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imtryingbuck · 3 months

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Help from the least unsuspected.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC!Theo

Summary: Bucky has to marry a woman who surprises him more and more as their story goes along.

Word count: 2,465

Warnings: angst. fluff. swearing. mentions of assault/murder. mentions of being sick. death. accusation of rape (doesn’t happen!!)

Masterlist Series Masterlist

Bucky woke up after having the best night sleep in nearly a month now that he had Theo back in his arms - yes he held her hand the whole time he was by her side but it wasn’t the same. Not by a landslide.

The memories from the night before hit him like a tidal wave at first he thought he dreamt the whole thing until he looked down at his pretty girl in his arms seeing the purple marks he ever so precisely decorated her neck as they emerged as one.

Bucky had two missions on his mind. Every single lead of finding out who had gained enough courage to do the most stupidest thing in the world by attacking his wife, led him to dead ends. It was mainly Steve’s knuckles that were busted up as he made sure that he was the one beating information out of possible suspects, Sam and Nat were more than happy to dispose of those that lost their lives when Steve had lost all control.

He was close to offering money in order to get a name. One name and that’s all he needed to find out who else was involved, one name to find out who ordered the hit.

“Bucky?” His attention was pulled from his thoughts to his girl.

“Morning baby.”

“Morning.” She looked up at him and smiled shyly before hiding her face into his side. He couldn’t help but chuckle at her shyness, especially since she was lying next to him naked as the day she was born.

“Let me see your pretty face, baby.”

“Not pretty.”

Bucky was pretty sure his right eye twitched at hearing her words. “What the fuck are you talking about? Baby look at me.”

“No, I’m asleep.”

“You’re asleep but talking to me?”

“Yeah… I’m sleeping talking.”

Chuckling softly he shook his head at her response, bringing two fingers to her chin he raised her head up so he could finally see her. “I don’t ever want to hear those words come out your mouth ever again. Theodora you are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on.”

Liar she thought to herself. Insecurity was a deadly disease, no matter how much you are complimented there’s always that horrible little voice in the back of your head that refuses to listen and believe the words that come from another’s mouth. But Theo didn’t say any of that, she just smiled softly. “I love you.”

Despite the conversation that they were just having his heart swelled at hearing her words. “I love you too.”

Leaning down to kiss her, just inches away from having her lips on his a knock came from the door. Bucky groaned, rolling his eyes as Theo bit her lip trying to suppress her smile. Bucky felt a twitch in between his legs at seeing her dimple in her cheek grow bigger.

“Buck.” It’s Steve.

“Go away!”

“Is Theo covered up?” Both of them frowning, Bucky only had a second to pull the covers up to cover her before Steve walked into the room. “You need to get dressed and get downstairs, like now.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Rumlows downstairs.” Bucky’s whole body went stiff which had Theo shifting off him. “He said he needs to talk to you.”

Bucky told Theo to stay in the bedroom, made her promise not to go anywhere. She nodded and promised him.

He walked into his office where the rest of his family were, with the man he hated more than anything in this world, the vein in his neck twitching when he came face to face with Brock.

“What do you want?”

“Thanks-“

“What do you want.” Bucky was in no mood to play nicely with the man.

“I have information that you want.” Brock shrugged. “Oh and tell your little lapdogs to get their hands off me.”

His blue eyes moved between Sam and Thor who both had a tight grip of the man they all held the same amount of hatred for. “What’s the information?”

“Tell them-“

“It depends on what you have information about, then maybe just maybe I’ll tell them to get off you.”

“It’s regarding your wife.” A smug feeling filled Brock’s body the second he saw the look in Bucky’s eyes at the mention of his wife, the two lapdogs - as he called them - let go of him. “Can I sit? I’m gonna sit.”

“What do you want?”

“Who said I want anything?”

“You never do anything for free Rumlow, so what is it?”

“I want an out. Out of this life, I’m done.”

That took not only Bucky but the rest by surprise. “Yeah right.” Bucky scoffed.

“I’m married you know?” He raised his left hand to show his ring. “And not to sound like a little bitch but I really love her and she’s pregnant, we found out we’re having a girl last week. You lot know how this life is and I love my wife and baby girl enough to walk away from it all.”

Brock chuckled at seeing Bucky’s shocked expression. “Wasn’t expecting that was you?”

“No not really but that doesn’t answer my question.”

“You and I have never seen eye to eye, and quite honestly I still can’t stand you but my wife wanted me to make things right before we leave so… here I am.” He pulls out a packet of cigarettes, offering Bucky one who just shook his head, giving him the go ahead to light it up.

“I know who ordered the hit on Theo. I was asked to do it but my beef has always and will always be with you and you alone so I turned it down, I thought they were joking but when I heard that Theo had been shot I knew then it wasn’t a joke.”

“Who?”

“I’ve even took the liberty of getting the shooters myself, you know as a peace offering between the two of us.”

“Who.” Bucky repeated. Getting annoyed with Brock, and started to think that all this was a ploy, a way to get into his home, a way to take his wife and he’s just fell straight into-

“Dot and Eliza. Dot asked me to meet her, said something about her kid, I don’t know, I get there and she’s with Eliza they offered me five million to kill Theo, I laughed and told them no.” Stubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray he leaned back in the chair. “I didn’t think they were being serious but I wasn’t going to do it and I told them that and then I find out that Theo had been shot so I’ve been using my contacts to find out who did it and I’ve got them for you.”

Bucky felt like he couldn’t breathe. His ex. His wife’s stepmother. Brock must have gotten it wrong because no… no they couldn’t do that. Right?

“Here’s the address where you’ll find the arseholes who did it.” Brock stood handing over a small piece of paper, adjusting his jacket he looked around the room at the makeshift family. “It’s been a pleasure of knowing you all.”

As Brock’s hand touched the door knob Bucky’s voice stopped him. “Thank you.”

“We’re even now.”

Bucky gave him a tight lipped smile and a short nod in acknowledgment at his words. A couple years back Brock’s mother had been killed, Brock straight away thinking that Bucky was behind it, Bucky swore that he hadn’t and made it his job to find the person who had done it. And just like Brock had done, Bucky went to his home and gave him a piece of paper with the address written down of the warehouse Bucky had taken his mother’s killer to.

“What does he mean you’re even now?” Nat questioned.

“It doesn’t matter.” Bucky had never told any of them what he had done. He thought that they wouldn’t understand why he was helping a man who was his enemy. “I need Theo.” Is all he says as he walks out of the office. “Steve, Sam and Thor take this and go to see if Brock was telling the truth.”

He finds Theo in their room just as she promised, wearing his shirt with her knees pulled up with a book resting on her thighs. He smiles as her finger runs along the page as she reads, when she stills and her face scrunches up in confusion he walks over to her.

“What word are you stuck on pretty girl?”

“This one.” He reads out the word, her face blushing in embarrassment. “Thank you.”

“Baby you don’t have to be embarrassed, especially not around me.” Pressing a kiss to her hair he climbed into bed with her.

“Your shoes!” Theo giggled trying to push his legs off the bed.

“Gimme a second missy!” He laughs, kicking his shoes off one flying towards the door which had both of them looking at each other with wide eyes. “Theo…”

“Bucky…”

“I need to tell you something.” He didn’t want to keep anything from her, no secrets - they promised each other one night as they laid in bed together. Giving him her full attention by putting her book down his heart aches as he tells her who had ordered the hit on her life.

“T-that doesn’t surprise me. Eliza has never liked me.” She shrugs picking her book back up. “Don’t do it.”

“What do you mean don’t do it?”

“Whatever you’re planning, don’t.” A harsh sigh falls from her lips as she feels him looking at her. “It isn’t worth it, okay?”

“Are you insane?” The instant regret he felt for raising his voice at her had an apology already on the tip of his tongue but she didn’t give him chance to speak.

“You kill Eliza and you’re insane. My father will not allow you to get away with it, Brandon will not let you get away with it. Bucky I am not worth your men losing their lives, I have already caused so much trouble and I don’t want cause anymore. So please, don’t do it.”

“I don’t give a fuck if your so called father and brother won’t allow me to do it. Baby, I will burn the world down if it means that no one ever hurts you again.” Bucky groans as his phone buzzes, he sees it’s Steve ringing just as he was about to answer the call drops and a message comes through ‘he was telling the truth’.

“I’m going to spend the day in my room, if that’s okay?”

“Of course it is, you don’t have to ask.”

Theo leans over to give him a kiss, but before she does she looks him in the eyes. “Please don’t do anything.”

He didn’t say anything as she climbed out of the bed and left the room, he couldn’t promise her something he knew that he was going to break so he kept quiet. When he heard the door to her room close he pulled his phone out, ringing a number.

“Hey babe, I miss you.” The words felt like acid on his tongue as he forced them out. “Yeah? I’ll meet you at yours.” He actually had to force himself not to be sick right there and then. “Yes babe I want you to be my mistress. Alright I’m on my way.”

The second he put the phone down Bucky ran to the bathroom and puked up.

Getting to Dot’s house he hesitated by going inside, when he did he noticed that none of her child’s things were there, Bucky being nosy asked her and she told him that the dad had got full custody, he tried to force the grimace off his face at seeing her so happy about it.

“I want to take you out.”

“Yeah? Where?” She beamed up at him.

“Somewhere special.” Once again, he has to force himself not to be sick. “I want to treat my girl.”

A shrill screech fell from her lips. “I’m your mistress, I feel so happy right now!”

“Yep, come on I haven’t got all day.”

He gets her into his car and tells Vis to drive, the whole way there Bucky’s skin crawled as Dot kept trying to touch him, he sighed in relief when Vis told him they were there.

“Bucky why are we here? I thought you were taking me to a restaurant!” He rolled his eyes at her.

Forcefully grabbing her arm he dragged her to where Steve had come out. “Keep your mouth fucking shut.” He hissed at her.

Inside three men were tied to chairs, one of them had his face so badly beaten Bucky was surprised that he was still breathing. Dot’s whole body went stiff as she laid eyes on the men. Bucky pushed her closer to them, she tripped over and landed with a hard thud. Steve had told him exactly what the men had told them, they confirmed that it was Dot and Eliza, they had paid them two million and were waiting for the rest of the money.

“You.” He pointed to one of the men. “You recognise this woman?”

“Y-yes.”

“How?”

“She and an older woman-“

“Shut up! Bucky he’s lying! He… he raped me! Yes, yeah he raped me and he’s lying!” Dot screamed, Bucky had to hand it to her, she was a terrible fucking liar.

“N-no I didn’t! They paid us five million to kill some woman!”

“Some woman? You mean my wife?” He took great satisfaction in seeing their faces drop. “So you three shot my wife?”

“We didn’t know! Man we didn’t know who she was, I swear!”

“Understandable. But now you have to die for what you did.” Bucky holds his hand out for Steve to give him a gun. Three loud bangs rang out. Dot screamed and tried to run off but Natasha was quicker.

“Bucky please-please they were lying! Eliza set it up I swear! Please.” She begged, tears running down her face.

“Why did you do it?”

“I- fine! I want you Bucky, it was meant to be me that’s your wife but no you married that dirty whore-“. One final shot was heard. Only it wasn’t Bucky who had the smoking gun. It was Nat.

“What? I wasn’t going to let that thing talk bad about my friend.” She smiled at them.

When Bucky woke up that morning he had two missions. He had completed one though he still needed to deal with Eliza.

His second one, was sitting comfortably in his pocket as he made his way to Michael’s house.

He just hoped it would go the way he wanted it too.

Tags: @sapphirebarnes @bellabarnes1378 @unaxv @skulliecadaver-blog @mrsnikstan @sebastians-love @pattiemac1 @julvrs @undf-stuff @violetwinterwidow01 @cjand10

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glossysoap · 11 months

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ready to comply xi - парамнезия

парамнезия or paramnesia is defined as:

a condition or phenomenon involving distorted memory or confusions of fact and fantasy, such as confabulation or déjà vu.

warnings/tags: gore, hallucinations, blood, unhygienic (srry), smut for a small portion, angst.

notes: flashbacks are in italics, (…) indicates a pov shift, whereas (….) indicates a time skip.

prev chapters here!

word count: 2.5 - 3k

🏷️: @viylikescats @warenai @briacreations96 @fullmoon-94 @breadboyye @kiroshang @zvdvdlvr @digitalrosariesblog @itzzjxlyn @lonely-ofc @m0rganit3 @badbishsblog @wolfyland07 @angelsdemonsmonsters @unkn0wnd3ad @itstokyo-cos @c1rice @venusianlustt @bugonawall @wakusbonkus @shadowycreatormentality @blackrose4242 @blackgaladriel @lilpothoscuttings @thvxr @tapioca-marzipan @jinxxangel13 @luvmeijii @mp3seoul @atjamesbbarnes @h-leigh @writingmybeloved @chloeforde @divine--serenity @zittles3000 @thriving-n-jiving @mar-mar-mel @ivymarquis @crazy-phan-girl13 @goodsoup03 @schaarfyx @rhyanna6012 @abbiesxox @kenz-ee @whateverwhocares6 @sae1kie @thychuvaluswife @elichisstuff @kkaaaagt @grippingbeskar (rest of tags will be in a rb)

The moment you released your opponent from the chokehold, he gasped for air just like you did when you were dropped from his hold. His wheezing was sharp as it filled the room. His eyes were wide with shock as he immediately clutched his throat. You didn’t even notice when your lips quirked into a small grin, relishing in the fact that he felt even a fraction of the fear that you had.

Your eyes were trained on his figure as he scrambled away from you, watching his muscles twitch as he retreated. You watched him, stared at him even when your handler was walking up to you. Your eyes narrowed at your opponent, daring him to get back up.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when your handler cleared his throat. Your eyes darted to him. A chill ran down your spine, almost akin to the jolts of electricity that were sent throughout your body only minutes prior. Your smirk immediately fading from your lips as you remembered how he electrocuted you for any minuscule mistake.

Your body acted on instinct, an almost animalistic sense of survival. Your posture straightened and your breath hitched, heart pounding in your ears as you rose to your feet. Standing at attention and preparing to follow any orders or commands that he barked your way.

You were so prepared to be growled at or barked at. You watched his face, expecting his lips to pull into a snarl as he found something wrong with your sparring.

Instead, he kept looking at you while he turned his head, opening his mouth to speak to someone else. “Romanov, here. Now.” He snapped his fingers and pointed to the space next to you.

Your brows furrowed at the mention of another person. When you heard the sound of boots hitting the rubber mats, your eyes darted to the woman who was jogging over to the two of you.

Once your eyes landed on her, something clicked inside your mind. She was familiar.

She came to a stop next to him, crossing her arms in front of her as she waited for him to give her an order. Her eyes wandered to you, filled with an emotion you couldn’t name.

It wasn’t anger, which was strange after seeing it in everyone’s eyes for months. Was it regret? Remorse? Guilt?

Everything was so familiar about her. Her frame, her plump lips, her fiery red hair. The way she carried herself with such confidence and strength, like she knew she couldn’t be knocked down easily.

Every little detail of this woman pricked at the back of your brain with familiarity. But you couldn’t figure out why. You couldn’t place where you knew her from.

Was she a friend? A loved one? Or an enemy?

“Take Asset no. 09012020 to the showers. Make it quick.” Rumlow ordered, nodding towards the training room doors.

A shower? Your ears perked up and your eyes widened almost hopefully. During your entire time in captivity, you hadn’t been bathed or showered. Not while you were unconscious or being cut open on the table. You definitely weren’t ever granted the opportunity to shower on your own.

For eight whole weeks, you were sitting in your own sweat and filth and dried blood. Your hair was tangled and greasy, riddled with knots and buildup. You felt utterly disgusting. The thought of being allowed a shower was the one thing that brought you a shred of happiness and relief in this cold, dark place.

“Of course.” The Widow nodded before beckoning you to follow her. You didn’t miss a beat, staying on her heels as she walked towards the door. You felt many eyes on you as you followed her, burning a hole into your head with every step you took. Truthfully, many of them had been staring at you ever since you were able to tap out the Winter Soldier.

The two of you reached the exit door and two soldiers opened the doors. She stepped out first and beckoned for you once more.

You stayed hot on her heels as she walked down the cold hallway. With each step, her vibrant red hair swayed and her boots clicked against the floor. Again, you felt that itch in the back of your brain.

You knew that hair from somewhere. That bold shade of red, almost appearing dyed but not quite. It was too beautiful, almost perfect but also lived in.

With each sway of the crimson strands, images flashed across the forefront of your mind. Sounds accompanied those images, painting a picture of your own fractured memories.

Images appeared of the same fiery red hair being splayed across a white sheet on a gurney, accompanied by the sound of a woman sucking in a harsh breath of air through her teeth in a painful wince.

Images appeared of her hair whipping in the wind, flecks of snowflakes dusting the strands, accompanied by the sound of something metallic clinking. Then gurgling of something liquid, maybe someone coughing up blood? Your hand reached for the old, long healed wound on your abdomen, as if moved by some sort of muscle memory.

Images appeared of her hair soaking wet, the damp strands sticking to her forehead as the woman pulled you out of the water, accompanied by the sound of the wind blowing in your ears and her panting with each pull.

Images appeared of her red hair cascading down her shoulders, still dripping water as she watched you get dragged away and stuck in that torture chair.

Those images echoed in your mind in a continuous loop, flashes of color booming across your brain.

At the same time that your brain was flooded with images and colors and sounds, doubt and fear ran through your veins.

Was the Widow that woman?

Was she the same woman that pulled you out of the water? Or was it just your mind trying to piece together the fragments of your mind like a puzzle? Giving that woman her face and body because they shared the same hair color.

Was it just your brain associating that fiery red color in your memories with the woman in front of you? Was your mind just trying to fill in the blanks with what little information it had?

Were the images in your brain even real? Or was your brain so desperate to remember something, anything from your past life that it conjured up some fake memories in order to protect itself?

Before you knew it, you were pulled out of your thoughts by the Widow pushing open the door to the showers.

You were immediately hit with an onslaught of smells the moment you walked through the door. The most prominent was the strong scent of chemicals, similar to disinfectant and bleach. With every inhale through your nostrils, you were reminded of how familiar that smell was. You didn’t know why, you couldn’t place it in any specific memory or feeling. But it just felt.. right.

The other smell that stood in the background was less pleasant. Less clean or sterile.

It was the stench of blood. It reeked of ammonia and it had a metallic tinge. It was so bitter and potent, just a single whiff of it made you wrinkle your nose with a cringe. That smell was also familiar, just like the first scent. With every whiff of that pungent odor, images flashed behind your eyes. Images of the crimson liquid pouring from wounds, the sound of gurgling echoes through your mind.

Your eyes wandered as you took in the shower room.

The shower room was lit up by bright strips of white lights on the ceiling. The light illuminated the large white room, revealing at least thirty showers. Each shower was separated by a thin wall that only came up to waist level, boxing in each cubicle and providing a piss poor level of privacy. In each shower stall was a small porcelain shelf mounted to the tile wall, with just enough space for the bare minimum toiletries.

The walls and floors of the entire room were lined with white tile, and along the walls of the room were sinks and mirrors. The mirrors were cloudy with steam from previous showers, leaving your reflection muddled in the glass. The sinks were white porcelain with silver fixtures. The familiar shade of crimson flooded your vision as you saw blood spattered on the fixtures. The plasma stained the silver handles, from scraped palms and jagged cuts as fingers tried to turn the fixtures. That same blood that stained the silver had dripped down the porcelain sink, seeping into the silver drain. The crimson red was a harsh contrast against the clean, sterile white.

The rest of the sinks were splattered with blood just like that one, all evidence of past wounds and beatings suffered by other subjects and Widows.

The longer your eyes were trained on the blood stained sinks, the more your mind was flooded with images of that same vital liquid. You couldn’t place the origin of any of the images, let alone whether they were real memories or not.

But they sent chills down your spine regardless. You felt a pit settle at the bottom of your stomach regardless.

The images came and went from your mind like shreds and scraps. At the same time, your brain tried to piece the scraps together like a puzzle. A puzzle that was always missing one vital piece.

The images came in fragments. With each fragment, you flinched. Recoiled from the gory pictures.

…. gun shots rang out from Russian soldiers.

“No!” You could hear your own voice wail. It sounded alien. Nearly unrecognizable. As if it was spoken by someone trying to sound like you. Trying to imitate you.

Flinch.

You saw a horrific scene, taking place in your own cell. The cell you were kept in for weeks. Blood spattered on the walls and onto the floor as the bullets tore apart—

Flinch.

— bodies fell limp on the dirty floor, blood pooling around them. Everything was red. The guts and intestines that were spilling out of their stomachs. The chunks of flesh torn apart, falling from the bone.

Flinch.

A bearded man staring at you from the ground where his limp, lifeless body lay. Icy eyes wide as he stared at you, but not actually looking at you. Just glazed over, unseeing. Blood matting his brown hair, pouring from the head wound that left his brain matter exposed. Chunks of pink and white were scattered around his head, blood splattering the cement beneath him.

Flinch.

A man with darker skin than the first man was laid on his back. His brown eyes staring straight up at the ceiling, wide with shock and fear. Glazed over and unseeing, with his lash line shining from unshed tears. Mouth agape in a choked off scream, blood brimming along the seam of his plump lips.

You visibly recoiled at the next two images, even though you still didn’t recognize them.

Another man laid in a pool of his own blood and guts. Whatever skin that peeked out from his tan military gear was sun kissed, littered with scars and freckles. The brown specks and dots were drowned out by splatters of blood. Chunks and clumps of clotted blood had stuck to his arms and neck. His vest was soaked with blood, the tan fabric turned into an almost black. Blood pooled around him. His head was shaved on the sides and his hair was styled into a mohawk. His hair was dark brown, but it looked black with how much blood was caked in it. The strands were matted together with the plasma, and clumps of pink were clinging to his hair.

Brain matter.

The man’s face was just as bad. His face was all chiseled angles, but not harsh. Just sculpted. His tan skin was splattered with blood and brain matter, just like his neck and arms. His brows were bushy and furrowed in pain, framing his eyes.

His fucking eyes.

They were the same shade of blue that kept flashing across your brain, day in and day out. The exact same shade. No matter how many times you were hooked up to that machine and your brain was scraped of its memories — those eyes always came back.

Those eyes were looking right at you in this.. vision? Memory?

His cerulean eyes were shining with unshed tears, but void of any emotions as he stared at you. Blood trickled out from his lips at the corners, before his lips were pulled into a wolfish grin. His white teeth were stained just like the porcelain sinks, tainted with such a deep blood red that it almost appeared black.

“Bonnie,” an accented voice echoed in your mind before your eyes landed upon the last dead body.

Recoil.

The last man’s face was almost unidentifiable. It was so bloody and massacred that his face was more mangled flesh than actual facial features.

His hair looked like it could be blond, but it looked brown with how much blood it was soaked in. The strands stuck to his forehead as the blood dripped down from his hair, streaking down his face. His eyelashes were wet with the crimson liquid as it trickled over his eyelids. His eyes were rolled back into his skull. His mouth was open in a silent scream, blood trickling out of his mouth. His neck was torn apart, allowing you to see every muscle and tendon and even some bone.

On the bloodied concrete floor next to the dead man lay a skull shaped mask.

“Lovie.”

Recoil.

Though time seemed to stretch on endlessly in your mind, those images came and went in a matter of seconds. Anyone watching you would’ve just seen you flinch a few times. They would have no idea the torture you were forced to witness. The gore that would now be committed to your memory — until it was wiped again.

You were yanked out of your thoughts by the loud sound of the faucet turning on.

You sharply exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding as your eyes darted to where the noise came from.

The red head had walked over to one of the first showers in the room and turned the fixture, letting the water run from the faucet. The sound of the running water filled the large room, a welcome white noise to drown out the chaos inside your head.

You forced your legs to move, taking shaky steps toward the shower.

“I’ll give you some privacy.” The Widow murmured to you with a nod before walking to stand by the door.

You glanced at her to see that she was facing away from you. You crouched down to unlace your combat boots before stepping out of them. You peeled your socks off and stepped back onto the tile floor, wincing at the abrupt cold tile.

Then you moved on to take off your cargo pants, reaching to pull down the zipper. You pushed the fabric down your hips and past your thighs, until the pants were pooled around your ankles. You shivered a bit at the cold air hitting your bare skin.

The more you pushed the pants down, the more bruises and scars you revealed on your legs. Marks that served as a reminder of all the times you were knocked around. Tased, lashed, sliced. Evidence of all the wounds you couldn’t even remember receiving.

You swallowed and steeled yourself, stepping out of the pants and moving on to the shirt.

With a wince, you grabbed the bottom of your muscle shirt and pulled it over your head. Cringing at the smell of sweat and dirt, you pulled your arms out of the sleeves. You tossed the dirty shirt on top of the other dirty clothes before turning to your shower.

When you looked at the shower stall, you noticed that she had slipped in some toiletries for you to use. On the short wall of the stall, she had hung up a white washcloth for you to use to scrub your body. Placed on the small porcelain shelf were four small plastic bottles. They were clear, with no designs or branding labels on them. The only indicators you had of what bottle held which liquid, was small white rectangular stickers that were labeled as each product. Two bottles for hair care, one bottle for body wash and one bottle for body lotion.

She had also placed a wide tooth comb on that shelf, decent enough for you to detangle your hair with.

You had an inkling that the products belonged to her, instead of some random HYDRA soldier.

You pushed open the door to your shower with a creak before stepping into the shower stall. Picking up the comb, you began detangling your hair. You started at the ends, taking care to be gentle with each pull of the comb through your (curls/strands). You held your hair mid-way while you worked the comb through, ensuring that it doesn’t yank at your scalp.

You winced with each tug, feeling sharp tingling pain as you worked through each knot and tangle that had built up for weeks on end. Your hair was greasy from being unwashed for so long, but also crusted over in some parts because of so much dried up blood. When you ran into those areas, you had take extra time to break through those snarls and knots.

After many minutes of painstaking detangling, you had finally achieved a manageable state with your hair. You touched it, from the roots to the ends, determining that it was good enough for you to wash it.

You exhaled as you stepped under the stream of hot water, letting it soak through your hair. Closing your eyes and tilting your head back, you let the water drip from your forehead and down your face.

That’s how you spent a good few minutes. Just standing under the stream of water, letting it run over you. Savoring it.

Feeling it soak into your hair, deep in the roots and down to the ends. Feeling it trail down your neck and past your shoulders, trickling down your back.

You reached up and parted your hair, making sure every piece was saturated in water. You craned your neck forward, to the side, and then back again, to make sure water got behind your ears and your neck.

You reached down to the small shelf to pick up the first bottle, popping the cap open to squirt out some of the clear liquid into your palm.

You tried to ignore how strange it felt to squirt the liquid onto the metal hand. Your metal hand. It felt so alien to look at where your human hand was supposed to be, only for a chunk of metal to be in its place. It felt even worse to touch that metal hand with your other hand. It felt just like touching a gun. An inanimate object. A killing machine.

Which was technically true.

You shook your head, as if that could shake out the downward spiral taking place in your mind.

You forced yourself to move on. You brought your hand under the water before rubbing your hands together, starting to create a lather.

You spent the next ten minutes scrubbing at your scalp until it felt raw, massaging the shampoo thoroughly into your skin. You groaned in pleasure as your nails scratched your scalp, feeling a fraction of the tension in your body melting away.

Soon, you had finished washing your hair. You already felt so much cleaner now that your hair was free of the buildup of sweat, dirt and blood.

You moved on to scrubbing your body raw, cleaning off all the sweat and grime and dried blood that had caked on your skin.

With every scrape and scrub of the washcloth against your skin, you felt bruises and cuts and welts under the cloth. You cry out in pain when you hit particularly angry gashes but keep scrubbing.

Scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing.

Even as tears stream down your face.

You cried for everything you could remember and everything you couldn’t. You cried for every scar that hurt no matter how much you couldn’t remember how you received them. You cried for every scar that you did remember receiving — having to relive the trauma of those moments every time you put pressure on those bruises, every time your hand grazed a welted patched of skin.

You cried for your left arm. Even though you didn’t remember having it cut off, you still grieved for the warm, human flesh that used to be in its place. You cried for the numbness that was a constant in your metal limb.

You cried for the electric shocks that were running through your body not even an hour prior, used for forcing you into what your handler wanted. You could almost still feel the burning pain shocking your nerves, sending stabbing needles down your spine as you stood under the water.

You cried for the very few memories that came and went in your brain. Memories that you couldn’t place, memories that you weren’t sure even existed. You cried for the massacre of bodies that appeared whenever you closed your eyes. The pile of bloody bodies and spilled guts, shattered bones poking through skin and brain matter splattered against cement.

You cried for the two voices that you couldn’t place, the voices that echoed through your mind over and over. The voices that sounded so tender and loving and soft, the complete opposite of any voices you heard in this place. You would give anything for those voices to be real. To be in the presence of those voices.

You cried for the blue eyes you kept seeing. Those bright, cerulean eyes that were filled with more life and happiness than anything in this place.

You cried for the you that you didn’t know. The you that must have existed before you were the Asset. Before you were moulded into a killing machine.

(…)

At that exact moment, almost 2,000 miles away in the United Kingdom were Ghost and Soap. Simon and Johnny.

Enjoying the spacious, comfortable shower in your their shared quarters on base. Standing together under the stream of warm water, skin already scrubbed clean and hair already washed free of any dirt.

Panting echoed amongst the running water as hands wandered, lips roaming to kiss and bite on sensitive skin. Simon had already been working Johnny open around his fingers and his tongue, pulling moans and whines from the Scot’s mouth as he made sure he was slick and ready for his cock. Johnny was already nearing the edge by the time the other man pushed in. Simon was already pent up from being on a mission together, having to restrain himself from bending the other man over whenever he felt like it.

Johnny’s face is pressed against the tile wall as Simon’s arms caged him in, the Lieutenants’ chest pressed flush against his lovers back. Simon’s lips found their home on the span of Johnny’s neck, pressing tender kisses to the soft skin.

Johnny moans against the cold tile as Simon eases himself in deeper, squeezing his eyes shut in pleasure. With every inch the blond man pushed in, both men could feel warmth building in their stomachs. Johnny could feel himself stretch to accommodate Simon’s size, a slight sting accompanied by that familiar fullness.

Simon angled his hips and gave a sharp thrust, finally bottoming out and hitting that spongey spot that made Johnny cry out.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Moans fell from Johnny’s lips, all drawn out and desperate.

“Yeah, I know,” Simon crooned into Johnny’s ear, nipping his earlobe. His mouth traveled back to bite at his neck, sucking marks into Johnny’s neck. With every suck, he moaned into Johnny’s skin. He could feel Johnny clench around his cock with every thrust, practically sucking him in.

He just needed feel Johnny clench around him a few more times, then he’d be nearing his own climax.

Simon shifted his weight on one arm, using his other hand to reach down and wrap around Johnny’s cock. Simon felt Johnny’s hips buck forward at the contact, but he only thrusted further into the shorter man.

Simon smirked against his skin at the sharp whine that fell from Johnny’s lips.

That only made him stroke further. Each stroke of the man’s cock spread his white juices up and down, covering his shaft and making wet noises echo.

Simon’s hand and his thrusts worked in tandem, perfectly in sync so he could work both him and Johnny to the edge. With each stroke and each thrust, Johnny would moan out Simon’s name. The Lieutenant would be groaning into the other man’s ear, all husky and gruff as he neared his own edge.

Soon, Simon would curse in Johnny’s ear and he would thrust in a broken rhythm as he let go inside of the other man. Johnny’s breath would hitch and his hips would buck as he squeezed around Simon’s cock. White ropes of thick cum would spurt from his cock as Simon fucked him through their releases.

While you were covered in scars and bruises and welts, and you had no memory of your past life, they were basking in their own pleasures.

While you were starving and fighting for food, they had full stomachs. While you received the bare minimum medical care, they received only the best.

While they were able to hold onto each other and feel loved, cared for — you were stuck.

Stuck feeling absolutely alone.

(….)

Two weeks had passed since your fight with the Winter Soldier. Two weeks since you made him tap on the floor of the training room.

Two weeks since you finally stopped holding back.

In those two weeks, you won again and again. Every single fight or spar ended with your opponent hitting their palm on the mat.

It was unspoken by anyone around you, even by other subjects. When you won a fight, you were allowed one shower and a meal.

If you lost? You would be stuck with just water and those same protein shakes, always just enough nutrients to keep your body running but never enough to stop your stomach from growling. You would have to sit in your sweat and grime until you won your next fight.

And if you didn’t win your next fight? Then the cycle would continue.

No showers or meals.

©️ glossysoap 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.

#glossywrites; ready to comply⛓#mw2 x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x reader x soap #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod x reader

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sjsmith56 · 4 months

Text

The Rules

Summary: One shot AU. A mobster’s daughter meets the love of her life but The Rules get in the way of it developing into something more.

Length: 6.5 K

Characters: James “Bucky” Barnes (at age 21, then 25), OFC (named), OFC’s parents (named), Brock Rumlow, John Walker, Loki Laufeyson.

Warnings: some cursing, rude behaviour and reference to mob life. Otherwise fluffy.

Author notes: This is my first attempt at writing a mob-themed story. Bucky is actually a sweetheart.

〰️ 〰️ 〰️

The first time Tia fell in love was when she was almost 18. His name was James, 21, and he was one of newest men on her father's staff. The first time Tia fell out of love was two weeks later when she saw James kissing a woman staff member and allowing himself to be pulled into her room at the mansion where they all lived. This is their story.

Almost Eighteen

There were rules growing up in the house of a mob boss, particularly the man known as the Boss of Brooklyn, Jerome Brancato. Rule #1, If the door to his office was open, anyone could come in. If the door was closed, everyone had to stay out. Rule #2, Daughters of the boss were off-limits. Period. No exceptions, unless the boss approved of the relationship which sometimes happened if he was approached correctly and with respect. Rule #3, No meant no. Other rules came up but the big three were supposed to be obeyed by everyone, staff and family.

Tia, seeing the door to her father's office was open approached it, hearing him speaking with another man. The man, who said a lot of "Yes sirs" and "No sirs" seemed to be interviewing for a position with her father's "business," a business he took over from his father, and his father before him. But Tia's father, Jerome, had no sons to leave the business to and daughters weren't supposed to be in that position, at least not in his narrow world view.

She pushed the door open, catching the attention of her father and the man, who rose to his feet and turned towards her. He was tall, with short dark hair, and handsome, with eyes as blue as the sky. Tearing her eyes away from him she looked at her father.

"I'm sorry, but your door was open," she said. "I can come back."

"It was open," agreed her father. "Tia, this is James Barnes. He's here to join the security team. Barnes, this is my youngest daughter, Tia. She just graduated from high school."

He offered his hand, his white dress shirt peaking out from under his dark suit's sleeve.

"Pleasure," he said, in a voice that made a warmth pool deep inside her, his even white teeth showing in the smile he gave her.

Her voice squeaked a little when she answered. "Thank you."

Inside she groaned. What kind of response was that? James grinned a little.

"You're welcome."

"Why don't you give us half an hour to finish up," suggested her father. "I still have to make James aware of the rules."

She smiled at her father but inside she felt her stomach drop. The rules. The fucking rules. Rule #2, she was off-limits. Apologetically, she returned to the door, risking one more look at the man she had just fallen in love with, then closed it and ran upstairs to her room to fall face first into her bed and cry over the rules.

It was a week before she saw James again. James, Jimmy, Jamie, Jim ... all the variations of his name were written out on paper by her, as she signed her name with his. Mr. and Mrs. James Barnes. Jim and Tia Barnes. Then she tore the pages up into tiny pieces and flushed them down the toilet because if there was one thing her already married older sisters warned her about was to not leave any trace of having a crush on any of their father's "staff," for that could cause all sorts of problems, not just for her but also for him. In their father's line of work, that could result in serious issues for the male staff member but could also see her summarily married off to some business associate, which she didn't want. Not at 17 years, 10 months and 2 weeks of age. Besides, she was going off to college in a few months and the last thing she needed was a chaperone to make sure that Portia Isabel Brancato, nicknamed Tia, behaved herself. So, she kept her face and attitude as neutral as possible, and tried to make it seem like she wasn't looking for James on the estate. Which ended up being easy when she found out quickly that he was sent out to one of the satellite "offices," a warehouse at the docks to learn that aspect of the work.

Resigned to not seeing him again for the foreseeable future, Tia came downstairs the one day to be driven to the salon for her usual mani / pedi appointment, only to see James waiting at the bottom of the stairs. As she came down, he looked up and his smile lit her up inside once more.

"Good morning," he said, cheerily. "I've been instructed to drive you to the Bronze Goddess salon. Are you all ready?"

"I am, thank you," she replied politely, reaching the bottom step and looking up at him. God, how could anyone be so good looking? "Could we stop at a Starbucks for something?"

"I'm yours to command," he replied, then opened the front door for her, while somehow reaching the armoured Audi sedan first.

After making sure her seatbelt was in place, James closed the door and got behind the steering wheel. Tia could see the coiled wire of the earpiece reaching down into his suit collar. He checked in with his supervisor, likely Clint, then smoothly pulled out from the driveway towards the gate to the estate.

"I haven't seen you for a while," said Tia, tentatively.

"No, I've been elsewhere," he replied, pausing at the road and looking both ways before turning left, following the map on his dash display.

Five minutes later he pulled into the line at Starbucks, then looked at Tia in the rearview mirror.

"A white chocolate mocha Frappuccino, please," said Tia, handing him a Starbucks card. "Get something for yourself while you're waiting for me."

"Thank you, I will," he said.

He ordered a Caffé Americano, then offered them the card when they handed him the cups. Turning around he smiled as he gave her the Frappuccino, then the card. Ten minutes later he pulled up at the salon, then got out to open her door.

"I'm going to park then I'll be inside," he said. "Your father was very specific that someone be in view of you at all times."

"Is there trouble?" she asked, as it wasn't a usual thing for a salon visit.

"Nothing I can't handle," he said, giving her that lop-sided smile again. "You let me do the worrying."

He came inside, carrying his coffee, walking in like he belonged, and settled himself on an empty chair near the pedicure station, but in a position where he could see the front door. He picked up one of the gossip magazines and flipped slowly through it. Every person who walked into the salon underwent his scrutiny. Everyone who came close to Tia, received even more attention. When she was finished, he waited behind her while she paid, then took her gently by the elbow, leading her to where the car was parked, seemingly staying acutely aware of their environment. On the drive back home, he looked at her several times in the rearview mirror.

"You planning to go to college?" he asked.

"Yeah, I've been accepted to Stanford, UCLA and Arizona State. I wanted to apply to something in the east, but Dad thought it was safer for me to be further away."

She didn't add the qualifier "from his business interests." There was kind of an unwritten rule that daughters were off-limits to action from his competitors but being on the other side of the country made that easier to follow.

"Did you go to college?"

He shook his head. "I joined the army right out of high school. Did one tour and realized I wasn't cut out for it. My dad knew your dad from some construction work he did for him and put in a word for me."

The gate opened and James drove up the circular driveway to the front of the house. Then he opened the door and offered Tia his hand to get out of the back. At that moment, her father came out and called to her. She smiled at James, then hurried to her father. That was the last she saw of him until the next week when she went out to the opera with her father and mother. Clint and Thor drove them. After they entered the house, Tia started up the stairs to the bedrooms. Hearing a sound, she looked up towards the third floor, where the staff bedrooms were and saw James kissing Sharon, her mother's social secretary. Then Sharon pulled him into her bedroom, and the door closed behind them, the sound of the latch coinciding with the feeling of Tia's heart breaking. Her mother, Liliana, who had also seen it, patted her daughter on the back.

"He asked for permission to take you out but your father said no, that you were too young," she offered. "He told James to keep his attention elsewhere. I'm sorry."

Rule #2 and 3, a double whammy. With a sigh, Tia went to her bedroom and cried for an hour. It would be four years before she saw James again.

〰️ 〰️ 〰️

Almost Twenty-Two

Rule #4, If your father arranged your marriage the correct response was "Yes sir, thank you sir, for finding me a good husband," even if the last part wasn't always true.

There were several gatherings at the Brancato estate that May, after Tia graduated from college. Several different families who were in the same type of business as her father were invited to attend. More specifically, if the families had an unmarried son, anywhere between the ages of 21 and 40, they were invited. Gradually, over the month, the list of prospects was whittled down, until her parents hosted a dinner with the final four.

Tia was officially on the market, being dangled like a carrot in order to accomplish any one of the following objectives: settle a feud with a rival family, cement a business relationship between two families, provide a son-in-law able to take over the business from her father (because a woman couldn't do the job), satisfy a desire for grandchildren, specifically grandsons, just because that's what was expected of the daughters of a mob boss without a male heir, or a combination of several or all of the above. What Tia wanted in a husband was supposedly considered but its importance was so far down that she knew the decision was likely already made before the dinner even started.

Did it rankle Tia? Yes, but she had grown up as the privileged child of a wealthy and influential man. Now was the time where she had to satisfy the needs of his business empire, more than the needs of her heart. There was always a possibility that whoever won the "lottery" and satisfied her father's demands prior to approving the engagement would be a decent guy, one that she could grow to respect, if not love with all of her heart. Her two sisters had done alright. There was no reason to expect that she would end up with a creep, or someone who took the concept of marriage at its most basic, regarding her as property. Then she met the final prospects.

Prospect #1 (not arranged in order of preference) – Brock Rumlow, an almost 40 something, twice-divorced, son of a boorish man who ran the docks. Swarthy in appearance, with atrocious manners, and an almost permanent sneer. No thank you. Prospect #2 – John Walker, corrupt lawyer. Certainly, he was handsome enough, if you liked that blonde, all-American quarterback look. Smug, arrogant, and totally unaware that he rubbed people the wrong way. Nope. Prospect #3 – Loki Laufeyson. Charming on the surface and although attractive in a European kind of way, Tia wasn't sure that he wasn't bisexual which could mean he wouldn't be demanding on her. Certainly, he seemed to watch attractive men as much as he watched attractive women. A supposed financial wizard, she got the feeling that her father would have to settle a significant amount on him to generate an engagement offer. Prospect #4 – She blinked her eyes twice when she saw James enter with his father, George. He was a prospective husband? Yes, he had been at the other gatherings, but she assumed he was there as security. He was staff and there hadn't been a marriage between a daughter and a staff member since... well, years. Plus, he had broken her heart when she was 17 by going to bed with Sharon, the social secretary. She left the job while Tia was in college, her replacement, an older woman who wore sensible shoes.

Dinner was called and Tia's father offered her his arm, escorting her to the table, where she sat to his left, while her mother sat to his right. The prospects fathers were placed next, two on each side of the table, then their sons furthest away so that Jerome Brancato could observe them from a distance and see how they responded being grouped together. At the foot of the table was her grandmother, the family matriarch, Maria Brancato. She would be assessing the prospects up close, engaging them directly.

Right away the fathers, except for George Barnes, talked over each other about their sons, extolling their strengths, although only one of them said anything about how their progeny would be good for Tia. That was George, when he did speak, who brought up the fact that James had several sisters and had always looked upon himself as their unofficial bodyguard, even though he was younger than them.

"No one even stepped up to the door to take one of my daughters out unless Bucky (he had a nickname?) approved of them first," said George. "He kept the boys in line and made sure they were respectful of the girls and their mother; God rest her soul."

Tia's mother smiled. "Winnie was a good woman. She would be proud of the man James became."

Jerome gave Liliana a look, that saw her smile at her daughter, then keep eating.

"Well, Brock would have done the same," said his father. "Anyone who stepped out of line would see the business end of his fist. He doesn't put up with any opposition from anyone."

That raised her father's eyebrows a little as he rarely used physical force against any of his men, and often welcomed an opposing view if it was presented properly, with respect. Brock's father just kept rambling on about how no one intimidated his son. Then John Walker, Sr. cleared his throat and told a story of how his son completed a complex business deal by finding dirt on one of the principals. After setting up a honey pot situation, he managed to present the man with compromising pictures in order to sway him to their terms.

"Made his client an extra $10 million." He chewed with his mouth open. "That alone was enough for his boss to offer him a partnership in the law firm. Jumped right over several others who had been there longer. Johnny will do what is needed to increase profits and productivity."

Her father said nothing, but Tia could tell he didn't like hearing the other man brag about it. Yes, there were times when he employed similar tactics in dealing with certain people, but he kept his involvement in it to a minimum, as it was tempting fate to have the acts traceable back to him. That was just asking for trouble and a careful leader kept things looking legal.

At that moment, Tia noticed her mother looking down at the other end of the table, where her grandmother was. There was a look between the two women that seemed to be sending an invisible message between them. She just wished she knew what that look meant.

"Well, Loki has certainly done his share of cooking the books to improve profits and productivity," said Mr. Odinson, his stepfather. "The magic he can perform on the balance sheet would make your head swim. Every investigation against him has turned up nothing that can be pinned on him. Takes a genius to do that."

"Hmmm," was all her father said to that.

"One of these days his luck will run out," she thought, wondering if her father was thinking the same thing.

The rest of the meal progressed in a similar manner until dessert was served. Then Jerome finished his cake and coffee before he stood up, prompting the fathers then their sons to do the same.

"Gentlemen, let's go for brandy and cigars out by the pool, while my mother, wife and daughter confer," he stated.

All of them pulled away, then James offered his hand to Tia's grandmother.

"I have enjoyed our talk this evening, Mrs. Brancato," he said, warmly. "You've given me much to think about."

She smiled at him, then looked at her daughter, knowingly. George Barnes saw the look then faced Liliana, offering his hand to her.

"My compliments to your cook. That was a very enjoyable meal."

The three of them were left alone as the men filed out, and the two older women both looked at Tia.

"If it was us choosing, it would be James," said her mother, "but your father has other considerations, and his word is binding. You will be able to go on a date with each of them in turn then provide your opinion to your father but I'm guessing he already made his mind up."

An hour later the evening was over, and they said good night to everyone. James left with his father, being assigned to work in the warehouses that week. He was staying at his parent's house during that time.

〰️ 〰️ 〰️

The Dates

Rule #5, No sex on the first date. Once an engagement was announced the couple could go at it but until that moment, any prospective husband of the boss's daughter who presumed to touch her in an intimate manner would deserve what happened to him later.

Two days later Loki Laufeyson arrived to take Tia to dinner. He pulled up driving a Maserati, wearing an expensive silk suit. He was polite, solicitous, and the perfect gentleman. The restaurant was perfect also, a two-star Michelin restaurant, whose portions were so precious that Tia almost asked if they could stop at a drive thru for some burgers. During the meal an older blond man stopped by the table to say hello, looking at Tia nervously.

"Mobius, this is Tia," said Loki. "She's ... um ... my date."

"Oh." The other man smiled slightly. "Pleasure to meet you." He looked back at Loki. "I missed you at the club on Friday night."

"Yes, there was a dinner party at Tia's parent's house. I was obligated to be there."

Both men looked very uncomfortable, so Tia did something kind to both of them and excused herself to go to the ladies' room. Loki stood up as she left. When she looked back, she could see both men speaking in whispers to each other and sighed. Definitely bisexual with a preference for men. Scratch Loki, which was too bad because he seemed quite nice. In fact, later, after she returned to the table, he announced that he would be withdrawing his courtship of her but wished her the best. They parted with a handshake.

Date #2 happened two days later when John Walker picked her up, driving a Mercedes SUV. His suit, also silk, didn't look as good on him as Loki's did. She attributed it to the fact that Walker was not used to working in a jacket. It always seemed to ride up and crowd his neck. They went to a restaurant, a steak house type, where he ordered a larger cut for him with all the trimmings and for her, a small cut, with a salad and minimal dressing.

"I'm sure you're always watching your weight," he said, eyeing her body. "You seem to keep quite trim, and I wouldn't want you to think I don't support that."

As she guessed, he played football in college, at the quarterback position, and proceeded to regale her with his exploits on the field. He didn't ask one question about her. When he kissed her goodnight, he attempted to give her tongue, but she successfully pulled away, waggling her finger at him, as if he should know better. Since a servant was already on the step, he took it with a smile, but she saw a darkness in his eyes that bothered her.

Date #3 was with James. He picked her up in a 1994 Mustang GT, wearing a sports coat over an open necked blue shirt and jeans. Somehow, he had told her mother his plans, so Tia also wore jeans and brought a sweater. They talked as he drove to Coney Island.

"This is your car?" she asked.

"Yup, restored her myself," he said. "Found her up on some blocks in an abandoned lot. No tires, stripped of parts but the body was good, and it kept me out of trouble when I was in high school and after the army. It was time spent with my dad. I've been offered good money for her, but I like driving her. Sorry, to talk about her as if she's real but I know every inch of her."

"I like her, too," smiled Tia. "Does she have a name?"

"Yes, but I can't tell you." He blushed. "It would kind of be inappropriate for our first date."

They drove a bit further then Tia looked at him again.

"Can I ask you something personal?"

"Go ahead, I have no secrets," he answered.

"My mother told me when I was 17 that you asked for permission to take me out, but my father said no." She looked out her window. "I saw you a week later kissing Sharon, then going into her bedroom."

He nodded his head, his mouth set in a grim line. "Yeah. Your father told me that you were too young and to set my sights lower. She flirted with me, and we did kiss. I didn't stay. She wanted more from me that night than I was prepared to give. I'm no saint and I have been with several women since then, but nothing serious." He took a deep breath. "I always liked you more. It's why I asked to be considered as a suitor. This time, your father agreed to let me have a chance."

"Oh." Tia swallowed and took a deep breath, trying to calm the pounding of her heart. "What are your chances?"

He smiled a little sadly. "Not as good as the other three," he admitted. "My father is a construction foreman who did some work for your father, and they got along well, considering each other a friend. But he's not well off like the other fathers, nor is he in any position of influence. My only assets are my loyalty to your father, I'm a hard worker and like to think I do the job without letting my emotions get the better of me. Most of all, I pledged to be faithful to you always and to treat you with kindness and respect. I have sisters and expected the same from the men they all married."

Tia watched the beams of the streetlights come through the windows alternating between illuminating his face and leaving it in darkness. His strong facial features had matured in the few years since she went away to college, as had his physique. There was also a depth to him that the others didn't have. The fact that he didn't talk much about himself impressed her. This was a man looking for a serious relationship, not a business deal sealed with the acquisition of a wife.

The date was fun as they went on the rides, ate hot dogs and drank beer. He won her a large stuffed giraffe at the shooting gallery, christening it together as Walter. When they walked back to where the car was parked and deposited Walter in the back seat, James looked at her in the dimly lit area. Gently, he took one of her hands in his, then raised it to his lips, kissing the knuckles then turning it to kiss her wrist.

"I expect someone to be watching when I drop you off so if you don't mind a kiss here."

He didn't finish what he was saying as Tia raised herself up to kiss him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He enclosed her in his arms, and she felt the firmness of his body pressed against hers. His soft lips were perfect, applying just the right amount of pressure against hers, then she opened hers to allow their tongues to mingle. It was every bit as good as she imagined when she was 17, going on 18. When they finally pulled apart, he looked at her in a way that no man had ever looked at her before.

"You don't know how long I've wanted to kiss you," he murmured, his eyes taking in every part of her face. "You don't remember the first time we saw each other, do you?"

"I thought it was in my dad's office."

He shook his head, smiling. "My dad built your pool house. I was 16 and worked as a helper on the site. You were still a girl, just turned 13 but I thought that you would be beautiful when you grew up a little. I knew then that I didn't really want to look at anyone else. Sounds a little creepy but I was willing to wait until we were both ready."

"It's not creepy," said Tia. "We were both kids. I'm glad you waited." She looked down for a moment. "Are you sure this is the life you want? I know what my father is and the things that you've likely already done for him."

"I went into a combat zone when I was 18 so I have killed before," he said. "So far, your dad has kept me out of that part of it. I think he's looking to scale back that side of his business, be more legitimate. If it means that you and I can be together, it will be worth it."

"Okay. One more question. Your nickname is Bucky?"

He laughed, giving her that lop-sided smile. "Yeah, it's from my middle name, Buchanan. That was my mother's surname." He shrugged. "James sounds more grownup and mature. You can call me anything you want."

"Just the best date I've ever had," she smiled back.

They kissed again, then James opened the passenger door for her and drove her back to the estate. Before they got out, he gave her his cell phone number, entered it as Jane so her father wouldn't know it was his, then told her to call him anytime if she needed help. In front of the mansion, he was aware they were being watched so he gave Tia a respectful hug, handed Walter to her, then waited as she entered the house, before getting back into his car and driving to his father's house. Although he hoped it would be enough for her father to choose him, he knew his chances weren't good.

The final date, with Brock Rumlow, was everything that Tia feared. He showed up in a heavily customized truck that Tia needed a ladder to enter. Although dressed in a suit he didn't wear a tie until forced to at the restaurant he took her to, after verbally haranguing the maître d’ for the indignity of his money not being good enough for the place. His table manners were as atrocious as his regular manners, talking while chewing, burping at the table, and referring to his bathroom habits in crude terms. Excusing herself to the ladies' room, Tia texted James.

Tia: Help! I'm stuck with a Cro-Magnon man who's unbearable.

Jane: Brock? Yeah, he's a bit full of himself, isn't he? Do you need rescuing?

Tia: Possibly. I'll keep you posted.

She returned to the table where Brock was sprawled in his chair. Tia's plate was gone as was his.

"Good, you're back," he said. "I've paid the bill. Let's go to a club."

"I wasn't finished." He looked up at her surprised.

"Oh, I assumed you went to the bathroom to uh ... you know, bring it all up. That's what you chicks do to keep slim, right? My exes did that all the time."

She would have answered but he stood up and headed for the door, turning around to wait impatiently for her. With a sigh, she joined him, waiting as he tossed the valet his token. The truck appeared and he didn't help her in, although the valet did, giving her a sympathetic eye roll. The club, with a pounding bass that bled out onto the street was full of friends of his, whose method of communication seemed to be either a jut of their chin or a pound hug. He requested bottle service in the VIP area, then flopped down on the couch, pulling her down with him, and draping his arm over her shoulder. Sitting there like the king of his own kingdom, Tia had a vision of her life with Brock Rumlow and decided to end the date there. Of course, he didn't want to and kept trying to keep her sitting on the couch with him. Finally, she convinced him that she needed to throw up and he let her go. Exiting out of an emergency door she went to the nearest coffee shop that was open and called James, who told her to stay there and wait for him. He arrived twenty minutes later, entering the coffee shop with a worried look on his face. As they hugged, he stroked her hair and vowed that no matter what, Brock Rumlow wouldn't do this to Tia ever again.

At the mansion, when he pulled up, Brock was there, waiting angrily for Tia, as was her father and mother. He went to open the door for Tia, then growled when he found it locked. James came out of the driver's side door and placed himself in front of Brock, staring at him in a way that showed he had absolutely no fear of him.

"Move," said the jilted date.

"No, move yourself," replied James. "She called me to get her out of a bad date and I obliged. Now, I'm going to finish the job and make sure she gets inside the house safely."

"Are you saying I abused her?"

"I'm saying you wouldn't let her leave until she thought she was going to be sick. She told me you acted like a pig the entire time."

"She's lying. The little bitch is lying."

Jerome pulled Brock away at that moment. "What did you call my daughter?"

Liliana slapped Brock in the face. "How dare you. Jerome, if you even consider him suitable for Tia, I'll leave you. I swear, I will divorce your ass and take everything you own. It's all in my name anyway."

"No one's divorcing anyone," said Jerome, then he looked at Brock. "You have 10 seconds to get your ass in your monstrosity of a truck and get the hell off our property. You tell your father that if he even tries to retaliate it will be war between us. Now get."

Rule #6, Even a mob boss with only daughters does not take kindly to his daughters being referred to as bitches. Especially by a twice-divorced asshole like Brock Rumlow.

〰️〰️〰️

The Wedding, six months later

Rule #7, When marrying into the mob, let her family have their way. It's easier and lulls them into thinking you'll be a pushover.

This was it. Her father made the decision and now Tia had to live with it. She looked at herself in the mirror as her mother fastened the veil to her head. A knock on the door was opened by her oldest sister, acting as matron of honour. Her father walked in; his bow tie undone.

"Lil, can you fix this?" he asked. Then he stopped, seeing Tia's reflection in the mirror. "All my girls looked so beautiful on their wedding day."

"Men always have trouble with a bow tie," she smiled, turning towards him. "Come to the window so I have better light."

While her mother did her father's tie, Tia's phone, deep inside the pocket of her wedding dress (that she insisted on having) vibrated and she went to the bathroom to answer it, telling everyone she needed some water.

Jane: You sure you're going to do this?

Tia: Yes, it's what my dad wants. I'm a good mob daughter, you know.

Jane: Yeah, now you'll be a good mob wife.

Tia: If you mean pregnant on the wedding night, chances are good.

Jane: LOL. I hope you'll be happy.

Tia: Thanks to you, I know I will be. You'll be there, right?

Jane: Wouldn't miss it. I'll always have your back.

She smiled at that and put the phone away, then poured herself some water. When she came out, her dad's tie was perfect, and her mother was standing there with the bouquet of flowers. Grandma Maria beamed at her. The wedding planner fussed over her while the photographer took some photos of them all, including her six bridesmaids, well matrons as most of them were married. On the limousine over she thought of all her worries about the man her father would finally approve of. It was easier after Loki willingly took himself out of contention, then Brock showed himself to be a total asshole in front of her parents. She could live with the man who was chosen and make it work.

At the church, there were all sorts of photographers, some of them likely FBI plants as her father was still a person of interest, as were many of the guests. But he did promise Tia that he intended to bow out of that type of work and build up the legitimate areas, without even using laundered money. After all, he wanted his youngest daughter to be happy.

The walk up the steps of the church was interrupted by calls of the photographers to pose but she only slowed down, anxious to get this part of her life over with and begin her life as a wife, then mother. At the top of the stone steps, she looked back towards the street and saw James' Mustang, smiling that it was there. She stepped inside and the wedding planner took over, positioning the flower girls (a niece from each side), then the bridesmaids / matrons, a combination of one girlfriend, her sisters and his sisters, sending them down the aisle. One of her brothers-in-law escorted her mother to her pew. She had wanted them both to walk her down the aisle, but her father put his foot down; traditionally only the father could give the bride away. Then everyone stood up and she knew her moment had come.

Her groom came out from the vestry, but she couldn't see him over the number of people who blocked her view. Then Tia took her father's arm and began the walk towards the altar. It wasn't until she was three quarters of the way down that she finally saw James, in his black tuxedo, white shirt, and black tie, with a boutonnière in his lapel. He gazed at her with glassy eyes, then offered his hand to her when she was close. Her father kissed her cheek, then kissed James' before lightly slapping him on the cheek to get his attention.

"You do right by her," he murmured.

"Yes sir, that's my plan."

Finally, it was just them, in front of the priest, and he began the service asking if there was anyone who objected to this couple marrying. You could have heard a pin drop in the silence, then he smiled at them and began the service.

Rule #8, No excessive tongue in a Catholic wedding ceremony. It's not classy and even though the people in the church for a mob wedding might be considered criminals they aren't animals.

The kiss before they walked down the aisle as husband and wife was just as good as the kiss at Coney Island. They could both hear the sighs of delight from the women who were present thrilled at the absolutely perfect husband that Tia Brancato, now Tia Barnes had. When they exited the church, having rice thrown at them, because that was traditional, James opened the front door of his 1994 Mustang GT and tucked Tia's dress into the front seat around her legs. Then he went around to the driver's side, got in, and started it up, revving it a few times before he peeled away, with the sounds of tin cans rattling behind him. On the back window the Just Married that was drawn on with washable paint soon faded away from view. The limousine driver opened the door for the parents and the bridal party. They would meet James and Tia at Prospect Park for the photos.

In the Mustang, Tia looked at her handsome husband, James.

"You came," she said. "You brought Portia." She gestured to the car.

"I promised," he replied. "Said I would always have your back." He drove for another minute. "Did you mean it, about getting pregnant?"

"I'm off the pill and I might be ovulating," she said. "If it happens, it happens. I'll be happy either way."

"Are you okay that we're waiting until tonight?"

He glanced at her. It was something he suggested once her father announced that James could propose to Tia.

"If it's anything like our first kiss I won't be disappointed." She placed her hand on his. "Besides, there's always Rules #9 and 10." He laughed, having been briefed on the other rules already, especially the ones that were her rules. "Rule #9, No matter what, we'll make it work."

"And Rule #10?"

"Whatever will be will be. You knew when you first saw me when I was a kid that you liked me. I knew when I first saw you in my dad's office that I wanted you. It was meant to be."

"I love the Rules." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the knuckle. "I love you."

That evening, their first dance was to Que Sera Sera, otherwise known as Whatever Will Be, Will Be. It always was Tia's favourite rule.

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One Shots Masterlist

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #buckybarnes original female character #bucky barnes au #james buchanan barnes au #bucky barnes oneshot #mobster #mob daughter

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edelweissbarnes · 5 months

Text

Moje more

Bucky Barnes x supersoldierF!reader Edelweiss (OFC)

After your confession about the tortures you had to endure, your nightmares are worst than ever…[Tw: angst, depiction of tortures, violence, PTS, swearing, Rumlow being a prick, mention of death and su!c!de (if I forgot something please let me know)]

I’m sorry this one is a little angsty… I’ve got a lot in my head and I’ve been a little off…just needed to cry and someone to take care of me like Bucky

The feeling of the vibranium handcuffs gripping your wrists is uncomfortable. They’re tight and the metal is digging into your skin painfully, you’re bleeding but it’s not important as for the serum you’ll be healed in a blink of an eye.

“Please…” you whisper under your breath as you can only see him preparing the tub for this session.

“Shut up you useless whore…” he growls moving towards you gripping harshly your face with his scarred hand “ you had just one job: keep the winter soldier entertained so he couldn’t escape but you failed….and his buddy did this to me…”- he pointed his other hand to his horribly scarred face - “ you’re so useless that even the winter soldier himself wanted to get rid of you, once free he didn’t even look back for you…” he rasps venomously. You close your eyes trying to fight back the tears because you know how much worse it will be if he sees you cry. Still, you don’t want to relive again the suffocating feeling of the fogginess of being inside the water too long, with the terror on how many times he will repeat this torture to you.

You’re much stronger than him because of the serum, but once Bucky went rogue they wiped and reprogrammed you so Rumlow became your handler and you couldn’t lay a hand on him.

The sounds of the water filling the tub and the ice gently cracking is making you numb. This time he doesn’t even bother to undress you.

*I can’t take this anymore * you think exhausted, silently hoping that this time will be the last time and finally your body will give up and you can fuck this asshole goodbye. You don’t want to die, but if this mean that you can finally be at peace, than you’ll gladly take the chance.

The way he manhandled you to sit into the tub let you sense that this time he has so much pent up rage inside and that maybe this could be really your last time.you can feel his hand pressing against the base of your throat, just letting you take a quick breathe before pushing you under the water surface.

The whimper that flew from your lips mixed with your squirming wakes you boyfriend. He senses your discomfort and he knows that you’re having a nightmare.

“Love wake up…it’s just a dream…wake up” he whispers in your ear but you can’t hear him.

In your nightmare you’re under the surface, your screams are muffled but you persist even if it means to breath part of the water you’re in, in the real world the agonizing scream that’s leaving your mouth put your super soldier boyfriend on high alert. Your body is trembling violently but he manages to grip both your arms and shakes you firmly.

“It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream…wake up!” He shouts and this time his voice is reaching your subconscious mind slowly waking you up. As consciousness hits you, you gasp for air and the unpleasant sensation at the pit of your stomach gives you just the time to push your boyfriend apart and run to the in-suite bathroom to retch your guts out.

“Love…” he’s stationing near the doorframe, his voice is soft but you can feel he’s worried because of the whirring sound of his prosthetic hand that is clenching and unclenching repeatedly.

You close the lid on the toilet and flush it, then you timidly raise your gaze to him, you feel so ashamed for the state you’re in.

“I’m sorry..” you manage to whisper before lowering your gaze with tears streaming down your face, your knees against your chest, trying to make yourself as small as possible. Suddenly you feel his arms around you and his warmth embracing you.

“It’s ok…it’s ok…I’m here…” he whispers caressing your hair while you start sobbing uncontrollably.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #edelweiss #buckyxedelweiss #bucky x y/n #Spotify

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steviebbboi · 4 months

Text

Red [chapter 3]

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Original Female Character (OFC)

Summary:

Eleana Harlow (Ellie) is an Enhanced Individual turned Avenger. She's also Steve's everything. She just doesn't really know it yet.

Warnings: non-canon, slight canon divergence, sorta established relationship, OFC has powers and is POWERful, enhanced!reader, protectiveSteve!, softDom!Steve, steve and OFC are intimate, angst, eventual smut, friend(ish) to lovers, mentions of mental health issues and PTSD, mentions of dissociative episodes, mentions of violence/death but its not too explicit. (* indicates chapters containing smut)

Would love some feedback, and any reblogs and comments are appreciated! MINORS DNI - DO NOT read unless you're 18+ thank you!

DISCLAIMER NOTE:

I don't give permission for anyone to post this work on any other platform. This only exists on Ao3 AND now Tumblr (5/29/24), so pls don't copy/paste. Also, I don't own any of the Marvel universe (I wish). All of my works are also unbeta'd so please be kind, and apologies for any edit mishaps.

Chapter 03. She Needed Him

Six months ago…

“Phoenix, we need you over here!” Natasha rasped into her ear piece. There was a fire in one of the office buildings due to a bomb explosion. Tasked with evacuating any survivors, Ellie dove straight to the scene.

“On my way, Romanoff.” Ellie affirmed. A suicide bomber that was hired by Hydra decided to interfere with their mission by literally setting off a bomb in an area further away from where the real action was. Where Steve was fighting Brock Rumlow, Sam and Wanda dealing with his bandits were going after biochemical warfare. Tony flying towards what seemed to be Hydra’s new base location. The team being split into three completely different sections, Ellie and Natasha had to do what they could on this side.

Finally reaching the outskirts of the burning building, Ellie was breathing heavily while she saw Natasha coughing and looking rough for wear – but was still holding up a severely injured civilian. “Nat, stay back. I got this.”

Natasha let out a muffled ‘copy’ while Ellie held out her hands with every intention of putting out these fires. She focused all of her energy on absorbing the fire’s vitality and the raging flames started slowly dissipating into steam, gradually evaporating in the air. Smoke still could be smelt heavily although the fires were no longer a pressing issue.

The hardest part of Ellie’s powers were that as she took away the fire externally, she was also inviting it in internally. She brought it back into herself. Her forearms shined a bright blazing orange all the way up to her shoulders, as she breathed slowly through the heat. Her veins glowing something bright. Concentrating on enmeshing the fire back into her always required more effort when she took it away. The fire had to go somewhere and she could take it. That’s what her powers were meant to do.

Shuddering at the pressure and weight of the flames, she felt the familiar sensation of an intense heat sinking into her skin. Ellie couldn’t help but let out a pained grunt. Feeling her body envelop fire was always the most painful part. But she was well-versed at handling it.

Still processing and embracing the current heat flowing in her body, she faintly heard Steve’s aggressive questioning, “What did you just say?!” She frowned and looked towards his direction where she could faintly see his outline and his grip on Rumlow tight, pulling him close.

“Your precious Bucky asked for you. Before they put his head back in the blender.” Rumlow revealed with a distorted grin on his face.

Ellie was just coming back into herself when she felt her heart drop. She quickly gave a glance to Natasha who glanced back. She was still directing civilians to a safer area across the way but even the Russian spy was pausing slightly and moving slower at hearing the revelation.

“Where is he?” Steve demanded threateningly. Rumlow merely let out a gruffled laugh and tore open his vest to further reveal grenades strapped to his chest. “Well, I guess you’ll never find out.” He pulled a pin.

“STEVE!” Ellie bellowed. Horror filled her entire being. It was like time just slowed down, and suddenly she found herself running. Not away from the explosion. But towards it…towards Steve.

A distance away, Steve reacted too late and was about to suffer the consequences until Rumlow was enveloped with a red glow. Steve sharply glanced over at Wanda to see her attempting to control the explosion with a grimace on her face.

“Wanda, push him up and away from us!” Ellie suddenly shouted into the ear piece and was halfway to reaching them. Wanda listened to her command and tried to wait for her to reach them but she couldn’t hold onto the power of the Rumlow’s explosion any longer. Wanda struggled and suddenly thrusted her hands upwards with a shout, catapulting Rumlow 50 feet into the air.

Ellie’s eyes widened in panic as she knew that she wouldn’t make it in time. Stopping in place, she thrust out her own hands in Rumlow’s direction to consume the flames. Absorbing fire into her body was a practiced skill, but that still didn’t make it easy. Ellie acted on pure instinct in trying to call back the flames that were aggressively waiting to be released from Rumlow’s burned body. However, trying to absorb instantaneous flames that were in the air that came from this far of a distance was not something that she has ever done before. Ellie had also never attempted to enmesh flames for a long amount of time. Any attempt in the past has landed her either in a severe, dissociative state, or had caused her to pass out.

At that moment though, Ellie didn’t think about what would happen to her. Loud grunts were all she could let out as she grit her teeth against the massive pressure overriding her body. Ellie’s arms were straining as she invited the flames inside. The explosive fire caught down to her shoulders and chest. She could feel her yearning for the fire to flow through her. Desperate to move the element away from Steve. Almost like trying to seduce it into a new container.

Her eyes widened as the fire looked never-ending. The flames were complying but not fast enough. Ellie’s aptitude suddenly shifted in her pain, her eyes squinting determinedly. “Whatever it takes.” she thought. A transformative force swept through her entire body and suddenly, something else was driving her call now. It was evident that it didn't care for Ellie’s life. It was unafraid, callous, fierce, and alive.

Steve’s eyes widened in fear as he saw Ellie fall hard onto her knees, half of her body was now on fire.

“RED, LET IT GO!” Steve shouted into his com-piece. Ellie either didn’t listen to or hear the Captain’s command as her arms shook violently. Her once hazel eyes now glowed a wild and rageful orange. Red flames were erupting all over her body. She couldn’t hold it in anymore, and let out a blood curling, pained scream. Her back bowed, her arms now outstretched away from her body, the rush of the explosion now completely enveloping her body. Flames poured out of her body simultaneously, almost flaying like wings. Her stature resembled her namesake, the Phoenix.

“Move your ass, Cap! She’s going to go into a hyper-pressurized supernova if she doesn’t let it go!” Tony warned. During Ellie’s power testing, they found that her powers allowed her to withstand intense heat. As hot as the power of the Sun…but while she can manipulate the fire, holding onto it and retaining it was something that could still kill others around her, and even herself in the process. Especially if she took on too much at one time.

Steve’s feet moved before Tony could even finish his urgent warning. Speeding towards Ellie, still begging her to let it go in their comms, Steve also shouted at Wanda to contain her. “Wanda, can you stop her?”

Wanda’s bright glow can be seen wrapping around Ellie’s “body.” At this point, her entire body was just a harsh emblem of fire. Her face was barely palpable.

Struggling to contain her teammate’s power, Wanda responded through gritted teeth, “She’s starting to absorb flames from other parts of the city. I don’t think she even realizes that she’s doing it! I’m trying to reach her - she’s too strong!” Ellie was hard to see amidst the blaze, but they could all see that her body was still working on embracing the inferno of flames. Her “face” turned towards the sky and her back arched with flames entering her body without permission.

Steve felt the ache in his legs as he pushed harder. “Cap! You need to frost her. NOW!” Tony yelled through the coms. Steve panted and slowed down his pace. He realized that even if he could reach her in time, he would be useless in stopping her. Her powers were now in control, the flames now glowing into something ethereal. The fire emoted passion and seemed threateningly lively.

His eyes sunk and filled with despair as he placed one hand to his ear and lowly said, “Wanda, slow down the fire intake as best as you can.” The StarkWatch’s interface on his cuff now glowing blue, Steve made a motion to extend the watch over his own hand. The device now resembled Iron Man’s notorious repulsor gauntlet.

Wanda’s eyes cut to him in a panic as she desperately pulled at Ellie’s prone body, doing her best to either slow down or extract the flames. “It’s no use…her powers are killing her.” she thought. Wanda knew that this was inevitable. Ellie was dying, and they had to try to save her.

An emergency‘frost’ was a last minute resort should Ellie ever be found in a compromising position where her powers were uncontrollable. The repulsors would emit nano-tech driven particles that attached to her biometric signature to shut down Ellie’s entire body, even ‘pausing’ her life functions for a period of time.

When they all heard about the device for the first time, Steve was the first to react. “What do you mean, ‘pause’?” Steve interrupted Tony’s nonchalant explanation. Silence grew as Tony glanced at Steve with reluctance in his eyes. Steve slowly glowered in fury, no longer needing the explanation. He knew what it meant and he wanted to destroy the device at that very moment. Usually Tony was able to respond with a humored quip, or tailspin it to be not such a big deal.

But even he couldn’t mask the fact that ‘pause’ really meant ‘to end’.

With her body shut down, her powers would therefore become inactive. But that also translated into her being lifeless and at that moment, dead . Being vehemently met with angry protests, Tony quickly explained that the very device that could end her life also had the potential to bring her back. The nanobots would still be active in her system from the repulsor charge and would give enough time for them to activate her life functions once more and bring her back. Even after the team found out about the power of this device, they were revolted by the real, dreadful possibility of being the person to end their friend’s life. To also be the one responsible to try to bring her back.

While her friends agreed to only use it in true emergencies only, Ellie emphatically encouraged her team to use the contraption should the Phoenix ever take control. Steve stared darkly and intensely at Ellie. A wild look in his eyes ignited further once he heard her encouraging words.

She understood that she may lose her life, but to her that didn’t matter as much, because she knew that using it would also save theirs. Steve stormed out of the room at that point. It took a while for him to even acknowledge, much more agree, to use the device in the field. Because even though Ellie felt differently about her life, Steve knew what it was like to have the power of sacrifice. He knew the regret that was left behind once a decision was made.

To Steve, he didn’t care if the world burned. Her life was, and is, always the priority.

But now as he outstretched his trembling arm, Steve unsteadily felt the gravity of this decision once more as he turned the repulsor in Ellie’s direction. His world slowed down and he tuned out everything else. He could barely hear Wanda and Sam’s panic, Tony shouting to activate the gauntlet, nor could he hear Nat’s calm voice reassuring him of his choice.

All he could think of at that moment was Ellie’s smiling face, her laugh. Her stubbornness. Her endearing warmth and compassionate nature. Her soft skin grazing the back of his hand, the flushed red in her cheeks. Secret and unspoken gazes that they would share in moments where they were able to be authentic and together. Their bond.

Steve’s eyes suddenly squinted in determination. She wasn’t going to die. He won’t let her. She’s always the priority. His arm steadied, and he fired.

“Guys, I already told you that I’m fine. You can stop hovering.” Ellie suppressed a shudder that ran through her body. She glanced up and gave her team a reassuring smile as if her body wasn’t completely on fire. Minus the pun.

It’s been about 24 hours since they had to bring Ellie back from the brink of death. Dr. Cho and her team were at the ready and had her placed into the healing cradle straight from the quinjet. She woke up with a sharp gasp only 7 hours ago. Hearing only quiet exclamations from Wanda that she was alright and that they were now back on base.

The cradle was able to repair any injuries that she sustained from the fight, and from the use of her powers. For the first time since she had discovered her powers, Ellie had a burn sustained on both of her shoulder blades. Dr. Cho was in noticeable disbelief when she told her that the cradle did what it could to help the burns- but what it left behind is something that the cradle couldn’t fix.

Looking at the bathroom mirror, Ellie turned around and saw two outlines of wings on the back of her shoulders and going along the length of her spine. The marks weren’t very noticeable, but the faint lines of the wings did glisten with a red-rainbow aurora every time and again. When the subtle shine lifted around the edges of her right wing, she gasped.

“They’re beautiful…” she wondered out loud as she lightly traced the outlines of the markings. Ellie couldn’t really comprehend nor could she wrap her mind around the fact that she had quite literally died in the past 24 hours, came back to life, found literal glowing tattoos branded onto her body, and most importantly… that Steve hadn’t once come by to check on her since they put her into the cradle.

When she woke up from her “slumber of death” (Tony was already cracking jokes that the rest of the team were not laughing at, but she knew it was his way of caring and coping), Wanda was already sitting next to her, reassuring her, and letting her know that she and everyone else is safe. When she left to go get the others, it was Tony, Bruce and Natasha coming by to check in. Bruce naturally went into doctor mode to check on her stabilizing vitals and asked her how she was feeling. Meanwhile, Tony clapped her on the shoulder awkwardly while giving a short smile. Natasha welcomed her back and gave her forearm an affectionate squeeze with her signature smirk on her face.

But no Steve.

When Ellie muttered his name quietly, the team went eerily silent. A glance between Nat and Tony, and a wavering, guilty sigh from Wanda, Nat took the lead. With her classic nonchalant tone, she replied, “He’s debriefing with Sam to Fury and the council. Some things happened while you were out that have to be parsed through.”

Now back in bed, Ellie blinked sleepily. Her eyes felt so tired. “What things?”

The rest of the room’s occupants were still quiet. Ellie felt awake once more at the team’s silence. Her brain was slower than usual, but it didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to deduce what must have happened.

“...I died, didn’t I?” Ellie warily asked.

Wanda and Tony were quiet but fidgety, looking down at the floor with angst. Bruce was pretending to look at her chart but his eyes perked up every now and then. Natasha’s expression was unwavering and she moved to squeeze her shoulder. “You were gone for longer than we would have appreciated. But, we brought you back with Stark’s nanotech.”

Ellie merely blinked once, “How long?”

Natasha’s expression did change this time, only slightly, coming from her place of nonchalance to forming a mild frown. “You were clinically considered dead for 7 minutes. By the time that we got back to base, you were down for another 5 until we got you into the cradle. Once you were in, you were already starting to stabilize.”

Ellie couldn’t hold back her panic. “11 minutes?!” her thoughts went wild. It wasn’t even completely because of the fact that she had died and needed to be resuscitated. Her thoughts went wild because she knew that during those 11 minutes, Steve thought that she was dead.

Steve, strong, charismatic, and powerful Steve, had thought that he had lost her forever for those 11 minutes. For 11 minutes, she didn’t have the opportunity to tell him that she was going to be okay. Or tell him that even if she did die, he would be okay. She cared about him…she loved him. Faintly, she could hear an increased ‘beeping’ noise but thought nothing of it. She could only think about seeing Steve. And yet, she came back, and he wasn’t there.

Ellie felt another hand on her shoulder, “Sestra, you need to calm down. Relax.” Wanda gave her an affectionate rub while pouring calm into her thoughts. At Wanda’s words, she took a deep breath and exhaled. The beeping that she heard was slowing steadily. She couldn’t see it but Bruce was on standby with a sedative just in case. If her heart rate increased, her core temperature would heighten and they couldn’t risk her body being placed into that position again so soon.

Ellie took another breath and on her exhale said, “Does he know that I’m back?”

It was Tony who responded this time, “FRIDAY just let him know two minutes ago, Dante.”

Before she could ask another question, Natasha interrupted her, “We’ll let you know when he gets here, okay? Until then, you need to rest, ptichka.” She gestured to Bruce and all of a sudden, Ellie felt a small prick on her arm. She frowned and let out an exhausted sigh. Everything floated back to black.

With Ellie now out for the count, Wanda looked back at her two mentors with a contemplative look. “Should we have told her that it was him that activated the repulsor?”

“No,” Natasha said resolutely. Her voice carried into a soft whisper, “We all saw him on the jet. Let them talk it through when he gets here.”

“I’ll have FRIDAY redirect Cap to the lab. I’m sure they’ll need all the space that they can get.” Tony mentioned out loud. “Us too, when you think about it.” Tony’s quip had the two women direct annoyed glances over his way.

“I think what you meant to say, Stark, was that you’ll need space away from Rogers.” Natasha repurposed with a smirk on her face. Bruce, who was still looking at Ellie’s charts, let out a small chuckle, “It was that bad, huh?”

Tony rolled his eyes at that, “Yeah, well, I can’t fault him too much for it, can I? I, technically, was the one who told him to use it on his dear little ‘Red.’ But look at her now, all spry, a little pale, but alive!” He sprung out his arms in accomplishment.

Natasha ignored his comments and replied to Bruce, “Let’s just say that Stark was lucky that he was in the suit.” One last glance over at Ellie’s resting form, she turned to walk back to the conference room that she was in with Steve and Sam. Hearing from afar, Tony was still ranting about how he saved Ellie’s life, and Wanda’s admonishment for the creation of the device – Natasha went onto the elevator. When the doors closed, she allowed her mask to fall and her eyes to close in her own exhaustion.

They also didn’t manage to tell Ellie that Steve already knew that she was awake by the time that they got to the lab. They didn’t tell her that Steve merely glanced down with his jaw clenched. A dreaded look in his eyes. Recognizing the look of inner turmoil when she saw it, Nat offered to go check in on her in place of him.

Exiting the elevator, she could see that their debrief was wrapping up. She entered the glass room and sneaked a glance at Steve. Sam looked at her curiously as she entered while Steve visibly froze and slowly turned his head to acknowledge her presence. One look into his eyes confirmed a sense of worry and desperation. Although his stiff body looked ready to run out of the room, Natasha knew that his brooding moment was over since she had left. If he had to run, he would run to her.

Fury’s holographic figure was seen in front of them, the world security council directly behind him. Their expressions tense, Fury directed his question at Natasha, “Status report on Harlow?”

Natasha’s face didn’t expose any vulnerabilities. “Agent Harlow is now stable but sedated. She was notified of the mission debrief during her moment of consciousness, and had expressed that she would report in to debrief personally as soon as she was able.”

Fury knew that more had happened than she was letting on. Of course he does, he’s Fury. But everyone in that room understood that the World Security Council didn’t need to know anything other than the fact that she’s alive. Last thing that they need is to send Ellie to the Raft and claim her to be government property. For them to use as they please.

Steve wasn’t quelled by her response. He initially chose to debrief for the team because he just couldn’t see Ellie, look at her still and quiet body any longer. His eyes briefly closed as he reflected on what he witnessed in the jet. Ellie was just lying there. Her face devoid of any emotion, any expressiveness of her being alive. No pain, nothing. The nanotech was meant to instantly revive her once they called back the ‘frost’ command, but after what felt like hours (which was more like a long two minutes), she still wouldn’t wake up.

On his knees, all he could do was stare at her limp hand that dangled across the table while the others frantically started to do what they could to revive her. He briefly recalled Stark talking to FRIDAY about the repulsors’ status of the nanotech now existing in her lifeless body, and could see Sam hurriedly administering CPR. Wanda silently cried and held her other hand with a red glow, trying to reach into some level of her consciousness. Natasha had one hand on his shoulder that he could barely feel, asking him if he was okay.

Steve was silent, growing more and more despondent. All he thought was, “Was he okay? He just killed Ellie, his Red. His best friend. The person that he swore to protect. A person that he loved and didn’t get the chance to tell her before she died. She wasn’t waking up. No. he was not okay.”

At that point, he did remember something feral overcoming his shock as he noticed Tony struggling with his holographic interface. All he could think of was that Stark and his stupid gadgets had just jeopardized everything that he held dear to him. He wasn't able to stop himself from throwing Tony to the side of the quinjet. He could still barely feel Natasha's and Wanda's hands trying to get him off of Stark's metal frame.

“The Phoenix was a trial period for the Avengers Initiative. Our concern still stands. What if another incident like this happens again?” A voice filled with suspicion and fear filled the space, suddenly snapping Steve out of his disturbing reverie.

“Agent Harlow is an experienced, classified SHIELD agent and has demonstrated her place with the Avengers. She has helped save the world and the seats that you are currently sitting on. Are you going to keep insisting that she is still apart of a “trial period”, Councilwoman?” Fury directed back to the council member.

“Her efforts in preserving the world are not going unnoticed, Director. Nor is it under-appreciated. It doesn’t change the fact that The Phoenix is an enhanced individual that is still progressing in power as we know it. As we have evidently seen today, she is dangerous. Her powers grow, and your team has yet to uncover the maximum potential that she holds. Much more, a level of containment. How can we have faith in your capabilities to determine the world’s safety upon a high-risked enhanced?” Another councilman shot back.

From behind Fury, a scoff can be heard by Sam. “This is ridiculous. That ‘enhanced’ had saved our lives. Without her, we would all be fried meat by now with a lot more casualties reported in Lagos.” Sam expressed his anger unashamedly.

The same councilman huffed in response, “That may be so, Mr. Wilson. It again doesn’t change the fact that she may better serve the people under more… structured systems. Systems in place that will enable a safer environment for the AI team to move freely. Without hazardous material on board.”

Steve could feel his ire raging hearing the council member’s words. How dehumanizing they are in treating Ellie’s life as dispensable.

“Perhaps we need to re-evaluate the AI team in accordance with the Accords once more. If the UN finds that the Phoenix was non compliant with the agreements, we will need to revisit this conversation.” Underneath these thin words was the threat of dividing the team. Laced with the exposure of the Phoenix being arrested and determined government property in a floating base in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. The image of Ellie disposed away, away from the team, and from him broke him.

“That’s enough.” The room went quiet under the command from the otherwise silent Captain America.

Steve glared at the holographic forms with a rage that even the council members could palpably see. “The Avengers Initiative is still upholding the agreements with the Accords. Under any investigation, you would be violating the safeguards set in place to protect our team. As you know, we are still free agents and are in our rights to protect the wellbeing of any and all members of the initiative. If there were any suspicions of our effectiveness, you can bring them to Director Fury or to me with the appropriate ethical standings within your limitations. Not during a debriefing meeting in which we recap how a member of our team has saved a significant amount of lives. We don’t trade lives, Councilman. You’ll do well to remember your own place in your own sector.”

“Is that a threat, Captain?” A council member prompted.

“Yes, it is.” Steve immediately answered with an unapologetic tilt to his head. Nothing more could be spoken after the captain’s blunt honesty. The council members shifted angrily, the other Avengers in the room failed to hide their growing smirks. Even Fury couldn’t hold his slight smile.

“We appreciate your cooperation, Council. At this time, we will proceed with all debriefing processes and have them evaluated through AI.” With a wave, Fury dismissed the council members and the holograms disappeared.

Fury turned towards the three Avengers silently. Steve still held his belt resolutely, holding absolutely no regrets. The power in his stance was unwavering. Fury merely smirked, “Well said, Captain.”

Steve allowed a small smirk to form on his face and gave a dismissive nod, “Director.”

Fury nodded back and glanced at them. “Romanoff, I expect a full internal report.” Natasha echoed Steve’s sentiment, and the man’s image disappeared.

Sam turned to Steve with a full grin, “Captain America saves the girl. Saves the day.” Steve allowed a full grin too at that, and Sam clapped him on the shoulder before leaving the room. He knew that this didn’t change the fact that the said ‘saved girl’ was downstairs recovering from a harrowing day. He understood that Steve still needed time to prepare himself for that visit.

At Sam’s departure, Steve’s face fell into a grim expression once more. “How is she, really, Nat?”

Natasha sighed and granted a small smile, “She’s okay. She was tired. Confused. But she understood what had happened during the mission.”

Steve let out a small sigh, “What else does she remember?”

Natasha crossed her arms and ducked down to capture his conflicted gaze. “She doesn’t seem to recall specifics about the mission, as far as we know. She doesn’t know that it was you.”

At his exhale, Natasha knew that this was the answer that Steve needed to hear. Ellie didn’t know that it was Steve who pulled out the device. That it was him who ended her life.

“Are you going to tell her?” she asked. Steve looked to the floor, “I don’t know. I’m not sure if it's best that she does know.”

Natasha let out a disbelieving scoff, “Steve, El asked for you when she woke up.” Steve looked up quickly with a yearning glance. His eyes softened at the image of Ellie asking for him, and the confusion of why he wasn’t there.

“You underestimate her too often. Harlow knows the risks. We all do. I think it's about time that you respect her enough to do the same.” Natasha laid out. Steve looked to the side at that. He would never be comfortable with this option, ever.

She continued, “The Council wasn’t wrong about her powers growing. The Phoenix is expanding in strength, and it isn’t going unnoticed by the team.”

Steve interrupted, “So you think that she deserves to be pathologized? Clinically exposed to scientists drunk on power and greed of taking away her will to choose? To exist in the Raft?” His eyes now hardened, expecting to hear an affirmative response.

“What? No– ” Natasha visibly frowned and shook her head. She felt offended by the accusation. “Steve, I’m just…reading the terrain. We know how much you care about Ellie. We care about Ellie. That’s why we keep one hand on the steering wheel, and the other working to earn their trust back. You’re not the only one who wants to protect her. Each other.”

Steve heard her but still shook his head. “What I do know is that I’m not going to let anything else happen to her. We keep her close. While Stark and Banner reconfigure another way to help Red manage her powers, we do whatever it takes to protect her. Their eyes were always on her, and you know that. Now, agendas are shifting.”

Natasha could only nod in agreement, “We’ll protect her, Steve. You’re not alone.” She did her best to convey the sincerity behind her words, and Steve heard it. An exhausted sigh was released as Natasha squeezed his arm affectionately.

Steve turned to leave, determined now to see Ellie. Before he could go, Natasha called out to him once more. “What about Barnes, Steve?”

He stiffened at the door and stopped in place. After some silence, he turned to her and replied, “I don’t know. Rumlow could have been lying. Last time that I saw Bucky, he was pulling me out of the river. Sam’s leads are all cold.”

Natasha looked down and suggested, “At this point, we can assume to not know anything, that’s for sure. I can look into Sam’s leads again and see if there are any merits worth pursuing.”

Steve frowned, “I thought you didn’t want to pull on that thread.”

She smirked back at him and said, “You focus on our ptichka. She needs you right now more than us.”

Steve smirked in response too and nodded a quiet thanks. Exiting the room, Steve put all thoughts of Bucky, the panic of hearing his name in that moment, and his own morbid feelings about the repulsors to the side.

Red needed him.

Next Part [coming soon]

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Read on AO3

#avengers au #marvel imagine #steve rogers fanfic #series: red #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers x female character #mutant!female character #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fluff #series recommendations #fic recommendation

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tilltheendwilliwrite · 8 months

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Big Sky Eyes

Chapter Twelve

Master List | Bucky Barnes Master List | Series Master List

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Cowboy!Bucky Barnes x Disabled!OFC Maybe Cole

A/N: Thank you, Antella, for your coffee update that brings everyone this newest chapter!

Warnings: Language, Rumlow's mouth, angst

**I do not tag. **To be notified of updates and new works, subscribe to me or the story on AO3 for email notification, or follow the library blog @tilltheendwilliwrite-library with notifications turned on so you’re not missing out. An account is required to access my work on AO3. For more information on how to get your FREE AO3 account, see this post.

Keep Reading on AO3

#big sky eyes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x ofc #cowboy!bucky #no powers #military au #avengers au

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saiyanprincessswanie · 4 months

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SaiyanPrincessSwanie Reading List Weeks 197 & 198

A/N: Thank you again to those who gave me recommendations for fanfics. 💜 This week had me reading 30 fics. Absolutely amazing stuff here.

As always these will be listed in no particular order. None of these stories are mine. I’m just signal-boosting them. The author is listed next to the title. My goal is to signal boost writers and spread positivity in the community. 💜💜

Click HERE to see what I will or won’t read. This is very important.

Click HERE for past reading lists.

For my Masterlist click HERE.

Please make sure you’re reading the warnings on every story. They range from dark to fluff. Do Not Read if you are under 18 years old. These stories are meant for adults only. You’re responsible for your own media consumption.

Page-break by @whimsicalrogers

Header by @fictional-affairs

If you can, please reblog these lists so they can reach more people on Tumblr.

I love you 3000 💜 Missy

My Angel - (Steve x Reader) - @saiyanprincessswanie

Blue Bonnets - (Brock x Reader) - @saiyanprincessswanie

Mission Dad - (Bucky x Reader) - @deliciousangelfestival

Open Your Eyes - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817

Like Animals - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817

One hundred degrees - (Steve x Gender Neutral Reader) - @holylulusworld

Lost in the Dark (Part 3) - (Bucky x Reader) - @tuiccim

Into You - (Bucky x Reader) - @flordeamatista

Code Red Delivery - (Ari x OFC) - @hollybee8917

Built Differently - Faboolous Fumbles - (Stucky x Reader) - @rookthorne

Snow - (Steve x Reader) - @nekoannie-chan

Evermore - Part 2 - (Ari x Reader, Andy x Reader) - @joannaliceevans-fanficblog

Evermore - Part 3 - (Ari x Reader, Andy x Reader) - @joannaliceevans-fanficblog

Picnic - @nekoannie-chan

Finding Home (4) - (Bucky x Reader) - @jobean12-blog

Indecent Proposal - (2) - (Stucky x Reader) - @holylulusworld

Reconnect - Where Did the Time Go? - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817

Your Mark On Me - Part 8 - (Steve x Reader) - @georgiapeach30513

Between Past and Present - (Steve x Bucky) - @hollybee8917

Donut: The Hole Story - (Bucky x Reader) - @jobean12-blog

Hidden Agendas - (Ari x Reader, Lloyd x Reader) - @labella420

Pain - (Steve x Reader) - @nekoannie-chan

Welcome Home - (Curtis x Reader x Jake) - @stargazingfangirl18

In a Red Dress - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817

Lighting the Flame Above - (Steve x Clint) - @hollybee8917

Experiment - (Brock, Logan H) - @nekoannie-chan

It's not the same - (Steve, Brock) - @nekoannie-chan

Saving the Captain - (Steve, Sinthea) - @nekoannie-chan

Security Jammies - (Ransom x Reader) - @stargazingfangirl18

Goes With the Theme - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817

#saiyanprincessswanie #recommended reading #missy reads #missy reblogs #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #brock rumlow x reader #Ari levinson x ofc #ari levinson x reader #andy barber x reader #stucky x reader #lloyd hansen x reader #curtis everett x reader #jake jensen x reader #ransom drysdale x reader

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nekoannie-chan · 2 months

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Brock's first love

Title: Brock's first love.

Fandom: Marvel, Captain America.

Ship: Brock Rumlow X OFC (Yvaine).

Word count: 128 words.

Rating: Teen.

Summary: Brock falls in love for the first time.

Major Tags: Fluff.

Additional tags: This is my entry to @sweetspicybingo, Hurt/Comfort Bingo Card & square 9:

"Light in the darkness.”

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any permission for my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate my work myself) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. Please let me know if you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

My other media where I publish: Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter.

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @shield-agent78 @charmed-asylum @pandaxnienke @real-fbi @Smokeandnailz @white-wolf1940 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @xoxonotme @bluemusickid @leyannrae @Harrysthiccthighss @Marvelatthisone @caplanbuckybarnes @sapphire-rogers @lizzieolseniskinda @notyourtypicalrose @hallecarey1 @nana1000night @talia-rumlow @writingshae @alexxavicry @azulatodoryuga @daemonslittlebitch @chaoticcollectivenightmare @endlesstwanted @chemtrails-club @marigoldreamer @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @Here4thefanfics @theestorm @patzammit @kmc1989 @somegirlfromasgard

Brock felt like he was living in the dark until he met her.

“Can I help you?” asked Yvaine with a smile that made Brock feel uncomfortably exposed.

He hadn't been able to stop thinking about her since the first time he saw her in the Triskelion.

“I'm not looking for anything in particular,” Brock murmured, trying not to look directly into her eyes.

“That's okay,” she said quizzically since she didn't understand what he was doing at her office door. So, she couldn't think of anything else to do but recommend some books to him.

After a few weeks, he started reading the books Yvaine recommended.

“Yvaine,” Brock said one day, in a softer voice than he had ever used. “Thank you for...for this. For being you.”

#SweetSpicyHC #brock rumlow x ofc

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newbornwhumperfly · 3 months

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whumpmas in july day 5: media that gives you whumperflies

a little bit of a throwback, but a childhood favorite of mine was the prince and the pauper. i found it incredibly whumpy, especially the scenes that talked about poverty and public punishment. sure, it often got pretty dark, but i was incredibly intrigued boy medieval horrors at that age! there's an incredible scene where prince edward is going to be publicly whipped and miles, his bodyguard and friend, takes the punishment for him...utterly delightful and formative of some of my favorite tropes 😍🥺😭

of course, captain america: the winter soldier, is a longtime and eternal favorite 😈😈😈 boy oh boy, this film truly has everything, huh? a human weapon whumpee who is so brutally dehumanized, he wears a goddamn muzzle?? and he's the long-lost boyfriend of the Defiant Whumpee protagonist, who goes through heaven and earth to save him??? AND HE IS SAVED THROUGH THE POWER OF LOVE??? 😩😩😩💖💖💖😭😭😭 creepy whumpers ABOUND (politician robert redford ofc but uhhhhhh brock rumlow and the hydra trash party kinkmeme might've been my first foray into noncon whump and he's the base formula for a lot of my worst whumpers 😈😈😈). people getting nearly beaten to death. brainwashing to kill your beloveds. fitey little do-gooder against the cynical forces of the world. institutional corruption and the rise of fascism thought defeated. epic car chases. just...thee film of all time.

daredevil as a show still slaps prodigiously and matt "marytr" murdock is so pretty when he's in pain (plus, i always love a good "misunderstanding/confrontation scene between besties" and mattfoggy will make me weep every goddamn time). 🥺

the bourne trilogy was also very formative for me in a lot of my favorite tropes 😍 dehumanized weapon of a person rediscovering his humanity and burning down the institutions that birthed him? YES. stoic and grim and quiet and deadly and haunted and longing to be tender? YES. epic car crashes that leave their victims broken, staggering, and bloodied? YES. 🙌

the adventures of robin hood was a childhood favorite as well for its glorious whump, particularly scenes of a defiant errol flynn tied up in prison or severely beaten and ready for execution. what a delight. 😈

these are just a few of the ones that give me whumperflies but i wanted to include ones across the range of my life! 💖💖💖 have a very merry @whumpmasinjuly 🥰

@whumpmasinjuly-archive

#this was a delightful revisit. 💖💖💖#whumpmasinjuly2024 #wij24day5 #whump writing #personal

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memphisnovels · 4 months

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Evermore

Chapter 30. Ready for it

Previous chapter

Masterlist

She's backkk

Whatever is bothering dear Pietro??

pairing: Pietro Maximoff x OFC

warnings: Pietro and Nadia being Pietro and Nadia, flirty flirty bants, mentions of PTSD, canon-typical violence.

Lagos, Nigeria

I tightened my ponytail, adjusting my position atop the motorcycle.

“Eyes on target folks,” Steve spoke over the comms before telling Sam to tag a garbage truck. I narrowed my eyes, spotting his strange bird-like robot shooting through the sky.

“That truck is loaded for max weight and the driver’s armed,” Sam said.

I started the bike as my mind ticked over, revving the engine. “It’s a battering ram,” I murmured over the comms.

“Go now,” Cap said. I released the break, speeding toward the café where Nat stood from her table abruptly. “He’s not hitting the police station.”

I grabbed Natasha’s arm, dragging my foot on the ground to slow down marginally before pulling her onto the bike behind me. I heard the crashing and saw the explosion of dust in the air as the truck rammed through the gate of the Centre for Infectious Diseases. A blur of silver and blue zipped by me, following the others into the wreckage, my lips tugged upward slightly. “I’ve got eyes on Rumlow,” I spoke spotting the black zipline from the south of the building, extending to a truck.

“He has a biological weapon,” Steve informed.

“We’re on it,” Nat responded as we closed in on the men surrounding the truck. “I’ll take the left side you take the right?”

I nodded, turning the bike sharply to allow her to leap off before I sped up and dropped the bike to the ground, rolling off of it as it pummelled toward one of the guards. Another turned to me after hearing the commotion and ran forward, cocking his gun and aiming it for my head, the shot never made it through the barrel as I sent a widows byte shock into the center of his chest. I grabbed him and used his as a pole to vault and kick the next guard in the chest, when the first was down I blocked the punch that was thrown my way and grabbed a hold of his wrist, in a single maneuver I ducked beneath his arm and pulled it to the left causing the bullet he fired to hit his colleague who had been running at me from behind.

“How many of these fuckers are there?” I muttered to myself.

I could hear Natasha fighting someone beside the truck but spotted another of the guards on the roof, readjusting his gun to aim it at her. I jumped onto the bonnet, yanking his ankles to make him fall onto his back, disarming him was easy but he certainly put up a fight until I slammed his head against the windscreen, cracking it and rendering him unconscious. I glanced to the side to check Natasha’s position when a sharp pain shot through my scalp. Rumlow’s dark, fury-filled eyes met mine as he yanked me to my feet by my hair. I pulled the knife from my leg strap, jamming it into his thigh and twisting, prompting him to let go of my hair. When I was freed from his grip, I turned to strike him in the neck, the only exposed flesh I could see. He blocked my attack grabbing a hold of my arm, I twisted to kick him in the side, but he held tight, so I punched him in his bleeding wound, he groaned; part frustration, part pain. He threw another punch which I dodged easily, punching him in the ribs when he was turned. His elbow came back hard into me, but I landed two more punches before he managed to get a hold of the back of my neck. I slammed my fist into his arm again and again, but he didn’t even flinch, yanking my head back. His rough gloved fingers dug into my nerves, sending pain shooting down my neck. In retaliation I jammed the base of my palm beneath his chin, sending a shocker into his neck. His grip only tightened, making my eyes narrow. He laughed dryly.

“I don’t work like that no more, Pimenova.” He shouted yanking me downward by my neck and forcing me to fall through the hole atop the truck. Two men were sat by my feet but I paid them no mind, glancing up to see Rumlow peering down at me with a look of maniacal glee in his eyes as he pulled the pin from a grenade. “Bye-bye, Nadia.” The metal clinked as it hit the ground by my feet. Rumlow slammed the entrance closed, ticking filling my ears. A split second passed before I was on my feet, grabbing the first guard who stood by the barrel of his gun and slamming it back into his head. I heard shouts of my name over the comms as I twisted the second man’s arms and pushed him in front of me to block the brunt of the explosion that followed shortly after.

My body slammed into the metal doors at the back of the truck before being launched outward onto the hard ground, a ringing in my ears blocking out the chatter on the comms. Grass tickled my cheeks as I lay there coughing my guts up, eyes fluttering as the light blinded me. I let out a cut-off grunt of pain as I moved, struggling to lift my head into my hands. I heard another call of my name, garbled like I was underwater. A hand grabbed my shoulder and I blinked hard to force my eyes to adjust to the light. Blurry red hair filled my line of site.

I pushed off of the ground to sit up more. “Nat, Nads, come in.” Steve addressed over the comms, worry evident in his tone. I gave Natasha a thumbs up before rubbing my hand over my face, the ringing sound finally clearing.

“We’re here, Nads is okay.”

“Rumlow’s in an AFV heading north,” Steve responded.

I accepted Natasha’s hand, letting her help me up. “I’m really beginning to not like that guy,” I muttered. A streak shot by me before my face was enveloped within warm hands. Pietro’s bright gaze tinged with concern as he scanned my face.

“What the hell happened, are you okay?”

I held onto his elbow nodding fervently. “I’m fine, I promise, you need to go after Rumlow.” He seemed unconvinced but nodded at my words eventually, after a final nod from me he shot off after the truck. I ran toward the discarded motorbike, pulling it up. “Come on, I’ll drive,” I called to Nat who shook her head playfully at me as she hopped onto the back of the bike.

“They’re splitting up.” Sam’s voice filled my ears. I sped up, navigating through the entrance of the market.

“We’ve got the two on the left,” I responded bringing the bike to an abrupt stop and launching onto the bonnet of a car before running over it. I could hear Natasha’s footsteps close behind me as I ducked and weaved through the stalls, vaulting over a cart that got pushed into the way. I had the two men we were tailing in my sites, but they diverted down a side pathway.

“He doesn’t have it. I’m empty.” Sam said only making me run faster. I dodged civilians as I moved to run parallel to one of the men, curving and jumping onto a table to tackle him to the ground, we both rolled through the dirt after the collision. He pulled a gun from his belt but I grabbed his hands before he could aim, pulling his arm up and forward to punch him in the stomach. With a swift turn, I slammed his hand onto the table hard making him drop the gun. He managed to kick me in the stomach, making me stumble slightly but I caught myself quickly, running at him and stepping onto his bent leg to jump up and lock my legs around his upper warm, swinging myself down, causing him to be thrown back into the dirt. I landed on my feet again, pulling the gun from the belt, but the cocking of a different gun stopped me in my tracks. I turned to see the other guard holding Natasha around the neck, gun aimed at her head. I turned to aim my gun at the man behind her.

“Put it down.” I narrowed my eyes at him, pulling the slide back, a metallic click sounding between us. “Put it down. Before I put her down.” He pressed the gun further to her head. I calculated the time it would take me to pull the trigger allowing for his reaction time.

The previous guard cleared his throat, causing my eyes to flicker toward him. “Drop the gun or I’ll drop this.” Between the tips of his fingers was a vial of red and yellow liquid; the specimen they’d stolen from the disease center. I swallowed heavily, eyes flickering between the two men before I met Natasha’s gaze, the slightest twitch of my expression was all it took for her to nod, Sam’s strange bird robot descended a moment before I shot the man behind Nat in the head. The robot shot the other man causing him to drop the vial but before I could react Pietro shot by me, the wind tousling my hair. In mere seconds he was standing before me with the object in hand.

“Fucking hell.” I breathed out. “Payload secure. Thanks, Sam.” I added glancing toward his robot.

“Don’t thank me…”

I rolled my eyes moving to help Nat up. “I’m not thanking that thing.” I nodded toward the metal bird that was still hovering by my head.

“His name is Redwing.”

“Good for him. I’m still not thanking it.”

Sam tsked. “He’s cute, go ahead, pet him.”

I ignored his teasing approaching Pietro who smirked at me before nodding toward the vial between his fingers. “Pretty hot, huh?” I raised an eyebrow at him opening my mouth to respond but a load explosion sounded nearby, windows shattering and flames filling a wing of the large building beside the market. The force of the wreckage threw Pietro and I backward, the vial flying out of his hands, I launched forward, dropping and rolling across the gravel to land beneath it. My heart was thudding against my chest, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding when it was safe in my grasp. When I moved back to my feet Pietro was more focused on the building that was in flames than the fact that whatever was in the bottle could’ve just spread. When I looked upward, I realized why. There were people screaming and running around from within the fire.

I heard Steve ask for fire and rescue, but I felt rooted to my spot.

Wanda was devastated. That much was evident even in her silence that stretched the whole trip back to the compound.

We’d stayed after the mission was complete, assisting search and rescue to evacuate as many people as possible. No one made it out unscathed, those that survived were barely holding on.

She was just trying to help. Rumlow had a bomb vest, a lot more people would have died if she did nothing. That is what we’d all told her, though it was obvious she didn’t believe us.

Pietro wasn’t unaffected by what had happened either. He’d looked almost haunted as he watched the flames emerge from the windows, heard the screams and pleas for help. I kept a close eye on him on the way back, attempting to decipher what he was feeling. When we arrived at the compound barely a word was exchanged between any of us, there was an air of exhaustion and defeat hanging around that no one wished to linger in. I strayed from Pietro then, opting to head to the bathroom after I’d watched him wander down the hall to his room. I scrubbed the dirt and defeat of the day from my face, deciding to shower after, eager to check on Pietro before I worried about ensuring my hair no longer smelt of smoke. When I could no longer feel the grime clinging to my cheeks, I made my way down to the kitchen to find Steve leaning over the bench, wringing his fingers together whilst staring off into space. I paused in the doorway surveying him for a long moment, he was so out of it that when I spoke, he jumped slightly, evidently startled by the sudden presence.

“If you think any harder your head will explode.”

He pressed his lips together in a sort of tired smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m guessing everyone else has retired for the night.”

I nodded slowly. Noting the look in his eyes, guilt and… maybe sorrow. “It was a shitty day,” I spoke. Moving to grab a plate from the cupboard and select an assortment of foods; some berries from the fridge, a bread roll, some cheese, and a bottle of water. He didn’t speak as he watched me assemble the items. The only acknowledgment was a quiet hum from him. I walked toward the doorway, glancing back at him. “I know that you’re the leader of this strange motley crew… but not every loss is yours to bear alone.” I looked down for a second before meeting his eyes. “You should know that, Steve.”

He swallowed heavily, nodding once, twice. “Yeah, I know. It’s just… a shitty day.” He nodded again.

“Feed yourself and go to bed. Tomorrow might not be so bad.” I told him, gesturing toward the second plate I’d left out on the bench filled with food.

Steve smiled at me again, but this time it seemed more genuine. “Thanks, Nads. You know-” he paused momentarily, as if searching for the words. “I’m glad you gave us a chance that day.” I raised an eyebrow at him. “Even if you weren’t convinced we had much of a team back then.”

I shrugged gently. “Well, I guess I didn’t have anything better to do.” His chuckle followed me down the hallway and despite my nonchalant exterior that he seemed to be able to see through in that moment, I smiled to myself when I was out of the room.

A dim glow could be seen under Pietro’s door, letting me know he’d yet to go to sleep, though I had suspected as much. I knocked gently waiting for him to invite me in before I opened the door. He didn’t look up from his lap as I entered. “We talked about this. You don’t need to knock, just come in.”

“Well, I’d hate to walk in on you when you’re indecent.” I teased, hoping to lighten the mood a little. He didn’t respond to my words, continuing to look down. That was when I knew something was really wrong, I’d given him the perfect foundation for a dirty joke, and he hadn’t so much as given me a suggestive look in response. I swallowed heavily, glancing at the door for just a moment, considering giving him some time alone. Maybe he wanted space to think. However, I knew that my instinct to leave was more out of a hesitancy to be vulnerable than anything else and I wasn’t doing that, not to him, not anymore. I took a step forward, if I left now, he’d make himself sick with the thoughts occupying his mind. He’d fought for me to open up before to save me from drowning in my sorrow, I could do the same for him.

I sat down on the bed across from him, placing the plate between us. His hair was dry, debris still clinging to it, indicating that he’d also yet to shower. “What are you thinking about.” He opened and closed his mouth a few times, still looking down at his lap. I reached out for him, placing the palm of my hand against the side of his face. Thumb caressing his cheekbone gently. “Pietro,” I whispered. When he finally met my eyes, his were brimming with tears. I sat the plate on the side table, moving closer to him. Both of my hands fell to his then, grasping them as I attempted to decipher the look on his face. “Please tell me what’s going on in your mind.” He attempted to blink the tears away, but they did not go so easily. “The way they were screaming, the crying, the crumbling building… I-it was just like Sokovia.” I tightened my grip on his hands, nodding at his words. “She only wanted to help; I know that. But that’s also what we thought we were doing when we were working with Ultron.”

I said his name quietly, hoping that if I began to speak the right words would come to me.

When he looked up at me then the emotion in his eyes devastated me. His eyes were shining with the tears that sat along his waterline, soon joining those that had begun to stream down his cheeks. “How do you do this?” I furrowed my eyebrows slightly, unsure what he meant. “How do you know the right thing to do? We keep trying to help but it seems like we only make everything worse.”

I let go of his hands to wipe the tears from his face, with one I pushed the hair back from his head. Letting the other linger on his cheek. “We don’t. None of us know what the right thing is, all we can do is try, just like you.”

“But how are any of us supposed to know? It’s not right, having the power to just decide what should be done. Maybe we shouldn’t have so much power…” He hung his head.

“I don’t know, Piet. I’m sorry, I don’t know the answer.” He squeezed my hand before pulling me forward until I fell into his body. His arms enveloped me, holding me tightly to him. The pungent smell of smoke filled my nostrils, engulfing me even more strongly now that it was not just me who smelt it. I ignored it, running my hand through his hair. “Please don’t torture yourself,” I murmured against his neck. He buried his face further into my hair.

At some point we separated, agreeing that we both needed to shower, I hoped that the hot water could wash away some of the tension in him. The warmth of his hand filled mine when I turned toward his bedroom door, planning to make my way toward the shower nearest my own room. He tugged me back toward him slightly and he didn’t need to speak, I could see it all over his face. Even for me, someone not always the most adept at understanding others, it was evident that he couldn’t stand the thought of being alone right now. Despite myself, I went easily, with only some hesitation and then I followed him into the bathroom and began to peel off my clothes as he fiddled with the tap in the shower. He pulled his shirt over his head, not meeting my eyes as he began to undo his pants. I stepped into the hot shower whilst he removed his underwear. A moment passed and then I heard the door glass door close and felt him move closer to my back. I opened my mouth to say something, but the words died on my tongue when I felt his finger graze over the scar that traveled from the top of my shoulder blade to the middle of my spine. It had faded over the years now white and barely visible unless someone stood as close as he did.

When he spoke his voice was quiet, it didn’t sound like he was crying anymore but he certainly did not sound like himself. “I’ve never seen this one before.”

“It’s old.” I matched his volume, barely audible over the spray of water hitting us.

“The Red Room?”

I nodded. “I was little.” I wasn’t sure why I said it, as if it were explanatory; contextual.

He asked me how it happened.

I told him it didn’t matter. Because it didn’t feel important to me now, not when his eyes had looked so very devastated while we’d sat on his bed. The Red Room and its various inflictions were the furthest thing from my mind.

“It does.” He was absolute, there was a seriousness in his voice that confounded me. I wasn’t sure why he seemed so prepared to die on this hill, but I wondered if maybe it was merely the easiest distraction for him right now. A momentary respite from the thoughts and sorrows plaguing his mind.

I swallowed, tilting my neck from side to side to relieve the pressure. “I was on assignment and back then hydra agents had a penchant for killing widows and taking the credit for our assassinations. I was young, inexperienced, too slow to realize he was behind me. The agent was a shit shot but the bullet shattered a glass door, and I went rolling through it when we were fighting.” Soap-suds covered my shoulder blades as he ran his hands over my tender muscles, cleaning the dirt from my flesh as I spoke. “They had me back in training the following day and some of my stitches popped, they refused to redo them because they wanted the scar to be a reminder of my weakness.” I heard Dreykov’s voice saying those words to me as I spoke to Pietro.

“How old were you?”

“11.” He stiffened, hand stilling on my shoulder. I looked down at my feet “I couldn’t complete the assignment… there was another girl with me, an older Widow. She killed him… because I couldn’t.”

I felt Pietro step closer to me. “You shouldn’t have had to.” His voice was thick with something I couldn’t understand. “They gave you scars because you were a child who did not want to kill.”

“They had to break me so that they could mold me into the person they wanted me to be.” I turned to face him, taking in the pensive look on his face. My hand fell over his bicep, thumb rubbing back and forth as I scanned his face for signs of how he was feeling. “It was a long time ago. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed heavily. “Pietro,” I murmured.

It was a long while before he spoke. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you ever again.” His arms wrapped around me tightly, pulling my chest flush to his and burying his face into the crook of my neck.

“Well, that’s a bit of a tall order, considering our line of work.” I rubbed my hand over his back, gabbing the shampoo from the shelf and massaging it into his silver hair. When I was done, I directed him under the water spray to wash the soap from him, running my hand through his hair to help it along. He gazed down at me the whole time.

“You know you’re very distracting, hm?”

I asked him what he meant.

“It is very hard to be sad when you are naked in front of me.”

A small smile tugged at his lips. I rolled my eyes playfully at him. “You’re an idiot.” His smile grew slightly. “But I don’t want you to be sad so maybe that’s a good thing.”

That night as I lay beside him, stroking his hair because he’d asked me to, and if this brought him even a semblance of comfort, I’d do it, I remained awake for a long while. For a time, I gazed upon his face, studying each of his features from the tip of his nose, along the bridge, and then across his dark eyebrows. He grasped the back of my shirt tightly in his hand even after he’d fallen asleep, his arms wrapped around my middle, head a comforting weight against my stomach. He’d slept like this nearly every night since I’d returned from Brazil. I wondered if it was his way of ensuring I couldn’t slip out whilst he slept again. He’d told me he forgave me for my sudden disappearing act, and I believed him. He truly didn’t seem to hold it against me; however, it was evident that our abrupt separation had not left him unaffected. I thought about what he’d said earlier, how do we know what the right action is? It certainly felt like a lot of our actions lately had been the wrong ones.

In the morning, I took my time wandering down to the office Dr. Norris had been meeting me in.

“How have you been feeling since we last spoke? Still no sudden episodes?”

I shook my head, fiddling with my fingers. “No…”

“You seem unsure?”

“There haven’t been any episodes, but I have been remembering things. It’s not as overwhelming as it was before but things are coming back to me.”

Norris made a note in his booklet. “That’s good, Nadia, it’s what we’re trying to accomplish, we want to deconstruct Hydra’s conditioning to free your mind.”

I nodded slowly. It was bizarre to me, having things come into focus the way they were, without all the pain and loss of reality. The calmness with which these things returned to me almost made me disbelieve that they were really mine. Truthfully the images that I saw in my mind disturbed me, partially because it was incomprehensible that I could have merely lost so many years of my life from Hydra’s conditioning and also because I wasn’t sure how to piece them together. How did any of it fit into who I am now? There is a whole life with these recurring characters whose faces I can never quite make out with complete clarity, and it is so foreign to me, but my mind urges me to open myself to it. There is a part of me that begs to be connected to this unfamiliar past.

I still couldn’t bear to listen to that song, dream a little dream of me. It didn’t bring on an episode anymore but whenever I heard those notes, the soft humming of the woman’s voice would always follow, the remnants of who I had once been. Letting go of it seemed the only logical answer to me, it was in the past. I am not that child anymore and I will never be her again. Holding onto it would only make everything worse. That was what I should do, let go, let the memories pass through my mind, and then release them. It was for the best.

However, when I lay in the quiet of the night, with nothing but my mind and Pietro’s gentle breaths to keep me company, I could not help but fade into it. Let the humming fill my ears, let it warm my chest like warm milk and honey. F.R.I.D.A.Y. hadn’t been playing the city sounds lately, I hadn’t asked her to. Pietro was enough of a reminder of where I was, and the dark walls of the Red Room were not the ones I lived in when I lay warm beneath my blankets.

“If Hydra were trying to recruit you, why would they try to kill you?”

The question took me by surprise, pulling me swiftly from my thoughts. I met Pietro’s eyes from across the table, furrowing my eyebrows as I thought for a moment about his words. “I suppose when I was a widow, I was just a faceless soldier, we did not have individual identities we were just assassins. Or perhaps it was their inability to kill me that sparked an interest.” I shrugged slightly before raising an eyebrow at him. “Why do you ask?”

He shook his head, looking down at his hand. “It was just on my mind.” I gnawed on my lip.

“I don’t pretend to understand how Hydra thinks and it doesn’t really matter now.” I reached across the table to touch his hand for a second before pulling back. “Put it out of your mind.” There was something in the look he gave me that stuck with me. I furrowed my eyebrows ever so slightly, mentally checking each corner of his face for a tell. It wasn’t clear to me what it was, why I felt the need to do a double-take. I shook off the strange feeling, doing as I’d told him to and putting it out of my mind. It’s just my perpetual paranoia, echoes of the life I’d lead.

Pietro nodded, not meeting my eyes for a long moment but when he did the small smile, he gave me made me forget all the strangeness and the air of exhaustion that lay thick over the compound. His hand slid across the table to chase my own, fingertips grazing over the smooth flesh. I watched intently as he pulled my hand to his lips to press a whisper of a kiss against my knuckles. Even when I was shaking my head at his sappy antics my lips still curved upward. My inability to bite my smile had his own growing. “You’re really very beautiful. You know that?”

“You’re just realizing?” I taunted, biting my lip to contain my amusement.

He shook his head, a breathy laugh falling from his lips. “No. No, I’ve known that since the moment I laid eyes on you, it’s very irritating.” I snorted, rolling my eyes playfully. He tugged my wrist suddenly, pulling me to stand between his legs. My forearms rested over his shoulders as he held my hips, fingers pressing gently into the flesh. “Every time I look at you, I feel like I’m going crazy.”

I opened and closed my mouth a few times, smile fading as I became aware of my heart thudding in my chest. “Sorry,” I murmured.

He laughed a little. “No, you’re not.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel crazy.”

“You don’t have to try.” Pietro pulled me closer to him, his chin grazing my ribcage as he looked up at me. I swallowed heavily as his hand slid down my leg to rest over my thigh which was revealed by the soft shorts I wore. His fingers flexed over my flesh, fingertips pressing into the back of my leg teasingly, just as he’d done to my hip. “You still haven’t told me how hot it was when I caught the vial.”

I shook my head yet again, taking a step back, he let me go, hands drifting from my body leaving it cold. “You are astoundingly sure of yourself.” His eyes mapped the path of my arms as they crossed over my chest. “It’s very irritating.” I mirrored his earlier words. He smirked at me.

Before I could even comprehend it, he was up and our chests were flush, he held my hip in one hand, the other tucking a lose strand of hair behind my ear so he could whisper in it. “I think you like it.”

I clenched my jaw, willing the smile to subside before narrowing my eyes at him. “I don’t.”

His grin only grew. “Oh, this again? You know how much I love it when you're mean.”

“You’re sick in the head,” I spoke turning and beginning toward the doorway, I barely made it a step before he’d spun me, pressing my back against the wall and claiming my lips with his. The moment we made contact my façade dropped, the previous game seeming much less fun in comparison to this. My hand slid into his soft hair, tugging slightly causing him to hum, my other hand pulled him closer by his shoulder. My back flattened against the wall with the force of his body, knocking the air from my lungs but that was the last thing I was focused on. He pressed kisses all over my face causing me to laugh and attempt to dodge his incessant pecks, it was no use as he held me tightly and kissed me again and again. “Pietro!” I attempted to speak between his onslaught and my laughter, but it was very difficult. When he found my lips again, I squeezed his arm slightly. “Not here.”

In the blink of an eye, my back was hitting the soft, cushioned surface of his bed. I maneuvered my way on top of him, pinning him down to allow myself some respite. He smiled up at me adoringly. I let his arms go but remained straddling his middle, hands planted against the duvet as I hovered above him, wiggling my eyebrows teasingly at him. His smile grew. Out of my peripheral, I saw one of his arms raise and I expected him to attempt to flip us or offer a suggestive touch, yet his palm planted itself firmly against my spine, smoothing up and down the arch of my back. His other hand wrapped around one of my forearms that lay by his head, not a tight grip but a comforting presence that left a warm spot in its wake. After a long moment of adjustment, I let my head drift down toward his, pressing a tender kiss to his lips before resting my forehead atop his. It was intimate, exceedingly so, and perhaps at one time it would have frightened me, sickened me, but it was Pietro. That thought alone soothed any doubt that crept into my mind. My eyes fell closed.

“You were wrong, you know?” He hummed questioningly in response to my words, prompting me to continue. “Yesterday you said that you keep making things worse, but you’ve never made things worse for me.” There was a long silence between us and when I opened my eyes again his content expression had faltered, a break in his moment of serenity. I studied his expression for a long while. “Did I say something wrong?”

He shook his head immediately. “No, no of course not.” His hand came to cradle my cheek. The words were frantic as though he really needed me to hear them, but he still seemed withdrawn. “I just- it’s been a long few months and my head is all over the place. I’m sorry, everything’s fine. You didn’t say anything wrong.”

I narrowed my eyes, unconvinced by his words. That niggling feeling from before returned. I sat up, letting his hand drop from my cheek. He chased me, sitting upright as well, hands now resting on my thighs once more.

“Pietro…” I swallowed heavily before placing my hands on either side of his face, thumb caressing his cheekbone. “Didn’t we agree that we would tell each other the truth, I’m sorry that I haven’t always done that but I’m trying now. Really, I am, please don’t start keeping things from me.”

The way his face fell further into something distraught had me re-evaluating my words. Was it what I’d said or was there something deeper eating at him? He glanced between each of my eyes before swallowing heavily. Finally, he opened his mouth to respond but the familiar voice of F.R.I.D.A.Y. filled the room before he could speak.

“Captain Rogers wishes to speak with Pietro in the conference room at his earliest convenience.”

I sighed softly, moving to my feet and offering him my hand to help him up. He looked to the door and then back at me, eyebrows furrowed. “We can talk later.” I crossed my arms over my chest, nodding once at him, forcing a tight-lipped smile onto my lips. He shot me one final glance before leaving the room.

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talia-rumlow · 3 months

Text

Home Sweet Home (AU Brock Rumlow/OFC) Chapter Four

WORD COUNT: 6013

TRIGGERS: Age-gap, mention of sex (virginity), teenage pregnancy, religion, war

HAPPY READING!

CHAPTER FOUR - HERE RIGHT NOW!

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Chandler Court rests quietly on this late Saturday evening. Only the glow of streetlights and occasional flickers from windows hint at any signs of life. Some families are tucking their kids into bed for what feels like the twentieth time, while others are enjoying a bottle of wine in front of the TV. Some may have already retired for the night, while others are venturing out to enjoy time with friends. The night has undoubtedly cast its veil over South Pointe and Chandler Court.

At 2837 W Chandler Court, there's a strange atmosphere. Change hangs in the air, leaving both Calleigh and Brock uncertain about how to proceed. The kiss is now in the past, and they can't undo it. The real challenge lies in figuring out what comes next. How do you navigate the aftermath of kissing your dad's best friend or, in Brock's case, his best friend's only daughter?

Brock had decended the stairs, and was relaxing on the couch. Though he was anything but relaxed. The inner turmoil he struggled with, was unlike any other dilemma. Should he stay loyal to Jack, and supress his own feelings, and give up his own happiness. Or should he put his needs first for a change, and just hope that Jack would eventually be fine with it? An impossible choice. And the damage was already done. He kissed her... Shit, he kissed her. And then he told her that he shouldn't have done it. Was it possible to be anymore Goddamn stupid?

Calleigh dries her tears away, and looks at herself in the mirror. She can hear her own voice in her head. He'll know you cried, the voice tells her. "Shut up," she says into the mirror, then she does her best to camouflage the redness around her eyes. She can't stay up here for the rest of the weekend. She has to go downstairs. At least for food and stuff. And if he shouldn't have kissed her, then he probably doesn't care at all. She can not care too. She can. She has to. It was just a kiss, right? Nothing to dwell at. Just a kiss. Just the best kiss she ever had. Just a kiss with Brock. But, he shouldn't have kissed her, so that's that.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

It's so quiet when she walks down the stairs, that she thinks that Brock might have gone to bed. The guest room could easily have been Brock's room, he spent that much time here. She knows he didn't leave, he would've told her if he did that. Or maybe not. Given the comment he made after the kiss. Maybe Brock wasn't at all how he protrayed himself to be. Jess' statement about Brock and his so called bitch ex comes to mind. And Calleigh can't help but think that maybe there was a reason she alledgedly was such a bitch to him. Maybe Brock was what they used to call fuckboys back in high school. Boys who just didn't care. But why did he chose her? She takes a series of deep shuddering breaths, forcing her tears back. She's about to turn around and walk back up when she sees him.

He's sitting on the couch, wearing snonewashed jeans and a grayish t-shirt; leaning back, looking up at the ceiling. His legs widely parted. Calleigh turns to leave. She can't deal with him right now. She just can't.

"Calleigh?" Brock's voice. Damnit, too late to walk back upstairs and hide now. She takes another deep breath, begging for her voice not to tremble.

"I'm fine," she replies, as she walks past him, desperately trying not to look at him. Pretend he's not here, Calleigh. Just ignore him.

"Calleigh?" Brock tries again. He should really explaine to her that the comment about the kiss wasn't meant the way it came out. But by the look of things, she doesn't want to talk to him at all. He hates himself for hurtig her. For making her think less of herself.

"I said I was fine. But you probably don't care, right?" Calleigh replies. Oh for all that is pure and holy. Please no. It's like word vomit. She can't stop it. And she already knows that Brock probably won't deserve half of it.

"Call-" Brock is caught completely off guard by what she just said. He gets that he hurt her. But that it was that bad. He would have given just about anything to listen to what was going on inside her head right now.

"Because in his world we just go around kissing random people, and then tell them afterwards that they weren't supposed to," Calleigh continues as she empties the dishwasher with the motions of an angry robot.

Brock gets up from the couch. He's not completely sure what to do. He doesn't want to make it any worse, and he definetly do not want to hurt her again. It's the worst feeling in the world, knowing that he's responsible for her ranting. "Calle-," he tries, but once again he's cut off by more rambling. Half of it doesn't even make sense to him. But one thing is for sure; all of this is because of what he said after the kiss.

"Maybe that's just what grown ups do nowdays. I mean how would I know? I'm just a little girl," she continues. She doesn't even understand half of what she's rambling about. It just flows out of her mouth, without her being able to stop it.

Brock takes a couple of steps towards her. Should he wrap her in a hug? Try to say her name a bit higher? He has no idea. It had been a long time since he was in his early 20's, his youngest sister was the one closest, but with her 39 years, Becca had lived out her late teens and early 20's a long time ago. He takes a deep breath as he moves closer. Calleigh still rambles on about kissing, and boys, and Jack and her mom. "Calleigh," Brock tries again.

"And then you move back, hoping everything'll be like it was. But nooooo.. Then you have to go and do something so stupid!" Calleigh sniffs, her voice now on the verge of breaking.

Brock can't take this anymore. Slowly he reaches out, and gently put his hands on her shoulders. "Calleigh!" His voice determined. Determined to get her attention. To stop the rambling. To comfort her.

"WHAT?" Calleigh yells at him. An angry yelling, mixed with hurt and tears. Finally she snapped out of it. If it had continued much longer, she would probably have said something about New York. And this is so not the right time for that.

Brock takes a long good look at her. Studying her face, her eyes, now flowing with tears. He takes a deep breath, lifting his hands from her shoulders up to her face, cradeling it between his big hands. Whiping away a few tears with his thumb. "Calleigh... You.. You're not a little girl," he starts. When Calleigh doesn't reply, he continues. "You're woman. And a pretty darn beautiful one," he says, almost in a whisper.

"Wh... What?" Finally Calleigh replies. And this was a nice what, not at all the same angry what she gave him just a minute ago.

"You're beautiful, Calleigh," he tells her. God knows how true that is. Brock can't remember ever seeing anyone this beautiful. Calleigh sniffs again, and Brock wipes away another tear from her cheek.

"I..I don't," she starts. But she doesn't know what to say. It was more about making a sound, than to actually say something.

"I'm sorry," Brock breathes out. His eyes locked with hers, like an invisible magnetic connection forcing them to lock onto each other.

"F..For what?" Her voice so low, she's not even sure he hears what she's saying. She's drained from earlier, and her body is still pumped full of adrenalin. Both from all the emotions and for the fact that Brock is there, right in front of her.

"This," he breathes out, before he slowly leans forward and lightly brush his lips over hers. His breath hitches as she parts her lips for him once again. He opens his eyes for a split second, just to watch her. Her eyes are closed, and her face has this calm and peaceful expression which makes his nervousness just disappear.

The second his lips brush over hers, she parts her lips, letting her tongue meet his. Soft, warm, gentle. Without realizing it, she drops the cutlery in her hand, and it falls to the floor with a loud crash.

The crash startles Brock, and like a primal instict he puts his arms around her, pulling her close to him. Had this been any other day, any other person; he's pretty sure a panic attack would have taken over right about now. But in a weird way, Calleigh takes all of that away. He's never experienced this with a girl before. That someone just erases all the bad stuff that's constantly lurking in the back of his head. He can't let this opportunity pass him by. Even if it means that his friendship with Jack would probably never be the same. Like his therapist had told him over and over again. He had to put himself first in his own life once in a while.

After she drops the cutlery, her hands instantly moves to touch Brock. It's like she can't stop herself. And she can't help but wonder if this is how it feels like. That need for another person that she usually only see in movies. Calleigh was, and always had been a hopeless romantic. Romance movies was her absolute favorite. She loved to see how people found each other and loved each other, despite that every rule in the book said that they couldn't. No matter how stupid the dialogue was, or how cheesy the storyline was, she loved those movies. And now, being here, in the kitchen, kissing Brock, she understands that the feelings are real. The dialogue leading up to this particular kiss wasn't like a movie, but that doesn't matter. She's here, kissing him.

Her hands moves up his hips, before she let them glide up inside his t-shirt. His strong body feels like a touch of heaven against her palms. And she can't hide the smile that forms against his lips as his breath hitches from her touch.

Oh sweet baby Jesus. Brock can feel his whole body reacting to her soft palms on his bare skin. The way her fingertips explores his upper body, like she was playing a beautiful piano tune. The way she parts her lips for him, the way their tongues slow dance together. It feels like this is the salvation he's been searching for his whole life. Like Calleigh is that One piece that's been missing.

Calleigh takes a deep breath when Brock's hands glide down her sides and his thumb lightly graces her bare skin between her jeans and the lining of her t-shirt. In response she presses her palms a bit harder against his warm skin.

Calleigh's response to his touch gives him the confidence he needs. Slow and gentle he moves his hands to her behind, before lifting her up, placing her on the kitchen counter. "Sorry, I hope this is okay," he murmurs against her lips.

"Shut up and kiss me," she breathlessly replies. This is unlike anything she's ever experienced before. Her few previous kisses was like a short not even that wet kind of deal. But this. It's intense, feverish, almost desperate. Or 'hot' as Jess would put it.

Brock's hands moves up her back, inside of her t-shirt. His hands are big and sort of soft and rough at the same time. The roughness probably came from his profession, having his hands in a car engine all day, every day, would surely requier him to grow rough skin. The softness however... Maybe that came from the same thing. You had to be careful too, in his profession. Putting everything back to it's original state. And given the great reputation the RUMLOW GARAGE had earned over the years, he must be very good at his job.

Brock has to really concentrate not to touch her too roughly, and not to move his hands too far up her back. She might not be ready for that. He's definetly not ready to lose his clothes with her... yet. As much as he wants to, as much as his whole body tells him that he wants her. Her skin is so soft, delicate. He's got to stop touching her like this. He needs to hold back, and touching her bare skin like this is not the way to do that. At the same time, he doesn't want to hurt her again, to make her feel like he doesn't want this.

Calleigh sucks in a breath when Brock pulls her closer. Her hands move up to his hair again, just like she did in the pool earlier. His hair is so soft, like wool, and It has this sweet coconut smell that she absolutely loves. Their lips still locked together, exploring and tasting. Her heartbeat reaches new levels, as Brock kisses the corner of her Lips, before he continues back to her ear and throat.

"Oh... ahh," she breathes out as Brocks warm breath teases her ear, followed by a quick nip. Lightning shoots up and down her spine. And her stomach swoops in a new unfamiliar way. It's like she forgets how to breathe for a second. His breath is ragged against her sensitive skin, and she can feel his facial hair as he explores her neck and throat with his lips and tongue. "Oh my God," she lets out as she holds on to Brock for dare life, pulling him with her when she leans back.

"Call.. Calleigh," Brock's breathes heavily against her skin. He pulls her up into a sitting possition, before wrapping her in a warm hug. "We ha... We gotta stop," he breathes into the side of her head. Scared that she'll misunderstand what he means, he rubs soothing circles on her back. He doesn't want to let her go. But he can't take this any further. Not yet.

"Oh, okay," she replies. Typical, just typical, she thinks as she lets go of Brock, and her hands fall usuelessly down on the counter. She's probably not even good at kissing. And he doesn't want to tell her. Nothing could happen with Brock. She already knew that. So why does this make her so sad?

Brock's heart breaks for her again. It's evident she's struggling with something, and he just want to take it all away, like she does for him. Why can't he just say the right thing, find the right words? "Calleigh," he sighs, gently puts his arms around her and lifts her off the counter. "It's not you, it's just-," he starts, but Calleigh cuts him off.

"DON'T say it, please, just don't say it," she replies. She wants to move away from him, go back to being a rebellious teenager, stomp up the stairs and slam her bedroom door. Take the easy route to shut herself off from the world. She just became an adult. Was it really supposed to be this hard? "It's because of my dad, isn't it?" She sniffs.

"What? No, Calleigh, it's not because of Jack," there's suprise in his voice. He understands that she might think it's because he doesn't want to ruin his relationship with Jack, but the kiss did happen, so the Jack thing is already out the window.

"What, then?" She asks, lifts her head so she can look at him. He's not that much taller than her, just enough so that she has to lift her head to look at him. "I'm not a good kisser?" She continues. She doesn't want to cry, she really doesn't, but it's hard not to. Brock made her feel so safe and protected, and now it feels like all of that is being flushed down the toilet.

"Hey, Princess," Brock sends her a comforting smile. He lifts his right hand, tugging a piece of hair behind her ear, before he lets his thumb brush over her bottom lip. "Your lips feels like heaven," he adds, before placing a loving kiss on her forehead. "It's just that..," he tries, but he's not sure how to tell her that he's not ready to go any further. "I'm not..," he continues, taking a deep breath. "I'm not ready for that next step yet," Okay, so he got it out. Her reaction however. He doesn't know what'll happen now.

Princess? He actually called her Princess? She needs a second to process that. A cute nickname is one thing. But Princess? Is it because she's so much younger than him, or is this just what he does, giving cute nicknames like that? And what next step? She didn't ask him to do anything, so what does he mean by that? "What step?" She asks, feeling and probably sounding like a naive, inexperienced teenager.

Brock places another soft kiss on her forehead. "I'm not ready to lose my clothes with you," he replies. His eyes searching hers, hoping for the love of God that he didn't hurt her again. Because it's not that he doesn't want to. He's just not quite ready, yet. It's a big step to have sex, and this, to have sex with Calleigh, that's an even bigger step.

Calleigh feels she looks like a big blinking animated questionmark. Who said anything about losing their clothes? This was a passionate kiss, and they both had their clothes on. And earlier, in the pool, they were both almost naked. What's the difference? "Wh...Who said we were going to lose our clothes?" She questions. God damnit. She's ruining everything. This is probably a stupid question. And her asking will lead to him looking at her like a teenager, and not the woman he saw her as just a minute ago.

Brock lets out a nervous laugh. He lifts his hand up to her chin, gently tilting her face up with his index finger. "It would have happened," he smiles. "We both know that," he adds with another slightly nervous chuckle.

"Mhmm," Calleigh mumbles, nevously biting the inside of her cheek. Damnit. She thinks. To have to tell Brock that she's a virgin wasn't exactly what she pictured she'd have to do tonight. She thought she would have had more time. Time so she could let it come naturally. To be 20 and still a virgin, wasn't something she usually broadcasted. And Brock definetly were not a virgin. How would he react to this? What was she thinking? Her and Brock? She can't help but chuckle. Her and Brock would never work. How could she even entertain that thought?

Brock tilts his head a bit. His heart racing. Did he take it too far? Start to talk about sex after just one kiss? That was a stupid thing to do. He tries to study her expression, to read her thougts. Did her scare her? "We," he starts, before he clears his throat. "We both know that...," he continues. His heart now in his throat. Shit! No, she's not. She can't be. "Right?" He questions. His voice low, almost whispering.

What is the right answer to that? She could lie. But that would probably come back to bite her in the ass. "Errr," she breathes out. Again she struggle holding her tears back. What's with this mad crying thing she got going on now? Where did that come from?

"You don't?" He asks. He can't tell if he's shocked or not. Calleigh was always a proper girl. The only rebellion he can remember her doing, was when she got that belly-button piercing. And given that Jack was and always had been an overprotective father, it could be plausible for her to be... But still. A beautiful woman like Calleigh. He struggles to wrap his head around the idea that she hasn't been with anyone. "You don't," he repeats, when the silence becomes too smothering.

Brock looks at her. She can't figure out if it's surprise, guilt or something else she sees in his eyes. Might be all of it. And she has no idea what to say to him. It's like all the words in the world suddenly dissapeared, or her voice did, so she just shakes her head, then she looks down. This is embarrassing. She never thought it would be. But, Brock... He's a grown up. He has experience. Experience she lacks. Experience she'll probably need to be with him. Experience. She doesn't even know how to do it. And she's back to feeling like a little girl.

"So, you... err," Brock raises his eyebrows. He wants to know the answer to his question, but at the same time he doesn't want her to feel stupid or inexperienced. She's an amazing kisser. Her lips felt like smooth silk against his. He doesn't want her to feel less than him. Because she's not. She's absolutely not. "You're... a.... Vir-,"

"I know, I'm a loser, right?" She cuts him off. No need for him to say it out loud, she's embarrassed enough as it is. No need for him to say the acctual word. "A young inexperienced loser. You probably want someone way more experienced than me," oh God, she thinks. Word vomit again. She has to stop this. "We knew-,"

"Hey, Calleigh," Brock smiles. "You're not a loser. What makes you think that?" He continues, looking at her, waiting for an answer.

"I.. I don't know. I thought maybe... that maybe you," she starts. She takes a deep breath, and she had every intention of finishing that sentence. But Brock cuts her off.

"That I'd think that?" There's hurt in his voice. He'd never think that. Never. "Calleigh, you gotta stop being so hard on yourself. Stop and take in how amazing you are," He gently tilts her head up again, whiping away a tear with his thumb. "There's nothing wrong with waiting. With being careful. Sex is a sacred act, we should be careful with who we share it with. That's a good thing, Calleigh. I have deep respect for your choice," he continues. He should know. His previous girlfriends wasn't the best choices he'd made. And after Taylor. No, he didn't want to think about her.

His statement catches Calleigh by surprise. Sex was everywhere these days. Everyone with a smart phone or a computer with internet access could easily find the heaviest porn in just a couple of clicks. Even regular movies kept pushing the limits, and popular adult shops had their own Facebook Page. Sex was everywhere. He must know that. "It's just sex," she states, looking into his eyes.

Brock smiles at her. Cradeling her face between his big hands. He leans in slowly, placing a gentle, loving kiss on her lips. She's so amazing, so special. He can't remember ever falling for someone this fast. It was from one second to another. She had stolen his heart in the blink of a second. Was he setting himself up for a major fall? A heartbreak he could never recover from? He breaks the kiss, and then he leans his forehead into hers. "There's nothing just about sex," he looks at her. "You'll always remember that first one. That first time. It's a big deal. You should wait, you shouldn't rush into something like that," he continues.

"Mhmmm," she mumbles. This feels weird. Brock is 46 years old. That's 26 years older than her. And he just kissed her. And now they're talking about sex. Sex... Why is that so hard? It sounds like he means what he tells her. But, then again, he's no newbie to this, and has probably done every sexual thing in the book. And with more than one partner. What if she's no good? What if she'll dissapoint him? If it were to happen at all.

"We don't have to talk about this now. How do you feel about relaxing with a movie before we head to bed? I'll let you chose," he cuckles. He knew that Calleigh was a romance movie girl, and to be honest, he kinda liked those movies too. It helped him get out of his head, and away from everyday life and his messed up lovelife. It was good to see that someone actually made it together, even if it was in a cheesy romance movie.

Calleigh nods, and sends him a little smile. Just to show him that everything is okay. Even if she's not totally sure that it is. "Yeah..," she whispers. "A movie sounds good," she adds, then she nods again. "I'm just gonna slip into something more comfortable," she continues, though she's not sure if pyjamas is the right thing to wear right now, but she feels uncomfortable in these clothes, and she's sweating like a pig. Or well, she feels like she does.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Calleigh leans her forehead against her bedroom door, after she closed it behind her. She kissed Brock, Brock kissed her. Brock, her dad's best friend. A man she has known her entire life. A man her friends has known almost their entire lifes. Her mom, her grandparents, everyone. Brock was like a part of the family. Did she just mess up absolutely everything?

As she looks through her closet to find a suitable pair of pajamas to wear, she thinks about the fact that it's close to a miracle that Brock and her dad even became friends. And she had no idea how they met. They grew up in totally different social circles. Jack grew up as an only child, his parents, her grandparents were well off. While Brock grew up in a single parent household, with six siblings. He had five sisters and one brother, all younger than him. They had next to no money, which were one of the reasons Brock had joined the military fresh out of high school. Jack had joined six years later, to massive protests from her grandparents. But Jack was determined to serve beside his best friend. For five years they did tours together, both in Afghanistan and Iraq. Before everything blew up, litterally. In 2008 their convoi was attacked, and almost their entire team were killed. Only four survived. And Jack was brutally injured. Both Jack and Brock left the military after that. She'd heard the story a million times. How Brock risked his life to save her dad. Brock the best friend, Brock the hero, Brock who kissed her.

She slips into her pink silk Louis Vuitton sleep shorts, and her favorite oversized t-shirt from the same brand. Her mother had bought it for her when they went to Paris the summer she moved to New York. Probably her mothers way of saying she was sorry that she ripped Calleigh up from Mansfield, roots and all. She remembered she begged to stay with her dad. But her mom had told her no. Probably so she could still get her child support. Although her parents never argued in front of her, she knew that visitation rights and child support had been an issue. She never understood why. Both her parents came from money, and her mother never needed that extra pay. And her dad, her dad would have payed no matter what. If she had known back then, what she knows now. She would never have left for New York. But she can't think about that now. After it almost slipped downstairs, she can't think about it now. If it were up to her, she was totally fine with never thinking about it ever again. But that seemed impossible right now. Hopefully a movie with Brock will help her push those thoughts away.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Jack looks up at the ceiling, he's been trying to fall asleep for about an hour and a half but all he can think of is how fucking stupid this shit is. Stupid Kevin Saunders, making what could've been an easy case into something like this. And robbing him of a weekend with his daughter.

He lets out a sigh when he thinks about leaving Calleigh home alone. Yes, she's twenty, and rationally he knows she can handle a weekend alone, but he missed four years of her life while she lived in New York. He only had an oval weekend here and there, and those three or four weeks during the summer. Those years from sixteen to twenty were importaint years. And if he's completely honest with himself, he feels like he almost doesn't even know his own daughter. He wanted to get to know her, God knows he tried after she moved back. But she was closed off. She hardly ever mentioned those years in New York. That might be Gen and his fault, he has to admit that to himself. The relationship he had with Calleigh's mother had gone downhill ever since he left for his first tour in Iraq. And it didn't help that he had severe PTSD when he decided to take a step back from the military, and came home for good.

Jack closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

MANSFIELD, TEXAS MAY 2003

Jack looks at his mom, Lillian, waiting for her to give him a lecture about safe sex and about being a man and step up for this poor seventeen year old family friend that he got pregnant.

"Well,now you can't go, Jackson. You understand that, right?" Lillian tells him, with a stern look. "Peter, tell him!" She continues, as she looks over at his father.

Jack feels his body tense up. There's anger coming, both from the shock that was just served to him by Gen and her parents, and from the fact that his mom once again started an argument about him being shipped out. "What do you mean, I can't go?" His voice a bit higher than he intended it to be. But fuck that. He gets up. "I'm nineteen years old. And I'll be twenty before I leave. This is MY choice," he argues. "I have a dut-,"

"Jackson, SIT DOWN!" Peter, his father cuts him off. The tone in his voice makes Jack sink back down on the couch. It wasn't often his father got mad, but when he did, Jack surely knew when to shut up.

"Mr. Rollins," Nicholas, Genevieves father shoots in. "I have no doubt that Jack'd do the right thing by my daughter, and marry her--,"

"Dad, we talked about this. I'm not going to marry Jack just because you say so," Genevieve cuts him off.

"Genevieve," her father looks at her with a hard look that's impossible to misunderstand.

Jack's heart is racing a million beats per second. Marry her? Marry Gen? He has no trouble taking on his responsibilities as a father. He was raised well, and this pregnancy was a result of his choices, so he had to take the consequences as well. But to marry her? He has to be able to say stop at one point.

"I'm sorry Mr. Lewis. I can't tell my son who he's going to marry. But I'll make sure he steps up for both Genevieve and the baby. If she decides to go through with the pregnancy," Peter carefully starts, trying to tone down the argument.

"If she decides?" Nicholas sounds almost surprised. "There's no choice in this. The Good Lord says that abortion is a sin. Genevieve knows what's the right thing to do here. And I, we expect Jack to know as well," he continues, looking between Gen and Jack. The two teenagers looked down. This is a situation none of them ever thought they be in, but they both know they have to take the consequences of their actions.

"I'm going to Iraq!" Jack finally opens his mouth. He was determined to do this. To serve next to his friend. To protect his country and his freedom. He needed to do this.

"Jackson!" His mother says his name almost in a gasp. "You have an obligation to Genevieve and to the child she carries," she continues. "You have an obligation to her parents -,"

Jack gets up fast "All the more reason to go," he argues. "I'm doing this to protect them, to protect you, to protect this country. Would you rather they come here again?"

"There's a war over there, you could die. Do you really want your child to grow up without a father?" Lillian's voice is almost breaking. She knows she can't tell Jack what to do anymore. But the thought of sending her teenaged boy into a war zone scares her to death.

"I'm not going to die, mom. We'll be protected. Brock has done several tours, and he's come home every time," Jack continues to argue. "We'll be protected," he adds. He's not sure if he repeats that last part for himself or for his mom. He's not sure if it's true, and what does he really know abour war other than what Brock has told him and what he's seen on TV? And now there's a child in the mix as well. An unborn child who'll need both his or her parents growing up. But, no, he has to go. He wants to go. He needs to go.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Jack takes another deep breath. He remembers that day like it was yesterday. His parents rarely used his full name. Even since he started school he was always just Jack. Jackson was only used when his parents were really trying to get his attention. And his middle name, Nathan, was never used. Half of the time he forgot he even had one.

With a sigh, Jack turns to his side. Maybe he should've listened to his mom back then. Maybe he shouldn't have gone to Iraq. Maybe he should've stayed and taken care of Gen. But he didn't know back then. He didn't know what would happen. He didn't even know what war was. Because it was nothing like what was shown on television. Hell, it wasn't even anything like Brock had told him. It was worse, way, way worse, and it just kept getting worse and worse every single second. And he had a baby at home. A baby that was waiting for him to come back and meet her. Calleigh was his lifeline over there. The one thing that got him through every day. Knowing that there was a tiny human waiting for him to come home and meet her.

He thought he could make up for everything when he returned home. He thought that maybe he and Gen could make it, together. Because he did love her. Ever since she was fifteen and he was seventeen, he was in love with her. He thought he would be able to tell her that, that he would have the opportunity to tell her everything. But it was too little and too late. He messed it up, and that in turn made him miss big parts of Calleigh's life. And now, now it felt like she didn't even wanted to talk to him. She was closed off, and he didn't know why. That was part of the reason he wanted Brock to keep an eye on her while he was away. Because he didn't know what was going on with her, he didn't know if she was in trouble or if she was doing something she shouldn't be doing. She was his responsibility now, and he didn't want to fail her all over again. What was done was done, and he couldn't change that. But he could do his best to pick up the broken pieces, and try to glue them back together. Hopefully one day, Calleigh would tell him what was bothering her.

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