#but like anyone going into the tag of full metal furies already knows what the game is right? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

comfortbucky · 3 years

Note

Hey! Can i request a cold, lonely ex-hydra reader × bucky who falls in love with her. Adding some panic attacks and nightmares of the reader.

i love this idea!!! thank u for submitting🥰

𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻 𝗶𝗻𝘃𝗶𝘁𝗲 ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ ｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚ ⋆

pairing: avenger!bucky x ex-HYDRA!fem!reader

tags: enemies(?) to lovers, angst (if u squint), soft!bucky

warnings: canon level violence, description of injuries, blood is mentioned, panic attacks, anxiety, nightmares

A/N: i just came up with a random name for the HYDRA leader the reader is after🤣 so just ,,, ignore // also!!!! i tried out a different writing style than what i’m used to! hope u don’t mind🥺 just been feeling like a lot of my writing is the same and wanted to try something new!!!

word count: 3.5k (this is so long LMAO sorry 😭 literally why am i like this)

my masterlist!

completed requests!

The suit that you once considered a second skin, now felt uncomfortable and constricting, like a python squeezing the life out of you. Although, it made sense since the very organization of the uniform you were wearing did exactly that.

HYDRA.

For so long you were just another mindless pawn to them, just doing without every actually thinking. Unlike your younger brother, Alex. They indoctrinated him as well, getting a hold of both of you from a young age, but he was there when Captain America took down S.H.I.E.L.D. and it changed his entire worldview. You found everything he said about “freedom” to be stupid, naive, and dangerous. And you would later prove yourself correct.

You pull yourself from your thoughts as a group of HYDRA soldiers walk past the shrubbery you hid behind. Quickly and quietly, you get up and join them as they march towards the HYDRA base. As soon as you get inside, you manage to slip away from the rest of the group to search for your target.

Since HYDRA took the possibility of you ever having a normal life away, as far as you were concerned, your only purpose in life was to kill the man who was at the center of it all, Viktor Cross. And after months of tracking him down, formulating the perfect plan, that’s exactly what you were going to do today.

You make your way towards one of the main lab facilities, gun in hand when you see several unconscious guards lying on the floor in front of you. Shifting your gaze up, you see that the door has been ripped open, grip marks on the sides.

This was not part of the plan.

As you squeeze through the open door and enter the lab, you come to a halt, frozen in shock. There’s your target, Viktor, shoved against the wall by none other than Captain America himself. You almost let out a chuckle in disbelief at the irony of the situation. Instead, you take a step forward, and the glass cracks beneath your feet, alerting the men of your presence.

Shit.

Immediately, both sets of eyes are on you. Viktor’s lips curve into a smirk as you make your way to them.

“Agent- Miss Y/N,” he corrects himself. “What a pleasant surprise.” You ignore him and look to address Steve Rogers, AKA Captain America.

“Let him go and give him to me,” you start, Steve eyeing you cautiously. “So I can kill him,” you snarl, quickly turning to Viktor to see that his smirk had been wiped off his face.

“Aren’t you HYDRA?” He questions, nodding to your suit and eliciting a cackle from Viktor.

“Not anymore,” you mumble, before lifting a leg to kick Steve in his side. You hit him across the face with the end of your gun for good measure. He stumbles over, giving you enough time to grab Viktor’s collar, before he falls to the floor, and slam him back against the wall. His eyes are full of desperation and you felt nothing but pure, burning rage. You shove the barrel of your gun under his chin and place your hand on the trigger.

“You were such a gifted agent, Y/N. Don’t throw away such potential, come back.”

“Go to hell.”

Before you could pull the trigger, a force propels you to the ground and you feel a sharp pain in your side. Silence and then ringing fills your eyes as you squint your eyes to try and visualize the situation. Your vision is blurry, but clear enough to clouds of smoke engulf Viktor’s figure as he escapes. A muffled voice from behind you speaks, but you can’t make out any of the words they’re saying. You look down to see red. Just crimson red, staining your abdomen. Hands land on your shoulders, shaking you gently as your vision fades to black.

Viktor is in front of you, the barrel of his gun directed right at your head. He smirks as he moves his hand to the trigger.

“Hail, HYDRA.”

A gunshot goes off, forcing you to shoot up in bed, gasping for air. As you start to regain your senses, you realize you’re surrounded by a group of strangers. Well, not complete strangers, the Avengers to be exact. Part of your job required you to study their files, learn everything about them. You could recite from memory where and when they were born, their greatest strengths and weaknesses. Suddenly, your side starts to burn with pain, and you carefully lean back in bed. There’s an array of wires and tubes connected to you and you hear the rhythmic beeping of various machines. You’re in a hospital, or some sort of medical facility.

“That, is exactly why I said we should use restraints.”

You’re staring at the ceiling when you hear Iron Man, AKA Tony Stark, speak.

“Tony, she lost a liter of blood, she’s not going anywhere.”

Steve appears in your view, looking down at you.

“Hey, you’re okay. You’re safe.”

You shift your gaze away from him. The last thing you expected to come out of this mission was to meet the Avengers, let alone them save you.

Steve sighs, “We’re not gonna hurt you. We wanna find Viktor too.”

There’s nothing he could say that could get you to speak. Your hatred for HYDRA didn’t mean you suddenly liked the Avengers. If anything, they were part of the problem too, so you stay silent.

“Told you, she’s not gonna talk,” Tony quips. From your research, you had come to learn that he was an arrogant man, and his statement only proved you right. “Maybe you should get Manchurian Candidate to come down, give her an ex-HYDRA buddy,” he says sarcastically.

Upon hearing “ex-HYDRA buddy,” you furrow your brows. Maybe it was the lack of blood in your body, but it took you a second to process his words and understand who he was referring to. Your eyes dart back to look at Steve’s but he’s gone.

“I’ll be back.” His voice trails off as he exits the room.

You’re still staring at the ceiling when you hear footsteps return and then several others departing.

There’s only one other person in the room beside you. Without even looking up, you already know who it is. His breathing was slow and steady until you started to shift in bed to reposition yourself. His breath hitched for a moment, before returning back to his normal breathing pattern.

“Killing him isn’t gonna make you feel better.” His comment makes you roll your eyes as you slowly sit up to look at him. There were no logical thoughts in your head, all you could feel was pain and fury. Anger swelled within you, your emotions boiling over.

“That’s rich, coming from the Fist of HYDRA,” you spat out. As soon as the words left your mouth, you felt your stomach drop. It was an unfamiliar feeling, one you hadn’t felt in a while. What was it? Regret?

Bucky’s face fell but he kept his eyes on you. It was a look that made you feel worse, worse than the searing pain in your side.

“I’m not a killer anymore,” he said in a tone so gentle, you felt another strange, new emotion but couldn’t quite label it. You quickly shift gears to avoid addressing the uncomfortable feelings swirling around in your stomach.

“Are you keeping me hostage to lure Viktor in? Because it's not going to work." Bucky shook his head.

"We want..." he trailed off, causing you to tilt your head in curiosity. “We need your help finding him.” You scoffed.

“What do I get out of it?” Bucky’s silence gave you your answer. Shaking your head, you start to disconnect yourself from the multitude of wires attached to you and get out of bed.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself,” he started, as you threw off your blanket and sat on the edge of the bed.

Standing up quickly, the blood from your head pooled in your legs, causing you to feel dizzy. Your head spun and your arms reached out for something, anything stable to grab onto. It was a metal hand. Despite it being cool to the touch, it ignited a heat to rise to your cheeks. You look down and mumble a thank you as Bucky helps you back into bed.

Letting out a sigh, you realize with the condition you’re in, you can’t leave. Definitely not well enough to go after Viktor alone. Shutting your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose, you curse under your breath.

“Fine,” you finally speak, keeping your eyes closed. Bucky nods, even though you don’t see, and you hear him walk off.

After a couple days of rest, you were cleared by Bruce to get discharged. Viktor had gone deep in hiding, making your job to find him a lot harder. Tony had so graciously given you an extra room in the tower, right next to Bucky’s. He was probably the one person you saw the most, purely due to location, and the fact that everyone else cautiously kept their distance from you. It made sense though, since you rarely spoke to anyone and spent most of your time in the lab looking for any clues of Viktor’s location. When you weren’t searching for him, you were training in the gym. Bucky was there a lot too, both of you waking up at ungodly hours of the morning. No words were ever exchanged between the two of you, and yet, there was some level of comfort you felt being around him. Must’ve been an ex-HYDRA thing.

“What’s on your mind?” You walk over to Alex and sit on the edge of the bed next to him. He sighs.

“What if,” he starts, furrowing his brows. “What if freedom is good?” He speaks quietly, fearful of HYDRA listening in on your conversation.

It feels like you’ve got the wind knocked out of you.

“Alex,” you grab him by the shoulders. “What the hell are you talking about?” You’re searching his eyes, trying to understand what’s gotten into him.

“Captain America.” The biggest threat to HYDRA’s existence. He looks down at his hands. “He was willing to risk his life for it. It has to be worth something right?” Alex looks back up to you with a look in his eyes that you haven’t seen since you were children. Uncertainty. You sigh and pull him into your chest, stroking his hair.

“I don’t know, kiddo. Maybe.”

You wake up in a cold sweat, panting. Hot tears fall from the corners of your eyes. It’s the same dream you’ve had for the last week. Although, you wouldn’t consider it a dream necessarily, but it wasn’t a nightmare either. Just a bittersweet memory.

Bucky could tell that something was up with you for the past week. Despite having gone through a bit of therapy, Steve’s idea, the nightmares still came to him. So Bucky was already wide awake when he heard your weeping on the other side of the wall. It didn’t help that he was also a light sleeper with super-soldier hearing. He didn’t know what was causing you to be so upset, but he didn’t want to intrude and ask. Neither of you had spoken to the other since you first arrived.

But this night was different from the rest. Usually, you would flip endlessly through channels on ur TV until you eventually fell asleep, but it wasn’t working this time. There’s a tight pain in your chest and suddenly, you’re suffocating. You rip off your covers and spring out of bed, tripping on your blankets along the way. At this point, you don’t even register the pain of slamming down, face-first on the ground. Panic has taken over your body, tears now streaming down your face. You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping for relief.

He wasn’t planning on doing anything until he heard a loud thud from your room. Immediately, Bucky gets up and arrives at your door. It’s rude to just barge into someone’s room, his mom taught him that from a young age, so he settles on knocking. You don’t hear it though, the only sound you hear is the sound of your rapid breathing as you hyperventilate. Bucky hears it too and ultimately decides on inviting himself into your room.

“Y/N?”

You’re lying on your side, curled up in a fetal position with your hands covering your face, when Bucky opens the door. He quickly arrives by your side, kneeling beside you, as he examines you for any injuries.

“Are you hurt?”

You manage to shake your head in response, anxiety still flowing through your veins. Unfortunately, Bucky’s familiar with panic attacks, having had them himself. But he also knows that everyone deals with them a bit differently. Guess he did manage to learn some useful things from therapy.

“Can you try breathing with me?”

He starts to take deep breaths in and out until he sees you start to follow along with him, your hands still covering your face. There’s a part of you that feels stupid for keeping them there, but they help ground you, so you continue to shield your face. After what feels like an hour, but was probably only 10 minutes, your panic subsides. That’s when a wave of embarrassment hits you, realizing that it had been Bucky with you during your panic attack.

Slowly removing your hands from your face, you’re greeted by piercing blue eyes. You blink a couple times, realizing that Bucky had taken a spot on the ground, lying on his side to face you, his hands pressed together under his head like a pillow. He smiles and you feel warm. It’s terrifying, the new feelings that Bucky has caused you to feel and yet, you don’t mind.

“You feelin’ better?” You nod and smile back, something you haven’t genuinely done in a while.

“Thank you, Bucky.”

You stare at each other in silence, lying side by side. There’s no physical touch involved but somehow, this moment, it feels intimate. Bucky breaks the silence.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He speaks in a voice so soft, it almost sounded like a whisper.

It might’ve been the fact that he just calmed you down from a panic attack, but as you looked into his eyes, you felt the walls you had built up for the last year slowly come crashing down.

“He killed my brother,” you reply, maintaining your eyes on Bucky. You searched his eyes for any fear or pity, but all you could find was a look of understanding. His eyes were starting to become a safe place for you.

“Alex was there when Steve took down S.H.I.E.L.D., HYDRA along with it. He wanted out, out of the organization.�� Taking a deep breath, you continue. “Word got around about a “rat,” so I took the blame. Viktor was about to shoot me when Alex’s dumbass ran in front of me, sacrificing himself.” You let out a chuckle, your vision getting blurry as tears swelled in your eyes. “He was a goddamn idiot, but he also had a heart of gold.”

As you start to cry, Bucky hesitatingly extends an arm to hover over your body, trying to gauge your reaction. Physical touch was something he struggled with during the beginning of his recovery, and he didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. He’s reassured when you grab onto his shirt and pull yourself closer to him, and wraps an arm around you, his other hand softly stroking your head.

You hadn’t cried like this since Alex died, bottling up all of your emotions to focus on finding the man responsible for his death. But as you sobbed into Bucky’s chest, you realize that your love for Alex had transformed into an ugly, burning hatred for Viktor. He wouldn’t want this. You didn’t want it, at least, not anymore. The only thing you wanted was your brother back, and that was impossible.

Bucky held you in his arms until you fell asleep, listening to the sounds of your slow, rhythmic breathing, dozing off shortly after.

That night with Bucky had softened your cold, hard exterior that you initially presented yourself with. You would willingly spar with Nat in the training room and join the team for breakfast or dinner. Everyone noticed and, while at first thrown off by it, happily embraced it. Especially Bucky.

Initially, he got up to work out in the early hours of the morning as a habit. Now, he woke up to see you. His heart did flips in his chest every time he walked in the gym and saw you. Since that night, you started to acknowledge his presence, turning to smile and wave as he walked through the doors. It was something he looked forward to every day.

During the day, you were focused hard on tracking down Viktor and Bucky knew that. But he also knew he wanted to spend more time with you. He looked for reasons to enter the lab, whether it was offering snacks to you throughout the day or helping Bruce or, even Tony. Anything to see you again.

Bucky realized that there was a deeper, stronger emotion that he felt for you when he would wake up in the middle of the night from a nightmare. The first thing he thought about was you. Specifically, how you were the only thing that could possibly calm him down. Although he’d come in that night to help you with your panic attack, you ended up helping him as well. He hadn’t slept as soundly and peacefully as he did with you. And you hadn’t either. There were several nights when neither of you could sleep and ended up running into each other. It slowly became a routine that would begin in the kitchen, exchanging life stories, and end on the couch in the common area, entangled in each other’s arms.

Tonight you didn’t show up and Bucky panicked. He stared at the kitchen clock. It had been 20 minutes and you still hadn’t shown up. Bucky racked his brain for anything he could’ve done to scare you off, but came up with nothing. It wasn’t like you two had been officially together, Bucky had no idea what you were to each other. All he knew is that he wanted to be with you, always.

You were soundly asleep in bed, passing out as soon as your head hit the pillow. It was a particularly physically exhausting day for you, training with both Nat and Steve.

Bucky was so caught up with the thoughts racing through his head, he hadn’t noticed that his feet had taken him right to your door. He stands there for a moment, silently debating what to do. Grumbling under his breath, he musters up the courage to knock on your door. Right as he was about to turn away and shuffle off to his room, your door opens. You greet him with a yawn and a tired smile.

“Oh, hey Bucky.”

He looks at the bags under your eyes and feels instant regret wash over him, realizing that you weren’t avoiding him, but just getting some sleep.

“Sorry,” he looks down at his feet. You frown and place a hand on his cheek to lift his head up.

“Something wrong?” He avoids your gaze, partially because he’s embarrassed and partially because his cheeks were turning red because of your touch.

“No.” You cross your arms and let out a sigh.

“You’re a bad liar.” It’s his turn to sigh, as he scratches the back of his head.

“You didn’t come to the kitchen,” he lets out, in almost a whisper. It hits you. You were so tired, you had completely forgotten about your nightly tradition. “It’s stupid, sorry. I shouldn’t have woken you up," he mumbles. Bucky begins to walk off but you grab his hand. When he turns to look at you, his brows are raised at your touch.

As you start to speak, you pull him close, facing you. “It’s not stupid.” His hands move to hold your waist as yours move to wrap around his neck. You pause, an idea popping into your head. “I’m kind of tired from training today, wanna just come sleep with me?” He nods and you drag him to your bed, nestling into his arms as he holds you to his chest, his chin resting above your head. You tilt your head back to see him looking down at you. There’s a fluttering feeling in your chest and you smile.

“Just for future reference, you have an open invitation to cuddle with me, anytime.” Bucky chuckles at your offer.

“I’ll keep that in mind, doll.”

Bucky cups your face in his hand and you nuzzle your cheek in his palm. His eyes dart down to your lips before returning to your eyes.

Then, the most delicate, sweetest kiss you’ve ever received is on your lips.

You flutter your eyes open as you both pull apart. He quickly kisses your nose before pulling you back into his chest, speaking softly.

“And you have an open invitation to kiss me, anytime.”

305 notes · View notes

boxboysandotherwhump · 3 years

Text

Dog fight! Dee vs B (part 1)

Oki so me and the wonderful @what-a-whump had our two baby’s B and Dee meet each other at the dog-fights. Thank you so so much for proposing this idea, it was so much fun to write this with you <3

I love our boys together. :3

B and Scott are her baby's and Dee and Sam mine :3

taglist: @ashintheairlikesnow @vickytokio @thefancydoughnut @outofangband

CW: boxboy universe; institutionalized slavery; illegal fighting rings; brief mention of heavy injuries; pet whump

B is dragged up cold metal stairs by multiple handlers. They hold him at a safe distance by catchpoles, thick cords wind around his neck and press into his throat. He bares his teeth at them, bristling with fury as they force him into the kennel blocks

They’d taken his collar and replaced it with a flimsy strip of plastic with a numbered tag attached to it.

“Put it next to the other one.” The order is snapped, a sharp jab of a baton in his spine to keep him moving. He wants his bonded back. He wants Scott. His owner promised he wouldn’t separate them.

Liar, liar, LIAR!

B snarls and lunges at the nearest handler, snapping titanium canines at the air.

“Stupid fucking dog! Get in there!” It takes all of them to shove him into the small kennel run, his feet hitting smooth cold concrete as he stumbles into it. The catch poles are yanked off him. He whirls around to attack and the chain link gate slams in his face.

He roars with frustration, kicking the gate.

“Bring him back!” He growls, pacing back and forth.

Dee pauses mid stretch, watching the newcomer lunge at the gate in a blind fury. That guy will be spent before his fight even begins if he keeps raging like that.

The chain fence’s sharp rattle grates at Dee’s already fraying nerves. Abandoning his warm up, he stands to his full height, all 2 meter 18 of heavy bones and hard muscle.

“First time?” he rumbles, keeping his voice low, almost soft. “Your master will get you after the fight. No need to panic.”

B startles at the voice, jerking his head in its direction. Another guard dog like him. He narrows his eyes, uttering a warning rumble from the back of his throat.

“Who… who are you? I don’t want this… I was being good!”

A wistful sigh escapes Dee’s lips. “It’s not about that here. You fight. You win. Or- “ He pauses, unwilling to think about the consequences of his failure. Of the punishment his bonded would have to endure for his shortcoming. Dee shakes his head, knocking the thought loose. “Just make sure to win. It’s what I’m gonna do.”

B reaches up to push his fingers through the chain link and looks inquiringly at the other guard dog.

“You’ve been here before…” He murmurs. “I… I just want to get my… my bonded back.” He presses his head against the fence. He couldn’t be away from Scott for so long. He needed him close.

“How do I win?”

“Is your bonded gonna watch? Mine is. Master makes him every time. Has him patch me back up, after.” Dee turned to the other man, catching wild frightened eyes with his. “If you're down there, you have to forget that he’s close. Forget all the things you don’t want him to see. Don’t want to be. Just fight. It’s the only thing that counts.”

After a moment's hesitation Dee grabs his shirt hem and pulls it up, revealing a long twisted scar roping up his torso. Countless scars wind their ways through his skin, twisting him into a grotesque caricature of the man he once was. He still feels shy about every single one of them. Even after all this time, they’ve never stopped aching. “Got pushed against a broken fence my first time. Down there is no place for hesitation. Or mercy.”

B blinks, horrified at the sight. He had defended his master, he had been loyal to him and he had protected Scott, just like he wanted. So why had he put him here?

He didn’t want Scott to see him like this.

“I don’t know…” He murmurs, restless panicked energy burning through him. He pushes off the fence and starts to pace up and down again.

“Gotta fight… and win… Then I can see Scott again…” He looks up at the other guard dog.

“You… said you have a bonded too?”

“Yeah.” Dee’s voice grows soft, warmth tinging his vowels and shining from behind his mismatched eyes. A spider spins its delicate web between the fence links and Dee's eyes linger without truly seeing her. Not really. Not when all he can think about is his bonded. His sparkling green eyes, only ever truly tender when looking at him, wild blond locks shining under the warm sun, the dimples appearing on soft round cheeks whenever he smiles. It was Dee’s sole purpose to protect that smile. “His name’s Sam.”

Dee’s eyes flit back to B. “What’s your bonded’s name?”

B watches the faraway look in the other guard dog’s eyes. He could almost smile, knowing that feeling. He thought the world of Scott too.

“He’s… well the master calls him Pet… But… But his name is Scott.” B’s voice lowers to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s his true name, I keep it safe for him.”

Breath halting Dee steps closer to the fence, lifting his hand to touch it but thinking better of it at the last moment, he had seen other guard dogs maim one another before the official fights had even begun. His voice drops into a whisper: “What do you mean? Like, his name from... from before?”

The thought is dizzying and Dee takes another step forward. Drawn in by the irresistible pull of the longing for his own name, his past, his truth. Dee’s whole attention zeroed in on B. “He can remember? How?”

B pauses for a moment, wondering whether he had said too much. He should be more careful… Guard Scott’s name like the treasure it was.

“We… he knows my name too. We remembered our names together during training… We know…” He leans closer to the fence, eying the other one. He had never met another guard dog like him before.

“Don’t tell anyone.”

A gentle smile splits Dee’s lips. He shakes his head. “I won’t. You have my word.”

The smile widens into a conspiratory grin. “Nothing compared to remembering, but my bonded gave me a name. Said I needed a proper one. Other than dog.”

He grimaces as the memories of training flood in. Cold white cells and never ending beatings. Shaking that thought off too, he sticks his hand out in imitation of a greeting while keeping the distance of safety between them. “I’m Dean. Or Dee, for short. And you?”

“Dean.” B repeats, his lips twitching into a smile and warmth rising up through his chest. In the low light of the kennels, he watches Dee extend a hand. He imitates them, holding a hand out too but noting the distance between them.

“I like your name… My owner calls me B… I can’t say my real name or my head will hurt.” He says, wincing at the thought of it. “They found us out during training… tried to make us forget. We only forgot our names, not the other’s.”

Dee winces in sympathy but his eye lights up with pride at B’s praise. Sam had picked a wonderful name, he already knows that but hearing it from somebody else sends a warm flutter through his chest. He wonders if Scott was just as precious to B as Sam was to him.

“Like holding the heart of the other.” Dee murmurs. “Take good care of that.”

The crunch of heavy footsteps over concrete cuts B off just as he opens his mouth to reply. Both guard dogs whirl around, eyes fixed on the handlers entering the kennel room. Dee’s eyes snap to the empty catchpoles in their hands. They didn’t come to bring another guard dog in, but to take one of them away.

“230.” One handler barks. “Time to get you ready. Now let’s do this nice and easy, hands behind your back and head down.”

B immediately falls into a defensive posture, bristling and growling at the sight of those damn catchpoles.

The other handler snorts, drawing their baton to slam against B’s kennel. The guard dog lunges forward, slamming against the gate.

“Hey! No baiting the dogs, Marcus!”

“Whatever.”

Dee moves into position without complaint. It was easier to just obey, get this over with and save his energy for the upcoming fight.

Hinges screeching softly, his kennel opens. The handlers storm in and the catchpole's snare draws tight around his neck a second later.

Glancing down at B, Dee wheezes out: “Good luck.”

B utters a low whine, clutching the chain link and shaking it furiously. But it’s useless, they’ve left him alone.

He resumes his restless pacing, up and down the fence line. 5 tiles up, 5 tiles down. Just as he used to during his training. In the cold white room where all he had was Scott.

Voices travel up from the stairwell and B immediately turns to face them, fists raised and posed with the weight through the balls of his feet.

The handlers size him up.

“Get on your knees, hands behind your back like a good dog.”

B doesn’t move, the sound of his snarls reverberating around the walls. He holds his fists up higher. He’s not going without a fight.

“The hard way, then.”

#whump #pet whump #boxboy whump #box boy whump #forced to fight #whumpees forced to fight #boxboys #box boys #boxboy universe #bbu #wru #guard dog #guard dog boxboy #b the guard dog #guard dog dee #dee #pet whumpee #guard dog fights

54 notes · View notes

captainsimagines · 3 years

Text

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Four

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

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

Part 4 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. All trigger warnings will be listed before the chapter. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: reference to past sexual assault (very minimal); misogyny/sexism; mention of Infinity War deaths/Endgame deaths; abusive parental relationship; canon violence; heavy drinking; reference to cocaine use

Word Count: 13,900+

Tony’s Cabin, 2023, 8:56pm

“Uh…”

You and Steve stared at the little girl in front of you, bouncing up and down with excitement as she held up one of Tony’s repulsors, the safety on but pointed right at the two of you. Steve instinctively pushed you behind him, the obvious fact being that a blast would most certainly kill you and not the super soldier himself. You were having difficulty holding in your laughter, watching as the girl kept poking at the metal, awaiting its true power.

“Can I have that, Morgan?” Steve asked, his voice raising ever so slightly to try and seem nicer to the kid.

“Talk to her with your regular voice, Steve. She’s five, not a toddler.”

“Yeah!”

Now you laughed at Morgan’s declaration of approval, still standing behind Steve with your hands braced on his back.

Steve sighed and rolled his eyes playfully, “Alright, Morgan. Can I please have that back? It’s not a toy.”

“But daddy left it for me!”

You smiled at her, “Yeah, but he didn’t expect you to use it so early! Wait until you’re like… ten, then you can look through his things!”

“Y/N, ten?” Steve gave you a bewildered grin, eyes bright and laughter restrained.

“Okay, twelve.”

His shoulders sagged with a heavy laugh. He reached over and took the chance, grabbing Morgan’s wrist softly and ejecting the glove from her small hand.

“There we go!” you cheered, stepping out from behind Steve and scooping her up in your arms. Morgan started laughing loudly, kicking her legs to try and escape your hold. “Ah, don’t kick me!”

You had offered your time to Pepper whenever she needed it. You didn’t expect that she would call so early asking for a huge favor, her husband’s funeral not even four months ago. But you didn’t hesitate and packed an overnight bag, reassuring her that nothing would explode on your watch. On your way out of the temporary safe house, Steve had caught you just in time. A quick question of your future whereabouts and he was joining you, a tiny twinge of guilt in his chest from not seeing Tony’s daughter in so long. He was one of her godparents after all, just after Happy and Rhodey, beating out the third crowned position from Bruce.

He had been hurt by that initially, asking why he wasn’t even considered.

‘Bruce, the first time she comes into your room and stands over your sleeping body to let you know she had a nightmare, you’d scream.’

‘I wouldn’t be angry, just scared!’

‘Okay, after Cap here, you get custody.’

‘Oh, yay. Drafted fourth.’

Steve was happy to go see her on such short notice though, racing back up to his room to gather some overnight supplies as well. But you didn’t think anything of it - it was just a godparent wanting to see his godchild.

“Ouch, that hurt,” you laughed and placed Morgan down in her bed. “Nighty night time.”

“Daddy said he left things for everyone, not just me.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up with curiosity, a sudden interest to know what his gift was exciting him. He had already given him the shield back... but then Thanos broke it. Maybe, another shield? No, T’Challa had already offered to send him a new one.

“Ooo, that’s interesting! I wonder if he got me that pretty bracelet I saw in that department store window that one time,” you gushed, pulling the blankets over Morgan. You fluffed out her hair, smiled at her, and told her goodnight.

“Night night!”

Both you and Steve called out from the doorway of her bedroom, “Night night!”

Several minutes had passed before you brought up the prospect of secret gifts again, knowing Steve was just as interested as you were.

“Want to go find them?”

Steve immediately stood up, clapping his hands together and giddy with excitement. “I won’t tell if you don’t!”

“Deal.”

You searched everywhere - living room, the garage, kitchen cabinets - even racing into the master bedroom, stealthy and secret, shame rising as you carefully picked up items around the room. “This feels like an invasion of privacy.”

Steve chuckled from outside the door, “Hurry up!”

But you found nothing. There was only one more spot to look - his office. You almost didn’t want to intrude any longer, this being his most sacred space, but the mere chance of Tony giving you a gift from the afterlife made you extremely happy. So you and Steve searched, stacking and restacking random papers and pushing away gadgets and books in the bookshelf. Finally, a small opening in the third shelf alerted you of your mission success.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” you cheered, reaching in and pulling boxes and clipped pieces of paper, all different colors and sizes, from the compartment. They were labeled with various names - Rhodey, Pepper, Happy, Clint, Thor, Steve, Nebula, you - and Natasha.

Steve sucked in his breath, his gasp similar to yours. “He got these before…”

“Yeah,” you nodded, handing Steve his labeled box. It was light blue, a white ribbon delicately wrapped around it, and with a cute little red ribbon with Steve’s name on it. It wasn’t big, but it was more than enough.

“Open it,” you said.

Steve shook his head, “Let’s open ours together.”

You agreed to his terms, taking your folder into your hands. It was one of those same art folders you had when you bought some new planners or notebooks. It was black, custom-made it seemed, as it had your name on the front in gold, cursive writing.

On the count of three, you both opened your presents.

Steve pulled out two sets of dog tags from the box, the sound of them clinking together reminding him of the times he would hug his fellow soldiers on the battlefield, cheers of victory mixed in with the smell of sweat and dry blood. He read the names on the metal.

‘Steven G. Rogers

987654320 T42 O

Brooklyn, NY. P.’

‘James B. Barnes.

32557038 T41 42 O

R. Barnes

Shelbyville, IN. P.’

He had not known they recovered his dog tags, faintly remembering clutching them tightly as he flew the plane into the ice. But SHIELD must have kept them for the museum, and Tony had recovered them. Bucky’s, however, were lost as soon as Bucky fell from that train. They were more rusted than Steve’s, almost as if HYDRA kept them underwater or stored for the majority of Bucky’s sentence. But no matter how Tony had gotten them, he was eternally grateful.

“Wow,” Steve said, clearing his throat. But you were too caught up in your reading.

‘Target whereabouts discovered mid-May of 2017. Only T. Stark and N. Romanoff approved for mission.

Transport at 20:00 hours. Target(s) confirmed and exterminated at exactly 0802 Pacific Standard Time.’

You choked on the sob that suddenly broke through, hand instantly reaching up to cup your mouth. Steve put his tags back into the box, shushing you to get you to calm down. “What is it? What’d he get you?”

Four pictures accompanied the short report, each face crossed out with red paint. A tiny laugh escaped and tears of joy started to flow. To say Steve was confused was an understatement.

“He… he got me justice.”

Steve took the file from you, reading over every word to somehow understand what you meant by justice. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration and he looked up at you for more explanation.

You brushed your hair back and rubbed at your cheeks, the smile on your face now straining. Whether it was a sudden change of mind or the closure of your trauma was just that satisfying, you told Steve exactly what Tony and Natasha had done for you.

“After I joined you guys in New York, Fury sent me on a mission to infiltrate and bring back information about this dude my father was trying to literally destroy. But I had to play both sides - the good and the bad.”

Steve set the file down, his full attention on you.

“I got the information but for some reason, it wasn’t enough for my father. I had forgotten to get the most vital piece, something he thought I would automatically know,” you scoffed, your smile faltering at the next part of the story.

“I cost him ten million. And to teach me a lesson, he let these men do whatever they wanted to me. Anything.”

Steve’s breath hitched as he understood what you meant. And it was no longer a mystery why you had been planning to kill him ‘again’ after everyone came back from the snap.

“I returned to the compound in such bad shape. I only told Natasha. She cleaned me up, she took me to med-bay in the middle of the night, she brought me breakfast in bed,” you chuckled at the memory, hand reaching out to hold Steve’s.

“And Tony’s gift was murdering the men that hurt me.”

Steve let a few tears slip himself, his hand gripping yours tighter. “Y/N, if I would have known-”

“Hey, it’s okay. You didn’t know, though. I thought only Natasha knew. She promised me she would take care of it. I just didn’t think she would actually find them.”

“I think we know that Natasha could find literally anything and anyone,” Steve said.

You agreed with his statement, a smile returning to your face.

You jumped from your sitting position and went back to retrieve Natasha’s gift. “Hey, should we?”

Steve eyed the small, black box in your hand. He sighed as he walked over to you, eyes returning to the box.

“It was meant for her.”

You frowned, “Yeah, and I’ll ask Pepper if we can give these to everyone else.”

You paused and shook the box near your ear. It felt heavy in your hand, and the contents gave a little jingle.

“But this one was for Nat. I think she’d want us to at least see it.”

Steve chuckled and just nodded, awaiting the reveal. You pulled the ribbon and opened the box, surprised that Tony had given her a piece of jewelry. “Oh.”

Steve took the bracelet from the box, oblivious that the movement would unlock the charms from their heavy chests. In a matter of seconds, charms of similar size but different designs dropped to encircle the silver band. You inspected them in Steve’s hand - a red/white/and blue shield, Mjollnir, a pair of wings, two arc reactors, a singular arrow, a silver arm, a spider, an emerald heart, the letters ‘W’ and ‘V’ intertwined, a black cat, an ant - and your symbol, an intricately carved silver charm no bigger than your thumbnail, of your face. Tony knew no specific object or symbol was tied with your Avengers status, no one had ever given you one, but this was perfect.

“Wow,” Steve whispered, examining each charm closely with a lazy smile on his face.

“We were her family. This was an ode to that.”

“What do we do with it?” Steve asked.

You just shrugged, “Frame it? It would feel wrong just taking it for myself.”

Steve agreed. Later that night when Pepper returned home, you showed her what Morgan led you to. She let you keep your gifts and take the others, absolutely loving the idea of framing Natasha’s bracelet in the new compound being built.

Present Day, 2025, 8:10 am

The bright light from the open windows hadn’t hit you as suddenly as the random throw pillow that connected to your face, startling you with a quick gasp and causing you to choke on your spit. You snapped up, belly down and hair wild, eyes still half-lidded as you searched for the aggravator. And he stood there with a stupid grin on his face, already dressed in his stupid old man clothes, and stupid blond hair perfectly pushed back.

“What the fuck was that for?” you tried to yell, voice cracking at the end and just the slightest hint of drool threatening to spill from the corner of your mouth.

“I ordered room service. Plus, we have to leave in an hour.”

You grabbed as many pillows as your one free hand could hold, the other still tucked into the pillowcase below your head. You flung them wildly, none actually hitting the super soldier directly. His chuckle pulled a deep groan from you, and no longer wanting to look like a fool, you stumbled out of bed and pushed passed him roughly.

“You could have woken me up the same time you got up.”

“But you looked so peaceful.”

His sarcasm was not helping your souring mood. Steve headed over to the monitors to turn them on, already setting up the morning video chat with Bucky and Sam. “Do you always sleep like a mounted spider?”

You flicked him off, “Leave me alone so I can take my morning piss in peace!”

You slammed the door and made your way to the toilet. Now, you were no morning person. But it was simple enough for you to crawl out of bed with only minimal protest when your awakening was a peaceful one. Having a pillow thrown at your head while mid-dream was practically excruciating and no one, not even the grandest morning person in the world, could possibly awake happy from that. And to top it all off, you couldn’t even remember what you were dreaming of. Just another thing to blame Steve for.

After you had done your morning routine and slipped into a really comfy outfit, the breakfast finally arrived. You muttered a quiet thanks to Steve for ordering your favorites and damn him for knowing you preferred waffles over pancakes and a variety of creamers to choose from, and quickly filled Bucky and Sam in on what the plan for the day was.

You had been on missions with Steve before, but no matter how many times you regrouped in the mornings, you had never actually seen him wake up. After your rude awakening, you wondered at what point during sunrise he opened his eyes - ‘cause you’ll be standing over him with a pillow of your own.

“Torres has the air footage scheduled for around five today, then he’ll link you to the camera for the remainder of the mission,” Sam clarified.

“Is it possible to link earlier?” Steve asked.

“Not unless you can get the Wi-Fi password of the estate.”

You chuckled, still funneling mouthfuls of waffle into your mouth. “So, we can hack the Pentagon whenever we feel like it, but we can’t hack into my father’s estate without the Wi-Fi password?”

Sam cleared his throat, “You are so lucky this is a secure line.”

“Wait until she finishes her breakfast and her head will be screwed back on straight,” Steve joked, taking a long sip from his tea.

Almost immediately, your phone dinged with a new message. You angled your phone away from Steve but your smirk was enough to alert him of a side conversation happening under his nose.

Bucky: Ouch, I wouldn’t mind if you hit him upside the head.

Y/N: he threw a pillow at me to wake me up :(

Bucky: hit him

Y/N: bet

“Stop talking about me over the phone.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Steve grumbled, the rough sound catching Sam’s attention as well. His eyes flashed back and forth between the two of you - Steve desperately trying to catch a quick glance at your messages, and you leaning away from him with thumbs moving at a rapid pace.

“Y/N, how you feeling?”

You put your phone down and pretended to not notice how Steve was trying to get a glimpse of your screen.

“A little queasy, in all honesty.”

A myriad of emotions were present and coiling in your body, each trying to sprout and bloom and gain their five seconds of fame. And for the past several years, it was easy to downplay their true power. Because the power they held wasn’t one of distressing strength, but rather one that tip-toed to the front of your anxiety driven worries. It planted itself there, up front, but ever so silent. For it to finally meet its match, to possibly be freed of such a coil - well, you were more worried about not succeeding in its erasure than its final blooming.

“We’ve come up with a system to make sure we both don’t go overboard or to tell the other that we’re alright,” Steve said, eyes on the monitor but hands loading bullets into your trusty handguns.

“Alright, that’s good,” Bucky spoke, finally. He typed away on his keyboard, “Give us a word we all use in case we need back-up immediately.”

“Mm, you should ask Steve. He loves his safe words.”

Steve rolled his eyes, “Something Avengers related? Or something no one would ever say?”

“Pick anything you want, just don’t let it be awkward to repeat out loud,” Sam joked.

Steve pondered for a few seconds before he settled on his chosen word, a hint of a smile forming. “Widow.”

You nodded, “That’s sweet. She’d like us using her alias for a dirty little safe word.”

You huffed suddenly, shoulder colliding with the carpet, the realization that Steve pushed you from your chair causing you to stare at him with your mouth hanging open. “Hey!”

“Steve, every single day I accept your fate from her murderous hands,” Bucky grumbled, Sam’s loud laugh causing the speaker to give a quick halt of static.

“She’s okay- hey!”

You flew across your chair and onto him, lunging your body as your main weapon in taking him down. You both tumbled to the floor, the sofa chair you collided with scraping along and pushing the coffee table with it. A lamp shattered on the floor right when you wrapped your arm around Steve’s neck and hooked your legs from underneath him and around his waist, his back to your front, both his arms coming up to tug yours out of reflex.

“Yield, you little shit,” you grunted, the grip of your arm remaining loose on purpose but your legs tight, heels now digging into his slim waist.

Steve groaned, both from your pointy heels and the sudden impact his body made with the ground. “I’m letting you win.”

“You seriously got a mouth on you.”

You let him go anyway, choosing to save your strength for the mission and not waste it on a petty little fight. Besides, you could always smother him with a pillow in his sleep.

“You two done?”

Both you and Steve stumbled getting up, faces back in your teammate’s view as you smoothed down your clothing and wiped at your foreheads.

“Now that that’s over,” Sam continued, clearing his throat. “The only task for today is to get a feel of the place, establish a legit backstory providing you some leverage, and to swipe those ID’s.”

“Got it,” you acknowledged, standing again to begin hooking your weapons in discreet locations in your clothing.

“And we’re not responsible for that broken lamp so it’s coming out of your paycheck.”

California really wasn’t like any other state. There was a vast difference from Northern and Southern, the difference being the amount of green fields visible. In Southern California, the mountains and desert areas took up most of the landscape, with an industrial complex here, a growing city there, and then nothing for a good ten miles. Since most of the landscape was below sea level, the atmosphere was almost always dry, modest dust storms forming only to quickly pass a freeway and disintegrate once it found the other side. It was more urban, more lively with people. But Northern California, even if it experienced the same weather patterns as the south, was mostly humid during the winter season. The mountains here were covered in lively agriculture, livestock roamed freely in the gated areas near the freeways, and the overall environment provided a rural look.

And the differences just stood out to you, your excitement for the livestock starting to annoy Steve as you kept pointing out every cow you drove past. He threatened to stop the car and dare you to tip one.

“So, how did we meet?”

Steve chuckled, “We’re coworkers, Y/N. Thought that question was obvious.”

You whined, “Steve, we have to put some drama into it! How about we say we met during one of Tony’s parties after Fury assigned you to this?”

“And what? I asked you to dance?”

You leaned over your seat and poked his arm, teasing him. “Would you have asked me to dance?”

Steve shrugged, “I mean, sure.”

He glanced at you and then back to the road. “Can’t we just be honest? I like the way we met.”

You pouted, “The way we met is a matter of national security.”

“You brought that thing back to an unguarded planet?” Loki seethed, his voice still a whisper as he followed Thor through the hallways of Avengers Tower. A tower he had been prisoner of for a few weeks now, but would soon be released from once Thor decided to return home. Besides, it had been more than a year since his unfortunate attack and after thousands of apologies, brainwashing excuses (which were true!), and quite a few long labor hours equivalent to Midgardian community service, his leash was extended somewhat.

“How am I the more level-headed one right now?”

Thor grumbled in response, now on his hands and knees as he searched for the tiny animal that had already eaten its way through the plush of the interior walls. “It couldn’t have gotten far. And how was I supposed to know the oxygen levels here would cause it to go crazy?”

“You couldn’t. In fact, I don’t know why it’s here in the first place!”

“Keep screaming, Loki. I bet that would make it come to us quicker!”

Loki was about to come up with another quick quip, but was interrupted by a quiet mumble down the hall.

“Oh?”

You rocked back and forth on your heels as you stared at the two brothers - one sweeping the floor on all fours and the other ducked down to scream into his brother’s ear. “Whatcha looking for?”

“Now, don’t be alarmed, Agent. But I may have misplaced my dog.”

“Dog?” Loki tilted his head, hands now cupping the side of his head in disbelief.

Your eyebrows shot up from his reaction, “Not dog?”

“It’s… an animal from Asgard.”

“Okay, what does it look like?” you asked, now more interested than ever.

Thor cleared his throat and rose to his feet slowly, “Like a dragon.”

You stepped back, almost tripping over your left foot. An involuntary laugh escaped from your lips and you brought a hand up to try and stifle it. “You brought a dragon into the tower?”

“He brought a dragon back to Midgard,” Loki clarified as he walked over to the wall and pressed his ear against it.

“Oh, yeah. That’s much worse,” you agreed. “Fury’s gonna shove his foot so far up your ass-”

“Yes, yes. I know what awaits me. Now, help us find it!” Thor begged.

This wasn’t how you expected to spend your first day as an Avenger. After all the training and promoting, the paperwork and oaths, you thought you would have a pretty chill afternoon. Arrive at the conference room, get the name badge and a rundown of your new field suit, and meet the rest of the team. Freshly nineteen and energetic as ever, you accepted this as a test. Find the dragon, make a good impression.

It only took a few more minutes before you three stumbled on an otherwise empty hallway, staring down the colorful creature as it licked one of its paws.

Your eyes widened, “It looks like an alebrije.”

“You have these creatures on your planet?” Loki asked, surprise written over his face.

“Nope, alebrije’s aren’t real. They’re fantasy.”

“Nevermind that, help me catch it!”

Loki began shushing his brother, hands swatting his massive shoulders in the process. You leaned down to the floor and tapped it with your fingernails, hoping the nice gesture would cause the creature to meet you halfway.

“Hey, buddy,” you cooed. “Can you come here please?”

The creature raised its head, colorful eyes on full display. Similar to rings of fire, but face like a fox, and fur as soft as silk. It titled its head, interested for only a second, before it kicked back and rushed toward the three of you at full speed.

“Oh, shit-!”

As he was the closest, Loki pushed Thor to the wall and lifted you from the ground. But before he could throw you out of the way too, the creature leaped. Loki shielded you with his body, wrapping his arms around you and picking you up as the creature kicked his back and sent the two of you flying through wall after wall. Loki was taking the force of it all, his chest angled in a way to protect your head. It was about ten walls you two flew through before you landed in what seemed like conference room B… or C… or A. Loki rolled you over and groaned in pain. You landed on your back, bright lights blinding you as you tried to adjust. Then a figure came into view as your blurry vision cleared.

You blinked rapidly and stared up at your new Captain. You smiled, a bit delirious, and raised your hand up for a handshake.

“Y/N Y/L/N, new recruit!”

Steve just stared, eyebrows scrunched, an expression resembling a scowl and bewilderment painted on his face. He took your hand in his and shook it.

“Forgive us, Captain,” Loki spoke, coughing as he turned over. “But you might want to get that shield of yours.”

“When did we become a couple?” you continued once you agreed on the ‘party meet-and-greet’ as your previous answer.

Now, this was a question Steve was wondering about since before you mentioned the necessity of such answers. Although he didn’t fantasize about being your significant other, he did wonder what possible event could jumpstart it. If anything, and he would take this to the grave, he assumed a line would be crossed during a particularly tempting mission. Bucky had admitted to him that on one mission, and Steve promised to take this to the grave as well, Bucky had to kiss Wanda to keep their cover. The feelings subsided soon after the mission was over, but Bucky confessed to real feelings developing. So if Steve had to bet, a particularly tempting mission.

“When we were searching for Bucky?”

You nodded, “That works. We can say the fall of SHIELD basically led to us to realize how weak the system was and how we could easily manipulate it.”

The road veered off to the side, now dirt and unevenly layered. You checked the directions Torres gave you just to make sure.

“And when is my birthday?”

You didn’t expect Steve to answer so quickly, and to get it right. Perhaps he looked over your file and remembered, because you were certain only your little friend group knew it. It was Bucky, it had to be him, the little shit, he told-

“Surprised?”

“A little. How do you know it?”

“Nat. Who do you think sends you those chocolates every year?”

You were overjoyed, really. “Wha-? Natasha said she did it.”

Steve smirked, “She covered for me.”

“Why?”

“Because for five years after the snap, you and Nat did nothing for yourselves and did everything for everyone else.” He had been witness to the two of you pulling all-nighters, washing the sheets of your fallen teammates as if they were going to return that weekend, celebrating their birthdays in secret with a small candle and a prayer. Moving from the compound and into his own apartment was hard enough, but seeing his remaining teammates wallow in cursed self-determination was worse. So, he asked Nat about your birthday to send you chocolates and a lovely handwritten note, careful to write in a font different from his natural one, and he would fold tiny paper airplanes and leave them around the compound where only Nat could find them, providing her a sense of playfulness in her busy day. Little joys to make up for such an impact.

“If it makes you feel better, I sent gifts to Nat and Bruce, too.”

But because Bruce had no forwarding address at the time, Steve settled for quick text messages here and there.

“And here I was thinking I was special.”

Steve laughed at your statement. He reached into the middle compartment to grab the mics you would be wearing. “By the way, make sure to hide this behind your neck. My mic will blend in as a button.”

You inspected the flat, button-like mic, awed by how intricate their design was. “They connected to Bucky’s?”

Steve clipped his onto his shoulder, the camouflage effect throwing you off. Yup, you loved science. “Yeah, they record everything and immediately send it back already transcribed.”

You unfolded the sun visor and watched how the mic picked up the color of your skin and blended naturally. “Remind me to send T’Challa and Shuri a gift basket.”

“And more.”

The estate was exactly how you remembered it. Modern and simple all at once, a brown exterior to easily blend into the surrounding forest, and massive front gate that only opened with a specific code. You leaned out the window and typed it in. There was no speaker this time, probably evidence of newly installed cameras.

“It’s beautiful,” Steve muttered, pulling into the long driveway and following the brick road.

It truly was. Even from where you were, you could see into the mansion as the walls were all practically made from glass. The walls in the back were normal, however, as that’s where most of the business was conducted. There were no swing doors, only large and heavy double doors made from cooled lava rock. And even though your father was a very organized man, the house was littered in trinkets of all origins: professionally stuffed exotic animals, roman and oriental statues, porcelain eggs, multiple pianos, and first editions of some of the most popular books in the world. There wasn’t any set theme for this house, but it was screaming ‘money’.

Steve parked the car away from the others, careful to leave enough room around it to ensure an easy escape if needed.

“Remember what I said - play the part. Leave the smart mouth to me, they know me. It’s what they’ve come to expect.”

Steve clicked his seatbelt and sighed heavily, “I apologize in advance.”

You gave him a small smile, “Nothing to apologize for, Steve. Like I said, this is a mission. Don’t stress about it.”

He shook his head, “Still.”

The sincere look in his eyes sent a tingle down your arms. You cleared your throat, “I feel dirty saying this, but know your place. You may be a Captain but you’re not manning this boat.”

For some reason Steve felt that he truly needed to apologize in advance. For the past several years, it wasn’t entirely real to him. He had not been directly involved. But now that he was here, parked and staring at you - the one person who had a first hand account of the horrors inside - he needed to make sure you understood he would never actually hurt you, or you him. “I trust you.”

You removed your seatbelt and opened the door, “I trust you, too.”

It was windy today, the ruffles from the trees almost disguising the labor coming from the back. You assumed they were still building the reception area. Steve jogged over to your side and hooked your arm in his, his body tenser than yours. Someone opened the heavy doors, immediately swallowing the oxygen for miles with merely their presence. You couldn’t help yourself from a small grimace, lips spreading into a straight line as you forced any other expression besides hatred.

Seda, standing at barely six foot and a smug look plastered on his aging face that worried even Steve. This was the man that had shot you when he was on the run - the man that would most likely do it again.

Seda quickly stepped down the stairs, “Y/N, so lovely to see you again!”

You let go of Steve to walk ahead, arms extended to match the idea of a grand entrance. “Really? Because the last time we saw each other, you shot me in the gut.”

Steve swore he saw Seda’s upper lip twitch. “You hold too many grudges. I was just following your father’s orders.”

You rolled your eyes and finally came to a stop in front of him, arms crossed over your chest. “Obviously.”

“And I’ve finally got the chance to meet Captain America! You’re much larger in person.”

No matter the acting skills one must obtain for this line of work, it was still obvious Seda was speaking through clenched teeth. He scanned Steve up and down, somewhat intimidated.

It was such a sudden shift, one you obviously knew was coming, but the deepness of Steve’s voice still caused unnatural goosebumps to rise. “I get that a lot. Helps in this business, though.”

Seda let out a low chuckle, “I would think so.” He turned and instructed the two men who had followed him out to reopen the heavy doors. “This way.”

Steve tried not to gawk at the amount of decorations and old-timey artifacts he swore should belong in a museum. So much furniture, so much history that shouldn’t mix but somehow worked. And was that… was that a stuffed polar bear?

“So, how you doing, Seda? Besides the usual,” you asked, hooking your arm back with Steve’s.

Seda walked with his head held high, only tilting his head downward when giving a silent greeting to those who walked by. You tried to memorize faces or see if there was anyone you recognized. But your father barely kept the same team for more than a few years. They either left voluntarily and luckily, or were simply never heard from again.

“Excited for the wedding. Jackeline has been running around nonstop on her finishing touches,” Seda responded.

You huffed out a laugh, “I bet she has. She used to have a scrapbook that outlined six different wedding themes.”

“And I haven’t seen the end of it.”

Only a few more twists and turns and you were finally near the familiar hallway that housed your father’s darkest work. The interior design was purposeful, no windows and no cameras. Steve unhooked your arms, opting for a more formal presentation between the two of you. Seda was difficult to please, but your father was near impossible. Better to not have his hands all over his daughter during their first meeting.

“Hey, what’s the wi-fi password? I’m expecting a few important emails today,” you asked before Seda opened your father’s office door. Steve had to restrain himself from blessing the ground you walked on. Bless you for remembering.

“‘Guadalajara’.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, sending the password to Torres as quickly as you could.

It wasn’t the grand entrance you expected, truly, but you didn’t expect to see your father simply chilling behind his desk signing a few papers. He usually paced, was in a random meeting, or on the phone. Here, he was just… strangely normal.

He looked up, eyes locking with yours for the first time in seven years. “Now, I haven’t seen you since your little weekend trip to Jalisco!”

Yeah, since you had me shot.

Stepping into the office, the smell of cigars was heavy. Musty and daring, enveloping you like the times it did before. But now you had Steve - sweet Steve whose warmth you could feel behind you.

You shrugged, “I’m not traveling much outside the country these days. Too much shit going on.”

Your father stood up and let out a dry laugh, “No lie about that. Seda was telling me how loose the borders were when half the world croaked.”

“Emigration was common, yup.”

He smiled at you, walking over and placing his hands on your shoulders. You did your best not to tense your muscles. “I wish I could have been there. You guys made millions those five years.”

You swore you heard Seda scoff near the corner of the room.

“It’s about time we met! Ernesto Vega,” your father introduced himself, holding out his hand for Steve to take.

It was instant, the change, and you found yourself pushed softly to the side as Steve stepped forward. “Steve Rogers, sir. It’s an honor to meet you.”

Your father was practically beaming, “Y/N isn’t giving you a hard time with all the business, aye?”

Steve chuckled, “None at all. She steps back when asked.”

Okay, maybe he was a better actor than you took him for.

“I can’t believe you even have to ask,” your father hummed, glancing back at you with a disapproving look.

Steve shrugged, “More like ‘ordered.’”

It was scary how easily Steve was making your father laugh. “So, she listens to you? I wonder what that’s like.”

You interrupted, scoffing quietly. “I have literally done everything you’ve asked.”

And without glancing at you this time, your father quipped. “Everything but learn how not to complain.”

You rolled your eyes and met Seda’s stare. He always enjoyed the torment your father caused you. When he ordered you do something sketchy and you objected, Seda always had a front row seat to the slaps and harsh language spit in your face. He had a way of bringing up the abuse in almost every conversation he held with you - like it gave him some form of sick satisfaction.

“Regardless of my daughter’s inability to listen, I was still surprised when she named you as her partner.”

“The whole hero game was getting boring. I needed excitement.”

Your father agreed, “Don’t we all?”

Before he continued, he squinted his eyes at Steve and scanned him once more. Almost like he was double checking his initial choice.

“And you’re fine with breaking the laws of the country you’re the mascot for?”

“America has changed over the last hundred years. Trust me, I should know.”

Steve was answering exactly how you two practiced. You couldn’t help the small tinge of pride that it ignited.

“Oh, I can’t believe you’re older than me. I mean, look at you.”

“The positives and negatives of being America’s science experiment, sir.”

“But here you are now. Working for me.” Your father stepped back to sit behind his desk again. “I’m very happy.”

“Likewise, sir,” Steve replied as he shuffled closer to you, trying to not seem so suspicious. Last time Steve wanted to crawl out of his own skin was when he was barely being introduced to the new world. Times Square really was a concrete jungle, his and Bucky’s old apartment building had been demolished in the fifties, and inflation… don’t get him started on inflation.

“I’d like you to meet my two friends.” Your eyes widened. No, you weren’t supposed to meet them today. You hadn’t planned for this.

“Friends and competition alike.”

You tried to keep your voice steady, “Shouldn’t you warm them up before you invite them in? They’re gonna take one look at Steve and freak.”

Your father motioned for Seda to open the door. “Then prepare your speech quickly.”

Before you or Steve could come up with a game plan, your father called out to the new arrivals. “Amigos! Me gustaría presentarles al hombre detrás de toda mi operación.”

The men summoned were completely different from the last time you saw them. Given you saw Ramirez long before the snap and White even before then, change was destined. Ramirez was skinnier, no more protruding stomach, wrinkles almost nonexistent and eyes lively. He hadn’t disappeared with half the world, but one of his daughters did - so getting her back definitely helped his overall health. White, on the other hand, aged overnight. His hair was now gray, eyelids sullen but eyes wide, and his nose was tilted awkwardly, like a surgery to counteract the powder he sniffed. You couldn’t remember if he was dusted or not.

“Tienes que agradecer a mi hija por esto.”

He did not just give you credit for this.

“No fucking way?” Ramirez spoke, almost like he was out of breath.

Curse your father for not preparing these two. You quickly reminded yourself where your gun was hidden in case things got out of hand.

White stepped forward, circling you and Steve as if you were displayed in a museum. “Do we each get our own Avenger?”

“Maybe in the future. But this one’s mine.”

“I’m an Avenger, too. But okay,” you mumbled, offended by his singular statement. Steve’s lip twitched slightly but the look he threw at you let you know he wanted to smile.

“¿Cómo lo hiciste?”

“Ya sabes cómo es... La gente simplemente sigue mi ejemplo.”

You decided to speak, anything to get White to stop inspecting you like some ancient artifact. “Steve green lights the routes and passages. He’s been a main player all along.”

White squinted at you, “And how long has this been going on?”

“For almost ten years,” you answered.

White shook his head in surprise, eyes wider than you thought possible. His accent was more slurred than you remembered. “And you’re telling us now because-?”

Your father cut in, “The world is still in ruins. If we combine our forces like we discussed before that unfortunate disappearing act, we’ll be unstoppable.”

This seemed to catch Ramirez off guard, as if he truly didn’t remember the conversation your father brought up. You shoveled his reaction deep into your memory. Maribel would have to look into it.

Still, Ramirez played along. “And you’ll be loyal to us, too? Not just Ernesto?”

Steve nodded, his posture straightening. “I would.”

Now, the two new arrivals looked at you. You raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t look at me. I do what he says,” you admitted, nodding your head toward Steve.

They seemed to accept that answer.

“And he’s here to help us move the shipment this Saturday?” White asked.

“That’s the plan,” your father confirmed.

It was time for Ramirez to circle you both. But he did so more casually and without the intent of kicking you in the shins, it seemed. He went to sit on the couch nearest the door, away from the crowd. You could sense Steve tensing up, so you turned your body slightly to the side so you could see Ramirez through your peripheral.

“How do we know we can trust him? What those stars and stripes have to do with us?”

“You hear that Captain?” your father asked, leaning back in his chair with that twisted smile that always made your stomach drop. “Time to prove your loyalty.”

“Are you seriously going to haze him?” you spoke, a hint of a teasing tone on your words. It was time to liven up the conversation, for both your sake, or else your father was sure to go overboard. His hand… where’s Steve’s hand?

“Does she speak for you?”

Steve stepped forward, “No, she doesn’t.”

“Prove it.”

You should really punch your chest to get your heart beating again. Was he going to make Steve try the product? Record something as blackmail? Kill someone?

“Wha-” you began, but were immediately silenced as an arm wrapped around your neck and held you in place. The coldness of the gun’s muzzle tickled just below your chin, still and steady, but nonetheless terrifying. Your father had held you in this position before - hell, most of his men did when asked. But it wasn’t any of your father’s men threatening you under orders - it was Steve.

“Obviously, I’m not going to kill her. You need her for this whole operation to work. But a little roughing up never did any bad.”

He removed his other arm but kept the muzzle under your chin, grabbing both your arms skillfully and pinning them behind your back.

You had never seen your father so pleased. “Why are you dating my daughter?”

Steve chuckled and clicked the safety. No, no.

You scrambled to open your right palm and squeeze what you could reach. Steve seemed to understand right away, and he loosened his grip and placed his other shaking hand into yours. You squeezed tightly.

“Now, that’s like asking a man why he breathes air.”

No matter the position he currently had you in, you still praised his acting skills.

“Perhaps. But I know my daughter. Why you?”

Steve kept a firm grip. “Luck?”

“It seems so. Let her go.”

He released you immediately, clicking the safety back on. Seda was in front of him before Steve could place it back on his person, grabbing the gun and emptying it. Seven rounds tumbled and scattered to the floor. This seemed to please both men, as Steve wasn’t presenting himself with an empty threat. He really could have killed you.

“I’m assuming Y/N has told you stories about me. About my men.”

The floor beneath you was uneven, it seemed, but once your mind stopped playing tricks on you, you settled. You shot a quick glance to Ramirez, his eyes closed and hands clasped in his lap. He seemed distant.

“Only the ones worth repeating, sir.”

“Oh? And which are those?”

“Orders and the like.”

“So, you don’t know much? Nothing interesting? Nothing that could make me seem like the bad guy?”

The room grew hot, whether it was the natural air or the bubbling anger boiling in your stomach.

“Like I said, sir. I ask her what I want to know and she tells me. Other than that, it’s your call.”

The room fell silent as they debated their other questions.

“How much do the other Avengers know?”

You were about to respond when Steve spoke instead. “Oblivious. I’m still the stars and stripes for them.”

White scoffed, “Those symbols don’t mean shit in this new world. Ridiculous of them to still assume you’re the same man.”

Steve’s jaw tensed, “Exactly right, sir.”

This seemed to be enough for your father. He stood from his chair, walking over to shake Steve’s hand again. So righteous and personal, almost like he hadn’t just ordered the assassination of an old friend a few days ago. “I like you, Captain. You’ve boosted my business, you’ve handled my daughter, you’ve made me a lot of money.”

He looked away from Steve to look at you now, laying eyes upon a person he hadn’t bothered to reunite with in person. You had fought so hard not to be in the same room ever again, but now you were. A small little office, holding whatever air you were forced to share, on a mission that could change everything. You hated him, absolutely detested the ground he stood on, blamed him for the fallout, the change, the hurt.

“Seda, you trust him?”

Seda opened the office door and started ushering the other two men out. “I’m getting there.”

Your father laughed, “Always so cynical.”

Ramirez stood from his seat behind you, already gunning to make a good impression on your Captain. He shook Steve’s hand, “Until next time.”

“Sir,” Steve returned the handshake. Ramirez only adjusted slightly, and held his hand out to you. You looked down at it, momentarily stunned from any attention, but shook it in the way you were taught. Firm, short, and ready for business. You grinned at him and he returned the same emotion.

“Two Avengers. Wow,” he mumbled, and tilted his head in a farewell. You watched him go, a silly smile on your face.

You went to take your leave, cautious of being left alone with your father. But as fate had it, he stopped you from leaving so simply.

“Oh, and Y/N?”

You turned on your heel, lips plastered in a straight line. You raised your eyebrows at him, already annoyed from the request he most certainly had, no doubt. “Meet me in a few minutes. Alone.”

You forced yourself to nod, turning quickly and leaving the room. You shuffled down the hallway, Steve hot on your trail and reaching for your hand.

“Hey, hey. I don’t want to leave you alone.”

He tugged you back to him, but you pushed him into the corner room you were originally heading for. You shut the door softly, and allowed Steve to grip your hands in his.

“Well, you gotta. Link our mics. You’ll hear everything.”

“Safe word?”

You chuckled lowly but retracted the teasing attitude when you saw genuine worry written on Steve’s face. “Widow, Steve.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you back there. I couldn’t think of anything else to do-”

You shushed him, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s okay. You didn’t hurt me.”

“I fuck with you all the time but I would never take it that far.”

Where was this coming from? Steve looked like he was about to start hyperventilating. “I’m good. You didn’t hurt me. I’m fine, see?” you placed his hand on your chest, making sure he could feel your heartbeat. “I’m good.”

“You’re good?”

“I’m good.”

Steve removed his hand and placed it over his own chest, rubbing slightly. “I’ll be right outside when he talks to you.”

“I know you’ll be. Now, stand guard, whistle low to alert me.”

“This the room? You know the code?”

It was a simple office as well, but resembled more of a library than a workspace. It was dimly lit, cluttered, smelled of the wooden cabinets and the dust collecting on the books, and lacked any windows as well. You nodded to confirm Steve’s question, heading over to the farthest bookshelf and pushed it away from the wall. The loose dust swooped from the wood surface and into the air instantly, and you had to pause to sneeze down your shirt.

You wiped your nose, “I’m third in command. My father may have some things hidden but I have to know the codes to shit like this.”

Steve leaned his ear on the door gently, “You’re clear.”

You gave him a thumbs up and fiddled with the outside of the safe. It was built into the wall, black in color and definitely made way before you were born. It was quite rusted, the gold numbers on the lock almost faded.

“Let’s hope he didn’t change it.” You turned the dial - seven, thirty-three, eighteen - and it clicked on the first try. “Bingo.”

“Did you have a backup plan if that didn’t work?”

You snorted quietly, “Smash?”

Steve rolled his eyes and pressed his ear back on the door.

Everything inside had been recently rearranged. You figured your father used some of these ID’s when entering the country for the wedding and left them stacked on one another for the quick heist on Saturday. “We’re in luck! Both my father’s and Seda’s ID’s are here, along with-”

You cooed, taking out your phone and opening the camera app. You snapped multiple pictures, with and without flash. “Stacks and stacks of cash.”

You pulled your purse in front of you and pulled out your wallet to make room, shoving it into your back pocket instead.

“Help me put this in my purse.”

Steve left his post to help you shovel the ID’s discreetly into every pocket your purse provided, shoving things into corners so nothing protruded.

“Damn, we gotta leave the money,” you pouted.

Steve chuckled, “What a horrible thing.”

A sudden, boisterous laugh right outside the door caused you to rip your arm away from the safe, thankfully pulling the last of the ID’s with you. You pushed them into your purse, zipping it up. Steve reacted quickly as well, shutting the safe and rotating the dial, pushing the bookcase back into its original position.

“It’s Ramirez and White,” Steve whispered, looking around the room for any help. “What do we do?”

“Ramirez…” you blinked, eyes wandering around the room as well. Think, think, think. The doorknob jiggled. “Trust me.”

You ripped your purse off and threw it to the nearest couch. You hooked your arms around Steve’s neck and jumped to wrap your legs around his waist.

“Oh my-”

In any other scenario, the whimper that left your throat would have been caused by a surge of ecstasy. But you were frightened of being caught, the whimper a blatant signal to just follow your lead.

“Slam me into the wall, Captain.”

The door flew open just as Steve did as he was told.

“And I told him it was ridiculous - oh my…”

You lifted your head from Steve’s neck, wide eyes to accompany your surprised state. “Oh! I thought we locked the door!”

Ramirez covered his eyes bashfully, turning around and staring at the wall. “Don’t mind us, we were just looking for loose smokes.”

Opposite to his intruding partner, White laughed at the scene before him. He dipped low, hands on his knees as he joked. “Didn’t think Captain America had it in him! Been a stiff ever since the ice, huh mate?”

You could feel Steve tense against you, and he froze entirely. You drew your hand up to play with the strands of his hair, putting on your best flirty tone possible. “Oh, trust me. He’s pretty stiff right now.”

Steve seemed to calm under your touch, so he turned his head over his shoulder and gave an embarrassed smile of his own.

“Excuse us again, Y/N. You two enjoy your time,” Ramirez apologized, pulling at White’s jacket to guide him out of the room. Once you heard the click of the door, you jumped from Steve’s grasp and immediately began patting his back.

“I’m sorry.”

Steve chuckled, his blush rising from his shoulders to his cheeks. “It’s okay, you saved us.”

You inspected him closely, a little embarrassed with yourself. It was a bold move, but one that needed to be done. You stood in silence for a few more seconds, each of you adjusting to such a sudden change of breathing pattern.

You shut your eyes and groaned silently, “I need to speak with him.”

“Can I wait outside the door?”

You picked up your purse and swung it around your torso, “No, you need to wait in the car. Or smother Ramirez and White, your call.”

The lines on Steve’s forehead deepened, “Y/N, I can’t leave you alone with him.”

You wanted to argue further because Steve really over exaggerated. You fought a whole army of aliens, robots, and even the infamous Winter Soldier. Sure, you lost the battle with Thanos on the first try, you lost a teammate with Ultron, and gained a collapsed lung from Bucky’s insane roundhouse kick, but you were positive you could take your father. “You’re gonna have to. I’ve been alone with him before.”

Steve placed his hands on his hips and gave you a blank stare. “He shot you last time.”

“Ehh, Seda did.”

“Y/N.”

You laughed softly, “Then wait in the living room.”

“The shield’s in the car. If you need help, I may not have enough time-”

Steve and that goddamn shield. The guy was acting like he wasn’t a super soldier. You were annoyed. Annoyed with a pinch of salt?

“You whip that shield out to save me and I swear to god-”

“Okay, okay. I’ll link our mics.”

He fumbled around on his phone for a few seconds before you heard the softest beep from below your ear.

The last time you had entered that room alone, you left with a bullet lodged deep in your abdomen and with the threat of having it done again. Stumbling and crashing into the walls and random trinkets, leaving your blood stains on anything you used to steady yourself. This time would be different - it had to be. Your father wouldn’t shoot you with the Captain America waiting in the other room. Then again, your father always seemed to top himself each time you were forced to interact personally. In an instant, he dropped the good guy act. Or, hyped joy.

Now, his stare was cold and calculated, posture upright like he was awaiting your arrival. You couldn’t help but smile and roll your eyes, a tiny scoff breaking the silence as he returned it.

“You’re one damn good actor.”

He chuckled deeply, “We do what we have to do in front of the people who threaten our reign.”

You kicked the leg of a nearby chair to turn it toward you. Sitting down, you retorted with a chuckle of your own. “You’re not royalty.”

“We are... you are.”

Third in command. Daughter of the biggest drug lord south of the border? In most cases, you could be considered goddamn royalty. Did you want to be? No, because the title that seemed to fit was ‘a chess piece in the middle of a mad supremacy’. But that was too long.

“So, what is this? You scared my Captain is gonna knock you off your feet and take your place?”

His hands slammed the desk. His little basket of pens and pencils toppled over and spilled onto the floor. “I have waited seven, long years for you to bring that man to me. And each time you defied me. Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now!”

You remained seated, a blank stare boring into your father’s. “Uh, probably because he would avenge me. Get it?”

He wasn’t one for jokes, though. “It would be so easy.”

Aggravating him further was not the smartest thing to do. And Steve had the same thought as he fumbled with his own thumbs outside, hearing the conversation from afar. He almost wanted to barge in just to put your ass in time out.

But you had seven years to make up for - a little joke here and there shouldn’t hurt much.

“You do know I’m an Avenger, right? Trained by Natalia Romanoff herself?”

You worded your sentence carefully, her alias need not be spoken out loud unless you needed backup.

“Answer me.”

When his nostrils flared, you knew better than to twist the knife.

“Steve didn’t sign the accords. He was on the run for two years before you asked me for him. This is public knowledge.”

He pointed his index finger at you, shaking it wildly. “You lie. Why you lie?”

You had to blink multiple times through your shocked state, mouth agape and involuntarily racks of laughter spilling. He couldn’t be serious. You could only repeat the same thing so many times.

“Like I said all those years ago - He. Was. On. The. Run. No contact. I had no way of contacting him!”

He struggled to grab whatever on his desk to raise toward your face. In this case, he pointed his phone in a threatening manner. “Excuses! Remember the last time you made such a poor excuse?”

The laughing stopped, your mouth immediately shutting. You clenched your jaw to work through your murderous impulses.

You wondered how your hands would look wrapped around his neck. Red and angry, tightening as each desperate second passes, nails forming crescents as they pressed in his skin. If there was a window, you would definitely kick him out of it. Wave goodbye as he fell dramatically. But the mansion was one story high and you couldn’t magically conjure up a window. God, this would be the absolute best time to have Wanda or Loki here to use some of that dark magic. Either way, you just wanted to wipe that shit-eating grin off his face right now.

“He. Was on. The run.”

“And I thought you learned your lesson.”

You stood from your seat and leaned on the desk, arms holding you up and face inches away from his. “You gonna send in your men to remind me? With my Captain a few feet away?”

His lips were trembling as much as yours were - face blotchy with silver droplets of sweat and an angry blush now reaching his forehead. For a seventy-five year old man, he still had such a rage in him that didn’t risk a heart attack. Lucky bastard.

“He best not interfere if it’s what I choose to do.”

Outside, Steve gripped the back door handle to the point it squished in on itself, metal twisting awkwardly and splintering the paint. His free hand was balled into the meanest fist, even his stubby nails wreaking havoc on his pale palm. He was making himself bleed by the restraint. He took slow breaths, eyes closed but ears fully alert. He wouldn’t cry. Not right now.

“I called you back alone to invite you to breakfast the day after tomorrow.”

Whether it was because he knew you were only a few seconds from lunging yourself across his desk to break his neck or because he was tired from all the energy he had just exerted, your father slumped back into his seat as he spoke.

“The hotel has free breakfast.”

He shook his head in complete astonishment, “You’re not getting out of this. I have important business to discuss with each of you.”

You continued to stare him down, “Over coffee?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “I can’t leave the estate so close to the wedding. Your sister is flying in tomorrow and I have to make sure construction is done by then.”

“Right, ‘cause you’re the best father in the world.”

Being in the same room was suffocating, but you couldn’t help but be fascinated by the man. How unbelievably thoughtless yet calculated he could be. How unbelievably fake yet so damn real in all his hidden meanings.

“Jackeline likes to think so.”

Your sister was sweet, sure, and there was an unspoken agreement between the two of you to not fight one another, being the only daughters and all. But you were eight years old when she was born, already tainted by the world in which she was just born into. Forgive your lack of sisterly bond. When you were sixteen, you dipped. Now, at the sprouting ages of twenty-six and eighteen, you two couldn’t be more different.

Actually, yes you could. If she thought your father was a good man, she was entirely ignorant of the world she lives in.

“Good for her. Why don’t we discuss the shipment transport during the most important day of her life?”

“Nice try. That’s what the rehearsal dinner is for - rehearsal.”

You gave your father a sad smile, “You really won’t trust me. After all these years of following your orders.”

“Now, let’s not go bringing up the past.”

You interrupted, “Why not? You’re trusting my Captain and I to help you move that shipment but won’t trust me enough to tell me where it is right now?”

He was back to standing but he was much calmer. “Right now, I trust your Captain more than you. What kind of man would leave everything moral behind for a bunch of criminals? A bad one.”

“You’ve known him for like, two seconds.”

Your father searched his pockets for loose cigarettes. “He left everything moral behind for me. For you. And you left me behind for everything moral.”

Rolling your eyes, you backed away from his desk and headed for the door. “Sometimes you don’t make any sense. Is that it? Are we done?”

“You accept my invitation?”

“Do I really have a choice?”

“No.”

The mansion seemed larger than when you entered, the hallways longer, the walls closing in, the trinkets reaching out to stop you by the wrist. The longer you stayed in this hell hole, the more likely you were probably going to unleash the rage attached to your body in the form of your favorite weapons. Bomb the hell out of this place.

You marched to Steve’s car. He was already waiting, leaning along the passenger door like he was going to open it for you. If he did, you might kill him too. So, you repeatedly snapped your fingers at him and pointed around the car, silently but angrily motioning him to get in. He didn’t need to be told twice. In fact, he thought it might be therapeutic for you to throw the door open and slam it yourself. It was.

Steve started the car. He didn’t need to ask, there was no reason to since he heard everything. And so did Sam. Bucky. Scott. It was being transcribed as you swerved out of the estate. God, you wanted to throw up.

“I’ll tell you when to stop.”

Steve choked on his breath, “Stop?”

You rolled down the windows to breathe in the crisp cold air, teeth becoming sensitive as it passed into your lungs. “Once we get past the cameras and nearby neighborhoods.”

“Did you need-“

“When I say stop, stop. Fucking damn, Steve! Listen to me for once!”

Steve didn’t know why he was challenging you. Your father had just brought up one of the most traumatic moments of your life, basically called you a hypocrite and a coward - he tried to tear you down. And here you were, holding it all together like the champ he found you to be. But he never handled your outbursts well, even if they were completely justified.

“Don’t fucking give me orders if you won’t tell me what they’re for!”

“Stop the fucking car!”

He slammed on the breaks, instincts still kicking in during your argument and he reached his arm out to your side to hold you back from the powerful surge. His body lunged forward, however, chest hitting the steering wheel and horn.

You scrambled out of the car and ran into the woods, feet guiding you through mud and prickly bushes until they reached a more secluded spot. Steve stumbled along after you, nearly tripping over the same rocks you had avoided masterfully.

Before he could ask what you were doing, you pulled your gun from its hidden holster and clicked the safety. Steve’s eyes bulged out of his head just in time to see the first round sound off mid-air. He crouched down to the floor and shielded his head. You shot away from him, obviously, until all seven rounds were dislodged, aimed in the sky diagonally.

Once the last bullet exited, you simply packed everything up. Now calm and collected, you turned around and headed back for the car.

Steve’s voice cracked as he spoke, “Seriously?”

You pushed branches away from your head as you walked, “Seriously.”

“Do you know how dangerous that is? Those bullets don’t just disappear into thin air,” Steve scolded, jogging up to speed walk beside you.

“So fucking what? I’m keeping the rent low in this area, then.”

Steve sighed in defeat, “Talk to me.”

“Sorry, I’m shutting down.”

“Y/N-”

You groaned, tears of frustration not entirely formed, but in their beginning stages. “You already know what’s stressing me out, Steve. Do you need it in writing?”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Steve lowered his voice. “What do you need me to do?”

“Just,” you paused, stopping to face him. You opened and closed your hands mid-air as if that would help you formulate your sentences better. “I don’t know. But when I find out, I’ll let you know.”

This Steve could accept. So he simply nodded, guiding you the rest of the way with his hand gently placed on your lower back.

The drive back to the hotel was fairly silent. The radio provided a calming relief from such drama. Steve would glance at you every so often to check on you, but you were always resting your eyes. This was only the first day of the mission - officially. If you were this drained from one encounter, Steve needed to rethink this whole operation. Whether it was healthy to keep you on, or if the threat was just too large. But no matter the alternatives, Steve understood that this week was going to be difficult either way, and you needed to be present. This was your mission after all. He was just your partner.

Even with a thousand things on your mind, you were still conscious enough to check your surroundings, check-in with the agent posted behind the front desk, and reconnect your mic with the teams.

Steve pushed open your room door and threw the car keys on one of the nearby tables. “Nap time?”

You ignored his initial question, “I didn’t think seeing them in person again would be so draining.”

Steve watched you carefully, somewhat scared that you would pull out your gun again and shatter a window. “It was pretty cramped.”

You started to disarm yourself, tearing off your sweater and holsters clumsily. “And they acted like we were all on good terms! Around you, at least. I know they’re acting for my sister’s sake and then we can go back to hating each other after, but really?”

Steve sat on the edge of his bed, eyes sorry. “I really don’t know what to say.”

You threw yourself onto your bed, burying your face into the pillows. You continued speaking, albeit muffled. “You don’t have to say anything - just let me rant.”

“You’ll tire yourself out, Y/N. C’mon, we gotta draft up this report-”

You lifted yourself up and started smoothing down your hair, “I need a drink.”

Steve pointed to the computer, “The report.”

“A drink.”

“Y/N, it’s getting late. The sooner we draft it, the sooner-”

You grumbled out again, already opening the door and shoving your boots on. “Steve, I need a drink. You know what they do to me, what they’ve done to me, what they continue to do every single day. Now, join me or not but I am going downstairs for a drink.”

Steve paused for a moment, looking around the room hesitantly. “Can I at least take the laptop?”

You threw your head back and walked out the door, “Take the goddamn laptop, jesus fucking christ, c’mon.”

If there’s one thing you were happy about today, it was that you booked a hotel with a mini bar on the second floor. It wasn’t an outright full bar, but it was low lit, clean and the counters were made from fine wood, and there was a variety of flavors to choose from. There were only a few hotel guests spread out and a single bartender. You and Steve took seats at the counter.

“Whiskey sour,” you called for the bartender, trying and failing to give him the nicest smile you could.

Steve settled in his bar stool, “Thought you wanted to drink to drink hard.”

You chuckled at him and extended your arms in a stretch, “I’m mad, not depressed.”

He grinned at your movements - as if just sitting in a bar already loosened you up. “In that case, get me a beer.”

Natasha had called Steve for help after your fourth beer and fifth whiskey. Her coaxing proved to be pointless, each request of a safe passage home seeming to enter one ear and leave the other. And you’ll end up killing her when you were sober enough for sending unwanted reinforcements, but even she didn’t want to fight you. If you wanted to drown in liquid courage, that courage churning itself into raw despair, then she would allow it.

Steve stared at you for a few moments. Head hanging low, a deep frown etched into your tired expression, index finger tapping your glass as if you were debating whether to down it in one go or to leave it. Steve had never seen you like this, guard destroyed and face practically pale, just begging to be left alone. And it seemed the whole bar felt the same way, as there was no music playing and everyone was wallowing in their own grief.

“I can spot you from a mile away, you know?”

Your voice immediately pulled Steve from his own mind and he was surprised you could still form coherent sentences given the amount of empty glasses in front of you.

“I don’t mean to interrupt.”

You scoffed, leaning away from him as he sat down in the stool beside you. “Natasha sent you. Don’t tell me otherwise.”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“Good.”

Steve ordered a beer for himself, and although he was driving, one beer wouldn’t impair him anyway. It wouldn’t even cause a dent in his 20/20 vision.

“Fucking ridiculous, it’s fucking ridiculous!”

The bar patrons seemed to wince simultaneously and the bartender simply gathered a few of your empty glasses to wash. Steve didn’t hush you, didn’t touch you, didn’t try to reassure you. If you needed to cause a scene, it was time. Your silence for the past week had been frightening, but when Tony returned last night, half dead and without the kid, it seemed to be your breaking point.

“Wanda destroyed it. She destroyed the fucking stone and all he did was use another to bring it back.”

Steve took a sip of his beer to disguise his quivering lip, but his eyes had no curtain. His waterline swelled with fresh tears, eyes instantly reddening, an undesired sting pinching the corners.

“Strange must have had a reason. He must’ve, but - how can that reason include the death of trillions?”

“We’re going to find a way-”

“And if we don’t?”

Steve kept his lips on the bottle, incisors biting down only slightly as he took in your rhetorical question. You continued speaking.

“He destroyed the stones.”

“Carol is looking for answers.”

You shook your head and pulled out your wallet, leaving whatever cash you had on the counter before standing up. You stumbled but Steve latched onto your arm and pulled it to hug his waist.

“Loki?” you mumbled, raising your head to lock eyes with Steve. He didn’t know if you were calling him another name or if you were asking for the God’s whereabouts. “Bucky?”

“Hey, stop, stop.”

“Peter?”

Steve could only nod. What use was it to lie to you? Your new vertical position seemed to magnify the true extent of your intoxication as your eyes finally glazed over and limbs trembled.

“Let’s get you home, okay?”

Gripping his shirt, you apologized each time it would crumble and you would accidentally tug it downward. But Steve didn’t care. You were practically limp in his arms, heavy and without proper use of your legs.

“You’re a good man, Steve.”

Steve sighed sadly but couldn’t help the small smile that formed as he looked down at you and found you sporting a silly one of your own.

“A really good man. I’m happy you’re still here.”

Steve paused for a moment, taking in your words and holding back his own tears. If there was a time he wanted to be drunk off his ass, it would be now. He was somewhat jealous of the brief relief alcohol had given you, loose and not fully aware of the drama of the world. “I’m happy, too.”

“No, you’re not,” you slurred, allowing Steve to guide you to his car. You slumped against the passenger door as Steve searched his pocket for his key. “I heard you crying last night.”

Steve halted his search mid-pat, a hard crease forming between his eyebrows as he lifted his head. “I wasn’t-”

“I cry too,” you admitted, a drunken pout on your face. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

Perhaps it was a dirty thing for him to do at this moment because you wouldn’t remember a single word of this conversation in the morning, but he figured there was no immediate harm. He found his key, unlocked the car, and helped you inside. Only once he entered the car himself did he take advantage of your blurry mind.

“I cried for Sam and Bucky. Who do you cry for?”

You clicked the seatbelt on, mind clear enough for safety precautions it seemed. “Poor Wanda.”

Steve nodded and started the car. “Anything else?”

“Did I ever tell you about the time Loki asked me on a date?”

Steve immediately shut off the car and turned to you. “Huh? When?”

You grinned, small giggles bubbling from your chest. “A few months ago. He was so shy, too. I said yes.”

Steve ignored the twinge in his chest, “How was it?”

You leaned your head back and tilted it towards him, your smile faltered slightly. “Never went on it. And now he’s dead.”

The urge to lean over and wrap you in a much needed hug was there, eating away at him since you called him a good man. But he had taken advantage of this situation far too much, so he simply nodded in understanding and started the car again.

“I’m sorry.”

You barely heard him, but you mumbled a quick response before letting the alcohol fully consume you. “Me too.”

You thanked the bartender when they slid you your drink. “I hadn’t seen him since before the world went to shit.” You took a quick sip. “Kinda strange.”

Steve nodded, wondering if he should dive deep into the issue at hand. Instead of outright saying his outdated spiel, he eased into it. He gave you a few needed sips of your drink, at least. “Y/N, can I ask an honest question?”

You hummed, “My toes are already tingling. You could probably ask me what my kinks are and I’d tell you.”

Steve suddenly burst into a fit of giggles, “You never could handle a sip of alcohol.”

Your eyes rounded at his reaction. Perhaps the alcohol affected him in other fun ways that he didn’t know. “Nope, I’m a lightweight.”

Steve contained himself before clearing his throat, “The question…”

“Go ahead.”

He rolled his shoulders and took a sip of his beer. Leaning in closer, he lowered his voice. “If it comes down to it, and god forbid you’re incapacitated, do you want me to kill your father?”

Your mouth opened slightly, the words stuck behind your tongue. You looked down at your drink, as if some special response was swimming in it. You knew your answer, but the way to phrase it was lost.

“I don’t want his blood on your hands.”

“But if it was the last choice?”

You sighed, “If you pull that trigger, they’ll never stop coming after you.”

Steve’s eyebrows scrunched together, “But if you pull it?”

You shrugged and raised the glass to your lips. “That’s my life, Steve. Let me deal with the consequences.”

“That’s just it - you don’t have to. At least, not alone.”

God, you hated how perfect Steve sounded all the time. Whenever he was annoying you, fighting you, or protecting you, his syllables were stretched in the most glorious way, dipping into every crevice of the person they were delivered to and warming inches of body slowly. You wanted him to have somewhat of an evil side for once in his life, but no matter how many times you thought he would explode, he didn’t.

Two years ago, when he dropped you from his life in an instant, you had assumed you finally caught a glimpse at this evil side. It was the only time you were truly scared of him.

“You really are a good person.”

Steve swished his beer bottle around, “I wish everyone would stop being surprised by that.”

“I’m not surprised. I guess I just want to hate you, and I can’t.”

Steve’s shoulders slumped like crumbling mountains and you couldn’t stop thinking about how vulnerable he looked. You wanted to pull him closer and rest your head to his chest, hear his heartbeat and apologize for theorizing a possible hatred.

“Why do you want to hate me?”

“When you wouldn’t sign the accords, part of me saw that as the mascot of America not caring if he invaded and pillaged everything in his path.”

“But I-” Steve interjected, but you stopped him by raising your hand and waving it gently.

“I know why you didn’t. Hell, I helped you escape.”

“Why did you help if you hated me?”

Being vulnerable with Steve wasn’t anything new. You were each other’s support system for those lonely five years, but it all changed the moment you defeated Thanos. So, for the last two years you didn’t quite get along. But here, now, you could always tell when Steve was being honest and open.

“Guess I thought that if you were willing to help me with my family, I should help you with yours.”

His therapist desperately tried to rationalize the experiences Steve would tell, instructing him to look past hard exteriors and accept help from others. That his old friends were still friends, and enemies should never be compared to those he loved. And he knew he was easily blinded when something or someone had the slightest mishap, instantly writing it off as harmful.

He spoke of you often during his one hour sessions - stories of your blatant silliness and crude jokes; how you would poke your finger into his sandwiches when you thought he wasn’t looking; how you almost beat up a kid and his little gang for baiting Peter after his identity was exposed; and how you and Sam had gotten into a bar fight over something so trivial, so unnecessary, that it was almost unbelievable to see you innocently scoot away from the body on the floor in the police video, as if you had nothing to do with it and those few feet of distance automatically cleared you.

His therapist would just listen.

“Did I ever thank you?”

You smiled sadly, “You went into hiding soon after. Then we went to battle, lost everyone, went to battle again, and then…”

“And then.”

‘And then’ wasn’t really something you two liked to bring up. It was still a fresh wound, somewhat patched up, but still open.

You spaced out for a few minutes, both of you enjoying your drinks. You were no longer drinking to get drunk, not that it was your original goal to begin with. You just sat in comfortable silence, reliving the events earlier that day and drafting an internal report.

“What are you thinking about?”

You pursed your lips and thought, clicking your tongue when it finally dawned on you. “This was the first time I saw Marcus White sober.”

Steve sat up straighter, “Are you sure? He didn’t look it.”

“Yeah, he usually speaks quickly and he fidgets. But he was coherent this afternoon.”

“Should that be a red flag?”

You took out your phone and sent a quick text to Torres for him to monitor White closely for the next few days, just in case. “A big one. My father referred to him more often than he did Ramirez.”

Steve tackled every idea in his head quickly, speaking as a new one popped up. “They could be planning a move against Ramirez. He’s close to overthrowing your father.”

You raised your head from your phone, “And the wedding would be a perfect distraction.”

“He would kill his greatest rival on your sister’s happiest day?”

You let out a low chuckle, “This man has nothing to lose. It won’t matter who he topples along the way.”

Steve opened the laptop, silently congratulating himself for bringing it despite your insults, and began drafting the report. The two of you worked for the next hour, nursing a couple more drinks before you sent the final copy to Bucky.

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

94 notes · View notes

lovelyirony · 4 years

Note

Title: I wish i could forget you

Tony Stark was not supposed to be in the car when Howard and Maria Stark attended a Christmas holiday party for another company. In fact, Hydra had wanted him to stay home.

Unfortunately, Tony had ticked off Howard a bit too much, and so here he was in a tuxedo that was a bit too big, uncomfortably shiny shoes, and a temper that was close to blowing.

Thank god they were almost home.

When a car crashes, one almost can’t believe it. Tony can see the outside blurring, and he can hear glass crunching, and he hears things that he really doesn’t want to hear. He is fairly sure that Maria screamed.

A metal arm.

Huh.

Well, not the most typical. He also doesn’t think that the man knows he’s here.

Howard and Maria Stark are killed. Tony feels like shit because he couldn’t do anything. His forehead is bleeding and he didn’t want to move out of fear for himself, which seems selfish, but also maybe a survival instinct?

God, his bow-tie is still constricting air flow.

Once the man turns, Tony realizes that he wasn’t the target. They probably had no idea he was in the car, whoever “they” were.

He gets out of the car. The car door creaks, and the man whips around.

His eyes widen.

“You--what?”

The voice is surprisingly American.

Surprisingly? He’s not sure why it’s surprising, it’s not like an American can’t kill just look at history, but still, Kind of surprising.

"What, wasn’t supposed to be here?” Tony rasps out. He realizes now that he’s basically sent himself a death sentence as the man surges forward.

“What are you doing here?”

His eyes are piercing. Also very, very familiar with some photographs that Peggy has on her mantle and her desk.

James “Bucky” Barnes. Son of a bitch.

“What are you doing alive?” Tony asks. “I thought you were lost in a ravine in Europe somewhere.”

“What--huh?”

“Ravine. In Europe. You know who you are, right? Is this some kind of sick...what did they do to you?”

“I do not know what you are talking about.”

His eyes get cold again.

“Who are you?”

“I am the Asset.”

It is now that Tony realizes that every single shitty sci-fi book is probably right, and his disdain of “wacky science” and “magic” have all been for nothing, because here is Bucky Barnes, who apparently has no idea who he is.

Then Tony gets knocked on his ass. His body slams against the icy road, and Barnes is rushing towards a motorcycle.

And he’s alone. He can’t breathe, all the wind knocked out of his chest. He thinks he broke a couple of ribs.

No one believes him. At all. SHIELD brushes it aside.

“There’s no way Barnes could be alive. You were probably just seeing things,” they tell him. “Would you like us to find you a therapist?”

“No,” Tony says, and they ask why. He laughs, sipping on his water. “SHIELD has so much loyalty to itself, I’m afraid I’d be compromised.”

“Therapists aren’t supposed to divulge any information,” Nick Fury adds carefully. “And we’re a secret-keeping bunch. Nothing goes out that comes in.”

“Unless, of course, it’s necessary,” Tony drawls, staring at Fury. God, the leather outfit...that’s weird. “Then I’m out in the open, Nicky. And what fun is that unless I get to show off an outfit in full-coverage?”

“...I’ll have an agent escort you home. We’ll have guards overnight.”

“Don’t bother.”

“And why is that? Think you can handle it by yourself?”

“Fury, my family has made a career out of thinking a lot of things. You’re not being as detrimental as you think.”

He finger-waves, grinning and winking at agents on the way out.

Now comes paranoia. This is welcome, actually, because it’s allowing him to work up new security measures and hack into various security cameras around the world to see if he can find Barnes.

It’s like he’s a ghost. And fuck, maybe Fury was right. Tony doesn’t like that, but that may be it.

Merry fucking Christmas.

Years go by, and Tony keeps a tiny ear to any news about mysterious deaths that can’t be explained. A man that glows in lamp-light, has no identity. He’s not sure if it could be Barnes. God knows he’s no longer seventeen, and Barnes--it if it was Barnes--would be way older. He should’ve been an old man in 1991, but he wasn’t.

It kind of reminds him of the conspiracy theory that Walt Disney was kept cryogenically frozen, which is just ridiculous, because as far as he’s concerned, you’d need a bit more to you than just regular skin and bones.

And this is where it hits him.

Barnes was experimented on when he was captured by Hydra. Peggy told him that Rogers told her that he was repeating his dog tag number over and over, as if someone was trying to take him over.

Yeah, you’d need a bit more.

Like a fucking super soldier serum.

This then delves into Tony realizing that if Barnes is flash-frozen, then...well, could Rogers have survived? He always thought his dad was crazy, but a broken clock is right twice a week or however the hell that saying goes. He never used it, he wasn’t a broken clock.

(He was broken, but he’s not going to compare himself to a clock. Perhaps Model-T.)

They find Rogers. Tony realizes Howard did his math completely wrong for years, and probably never let anyone look at it because he was a World Super Genius. And a Colossal Dick.

Steve Rogers is one tough cookie to crack. Tony chips off some of the ice and puts it in a glass of scotch.

“Do you really think that’s the most appropriate thing to do?” Phil Coulson asks.

He’s shocked, but mainly because Tony has seen his Cap collection, and that man has so many limited edition cards and lunchboxes that it’s a bit crazy. But at least he knows how to decorate with it and not have it look like an absolute nutjob swept into his house and did it all in red-white-and-blue.

“Phil, my darling, when have I ever done anything the appropriate way?” Tony asks. He stares at the face that’s emerging out of the ice. “Besides, what else are you going to do with this ice, hm? Besides melt it all off?”

Steve is a miracle. Every scientist on earth wants to poke and prod at him.

Tony breaks him out of SHIELD in a week, because he swears to shit if one more scientist asks to take blood samples “to see how going under Arctic temperatures affects the bloodstream” (and also take DNA for cloning) he’s going to lose it.

Fury yells at him for two hours.

Steve flips Fury off from the couch, where he’s been channel-surfing for the better part of three hours.

“You’ve already corrupted him,” Fury scowls. “Rogers, we need to talk--”

“He’s retired,” Tony says.

(Steve is not, technically. Hasn’t said anything. But Tony is putting him on mandatory retirement for at least a year.)

“What’s...what the ever-loving fuck is that?” Steve asks.

An infomercial. For an automated chair. Mostly used for old people.

Tony grins.

“You wanna see how fast I can launch you out of one?”

“I’m going to say yes. Professionally.”

Ten miles an hour, and Steve goes flying across the room into a pile of pillows.

It’s not the end-all solution. God knows Steve calls him “Howard” and asks where a lot of nasty food is, and sometimes can’t tell the difference between what his brain is seeing and what is actually there.

But Tony gets him help. And Steve goes to art school.

It’s all very funny, actually. Steve rants about “modern art” and how “if he could kill any concept it would be abstract expressionism, what the fuck.”

Tony buys and then donates a Rothko in his honor.

Steve fumes, but finds it hilarious.

Then, there’s the attack on New York.

Norse god of mischief decides to end New York, blah blah blah.

Captain America reappears, everyone loses their shit, and Tony almost dies.

Then he gets four other roomies besides Steve, and he has to make a chore chart. Ugh.

Barnes reappears in France. Tony gets a fairly good image, and Natasha stills.

“You know about Winter Soldier?”

“Barnes? Yeah.”

“You know who he is?”

“James Barnes. At least, I think. He tried to kill me, wasn’t very successful at it.”

Steve overhears.

This leads to a chain of events that ends in Steve not coming to family dinner because he’d rather sit in his room and listen to Green Day or Glenn Miller or whatever the hell gets him even more upset.

“Listen, Steve, I’m sorry. But up until this picture? I was only about sixty percent sure I wasn’t full of beans.”

“Why is that the phrase you use?”

“What, full of beans? Bruce says I have to work on my cursing. Apparently, children are impressionable. Who knew?”

It’s not a total success. Steve still doesn’t like that Tony didn’t outright tell him, but Tony isn’t going to tell Steve that he has the mental stability of a single cashew.

So begins the hunt for Barnes. Which actually isn’t too bad.

He’s in DC. Not for any political clean-up, unfortunately. He’s trying to kill Fury. Tony doesn’t know why, at least until he looks up Pierce, who’s technically, mostly retired from SHIELD.

And yet still uses most resources that technically? He needs more than one authorization from multiple people.

God, people are getting bad at covering their tracks. Used to be harder to catch and see if someone was doing dirty deals.

(Okay, not like he can talk because Obie was...well, no use in discussing that now. He needs to focus.)

Nat and Steve are bad at lying. This kind of surprises him, because Steve is usually a successful liar. He’s convinced Clint that it’s not him who keeps eating his peanut-butter-fudge ice cream, but Thor.

And Natasha used to be Natalie Rushman. Then again, Tony was poisoned during that one, so that might just be on him.

Helicarriers go in the water.

Tony’s working on making sure most of the information doesn’t reach the general public, although he can’t stop it all.

Barnes falls off the face of the earth, and Steve wants to go on another treasure hunt.

“Let him come to us, or figure himself out.”

“This isn’t a college kid going backpacking in Europe for a year,” Nat snaps. “He’s...you know who he is, who he was, and what he can do.”

“Counterpoint: we don’t know if he secretly really wanted to see traditional decoration of Ukrainian Easter eggs,” Tony says. “God knows that I want to learn more about that.”

“Is everything a joke to you?”

"Only on federally mandated holidays,” Tony says with a shrug. “But let him be. Steve, it’s one thing that he didn’t kill you. It’s another thing that he hauled you up from the Potomac. I’m not sure I would’ve done that because who goes up alone to a helicarrier?”

“Historically nobody,” Natasha says. “Most people don’t have any helicarriers.”

“God, this situation sucks,” Tony says. “What if. We potentially. Ignore all of it and have spinach and artichoke dip? Hm?”

“With toasted bread?”

“I’m not an animal, Steve.”

“Your penchant for four a.m. coffee while you don’t realize you’re singing songs from the seventies says otherwise,” he responds.

“Well well well, if it isn’t the punishment of you getting the aux taken away for a week,” Tony taunts.

“Oh, come on!” Steve whines.

“Nope, just you having to listen to more of Bruce’s questionable tastes.”

“Fuck.”

Barnes comes stateside. The only reason Tony knows this is because Jarvis says that he may have spotted Barnes, but he’s not sure.

“J, you’re the most advanced system in the world, not to mention my son, and you like to hack into the Pentagon for funsies.”

“All of that could not have prepared me for this.”

Barnes is wearing a neon green tank top that is advertising Coco Beach in Florida.

“Can I laugh? Or is that sad?”

“Multitask, Sir.”

“Oh, true.”

Barnes is not in New York. Tony has to near-about put an electric fence around the whole state so that Steve doesn’t go on a road trip.

Hell, Tony doesn’t even trust him to go to coffee alone, but that’s a bit much.

“We have to wait,” Tony says.

Sam Wilson is a godsend. Also the funniest man Tony knows.

He is also emotionally healthy and very perceptive, so he has been noticing that Tony is nervous.

Because how do you face the man who killed your parents? Technically?

“Are you talking to your therapist?” Sam asks. “Just thinking you should.”

“Sam, we’re working on my issues from 2007. Believe it or not, it will be taking a full year.”

“I don’t like that I can never tell if you’re serious.”

“I know you remember the tabloids from 2007, I wrote a mesh vest. Clearly, I need so much help.”

Sam snorts.

“Maybe. Hey, I’ll catch you later. Clint and I are gonna go try and find some questionable shirts to crop.”

“Did his little protege convince you? Bishop, right?”

“Kate, yeah. She’s convinced our public image will go viral or something. Good luck with helping Steve and Nat with your super-soldier hunt.”

“Thanks. Let me know if you find a shirt with my face on it. I want it.”

Sam snorts.

“Will do.”

Bucky Barnes comes to New York in early May. The springtime is slowly but surely fading off, sun approaching more and more. Tony is enjoying coffee on a veranda, and then suddenly his waiter is nowhere to be found and he’s not entirely sure if his visitor takes credit or debit.

“Can I help you?”

“Maybe. Depends on if you’re gonna kill me or not.”

“I think Steve would be a bit broken up about it.”

“Do you care what he thinks?”

“On this situation? Yes. When it comes to culinary choices? No.”

There’s a ghost of a smile on his face. Tony’s trying extremely hard not to remember shattered glass and a motorcycle on ice.

“Can we, uh, table this conversation? For later. Espresso and all that, plus the added bonus of our shared history, so...”

“Shared history?”

“You don’t remember?” Tony asks. Bucky shakes his head. “Ah. Then this is truly a comedy of errors. Maybe. Um. Listen, I, uh...I gotta go. You need to talk to Nat or Steve or hell, maybe even Thor. Is Thor a good option?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Barnes, I can’t exactly face you right now.”

And then he jumps off a balcony.

A fucking balcony.

Jesus H. Christ, his therapist is gonna be so excited for their next session.

The suit wraps itself around him, and he can finally breathe, and he’s thinking about calling Pepper and see if she would like to schedule him a vacation for maybe anywhere but New York and Iowa.

“Why not Iowa?” Pepper asks. “They have good antique stores. I’ve gotten quite a few good finds for clothes.”

“I can do shopping retail literally anywhere else, absolutely not.”

“Spoilsport. Steve know you’re leaving?”

“I didn’t even really tell Steve what happened with my parents.”

“Oh, your therapist called. She sounded concerned, but also intrigued.”

“It’s because Sally almost became an employee of NASA and still has a soft spot for aerodynamics.”

“What exactly did you do when faced with Barnes?”

“Check the front tabloid page tomorrow, just tell everyone I’m out of town.”

“Got it. And Tony?”

Her voice is soft.

“Yes, dear?”

He can feel her rolling her eyes. Affectionately, of course, but rolling all the same.

“Be safe, and come back. You know Rhodey and I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

A week is spent in Malibu. He really is thinking about selling this place. But for now, it suffices.

Steve texts him.

bucky’s back. holy shit

be back in a week. radio silence.

got it. no more messages from me. thor tells me to tell you that he broke the sink

:((((

And that’s it. He’s sitting in the house for a week, has already called Sally once and explained how his suit works, and then listened to her talk about how “his reliance on the suit to help him escape unfavorable situations is not exactly the healthiest but also none of my clients have had to face someone who is of weird standing.”

It’s no secret that Tony doesn’t like Howard Stark. Who would’ve liked that sorry excuse for a father, a man who was so cold-hearted the Arctic looked like a tropical paradise?

Maria was...Maria was different.

She wasn’t a good mother. No, she was never a good mother. But she tried, and she didn’t deserve her fate.

And then there was the question of Bucky Barnes. Who wasn’t Bucky when he was there, but still so damn recognizable.

It’s kind of like when there’s a movie about a famous person, and another person plays them. Like Tom Hanks, essentially. Bucky played whoever the fuck they get Tom Hanks to play and it’s similar: you see the resemblance, but it’s not it.

So yeah.

There’s also the little tidbit that things get complicated when you involve personal feelings and rationality, and really? Tony misses New York. A lot. And he’s not going to let someone else overtake his life just because he’s uncomfortable.

So he flies back to New York.

He’s in a bad way, Barnes is.

“He remembered you,” Steve says. “What he did.”

“Ah, there’s that.”

“He doesn’t have to be here,” Natasha says. “I have a couple of SHIELD safe houses to choose from.”

“None would be adequate to house something like me,” comes the response.

Barnes looks remarkably shitty, as if he hasn’t slept in eighty years. And maybe he hasn’t.

“Jail would be more fitting.”

Tony rolls his eyes.

“You are literally the most dramatic person ever, and Bruce threatened to take over the government because Thor ate the last croissant. Put those on the grocery list, Steve

“We’re not gonna throw you in jail,” he continues on. “Not because you happened to be used as a goddamned Swiss army knife. I have issues, sure, but I’m not going to be going all Hannibal Lecter or whatever.”

“Who the hell is that?”

“Cannibal. I realized that that’s a terrible comparison, please forgive me.”

“Why a cannibal?”

“Couldn’t think of anything else but Anthony Hopkins, the actor. My mistake. Point is, we’re gonna have to go through some channels, and I’m introducing you to BARF, as well as a new person who’s gonna rock your world.”

“I’m pretty much well-acquainted with vomit.”

“No, not that,” Tony says. “Although we can cover that through my 2005 edition of partying if we really wanna dig up some old magazine interviews. No, I’m introducing you to something that’s going to change your life.”

After that, Tony doesn’t have much to do with Bucky’s life.

He serves as a permanent guilt trip, nothing says “well, shit” much like being a permanent guilt trip.

Sally tells him that they should talk it out. Do all that “and how do you feel?” questioning that makes his skin crawl and his eyes ascend to the ceiling.

I mean yeah, they share a living space. Tony has seen Bucky laugh and smile with Sam, talk with Bruce about a really interesting article about regeneration of plant cells or whatever, and Bucky enjoys videochatting with Wakandan royalty.

(It also helps that Shuri is blunt as ever, but so blisteringly smart. He’s reading her paper on regeneration of nanotechnology, and it just...it’s the Pieta of research, that paper.)

But he never speaks to Bucky. Well, he does. But it’s more along the lines of “hey Barnes” and “how are you?” which aren’t exactly the Most Thought Provoking Statements Ever Made.

Summer comes swiftly, and about near with a vengeance. Tony’s dealing with a heat wave and trying to figure out if going outside is even worth it, and then he and Bucky are alone in the kitchen.

Tony was debating getting a couple of popsicles from the freezer. Bucky is considering sabotaging Clint’s smoothie that was supposed to be special for tonight, but that he’ll most likely forget.

“Hey,” Bucky says. “Um, can we talk?”

Shit.

He’s been avoiding this, officially, for a month. Potentially more if you’re going to count a few choice events that have been brought up by his psyche.

“Sure thing, buttercup. What are we talking about. Economy, world crises, the great debate on financial advice?”

“Isn’t the third thing just the economy?”

“We can break it down over coffee.”

“Mm, maybe another time. No, I’m talking about us. About how I--I kind of ruined your life.”

Tony blinks.

“You didn’t ruin my life. If my life was ruined you’d be hit with so many lawsuits that I could make the rest of your life look like the third circle of Hell, or wherever it is that people go nowadays in Dante’s eyes. No, you didn’t ruin my life.”

“I still killed your parents.”

“If you hadn’t, someone else would’ve. Believe me, there were about fifteen others in line. Sometimes, myself included.”

“You can’t not take me seriously,” Bucky stresses. “I still did a terrible thing. I just want to make sure you know that you’re being too kind.”

“I most certainly am not,” Tony says. “Being too kind would have me feeding you grapes.”

Bucky’s face blanks.

“Don’t. I...I don’t wanna take advantage of your hospitality. I don’t want to remind you of what happened.”

“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t wanted,” Tony says. “Believe me. And if you want to leave, you’re free to leave. I don’t want to make you feel like you need to stay here.”

“I...I want to make it up to you.”

“Then use BARF and review it,” Tony says. “I’m serious. I need user feedback, and you’re the best candidate for it. Also, please try to convince Steve to wear neon yellow. I just want to see if he’ll do it.”

Steve wears neon yellow. Tony laughs so hard he cries.

Bucky smiles.

It’s a nice smile, really. It’s wide and happy and wow. That’s all worth it.

And then BARF. Bucky just gives user feedback, nothing else. Tony doesn’t want to know anything else, but they start talking more.

Tony finds out that Bucky’s been doing crosswords to catch up on current events, and he’s bought taped recordings of World Series games.

He loves antique stores. He visits them and brings home little trinkets that he remembers in his own house, or what he remembered. He watched old commercials from the fifties and sixties, laughed as he remembered the Sears catalogs that would come in the mail.

“Me an’ my sisters would beg my mom for new clothes from the catalog, and she never would. Always sewed our pants and skirts so damn well, I probably could’ve used them for the next ten years.”

Tony laughs.

“Well, I can’t promise I can sew. But I could give you some armor that could last you twenty years, if you want. Steve told me you’re thinking about doing some distance missions.”

“Just observation, no armor required.”

“Sometimes it’s the simple missions that get the worst hits,” Tony says. “Believe me, I know how it goes. So, do you want some armor?”

Bucky smiles.

“Sure.”

“I’ll need feedback.”

“I’ll give it all I’ve got.”

Bucky is a goddamned dream to design for. He knows exactly what he needs, what areas are most likely to be pierced, and also has a flair for the dramatic: he requests an Iron Man helmet be embroidered on the back.

“You’re really just trying to be sweet on me, aren’t you?” Tony teases.

“My master plan to gain your fortune,” Bucky teases right back. “I’ll waste it all on champagne pools and the worst-looking but most expensive shoes I can find.”

Tony laughs.

“Sugar, that’d be incredible if you could spend all of my money on that. I’d commend you.”

Bucky smiles, and it shouldn’t be as nice of a smile as it is, but here Tony is with his opinions and his concerning thought that maybe he wants to see more of Bucky.

In the morning, there begins a routine. Tony is always up at eight o’clock. It’s a rare lull in Avenger-morning-routines: Nat, Steve, and Bruce are all done, and Thor and Clint won’t be in until ten o’clock at the earliest.

(What can he say? Thor’s a god and Clint...well. He needs a lot of beauty sleep.)

Tony makes coffee, and Bucky makes them both breakfast. Says that officially, it’s to test and make sure that his prosthetic is still performing under optimal conditions.

(They both know that’s not it.)

Tony always says he pours too much water, makes enough for two cups.

Steve calls them out on it.

“You two are being weird,” he says. “And not like Thor and Bruce trying to reenact that one show about ghosts and unsolved things.”

“That’s their form of courtship, don’t be fucking rude,” Clint remarks. Natasha snorts.

“What, us being weird?” Tony asks, pouring a bit more coffee into Bucky’s mug. He always uses too much creamer and then won’t finish his coffee unless there’s more. “Why do you say that?”

“It’s because you both do couple shit,” Bruce says, breezing into the kitchen. “Also, Steve, lovely to see that you have volunteered to be the next guest on Avengers: Unsolved. We’re planning on using you as a guilt-trip in order to access files about aliens.”

“Truth will be found!” Thor adds. “But also, yes. Bucky, I thought you were taking him on a date to the art museum on Saturday.”

Bucky turns red. So does Tony. It really is quite inconvenient.

“I mean, we could go on a date there,” Tony says. “If you’re okay with that.”

“You’re doing this in public?” Natasha asks, eyebrows raised. “Hm. Would not have called that.”

“You owe me fifteen dollars,” Bucky says. “Not you Tony, quit looking at me like that. Yes, it will be a date on Saturday, I’ll wear a nice shirt. Nat said that I couldn’t do anything that surprised her.”

“Technically, Tony surprised me.”

“I thought dates were mutual events, hm? Fifteen dollars. I’ll use it to buy the best bouquet in New York.”

“The best bouquet costs over a thousand dollars,” Thor answers.

“Not questioning how you know that, but I’m scared of you,” Bucky says. “Then I will get the best fifteen-dollar-bouquet in New York.”

Tony snorts, smiling.

“I guess I’ll spray a bit of my perfume on my pillow then, soldier.”

“I’ll pick you up at noon sharp,” Bucky says, grinning. He finishes his coffee. “We’ll make fun of Steve’s art exhibit together.”

#lovelyirony writes #holy shit this was longer than expected #thank you to angel for this inspiration #winteriron #avengers as a family #personally i like the fact that thor and bruce are doing avengers unsolved and have to force different avengers on #natasha romanoff #bruce banner #thor #bucky barnes #tony stark #howard stark #maria stark #sally the therapist

244 notes · View notes

wordynerdygurl · 4 years

Text

Skin Deep ~ Part 4

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! As @that-one-person reminded me, we were overdue the next chapter of Skin Deep! I hope this has been worth the wait. As always, if you’d like to be added to my tag list, let me know! Also, requests are open and I love when you re-blog and like my work! Thanks for all your kindness!!

This is the 4th Part of our Story with links below to the previous chapters! ENJOY!

Skin Deep Part 1

Skin Deep Part 2 Skin Deep Part 3

Pairing; Loki x Reader, Steve x Reader, Bucky, Natasha, Nick Fury, Thor and Valkyrie round out of cast! Summary: Picking up where Part 3 ended: You’re on the run with Loki, who wants answers. Steve comes clean to an old friend, Natasha and Fury make a plan. Warnings: References to violence, smut, intergalactic travel, and some kissing!

From his vantage point at Steve’s grill Bucky noticed the almost frantic vibration coming off his oldest friend from all the way across the lawn. And Steve wasn't carrying any champagne. In fact, he was whispering furiously to Natasha, shaking his head.

Looking to the skies, Bucky smelled the electricity in the air. It made the hairs on his human arm rise, antenna to trouble, tuning into the wrecked wavelength his friend was putting out. It was about you, of that Bucky was certain, and with your own strange behavior tonight, he knew trouble was en route. He had let you sneak away, sensing your breaking point, knowing your need for a minute alone. It was the reason you were such great drinking buddies. You let Bucky be himself and he returned the favor. Besides, something in Steve was different these days, something Bucky didn't exactly like. His friend, Captain America, hero to the weak, was pushy. Aggressive. Angry.

And when Steve looked at you, there was a gleam, a spark of possessiveness that gave Bucky pause. Sure, you were amazing. Funny, smart, undeniably sexy in a way all your own. Bucky understood wanting you, he even got the need to have you, hold you, lock you down with a ring. If only Steve could see how unhappy you were. Each time Bucky saw you, the strain had pulled more of your joy away. Sure, you baked pies, smiling the whole way, chirping platitudes and teasing Steve. That happiness, though, it never reached your eyes. Telling Steve that an engagement ring was too much, too soon, Bucky had tried in his very stoic way to prove that you weren't ready. Never fully able to give his buddy his blessing, Bucky had opted instead to provide you a shoulder to lean on. And lean you did. Slugging back vodka shots at all these parties, in the quiet and seldom used spaces of kitchens and dining rooms, you had talked easily with Bucky. No topic was too wild or off limits, with the exception of Steve. Anytime the name of your new love came up, the subject would change. You'd deflect and Bucky let you. Maybe he should have pushed harder, he thought as Steve stomped his way. Maybe Bucky should have forced you to talk about whatever issues you and Steve faced, tried his hand at advice, or offered excuses for his best friend’s erratic behavior. If Bucky had done that, then perhaps the stifling stench of trouble wouldn't be pooling around the party, pulsing through all the high energy people gathered together. “Buck… come here, would ya?” Sure, Steve sounded like himself. Jovial, a little concerned in that serious way he had, but not mad. For some reason, it reminded Bucky of the way Steve’s father would talk, just before he’d beat the ever loving hell out of Sarah… or Steve. It soured the stomach of battle tested Sergeant Barnes. War was coming. “Sure thing, punk.” Cocking his head, Steve couldn’t quite look his friend in the face, opting instead to focus on the open back door of his farm house. Would you come strutting out of it, unaware and un-phased? Steve prayed for that, even if his gut told him otherwise, “Bucky, you said my girl was in the ladies’ room?” Tucking his hands in his pockets, nodding solemnly, “Yea, Stevie. Yea. She had to piss. It happens.” Waiting for the battle was exhausting and Bucky just didn’t have the patience to stew in the slow burn of Steve’s anger. Clapping a broad hand along the neck of the Winter Soldier, Steve pulled his friend close. To anyone looking, the embrace would seem brotherly, kind. What they couldn’t see was the tight grip used to keep Bucky contained, or hear Steve’s heated harsh whisper, “Where the fuck is she, Buck? I know you know. So tell me.” Reacting instinctively, pulling against the restraining hook of Steve’s palm, “I don’t know what you’re talking about… she went to the bathroom, I came out here.” “Well she’s gone now and so is Loki-” Stepping back out of Steve’s reach, “Wait. Loki was here? I thought you said he left. Opened the Bi-Frost or whatever. Disappeared.” Almost growling, Steve ran desperate hands through his blonde hair, ignoring Bucky and turning to Natasha, “We need to let Fury know. Set a perimeter. Loki won’t be able to get off the planet, not without help anyway.” “Fury’s involved? Steve, what is going on?” Jabbing a finger into the chest of his best friend, Steve spun, spitting, “You let Loki kidnap my fiance, that’s what’s going on! And now I have to find her and rescue her before that greasy alien asshole does something else to the woman I love!” Rearing back, Bucky inhaled, lifting his shoulders. If you have to fight a friend, fight fair, he thought. Already Bucky could read violence in Steve’s muscle movement. The graceful way Steve bounced on his toes to build momentum into his fierce throw was minute but effective. Dropping his right arm, just a touch before stepping into his swing, Steve's eyes screamed murder and they were locked onto James Buchanan Barnes. A swish of air brushed at Buck's dark hair as the blow missed. Bucky easily blocked the punch, grabbing his pal at the wrist and twisting until his chest was pressed into Steve’s back. It was as fluid as the ballet you had forced them to attend a few months back, quick and clean movements, executed flawlessly. Bucky felt Steve spin in his grasp, planting his feet, preparing to toss the Winter Soldier on his ass. His counter maneuver was a leg sweep, one Bucky was ready to use, when Steve went limp in his grip. Natasha had sucker punched her mission partner in order to get his attention, “Steve. You gotta relax. Bucky didn’t know and you’re drawing attention. Too many eyes around here, ya know?” Natasha waved to Tony, a gesture that said, no worries, everything is ok over here. It was enough to satisfy the playboy, who turned back to his cocktail and conversation with Rhodes. “I'm fine. It's fine. I’m just…” unable to find the right word, spiraling, Steve sagged towards the ground. Catching him at the waist Bucky steadied his woozy friend as Natasha brushed off help from the other guests. Returning to the pair of soldiers out of time, The Black Widow, barely containing her disgust, “Bucky, get him inside. Steve, I'm sending everyone home, then I’m going to make a call.” True to her word, Natasha whispered something to Tony and Pepper, Bucky clocking their reaction of concern for both you and Steve. It was very clear to the Sergeant that The Avengers were not in on this mission. None of them were permitted to hang around the farm house with Nat going so far as to walk out with Clint and Rhodes. Bustling Steve into the kitchen, Bucky kicked a chair free from the table, dropping his buddy on his ass. Still a little amped up from the almost altercation outside, Bucky decided to put a bit of distance between him and his childhood friend, resting his hip against the counter, "What the hell was that, Steve?" "Stay out of it, Bucky." "It's too late for that, punk. Either you start talking or we take this back outside." Side eyeing the super soldier with a metal arm, Steve tugged at the corner of a pretty place mat sullenly, "Fuck you." "Language!" "You think I give a shit about bad words? Now? No… things are too far gone." Waving his hand, begging for more, "Care to elaborate, Cap?" Steve had a second to consider his options. He could let Bucky in, tell him what was going on, hear his opinions on the situation at hand. Or… not. "You don't need to be involved. Once Nat gets back, it's best if you go." Thunking into the opposite seat, Bucky leveled his grey gaze on his pal, "And if I say no?" "Look, it's an off the record thing. Tony, the rest of them? They know nothing. I don’t need you sticking your nose in-" That was all it took for the dam of Bucky’s own outrage to burst. With a wood rattling slap to the custom built dining table, open palm connecting enough to make Steve jump, "Damn it, Rogers! My nose is in this already. Hell, you were ready to half kill me over this… over her, not fifteen minutes ago!" Sighing, hard and heavy, Captain America pressed back in the wooden chair. He saw the questions in Bucky's look, the need to unravel this mystery, the desire to find a way out for his friends. And Steve realized that to accept his buddy's help, Bucky would need the full story. The truth hurts and Buck's words stung Steve. Bucky was right and in the end, he reasoned, they might need him to help bring down Loki. After a second of consideration, a rough hand sliding through his blonde locks, "Fine. FUCK! Fine. What do you know?" Crossing his arms over his chest, stern voiced but curious, Bucky started, "Just you and Nat reporting to Fury? Small team." "Small mission. At least, at first." Trying not to give anything away, making Bucky work for it felt good, almost like a return to his life before Loki, before you. Tapping his metallic finger on the table, Bucky resumed his questions, "So, how does Loki figure into this?" Leaning forward, Steve lowered his voice, “Weapons tech. Power. More than when he attacked New York. He’s been off world gaining followers, an army, and a throne.” “So the plan was to keep Loki away, right?” Nodding, Steve’s inflection solemn, “By any means necessary.” Rocking his head back, as if slapped, Bucky’s eyes widened. Just the implication of those words, by any means necessary, used by Nick Fury meant that this mission was crossing a line from mundane into murderous. "And she was your way in." It started to take shape, the whole sorted plan, Natasha’s involvement and Steve’s role in it all. Bucky felt that prickly sensation again. Bowing his golden head, Steve shook it yes, "Only… I wasn't brought in… I… volunteered." "Ok, but why?" Inching closer to the truth, waiting out the Captain, Bucky nodded for him to continue. When Steve wasn't forthcoming, Bucky nudged his foot with a sharp kick, eager to accelerate the story. For a second that frantic, frenzied energy flashed through the room again, pulling on Bucky's sixth sense, "Because I wanted what Loki had… who Loki had. I wanted her, so bad Bucky. So bad." “Steve… come on, man. There are other girls out there-” Cutting his friend off with a shout, “Why should that asshole have her? He doesn’t deserve her. Before he left, she was always so sweet, so cute… then he… abandoned her! Left her! Man, that was… just so hard to see.” “Yea… I know. I mean, I remember when she and Loki were together. And I know his leaving was hard on her.” “Hard on her? She… she stopped eating, stopped sleeping. God, I could hear her crying all night. Know how hard it was to keep away? To know that Loki had forgotten her?” Steve kept talking, about you, about loving you, and the lengths he went to in an effort to court you. He followed up with all the ways you denied him, over and over, until Natasha intervened. That all of it played into Fury’s plan was a convenient cross-point, coincidence, until things had gone wrong this afternoon. Bucky let him tell his story, knowing full well it was merely a version, a fairy tale wrapped around the rotten apple of truth. In Steve’s world he was the hero, wronged by fate, Fury and Loki Odinson. His path had been paved with good intentions and pure hearted motives. It was everyone else who misunderstood, miscalculated and mistook his actions. Could Steve be blamed for that? Of course, this edition of Steve’s tale didn't include beating up a cuffed prisoner. It also omitted the fact that Steve had been pursuing you while actively lying about Loki's whereabouts. Glossing over the details allowed Steve to paint a picture highlighting the best of him, but Bucky had known the little punk a long time. During a long pause that found Steve with his head in his hands, Bucky took a deep breath and asked, “And how did you and Fury know what Loki was up to?” “He was sending mission reports weekly. Loki had been tasked with helping promote peace across the Nine Realms. That he gained so much was the tipping point. Fury felt like a return to Earth would be 2012 all over again, only this time… total annihilation.” Something was still nagging at Bucky, “Had Loki made any threats?” A guilty look passed over the face of Captain America and his normally solid voice wavered, “Not that I was told about.” “So, Fury...?” “Fury needed… no, that’s not right. He wanted to keep close tabs on Loki, monitor his return, his mood, his movements, if he ever came back.” “And since she was his lover, she was a potential point of contact… the entry point?” “A possible one.” “If you were dating her and Nat was posing as her friend, then you’d know if Loki reached out, spilling the details on his plans, and be able to head him off at the pass.” “Exactly!” Oddly proud, Steve was almost happy that he no longer carried the burden by himself. Sure, Natasha knew, had even engineered some of it, but having a friend on his side made Steve feel better. “But Loki didn’t do that? He surprised you today?” Blowing out a frustrated snort, “Natasha went to meet him at the base. Apparently, the high and mighty Prince expected to be greeted by Fury and his forgotten lover.” “That didn’t sit well with the God of Mischief?” “Nope. Somehow he froze Nat. Confined her, I don’t know… Anyway, he came here and…” Trailing off, Steve could still picture his lady’s body, your body bent under his own, your eyes pressed shut in ecstasy. How you ground against what looked like his own sculpted skin, moaning through an orgasm that appeared amazing, and left you with shaky legs. Going silent, Bucky didn’t push, not this time, but he did feel the moment Steve surrendered fully. His shoulders let go with a deep inhale, his voice sounding like that scrawny kid from Brooklyn after a bad scrape, "She loves him, man. And I fucked up. Loki’s got my girl and I don't have any way to find her or fight him." Tears? Sighs? This wasn't Steve. No, Captain America was an unstoppable, unflappable hero. Spinning out was Bucky's move, not Steve’s. Putting his fleshy hand on Steve’s shoulder, trying to console the broken man in front of him, "Come on, kid. There's always a way to win. It's what you and I have been doing for over a century." “Not this time, man.” "Why not? Did you come clean? That’s why she left, isn’t it? You told her what was going on and she went after Loki." Shame filled Steve’s heart, his cheeks burning, "I… I didn’t get the chance. She left here, but not alone." "She'll be back." Words, pathetic platitudes, were all Bucky could offer. He had seen you tonight, skittish and jumpy. He saw Steve’s reaction to your disappearance, angry and hurt. Bucky thought that a snowball in hell stood a better chance than you're returning. "Not happening. I lost it on her, Buck. Smashed up mom's dresser, yelled… It was like being outside myself, watching myself do and say these terrible things. And it wasn't her fault. Not really. I mean, yea, she fucked him but he was me, so-" "Whoa. Stop. Say that again?" Steeling himself to relieve this afternoon’s nightmare again, Steve swallowed hard, "Loki, you know how he can… shape shift? Well, he came here as me and I walked in on myself screwing my girl!" Bucky's eyebrows lifted, his full lips curling into a cockeyed grin, "Wait. You're telling me that you came home and saw yourself banging your future fiancé?" Pausing, catching Bucky barely holding back a smirk, "Yea… why?" And for some reason, after all the incredible things Steve had shared tonight, it was the idea of Steve catching himself balls deep in your naughty bits that made Bucky laugh. Once he started, Bucky couldn't control the mad giggles from overtaking him, much to Steve’s astonishment. But then Steve laughed, too, "I guess it is pretty funny, when you think about it." "I mean, your face must have been priceless!" Clutching his stomach as the laughter grew stronger, Bucky had tears running down his cheeks at the image Steve described. Sure, it was a horrible thing, but who could say that they watched themselves having sex like that without being in porno? It took them both a minute to calm down, with Steve settling enough to counter, "Shit, Buck! I was pissed! I probably looked crazy." "That I do believe. What did you say to her? Them?" Now his face flushed scarlet, burning with embarrassment. The lie was just easier to get out, "Um… I don't really remember. I know I surprised Loki and well, my girl fainted from being used by him. The shock of it not being me, ya know?" Bucky didn't buy it, but he let his friend sell the story anyway, "Must have been scary for her. And that's when you secured Loki in the locked shed? And set Nat as your watchdog?" "Yup." Unable to meet his friend’s stormy stare, knowing that it would undo him completely, Steve focused on the edge of the table, running his fingers back and forth along the rough wood. If this were an interrogation and Bucky were sitting across from a suspect and not his best friend, he’d have no problem beating the guilty man into submission. But Steve was his strongest connection to this world, this time, and it was hard to walk away from family, even if they didn’t deserve the benefit of your doubt. To that end, one thing still bothered Bucky, "Why not cancel the party, man?" "Because I still want to marry her." Pulling the small black box from his front pocket, Steve toyed with the thing, his vision of a future with you still so close to realized. Whistling at the size of the sparkly rock enshrined in white gold, "Fancy. What do you think your chances are? Think she'll say yes?" "My chances went down to zero the second Loki dropped down to Earth. As for her answer… Dunno. I… I hope so, but now…", Steve faded off, knowing there was little hope for your romantic reunion if he didn’t have a clear idea of where you were at the moment. "Now Loki’s back." "Right." “And they’re gone, together.” “Right.” “And Fury’s on his way.” Striding in on impossibly high heels, Natasha folded her arms over her chest, eyeing the two gossiping men in front of her. It was going to be a long night. --- Somehow you had made it to the treeline undetected, using the orchard as a shield, ducking behind trunks as you and Loki scrambled toward the edge of the property. You couldn't help looking over your shoulder, checking for pursuit, worrying that Steve or Natasha were going to find the pair of you. There was no possible way they would let you get away, not after today, not with Loki. It was a bit treacherous, though. There was only natural light to guide you through twisted branches and raised roots, so your progress was slower than you wanted, but Loki was with you. Even beaten and bruised, he radiated calm, a soothing balm for your frayed nerves. Something about that made this whole situation seem better, manageable. You were no longer alone, Loki was here, holding your hand, not directing you but consulting. "Pet… the roadway is up ahead. Stay here, tucked out of sight." Pulling your long lost lover close, a small kiss passed between you, a passionate promise to sit still. Stepping tentatively out onto the gravel filled shoulder, Loki surveyed the highway quickly. When he was satisfied that the coast was clear, Loki waved at you, motioning you forward. Striding confidently at your side, Loki stopped in the dead center of the yellow lines, his grounding arm around your waist. A car, low, black, expensive, came racing round the bend, barreling towards you. Tucking your chin to Loki's chest, you gripped him tight, readying for the car's impact. A roar of wind swirled around you, grabbing at your skirt, whipping around your legs. For a second you thought you'd been struck. Breathless, your lungs emptied. There was nothing solid under you, just the feeling of Loki and a current of warm air. Next, you felt the impact of hard earth under your feet, vibrating through your shins, then Loki's grip loosening a touch, "Ok, darling?" Peeking from under his arm you saw lights everywhere. A bar was to your left, filled with noisy drinkers, barely discernible from the traffic around you. Honking horns made you jump, "Where the hell are we?" "Cleveland. I can't yet take us off world. I'm still a bit weak, I'm afraid… but at least we have a bit of a head start on Rogers and Fury." People pushed past you on their way to dinner, chirping happily, not seeing you in their tunnel vision. Being anonymous was a nice change, welcome even, as your personal life had been lost to Steve's intergalactic presence. On the busy streets of Ohio no one took notice of the two well dressed people standing on the damp sidewalk. "Um, you changed?", no longer sporting his battle gear, Loki was dapper in a black suit with an ebony tie. Leaning closer you straightened it, not because it was crooked, but because you needed to feel it… him. The whole look was just shy of too much, but that was the space Loki filled best and honestly, looking at him made your heart swell. Loki was back, and yours. After more than two years, having him close again felt natural, easy. In so many ways, the opposite of your life with Steve. As if somehow sensing your tug into nostalgia, Loki knuckled your chin up, "Just keeping up with you, love." His nose brushed against your own, so weirdly intimate and innocent for a man who had slapped your ass red only hours ago. Resting his forehead to yours, you inhaled that magical combination of burning sparklers, broken in leather with just a hint of honeyed citrus, "God, I forgot how great you smell." "Hmm… dove, there is nothing on Asgard that smells or tastes as wonderful as you. Believe me. I looked." "Careful Loki… people will say we're in love." At your cheekiness, Loki claimed your lips, his hands sliding over the soft fabric of your dress. Clinging to him, unwilling to let go now that he had returned, you puffed out a pouty sigh as Loki withdrew. “Norns. You know how badly I want you again? I can barely think straight for wanting you.” Oblivious to everything around you, lost in the sweeping pools of Loki’s desire filled expression, you toyed with his collar, “We have a lot of catching up to do, for sure.” “I’d love to get reacquainted-” here he paused to lick over his full lower lip, hunger for you dripping from every word, “-but we are on the run from the Earth’s mightiest heroes.” Snickering, you rolled your eyes at the thought of the Avengers, hours away eating charcuterie in Steve’s backyard. Stepping back, you sighed, “You’re right. So, have you got a plan?” Hanging in the air, your sentence had just left your mouth, your tongue still savoring the syllables when a sizzling crack snapped next to your ear. Swinging you away, forcing you to the sidewalk, Loki spun in a blaze of green. Crouched over you, snarling, “Fury! Always a pleasure to see you.” Stepping from the blazing golden circle supplied by Dr. Strange, Fury crossed onto the Cleveland sidewalk from your now empty garden party, weapon trained on Loki’s broad chest. “Wish I could say the same, Loki. You know it’s time to end this. Let’s take our… deliberations back to the office. Talk about this man to man.” A barking laugh left your lover, “Man to man? I am a GOD! And you… you are pathetic. Your attempts to keep me off Earth, imprisoned, away from my woman have all failed.” “Where are you going to go? You can’t get off the planet without help. My help. And it’s yours, Loki, if-” “If I come quietly? Tail between my legs, submissive and compliant?” As the words left his mouth, you watched, focused on the way Loki was shifting closer to you. The long fingers of his right hand were visible, reaching back for you, a silent signal of his escape plan. Fed up and furious, Nick Fury’s voice was flat with frustration, “Loki. Enough. Let’s do this somewhere people aren’t.” “Oh, I don’t know, this seems as good a place as any!” Circling Loki, edging nearer, Fury tried reasoning, “Endangering civilians isn’t going to make things easier. You know that.” “You know, I’d love to talk about how you betrayed me. How you stonewalled my lady… how you put Captain America in my place, as if he could ever be worthy of her. But, I’m a little busy at the moment.” Snapping his fingers, you jumped to your feet, grabbing for Loki’s outstretched hand. The second your palm connected that feeling of floating overcame you once more. This time you were ready for the roar of traveling through space by Loki’s magic, the push of meeting the ground, the curl of Loki’s body against yours. Blinking, you opened your eyes on new scenery, the chill of a beautiful sea soaked morning breaking around you. Straightening the coat of his pristine suit, Loki smiled at you as his fingers wove between your own, “New Asgard. My brother’s realm, now ruled by Valkyrie, by his abdication. We need to find him. He has a lot to answer for.” --- "Just what in the hell happened? I thought I was very clear about avoiding this exact problem." Pacing, hands firmly on his leather belted waist, Nick Fury growled at the bent head of Steve Rogers. "Now Loki’s on the run, dragging your… Well, what is she exactly Captain? Girlfriend? Fiancé? Mark? along for the ride." At those harsh words, Steve started, ready to focus his own anguish somewhere, anywhere. Fury was as good a target as any, as far as Steve was concerned. Pushing off the paving stones, he was stalled from rising by Natasha's firm hand and quiet words, "We have an idea-" "I don't want ideas. Not from you two. What I want are answers, Romanoff, and I want them now." Sitting on the emptied bench of the picnic table, still covered with your pretty tablecloth and jars of peonies, Natasha sighed, "I didn't have time to alert Steve. Loki made it here first and… reconnected-" "Is that what we're calling it?" Snapping, Nick glared from his good eye, his last name never more appropriate. Exhaling deeply, Natasha Romanoff squared her shoulders, "Sir, Loki… manipulated the circumstances." "Just what in the hell does that mean?" All three available eyes locked onto Steve, “What it means, Fury-” lifting his golden head with a jaw clenched tight, “- what it means, is that the son of a bitch showed up here and had his way with my woman. “After Loki… took advantage of her, I had him. He was contained, here, in my shed. It was modified with the restraints Tony provided with Thor’s direction.” “And still, he got away?” Disbelief clouded every syllable from Fury. That his two top agents had failed and so badly, had the normally stoic director steaming. Standing now, Steve was almost chest to chest with the man who’d been pulling the strings of this entire operation. Natasha, watching closely, knowing that she would only be able to subdue one of them if it came to it, gently palmed the dagger concealed in her waist band. Steve thrust forward, brushing past Fury before facing him once more, “Yea, Nick. He did. He got away.” “Do you know how?” Fury’s fingers were curled around his pocket taser, just in case Captain America needed a jolt, reminding him of who was calling the shots here. It wouldn’t do much except give Nick a head start, but with the Captain looking so rough and so raw, the SHIELD director would take any advantage available. “We believe that… he was set free.” Natasha didn’t want to say the words. You had let Loki go, that much she knew to be true, and she supposed that it made some sort of sense. Steve had been right all along. You and Loki did have some cosmic connection that even time and distance couldn’t eliminate. Intervening for the sake of Fury’s mission and Steve’s pining heart, Natasha had no qualms about why she’d guided you into a relationship, in fact, she still believed that he was a better man for you than Loki. But no. No matter what Rogers did, you had never let go with him like you had with the younger son of Odin. Not that you complained. You had taken all of Natasha’s words of praise, her seemingly well intentioned advice, her flat out advocating for Steve in stride. Sure, your friendship suffered for it. Natasha, never having been one for close ties to anyone, had enjoyed the talking and gossiping. It was nice to have a girl around the tower. One who understood period cramps and cravings. A person who would put on high heels and makeup for a night of dancing then suggest hoodies and shorts for watching Pride and Prejudice. That was over now. When she had been, well, frankly, overpowered by Loki and his new paralyzing weaponry, Natasha knew the plan for a peaceful capture of the prince was over. Having seen the aftermath of your reunion with the space god, having seen Steve’s seething anger, the Black Widow felt her own ire spike. Didn’t you know how hard she had worked? How tireless her efforts had been to keep you and Loki apart? Just how invested she was in joining you and Steve together? It was like you wanted to throw all of that away, squandering those bonding moments where you had become something more than a mission, those times when you were Natasha’s only real friend. Couldn’t you just go along with the plan, unknowing, quietly? She knew you couldn’t, wouldn’t. It wasn’t in your nature. So, channeling that frustration into the cold facade that so many had seen just before they met their end, Natasha had to compartmentalize the “you” she cared about away from the “you” she was responsible for trailing. Both had pissed her off. Now, hearing the gruff grumble of Director Fury bearing down on her, Natasha could only accept the berating tone of his hard words. He wasn’t wrong. She and Steve had fucked up royally, the whole mission was blown, and while Bucky had certainly aided in your escape, he was blameless collateral damage. The consequences fell to you and the Captain. Killing you was going to be hard for them both, but if it had to be done, so be it. Shrugging, Natasha started again, “Nick, we have a tracker on her. We know that she and Loki made it to Cleveland, but he can’t get away from Earth without some aid.” “Well, that’s good to know, if only it was some new intelligence. You’re tracking her? Great! Where is she now? Don't know huh? Well, she and Loki tele-ported from a city sidewalk, in front of me and hundreds of civilians, with no word on their next destination. “And make no mistake. Loki will find a way off of this planet and when that happens, there’ll be nothing else we can do.” “So what? Let him go! He’s won, Nick. It’s over.” Throwing himself down onto the bench, Steve’s dejected voice breaking, he slumped over his feet. “That’s not an option Cap. Loki is more powerful now than he’s ever been. You both read the reports. He wasn’t just hanging around on Asgard. No, Loki was negotiating peace between his native realm of Jotunheim and his adoptive home. He was gifted with tools and technology that no human could hope to wield. Earth ending stuff, Captain.” “Whatever plans you had of making peace are over now. There’s no way Loki gives us any help… and why would he after all this?” “Rogers, I’ll do whatever I must to keep this planet and the creatures on it safe. Loki is a threat to that, just by existing. With his new powers, high placed connections and intergalactic royal title, he had the potential to be unstoppable.” Seething breath puffed out the chests of the two men standing toe to toe. Machismo made Natasha want to vomit. Men. “Look, I’ll go after them. Steve, stay here, in case she reaches out. I’ll take the quinjet and trace their path.” Standing now herself, Natasha turned to the depressed super soldier, patting his arm, “Bucky’s still here. I’ll let you know when I’ve found anything.” “No. Nat, I can’t let you go alone. It’s my fault, too.” “You’re no good to me like this, Rogers.” “But, She’s-” Cutting him off, Natasha stepped closer to Nick, “I know, but you’re too involved. If tough choices need to be made, can you?” Gulping hard, passing a rough hand over his face, Steve frowned, “I can do my duty, if that’s what you’re asking.” “Steve.” Her tone said it all the words she wouldn't vocalize. I don’t trust you, not now, not like this. I don’t believe you will have my back at the cost of the woman you claim to love. I don’t think you can do the job. Fury didn't allow her the chance to elaborate, jumping in with his definitive voice, “Natasha’s right, Rogers. You’re staying right where you are, on the bench. Romanoff and I are going to resolve this issue without any further problems.” Half hearted, strength sapped, Steve raised his eyes to the leather clad figures before him, “Please. Please, Nick… Nat. Don’t hurt her.” “I promise, Steve. I won’t.” And in the second, all three knew she was lying.

--- Finding Thor’s shanty was easier than you expected. A friendly fisherman was only too happy to point you in the right direction. What you saw upon arrival was not entirely what you had expected when visiting Loki’s brother. It was a beat up looking cottage, surrounded by empty cases of cheap Midgardian beer, crumpled take out containers, and a collection of well fed seagulls situated near the edge of the village, “Ugh. What a pig.” “Loki! It’s… charming?” Your admonishing whisper turned the statement into a question at the sight of Loki’s disgusted face. For a second you just stood at Loki’s side, staring at the weather beaten front door, your hand clasped in his strong one. “It’s disgusting.” Agreeing with a small nod, “Um, yes. Yes, it is. But, this is your brother’s house and you said we needed to talk to him. Step one is ringing his bell.” “No. I won’t do it.” You had forgotten about this side of Loki. Fastidious, precise and obstinate, Loki could cop an attitude that had the ability to drive someone crazy. Someone like you. Over the last two years it had been easy to forget all the little things that made Loki prickly. It was even easier to forgive him. Since he’d left, you had looked at your life together through rose glasses, through a gentle fog of missing him, and those elements of your relationship that were less than perfect had been abandoned. Now, standing outside the hovel that Thor called a home, as a fresh day dawned over New Asgard, you were reminded of all those imperfect things that came with loving Loki. A wave of need, love, and longing for him rolled over you. All of those imperfections made you perfect for each other. Rising up on your toes you pressed a small kiss to Loki’s pout, taking the tall God by surprise, “What was that for?” Shyly grinning, you bit into your bottom lip, “I missed you… missed kissing you.” “Then perhaps you should come over here again?” That was all the invitation you needed. Stepping into Loki’s space, your chest resting against his own, you savored the nearness of him, as himself. He wasn’t playing at being Steve. Loki was here, he was with you, and if you weren’t mistaken his hands were drifting down your backside. The rush of it, well, it was familiar and new at the same time. How Loki seemed to inhale your breath, inhale you, as his mouth opened to accept your lips. His gentle exhale, a moan, as his tongue licked over your own. It was overwhelming. It was wonderful. Stepping back, you started to pull away, only for Loki to wrap his arms around your waist, “Not so fast, darling.” Losing yourself, you focused solely on the firmness of his body, the weight of his hands on your hips, the intensity of Loki’s desire. Intoxicating, heady, you leaned into those feelings. Kissing Loki back, you tangled his hair in your hand, earning another one of those sultry sounds that made your legs weak. How had you lived without the passion and pleasure he provided for so long? A smashing crash broke the quiet morning causing you to jump in Loki’s embrace, “What the hell was that?” Immediately on the defense, Loki pushed you behind him, crouching into a protective stance. From over his broad shoulder you watched, worried about the new danger coming your way, unsure how to help your reactive lover. Another rattle had Loki palming his dagger, anticipating an attack. That’s when a raccoon, bigger than your childhood terrier, scuttled from under an overturned trash can carrying what looked like a half eaten slice of pizza in its mouth. “Appalling! Mother would be modified!” Loki cursed as he offered you his hand, kicking away an empty glass bottle, "Why is he living like a dirty animal, surrounded by trash? One would think they were back on Sakaar!" “I don’t know what’s going on with Thor, but we came here for a reason. Let’s get it over with, ok?” Loki shook his head, refusing to step any closer, “He’ll have to come out here. I won’t go inside this… dilapidated shit box.” Sighing, “Fine. Fine, I’ll do it.” Stepping around a pile of broken electronics, you carefully picked your way to the front door, gracefully knocking on the splintering wood. After an answerless few seconds, you tried again, rapping lightly with your knuckles before turning to flash Loki a small smile. That’s when you noticed the striking woman striding towards you and your returned lover. “My, my… is that pretty Prince Loki I see?” Even her voice was sexy, you thought, as the sarcastic words dripped from her full lips. The swaggering stranger radiated cool, calm, sensual energy. Otherworldly energy that made you feel mortal and boring. You couldn’t help tugging your skirt straight and fluffing your hair as she got closer. “Ah… Valkyrie! How are you?” Hugging her tightly when she opened her arms, Loki found that he was genuinely happy to see the fierce, battle tested warrior. Smirking at your man, she countered, “That’s King Valkyrie to you. Your brother crowned me, or have you forgotten?” “On the contrary. It seems like he finally realized what I’ve known all our lives.” “Which is what, exactly?” “He’s not fit to be the ruler of Asgard, obviously.” Drawing right up to Loki, hands on her hips, Valkyrie leveled her dark eyes at his, “What would you know about ruling, Mischief?” “Enough to know that you’re good at it. Enough to know that I no longer want to be the King of Asgard.” “Is that so? And what’s changed your mind?” At those skeptical words, Loki wound an arm around your waist, tugging you close, “I’ve got more… important concerns these days.” Looking you over with her shrewd, searching gaze, but speaking to Loki, “And she likes you? Are you sure?” Laughing, the sound deep and rich, “As much as you like fighting and drinking.” “I hardly drink anymore. As King I have mead only on important occasions, I have to keep my wits about me the rest of the time.” Sharing a laugh, the two shared another small hug before Valkyrie turned to you directly, “Alright. Who’s this then?” Loki started to respond but you cut him off, extending a hard towards the newly crowned King of Asgard, “Uh, I can answer for myself, thank you, Loki. Valkyrie is it? Nice to meet you. And, yes, I love Loki.” Making a face that was part disgust, part pride, Valkyrie smirked, “Love? Oh no. Hasn’t anyone told you yet? Loving the Odinson boys is hard on a girl.” Pulling Loki in for a small kiss, taking him by surprise, “I’ll take my chances.” Shrugging nonchalantly, “Suit yourself.” Focusing on Loki once more, Valkyrie shifted on her feet, “Listen, if you’re looking for Thor, he’s not here.” “Oh? And where exactly is the lovable oaf?” Hitching a thumb over her shoulder, pointing up the hill, “At the palace… the new palace, that is. You can come and, please, don’t forget your girlfriend.” Falling in line behind the King, Loki couldn’t help but add, “You know Val, I think I liked you better when you were drunk.” Snorting in response, “And I know I liked you better when I was drunk, weird right?” Bringing up the rear, your own sarcastic comment dying on your throat when the Palace of New Asgard came into view. Banners of gold shimmered in the light of the rising sun, flapping in the breeze of the young morning, beckoning you closer. You hugged Loki’s arm tighter, excited and exhilarated by the sight before you. “Home is a people, not a place. Those were some of my father’s last words to Thor and I… and while I can never take you to the place where I grew up, this… this is the home of my people.” “Loki… it’s beautiful!” Valkyrie, stopping so you could both catch up, “It’s getting there. Thor’s been a huge help. Come on, let's show you around the palace and let your brother know you’re here.” ---To Be Continued!

My minxes: @sammy-jo1977 @vodka-and-some-sass @just-random-obsessions @brokenthelovely @lots-of-loki @thefallenbibliophilequote @iamverity @iluvsumbucky @unadulteratedwizardlove @wolfsmom1 @procrastinatinglikeabitch @mizfit2 @shxdowofdarkness @nonsensicalobsessions @ahintofkiwistrawberry @alexakeyloveloki @jessiejunebug @rorybutnotgilmore @crystalizedcaramel @lokislittlecorner @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81 @caffiend-queen @thenatalie @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @jenjen8675309 @that-one-person

#loki x reader #loki x you #loki fanfic #loki smut #loki multipart #MCU fanfiction #mcu x reader #mcu x you #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #bucky barnes #valkyrie #thor

105 notes · View notes

purplehairedwonder · 3 years

Text

Hearts With(out) Chains Chapter 11

Fandom: One Piece Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Gen (eventual Lawlu) Words: 3537 Characters: Trafalgar Law, Monkey D. Luffy, Zoro, Nami, Franky, Smoker, Tashigi, Vergo Note: I’m taking my turn at the Corazon!Law AU because my brain won’t leave me alone until this is written down. Tags will be updated as the chapters come out.

The story title is based on the Ellie Goulding song “Hearts Without Chains.”

Summary: Law is reclaimed by the Family when he's 17 and, with Doflamingo holding the lives of his crew as collateral for his good behavior, eventually becomes the third Corazon. Years later, trapped by his impossible situation, Law finds a strange connection to Monkey D. Luffy, which offers a glimpse of something he's repeatedly had ripped away from him: hope.

Previous chapters: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Read also at AO3 / FF.N

Smoker’s eyes widened. “Vergo? What is the head of G-5 doing here?”

“I’m here on business, Vice Admiral,” Vergo replied, inclining his head at Smoker.

“We called for backup but were told you were on leave,” the swordswoman said, frowning.

He never said whose business he’s here on, Law thought wryly as he sliced through the chains holding the two Marines captive. He stepped back out of the cage, eyeing Vergo. Law didn’t like the sense of satisfaction radiating off the older man. He’d heard what Law had said—but had anyone else?

“Doffy didn’t believe me before that you’re a traitor, but now he’ll have it in your own words, Law.”

Could Vergo have a line open to Dressrosa? Or perhaps he’d recorded what Law had said.

It also confirmed that Vergo had called Doffy with his report on Law’s defection, but apparently Doffy wasn’t buying it; the Warlord knew full well the safeguards he’d put into place to prevent Law from betraying him, after all. If Vergo had proof, though…

Law needed to make sure those words never left this room.

“I didn’t think you’d be so foolish as to blow your cover over a grudge,” Law commented, raising an eyebrow. He kept his tone purposefully light, but he expanded his Room and kept Kikoku hefted in front of him.

With a quick scan of his Room, he found Zoro’s swords and Shambled them into the man’s hands. Zoro let out a surprised yelp (one Law knew he would deny making until his dying day), and Law’s lip twitched as he glanced back and met the pirate hunter’s eye. The other man’s startled expression quickly shifted into a nod of appreciation as he replaced the blades at his side.

“Cover?” the swordswoman asked, following Smoker out of the cell.

Smoker jerked. “A traitor?” he growled, glancing between Law and Vergo. His gaze finally settled on the base commander. He shook his head, and Law could practically hear the pieces clicking into place in his brain. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it. You’re the one who’s been covering up the abductions of the children, aren’t you?”

“Don’t feel too bad, White Chase-ya,” Law said, and Smoker looked back at him suspiciously. “It’s not like Vergo was a traitor to the Marines. Vergo was a pirate from the start.”

“What?”

Law couldn’t help his lip curling into a sneer. “He’s Doflamingo’s most trusted subordinate. He joined the Marines on his orders fifteen years ago and climbed the ranks.”

“A pirate posing as a Marine,” Smoker hissed. “Shameful.” He shook his head, disgusted.

“How dare you,” the captain yelled at Vergo, betrayal tinging the anger in her voice. “Those children are innocent!”

“They’re sacrifices for the greater good, Captain Tashigi,” Vergo said simply. He’d been watching the exchange with a bored affect in place, though Law knew better than to take him at face value; Vergo was always poised to attack.

“The greater good?” the cat burglar snapped. “What greater good could possibly come from experimenting on children?”

“That is super messed up,” the cyborg agreed.

“A world ruled by Donquixote Doflamingo, of course,” Vergo said, as though the answer were obvious. And, Law supposed, for Vergo, it was. “Give me some credit for keeping up my cover, Smoker-kun. I’ve been on my guard ever since you transferred to G-5. It will be good to finally be rid of that concern.”

Vergo turned back to Law. “And who says I’m blowing my cover, Law?” Vergo had completely dispensed with Law’s title, apparently. He’d never respected Law as a successor, no matter how many times Doffy pushed him on it, and now he had the excuse to back it up. “None of them are leaving this island. I’ll file it away as a tragic accident at sea, as always.”

Law narrowed his eyes, reminded once more of the World Government’s coverup of Flevance’s destruction. Vergo, as far as Law was concerned, was proof pirates and soldiers weren’t so different, no matter what people like Smoker professed. Law knew he was no better, but he also never claimed to be.

“I won’t let that happen,” Smoker snarled. He didn’t have his jitte since he’d been captured—and Law wasn’t feeling particularly inclined to return the weapon that had taken him down with Seastone—but he didn’t let that stop him.

Smoker shifted into smoke form and charged Vergo with an outraged yell. He had to know about Vergo’s talent with haki and the effect it would have on his Fruit’s abilities, but he attacked anyway, his fury at his base commander’s betrayal driving him on.

“Smoker-san!” the captain called, worried.

“What is he doing?” Zoro muttered.

Smoker punched at Vergo with a smoky tendril, but Vergo blackened his arm and grabbed the smoke. Smoker cursed as Vergo spun and whipped him into the far wall. Smoker coughed and sagged to the floor. His second and the Straw Hats gasped, but Law took the moment of distraction to Scan Vergo; there was a Den Den Mushi in his pocket.

With a twitch of his fingers, the Den Den Mushi flew from Vergo’s coat toward Law. Vergo’s eyes snapped toward him.

“No!”

Law grabbed the snail from midair, and he pocketed it just as Vergo’s haki-coated stick slammed into his chest, tossing him like a rag doll into the wall behind him. The back of Law’s head hit the metal; his vision briefly went dark, and his stomach threatened to empty itself—another blow to his head was not what Law needed when he already had a concussion—but Law, taking a stabilizing breath, was able to collect his wits and keep his Room from falling. He Shambled himself across the room before Vergo could recover the Den Den Mushi.

“Brat!” Vergo snapped as he turned to find Law slumped over on one of the couches, having swapped places with a pillow. “But I suppose running away is always what you’ve done best.”

Law could vaguely hear the Straw Hats making some kind of commotion, though their words wouldn’t form in his ears; his blurry vision, however, was directed entirely toward the man striding toward him, a murderous intent barely contained beneath his haki-clad skin; Vergo knew he couldn’t kill Law before bringing him back to Dressrosa, but that wouldn’t stop him from beating the shit out of him—again.

Law just needed a moment to bring his vision back into focus…

Suddenly, Vergo was flying across the room. He crashed into the far wall and crumpled. Law blinked, his battered brain trying to comprehend what he was seeing. Belatedly, he turned to see Straw Hat, flanked by his crewmates, standing in the doorway, his rubbery arm returning to him with a loud snap.

Before dealing with that, Law pulled Vergo’s Den Den Mushi from his pocketed and noted in relief that there wasn’t a live line open. That meant Doffy hadn’t been listening in. Vergo still could have recorded his words, but Law would worry about that later. If Doffy hadn’t heard Law, then all Law had to do was prevent Vergo from bringing his words back to Dressrosa.

He pushed himself to his feet and headed toward the new arrivals. His vision was clearing, but his balance was still slightly off. The doctor in him was concerned, but the pirate in him knew he didn’t have the luxury of taking a break.

The two factions of Straw Hats were greeting each other happily. Straw Hat’s expression lit up as Law approached.

“Torao!”

“What are you doing here, Straw Hat-ya?” Law demanded. “We agreed you would wait.”

Straw Hat frowned. “We were talking, but then there was all this chaos on Torao’s end of the line. No one was responding. It sounded dangerous, so we decided to help.”

Ah. Law supposed he had gotten distracted by Vergo’s appearance and hadn’t considered how that would have sounded to the Straw Hats listening in.

“So, what exactly happened to cause this?” the cat burglar asked, gesturing between Straw Hat and Law. Though she’d agreed to trust Straw Hat, she was still suspicious of Law—and she was right to be.

Still, Law ignored her. They didn’t have time for this; Vergo wouldn’t stay down long, even after taking a hit like that.

“If you want to rescue the children, this would be the time to do it,” he said.

“What about him?” Straw Hat asked, nodding back toward Vergo.

Law grimaced as he noticed Vergo stirring. “I can handle it.”

“Because that went so well before,” Black Leg muttered.

Law ignored him as well. He didn’t have Seastone draining his abilities now. “I’ll handle it,” he repeated, looking directly at Straw Hat. Vergo might be taking an excuse to finish what he’d started thirteen years earlier, but Law wasn’t a terminally ill child anymore. It was unfinished business for them both.

“Luffy, what—” the cat burglar started.

But Straw Hat studied Law’s face for a long moment and seemed to find whatever he was looking for because he nodded. “Okay.”

Law felt a measure of relief at the response; it wasn’t that he needed Straw Hat’s permission to take on Vergo—alliance or not, he wouldn’t let anyone take this fight from him—but having his agreement was a lot easier. His crew would follow his lead, and they’d be able to accomplish both their tasks and move on to rescuing Law’s nakama.

“What?” several Straw Hats gasped.

“Okay,” Straw Hat repeated. “Torao will handle the Verto guy, and we’ll go after the kids.”

“You think I’m going to let that happen?” Vergo said. He’d risen to his feet and stood, arms crossed, in front of the doorway the Straw Hats would need to go through to find the children.

Straw Hat made to draw his arm back again, but before he could strike, Law held out a hand. Straw Hat stopped, eyeing Law curiously.

“Go. Caesar and Monet are still with the children. They’re both Fruit users, so don’t take them lightly.”

“But—”

Law Shambled Vergo into the cage, and, with a few twists of his fingers, retwined the wires holding the front of the cage together. The doorway was now open, and Vergo cursed. The cage wouldn’t hold him long, but it didn’t need to—just long enough for the others to leave.

Straw Hat whooped. “Thanks, Torao!” he called as he charged forward, the promise of a fight clearly drawing him like a magnet.

“Wait, Luffy!” the cat burglar called, running after her captain. “You don’t know where you’re going!”

Straw Hat’s laughter echoed against the metal walls as the Straw Hats and, Law noticed, Smoker’s second filed out of the open doorway. Smoker, however, remained where he was; he’d gotten to his feet while Law was talking to the Straw Hats. Law narrowed his eyes at the other man.

“This is my fight, White Chase-ya. Stay out of my way.”

“That man is a traitor to the Marines, and I plan to see justice done,” Smoker said, voice tight, as he strode up next to Law. “Don’t get in my way, pirate.”

Law and Smoker both turned at the sound of a metallic slam; Vergo had kicked the cage’s front out, the metal wiring sliding several feet across the floor before coming to rest. Though Vergo’s eyes were still hidden behind his glasses, Law could feel the anger radiating off the man.

“Enough,” he snapped, stepping back into the room.

“My thoughts exactly,” Smoker roared, charging at Vergo. “Traitor!”

Law sighed but didn’t intervene. Though he thought the man was being foolish considering how his previous attack had failed, Law could understand his rage at realizing Vergo, the base commander of his own unit, was a traitor.

However, Smoker wouldn’t get an advantage on Vergo this way; Vergo’s haki was superior to the other vice admiral’s. The first Corazon didn’t have a Devil Fruit to enhance his attacks, so he’d trained and honed his haki over the years until his masterful control and overwhelming power became what he was known for. For a Logia like Smoker, Vergo was a bad matchup.

Still, if he wanted to wear Vergo down while Law took a few moments to rest, Law wasn’t going to object. At full strength, Law wasn’t particularly concerned about taking Vergo on, but he didn’t want to take any chances when he was unsteady with a head injury. As the two vice admirals clashed, Law scanned the room until he found Smoker’s jitte. He could still feel the ghost of the Seastone tip slamming into his back, causing his Room to fall around him as weakness spread through his entire body. Law grimaced, but, grudgingly, he summoned the weapon into his hand.

“White Chase-ya,” he called as Smoker fell back from a swipe of Vergo’s bamboo stick.

“What?” Smoker demanded, not looking toward Law.

“Catch.” He tossed the jitte in the man’s direction.

Smoker’s eyes flicked in his direction then widened as he saw his weapon flying in his direction. He sent a smoky arm toward it, grabbing the hilt before Vergo could interfere. He grunted a nod in Law’s direction, clearly unhappy to owe Law anything else.

Even with his jitte, Smoker was clearly outmatched. Vergo’s haki-coated arms were able to strike Smoker’s smoke form, forcing him to revert to his base form. They traded blows, Vergo’s bamboo stick with Smoker’s jitte. Vergo’s haki-enhanced hits pushed Smoker into retreat.

“It’s no use, Smoker-kun,” Vergo taunted. “You’re no match for me.”

“You’ve betrayed G-5. The men trusted you. I’ll see you pay for that, pirate,” Smoker snarled back.

Vergo side-stepped Smoker’s blow and looked at him curiously. “You seem to care for those morons. Why?”

Smoker leapt at Vergo, only to be pushed aside by his bamboo. “Because they’re my men!”

Vergo tsked. “And that is your problem, Smoker-kun. Placing loyalty in trash. You will only end up discarded along with them.”

Smoker roared in response, but Vergo kicked out and tripped Smoker. Smoker fell backwards, hissing as his back hit the floor. His eyes widened as Vergo suddenly appeared above him, ready to strike a killing blow with his bamboo.

Deciding he’d seen enough, Law twitched his fingers, sending Vergo to the far side of the room.

“Law,” Vergo growled when he realized what had happened. “Don’t interfere. I’ll have time for you, too.”

Law rolled his eyes and turned back to Smoker. “Enough, White Chase-ya.”

“Dammit, Corazon! I can still—” He broke off, wincing at what Law would guess were broken ribs from Vergo’s many haki-enhanced blows.

“I can see that,” Law replied wryly. “Don’t make me move you, too.”

Smoker glowered but didn’t argue.

As Vergo started charging back toward Law and Smoker, Law Shambled himself across the room, directly into Vergo’s path. He swung Kikoku, but Vergo dodged just in time. A large chunk of the wall behind Vergo came down with a loud clatter. Law swung his blade several more times to create smaller pieces of metal from the fallen wall.

Law turned on his heel and immediately jumped back toward Vergo, using Kikoku to block a flurry of blows. His arms shook under the strain of countering the strikes, but he gritted his teeth then powered forward, driving Vergo back.

Lifting a finger, Law used Takt to lift the metal pieces he’d created and hurled them toward Vergo. The vice admiral cursed and dodged the large sheets of metal, knocking those he couldn’t dodge away with his stick.

“What’s wrong, Vergo?” Law taunted as he ducked under the flying pieces of metal to approach his target. “Not so easy when your target isn’t shackled in Seastone?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Law.”

Law sent a large piece of metal Vergo had already knocked away back toward Vergo and ducked behind it; Law followed its path, so when Vergo knocked it out of his way again, he jolted in surprise as Law suddenly appeared. He swung his bamboo to push Law back, but Law ducked under Vergo’s outstretched arm, catching the man off-guard.

Law shoved his free hand forward into Vergo’s chest. Mes.

Vergo gasped as his heart was expelled backward. He slumped forward as Law summoned the heart into his hand.

“Bastard,” Vergo hissed.

To his credit, Vergo’s heartrate remained steady as he kneeled in front of Law. Even now, he wouldn’t let his successor rattle him.

“I have your life literally in my hand, Vergo,” Law said, eyeing the heart. “I’d watch my tongue if I were you.”

“And what will you do with it, boy?” Vergo sneered, looking up. “Kill me?”

As Law felt the heart pulse steady in his hand, memories of Minion Island flashed in front of his mind’s eye.

Finding Vergo as he looked for help for the fallen Cora-san.

Vergo and Cora-san recognizing each other.

Vergo beating the wounded Cora-san, taunting him all the while.

Vergo beating Law, no sympathy for a dying child.

Vergo leaving them both, battered and bloody, in the snow to report to Doflamingo.

Law squeezed the heart, and Vergo writhed on the ground, pained groans coming through his clenched teeth.

Cora-san. Law released his grip on the heart. Vergo let out relieved gasps and slowly stilled.

“Corazon,” Smoker said slowly, as if afraid to spook Law. “He needs to face justice.”

Cora-san had always believed in justice. He hadn’t wanted to kill Doflamingo but bring him in. He wouldn’t want to kill Vergo either but instead, like Smoker, to bring him to justice.

Law wasn’t like them.

“Justice,” he scoffed bitterly, eyes never leaving the heart in his hand. “Where was justice when my little sister collapsed from Amber Lead Disease at seven years old and died as my parents’ clinic burned to the ground? Where was justice when soldiers destroyed my country then covered it up?” Law could hear his voice rising in his ears as he spoke, but he didn’t care. Years of pent-up rage flowed through his veins. “Where was justice when the man who saved me was murdered for it? Where was justice—”

He cut himself off at the sound of Vergo’s choking laughter, throat tightening as he realized what he’d just said.

“There’s no such thing as justice, Smoker-kun,” Vergo said between pained gasps. “There is only strength and weakness.” He turned his head to stare at Law. “And your precious Cora-san was weak, Law. Just like you.”

Fury rising in his chest, Law squeezed the heart again, Vergo’s screams a melody to his ears.

When Law let go of the heart once more, Vergo collapsed to the floor and panted. For years, Law had waited for the chance to avenge what Vergo had done to him and Cora-san that night; Vergo had haunted his nightmares, a looming figure of cruelty. But now, laid out on the ground and trying to hold onto his pride in his defeat, Law thought he looked pathetic.

And just like that, the fury drained out of him, leaving him feeling oddly hollow.

“So now what, Law?” Vergo asked between gasps for air. “You can’t kill me.”

Law raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“What do you think Doffy would do to you if you did? To your crew?”

Law barked a humorless laugh. “If he thinks I’m a traitor, we’re all dead anyway.” He narrowed his eyes. “Might as well take you with me.”

Vergo frowned. “You know how the Family deals with traitors.”

“I do,” Law agreed.

“He’ll never let you go,” Vergo said. “Not until he’s done with you. Wherever you go, he’ll find you.”

“I know.” That was why he’d return to Dressrosa once his business here was done. “Don’t worry, Vergo-san. I’ll file it away as a tragic accident at sea.”

He tightened his grip around Vergo’s heart, watching as the man writhed. He felt�� nothing. Vergo coughed blood, but the satisfaction Law had expected to feel at the sight of Vergo dying at his hands was missing, sucked into the hollowness in his chest.

“Corazon, you don’t have to do this,” Smoker spoke up. “I can take him in.”

Law tightened his grip further. “You really think Doflamingo would let his favorite subordinate be locked up in Impel Down?”

“Even Warlords don’t have the power to stop something like that,” Smoker replied with a frown.

Law shook his head. “He has more connections than that, White Chase-ya.” If Vergo left Punk Hazard alive, Law and his crew were assured slow, agonizing deaths. If Law killed Vergo now, there was still a chance this could be salvaged.

Vergo huffed a strained laugh around his cries. “He’s. Right. Smoker-kun. You. Have. No idea. Who. You’re. Dealing with.”

Smoker looked between the two pirates and shook his head but said nothing. Law continued squeezing the heart, waiting to feel something after all this time.

“What’s wrong, Law?” Vergo panted. “Don’t have. The stones. To finish it?”

“Hardly.”

Law closed his fist completely, crushing the heart until Vergo let out a final bloody gasp then went limp.

Still feeling that odd emptiness, he opened his hand dropped the still heart next to the corpse.

“That was for Cora-san.”

Next chapter

#I've had this plotted out for a while #but was struggling to get it on the page #I really like how it turned out though #Trafalgar Law #Vergo #Smoker #One Piece #One Piece fanfic #One Piece fanfiction #Caitlin's fic

10 notes · View notes

deathonyourtongue · 4 years

Text

Winter Passing | Chapter 10

Summary: After car accident leaves him at the base of a mountain with no sign of civilization for miles, a breakup is the least of Henry’s problems. Just as death’s icy fingers begin to coil around him, salvation presents itself in the form of an old cabin in a clearing. Despite years of being told fairy tales and ghost stories that warn against such things, he uses his last of his strength to reach the cottage. When he wakes, he finds not a demon, but an angel, long removed from the insanity of the modern world. Pairing: AU!Henry Cavill x OFC Word Count: 2K Warnings: None, for once. A/N : I think my tag list broke during the last update. Should be fixed now. Like what I do? Buy me a coffee!

I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX _______________________________________________

Send me a PM me if you’d like to be added/removed from the tag list!

@fumbling-fanfics @skiesfallithurts @pinkpenguin7 @madmedusa178 @fangoria @bluestarego @my--own--personal--paradise @tastingmellow @honeychicanawrites @angelicapriscilla @swiftyhowlz @schreiberpablo @pinkwatchblueshoes @kirasmomsstuff @prettypascal @playbucky @queen-of-the-kastle @cajunpeach @godlikeentity @captainsamwlsn @lilac-tea-time @katerka88 @melaninmimii @alienor-romanova @downtowndk @redhairedmoiraandtheliferuiners @agniavateira @henryfanfics101 @fatefuldestinies @iloveyouyen @justaboringadult @xxxxxerrorxxxxx @bloodyinspiredfuck @peakygroupie @stxphmxlls @trippedmetaldetector @radaofrivia @speakerforthedead0 @oddsnendsfanfics @snowbellexx @leilabeaux @cavillunraveled @woofgocows @andahugaroundtheneck @sofiebstar @kmhappybunny @mary-ann84 @cappot @cheyentjj @cavillhavoc @sleepy-moon-girl @princess-of-riviaa @peakyrogers @hell1129-blog @thethirstyarchive @worldicreate @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @henry-cavill-obsessed @rmtndew @elena-lawley @bichibibi @penwieldingdreamer @scoopitypoopbloop @flightofthefantasies @justrae9903 @raspberrydreamclouds @minton131 @hollydaisy23 @mizzzpink @omgkatinka @rn7rocks @elenas-fanficrecs @ohjules @writernerd23 @whatawildone @toss-some-coffee-to-your-witcher @modernscarlett @jasmindaughteroftheworld @badoopwoop @onlyhenrys @moderapoppins @flouncingxtart @ffreadings @captaingothgirl1996 @schmidten17 @alexakeyloveloki @asylummara @dearlybelovedluke @pinkzsugar @valkyrhys @ntlmundy @livingonmywishes @thotti3evans @whitewolfandthefox @madbaddic7ed @sausagefest1996 @foxyjwls007 @fuckoffbard @bethabear12 @lovieebby @marswritings @mooniiieee @traceyaudette @pumpkinglory @keiva1000 @my-rosegold-soul @geralt-of-baevia @luna-aestas @thereisa8ella @lovefreylove @littlefreya @designedacertainway @worshipping-skarsgard @aletheladyinred @sugarpenchant @evermcfearless @deep-in-my-thoughts13 @wednesdaybraids @lyrafraiser @tumblnewby @pearlkitten33 @initanap @lkay0307 @winchwm @wheretheriversrunintothesea @genuinedonnie @jimmypagesandbrianmayshair @sunnie91

Foraging in the winter was a skill to be honed, and after finishing the morning work on the property, Henry followed Olivia out towards the wilds of the forest that took up the back end of her home.

“I didn’t think anything grew in winter, especially out here,” he murmured, watching her intently, keen to learn and-as he tended to be more and more often with each passing day-in awe of how she moved, how she lived.

“Technically nothing grows in winter, but there’s plenty to gather,” Olivia explained as she opened her hand, showing Henry a seed pod that resembled a dancing flame.

“The pancakes we had the other day? Were made with flour from these Hornbeam seeds. And here? These are delicious when you prepare them correctly,” Olivia explained, her other hand holding a few crabapples.

Eyebrows up in amazement, Henry dutifully turned around, letting Olivia put more foraged goods into the backpack she’d strapped him into. “What about poisonous stuff? Or stuff that you can use for...You know…” He made a face and Olivia couldn’t help but laugh, cupping Henry’s cheek and reaching up on her tiptoes to give him a kiss as they continued their walk through the forest, protected from the elements by the thick overhead cover of the ancient trees.

“That too. Holly and Mistletoe, though I personally have little use for them as nature intended,” Olivia nodded, her smile growing bigger as she felt Henry tuck her in under his arm, pulling her close as they fell in step with one another.

“Tell me a story from when you were...Before you were a witch?” Henry asked, his voice soft and tinged with reticence, lest he say the wrong thing.

“I was born a witch, sweetheart. It’s not like vampires. You don’t get turned into one at the peak of your life,” Olivia laughed sweetly, squeezing his waist with one hand while the other rubbed gently over his chest. “And before you ask, no vampires do not exist. Some of us do blood magic, which is pretty close, but none of us have fangs...That I know of.” Gazing up at him with amusement, she leaned into his strong form as they continued to walk.

“A story from when I was younger. Let’s see...When I first became aware of my powers, my favorite thing to do was hide things up in the trees. I started small; little bits of fur, some meat, one of my mother’s hair combs. No one noticed at first, of course, but then I started to get bolder. My father’s saddle was the first thing anyone really noticed, because, well, we only had one at the time. My crowning achievement though, was putting the family goat in the tallest tree of our village. It lasted all of an hour before the goat began to bleat, and a crowd formed. My parents were none too impressed. I’ll never forget my father having to climb up there, only to throw the poor thing down into an elk skin a few of our neighbors held out.”

“You were-”

“A little shit, yeah.” Olivia grinned proudly up at Henry, earning a laugh and a playful kiss, neither her nor Henry paying much attention to their surroundings, too wrapped up in the moment to care about what might be headed their way.

“Well, you turned out alright, that’s what matters, no?” Henry chuckled, giving her a warm squeeze and another kiss to the temple.

Olivia couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt more at peace and more elated. Looking up at him, she knew Henry was the root cause, but after centuries of solitude and suffering, Olivia refused to let the fear of the unknown take hold. What they had was all she’d ever wanted, and she wasn’t about to let it slip from between her fingers.

The choice, however, didn’t seem to be hers.

As they rounded the path into a smaller clearing just west of the cottage, the woods turned silent. Though it was winter, the forest still tended to be a cacophony of sounds, from bird calls to deer munching on berries. The silence was unnerving, and looking over her shoulder, Olivia’s unease grew into fear as she watched Gunnar go into a low crouch. Eyes fixed on the clearing, the husky bared his teeth and raised his hackles, on the defensive.

Olivia had barely turned back around when she caught sight of the apparition. Despite the cloud-covered sunlight that streamed into the clearing, the creature still terrified her, as the light allowed her to see her mother’s visage in greater detail.

Henry’s hold on her tightened instinctively, his eyes fixed on the ghostly image before him. “Liv, darling, what do we do?” He whispered, his concern growing when he felt Olivia begin to tremble.

Hiding her face in his chest a moment, Olivia worked to get her breathing back under control, fighting off every urge to run, knowing that doing so would only aggravate the apparition. Instead, she felt an anger grow inside her, usurping the fear as she forced herself to remember that this land was hers. With a push away from Henry, she turned her full attention to the spirit, drawing it closer with her actions.

“Gunnar, stay.” She commanded when she heard the husky stalk closer, a low rumble making it clear he was ready to attack at any moment.

“You’re not welcome here. Leave. Now.” Olivia spoke firmly, taking off her gloves. Henry’s eyes went wide when he noticed the aquamarine waves entwining around Olivia’s fingers. Moving like the ocean itself, they crashed and flowed, gathering in strength and fury until they created a stormy swell between her hands. There was no doubt, even to Henry, that if she let go, whoever was on the receiving end of the rush of water, would be in for a terrible time.

“Last chance, wretch. Tell me who summoned you and from whence you came, or suffer even more than you already have.”

The water between her hands began to glow, and upon closer inspection, Henry realized there was fire beneath the waves and the true nature of Olivia’s threat became clear. Being hit with a jet of water was one thing, but if that water were hotter than an open flame, spurned by anger, it was something else entirely.

Frozen in place, Henry couldn’t stop his cry of fear as the apparition suddenly lunged forward, screeching when it was hit full on by Olivia’s fury. To his surprise, the thing began to disintegrate once more, although this time, the process seemed far more grotesque. Instead of fading, the water seemed to eat away at the apparition, like acid on metal. It turned his stomach, but he couldn’t look away, fascinated and appalled in equal measure.

Just before its face melted away, the creature let out another ear-piercing wail, the singular word it spoke chilling Henry to the bone.

TABITHA!!

Unable to keep from shivering, Henry only found himself able to move when Gunnar nuzzled at his thigh, the husky’s demeanor back to normal as he sat at Henry’s feet.

“Tabitha? Who’s Tabitha?” Olivia asked as she shook off her own chill, the creature’s all-white stare one that would be burned into her memory for a very long time. Moving back to where Henry stood shell shocked, she rubbed his back, knowing full well this could be his breaking point.

“T-Tabitha’s my ex-girlfriend’s name. I w-was leaving her the day you saved me.”

Olivia could feel the chill in his body, the fear in his heart as he made the connection. Though she had no idea how long they’d been together, the betrayal and astonishment Henry felt coursed through every vein, and it didn’t take a genius to realize that Tabitha had kept her true nature a secret from her lover.

Taking Henry’s hand in hers, Olivia turned them in the direction of home, hoping the hearth, some tea, and her thickest blanket would be enough to ease the pain she knew was imminent in Henry’s very tender heart.

“What I don’t understand is...Why’d she have your mother’s face?” Henry mumbled long after his tea was gone, his gaze still despondent as he sat curled up on the couch, as close to the hearth as he could manage.

“If she’s as strong as she seems, Tabitha will have seen me with you. It doesn’t take a lot of work to conjure up a family line, even one as old as mine. She’d have found my mother’s face in my thoughts without breaking much of a sweat.”

A visible shiver went through Henry and he shook his head, looking for all the world like he might cry at any moment. Frowning, Olivia curled up next to him, making sure he could feel her arms squeezing tightly around his torso, hoping the contact would ground him.

“Am I cursed?” Henry’s question made Olivia’s laugh spill out before she could stop it.

“I wouldn’t say that. After all, only one of us is sending threats, and from what little you’ve told me, it sounds like she wasn’t the most pleasant person to begin with.” Shifting easily with Henry, Olivia let him settle as they both laid out on the couch. With his head between her breasts, she finally felt Henry’s anxiety ease and his heart rate slow.

The crash against the window sent them both flying off the couch, once more on high alert.

“Oh my god, it’s just an owl. Christ, where’s Dyster when you need him?” Olivia muttered to herself as she moved to the window, opening it to let the bird in. Scrambling up the couch and as far away from the black-and-white-feathered creature as possible, Henry’s wide-eyed look matched the owl’s, the two staring at one another for a long moment before the bird turned its attention to Olivia.

“I come on behalf of--”

“Theofina, right? Yeah, I get it. I’m wanted in Rome. Since it seems I don’t have much of a choice, tell her to ready my apartments, and that I’ll be bringing a guest not of our order. How’s your beak? You hit pretty hard.”

“It’s fine, ma’am. Just wasn’t paying attention as there was a mouse and, well, I’m hungry.” The difference between the two emissaries couldn’t have been more blatant, and not for the first time, Olivia wondered just how much had truly changed in her former home.

“Here, I have some rabbit to spare. Warm yourself by the fire. Are you pressed for time?” Olivia asked, doing her best to ignore Henry’s befuddled expression as she pulled some raw rabbit from the floor cooler, cutting it in half before meeting the bird by the hearth.

“What’s your name?” She asked, stroking over his head gently, surprised when she still felt a chill in his feathers.

“Atrix, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” Atrix bowed his head for a moment before taking the offered meat and downing it in go.

“Are you treated well?”

“I’m given a home, food, and responsibility, ma’am. That’s all I require.” Atrix nodded, his eyes closing in peaceful enjoyment of the food in his belly, the heat from the fire, and Olivia’s caring touch.

“Good. Go when you’re ready. I’ll leave the window open.” Olivia spoke softly, feeding Atrix the second half of the rabbit before moving to wash her hands.

“Thank you, ma’am. You’ve been most kind. Is this the guest you intend to bring, in the typical way?” Atrix questioned, his eyes going as wide as saucers before he turned his head nearly all the way around to look at Henry.

“Yes. It might be uncomfortable, but it’s the quickest way there, and I know he’s strong enough to endure it.”

“Endure? Endure what?” Henry asked, eyes still fixed on the owl, unsure of what was being talked about, given he could only hear one half of the conversation.

“How do you feel about a quick trip to Rome with me?”

#henry cavill #henry x ofc #henry cavill fic #fic #deathonyourtongueoriginals #winter passing

43 notes · View notes

carewyncromwell · 4 years

Photo

NEXT PART OF THE “PIRATES AU” GO TIME! For the previous part, click here, or you can also browse the entire tag for this AU here! Featuring in this section, once again, is ma cherie @cursebreakerfarrier’s girl Juliette “Jules” Farrier. <3

x~x~x~x

Carewyn had been glad for the rumbles of thunder and the terrible fog that rolled in that night. She knew Governor Farrier would want to quickly make an example out of Orion, and she needed any excuse she could scrounge up to belay his execution date so that she could figure out a way to get him out that wouldn’t either 1, put him in too much danger, or 2, make her lose her position as Commodore. If she got on the wrong side of the law herself, she’d lose the one advantage she had -- namely, the authority and power needed to keep Orion from harm.

What Carewyn could not have expected was the sound that soon accompanied the rumbles of thunder -- cannon fire.

Port Royal was under attack.

A large ship, nearly the size of the Dauntless that somehow seemed to glide in as quickly and silently as the fog, with a blood-red-stained hull and an intricate “R” chiseled into the left side of its bow came into port, and out of it came a mass of filthy, terrifying pirates all wearing dark red tunics. They held torches, pistols, and cutlasses, and they descended upon the island like a swarm of blood-stained rats.

Carewyn immediately ordered a counterattack. Sending out several battalions to protect the Governor’s mansion and the townspeople, she then stayed behind at the fort to lead her soldiers in an offensive against the ship the pirates had come from. The assault went on for almost an hour, but somehow, no matter how outnumbered the pirates were, their advance toward the fort never seemed to halt -- and somehow their numbers never seemed to dwindle...

In the brig, Orion could see the attack in the distance from the tiny window in the far upper corner of his cell. Anyone who wasn’t part of the Artemis’s crew might’ve hypothesized that these pirates had come after Orion, but Orion knew better. Murphy was far too strategic to just barrel into a busy and well-guarded town like Port Royal, and he and the rest of the crew would’ve never done something so dangerous and destructive, if nothing else, than because they’d know he wouldn’t approve. More importantly...Orion could see they were attacking the fort -- where Carewyn likely was at that very moment.

It was a struggle for Orion to try to keep calm. Whenever he was under a lot of stress -- and, to a lesser extent, whenever cannons were fired around him -- it was always rather difficult for him to find and keep his center. His heart rate would pound way too fast and he’d be unable to breathe fully or steadily and he’d have to hold his own hands in a vain attempt to keep them from shaking.

He had to get up there -- and yet his thoughts and his heartbeat were just too loud and too fast in his head for him to think. At several points the Revenge fired cannon balls right at the brig and smashed down walls, but they never managed to explode in a place Orion could use to bust his way out. He tried to meditate and clear his head -- place his faith in Carewyn, that she’d be safe -- just so that he’d be able to think clearly enough to summon up a means to actually help...but he found himself stuck in a terrible cycle of anxiety he couldn’t break free of.

Center yourself -- center -- Carewyn -- find your center -- balance -- calm -- Carewyn, please -- she’s all right -- center yourself -- no, she’s not -- no, she’s not -- find your center -- breathe --

Orion had good reason to be worried -- for when the pirates reached the fort, they cut down every soldier in their way, all with seemingly little effort. When they arrived, Carewyn also realized who it was that was attacking them.

Carewyn’s blue eyes widened upon the dark red tunics worn by the pirates at the head of the charge.

She knew that uniform only too well. It perfectly explained their ruthlessness -- and worse, despite their clear advantage in numbers, her soldiers were still somehow outmatched...

She dashed over to Percy, who had been firing at the pirates with his rifle, and seized his shoulder.

“Percy -- lead the new recruits in a retreat,” she said urgently.

Percy looked up in alarm. “Retreat? We’re abandoning the fort?”

“I care less about the fort than I do our men’s lives,” Carewyn said fiercely. “Get them out of here -- I’ll cover you.”

“But -- ”

“That’s an order, Lieutenant!” she cut him off sharply. Seeing the conflict and worry in his eyes, she then gave his shoulder a squeeze and said more softly, “I’m counting on you. Look after them.”

Percy couldn’t seem to summon any response. His freckled face was very white and scared. Nonetheless, he eventually managed to swallow back the lump in his throat and give her a fervent nod. He then immediately rushed off to gather the rest of his regiment.

“Fall back! Fall back! Stay together!”

Carewyn couldn’t hide the fear she felt herself as she turned her back on Percy and the other soldiers, unsheathing her sword and strolling leisurely into the throng of red-garbed pirates. They attacked her all at once, and within moments, she was fighting all six of them, ducking their blows and slashing into them with ferocity.

By her own design, the Commodore of Port Royal fought the crew of the pirate ship Revenge completely single-handed.

Not long after the seven pirates had swarmed the fort, they seemed to just as abruptly withdraw. No one knew why until Charlie and Bill -- hotly engaged in fighting a handful of pirates who had been ransacking houses -- caught sight of the red-garbed group who was retreating.

‘That must be the Captain!’ thought Bill.

At the head of the group was an older graying pirate dressed in a black coat much more ornate than the rest of his crew’s and a wide-brimmed red hat, which made him look like a silent, hungry vulture among a sea of red. His face was oddly placid and coolly smiling in response to all the chaos, even as he barked around at the rest of the pirates.

“Enough! Fall back now! We have what we came for!”

There was a roar of raucous delight from the rest of the crew, and they just as quickly flocked to the older man’s side.

Charlie’s eyes narrowed angrily. “No way am I gonna let you all walk off that easily -- !”

Before Bill could stop him, he charged at the group of pirates. One of them -- a female pirate, to Bill’s surprise, with a mane of long dark red curls and very cold almond-shaped blue eyes -- immediately unsheathed her own sword and the two began to fight. At last Charlie managed to stab her in the chest, making her collapse in a heap --

It was when she fell back that Charlie saw what the brown-haired female pirate to the pirate captain’s left was carrying over her shoulder -- the prone form of someone dressed in Navy blue and loosely flying ginger red hair.

“CAREY!” screamed Charlie.

Three other pirates immediately descended on Charlie with their cutlasses, slashing at his chest and his long ponytail. Charlie was soon completely overwhelmed in battle, unable to push past them. He tried to keep Carewyn in sight, but she was disappearing over the horizon --

Bill’s heart leapt into his throat as he chased after the group of pirates, his own sword high. His white robes were torn and covered in blood, but he didn’t care -- he couldn’t let them take Carewyn --

With a roar of fury, he went straight for the woman holding Carewyn. He slashed her shoulder, making her crumple in on herself with an angry cry -- Bill seized the back of Carewyn’s jacket, to pull her away --

“AAAARGH!”

Searing pain wrenched through Bill’s back, and in an instant, he was yanked backward away from Carewyn and thrown to the ground. Blood pooled out of his left side as someone stomped their foot on top of him with such force that he was slammed into the brick.

“ACK!”

“Don’t bother getting up, holy Father,” said a very cold, and yet scalding female voice. “We are demons you cannot defeat.”

Bill gritted his teeth in pain as he struggled to get to his feet.

“No -- “ he choked, his eyes flaring with righteous anger. “No, you -- you can’t have him -- !”

The captain raised his eyebrows in a cruel kind of amusement. “‘Him?’“

The brown-haired woman, who seemed to have completely shaken off the injury Bill had inflicted on her, gave a hard, forced-sounding laugh. The woman on top of Bill pushed down into him harder, making him gasp in pain.

“Heed this warning, boy,” she hissed right in his ear. “Stay away from our flesh and blood, or we’ll happily slash open your flesh and spill your blood in full.”

Her dark red curls had dropped into his line of vision -- Bill’s face contorted with confusion -- wait -- hadn’t Charlie already -- !?

“Stop playing with your food, Pearl,” said a younger, scathing male voice somewhere behind her. “We’ve got what we came for, so let’s leave this hovel behind.”

“Don’t tell me what to -- ”

“Fall back, Pearl,” the captain repeated very coolly. “Let the holy man be. Better that he learn the sting of failure that comes from doing the Lord’s work sooner rather than later.”

Bill made one last valiant attempt to get up, but the woman called Pearl kicked him in the back of the head with the metal heel of her boot and his mind went black.

Port Royal was absolutely devastated by the aftermath of the attack. Not only had their town been largely trashed, but their local hero had been stolen from them by the very pirates she fought single-handedly to give the rest of her soldiers the chance to escape from. All three Weasleys took what had happened very hard, all feeling ashamed and responsible for not having been able to protect Carewyn, who they saw as family to them. Percy immediately put his efforts toward helping the remaining officers put together a search party, but both Bill and Charlie feared that the Navy would never be able to find her. The Revenge was a ship of legends that seemingly appeared in and out of the fog like a ghost and only made berth on an island that supposedly nobody could reach unless they somehow already knew where it was. And given that it was an island inhabited by pirates, it was unlikely to be a place the British Navy could easily find.

Fortunately for the Weasleys, there was another person who was worried about Carewyn and was determined to do whatever had to be done to rescue her -- Jules Farrier. And so she charmed her way into the brig, slipped the watching guards some drugged drinks, and then picked up her skirts so she could dash down the stairs to the lone cell she knew was still inhabited.

Jules found Orion Amari sitting cross-legged in the corner of his cell. His eyes were closed and his hands were clasped in his lap. The wall behind him had been broken open at the top, but the jagged hole wasn’t wide enough for him to slip through.

The Governor’s daughter bent down, grabbing onto one of the wooden bars of his cell so she could look through them at him.

“Captain Amari,” she said urgently.

Orion’s head twitched. Although his expression was as unreadable as ever, his shoulders were tenser than normal as he slowly opened his eyes.

“...Miss Farrier,” he said, sounding far less surprised than he probably was. “I hope your Mr. Weasley is well.”

Jules flushed a little at the mention of “her” Mr. Weasley, but was too focused on the task at hand to care.

“Captain Amari, Carey’s been kidnapped.”

Orion’s expression abruptly tensed. His dark eyes went very wide and he froze up like a deer in the headlights.

“What?” The word came out so quietly and shakily it was like it was only said by a shadow of his actual voice.

“It was the Revenge,” said Jules, as Orion quickly shoved himself across the floor so that he could also grab onto the bars and peek through them at her. “They stormed the fort -- they trashed everything, but didn’t take anything except her. Bill and Charlie tried to stop them, but -- ”

“You can’t fight those men,” Orion cut her off very lowly.

He closed his eyes again -- he was breathing as deeply as he could, as if he were trying to keep his heart rate down.

“...There are tales, about the curse that plagues the Revenge’s crew. Some say they cannot be killed. Some say they’re not even human. Some say that they’re more dead than alive, and yet they walk among us all the same...”

He clasped his hands together, his dark eyebrows knitting together over his eyes.

“Carewyn was able to escape their curse, when she and Jacob fled all those years ago...and knowing Charles Cromwell, he couldn’t stand the thought of any member of his family living free -- of the curse...or of him.”

Jules’s eyes narrowed. Carewyn had never told her much about her grandfather, but considering she was more than experienced dealing with a family member who tried to dictate how she should live her life, she completely understood why Jacob wanted to get himself and his sister away from that.

“The Navy’s sent out search parties, but we all know that they won’t find her quickly. But you care about Carewyn -- she told me she helped you, and that you let her escape. You have a ship and a crew -- and since you’re a pirate, you’d probably be able to find out where the Revenge makes berth, right?”

Orion opened his eyes at last. His gaze upon Jules’s face was very unreadable.

“Finding Carewyn I believe I could manage,” he said levelly, “were I not currently imprisoned.”

Jules’s lips spread into a wry smile as she rose to her feet and reached into her sleeve.

“These might help with that,” she said coolly, dangling the ring of keys off of her pointer finger.

Getting Orion out of his cell was the easy part. Another pair of men had come to take the place of the original guards and found them passed out on the floor, just before they caught sight of Orion and Jules darting around the hall. Soon the bronze bell was clanging, signalling a prison break, and more soldiers arrived. At one point Orion even had to pick Jules up bridal style so they could jump down a set of stairs. Just when it seemed they might get captured, though, who should come to their rescue, but --

“Bill!” breathed Jules in relief.

Bill kicked the last soldier off the wall and whirled around. Orion quickly put Jules down, and Bill immediately swooped down on her, clutching her shoulder and searching her face for injuries.

“Are you hurt? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” said Jules, “but Bill -- what are you -- ?”

Bill gave her a grim smile. “Same reason as you, I reckon.”

His brown eyes flickered over to Orion, narrowing slightly as he straightened up.

“I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you, Amari,” said the priest, “but if Miss Farrier got you out, I imagine she convinced you to help us find out where Charles Cromwell took Carey.”

Orion inclined his head. “I understand that you don’t trust me, Bill Weasley, but rest assured, I don’t want Carewyn in the clutches of Charles Cromwell any more than you do.”

Bill still looked very suspicious; Jules brought a hand onto his arm and gave it a squeeze through the sleeve of his robes.

“Bill, we can trust him. He cares about Carey -- I know she’d trust him, if our places were switched.”

Bill deflated slightly under Jules’s hold. He stared down at her for a long moment; then, with a swallow, he turned back to Orion.

“...Carey never has trusted easily,” he said quietly, “so if you think that’s true, and if you trust him...then I will as well.”

His silent stare seemed to add, ‘For now.’

The three were abruptly startled to attention by the sound of a loud CRASH. They dashed around the corner, to find a large piece of the lowered wooden gate on top of a group of stunned soldiers and another ginger-haired man climbing casually through the hole over to them.

“Charlie?” said Bill, taken aback.

Charlie grinned at Bill and Jules. “Hey, lovebirds! Guess we must’ve had the same idea -- though I’d planned on shaking the bloke down for information, not set him loose...”

He cocked an eyebrow at Orion.

“But oh well -- is he taking us to Carey?”

Orion inclined his head to Charlie like he had Bill, his dark eyes very calm but still narrowed seriously.

“I am returning to the Artemis and aim to go after the Revenge. If you wish to assist me in that, I would be very grateful. If you wish to join me in it, however, it would be far more dangerous -- even more so than what you’ve already done.”

Charlie’s grin grew a bit more cocky. “Look, mate -- Carey is my twin. Not by blood, but she’s my twin all the same. She’s family. There’s no way in Hell I’m not going to help her, if she needs me.”

Bill glanced at Jules. He agreed with Charlie 100%, but Jules going would be very different than either of them. She hadn’t been in the Navy -- she wasn’t trained with a pistol or sword.

Nevertheless Jules looked back at Bill with a perfectly fearless expression.

“Us too,” she said firmly.

Bill’s eyes rippled with emotion around his broadening smile. Juliette Farrier truly was the bravest, most wonderful woman he’d ever met in his life.

Grinning, Charlie turned back to the broken gate.

“Now then, you’d best get those swords out -- there’ll no doubt be a party waiting for us, if we head for any of the docks. I hope your ship’s not too far off, Amari.”

Orion’s dark eyes twinkled with mischief.

“Not at all,” he said levelly. “The Artemis’s best aspect is her ability to hide in plain sight.”

“Good.”

Charlie unsheathed the sword at his side. The heavy iron hilt was beautifully melded into a stylized dragon.

“Never thought I’d get such good use out of this baby, when I made it,” he said with another cheeky grin as he held it aloft.

Orion, Bill, Charlie, and Jules dashed for the northern-most dock. It was largely deserted except for what looked like a single, abandoned ship -- but, as it turned out, that was merely an illusion. Orion Amari apparently had a good friend in Tortuga who specialized in old magics, and after he’d been kind to her, she’d cast a spell on the Artemis that gave it the ability to disguise itself as an innocent-looking merchant ship. Once Orion used the word necessary to remove the illusion, both the Artemis and its crew reappeared, and they made ready to board. As Charlie had predicted, however, a whole slew of soldiers had come to stop them -- among them, the final Weasley brother, Percy, who was the last one left standing after Orion, Charlie, and Bill had taken out the rest of the battalion and Orion had made it on board the Artemis.

Unlike Bill and Charlie, however, Percy refused to trust Orion -- he was a pirate, just like the ones who’d kidnapped Carewyn. He’d kidnapped her himself, even if Carewyn managed to get away. If Bill and Charlie went with him, they’d be labeled as pirates too -- if Jules went, then the Governor would hunt all of them down and probably kill them, just to get her back.

“I know you want to help,” he told his brothers sharply, pointing his pistol at them but only by protocol, “but let the Navy handle this!”

“The Navy can’t find a pirate island!” Charlie shot back impatiently. “Charles Cromwell is ruthless, Perce -- if we dally around waiting for the Navy to find her the ‘upstanding way,’ Carey might be dead by the time we reach her!”

“And if you do this, then you’ll have nothing left to come back to!” said Percy. “You’ll be tarred with Amari’s brush, Charlie -- you and Bill, and Jules -- you’ll be criminals! You’ll have no future, no home -- no chance at a normal life, ever again! You’ll be hunted down like animals! The Navy will hunt you down -- the thing you fought for! The thing we fought for! The thing Carey and I still fight for! Is that what Mum and Dad would want? Ginny, or Ron, or Fred and George? Is that what Carey would want -- you throwing away your entire lives and futures!?”

Percy’s hand holding his pistol was shaking. Bill’s lips came together very tightly.

“Percy,” he said very softly, “we can’t let Carey stay in the clutches of Charles Cromwell. That man slaughtered his own daughter and her husband, all because they wouldn’t bow to his will. Carey was lucky to escape him, when she had the chance. I’m sure she’s known her whole life that he might catch up with her and dreaded that moment every single day...and yet she kept it all to herself, because that’s what Carey does. She takes every knife she can herself, so we don’t have to.”

Jules looked from Bill to Percy, her brown eyes narrowed in determination as she nodded in agreement.

“We can’t leave her, Percy,” she said firmly. “Once Carey’s safe...whatever happens next...we can deal with the consequences.”

Percy stared up at them, his freckles very stark against his deathly pale face. His eyes darted from Charlie to Bill and back.

“Don’t do this,” he whispered.

Charlie stubbornly turned away and strode right up the gangplank onto the Artemis’s deck. He stopped to Orion’s right, but avoided eye contact with anyone on board.

“Charlie -- ” pleaded Percy. “Don’t do this -- think of Mum -- think of us -- ”

Jules headed up the gangplank too, turning back to look at Bill. Bill turned away from Percy.

“Bill -- ” Percy said again. “Don’t -- please -- ”

Bill bowed his head.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“Bill!”

Percy’s voice came out as a despair-filled, choked yelp of pain. The sound clearly affected Bill, judging by how he shut his eyes tight. Jules reached out as if to take his hand, but Bill plowed up the gangplank, unable to face anyone, as the gangplank was raised and the Artemis immediately set sail.

Charlie escaped into the rigging and sat in the crow’s nest alone for the next hour. Bill went to the far side of the deck, grabbing onto the railing in a vice grip and hunching over it as he struggled not to cry. Jules came up beside him and, her own eyes full of pain, she rested her head and shoulder against his, desperate to show any support she could.

As much as they all knew they had no other choice, if they wanted to save Carewyn...it didn’t make the schism between the Weasley brothers any less searing and painful.

29 notes · View notes

stylesluxx · 4 years

Text

cold? chilling? freezing? (VI) – s.rogers

[warnings: fury getting shot but that’s it I think]

summary: in which y/n is an assassin turned lover | part five | part seven

word count: 1,758

masterlist

You didn't go straight back to the apartment after you visited the Smithsonian. You remembered it was your night to cook so you spent the afternoon in the grocery store.

You never had to cook until you lived with the super-soldier. You loved takeout but he complained about it after a week. Something about wanting a real home-cooked meal. He cooked for the first month before you ended up getting food poisoning because honestly, he's horrible at cooking. Then you tried to take over and come to find out you too were a horrible chef.

So, every Saturday night you and Steve went to cooking classes and tried to get a hang of it. You started to buy pots and pans and baking sheets. You wouldn't say you were Gordan Ramsey or anything but you were 10 times better of a cook than you were two years ago.

When you got back to the apartment, Steve had just opened the door to the building and smiled when he spotted you. He reached and held the door so it wouldn't close on you before shutting it softly behind you. You looked at the stairs in front of you and sighed before beginning the journey up.

"How was the rest of your afternoon, Captain?" You asked as he took the bags from your hands.

"It was... enlightening. I met with Sam, the guy from the park. He has a support group for veterans," Steve nodded thoughtfully.

"Maybe you should attend that as well. The missions might start to become a bit much after a while. And it'll help you adapt better," You suggested and looked up at him as we walked beside you.

"And what about you?"

"I, uh, Director Fury has already set me up with the therapist. Agent Romanoff recommended it and I respect her advice. We're more similar than I originally thought," You hesitantly spoke, not wanting to divulge too much. "Did you see Miss Carter today?"

"Yeah, I did."

"And how was that?"

"It was good. She thinks I put too much pressure on myself."

"I agree with her, one hundred percent."

"I feel like you've been attacking me ever since you walked in the building," He teased with a light smile on his face, making you laugh.

"Well, get your shit together Rogers," You smiled at him and walked up the last step.

You spotted the blonde woman opening her door and you turned back to give Steve a wink.

"Good evening," You greeted her with a smile and wave.

She was on the phone and had a laundry basket in her hand as she tried to open to door to her apartment. She gave you and Steve smiles before finishing up her phone call and turning to you and Steve.

"My aunt, she's kind of an insomniac," She waved her phone before tossing it in the basket.

It was silent for a moment before you decided to speak up and help Steve out.

"Hey, if you want, you're welcome to use our machine. Might be cheaper than the one in the basement and you won't have to walk up and down all those stairs," You suggested. "And while it dries you and my friend here can maybe go out for coffee."

Steve looked back at you wide-eyed and full of shock before turning back to the blonde with a chivalrous smile.

"Thank you, but I already have a load in downstairs, and uh you really don't want my scrubs in your machine. I just finished a rotation in the infectious disease ward, so..." She softly declined, making you scratch the back of your head awkwardly.

"Well, I'll keep my distance," Steve played off the rejection with a light chuckle.

"Hopefully, not too far," She said slyly before turning to walk downstairs. She quickly turned back around as you got the keys out of your backpack. "Oh, and I think you left your stereo on."

"Oh, thank you," Steve said and turned to look at you once she walked away. At that instant, you both heard the 40s music playing for the record player.

"First of all, it seems like she's kinda into you," You started as you stuck the key in the lock. "And secondly, I didn't leave the stereo on. Didn't even touch it."

"You stay here with the groceries. I'll come open the door when the coast is clear," Steve said and set the bags down beside you and quietly retreated down the steps.

Two years ago you would've walked in with the keys in between your knuckles. You don't know why you listened to Steve, he wasn't necessarily Captain right now and you weren't on a mission. But you listened to him. Your gut told you to listen and to trust him.

You waited for all about five minutes before the front door opened and Steve had his shield in his hand. You surveyed him for any injuries before letting the keys fall from your knuckles. You walked in and set the groceries down on the kitchen counter.

You followed him to the living room and leaned against the wall, your arms crossed over your chest.

"I don't remember giving you a key," You said to Fury as he sat comfortably in your favorite chair.

You liked to sit there during the day while reading a book. You get to see Steve as soon as he walks in and he sees you instantly as well. It was a nice way to start the afternoon.

"You really think I'd need one?" He asked, sitting up. "My wife kicked me out."

"Didn't know you were married," Steve spoke up.

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me."

"I know, Nick. That's the problem."

Steve walked over and turned the overhead light on and we both got a good look at the man in front of us. He was bloodied and bruised, an unusual sight.

Fury put up a hand to still us and reached up and turned the lamp that was next to him off.

He typed in his phone before showing us. It read "EARS EVERYWHERE." I looked over at Steve before walking a few steps closer to him.

"I'm sorry I had to do this but I have no place else to crash."

Steve looked around the room, trying to spot anything out of place or abnormal.

Fury typed on his phone again before showing us a new message, "SHIELD COMPROMISED."

"Who else knows about your wife?" You asked and watched Fury stand up, holding his side.

"Just us three," He said and showed us the phone with the exactly same words. "My friends."

"Is that what we are?" Steve asked hostilely.

"That's up to you," Fury said before screaming in pain and buckling to his knees.

Steve dragged his body from the living room to the kitchen and you pulled out your gun from its place in your holster.

You heard Fury cough out "don't trust anyone" as soon as the front door was kicked down and revealed the blonde "nurse" with a gun in her hand.

"Captain Rogers? Agent Y/L/N? I'm Agent 13 of S.H.I.E.L.D. Special Service," She said calmly. "I was assigned to protect you."

You looked back at Steve and gave him a look before turning back to her.

"On whose order?" Steve asked.

"His," She said and got on her knees to check Fury's pulse.

Steve looked at her dumbfounded but you couldn't believe you were right about her.

She spoke into her walkie talkie and you turned to look in the direction the previous bullets came from.

"Tell him I'm in pursuit," Steve said. He walked backward to get a head start before running and jumping through two windows to chase the shooter.

Sharon gave you an address to where Fury would be taken. Some hospital in the middle of the city which made you look at her weird. Fury was way too private to be taken care of at a public facility but you went along with it.

You ran downstairs and to Steve's bike where you knew he'd meet you. You put the gun back and grabbed his helmet (though it was really yours because he never used it). You put it on and secured it as you saw him running to you.He got on the bike and you followed his lead, wrapping your arms around his waist. He wasted no time speeding off when you told him the address.

—

"Tell me about the shooter," You asked of Steve so you could distract yourself from your boss laying on the operation table.

"He's fast. Strong. Had a metal arm."

Maria Hill walked next to you and looked at Fury.

"Ballistics?" You questioned.

"Three slugs, no rifling. Completely untraceable," She answered.

"Soviet-made."

"Yeah," She said shocked and looked over at you before turning back to the operation table.

You watched emotionless as the doctors and nurses tried to revive Fury but to no avail. Emotionless only because you weren't in the room by yourself. You didn't know Fury too well, no one did, but he (and Romanoff) helped you believe that therapy was a valid option and it was okay to go.

Steve was the first to walk out and then Agent Hill. You stood there for a moment to ensure you were completely alone before letting a small tear fall. You let it hit your Iron Man shirt before you wiped the wetness off your cheek and walked out of the room.

You spotted Steve not too far away and looked over at him. You walked over slowly and watched his eyes take you in, looking for any sign of distress. He found the wet spot on your shirt and gave you a sad smile.

"It'll be alright, Y/N," He assured you while looking right in your eyes, relaxing you.

You nodded, "I know, Captain."

"Cap, Y/L/N, they want you back at S.H.I.E.L.D.," You heard Agent Rumlow's voice disturb the moment.

"Yeah give us a second," Steve nodded.

"They want you now."

"Okay," Steve nodded again, this time with more force.

Rumlow walked off and you followed behind him while Steve stayed back. It seemed like he was having trouble with the vending machine but you ignored it and listened to the radios the S.T.R.I.K.E. team had. They wanted to question you and Steve.

The ride to headquarters was quiet. You rested your head on Steve's shoulder and his arm was wrapped around yours, holding onto you tight.

[AN: so this series is gonna be longer than I originally planned but not too much longer. and I’m super sorry this too so long to post, it was my birthday week so I was super busy. I think I’m putting this on hiatus; I don’t feel motivated to write it anymore]

[tags: @thisartemisnevermisses @thatoneperson5000 @capstopavenger]

46 notes · View notes

solynaceawrites · 4 years

Text

Wires [2]: Defensive Wounds

Rating: Mature Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: F/F, F/M Fandom: Devil May Cry Relationships: Dante/Original Female Character(s), Implied Nero/Kyrie, Implied Vergil/Original Female Character(s), Implied Lady/Trish, Dante/Lirael Thorne, Dante/Lir Characters: Dante, Morrison, Nero, Original Female Character(s), Lirael Thorne, Lir Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Violence, Gore, Dark, Horror, Supernatural Elements, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Serial Killers, Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut Summary: In Red Grave City, a serial killer stalks the streets. Lirael Thorne, recently transferred from Fortuna and looking for an escape from her past, winds up on his trail. Hunting him with her veteran partner, Dante Redgrave, they try to piece together the wires that bind the three of them together. In a race to catch him before he leaves more victims in his wake, the things thought buried will come to the surface, tearing lives and comfort apart.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

“Agonies are one of my changes of garments, I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person, My hurts turn livid upon me as I lean on a cane and observe.” — Walt Whitman

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The morgue is cool and quiet, gleaming metal polished to a shine that sends little daggers of light into Lir’s eyes. She gives herself a moment to adjust, listening to the faint tic tic tic of the freezers, fingering the bottle of aspirin in her pocket while she waits to see if the subtle pressure in her skull is going to shift from discomfort to agony. Next to the door is a desk, with a state of the art computer, a few files, a cup full of pens, and a half-drunk cup of coffee with lipstick on the rim; beyond that, there is another door, one that probably leads to a storage room, two walls of cold lockers in four rows of four, and two x-ray displays on the final wall. In the center of the room are three slabs. On one of them is the Jane Doe, covered respectfully with a sheet, her eyes closed to give her an expression of peace. At her side is Trish, her blonde hair pulled into a knot at the top of her head and her face partially obscured by a sterile mask that she tugs down on Lir’s approach.

“Thorne,” she greets cheerfully. “You here for the autopsy report?” Lir nods, and Trish beckons her closer. “You’re right on time. Just got done with our guest.”

Lir isn’t sure what to make of having a corpse called a guest. Gallows humor, she supposes. “What can you tell me about her?”

“She suffered, that’s for certain.” Trish turns on the light over the slab and pulls it down, illuminating the Jane Doe with a grisly, fluorescent white that turns her already dead pallor a sickly blue-gray. Then she pulls the sheet down, and Lir is suddenly, incredibly grateful that she hasn’t eaten yet, the bile in her throat bitter but weak. “The throat and abdominal trauma was all perimortem. She was alive, but not struggling, when our killer cut her open. Judging from the tissue damage, looks like the throat happened first, but it was ultimately shock and blood loss that killed her.”

“She was alive for the whole thing?”

“Mm-hm. Though I don’t know how aware of it she was. I don’t have the toxicology report yet—that will take a little longer to run, sorry—but pupil dilation is indicative of intoxication. Judging from the depth of the gash here,” Trish points to Jane Doe’s throat, “it was more to keep her quiet than kill her. She would have bled out from that alone eventually if no one found her first, but it doesn’t go through bone. The hesitation marks at the edges make me think he was more . . . Well, there’s no easy way to say this. Probably sawed through her.”

Lir tries to picture it, being too strung out or drunk to defend herself, being helpless while some maniac slashed her throat and cut her open like a butcher. From the corner of her eye, she catches sight of a red dress and pale hair and holds her breath, counting to ten until it fades, then asks, “You said at the scene there weren’t any defensive wounds.”

“That’s right. And there aren’t. No blood or tissue under her nails, no bruising or scrapes or cuts to show that she tried to fight back.” Trish sighs, lifting the sheet back over Jane Doe before tugging off her gloves. “Whoever this is, they’re one sick puppy.”

“Yeah.” Photographs on the wall catch her attention, and Lir walks over to study them closely. They’re all from the crime scene, some of little bits of evidence next to their markers, others of the victim, and it’s the latter she really looks at. “Does that pendant have any religious connotations?”

“You’d have to check. Why?”

“I just thought she looks kind of like an angel.”

Trish comes to stand next to her, her expression grave. “You know, I had the same idea.”

They stand in a heavy silence, the clock on the wall ticking loudly until Lir sighs. She bids farewell to Trish, who promises to have the full report to her by the end of the day, and takes the elevator back up to the bullpen. Dante will no doubt want to know what she’s learned, but she finds that she doesn’t quite want to tell him. Something about this all is nagging her, tugging the thin strands of her memory with an urgency, look, look, you’ve seen this before, even though she’s fairly certain that she never has. Was there a similar case in Fortuna? So lost in wracking her thoughts she nearly runs right into Simmons as she steps off the elevator, and she mumbles an apology and returns to her desk, where she boots up the computer, hunting for a notepad and a pen while she waits for it to finish loading.

A cup of coffee thudding next to her elbow has her peering up. Dante sits back down, a cup of his own in his hand that he raises to her before he takes a sip. His face screws up in disgust. “Fuck. No matter how long I’m here, coffee still tastes like shit. What’d Trish say?”

“That we’d have the full report soon,” Lir replies. She finds what she was looking for and logs into the terminal. “Victim was slaughtered like livestock and left to die. Too something to even try to save her own life.”

“That all?”

She’s aware of his gaze, critical and assessing on her, and it makes her skin flush unpleasantly. “Until toxicology comes back.”

With a nod, he leans back in his seat. “Alright. What are your thoughts?”

Now you want to know? she nearly asks. Rubbing her temples, she replies instead, “Our guy is bold. A nightclub on one side, a bar on the other, people coming and going at all hours? Not to mention, he had to have been familiar with the location to avoid the security camera, if he did. Speaking of, is that footage here yet?” Dante shakes his head. “Right. Okay. So, Jane Doe was probably at one of the two places. Why risk dragging her any farther than that? And he had to get her to go with him somehow. A knife or a gun would have been too obvious, even for a crowded bar.”

“Could’ve posed as a hook-up,” Dante suggests.

“Mm. If she wasn’t drunk, he might have drugged her.”

“Drugs?”

“Her pupils were blown.”

“So,” he says slowly, “we’ve got a bold, possibly attractive killer who goes to bars to pick up women. Think he knew the vic?”

Lir realizes suddenly that he’s testing her, digging to see her worth, and it makes her angry all over again. “No, too risky. He’s got balls, but he’s not an idiot. All this planning, all the care he took, he wouldn’t want to leave any trace of himself, and that means he was probably a stranger and he picked her out when he got there. If it hadn’t been her, it would have been someone else.”

“Opportunistic. Well, shit. Means he’s gonna be a bitch to find.” He offers her a crooked grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Want to flip a coin to see who’s givin’ Morrison the news?”

“You do it. I need to look for something.”

Dante frowns then, but the expression is quickly smothered as he stands. He takes his coffee with him into Morrison’s office; once the door is closed firmly behind him, Lir releases a sigh and slumps in her chair, cradling her head in her hands. This was meant to be a new beginning for her. Get out of Fortuna, away from the good-intentioned but condescending men she worked with, leave the bitter break-up and the cramped apartment behind her to set out in the bigger city. Yet here she is, dealing with condescending men, living in an apartment that’s large enough to feel empty, with a killer that she knows she has an infinitesimally small chance of catching on her hands. Maybe I’ll get a cat, she thinks, and then discards it. She’s going to be too busy to give any pet the love it would deserve.

Lir pulls up the database and enters her credentials, watching the wheel spin as the program decides whether or not she’s allowed in. Once it opens, she navigates to the search bar, where she types evisceration, hoping the term will be narrow enough to ping any cases that might have been similar. All she gets are animal cruelty cases, youths torturing cats and dogs, and she groans. Next is religious, but that doesn’t get her anything other than some fraud. Jane Doe is too broad, while trying by location only gets her arrests for petty theft, assault, and drunk and disorderlies. Her fingers drum on her desk as she thinks; maybe, if whatever it is that she thinks she remembers was before her time in the force, it would have been before they started digitizing their records.

Which would mean figuring out the location and then digging through that city’s physical files.

She pinches the bridge of her nose. Most of what she said to Dante was speculation, and she knows that they’re going to spend at least a week trying to identify their victim and looking for anyone who might have seen her, tracking down friends and acquaintances and ex-boyfriends to see if any of them had the fury and the cruelty needed to butcher someone like that. If they’re lucky, she’ll have gotten into some sort of trouble with the law and there will be prints they can match. If they’re unlucky, it’s beating the streets, shoving her photograph in people’s faces to try and jar their memory.

“Detective?” Lir opens her eyes to find Simmons standing next to her, a USB stick in his hand. “The nightclub owner sent this over. Said it’s all the footage from the last twenty-four hours and you wanted it?”

He sounds uncertain, and she forces herself to smile. “Yeah, thanks. While I’ve got you here, can I ask a favor?” Hesitantly, he nods. “Head down to the morgue to get the victim’s prints from Trish and run ‘em, will you? It’s a long shot, but it might help us figure out who she is.”

Simmons doesn’t look like he finds the idea appealing, but he gives a weak salute and heads down the stairs. Lir watches him until he disappears into the elevator, and then she plugs the USB into her computer and opens the files to scroll through it. Twenty-four hours of hopefully unaltered footage stored in four hour chunks which, when she clicks on the first video to play it, turn out to be monochrome and grainy. She fights through the urge to yank her hair, instead getting up and going to grab a fresh cup of coffee from the canteen. After a moment of hesitation, she takes the entire pot, setting a second one to brew; this is going to be an all-nighter for sure, and the only thing that’s going to get her through it is enough caffeine to make her jittery.

Dante is back at his desk when she returns. He arches a brow at the sight of her with the pot, but that turns into a loud groan as she says, “Footage got here. All twenty-four hours worth. Want to grab a seat?”

“There’s a meeting room we can use,” he mutters. “Bigger screen. Grab it and let’s go. Is that all the coffee?”

“For now.”

His long-suffering sigh draws an unwilling smile from her. Dante leads her down a hallway to a room mostly taken up by a large oval table surrounded by plush leather chairs, and he sinks into one as she sets up the monitor on the wall and gets the USB situated. “Ready?”

“Not really.”

“Tough shit.” She chuckles and presses play.

Hours pass as they work through both the footage and the coffee, pausing only when they catch sight of a pale-haired woman before slumping back in disappointment and carrying on. Morrison stops by once to check on them, then Simmons with the news that the prints were a dead end, and finally Trish with her full report, toxicology included. None of them linger for more than a few minutes at most. Dante and Lir alternate bathroom breaks and coffee runs, neither of them willing to stop the tape until it’s done. Like ripping a bandaid off, she thinks at one point, stifling a yawn before taking a large swig of her lukewarm coffee. Get it over with in one go, no hesitation.

It’s just passed four in the morning when Dante lurches in his seat. “Pause it, pause it!” Lir jumps, pressing quickly on the remote, and he squints. “Rewind it a bit. There, stop, stop. Press play.”

“What is—oh!” She scrambles for the file on the table, flipping it open so she can see the picture of Jane Doe clipped to the inside. Pulling it free, she holds it up, glancing between it and the screen. “It’s her.”

“Mm. Looks like . . .” He leans forward, his eyes narrowed as his lips move silently. “Two?”

Lir blinks, then turns her laugh into a rough cough. “No. It’s, uh . . . It’s 3:37.”

Dante scowls at her as he reaches into the pocket of his vest to pull out a pair of square glasses, the style just as noir as his clothing. He perches them on his nose, then nods. “Yeah. Alright. So our victim walked into the club at 3:37 am. Since her body was found at quarter to eight, means there’s a five hour window for our killer to have found her and pulled her into the alley.”

“That’s if you don’t remove however long she was in the bar and the killer leaving,” Lir points out.

He clicks his tongue. “Don’t be a wiseass, Thorne. It’s not cute.”

“I’m not here to be cute,” she replies irritably.

“Shame.” Just as she’s debating dumping her coffee on him, he asks, “There a way to print this? We’ll take it with her autopsy photo and show it to the staff at the club, see if any of ‘em remember her. Maybe she paid with a credit card, which’d give us a name.”

“You plannin’ to sleep tonight?” she asks dryly.

“Sleep when you’re dead, Thorne. Print and let’s go.”

Biting her tongue, she heads back to the computer attached to the monitor and screenshots the frozen video. Once it’s in her hands, the two of them head out back, where the employee lot is, and Dante leads her to a car that she recognizes from her childhood. Her mouth drops open as she takes in the ‘58 Corvette, the same type her father had often talked dreamily of owning when he retired, the black paint and white cut-outs glossy in the early dawn light. The top is closed against the dew, but she can still make the red leather interior, and she laughs incredulously when Dante unlocks it. “Seriously?”

“You can take a cab if you like,” he replies tightly.

Lir closes her mouth and climbs in, looking around curiously. The seats are incredibly comfortable, and it doesn’t seem like Dante has done any upgrading to it at all: the gearshift is still topped by a clean white knob, and the only source of sound is the radio, the knob of which Dante turns until classical rock filters softly through the speakers. A good car is like a good woman, her father had told her two months before his death, holding her in his lap as he pointed to the yellowed magazine, treat her right and she’ll stick with you for life. She’d put the damned ad in his casket before they buried him, and Lir closes her eyes against both the unwelcome sting of tears and the sight of him with his misshapen head on the silk pillow. Botched robbery, her mother said tearfully. Throat closed with sudden grief, just as sharp as it had been then, Lir hardly notices when they pull away from the curb.

“She’s beautiful,” she whispers.

Dante’s startled silence is the only reply she gets.

#dmc #devil may cry #dmc dante #dante #dante sparda #dmc oc #lirael thorne #lir #dmc fanfic #dmc fanfiction #writing #story #myfic #wires

9 notes · View notes

pendragonfics · 5 years

Text

Let It Snow

Paring: James “Bucky” Barnes/Reader

Tags: gender unspecified reader, no pronouns used for reader, Jewish holidays, Jewish identity, canon Jewish character, Jewish Bucky Barnes, Jewish Wanda Maximoff, Jewish Pietro Maximoff, Jewish Bruce Banner, Jewish Peter Parker, Jewish May Parker, Jewish Scott Lang, Jewish Cassie Lang, everyone is Jewish, Hanukkah, Holidays, Fluff, Angst, Tooth-Rotting Fluff

Summary: He hasn't celebrated Channuka in over fifty years, but then you come along...

Word Count: 1,368

Current Date: 2019-12-22

For: @damienazario

A/N: Before we get to the fic, I need to tell you all something. I am not Jewish. I'm goy. I researched a whole lot for this fic, and I just want to tell you all that if I messed up, it's on me, and I'll do my best to rectify it. Roast me in the comments if I butchered anything xx

No matter what year it is, be it the 20th or 21st century, Bucky agrees with anyone who listens that winters in New York City are the best time of year. Sure, there’s the ice on the sidewalk, longer lines for themed coffees at Starbucks and loads of Christmas bullshit. Last Chanukah, he grumbled openly about all those things, but if truth be told, Bucky missed the feeling.

The feeling of a proper Chanukah. Like the ones he remembered back when he was keeping a roof over his sisters’ heads, and celebrating with Stevie, back when he was thinner than a dollar bill. Then there was the last time he celebrated with Steve, before the war...that December, he hadn’t known it would be the last time he lit the menorah, but with everything else that happened, with HYDRA, the bullshit he went through, and then the endless psych evals in the aftermath from it all, it had been years since he had even thought of going back to his heritage.

No, last winter was certainly the last time he ever felt the need for being sour in the face of everyone’s merriment. Mainly because that was just after the time he had been finally sanctioned by the Avengers’ medical consultants as fit for duty. But mostly, because, he met you.

Bucky remembered first seeing you, clear as day. Bucky was out with Steve for groceries for the Avengers’ end-of-year mixer, and you were in front of the hummus in the deli section. You were a mix of beauty and rage; gorgeous features pulled into a fury as you fought a mugger over your purse. He was going to intervene, but he watched you, a civilian, took on the would-be-thief with a left hook.

It turned out you were Steve’s friend from the Smithsonian - “I didn’t curate it, but I’m studying the field, with a speciality in world war two” - and as soon as he met you, Bucky would admit that he was head over toes into you.

But that was last Chanukah when he chatted you up over apple cider in the Tower. Six months later, you asked him out (much to Bucky’s own surprise - but mostly because he’d been itching to ask you first), and now...it was the damned holiday season once more.

But that was okay.

Instead of making a big deal about your own background, Bucky watched as you placed your own traditions on the backburner for him.

"I'm not really into the whole mainstream Christmas stuff," you said to him one November night over a beer. "I was raised anti-capitalist, if anything, so don't expect some big present from me."

"Actually," Bucky heard himself say, "I'm Jewish. Well, born, raised...I haven't celebrated in a while, but..."

"How long is a while?"

"Fifty years?" he replied. "Give or take."

"Oh! Well, don't say a word, I'm organising it all. You're gonna meet my friends, they're Chanukah nuts. They celebrate with an open-door policy; wait, do you know Scott? We go way back, actually to college -," Bucky he zoned out at that point, either from the beers or the shock. But Bucky would say that it was a good shock (if there was one).

It was what led him to tonight.

It turned out that Bucky did know Scott. It was skinny Scott, the guy who he met in Germany who turned into a tiny or huge version of himself. Ant-Man. He didn't want to sound old, but it seemed like the heroes these days were getting crazier as time went by. But with you, he went to Scott Lang's new house for dinner. Before eating, Bucky helped his kid, Cassie fold napkins, and by the time that it was to eat, a few other heroes turned up.

Wanda and Pietro, the twins from the team came, along with their latkes, Bruce Banner and his girlfriend Betty Ross, as well as the kid Peter Parker, and his aunt who made enough food to make the table groan. He sat on the couch after the meal, watching as Wanda recounted stories, and Cassie and Peter played with a homemade dreidl. He hadn't realised you weren't in the living room until he heard the sound coming from the kitchen, the sound of singing.

Leaving Pietro to talk off Betty's ear, he approached the sound as delicately as he could, but the floorboards gave him away. As soon as he was in the doorway, he saw you look up at him, bright pink and yellow washing up gloves contrasting with your top.

"Sorry I interrupted -," he began.

"God, was I being too loud? Did anyone else hear me?" you asked him, self-consciously.

He shook his head, the hair coming into his eyes a little. He sorely needed a haircut, and huffing, Bucky tried to blow it out of the way. But even with the gloves on, he watched as you stroked the hairs back into place, looking just that little bit sad.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

You busied yourself with the remainder of the dishes, and Bucky watched as your shoulders tensed up, telling him something that he'd never heard about you before.

"I remember before my Mom died, having times like this in our house. It was neat, and we'd all play dreidl like the kids are out there. But then she...she uh, passed. Cancer. I was like, eight? My dad got really grouchy after that, and we never did anything we did with her at home again."

Bucky hesitates, placing his metal hand upon your shoulder. "My Mom died pretty early too. My Dad, too. That's why back then, I fought tooth and nail to make my sisters have a good Chanukah."

"Same hat," you chuckled.

"Same hat," he replied. "That song...is that?"

"Mom used to sing it. I'm guessing yours did too?"

Bucky nodded, and let his hand move from your shoulder, to rest on your waist. He moved behind you, and rested his head upon your shoulder, holding you close like you were just a pair of slow dancers in a dance hall in the 40s, swaying to a song that wasn't playing in anyone's ears but your own. For a second, it felt right. But that was until Bucky and you were interrupted by Scott waltzing in - quite literally - with Peter's Aunt May. After that, you surrendered the washing up gloves, and Bucky said his goodbyes to the other heroes - Bruce as leaving early too; Betty had a few PhD papers to grade before the end of the year - and took an Uber to Bucky's apartment.

It wasn't big, but it was his. Since your lease had ended two weeks ago, you had decided to live with Bucky, to which he was immensely grateful. But it wasn't for the cooking or cleaning, or the history books of yours that were often left around that he read, the fact that he read. He liked you. Loved, even. If he was asked, he'd say that, after the events of the night's emotional vulnerability - but not that anyone would ask him of that just yet. It was still just six months into dating you, and he didn't want to scare you away with his intense feelings. But living together, Bucky hoped you felt the same as he did.

But now, very full of brisket, he crashed upon the couch with you, barely able to pull a blanket from on top of the seat onto your shared laps. It wasn't late in the evening, nor early, but looking to you, wordlessly, the pair of you communicated plans to watch the rest of the season of Nailed It on Netflix and eat a pint of ice cream together.

"Oh, you read my mind!" you groaned, sinking into the couch a second time, already a spoonful in on the chocolate ice cream. "God, I love you."

For a second, he wasn't sure what to make of it. I love you. But as soon as that feeling came, it passed, and he grabbed a spoon from your hand, kissed your cheek, and pressed play on the remote. "I love you too, doll."

"Happy Chanukah, you dork."

#Bucky Barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes/reader #bucky x reader #winter soldier x reader #Avengers #avengers x reader #marvel fanfic #marvel x reader #chaotic--lovely #pendragonfics #gender neutral reader

29 notes · View notes

wistfulcynic · 5 years

Text

Their Way By Moonlight: Witch Fight (Chapter 11)

In which there is an EPIC WITCH FIGHT, a clever Henry, and a touch of non-dream smut.

a/n: My notes for this chapter were literally EPIC WITCH FIGHT. I only hope I’ve pulled it off.

Summary: A new curse has fallen on Storybrooke and this time the Saviour is trapped inside it, deliberately separated from her son and anyone else who might help her break it. But what no one knows –including her own cursed self– is that she and Hook are soulmates, working together within their shared dreams to find a way to break the curse and free everyone from the clutches of evil yet again. (Alternate 3B, set in the What Dreams May Come universe)

Rating: A hard M

Tagging: @teamhook @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @thejollyroger-writer @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @bonbonpirate @lfh1962 @laschatzi @katie-dub @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @winterbaby89 @thisonesatellite

Anyone wishing to be added to or dropped from this tag list, please do say so.

Read it on AO3

Witch Fight:

“Let’s go get our son.”

Regina raised her hand to poof them away but before she could touch her magic Emma gripped her arm. “Wait!”

“What now?” snarled Regina.

Emma’s brow was furrowed in thought. “Where are you getting your magic from?” she asked.

Regina hesitated, frowning. “There’s magic in Storybrooke,” she said. “Can’t you feel it?”

“I can,” replied Emma, “But it feels… weird. Not like the magic that was here before.”

Regina closed her eyes and let herself fully sense the magic that surrounded her. “You’re right,” she said grudgingly. “There’s something not quite right with it. I can’t explain it, but it’s just… off.

“Like the town itself,” said Killian. “And the forest.”

“Yes, exactly. Superficially the same but if you look closer it’s just wrong.”

“Where does it come from?” asked Emma. “The magic, I mean. I thought that under the first curse there wasn’t any magic in Storybrooke.”

“There wasn’t, that was the whole point. Rumple brought it here after you broke the curse.”

“Yeah, I remember the cloud. And the dragon.”

“Exactly. That was why he wove your parents’ true love into the curse in the first place. It made you the saviour, and when you broke the curse it allowed him to bring magic to this land.”

“So if there’s been magic here all along with this curse, then that means magic is... part of the curse somehow, in a way that it wasn’t part of the first one,” said Emma, thinking hard. “I don’t think you should use that magic, Regina. We don’t know where it’s from or what it might do—”

“Zelena controls it,” Regina broke in. “She told me, she can sense when it’s being used.”

Emma nodded, as if this confirmed her theory. “And that means she can probably track it.”

“What do you mean, track it? That’s not how magic works—”

“It’s how this magic works,” insisted Emma. “You know that big green necklace Zelena wears?” Regina and Killian both nodded. “It always struck me as odd, and now that I have my memories back I know why. That thing is not just gaudy jewellery, it’s a magical amulet. It’s used to store magic.” She looked at Killian. “Like the one Frank wanted me to create.”

“Hmm, yes,” said Killian, recalling that conversation. “I can see why you wouldn’t wish to wear something like that.”

“And just who is Frank?” snapped Regina.

“He—” Emma hesitated. There was no time for the full story of who and what Frank was, especially with Regina in what was clearly a mood. “He was my magic teacher in New York. He’s the one who taught me how to find magic there, how to use it and how to store it in my ring.”

“Who the hell could have taught you—”

“Look, it’s not important, Regina! What’s important is that if Zelena controls Storybrooke’s magic, if she stores it in that amulet, then that means she can sense when and how it’s being used, and with a little effort trace that use.”

Killian’s face was grim as the meaning of her words sank in. “Which means she can find where we left Henry,” he said.

“Yeah. And track Regina wherever she goes. I don’t think you should use that magic, Regina.”

Regina looked furious, clearly struggling against the logic of Emma’s argument. “So what, I’m supposed to be powerless—” she protested.

“No. You can use my magic.”

Regina stared at her. “Light magic.”

“Well, yes, but—”

“I can’t use light magic.” Regina crossed her arms over her chest, her expression no longer angry. She looked stubborn and wary, and almost scared.

Emma could tell there was no point in trying to change her mind and there was certainly no time. “Okay, fine, we’ll argue about that later. Tell me where Henry is and I’ll poof us there.”

“He’s at your parents’ loft,” said Killian, who was clearly as impatient as she. “Or what was their loft, during the first curse. Now it’s— well, you’ll see.”

“Okay,” said Emma. “Let’s go see.”

She raised her hand and they were enveloped in a cloud of pure white.

---

The previous night:

Henry grabbed another book from one of the shelves in his dad’s shop and took it over to the sofa, heaving a sigh as he sat down and opened it in his lap. His dad and mom —no, Killian and Regina; he was really going to have to come up with some way of differentiating his various parents in his head, especially if they were going to start working together in weird pairings like this— Killian and Regina were sitting at the desk, their heads together as they worked out the details of their plan. Killian had given Henry the outline of it, ignoring Regina’s sharp protests, but both his currently present parents had agreed that he didn’t need to know the nitty-gritty of what they had in mind.

Henry scowled. It wasn’t fair. He was thirteen years old and he’d already helped break one curse. He’d survived Neverland and memory loss and he’d been right at Killian’s side through all the planning and preparation of the last year. Of course he knew that there were things Killian still kept from him —at least some of which he was pretty sure he did not want to know too much about— but surely he was old enough and had done enough now for them to trust him with some real responsibility.

He glared at the pages of the book, skimming the words, looking for any information about the Wicked Witch or Oz or her magic, but there was very little. Everything interesting was in the books currently stacked in a neat pile on the desk in front of Killian. Sighing again, louder this time —they still didn’t hear him— he turned another page and his eyes widened. Magical Weapons: Their History, Mythology, and Use proclaimed the chapter heading.

“Cool,” breathed Henry, curling his legs under him and beginning to read, his teenage pique momentarily forgotten as he got lost in research.

---

The white smoke whirled away and Emma, Killian, and Regina were standing in the middle of the loft, which was… now just an old, disused warehouse, thought Emma, looking around. Apparently under this curse it hadn’t been converted into apartments. There were stacks of crates lined against the wall where her mother’s kitchen had been, draped in sheets of plastic that had once been clear but were now grey with dust, and the floor beneath their feet crunched with bits of old plaster that had crumbled away from the ceiling and walls. Zelena stood before the smudged and dirty windows of the former living room clearly awaiting their arrival, her posture triumphant and Henry clasped tightly in her grip, an odd, double-edged knife pressed against his throat.

“Nice of you to join us, Regina, Captain,” she said gleefully. “And the Sheriff as well, how lovely. I expect this must all be rather confusing for you, dear—”

“Not at all,” said Emma coolly. “I know exactly what’s going on.”

Zelena’s eyes narrowed. “Memories returned, then. The Captain continues to surprise me. It’s such a shame that even after all his determined efforts I still got to your son first. You see, I can—”

“You can sense the traces of magic use in Storybrooke so you knew some had been used here. Yeah, we know that already,” interrupted Emma. “I also know you can’t hurt Henry with magic. I left—”

“Protection spells around him, yes, I know that already,” hissed Zelena. “Similar to the ones you put around the Captain, by the way they’re behaving. Too bad they won’t protect him from my knife!” She pressed the weapon harder against Henry’s throat and the boy winced as a thin line of blood began to seep from his skin.

Emma heard Killian’s snarl and felt the magic in the room ripple as Regina’s fingers twitched and knew that both were on the edge of doing something rash. “Wait,” she said, squeezing Killian’s hand in hers and putting her other one on Regina’s arm. “Let me handle this.”

She called on her magic, drawing it from the deep reserves in her ring and ignoring the pull on her senses exerted by the dark magic emanating from the green amulet. Zelena would be counting on Emma using that magic, magic she controlled. She would think there was no other choice. She wouldn’t be expecting this.

Emma wrapped tiny tendrils of her magic around the dagger in Zelena’s hand, weaving them together to strengthen them and subtly blunting the sharp edge pressed to Henry’s throat. The dagger was exceptionally sharp and made of hard-wrought metal but with effort Emma was able to wrap enough magic around it that she wouldn’t accidentally cut Henry. Then with a wave of her arms and a heave of her magic she ripped the blade from Zelena’s grasp, sending it flying across the room.

“What?” shrieked Zelena, and Henry took advantage of her surprise and lack of weapon to dig his elbow into her ribs and pull free from her. He stumbled away, clutching his throat, as Killian and Regina ran to catch him. Emma kept her focus on Zelena, trusting them to make sure Henry was okay, holding her magic at the ready and sparking from her fingertips.

Zelena’s lip curled. “Very impressive, Saviour,” she spat. “Where are you getting your magic from?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Emma taunted.

Fury flashed in Zelena’s eyes, sharp and dangerously unhinged. “It hardly matters,” she sneered. “You’re still no match for me.” Green light flashed and crackled through the room as she flung a beam of it at Emma, who threw up her hands just in time to deflect it and force it back towards the other woman. They struggled wordlessly for several minutes, each trying to push her magic onto the other until Zelena stumbled on a piece of broken brick and lost her footing, sending her green jet flying into the pile of crates and splintering them into fragments. Emma stumbled herself when the resistance she’d been pushing against abruptly vanished, regaining her balance just in time to dodge the next bolt of green Zelena shot at her, spinning nimbly to avoid it before flinging back a white one of her own.

Killian watched them battle, fist and jaw clenched, thinking he had never in all his centuries of life felt so thoroughly useless. It was clear to him that Emma and Zelena were near perfectly matched in strength and skill, trading the advantage back and forth but neither able to hold it long enough to secure a victory. Emma needed help, and there was nothing he could do to help her. He wanted to punch something.

Frank’s words from just a few days before echoed in his mind yet again, words that seemed to take on a new shade of meaning each time he recalled them.

(…The Caster is as powerful in darkness as the Saviour is in light, and without intervention they will ever remain locked in stalemate. To break this curse the Saviour must have aid from her true loves. Both of them…)

But what could he or Henry do? Neither of them had magic, and despite hours of research the night before, despite all his remarkably comprehensive selection of magical literature, they simply didn’t have enough information about Zelena to know if there was any other, non-magical way they could fight her.

He looked at his son, noting the way Henry’s own small fists were clenched, the distress and frustration in his eyes as he watched his mother dodge and shoot, at the way he held tight to Regina—

Wait.

Regina.

Killian and Henry may not have magic, but they had influence over someone who did.

He spun around, grabbing the Queen by the arm and shooting Henry a look that clearly said Back me up, lad.

“Regina,” he said urgently, “You’ve got to help her.”

She pulled her arm from his grip and shot him her most regal glare. “Don’t be stupid, pirate, you know I can’t. Zelena controls the magic—”

Killian was having no more of that. “She controls her magic, not Emma’s.”

“And I can’t use light magic.”

Henry jumped in, his expression eager. “But you can, Mom!” he cried.

Sorrow broke across Regina’s face as she turned to her son and her voice broke when she responded. “Henry, no, I can’t. You know what I am—”

“What you were,” insisted Killian, willing her to remember their conversation from the previous night. “Not what you are.”

“You’ve changed, Mom!”

“Look at what you’ve sacrificed in this past year,” Killian pressed. “Nearly everything you had. And for what reason? For love. For your son.”

“You would never have done that if you were really bad!” Henry’s eyes implored her, and Regina hesitated.

“You couldn’t love like that, selflessly, unless there was some light in you,” said Killian, striking the final blow.

Regina was shaking her head but her expression was conflicted. “I can’t,” she insisted in a whisper, almost to herself. “Emma’s magic is so pure.”

“But you can feel it, right?” asked Henry. “Emma’s magic?”

“Yes—”

“Mom, don’t you know what that means? If you can feel it you can use it. Zelena’s got no idea where it’s coming from, she’s too dark to even sense it, but you can.”

Regina didn’t move but she seemed to reach out, feeling for something before drawing back with a gasp. “It— it hurts to touch it,” she said. “But I can touch it.” Her eyes lit as she was struck with an idea. “Maybe I can—” She reached out again and this time she didn’t pull back. “I can temper it with Zelena’s magic, not so much that she’ll notice but just enough to allow me to use the light magic.”

“Go Mom!”

“Brilliant,” said Killian with a grin. “Not hero or villain, but a much more practical combination of both.”

She caught his eye and understanding flashed between them.

Like you.

Aye. Like me.

“You can do this,” he said, and she nodded.

“Yes, I can.”

She flung out her arm and Zelena flew backwards into the wall, the bolt she’d been aiming at Emma ricocheting off the ceiling and showering them all in plaster dust. Emma turned, mouth dropping open. “Regina,” she gasped. “You—”

“It would seem so,” said Regina as she moved to Emma’s side and then they both flung their hands up as Zelena with a shriek of fury shot green light at the pair of them. Regina’s assistance tipped the delicate balance and Emma was able to form her magic into a barrier, like a wall, which she pushed towards Zelena slowly encircling her in a bubble of white magic.

And still, Zelena fought, pushing back with all her considerable might.

“She’s not giving up,” Regina yelled. “We can’t hold her off forever!”

“I just need to close this spell around her and she’ll be contained!” shouted Emma. “If you have any better ideas I’d love to hear them!”

“I think I know what to do,” said Henry quietly, for Killian’s ears alone. “It’s something I heard Frank tell Mom, when he was teaching her that magic you can sense is magic you can use. We’ve got to get Zelena’s amulet. That’s where her magic is, if we can get it away from her she’ll be powerless.”

“But how do we do that, she’s behind that shield your mums have made—”

“I can do it,” said Henry, with a confidence he almost felt.

“No, Henry—”

“Dad, please, I can do it. I know how, but there’s no time to tell you— You’ve just gotta trust me.”

Killian hesitated, looking intently at his son, torn between faith in the lad’s abilities and the parental desire to protect him. Finally, he nodded. Henry was far more Emma than he was Baelfire, smart and capable and brave. A bit of trust was the least he deserved.

“Very well,” he said.

---

The night before:

Magical weapons, it turned out, were far more plentiful than Henry had ever imagined. The book in his lap listed hundreds, outlined in detail with a history and description of each one, including the powers it possessed, a diagram, and a full-colour illustration.

Some he knew already. There was the Dark One’s dagger, of course (…Less a weapon in the traditional sense and more a vessel for the greatest evil in all the realms, though of course it could still be used to cut meat or stab enemies, should one wish it… explained the book, which Henry was coming to realise had quite the *ahem* cutting sense of humour) and there was Exalibur (So cool, thought Henry, I’d like to see that some day), plus Mulan’s sword and Robin Hood’s bow, but most of the weapons he’d never even heard of. Fragarach, for example, the sword from Celtic legend —Henry really thought that Frank ought to have told him about that one— and Odin’s sword Gram, sharp enough to split an anvil in half. The coolest one by far though was Æsahættr, also known as the subtle knife. Henry examined its diagram with intense fascination. The subtle knife was short and unassuming in appearance, with an embossed wooden handle and a double-edged blade, each edge forged of a different metal, a blade which it was said could cut through anything: any substance, any magic, even the fabric of reality itself.

Damn, thought Henry, That’s not something you want to see in the wrong hands…

---

Henry ran to the corner where Emma’s magic had flung Zelena’s knife, picking it up with hands trembling both from fear and excitement. He was all but certain that this was the knife he’d read about last night, Æsahættr, the sharpest and most dangerous blade in any of the known realms. After all, he’d had quite a good look at it when Zelena had threatened him, felt its keen edge cut his own skin.

Grasping the handle firmly in his hand he ran, quick as a flash, to the barrier of white light that surrounded Zelena and with a sweeping downward swing ripped a hole in the magic with the subtle knife. He darted through it before Zelena had time to react and grabbed her amulet, using the other edge of the knife to slice through the chain that held it. The moment it was severed Zelena’s green light went haywire, fizzling and crackling everywhere, barely contained by the bubble of light magic which had sealed itself behind Henry, trapping him and Zelena within.

Zelena shrieked in wordless fury, turning on Henry. He lifted the knife, slashing a new hole through the magic barrier but before he could get through it Zelena lunged at him, grabbing for the amulet. He yanked it away from her, unbalancing himself, and as he tried to regain his footing he lost his grip on the knife. Zelena snatched it up, triumph curling her lip into a mockery of a grin as she swung it at Henry, aiming for his heart.

Killian saw the glittering blade arc downward straight at Henry’s chest, and he reacted without thought. The second hole in the white magic had already begun to close but Killian angled his body and dove through it, tackling Henry to the ground and blocking him from Zelena’s attack, crying out in agony as he felt the blade of the subtle knife plunge into his shoulder, severing muscle and tendon and bone.

The amulet swung on the chain still clutched in Henry’s hand and as they landed it hit the hard floor of the warehouse, cracking the green stone open beyond repair. Abruptly the sparking green light winked out and the magical bubble closed around Zelena, binding her tightly with a power she couldn’t sense and which burned her when she touched it. She screamed as Emma sealed the edges of the spell around her then she and Regina released their magic, their shoulders slumping in exhaustion.

Emma looked around for Henry and Killian, her heart lurching painfully when she couldn’t find them at first and when she saw them lying in a motionless heap on the floor, a knife sticking out of Killian’s back, her heart stopped completely.

“No!” she cried, racing forward. “Killian, no—”

She ran to him, skidding clumsily to a halt and falling to her knees next to where he lay, rolling him over with shaking hands and nearly fainting in relief when he groaned. He was alive.

“Easy does it there, Swan, you may not have spotted this but I’ve been stabbed,” he said.

She grabbed his face and kissed him fiercely, pulling back before he could respond, then punched him in his un-stabbed shoulder. “I went to a lot of trouble to protect you from magic so of course you would find a way to get stabbed instead,” she said. “Typical.”

His answering chuckle was laced with pain. Hastily, Emma called to her magic again, using the last of her reserves to gently probe the wound in his shoulder and soothe the severed tissues as she eased the blade from his flesh and knit it back together. When the knife was free she examined it carefully, a small frown creasing her forehead, as Killian rolled his shoulder experimentally.

“Good as new,” he said in wonder.

Emma carefully set the knife aside on the floor then stood and held out her hand, helping him to his feet. He used his momentum to pull her into his arms, squeezing her tightly and kissing her breathless.

Henry got to his feet as well, watching them with a uniquely teenage blend of delight and chagrin, and when the kiss went on and on with no sign of stopping the chagrin took over and he gave a loud, exaggerated sigh. He was mid-eye-roll when Killian’s hand reached back and grabbed him by the shirtfront, pulling him into the embrace and hugging him close as Emma covered his face in kisses.

Henry did not protest. “I missed you too, Mom,” he said.

They stood like that for some time, a tangle of limbs and relief, until the sound of Regina clearing her throat finally penetrated their haze. Emma turned and offered her a smile.

“Regina,” she said. “I— thank you. I couldn’t have beat her without you.”

Regina looked embarrassed. “I just used your magic,” she said.

“It was a lot more than that,” said Emma, her smile widening as for a brief moment Regina’s face softened with emotion. “But we don’t have to talk about it now if you don’t want to.”

“We do have to talk about some other things,” said Regina sharply, burying her vulnerability behind snappishness. “Like the curse, for example. I can’t help noticing that it’s not broken.”

“How do you know?” asked Killian.

“I can still feel it. Nothing has changed. We’ve defeated the witch, you two have kissed, a lot, and yet the curse is untouched.”

The sound of a cackle from the corner of the room startled them, and they all turned to look at Zelena. She was standing stiffly, bound securely by Emma’s magic though the only visible sign of it was the faint halo of light that surrounded her. Her face was pained but malice and triumph still glinted in her eyes. “Did you really think True Love’s Kiss could break this curse?” she asked. “Oh no, my dears. That was only possible the first time because the Dark One wanted it to be. This curse cannot be defeated by love. There is no love here to defeat it.”

“What the hell does that mean—” Emma snapped, breaking off when Killian put his hand on her shoulder. “I think I know,” he said in a low voice. “Or at least I have an idea.” He looked at Henry and the boy nodded in agreement.

“What” asked Emma, scowling a little at their silent communication. “What’s the idea?”

“It’s—” Henry began, but Killian cut him off.

“It’s something that can wait until tomorrow,” he said firmly. “Before we can do anything we’ll need more research and we’ll need a plan, and frankly right now what we need most of all is to stash this witch someplace secure and take some time to rest and regroup. It’s been a hell of a day, love.”

“Yeah,” Emma agreed. “It really has.”

She poofed them all to the Sheriff’s station where she put Zelena in a cell and warded the locks before releasing her from her magical bindings. They all waited tensely as Zelena shook herself, stretching her stiff muscles. When no green light flashed or even sparked, they shared a sigh of relief.

Zelena gave them a sardonic glare and made herself ostentatiously comfortable on the hard cot, saying nothing.

“I’ll stay here with her tonight,” said Regina. “I know she seems powerless but I don’t trust her.”

“I’ll stay too,” said Henry eagerly, then turned to Emma with a grin before she had a chance to feel hurt. “So you and Dad can have some time alone,” he said.

Her heart swelled with warmth at the natural way he called Killian “Dad,” and at his thoughtfulness. “Are you sure, kid? I feel bad leaving you so soon after I just… re-found you.”

Henry hugged her tightly. “We have time, Mom,” he said. “Also Dad really missed you, and you know, no offence but there aren’t any walls in our apartment and my headphones are not noise-cancelling—”

“Oi!” protested Killian, and Emma laughed.

“Okay, okay, I get it. You stay here with Regina tonight and we can all meet up for lunch tomorrow, how does that sound?”

“Perfect.”

---

Emma summoned Henry his pajamas and a change of clothes then hugged him again. Killian hugged him too, and they had a whispered conversation that ended with them grinning at each other as Killian gave Henry’s shoulder a very paternal squeeze. Emma’s chest felt tight. The obvious closeness that had developed between her son and her husband over the past year both delighted her and made her terribly sad. She’d missed so much.

Killian took her hand and smiled at her, reading her as he always did. “We’ll see him tomorrow, Swan,” he said, and she nodded.

“I know,” she replied, squeezing his hand. With one final wave at Henry and Regina, she poofed them back to Killian’s apartment where they stood silently, hands still clasped, staring at each other.

After a long moment Killian gently drew her closer, releasing her hand to run his own up her arm and into her hair, pulling her in for a kiss. She sighed and wrapped her arms tightly around him, opening her mouth under his, glorying in the taste and feel of him, the reality of him back in her arms. It was wonderful, and it was overwhelming, all the stress and the emotion of the day and now the achingly familiar tug of Killian’s hand in her hair and his hook pressing into the small of her back, and Emma broke the kiss with a sob as tears began to pour down her cheeks.

Killian brushed them away with his thumb, his touch so gentle and loving that she sobbed even harder. “What’s this, love?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Argh, I don’t know!” she cried, wiping futilely at her cheeks. “I just— I have a lot of emotions going on right now.”

He pulled her back into his arms, cradling her head against his chest. “I know, darling,” he said. “Let them out.”

Emma clutched at him, burying her face against his chest as all the stress and trauma of the past year poured out of her and she just wept, wild and unrestrained, and he held her, saying nothing, stroking her hair as her tears drenched the front of his sweater.

She had no idea how long she cried. Time and place faded away and her world distilled into pure sensation: the twisting ache in her heart, the sturdy strength of Killian and his arms around her, the softness of his sweater against her cheek.

She rubbed her face against it, drying the last of her tears.

“I like this sweater,” she said. “Is it new?”

“Aye.”

Emma felt drained and weak, and infinitely better than before, but the thought of him buying clothes without her still had the power to give her a small twinge of hurt.

“Part of my attempt to blend in,” he explained. “Henry was of the opinion that black leather wasn’t the most effective way to remain inconspicuous.”

She chuckled, the sound still watery with the echo of her tears. “You couldn’t blend in no matter what you wore.”

“He said the same. But I did my best.”

There was so much she wanted to say to him, about how alone she had felt, how she had missed him even when she couldn’t remember who he was. How much it meant to her that he had never given up. She tried to find the words but there was just too much; too many conversations they needed to have when she was still so raw, her emotions so close to the surface. So she said the only thing that truly mattered.

“I love you.”

He made a choked noise and his arms tightened around her. “I love you,” he said hoarsely, and she could feel the dampness of his own tears against her hair. Her fearsome pirate was such a softy underneath, she thought. Who would have imagined it?

Her love for him wanted to burst from her chest. It surged and clawed at her, demanding to be expressed, demanding his lips on hers and his skin under her hands and his cock deep inside her. She wanted to feel his body against hers as close as they could get, wanted them so tightly joined that the seam was invisible, so tightly that nothing could ever separate them again.

Nothing ever really had, she knew. They were connected in a way that memory curses and physical distance could strain but never break, but as much as she loved their dreams and as grateful as she had been for them this past year, nothing could compare to the warm, solid reality of Killian pressed against her and she had missed it.

She began to trail kisses along his jaw as her hands slid under his soft sweater to find the softer skin beneath and she walked him backwards towards the sofa.

“Emma—” he began, but she cut him off.

“Killian, I know I’ve just bawled my eyes out and you probably want to talk about that and I want to talk about it too, babe, really, but not now. Right now I just— I need to touch you, okay?”

He chuckled, light and happy but edged with the same bittersweet desperation that was driving her. “You’ll hear no argument from me, darling,” he growled. “I merely wished to suggest that we adjourn to the bedroom before things get out of hand. This sofa is not like our one in New York, it has a rogue spring that always seems to poke me no matter where I sit, and—”

Emma waved her hand and they were standing next to his bed, clothes gone.

“—and this is much better,” concluded Killian, scooping her up and tossing her onto the mattress. She laughed as he pounced on her, kissing along the curve of her neck as his hand and bare wrist sought out all the spots that made her moan.

It was like their dreams but also not, sharper and more potent in reality but considerably less smooth, with straining muscles and rude noises and awkward positions. Emma banged her elbow against the headboard of the unfamiliar bed and Killian slipped on the slick sateen coverlet, but when he was finally inside her, her legs wrapped tightly around him and her fingernails gouging the skin of his shoulders, it was perfect in a way that the perfection of their dreams could never achieve.

Killian was whispering to her, soft words pressed into the skin of her neck and breathed through the strands of her hair, how good she felt, how much he’d missed her. How much he loved her.

“Killian,” she moaned. “I love you… love you…” It was all she could think, and all she could feel. Her orgasm built slowly then broke over her all at once, flooding her senses as she gripped him tightly and he groaned into her hair as he came. They curled into each other as they drifted down, neither wishing to let the other go, and for the first time in more than a year they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

Further Notes: Fans of His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman will of course recognise the subtle knife.

#cs ff #cs fic #canon divergence #3b canon divergence #alternative 3b #captain swan #cursed captain swan #cursed storybrooke #smut for real this time #Henry is clever #and Killian is courageous #and Emma is badass #and Regina makes herself useful #their way by moonlight #profdanglaisstuff

43 notes · View notes

nerdy-bookworm-1998 · 5 years

Text

Full Throttle part 11

Pairing: Stucky x Reader Words: 1297 Warnings: Swearing, violence A/N: I know a few people probably wanted to strangle me for the cliffhanger in the last chapter, but I hope this makes up for it. If anyone wants to be tagged in future chapters/works feel free to send me an ask and please leave feedback/reblogs.

As I slowly regain consciousness I become aware of a bone-deep ache throughout my entire body. My eyes feel as if the had been glued together with cement but I finally manage to pry them open. Taking stock of my surroundings it looks like I'm in some underground cell. There are building materials stacked up against the walls, the air smells damp and stale, my hands are tied together behind my back on the hard wooden stool that I'm propped up on, and in front of me is a table with a wide array of knives, scalpels, injections, and other torture devices.

The cold air raises the hair on my arms and gives me goosebumps. Looking down I'm aghast to find my shirt torn halfway open, my jeans have various cuts on them, going into my flesh, which is bleeding and the button and zipper have been completely torn off. What little of my skin I can see is covered in freshly purpling bruises. My scalp tingles as if I had been dragged by the hair. Suddenly I'm grateful that I was unconscious for whatever they did to me.

What I don't understand is why I haven't been rescued yet? They had all assured me that I wouldn't come to any harm; as soon as they had what they needed from the camera disguised as a shirt button they would burst into the clubhouse and arrest them, so why the hell am I still being held captive?

My musings are interrupted by the sound of a door opening and heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. Slowly Brian comes into view. When he sees that I'm awake, he grins. "Ah! Sleeping Beauty is finally awake, now the real fun can begin!" Brian says as he makes his way over to the table to inspect each implement, no doubt thinking about how he could use each one to bring me the most discomfort.

A sudden idea comes to mind and I test the bonds on my wrists. It's just as I suspected; he still couldn't make a decent knot to save his life. As quietly as I can, I start twisting my hands this way and that, trying to undo it. Just as I feel the rope starting to give Brian seems to have made up his mind on what to start with.

I stiffen as he approaches me with a small scalpel, no doubt chosen for its sharp edge, there is a crazy gleam in his eyes. "By the time I'm done with you no one will want you, then you'll have no choice but to come back to me," Brian whispers menacingly.

I start moving my hands as frantically as I can without alerting him that I'm doing it while he draws steadily closer. Once he is within arms reach of me, he stops, studying me. "Now where to start? Some much skin and so much time...I know, let's start by getting this shirt out of the way."

Before I can react, Brian had cut the rest of the shirt away, leaving me in only my jeans and bra. "That's much better, but you know what? I don't think this scalpel is large enough. Don't go anywhere, I'll be right back," Brian says, turning back to the table, looking completely like a kid in a candy store.

Once his back is turned I finally manage to get my wrists untied; the moron hadn't bothered with my legs so I don't have to worry about untieing them. Spotting a medium metal pipe close by, I know that I have to time this perfectly.

Just as he turns back, I lunge forward, grabbing the pipe and swinging it like a baseball bat. It hits Brian squarely in the temple and he crumbles like a gingerbread house.

I know I might not have long until he wakes up so I keep a firm grip on the pipe and quickly hurry up the stairs and out the door.

The door opens up into a long cement hallway. Since the door I just escaped from is at the dead-end of the hallway, I hurry up the other way. As I near the turn I can hear two voices talking and drawing closer. Taking a deep breath to steel my nerves, I adjust my grip on the pipe and rush around the corner, intent on taking my captors down.

The pipe is caught by a strong hand. "Easy there spitfire, we're here to bring you home," I look up to see Steve and Bucky, both looking simultaneously relieved and amused.

In the time that follows I will maintain that it was purely out of shock that I now burst into tears at the sight of my boys as I sink into their arms. I'm not sure how long we stand there until people in SWAT uniforms come racing down the corridor, at the very front is Fury and Peggy.

"This turn leads to a dead-end corridor, at the end is the door to a basement, inside is one of the men that captured me, he's unconscious," I tell Fury before he can even ask.

He just nods and leads the uniforms down the hall. Only Peggy stays behind, chewing on her lip pensively. "Darling, I am so sorry that things went this far. That was never the plan. Somehow the damn battery on the camera died and by the time we got to Pierce's office, you were already gone. We've spent the last hour mapping out the whole place looking for you. Can you ever forgive me?" Peggy asks.

I let go of the boys, who let out unhappy whines at the loss of contact, to give Peggy a gentle hug. "There's nothing to forgive, what matters is that we got them. Maybe after all of this is completely over we could get together for a girls day; do some shopping, grab lunch, then you could tell me what these two were like when they were younger." I tell Peggy as we pull apart.

"I'd really like that. But we'll definitely have to grab a few drinks for all the times they got into trouble for their reckless hero complexes," Peggy smiles at me before following the way Fury had gone.

Steve and Bucky guide me out of the clubhouse, which is swarming with police, and to one of the waiting ambulances to be checked out by an EMT. I had just been given the all clear when a large group of people all dressed in jeans and leather Howling Commando jackets came rushing up to us. Most of them I already knew, but there were a few new faces. One by one, I was introduced to all the members as they gave reports to Steve about how the cleanup operations throughout the city had gone. Hydra had officially been wiped out of New York, it was now all Howlie territory.

When I started shivering someone brought out a leather jacket with the club's emblem on the back and the boys helped me put it on. After many promises of a victory bonfire party at the clubhouse, Tony, both Peters, Nat, Wanda, Pietro, Sam, Rhodey, Vis, Bruce, Strange, Nebula, Gamora, Rocket, Drax, Mantis, Groot, Carol, Maria, T'Challa, Shuri, Okoye, Thor, Loki, Scott, Hope, Brunhilde, May, Pepper, and many others all took their leave, the sounds of their bikes cutting through the air.

"What do you wanna do now?" Bucky asked curiously, watching the content smile on my face.

"I wanna go home with the two people I love the most in the world," I said, linking my fingers with theirs and kissing their hands.

"Then let's go home," Steve said with a small chuckle as he and Bucky led me to the jeep.

Tags:

@mcdesij @spiderrrling @arrow-guy @interestedbystanderwrites @caplansteverogers @gwendelerynan @lukebalehiddleston @here2have-fun @bvckys-doll @bookscoffeeandracoons @bambamwolf87 @loricameback @rockrchick51 @love-nakamura @moisoverennyi-thestarlessone @baebeepeach @timelordy-fangirl2 @jewelofwinter @caramell0w @jewels2876 @ladysergeantbarnes @notawritergettingtherethough @patzammit

#full throttle #marvel #biker au #stucky x reader #stucky #steve rogers #steve rogers x bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #swearing #violence

49 notes · View notes

breyito · 6 years

Text

Ash and Dust

Title: Ash and Dust

Words: 1990

Tags: Iron Dad. Angst. Trigger warning for violence and blood. Major Charcter Death.

Notes: Well, I’ve had this in my head for a while now, actually. And I finally managed to finish it!!! Tbh, I adore IronStrange, but I just had this image of what would Tony do if this actually happened and, well, romance wasn’t in it lol. Sorry for always writing angst, but I’m pretty good at that, I think, lol. Somehow it comes easier to me. I have a lot of hc about how this could go on, so you are free to ask me!!! Idk if I’ll write a sequel, but I have all of these ideas. Also, super uninspired title, but what the hell, couldn’t think of anything else, so. Enjoy the tears ;P

When ashes begin to gather together, and people started to form out of thin air, Tony knew they had done it. They had won. Thanos was no more and the people he had killed on the Snap were back.

Breathing hard through broken ribs, he finally unclenched his left hand. The moment his fist opened, the gleaming Uru metal started to fall apart; burning his arm as it disintegrated, the skin turning black. The sharp pain started to go up and up his left arm, and the muscles became unresponsive as the trauma settled in. He fell on his backside on the ground, gasping. He watched from side to side, taking in the people rejoicing, crying in each other’s arms. Children coming out of buildings and running towards their parents; adults and teens and elderly people embracing and kissing each other. Everybody was busy looking for their loved ones, and for once, he was invisible to their eyes.

But Rhodey immediately noticed him and walked through the crowd towards him to help. He left the armor dissolve and used its nanobots to cut the blood flow a few inches below his shoulder, making a tourniquet as tight as the bots could. Rhodey winced and murmured something about Tony probably losing his arm.

Tony though, paid it no mind. He was looking everywhere, trying to see Quill or Strange, the bug girl or the tattooed giant, someone, anyone that was with him on Titan. He needed to find his kid. Then it dawned on him.

Somehow, the possibility of people re-appearing where they had been when the Snap happened hadn’t occurred to him. How could that have slipped his mind? God, he needed to find Rockett, he needed to plan for the space trip, he needed supplies and a time-line and medical personnel probably; because there was nothing on Titan, nothing people could live from. The others would be hungry and thirsty when they got there, but Peter...Peter would be malnourished, famished by the time they arrived. Stumbling he got to his feet, grabbing Rhodey’s shoulder for support.

“Rockett...Rockett” he mumbled.

“What?” Rhodey asked, baffled.

“Wher-where is he? We need to get to a ship, we, we need to get to Titan, we-”

“Tony, what are you talking about? You need a hospital right now; you’re not leaving the planet. We won, there’s no reason to-”

“No no no no, you don’t get it. Peter is not here, Quill and Strange and the others are not here, we need to get them back-” he said frantically, trying to push through the droves of people around them.

“Tony. Tony!” Rhodey yelled, stopping him. “Rockett is over there, and all of the Guardians seem to be here.” He explained, pointing at the group on the steps of a bank. When the engineer started to stumble towards them Rhodey stepped forward to help him, pushing gently but firmly at the multitude of humans that were still trying to get to their families and/or wanted to thank them. When they finally made it to the Guardians, Tony was panting, ashen and sweating; he had started to develop a fever.

“Rockett! Quill! Strange!” He yelled, desperate, climbing the stairs. The three males looked at him and took him in, wincing at his state. “Where’s Peter?” he asked, looking around, like he was expecting to find the boy hiding behind a potted plant or something.

“Peter is here, Man of Iron-” Drax started, when the Quill stepped forward and shushed them. He still had his arm around the green woman (Gamora, his mind supplied, daughter of Thanos, sacrifice for the Soul Stone). He didn’t pay her attention.

“I don’t know, Stark. He was just with us in the orange world, and then we started to disappear again and showed up here and we haven’t seen him since.”

Tony turned and started looking again, now that he had a higher ground he could see more and hoped the shine of the red and gold armor would catch his eye.

“Wait.” Rhodey said to them. “You’re Gamora, right? How come you’re not dead? I mean, I’m glad you are not, but Thanos killed you, didn’t he? To use the Soul Stone?”

“Yes, he did. But when you reversed the Snap, the Stone released me.” Gamora said, relieved. “I must thank you for that.”

“That’s good; and there’s no need, really. We did what we had to do.” Rhodey answered, still with an eye on his best friend. The adrenaline was starting to wear off and the pain would become unbearable soon enough. “But we are looking for Peter. Or Spider-Man. Can you remember anything else?”

“You were the last to talk to him, Strange. Did he said anything to you?” Gamora asked, taking in the worry in Starks’ face, the dead left arm dangling from his side and the sorrow in the wizard’s eyes.

Tony’s eyes found the doctor and he closed the distance between them, a bit of hope back in his eyes.

“You know where he is?” he asked, breathless. When the other man only swallowed, he went a little paler still. “Strange. Tell me! Do you know where he is?” he repeated, angry.

“I-” Strange started, but stopped and swallowed again. “I’m sorry.” he whispered, eyes full of pity.

“What-? Why? No, no, you all came back, why isn’t he here?” Tony demanded, voice hard. The wizard opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“The Stones, they...they demand a sacrifice, to use them.” Gamora answered, when the pause grew too long and Tony’s body started to tremble with fury and fear. “I was Thanos’ sacrifice and I think this boy was you-”

“No! No, that’s not possible. No no no no.” Tony denied, tears running down his face. “I never- I would never trade him-”

“It doesn’t matter. He was already in the Soul World. The Stone only prohibited his scape.” she said, voice tight.

A few curses could be heard from the rest of the Guardians, but Dr. Strange remained silent. The engineer’s knees gave out, and Rhodes’ was barely able to lower him gently to the floor before he fell and injured himself worse.

On his knees on the floor, Tony Stark sobbed. He wailed and whimpered, his right arm around his stomach, in a pantomime of a hug, offering no comfort at all. He kept mumbling Peter’s name, voice raw and small. Rhodey was paralyzed, completely lost. Not even after his parents’ deaths or Jarvis’ or JARVIS’ deaths (heck, not even after Siberia and finding out the truth about his mom’s murder) he had seen his best friend like that. He looked like a wounded animal, like if a well aimed blow could finally shatter him to pieces and scatter him through the winds.

The stairs were in complete silence, no one dared to say a word, everyone present witnessing the terrible distress and trying to pay their respects by not intruding.

“I’m sorry.”

The whisper was barely audible; and it took Tony a few seconds to find where it had come from. He realized it was Strange who said it when he saw his face: pity, sorrow and shame were plainly written all over him. It only took him another few seconds to make sense of the clues in front of him. He went still, and then he got up.

“You-” he coughed, then swallowed to give his parched throat enough moisture to form words. “You knew.” A hysterical laugh exploded from within him, and he threw his head back as the peals of laughter ended with tears running down his cheeks. He looked at Strange in the eyes to continue talking. “Of fucking course you knew. There was only one path in which we won, wasn't it? This one. The one you chose. The one you put in motion.”

“Stark-”

“You knew, since the moment you opened your eyes back in Titan that this would happen, didn’t you?”

“St-”

“You knew he would turn to ashes in front of me, you knew he would suffer and apologize because he couldn’t stop it and you knew I would do anything to reverse it.” His breathing became more and more agitated, his eyes became colder and angrier and his right hand shook as he continued to talk until his words turned into screams. ”You knew I would find a way to defeat Thanos and undo the Snap just to bring my kid back and that it would be completely useless because he would stay there, trapped forever and alone!”

“Tony-” when Rhodey tried to grab his shoulder he shook him off, not caring about anything but the man in front of him.

“Stark, I’m sorry, but it was the only way.” Despite the sorrow in his voice, the doctor didn’t lower his eyes, and they stayed resolute. His head was held high, and from his posture it was clear that he didn’t regret the decisions he made. And that he would make them again. “Trillions of lives were at stake-”

“You could’ve warned me!”

“And risk you making the wrong choice? Wait for you not to choose him? You would have tried to find another way, and there wasn’t one! He wasn’t worth it.”

“Wasn’t- wasn’t worth it?” he spat, before his right fist pummeled on the wizards’ face. The doctor was taken by surprise and ended on his back on the floor. Tony threw himself over him, knees pressing hard on his chest to not let him breath; and started hitting him again and again, right fist connecting with cheeks and teeth and nose and eyebrows. “You bastard!” fist “Piece of shit!” fist “I hate you, I hate you I HATE YOU!”

When Rhodey shook off his shock he jumped to grab his friend and lift him; but Tony just buried his knees deeper into the doctors’ chest, and kept throwing punch after punch. When Gamora joined Rhodes and they started to ease him back Tony grabbed Strange by the neck, holding onto his robes.

“I will end you!” he promised with a snarl on his face. The doctor smiled through his bloody teeth and lifted his shattered hands.

“What could you...do that is worse....than this was…?”he asked between blissful mouthfuls of air. Tony’s eyes gleamed as he dragged the doctor’s face even closer, until he was almost hissing on his ear.

“I will find each and every person you remotely care about and I will destroy them.” He swore, watching with glee as Strange’s already pale face became vaguely green. “I’ll tear them apart piece by piece, until they are turned to ashes, and I’ll make sure they know it’s your fault and hate you for it. And then I will watch as you crumble bit by bit, until you are nothing but dust in the wind.” With that, Tony threw Strange back to the floor with all the strength he had, relishing the sound the skull made when it hit the concrete. The last thing Tony saw before Rhodey injected him with sedatives was those blue eyes filled with the same terror he saw in Peter’s; and he closed his eyes knowing at least he wouldn’t be the only one having nightmares anymore.

---{}---

When Tony woke up he was in a hospital room. Probably somewhere in the city, not in the Compound, because he hated white walls on his properties. With a glance he took the room in. He noticed his missing left arm and the bandages around his torso and tight with little interest. Making sure he was alone, he lifted his hand and activated the nano-comm he had implanted in his ear.

“FRIDAY, my girl, are you there?”

“Yes, boss, of course. What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to wake up KAREN from her backup servers. We have a revenge to plan.”

“Done. And now?”

“Let’s start with Dr. Christine Palmer.”

#breyito writes #angst #tw violence #tw character death #post-infinity war #engame au #tony stark #stephen strange #james rhodes #if i forgot any warnings let me know

5 notes · View notes

lunaofthevalley · 6 years

Text

Steadfast Tin Soldier ||

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Note: The long awaited and requested part two is here. Decided to make this a mini series of sorts so expect a part three as well.if you wanna be tagged comment or send me a message pand I'll ad you. Warnings: stupid Bucky

Y/N never imagined how much her life would change upon moving to the compound to start to work for Bruce. When her old boss told her he'd gotten her an interview for a proper job, a great one at that, she never thought it would land her working for the Avengers, or well a Avenger seeing as she exclusively worked under Bruce, but as time passed and relationships grew, Y/N found herself being a helping hand to everyone. If you took a look at her you'd never think of her as someone who had a career in science. That's why Y/N loved her chosen lifestyle, she was always surprising people, and she, herself loved surprises, and ever since she started working at the compound her life seemed to be even more full of them. But the greatest surprise came in the form of one James Buchanan Barnes.

She of course knew who he was, or more specifically who he had been. Upon being employed, Y/N was given a briefing on everyone who held a high position at the compound, which mostly consisted of the Avengers and a few select others, like Fury and Agent Hill. So of course she knew all about him, or more specifically, what she was allowed at that moment to know. She had been told of his past. His service to the army during the Second World War, his supposed death due to falling of a train, the years he spent being tortured by HYDRA, the atrocities he was made to commit while he was under control as the Winter Soldier. But if you asked her honestly she could care less about it. She was told he was a changed man, and she fully believed it, even if others that had known him longer still didn't.

When she finally saw him face to face she was a bit taken aback. You could tell he had been through a lot. His eyes gave it away. She could also tell he was an attractive man, under the unkempt long hair and slight beard he seemed to have. He was big, way more than her, the years of work and service evident in his body. She of course was also quite taken by the metal arm he sported. It was not the same one he had killed with before, no this was the brand new one, provided by the Wakandans. He'd caught her gaze that day, as she gave him the once over, and when she looked up at his face again, their eyes met. What had been surprising not only to her, but also to Bucky, was that she had not looked away in embarrassment, as many would do. Y/N seemed to have gained this new found confidence right there and then because her eyes didn't stray from the soldiers blue ones at that moment.

Y/N didn't see him again until a week after. He'd changed a bit. He no longer had much of a beard as he did before, it was more of a scruff now, as if he'd let it grow lightly, but not to much that it looked bad. His hair had been trimmed too. It was still long, more neater. It reached a little above his shoulders, but below the jawline. It didn't look unkept now, it looked, softer, lighter and not as greasy as the day she had first seen him. She started seeing a lot more of him after that day, and they had begun to communicate. Sure it took a while for them to actually start having proper conversations, but no matter how small the amount of time Y/N and Bucky spent together was, she always cherished it.

She had slowly but surely begun to be enchanted by James Buchanan Barnes.

She was actually thinking about him the moment Natasha and Wanda burst into her room, going off about some party Stark was planning, involving costumes, which she reckoned had to do with Halloween which was a couple of weeks away now. She wasn't much surprised at the news of the party. It would be her first one at the compound, but she knew of Stark's love for extravagant celebrations, so she expected it.

"How exciting, you'll be experiencing your first Stark party, and lucky for you it's themed." Wanda told her with much enthusiasm, which Y/N couldn't help but smile at.

Natasha made a face, "I wouldn't go so far as to call it lucky. But don't get me wrong you'll have fun."

Y/N gave the, each a once over. The three of them had quickly become friends after she had started working and living at the compound. Being the only three women in a group made up mostly of men was sometimes overbearing, but they had each other, so they tended to stick together to make things more bearable.

"So, do you know what you'll be dressing up as?" Y/N asked.

"Don't know yet actually," Nat was the first to respond. "Might go for something simple, but sexy, y'know, show off the bod."

"You're always showing off the bod in that catsuit of yours." Y/N argued.

Nat nodded, "Yes, but this time I might get to do it as a sexy fireman or even better a sexy Avenger!"

"But you are an Avenger." Wanda butted in.

"I mean yeah, but imagine me showing up as a sexy Iron Man or a sexy Captain America. Imagine how Steve would react." All three took a moment to imagine how said scenario would go down before bursting into a fit of laughter. It would be quite comical if it were to happen, and Y/N would put it past Nat to actually dress up like that just to get a kick out of one of the guys.

"What about you Wanda, any ideas?" Y/N asked.

"Well like Nat said, I also want to do something simple. Was thinking of a witch, simple enough I only have to buy a few accessories, seeing as I have enough black clothing already." Y/N and Nat giggled lightly at that. Wanda then turned to Y/N and asked the same question.

"Oh, I don't know yet. I mean I did only just find out about it. Maybe I could do the same as Nat, dress up as one of the guys, though I'd much rather go for the normal version than the sexy one."

Nat scoffed. "You'd look great in a sexy costume, you have a great figure. Your dainty, but muscular, you got curves and a good northern and southern region."

Y/N blushed at the comment Nat made, "Look who's talking."

"Hmm I might have an idea," Nat and Y/N turned to look at her, "Y/N, didn't you use to be a dancer?"

Y/N raised her eyebrows, "Uh yeah I was, nothing professional but yeah. How did you know?"

"You must've mentioned it before or something."

"Oh." Y/N didn't recall ever telling Wanda, but she supposed it could've come up in a conversation at some point.

"You could dress up as a Ballerina. It would be perfect." Nat offered.

"You think so?"

"Yeah, no one will show up as a ballerina, because let's face it, it's not really a very Halloween-y costume, which makes it perfect seeing you will be the only one."

"Well... I still have some of my ballet costumes from my last recital which wasn't that long ago."

"See," Wanda said quickly, "you wouldn't spend any money.

"Well when you say it like that it doesn't sound so bad."

"No more arguing Y/N, you're going as a Ballerina." Nat said proudly.

_________________________

"So you want me to dress up as a soldier for Stark's stupid party?" Bucky asked, "Why?"

Steve looked at Bucky as they were currently sat in front of each other in the common room. "Uh no reason, just thought it suited you."

"Why because I was a soldier?"

"Well yes, but also because I remembered that story you used to go on about back in the forties."

"The Steadfast Tin Soldier. You want me to dress up as the Steadfast Tin Soldier?" Bucky wanted to laugh. He found it quite odd that out of everything Steve could've brought up, he brought up this. The one thing Bucky had always used as a metaphor to his life.

"Well not exactly, but yes. You're not someone who tends to go all out with this sort of thing so I thought I could help, and I remembered how much you used to like the tale, so I thought I'd suggest the idea. Thought it would remind you of the good old days."

"But wouldn't I look out of place," Bucky asked, "The Steadfast Tin Soldier is a toy soldier, isn't that a little more adept to Christmas time?

"Well yea but Christmas is just around the corner from Halloween, and besides I don't think anyone will care." Steve tried to reassure him, but Bucky still looked uneasy. "Look if it really doesn't appeal to you, you can dress up with Sam and I. He's going as a bald eagle and I'm going as Uncle Sam, you could dress up as the American flag to complete our group costume."

Bucky instantly made a face. "You know I think I'd rather try my luck with the toy Soldier. Patriotism is more your and Sam's thing."

Steve smirked knowing his tactic had worked, "I'm glad to hear you say that. We'll be going to the city next week to buy the costumes."

"Alright punk."

________________________

The days came and went and before anyone knew it te day of the party was among them. Tony had scheduled it to be the weekend before Halloween. He had made it a rather private affair, inviting mostly only staff members of the compound and a select few other outsiders, but all in all it was still a grand party, but then again it was a Stark party, so it could be nothing short of grand. The party was occurring in the hall, the biggest room in the compound. It was normally used for when they had big conferences or meetings with most of the resident staff, and it was also built to be used for parties. Almost everyone was there already. Sam and Steve were currently the center of attention, with their very patriotic costume. Sam honestly looked ridiculous in the bald eagle get up, and well Steve who always seems to ooze patriotism and freedom seemed to be doing so more tonight. Natasha had indeed showed up dressed as a sexy Captain America, which had also indeed made Steve as red as a tomato for a couple of minutes. All three of them probably had the best group costume. That is until Clint and his family showed up. Clint strolled in looking as mighty as ever dressed up as Legolas. He thought he would give honor to the nickname Tony gave him, and he got a silver lining out of it as well, the greatest group costume of the night. Laura, his wife was dressed as Galadriel, while his kids were dressed up as hobbits.

Bruce showed up dresses as Albert Einstein, and he looked adorable with the big wig and bushy mustache. Wanda in the end opted to go as a fortune teller after having seen the most amazing baggy pants she had ever seen for sale at forever 21, which she matched with a black crop top she had lying around, a scarf that belonged to Y/N on her head and an about a hundred pieces of jewelry. Vision had probably gone for the simplest of costumes, deciding to just cut some holes into a sheet and go as a ghost. Rhodes was dressed in a bright purple suit with a frilly shirt, and he was sporting a wig. He was dressed as Prince, which if it wasn't already obvious, you'd get the idea after hearing him sing a horrible rendition of purple rain. And as seemed to be a recurring theme at the party, Tony and Peter also showed up in a group costume, or well a couples costume as it's technically called, but since they weren't actually a couple they decided to go with the term bro-stume, as in a costume of bros. it was obvious it had been Peter who had come up with the title. They were dressed up as Marty McFly and Doc from back to the future. Although the best costume of the night award probably had to go to Thor, who showed up dressed as a giant pop tart. Everyone knew of the love he possessed for the sweet treats, but they never thought he loved them so much he'd actually dress up as one.

Bucky was by the bar observing everything going on at the party. He had dressed up as the Toy soldier, like Steve suggested, and he honestly felt a bit ridiculous, with the big hat on his head and the obnoxious blue and red tones of the jacket. Don't even get him started on his tight white pants. The only thing about the costume Bucky was quite alright with were the black boots. It was then that the patriotic trio approached him at the bar.

"Why so glum chum?" Nat asked.

Bucky shrugged in response, "Don't know, I'm not really used to this sort of thing remember. This is my first party in over 75 years, and it's a costume one at that. Don't remember the last time I dressed up like this."

"C'mon, cheer up Buck, don't think about all that tonight, try to have fun." Steve reassured his best friend.

"Is Barnes in a funk because his sweetheart isn't here?" The four of them turned to see Tony and Peter approaching.

"What sweetheart?" Bucky asked confused.

"Oh you know, little miss lab assistant."

Peter cut in, "He means Y/N."

Bucky gave Tony a sharp look, "What makes you think she's my sweetheart, we're just friends."

"Right, just like me and Pepper are friends. Come on Barnes we all see how you look at her as if she were the last plum in the world. And I only say plum because I know you have an ungodly love for those things."

At that moment a six foot pop tart appeared, "Whats this I hear about ungodly love?"

"Oh nothing, just bothering Barnes about his school crush on Y/N." Sam explained.

"Oh I see." Thor nodded, "By the way, where is Lady Y/N, I am most excited to see her costume."

"Hmm yes, I wonder what she'll be dressed at." Tony said in a humorous tone, which earned him several pointed looks from the patriotic trio.

"Well wonder no more mister Stark, because she just arrived." Peter nodded towards the entrance closest to the bar, which also was the one that led to the private quarters of the compound.

Everyone in the small group turned to look at Y/N. Bucky's mouth hung open in shock the moment he laid eyes on her, and even the rest of them, who already knew what she would be dressed up as, did a double take at seeing her. She was wearing a white leotard, accompanied by an also white, slightly sparkly tutu that had pink details on it. Right below her shoulders she was wearing those frilly things ballerinas sometimes wear. Her legs were covered in white tights, but not the solid kind, she was wearing the see through type, the ones were you get a peek at her natural tone of skin, but it's still evident that the tights are white. She was wearing her old pair of pointe shoes, the light pink ones that matched the outfit. On the crown of her head rested a small tiara/diadem type of thing, which was rose gold in color and was adorned with fake pink and white jewels. Her Y/H/C hair fell in loose waves down her back instead of being held up in a tight bun as it is usually on a ballerina. She was wearing more make up than usual, but not a whole lot that her face looked cakey. She looked natural. She looked ethereal.

Bucky swore in that moment that she was not only the ballerina to his soldier, but that she was also an angel that may or may not have been sent to him.

As Y/N approached the group she started to blush deeply at feeling all eyes on her. She immediately started to have second thoughts on her costume. Once she was close enough to the group she dared ask the question, "Why are you all looking at me like that, is my costume bad?" In that moment everyone started talking.

"No, no you-you look beautiful doll."

"Lady Y/N, you are most divine this evening."

"The lab assistant turned into a graceful swan. Get it, swan lake reference."

"You look g-great miss Y/N, like a princess."

"Told you you had a great body."

"Hot damn girl, we need to get you out more."

"You look great Y/N"

Y/N blushed even more at all the comments, "Well thank you for the reassurance."

Everyone got quiet after that, no one daring to disrupt the awkward silence that had consumed the small group. That is until Tony opened his big smart mouth.

"Would you look at that."

Everyone turned to him, but it was Y/N that had voiced what everyone was thinking, "Look at what."

"You and Barnes."

She looked at Bucky before looking back at Tony. "What about me and Bucky?"

"I just found it funny that you're dressed as a ballerina and he's dressed up as a toy soldier." When no one said anything he continued, "You know, like that fairytale."

That's when it clicked in Y/N's mind, "Oh, you mean the Steadfast Tin Soldier?"

"Yep, that's the one" Tony quickly replied.

That's when Y/N looked over at Bucky and took in his costume. He was indeed dressed up as a toy soldier. He looked quite dashing actually. She then remembered the tale. She'd only heard it a few times before but she remembered the basic plot of it. Of how a Tin soldier had fallen in love with a ballerina. As she though more about it, she remembered more of the story, how it happened that the Tin Soldier was also missing a body part, much like Bucky. Only difference being Bucky had a metal one attached in its place. Everything had become quiet again, and it was obvious that the suddenly topic of conversation made Bucky a little tense. He didn't dare look at Y/N in fear of being judged, but contrary to his belief Y/N was quite pleased with the outcome of their accidental compatible costumes.

Y/N cleared her throat and turned to Bucky, "Say would this Tin Soldier fancy a dance, I know this ballerina does, and I don't think there is a better partner than you."

Bucky struggled to say something, he looked like a deer caught in headlights. He stood gaping at her for a few seconds before Steve lightly nudged him, "I- uh, sure doll, I'd love to." He slowly held out his flesh hand and she lightly placed hers on his. There was a drastic difference. His big, calloused, war torn hands and her small, frail soft ones. A soldier's hands and a ballerina's hands. Bucky led Y/N out to the dance floor and once they found themselves in the middle of it Bucky turned to Y/N, hesitance evident on his face. He still had her hand in his flesh one, which meant he'd have to place the metal one on Y/N's waist. He'd never touched her before with his metal limb, so Y/N guessed he was afraid to do so at the moment. She reached out and grabbed his metal wrist, and placed it tightly on her waist before inching closer and placing her hand on his shoulder.

"You won't hurt me Bucky."

"I'd never dare to doll."

A few seconds of silence loomed over them before Y/N spoke up. "It's quite funny isn't it, that our costumes relate in a way."

Bucky nodded, "Yea, you look beautiful by the way. Quite the original choice of costume."

Y/N blushed a light shade of pink, "Thank you, it wasn't my first choice but Nat and Wanda insisted on it, and now that I see the finished product I'm kind of glad they did."

That's the moment it click in Bucky's mind. Why Steve insisted on him dressing up as a soldier, Tony bringing it up right now, Nat and Wanda telling Y/N to dress up as a ballerina. They had both been played at the same time and they never noticed, and for what reason exactly Bucky didn't know. Steve knew Bucky liked Y/N, he'd accidentally let it slip one time during a run, and ifs he's being honest he's not exactly the most subtle when it comes to her, so he didn't put it past the team for noticing. He didn't know why the team went through all the trouble to try and set them up like this. Y/N had never given him a reason to believe she felt the same as he did. And even if she did , he didn't deserve her. Bucky then began to internally panic. She deserved someone better in her life, someone who was completely stable, who didn't have as rough a past as him, someone who was better than him. He stopped dancing and stepped back from her looking down at her confused features. She was about to say something but before she could he cut her off, "I'm so sorry doll, but I have to go." And with out a glance back he bolted out of the room, leaving her in the center of the room all alone. The rest of the team watched in horror as Bucky quickly left the party. None of them had expected Bucky to do that. Out of all the possible outcomes tonight could have, that one was never even considered.

"God damn it Barnes, one tries to help and you do this." Tony sighed.

"Lady Y/N looks sad."

Wanda turned to Thor, "Of course she's sad, she just got left in the middle of the dance floor by the guy she likes!"

"Frosty screwed up big time." Clint added.

While they all argued over their failed attempt at getting Y/N and Bucky together, said girl still stood in the same spot in which Bucky had left her. She still stared at the door, in hopes that this was all a joke and he'd come back. But things aren't a fairytale. And in that moment the Ballerina lost her Soldier.

TSTS TAGS: @hadesgirl1015 @holycoldcoffee

#james buchanan barnes #bucky imagine #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #The steadfast tin soldier #avengers #avengers masterlist #marvel #mcu #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine #lunawrites

139 notes · View notes