on-

I don’t know if I see him reading the comics. Maybe if he’s curious enough

The Avengers and The Guardians of The Galaxy are pinned against each other a lot, but what does he think?

I think it changes a lot. Depends on his mood

One thing’s for sure; he prefers the OG Avengers

Not one of those Marvel fans that remembers everything and he doesn’t really stay up to date

Hasn’t even watched any of the shows yet

Please bring Hela back and stop pissing him off. She ain’t do nothing wrong

Quick afterthought

He’s Team Cap

He don’t even wanna listen to Liu Kang. Why the fuck would he agree with the government controlling The Avengers?

Kuai Liang

NOT one of the overly critical watchers so thank fuck

If he spots something that’s off, he’ll call it out but that’s as bad as it gets

He likes a mix of villains and heroes

If the villains got a point, then they got a point. That’s just how it is.

He likes villains that can become better people. The pure evils ones he’s like “yeah you suck” but villains that are actually victims or who have done certain things but try to become better, he likes

Because of that I’d say his favorite villain is The Winter Soldier

He’s done terrible things but Kuai Liang feels pity for him and enjoys his story

I think either Avengers or Civil War is his favorite movie

He prefers the og era of the MCU and I think the Avengers as a whole reminds him of his family (petty as fuck towards each other but there’s ultimately love there) and Civil War was a banger

A situation where there’s technically not a right side is a topic I can see him liking

With that being said, he is both Team Cap and Team Ironman

Since he follows Liu Kang I can see him being like “sometimes teams need to be reined in and need someone to follow”

But in the same breath this is the same government that is corrupt and has proven themselves as not trustworthy

And people could always die before the heroes are able to help

Then there’s Bucky and he once again understands why Steve wouldn’t tell but he also understands Tony’s anger

He stays somewhat up to date when it comes to the new movies and shows

He knows when they come out but he doesn’t see them right away

Tomas

I can see him staying up to date and seeing the movies whenever he could

Has possibly read some comics too?

Prefers Heroes

Do I wanna say his favorite character is Spider-Man because the PS5 Spider-Man voices Tomas?

Yes

So that’s what imma do

Does he have a favorite Spider-Man?

I’m not sure. I can see him seeing the positives and negatives of all the Spidermen

Team Cap for the accords

Team Ironman for the Bucky situation

His parents were killed so are we surprised? No

The type to see the positives of Phase 4 instead of just saying it’s shit

Is it the best? No. But it’s not all ass. Damn.

He prefers the Guardians so when Gamora was killed, his heart was in SHAMBLES

“Maybe Gamora and Peter can fall in love again”

I have bad news

Favorite Phase is always changing. Each Phase has bangers and non bangers so it changes day to day

I know I said he loved all the Spidermen but his favorite movie is probably a Tobey Maguire Spider-Man movie

Do not tell him the Avengers are more like coworkers than family. Do not fuck up his day

He likes found family movies so he enjoys the movies that focus on the groups

#mk1 #mk1 2023 #mortal kombat 1 #bi han sub zero #bi han #kuai liang scorpion #kuai liang #tomas vrbada smoke #kuai liang mk1 #kuai liang headcanons #bi han headcanons #tomas vrbada headcanons #kuai liang x reader #bi han x reader #tomas vrbada x reader #tomas vrbada #mk1 headcanons

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supercap2319 · 1 year

Text

"There's only one bed." Bucky noted. They both looked at the bed that was barely big enough for one person, let alone two. It was a mission that the Avengers were on and Tony had booked rooms for everyone, but apparently he forgot that he booked a single bed instead of two for Bucky and Y/N.

Y/N sighed dramatically. "Tony's an idiot."

"He sure is." Bucky agreed. "So, how do you want to do this? I'll take the floor and you can have the bed?"

Y/N shook his head. "Nonsense. We can both be two mature adults about this. There's nothing wrong with the two of us sharing a bed together. Two bros chilling in a bed together five inches apart because they're definitely not gay." Y/N jokes.

Bucky blushed slightly at that. It's not the thought of lying with another guy that made him nervous. He's done that plenty of times during and before the war, but this time was different. Y/N was different. He was one of the few people that Bucky could be himself around.

He cleared his throat. "Right. So, I'm going to go wash up for bed." He quickly went to the bathroom as Y/N sighed and began to peel off his hero costume.

Bucky returned in a tank top and blue and white striped underwear as he looked at the sight on the bed and gasped quietly. There was Y/N, sprawled out on the bed like some sort of porno mag model in black briefs and shirtless body as he stared up at his phone on his back. When he saw Bucky, he smiled and blushed slightly.

"Hey, hope you don't mind me sleeping in my underwear?"

Bucky blushed and nodded as he tried to act like an adult and not some blushing teenage boy. "Of course, not." He walked towards the bed and got underneath the covers as Y/N joined him a moment later. The winter soldier noted that their legs were brushing against each other and so was Bucky's crotch on Y/N's ass.

#x male reader #male reader insert #male x male #bucky barnes x male reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #james Buchanan Barnes x male reader #sebastian stan x male reader #sebastian stan #the winter soldier x male reader #winter soldier x male reader #the winter soldier

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tiddygame · 6 days

Text

Ghoap god type au part 8!

Ao3 /// part 1 /// part 2 /// part 3 /// part 4 /// part 5 /// part 6 /// part 7 /// part 8

can i offer anyone... almost 8k words of exposition and plot dump? hmmm? no? well, what if it comes with ghost resting his head in soap's lap? huh? what then?

fair warning: ghost has a bad time again

@imjustheretofightforlove / @pieckyghost / @life-as-a-gamergirl

...

The soldiers would often mention how they withstood the general’s abuse because they knew that they could trust him. That he was one of, if not the greatest war hero to ever grace the kingdom. Well known for being honorable and doing everything to protect his men.

There was no honor to be found in surprising an enemy encampment at the dead of night. Very few were armed, most were likely still asleep as they lost the fight for their lives. But the general was good, successful, victorious. So his men charged in without a doubt. Laughed at the ease with which the enemy was felled.

By the time reinforcements arrived, there was nothing left to save. They tried to avenge their fallen comrades, but instead joined them in the afterlife. To say they retreated was far too dignified for the fear and desperation with which they ran. Some of the oh-so-honorable general’s soldiers even laid chase, shooting arrows into their backs as they fled.

The encampment was empty. Smoke billowed into the sky, tainting the white clouds. The ground was scattered with puddles — both blood and water alike.

Ghost sat in the ruins and watched as the tents burned.

After the slaughter, the allied dead were carted away to be given a proper burial. The rest were abandoned. Blue tunics stained red and fragments of shields covered in blood littered the ground.

Winter had long ago sunk her claws deep into the land and the bodies would most likely freeze before they could decay. Stuck in the inevitable snow, they would only be allowed to rejoin the earth in months when Spring’s thaw would free them, all based on the color of their uniforms.

For now, scavenger birds picked at their corpses, enjoying the free feast.

There was a haunting type of silence that could only be found in the wake of a massacre; An echo of death that seemed to scar the earth. Regardless of who or what was left alive, there was nothing living to be found. Shadows of ravens took away the dead, piece by piece. Whispers from the fates were carried by the wind, lies of justice and retribution pushing around dead leaves and tattered scraps of fabric.

Displeased with the lack of calamity, his mind filled the void, reminding him of the clanging metal, pained screams, and unheard pleas for mercy. A macabre orchestra singing a sweet lullaby, begging him to lay down his weapons and freeze along with the dead.

He felt the warmth of his arrival before the god spoke.

“I think you should deflect.”

Ghost didn’t jump this time, by now used to the god’s tendencies. He didn’t look away from the smoldering ash that had once been a medical tent.

He tried to say something, but it didn’t work. There was a vast disconnect between his brain and the rest of his body. It was like he was trapped in sleep paralysis — his mind running rampant but his muscles unable to follow.

He watched a corvid begin picking through the intestines of a soldier who still had his eyes open, watching the clouds pass overhead.

“This doesn’t have to happen again if you leave.”

“Do you think I stay by choice?”

“Yes.”

Ghost didn’t have the strength for anger. He dropped to his knees like he was honoring the people whose blood still coated his blades.

“It must be easy, then, to be a god, if you truly believe it to be that simple.”

“I did not come back from the brink of death just to become a patron of this violence again.”

Soap’s voice held a level of fury he had never heard from the god before. Boots walked in front of his vision.

Before him stood Soap, the God of Death. For the first time since they met, he looked the part. He stood as he had been described, tall, blue eyes, and the clean, unwrinkled clothes of a man rich enough to have Ghost’s lip curling in disgust.

“You came back,” Ghost muttered with poison on his tongue, “Because I gave you an offering.”

Soap matched his tone, “And I accepted because you gave me hope.”

They both had rage sparkling at the tips of their fingers but the tragedy around them weighed far too heavy for something so grand. Soap kneeled, not low enough to be at eye level with the way Ghost hunched in on himself, but no longer leering over him.

Hope.

Ghost only scoffed half-heartedly in response. He hadn’t felt so tired since he had an arrow embedded in his chest.

Soap’s voice was kinder, but not softer. “I am not the god of war—”

Ghost interrupted him, “So you want me to continue fighting a war to prove it?”

“I want you to end it,” Soap corrected in a low tone, emphasis placed on every word.

He almost laughed. “A war that’s been ongoing for almost twenty years — You want me to stop it by just—?”

Soap returned his rudeness by interrupting him, “I want for this bloodshed to cease. Immediately. If that means your general dies, it will not be a great upset.”

“He is not my general,” Ghost growled out through gritted teeth.

The god sneered, “No, you just kill whoever he tells you to without question.”

“I owe him my life,” Ghost spat, feeling phantom chains on his wrists; a weight that had rested on him so heavily for so long he often forgot they were gone.

“Did you owe him their lives too?”

Ghost said nothing in response, just watched the embers slowly die and the flies begin to gather. The silence lingered.

Soap sighed and dropped his head, looking off to the side. It seemed he was taking some time to compose himself but Ghost couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scavenger birds.

Would the people who had been turned into their dinner be glad that their body was not going to waste? Or would they be angry that they were not allowed to rest even in death?

A pessimistic part of Ghost tried to convince himself that it didn’t matter, that the dead do not have feelings. Ghost thinks that he’d be happy to be able to keep providing, to let the birds eat his flesh and the earth prosper off his bones.

There were hands reaching towards him. He couldn’t bring himself to flinch away.

“Ghost.” Soap sounded almost like he was pleading. “Please look at me.”

His hands cupped Ghost’s face. Ghost followed absently. His eyes were no longer focused on anything but he could still only see sleeping faces.

It never got easier.

Whoever suggested as much had never felt the way blood dries on your hands. The way it got tacky, sticking your weapon to your palm even as you tried to drop it. The way it stained your nails and lingered for days. The way it never seemed to wash off. The way it haunted you. The way it got under your skin and festered.

“I cannot watch this happen again.” Soap’s thumbs rubbed just under his eyes like he was wiping away non-existent tears.

Was he crying?

Soap squeezed his fingers where they rested in his hair, drawing him back. “Please do not make me watch this again. Not when you can change it.”

“How?”

There was too much scathing disbelief in his voice for it to be an honest question.

“Do not let them win.”

Ghost waited for more, but that was it. That was all he had to offer. How does he stop them from winning? Simple. Do not let them win. He wanted to scoff at the answer but he didn’t have the air in his lungs.

Just five words but he heard everything Soap was too reluctant to say with them. It was more of a non-answer than anything else because Soap didn’t have an answer; he didn’t know how. He said so himself, he was the god of death, not war.

If Ghost did this, it would be either under his own plan or none at all.

Why was he considering it?

He couldn’t. For all his faults, the general had pulled him out of the ash and gave him food when he should have been left to starve. When the gods ignored his pleas, it was a mortal man who answered and offered him a home.

And now it was a god telling him to betray his liberator.

Was it all for nothing?

One of the tents collapsed in on itself, crackling as it lost the struggle with the flames. Ghost leaned into the god’s hands and closed his eyes. He could still see their faces.

…

A new day was just beginning to break over the horizon, pale light spilling over the military camp. Dew had frozen to the grass and a chill clung to the air even as the sun shooed it away, foretelling the upcoming snowfall.

The sentinels wouldn't be switching for another hour, the soldiers stationed at the lookouts shuffling in place to keep themselves awake and alert. The lookout fire was warm and sang a siren song for them to curl up and fall asleep but they stayed firm in their position. They watched for threats even as they fantasized of the shift change that would let them sleep the day away.

Soon, the camp's cook would be fumbling over the fire with cold fingers as he began to prepare breakfast for numerous hungry soldiers. Until then, they were still huddled on their cots, happily asleep with their warm blankets.

The general lied in his bed, sleeping soundly, warm. Their plans had been finalized the night prior, having spent hours perfecting them. Before long, they would be marching on, taking the enemy by surprise and pushing them back; The war was nearing an end and in due time they would be at the enemy’s front gate.

But, for now, they rest. They were warm and safe.

All except for one.

Ghost was sitting up on his cot and had been for the entire night. He would like to say he had spent all of those hours coming to a decision, but he already knew his answer. No, he had spent all of those hours alone in his tent staring at the grass beneath his feet, only partially aware of the chill numbing his fingers, trying to come to terms with his sudden and drastic change in fate.

He spent all of his life knowing he was never destined for more. He would die as he lived and leave no impression on the world save for the fear that permeated people’s hearts at knowing that something like him could exist. And yet…

Hope. That’s what he spent all of those hours doing. Hoping.

Hoping that maybe he could be something other than man’s monster. Hoping that he could watch the sunrise without the weight of blood staining his hands. Hoping that maybe he could have that happy ending he always heard his mother talk about.

That stupid little idea of a farmhouse in the middle of fields and fields of flowers, or a cottage tucked away in an expansive forest full of animals to make for kind neighbors. When he was younger, it made for a dinner table hypothetical to distract from how little food was on their plates. When he grew older he saw it for what it was: An unobtainable fantasy to make going to work the next day feel less like a death sentence.

But now it was so, so close that he didn’t know what to do. Not the house away from everyone that could bother him, but a happy ending. It was right there and it collapsed his entire worldview.

For so long he didn’t care about death or the afterlife because there was no hell that could be worse than what he was living. But now, he had the chance to be happy. For the first time since he was a kid he had something to lose. And by the gods, did it terrify him.

The sun rose higher; He would need to leave soon. His hands were shaking.

He already had a copy of the plans, he just needed to get them to the opposing army. Ghost had snuck a peak at them as they were being finalized, memorized them, and wrote them down in the margins of that book he got during his second encounter with the god. He had justified it to himself by lying that copying them down did not mean he had to deflect.

Deflect.

Ghost heard the cook strike his flint and steel to start the fire, it echoed through him and got louder with each reverberation.

Gods, he was actually doing it, wasn’t he?

The general had saved his life and in return he was not just going to betray him, Ghost was going to make him watch his troops fall before he stabbed him in the back. As nasty as he could be, he cared for his men. Being forced to watch them die was perhaps the cruelest fate Ghost could inflict.

Please do not make me watch this again.

What was his story? Where does he claim he was going? Was there anything he could say that wouldn’t arouse suspicion? There was no reason for the general to think Ghost was betraying him.

Ghost is… Ghost is just going hunting again.

Yes, that’s it.

A simple hunting trip and nothing more. That’s why he’s leaving on horseback, so he can transport whatever bounty he collects. It’s why he’s carrying such a heavy bag with him, he’d need camping supplies and a book to keep him company. It’s why he’s leaving for several days, hunting can take patience.

He stood mechanically and walked out of his tent.

The general was chatting with the cook. He was probably waiting for his cup of coffee. He didn’t know that one of his best was actively turning traitor.

Ghost approached. He did not feel anxiety eating him alive, no, that had happened hours ago when he had condemned everyone around him. Now he stood hollow, his chest empty, ribs encasing nothing, his heartbeat echoing in an empty cavern.

“I would like to go hunting,” Ghost announced, interrupting the two’s conversation. The cook was confused and the general angry before they saw who it was interrupting them, the former gaining a look of understanding and the latter looked…

Ghost didn’t know what the general was thinking when he saw him. He looked almost… excited. It had Ghost’s already clenched teeth grinding themselves into dust.

“Hunting?” the general asked.

“Yes sir,” Ghost affirmed, praying to gods he did not know, pleading for everything to be okay.

The general hummed, thinking about something. He nodded, “Be back within three days. We leave in four.”

The general grabbed the cup of coffee offered to him by the cook and walked back to his tent.

What the fuck?

No, really, what the fuck? No questions of where or what he was hunting, no arguments, no complaints, no denials…

Why? Ghost would rather have been interrogated and questioned on every specific detail the general could think of to dispute. Why did he agree?

Was it a trap?

He’d asked that same question the last time he approved of a hunting trip but found his fears unjustified. The general did not like him and trusted him even less, there was no reason for him to grant Ghost this kindness.

Did he know?

There was no way he could. The only evidence that there was something afoot were the scribblings in a book shoved into the bottom of his pack — hell, even then they were written on the inner margins some seventy pages in. Besides his one conversation with the god of death, in which he didn’t even fully commit to deflecting, that one book stored at the bottom of his bag hidden beneath his cot was the only way the general could know.

So why, why, why did he agree?

“Breakfast will be served in half an hour, unless you plan on helping, get lost.”

Ghost drew out of his panicked mind and stared at the cook, slowly processing the sentence. And creeped him out in doing so if his sudden lack of assertiveness and refusal to look at Ghost was any proof.

He turned back to his tent, feeling like an imposter in his own skin, and prepared for his trip.

…

It had just reached high noon and a soldier was riding through rolling plains of dead grass.

The wind had gone from whispers to howls. Winter’s mongrels bit at any inch of exposed skin. His steed speeding through the lands only worsened the sting as he struggled to keep his head up and eyes open. Still, he did not tell her to slow. There was no time for delay.

Truthfully, Ghost did not know where he was going. The plans mentioned assaulting a fortress resting at the foothills of a mountain, one that was old and had stood the test of time; One that could end a war if it changed hands.

The plans did not, however, include a list of directions for how to get there. The only thing he knew for certain was that he needed to head north, but beyond that was a mystery.

Initially, he’d gone back to the ruined encampment with the intention of searching what little survived the fires for a map or something of the like. He spent several minutes staring at corpses that had frozen solid in the night and likely would have spent longer if not for Taxes refusing to stay there.

When he was pulled away from the grim sight, he found his plan to have been useless. There was only ash in the main encampment and the reinforcements had come from a smaller camp up the way and closer to the road, likely a failed lookout, one which did not have a map either.

He could trace the events of the fight from the remains of the camp.

The fire had burned out on its own. Stools were knocked over and arrows were snapped on the ground as if they had spilled from a quiver and been stepped on. Blankets had been tossed aside with a quickness, weapons taken but scabbards forgotten.

They had been preparing a meal, probably resting and chatting when they heard the screams of their comrades and cheers of their enemies and raced to help, only to then too become victims of a rich man’s war.

He tried following the trail of those who fled but it only led to him finding more corpses, some who died as they ran and others who either bled out or froze in the night.

He changed plans quickly after that.

Ghost figured he would find something eventually if he just kept moving. He was distinctly aware of the fact that the fleeing soldiers probably had a similar ideology when they succumbed to their wounds and the harsh elements.

After a few miles his plans changed again to finding somewhere to safely spend the night. He could see his breath puffing out even through his mask when it was noon; If what should be the warmest time of day had him shivering, he had no chance of making it through whatever the night held.

When he set out in his panicked state, the only thing he could think about was getting out of camp as fast as he could and in turn finding the fortress just as fast. To set out with more or less no plan was a stupid move, but for all his panicked overthinking, he apparently forgot to think about how he would trade over the information without dying of hypothermia.

He had made good progress but he needed to find a roof to lay under — and fast. Once the sun began to fall it wouldn’t be long before it was pitch black with the hounds of hell masticating a chill into his bones.

…

Ghost had no idea why he deviated off the road he had been following, he just knew that he found himself on a trail with an old cabin sitting at the end of it. It may have been divine intervention or it may have been his subconscious stepping in when the forefront of his mind was stuck in turmoil, either way he didn’t bother questioning it.

Based on the state of the cabin and its furnishings, it was likely a summer home owned by someone, perhaps a hunter, who was thankfully not present and based on the dust, hadn’t been for a while. Whether it was abandoned or not didn’t matter; It was currently vacant and had a fireplace which were the only two things he could bring himself to care about.

Ghost had a distinctly out-of-place feeling as he stood in the middle of a cabin meant for warm summer nights while his breath visibly puffed out and snow piled outside.

Maybe he was just disconnecting from his body again.

Now that he thought about it, he’s not sure he’d felt connected to his body throughout the whole day.

He wanted to shake the feeling away, but he did not have the agency over his muscles to do so. He was only able to collect firewood by absent muscle memory; He could do nothing but hope that whatever part of him still worked would be enough to keep him alive.

All he knew was that he had been looking for somewhere to spend the night, found a cabin, and was staring at a fire in a fireplace shortly thereafter.

He knew he was missing something as he somewhat came back to himself, energy shooting through him as he realized he couldn’t recall what he’d done with Taxes after dismounting. Suddenly terrified that he’d left her on her own, he burst out the door and looked around quickly, searching for tracks and…

She was stabled.

There was a tiny, two-stall stable next to the cabin. She had been de-tacked, brushed, and fed. He approached her and slowly reached out to touch her muzzle, the normally irritable horse accepting the slow touches like she knew something was wrong.

He stayed there for a while, making sure that she was alright and then waiting longer to see if it was an illusion that was going to wither away with his grip on reality.

It didn’t.

He returned to the cabin.

He sat against the wall near the fireplace with his legs splayed out like he’d collapsed and stared at his hands, focusing on how they burned from the change in temperature. He still had blood under his nails.

The calluses that had developed over years and years of wielding various weapons were still very visible in the dim light. Some were lighter, some were darker; they sat at the base of his fingers, a few trailing up higher.

He remembered when he had been younger and stupider, he thought he was being tough by continuing to train even as his hands grew sore and blistered. He remembered the panic he had felt when he realized that the next day he would not be given a break.

Only barely winning against his opponent, he stood shaking, hunched over and leaning on his sword, the tip of it buried into the sandy ground, completely relying on it to stay standing. He heaved for air; His lungs were still fighting even as the battle was over.

Blood stained the guard and ran down the blade, dripped down his fingers and fell to the ground. It didn’t splatter, it stayed in neat little drops as it mixed with the sand. His arm hanged limply, thousands of needles prickling his hand like it was going numb even though he could still feel the pain.

He was exhausted to the point of twitching, the world pulling apart at the seams. He could only feel his heartbeat reverberating through his skull. His chest rested against the pommel, the intricate design coming to a point that tried to stab through to his heart.

The sores on his hand had opened very quickly after the fight started. Everytime he lifted his sword, the pain spiked to such an intense degree that he’d fumbled his weapon several times, once almost dropping it on himself. He wanted to cry. Wasn’t his brain supposed to shut off his pain response when it was life or death?

It hurt so bad he’d started to pray that his foe would kill him just so this torture would have been done with. But his pride got in the way of his dreams of dying; He couldn’t bring himself to hand victory to his opponent. He refused to give up even as he wished nothing more than for the enemy to strike him down.

He couldn’t let go of his sword. He tried loosening his grip, he wanted to drop it and never look at a blade ever again, but it stuck to his hands. The opened blisters had dried and scabbed over against the leather wrap of the handle.

He didn’t what would hurt more: To rip all of that away and drop his weapon or to keep pressing against them as he held onto the sword for balance. He tightened his grip.

He couldn’t see or hear. His heartbeat was thudding in his ears and there was red-stained sandy ground beneath him but he couldn’t see or hear. He could, but he couldn’t.

He wondered if this was what it felt like to pass out.

Hands, different ones, not his own. They grabbed at his shoulders and pulled him but his mind was already gone. The scabs ripped and reopened. They were not healed by the next fight.

His hands were bloodied.

When Soap appeared, he had the decency to do so quietly, looking regretful for the situation he had put Ghost in. It was an accusatory way to phrase it, but still held some truth.

“Ghost, I—”

“Please.”

Ghost shook his head, not knowing what he was pleading for. The real world was too much and he shut his eyes tight. He was not equipped for whatever conversation Soap wanted or needed.

With one word, Soap apparently heard enough.

Ghost heard him stand, walk towards him, and stop. When he worked up the courage to open his eyes, he saw the god of death before him, holding out his arms. Ghost waited but Soap remained.

Deciding to be brave, Ghost placed his hands in Soap’s. The god gave a small, reassuring smile; He tugged Ghost’s arms lightly twice, warning him of the upcoming movement before fully pulling him up to standing.

Ghost had only a moment to wobble and distantly worry about falling before Soap pulled him close, wrapping his arms around him. Despite being shorter, he still managed to engulf Ghost in his grasp, holding him like he was blocking away the rest of the world.

Ghost had to squeeze his eyes tighter but soon reciprocated. Whereas Soap wrapped his arms tightly around him, Ghost could barely cling onto Soap’s shirt. He had no idea how long they stayed like that; Even time itself seemed to still to allow them a small reprieve.

He knew that Soap began humming a quiet tune at one point or another; Ghost did not just hear the soft melody wander into the dark cabin, but felt it reverberate from Soap’s chest as well with how close they were pressed.

When Ghost found it within himself to lift his head, Soap offered him that same reassuring smile once more. His tune petered out as he guided Ghost towards the dusty bed. His mind was elsewhere but he knew deep down he could follow Soap.

And perhaps out of everything that had happened, that was the part that frightened him the most. The fact that he trusted Soap. Ghost was… vulnerable. Ghost was vulnerable and he trusted Soap to take care of him.

Soap only stepped away for a moment to shake off and resituate the dirty bedding before sitting down and motioning for Ghost to join him; He had Ghost lie down with his head resting on Soap’s leg.

Ghost did so very slowly, his back protesting at every movement. He perhaps should have been embarrassed over the strained grunts he let out but he didn’t care. He was more concerned with reminding himself that it was not supposed to hurt to relax.

It took him a good long while to be able to breathe again after fully lying on his side with his ear against the other’s thigh, his lungs suddenly burdened with the brunt of his anxiety.

Soap draped a few blankets overtop of him; Ghost wasn’t sure where they came from, but they smelled nice. It made part of him shrivel at how incapable he was at taking care of himself, but the comforting weight they offered was a welcome juxtaposition over his rampaging mind attempting to crush him.

He was sure that when he could think beyond reminding his heart to beat and his lungs to take in air, he’d be grateful that Soap didn’t make him lie on top of the moth-eaten top blanket or the grimy pillow. In the moment however, he appreciated the easier contact that kept him tethered without anything more overwhelming.

Ghost pulled the blanket up close, practically hiding under it like there were monsters under the bed. He could feel his heart preparing to fight for his life but he closed his eyes and tried to breathe. They were staccato inhales, shaky and short, but he was breathing.

Would he return to camp? After everything, after the information had been handed off, would he go back to his tent, help them pack up like he hadn’t betrayed them?

Should he run? Just pray that everything works out and try to find some land far, far away where they would mistake Ghost for one of them? As something that deserved respect and kindness? As someone who didn’t have enough blood on their hands to start or end a war?

He’s only ever been a weapon for other people to use to kill anyone they felt like. Why now was he so caught up on killing people?

They were not good people — Ghost knew his sense of honor was twisted but he would never attack the back of a fleeing man for being on the other side of a war. They killed innocent people who surrendered the same way they did an active threat.

Were Ghost’s actions any different? Had he not done the same?

Soap brought his hand to gently card through Ghost’s short hair.

Ghost would have been dead if not for the general. Yes, he hated him, but that didn’t change that he saved Ghost when he should have been left to die.

Soap saved your life too.

And he knows that. He knows every counter argument that could be thrown out at it, he’s had the same debate with himself for years. But shouting into the sky about the cruelty of fate did not clear his warring mind.

Ghost opened his mouth to try to speak but the words didn’t form, his throat closed up and his lungs refused to provide the air. It was only after undoing all of his work to keep himself breathing that he was able to choke anything out.

“I’m scared.”

He could barely admit it as if he weren’t holding the blanket he was hiding under in a white knuckle grip. He didn’t feel any lighter with the admission off of his consciousness.

Soap remained silent.

Ghost was suddenly very unsure if he’d spoken at all. Or maybe he had. Maybe Soap was doing him a favor by pretending not to have heard it, acting like Ghost hadn’t just embarrassed himself. Or…

“Me too.”

Perhaps it should have made him more nervous to hear a divine being admit to such a thing, but he wasn’t after thoughtless false promises. He couldn’t stand being trapped in his mind as he was, not knowing if he had completely lost it. He didn’t want denials or lies that everything would be okay, he just needed…

He didn’t know what he needed.

It’s okay to seek solace.

Ghost closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, trying to exile all of his stress as he exhaled. It didn’t work, but he felt better which was all he could hope for.

“Thank you.”

He didn’t know which one of them said it or if it even existed outside of his decaying mind, or perhaps it was that old friend’s voice that had been haunting him. Regardless, the world resting upon his shoulders felt a little lighter as he fell asleep.

…

When he woke, he had a pounding headache that left his eyes feeling dry and grainy even though he just opened them. Winter’s pale blue light was poking in through the half-boarded windows of the cabin; the dust particles floating through the air looked like snowflakes that had fallen under the roof.

Soap was still there, not having moved through the night and still acting as his pillow. His hands were still gently running through his hair as well, the motion almost making him fall back asleep.

The fire roared on the other side of the cabin and he was covered in blankets, yet he shivered. He dreaded to think how much snow was sure to be on the ground outside.

Ghost sat up but did so grumpily, his mood worsening when one of the several blankets fell and left him just that much more exposed to the cold.

“Good morning.”

The fondness was clear in Soap’s tone. He grumbled back with a glare, unable to think about anything other than how much he wished he was still asleep, and held onto the blankets as he shuffled to the fireplace.

His annoyance at being awake was soothed by the warmth it provided and again he was tempted to fall back asleep. Ghost didn’t remember the specifics of the night prior and he would like to keep it that way. If he didn’t acknowledge it, then there was nothing to be embarrassed by.

Ghost was vaguely aware of a corrupted feeling flowing through his veins; He furrowed his brow, trying to pinpoint what it was.

He felt like he had crossed a malevolent god who placed a curse on him, a curse that made him feel dizzy even as he sat still on the ground and his fingers feel detached as he stared at them. The world around him seemed to move in slow motion, like he was stuck in molasses.

Soap walked over while rooting through his bag.

“You need something to eat, you didn’t eat at all yesterday.”

Ah, he was hungry. That explained it. At least that was an evil that was easy to defeat. He accepted whatever food Soap handed him and ate slowly, taking immense effort to chew every bite.

He still didn’t feel hungry, if anything he felt the opposite, but he did feel a little better once he was finished, even if it took him almost an hour. (It was not because Soap’s smile seemed to brighten every time he took a bite.)

Ghost was slowly coming back to himself but wanted to check on Taxes before he did anything else. When she saw him she whinnied and shook her head; she was just as happy to see him as she was ready for him to pet her.

He obliged, stepping into her stall and looked for where he set her gear as he scratched and petted to her heart’s content. (And was thoroughly reprimanded when he got distracted and stopped; She whinnied loudly, somehow always right in his ear, if his hand stilled for even a moment.)

To his past-self’s credit, he got most things in the right spot, only a few baffling misplacements. Taxes was outraged when he fully stepped away, but calmed down when he gave her breakfast.

He was shaking out her blanket when Soap exited the cabin with his bag looking much fuller than it had the day prior. Several blankets stuck out the top, too full to close.

Ghost shook his head, not wanting to think about whatever the god of death had filched from a stranger’s cabin. Soap stayed outside the stall, passing his bag over silently and watching him as he prepared to head out again.

As he expected, the bag was much heavier than it had been when he left. Looking at how much was in it, he had an errant thought about Soap not seeming like the thieving type and a realization crashed over him. Perhaps there was a reason why the god of death was able to lead him to this particular and particularly vacant cabin.

He suddenly decided not to dwell on why Soap led him there.

Taxes was still eating so he took some time to himself, pulling everything out of the bag and organizing it, both to take inventory and to make everything fit.

He didn’t know where he was relative to the shitty map he had, but based on the temperature difference, he probably made enough progress yesterday to reach the fort before nightfall. He would have to wait until he was on the road to find landmarks that he could use to orient himself and plot a proper course.

After some deliberation, he took the book and put it in an inner pocket of his cloak; he didn’t want to risk anything happening to it in his bag. He spent some time shuffling all of the items, finding an odd amount of comfort in the control he had from simply organizing his own bag.

He felt a smidge of happiness when he got all of it to fit in a way that still allowed the bag to close, an impressive feat considering just how much shit Soap grabbed. A smidge of happiness that weakened when he realized that he couldn’t stall any longer and would have to set out again.

…

He would never admit to anyone, not even himself, how relieved he was when Soap got on behind him and wrapped his arms around him. It was a mirror of a position they had found themselves in before, but this time it felt different. It no longer felt like Soap was worried about falling or trying to warm him but he couldn’t put his finger on what exactly it was.

It’s called a hug.

He rolled his eyes at the little lying voice and was glad Soap couldn’t see his annoyance at the nuisance that decided to chime in again. Because he was wrong. It wasn’t a hug. Soap, the god of death, was not fucking “hugging” him.

(His cheeks burned at the thought but he did not pull away from the touch.)

Soap wouldn’t be able to stay for long. Ghost had of course noticed the pattern in his visits; They were always fairly short and rarely lasted more than a few hours. And while his memories of the day prior were shot to shit, he knew the god must have pushed well beyond his limits.

The realization that he forgot to give Soap an offering made him want to hang his head in defeat. It was the only way he had to thank Soap for all that he’d done or to provide compensation but he was too absorbed in himself to even give the god a flower.

He had never felt like he owed anyone an explanation for why he was the way that he was, but… Soap owed him nothing and gave him everything. The least Ghost could do was give an excuse a reason for… just… everything.

Ghost took a long time to focus on his breathing, in and out, refusing to repeat yesterday.

“I used to be a fighter in the arena.”

Such few words yet he felt like he just gave an entire speech. It was a pitiful excuse for the amount of blood on his hands. He was too lost in his head to see if Soap reacted.

It wasn’t a well kept secret, but the legends surrounding his nickname had grown murky over the years; He didn’t know if people had truly connected the dots between the famous deadly gladiator and infamous deadly soldier under the same name.

“We needed money, seemed like an okay decision at the time.”

He suddenly felt like he had to defend his younger self’s actions, as stupid as they were.

“I knew it could and would probably kill me, but it — dying in battle, it sounded more appealing than starving.”

This is unnecessary. Stop trying to make him feel bad for you.

He continued. He could feel tears pricking at his eyes at the memory.

“My mother begged me not to, but it was the only work available and I couldn’t sit back and watch. So I signed a contract.”

Once he started talking he couldn’t stop himself. Years and years of bottling everything up was finally spilling over and Soap wasn’t the one who needed to hear it, wasn’t the one who deserved to have all of his grief dropped on, yet he didn’t shut up.

If he wanted you to stop, he’d have said something.

“It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be, at first. There weren’t many fights and they paid well, most of them weren’t to the death or anything like that. I… couldn’t really leave the arena, but it got money to my family so I didn’t care.”

Ghost paused, reminiscing on when things were easier. Soap rubbed his thumb in small semi circles on his arm. Ghost tried to focus on the touch.

“A sponsor didn’t like that I beat his favorite fighter and lost him some money. So he—”

Ghost’s voice cut itself off. He forced himself past the emotional mess his brain was becoming, or tried to.

“He had someone— I didn’t— No one—”

Gods, fucking pull yourself together.

He almost choked on the lump in his throat that he had tried to ignore and coughed.

Just breathe.

“He got caught and they decided death by gladiatorial combat was appropriate. It didn’t make me feel any better; It didn’t bring them back. I signed another contract. I—”

Soap doesn’t want or need to hear this. Shut. Up.

He lost track of where he was or whatever other woes he wanted to force Soap to listen to. He hadn’t explained anything. So many words used and yet nothing of value said. There was no amount of rambling that could make it come across as a sound decision — that could make him look like anything other than a deranged monster in denial.

“The general saw me fight one day. Gave me a better offer.”

You aren’t forcing Soap to do anything. You think he’s kind? Then he’s happy to listen.

“It… wasn’t much different. But the bars were gone. The shackles too. I got to watch the sunset for the first time in years.”

He was having a rather difficult time trying to talk in between arguments with himself.

Soap pulled that same magic trick he had that night of the bar fight and inexplicably managed to hold him closer, somehow squeezing without feeling constrictive. He felt stupid for how much comfort he found in it.

And what have you done to deserve the kindness he gives you? Have you even thanked him?

Ghost shook his head.

“I’m sorry, I—”

His voice broke, saving him from sounding like even more of a fool.

Soap was there out of necessity. Nothing more, nothing less. Ghost lost his mind following a trail to a cabin. He was not sticking around “out of the kindness of his heart,” or whatever other lie Ghost had unwittingly convinced himself of.

Soap was there because if he wasn’t, Ghost would have gotten himself killed, and that was that. He was stuck there until Ghost came back to himself and stopped spilling his fucking life story as some pitiful excuse for why he’s not a monster.

And now he’s spiraling, again, and proving that he couldn’t be trusted with the simple task of delivering information. Gods above and below, he’s a fucking joke.

Soap is currently fucking hugging you, you oblivious bastard!

Ghost thought back to the bar fight again, the way Soap clung to him, worried about—

What part of ‘being worried about falling’ would lead to someone leaning their head against the other’s shoulder? Or caressing their fucking hand?! He’s half a damn inch and one impulsive decision away from kissing you!

Ghost really fucking wished that the dead man’s voice would fucking stay dead.

Fuck you.

In spite of the absolute fuckening the past two days had been, he huffed a small laugh.

“I had a… a friend— my cellmate, actually. He was the only thing that… that kept me going a lot of the time. We’d patch each other up, laugh and joke, remind each other that there was more out there. We always talked about what we’d do when we got out — we were gonna stick together and become mercenaries… ‘heroes for hire’ he always said.”

He laughed wetly, the tears coming back even as he reminisced on long, pained nights made bearable by stupid jokes and drawn out fantasies of the world that lay behind the bars of their cell.

“He…”

His smile waned. Ghost took a deep breath.

“He didn’t make it. Took an attack that was meant for me and paid for it.”

Ghost shook his head again and got back to the original point he wanted to make.

“I can hear his voice now. I don’t know what or how, but I guess getting close to the god of death has unexpected side effects.”

An embarrassed flush ran to his cheeks at his own poor wording, one he was glad Soap couldn’t see.

“It started under that overhang. Ever since, he pops in every now and then, usually to make fun of me or offer advice while calling me names.”

Ghost felt Soap smile against his shoulder.

Ghost smiled as well.

“He likes you, thinks you’re nice.”

It was one hell of an understatement, but he had a feeling that confessing, ‘the voice of my dead friend won’t leave me alone and he thinks you want to kiss me,’ might make things awkward. He didn’t want to make Soap think that he mistook his kindness for romantic advances.

Oh my fucking gods.

Ghost almost laughed aloud at his annoyance.

Soap asked, “What is his favorite color?”

The present tense didn’t slip his notice but he didn’t feel like diving into what the hell that meant. It was the first thing Soap had said since they hit the road.

Ghost smiled. He answered with a griefed laugh, “Brown, like a freak.”

Soap hummed. After a short pause, he leaned forward somewhat and inadvertently pulled Ghost back. Ghost looked at him with a raised brow, but as per usual he was undeterred and stared at him ruminatively.

Rumination complete, Soap fell back to hugging holding him with his cheek against Ghost’s shoulder. He quietly commented, “I think I’d be inclined to agree.”

Ghost rolled his eyes and scoffed playfully, “‘Course you would, freak.”

#And they were cellmates #Ghost is the cat wailing in the cat carrier on the way to the vet and #Soap is the owner covered in scratches trying to comfort him while also crying #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #ghoap god type au #forgotten death au

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violenciorp · 4 months

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What if...? The Super Soldier Serum doesn't work and Steve doesn't become Captain America?

There is a 'What if…?' inspired (?) game ("""immersive story""") on the apple vision now. I have not played it (who the hell would buy an apple vision lmao) but I watched some lets plays (on youtube) and while I don't think the full experience is…. all that great, it does look very nice, seems congruent (canon-compliant?) with everything else from the What if...? show, AND there is a Steve plotline featuring Bucky, Hydra, Red Guardian and kinda Red Skull that has some interesting plot points that I feel are interesting both as character studies or as AU starting points, so I'll summarise and provide some badly screenshoted pictures as evidence 🥲 I'll put this under the read more just in case soemoen here does have 3.5k for useless equipment and wants to experience the 'game' themselves.

Basic set up of the little interactive experience/game; You get recruited by the Watcher to collect all infinity stones for… reasons, and to do that, you get zapped around different multiverses. To collect the power stone (purple), you get put into Siberia, where you learn the following: During the second World War, the allied forces tried to create a supersoldier to put a stop to the Nazis/Hydra -- just as they did in our universe

Unforunately, though, shit goes wrong, the serum doesn't work, and the machines explode, so that Steve doesn't become the hunk of a man we know and love but… well, red skull.

Don't get me wrong, he's still a good guy, but, in his own words: 'The allied forces had an ideal vision of a super soldier -- and that wasn't me.'

They basically didnt use them as propaganda because he's uggo now, lmao. Without touring as a motivational piece doing little shows, though, he also never really becomes Captain America.

And without a force to put their bundled hopes in, the allied forces fall apart, and Hydra wins (!) without a super soldier to stop them.

The timeline gets more fuzzy now, it is not clear to me if some/most/all of the events are meant to be happening at around WW2 time, or much later. 'Siberia 1988' was thrown around, but I'm honestly not sure if it's meant to be the date, or just some reference. However, one character shows up significantly aged at the end of the show, so it actually might be 1988, implying that Hydra did rule most of Europe (?) for 30-40 years. Either way, Hydra does start creating Super Soldiers using the purple Infinity Stone, the Power Stone. Steve, either on a solo-mission or sent by Shield (unclear), goes to Siberia to retrieve the stone, that is guarded by Red Guardian. Red Guardian refuses to give the stone to Steve, as 'the powers of the stone make monsters out of men', using it is "nothing to be proud of" and 'you don't look like scientist. you don't sound like scientist… well, uh… no, you have skull for face' (literal quote, lmao, love it), so they fight.

Steve looses the fight, BUT --- sees Bucky in one of the tanks, before he has to flee the scene, as he is just about to get his ass whooped.

Wanting to save his friend, Steve now helps you to collect all the stones, yadda yadda, intergalactic multiverse bullshit happens, blabla, i dont care. Once you do collect all the other infinity stones with some other marvel characters, there is a bit of a twist, a big showdown, and then you have two choices: Either, you give each hero the stone that they were after, or you "do the right thing" and destroy the stones.

If you go for the good ending and destroy the stone, Steve goes back to his universe. Without the stone being there to create all these Super Soldiers for Hydra Steve and Red Guardian team up to free Winter Soldier Bucky.

and together they form a 'nation-less alliance of superheros' to fight some bad guys which the red guardian calls the… musketeers.

[[It is unclear to me where Steve got a shield, considering that he absolutely didn't have one up to this point. I also wonder if 'nation-less' means that Steve rejects being an American here? Red Guardian not being American makes sense, Bucky not easily being allowed to return also makes sense with all the war crimes he committed, but I do like the idea of Steve doing the right thing here leads him to be a lot less patriotic than in our canon.]]

However: If you do give Steve the infinity stone, he brings it to SHIELD ---- which seems to be represented by the aged What if? model of Howard Stark from the second season of the show, making me believe that it might in fact be playing in 1988 --- which does lead the US to win the war against HYDRA, but also "unleashes the super soldier threat back home" with there being hundreds of supersoldier chambers being shown.

I'm assuming the implication is that shield = hydra or maybe just super soldiers = bad no matter where they are? Interestingly, there is no more mention of Bucky in this ending, so I guess Steve was too busy acquiring world domination or something to still care about him. Considering that Howard is his old-model here, this does imply that Steve only retrieves the power stone by the late 80's. Not sure what he has been up to for the 40 years until then -- was he also somewhere frozen? Do red-skull-supersoldiers just not age? --- but it does imply that Hydra was (openly!) in control of at least most of Central Europe for this entire time period, before the US finally had a chance to beat them.

They are definitly using the same models/assets as in the TV show, so I do wonder if we will see some of these elements in the next season, too, considering they already announced an episode featuring Bucky and Red Guardian. Overall, while I feel like it doesn't really fulfill the criteria of a good interactive game/experience, I found this plot line quite interesting, and having the serum fail Steve, and he therefore nor being the Golden Boy and rejected by the allied forces, plus the potential 40-year long rule of Hydra are super intriguing to me. Bucky and Red Guardian also not being created by the serum, but by the powers of the infinity stone also seem like an interesting starting point for some musings, AUs and fics. I also wonder what Hydra had been doing with Bucky for those 40 years for Steve not having known/heard about him in the mean time. Ie. if someone writes fanfic based on this, please send it to me haha. Or TL; DR: It's basically a "What if Steve was ugly?" (in the words of @tinaxpow )

#marvel #what if #mcu #steve rogers #bucky barnes #captain america #red guardian #alternative timeline #red skull #hydra #we love uggo steve in this house

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nicoline1998enilocin · 1 year

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Living our 'perfect' life | Part 2

PAIRING | Husband!Loki Laufeyson x Wife!Female!Reader

WORD COUNT | 2.4K

SUMMARY | Loki created a fake reality to be back with you, and he is absolutely delighted to have you back by his side. SHIELD isn't all that happy with his shenanigans, and when you find out about his plans too, you try to convince him to let you go for good. He doesn't take this lightly and when he loses you again, he completely spirals out of control as he tracks down the Darkhold to destroy anything and everything he possibly can.

WARNING(S) | This is your official trigger warning. Do not proceed if any of these topics upset you. Pregnancy & birth (non-explicit), slight gaslighting, an emotional goodbye, pretty major angst, little bits of fluff, Dark!Loki near the end.

A/N | This is part 2 of the request from @glitteryeggalmondherring, and it is important that you have read that one before reading this, otherwise this part won't make as much sense. Thank you for your amazing request and I'm hoping I could do it the justice it deserves! 🖤

Likes, comments and reblogs will be very much appreciated 💜

Main Masterlist | Loki Laufeyson Masterlist | Part 1

Loki couldn't possibly be happier than he is at this very moment. He got married to the love of his life, and now you're pregnant with two of his babies. When you found out that you're expecting twin boys it was a bit of a shock at first, but now the two of you are happier than you ever thought possible. ''So, what are we going to name them?'' you ask them as the two of you are walking through a store filled with all the baby stuff you could even dream of and more. ''I was thinking of giving them human names, so they would have that in common with you. Their last names are automatically going to be 'Lokison', so that way we have the best of both worlds!'' he says and you nod.

''Makes sense, but that doesn't answer my question,'' you said with a soft giggle. Loki could never get enough of hearing that, and he softly squeezed the hand he was holding as a sign of his love. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he pulls you in for a little kiss, but your belly is in the way so it isn't as easy anymore. You're almost 7 months pregnant at this point, and seeing how they're two big guys, you're stretched pretty far already and kisses become less easy, but that doesn't mean the two of you don't kiss anymore. Oh no, ever since you got pregnant, Loki has gone almost feral in the bedroom and has to touch you whenever he can, wherever he can.

''What about Steven and James?'' you say, and Loki thinks about it. ''Are you wanting to name our kids after Captain America and the Winter Soldier?'' Loki says, and your face immediately turns sour. ''Why wouldn't I name the boys after them? The two of them are heroes and not to mention, they were some of my best friends! Besides, Bucky wasn't the Winter Soldier anymore when I met him,'' you pout, and Loki gives in. ''Okay, fine. We can name them after Steve and Bucky,'' he sighs because he knows he won't win this war.

The two of you picked out everything you needed for the nursery and took it home, wanting to get started sooner rather than later. When you were sitting in the rocking chair Loki got you as soon as the two of you found out you were pregnant, someone knocked on the door. ''I'll get it, you can stay here and sit pretty, darling,'' he says and you smile happily, not having to get onto your feet is an absolute blessing right now. When Loki opened the door he pretty much tried to shut it right away when he saw who was in front of it. Nick Fury was standing there with 2 SHIELD Agents, and he had a slight feeling about where this was going. It wouldn't end well in whatever way he would spin it, so he would very much like all three of them to leave them alone.

''Oh I don't think so, Laufeyson,'' Fury said when he tried to shut the door in his face again, without luck. ''We're here to talk, and if you just cooperate everything will be fine, and there won't be any more people hurt than you have so far,'' he says in a stern tone. Loki decided to just make a run for it and quickly turned around and upstairs, to where you were sitting in the nursery. All he cares about is you, and your twins of course. The three men are behind him but Loki is quick enough, shutting the door with his magic and sealing it so they can't get in. He grabs you and holds you close, consoling you as you sob softly, not sure what's happening but scared nevertheless.

They keep banging on the door and trying to barge it down, but Loki's magic is strong enough to keep it upright, and he just holds you close, whispering sweet nothings into your ear the entire time to calm you down. After about an hour and a half the three men go away and leave the two of you alone, but they're coming back with a lot more force later. Right now the two of you are just together, and you're perfectly content with that. ''Loki, why were those men trying to beat down our door...?'' You ask him, but he doesn't want to tell you.

''No reason darling, I've got everything under control right now. It's nothing you have to worry your pretty head about,'' he says, giving you soft kisses on your forehead. The fact that you feel cold to the touch is something Loki doesn't mind, he hasn't ever since he got you back. All he cares about is you, and the fact that he finally gets to live the life you have fantasized about countless times. “I love you, darling, as long as we’re together everything is going to be okay,” he says, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Love you too,” you sigh into his chest, and your eyes are slowly falling shut from exhaustion.

Fury made true to his promise and came back again a few times, each time with no luck, but it was starting to wear you out at this point, especially with the way your pregnancy was progressing. Carrying one baby was already difficult, but you’re carrying double the amount of babies, so you also suffer from double the exhaustion. At this point, you’re about 7 months pregnant and you’re on complete bedrest, with Loki doting on your every need. He doesn’t mind because he loves taking care of you in every single way, so this comes naturally to him. However, when you wake up in the middle of the night with the world's worst cramping, Loki jolts awake, worry etched into his features.

“L-Loki, please! I think I’m in labor!” You pant and in an instant he’s on your side of the bed, ready to go to the hospital. “It’s okay darling, you and the boys are doing so well for me,” he says as he jumps into some clothing and helps you into a flowy dress before grabbing your hospital bag, right now you’re glad you packed that a while ago so it was ready to go in case your boys came early. In no time you’re in the car and on the way to the hospital, where you are immediately checked into the labor & delivery ward. It is a smooth labor - it’s Loki’s perfect world after all, and he doesn’t want you to be in pain or uncomfortable.

A few hours later you’re both holding one of your beautiful sons in your arms, and they are almost replicas of Loki. They both have jet-black hair, pale skin, and those gorgeous blue eyes that melt your heart every single time you look into them. And now you’re heart will melt three times as fast when you’re looking into them. “They’re beautiful,” you sigh and Loki agrees. “They are, and they’re ours,” he says with a big smile on his face. You have to stay in the hospital for a few days but once you’re allowed to go home, you couldn’t be happier. You have the love of your life and two beautiful sons. Life is pretty fucking perfect at this point.

But that feeling won’t last, however. SHIELD found out that Loki has created children in his reality, and it throws the entire universe out of whack. Not only should the reality not exist, the boys should never have been born either. When they have been home for less than a month, SHIELD is breaking down the door, but much to their chagrin, no one is home. Loki took you and the boys on ‘vacation’, or that is what he told you, at least. You weren’t entirely sure why, but you weren’t complaining because the four of you were very happy in your slice of heaven for the time being.

~ A few months later ~

The boys are growing like crazy, and enjoying every little bit of attention they can get, but you're getting increasingly suspicious nowadays. You've noticed that something is off about Loki, but you can't quite place your finger on why exactly, so you finally decide to bring it up to him. ''Loki, I know this might sound crazy, but why are Steven and James the only kids in Westview? I haven't seen any in all the time I've got you back...'' you say with uncertainty laced in your voice. ''You must be mistaken, dollface, they're all just sleeping right now! I think you've been so busy with our angels that you just don't notice them,'' he says, trying to sweet talk you out of knowing the truth, finding out about what he has done.

Your suspicion doesn't waver, however, and you bring it up more often, each time hearing the same excuse, and you're feeling like something must be wrong with you. Something must be wrong in your brain or the way you see the world because you trust Loki... right? Finally, every single piece falls into place when Fury and his men come by again, but this time you happen to be in the kitchen, and you can overhear their conversation. ''...asking for the last time, Laufeyson. Stop this or we will make you stop it!'' is all you heard and your suspicions were confirmed. This isn't real, you aren't alive and your boys never really existed. It is all a twisted reality Loki made up when he lost you.

She can't take it any longer and steps into the hallway where Loki is talking to Fury. ''Loki, you should listen to them. What you did isn't healthy for any of us, but mostly not for you,'' you start as you take his face in your hands, cupping them softly as you look into his eyes. ''Please, I need you to listen to these men, they only want what's best for you,'' you plead, but Loki doesn't want to hear any of it. He shakes his head slightly as tears roll down his face. ''Please, don't make me do this, Y/N, I can't go through this again,'' he says as he pulls you into a hug, holding you tight against his chest.

''I know you can, Loki. Because I promise I will find you in the next life, and every life after that one. We will always be together, but we can't be together like this. I'm not real, your boys aren't real, and this isn't healthy for you. Loki, it hurts me to say this to you, but you have to let me go. You are stronger than you think, but you're causing everyone around you so much pain,'' you tell him, now softly crying too. At least now you get to say goodbye to him, unlike the last time, when you were ripped out of life so suddenly during the war against Thanos. ''These months we shared were nothing short of perfect, but it has to end. I'm sorry to tell you, but it does,'' you say, and Loki squeezes his eyes shut to keep himself from crying again.

''I can't, darling, I really can't lose you-'' he says again, but you interrupt him. ''YES, you can! You are way stronger than you give yourself credit for! But at least now you get to say goodbye to me. This time I won't be taken from you like last time,'' you tell him and in less than a second your lips found his, giving him a soft and tender kiss. Your goodbye kiss. The last one you'll ever share, and as much as it breaks your heart to see him like this, you know it's for the best that he lets you go. ''You can say goodbye to the boys too if you want. They love you so much,'' you say as you pick both of them up. When he hears the little giggles coming from them he completely breaks.

He falls onto his knees in defeat, feeling like he lost everything all over again. ''I'm so sorry for every bit of pain I've ever caused you, and I wish I could take it all back,'' Loki sobs, tears staining your cheeks now too. ''I love you so much, Y/N, and even though it will hurt me more than anything, I will do it for you,'' he says, and slowly his magic starts to weaken, and the reality he created around all of you fades away. ''We love you, Loki, and I promise we will go and find you in every single lifetime after this time,'' is the last thing you say as Loki watches you, Steven, and James fade into nothing too. Sobbing uncontrollably, he whispers ''I will always love you, darling. In every lifetime, I will find you,''. It's the last thing he says before he gets taken away by Fury and his men.

~ 10 years later ~

Living without you again was absolute hell for Loki, and he changed completely. Where he used to be a loveable goofball, he has turned into the complete opposite, wreaking complete havoc wherever he goes. He has been on the run for a few years and is on the hunt for the Darkhold, which proved to be harder than he thought. He never got over the fact that he lost you again, and his mental health also rapidly declined. Falling into a deep depression and trying to end it multiple times, all without success, has led them to where he is now. Outside an abandoned building in the middle of nowhere, supposedly the place where the Darkhold is being housed.

He walks in and much to his surprise, the leads weren't wrong. There it lies in front of him, the book he has been desperately searching for, ready to be taken and used. He picks it up and lets out a maniacal laugh at the feeling of it. Finally, he can create a new reality where he is the leader, where he will have you and his sons, and where no one will ever try and stop him. With this book, he knows he's stronger than anyone in the universe, and he can't wait to get started. It doesn't take him long to create another reality, and there you are, right back by his side. The boys are on either of your sides, one next to you and one next to Loki. ''Welcome home, darling. I missed you,'' is all he says before taking your hand and walking into your new reality. Together.

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