#seven feet with shoulders like a barn | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

xoxobuckybarnes · 3 months

Text

January 2024 Stucky Fics

Completed

The Things We Hide (Rated: E, Words: 109K) by ThePirateStorm / @fsbc-librarian

Summary: Bucky looked at Steve. Steve carefully did not look at Bucky. “You didn’t tell him?” Becca asked, pausing in the doorway. Steve shook his head. “He only just got here. Besides, I thought you would have told him over the phone,” Steve grumbled, now also carefully not looking at Becca. “He is also standing right the fuck here,” Bucky snapped. “In case you both forgot.” “Steve,” Bucky started, quietly, purposely not looking at either of them now. “Why is Becca your doctor?” Neither Steve nor Becca answered him. Bucky looked up. Becca was watching Steve, who was staring intently at a wrinkle in the sheet covering the bed he was sitting on. “Why is Becca your doctor right now?” He asked again, more forcefully, this time looking to his sister. “And why are we in the fucking family rooms?” ***** Steve’s a marathon runner. He’s still friends with his ex-alpha, his life revolves around training, work, and Bucky, his best friend. He’s also 6 months pregnant and he doesn’t know who the sire is. If he ignores his problems, they’ll go away, right?'

Wanna Be Your End Game (Rated: E, Words: 23K) by KirkApologist

Summary: "Brooklyn, baby!" Bucky types up an Instagram post. "It was so great to be home. Y’all were the best crowd I could’ve asked for on the last night of the US tour. I’m going to miss the hell out of all of you. Get ready, Italy! I’m coming for you next month. And @StevenGrantRogers - my DMs are open. Ball’s in your court - er, zone? 🏈" Before he can second-guess himself, Bucky attaches a few photos from the concert and hits post. Then promptly tosses his phone away as if burned by it. * The one where Bucky's a world-famous popstar, and Steve is the NFL player who sweeps him off his feet.

young hearts, out our minds (Rated: T, Words: 2K) by junko (orphan_account) / @ladydent

Summary: Bucky posts a selfie of the two of them in bed to his instagram. He hashtags it #goodmorningamerica. Sam Wilson and Pepper Potts retweet it to their twitter accounts.

a question of expertise (Rated: E, Words: 2K) by mwestbelle / @villainsexuale & Fancomic by piumpoetam / @pium-poetam

Summary: Steve has criteria for losing his virginity. Bucky knows somebody who meets them.

The Long Way: A Stucky Fancomic (Rated: T) by BeaArthurPendragon / @beaarthurpendragon & LittleWolf82

Summary: After Thanos is defeated, Steve doesn't stay in the past. This is the story of where he and Bucky go next. Seven pages. Posting complete.

A Trace of All That Was (Rated: M, Words: 36K) by leavinghope

Summary: Bucky Barnes has to deal with the pain of watching Steve Rogers leave and return as an old man. Sam Wilson has to learn how to become Captain America when he had not asked for the role. How could they both have been so wrong about Steve? How could the man they both thought they knew have let them down so completely?

Lost But Found (Rated: T, Words: 2K) by innerslumber / @innerslumber

Summary: Bucky shrugged Steve's hand off his shoulder and tried to get up but his legs wouldn’t co-operate. His whole body felt heavy with random bursts of pain shooting through his synapses. The interior lights were too bright and while the quinjet was quieter than almost anything except a Wakandan aircraft, it still emanated noises that his super soldier ears could pick up. It was all too much. Bucky curled his body toward the wall and tried to make himself as small as possible. “Bucky-” “No, Steve,” Bucky groaned, his voice barely a whisper. “I can’t do this right now.”

Joker in the Pack (Rated: G, Words: 9K) by Ginny_Potter / @hipsterdiva

Summary: “Shut up,” Bucky mumbles, closing his eyes and leaning the back of his head against the bricks. “You’re jinxin’ it. C’m on, deal. I’ll know if you cheat.” “I never cheat,” Steve says, a smile already creeping up, anticipating Bucky’s reaction. Bucky snorts. “Like hell, you don’t.” Or, Steve and Bucky team cheating at cards, 1922 to 1945.

Barnes & Rogers and the Goddamn Truth (Rated: NR, Words: 18K)

Summary: There are three well-known facts at Shield High: 1. The history teacher Mr. Barnes is a stone-cold terror, and it’s not even because he only has one arm. 2. The other history teacher, Mr. Rogers, is a mysterious enigma, and it’s something to do with the body of a Greek God and contradicting stories of his past. (They’re all rumours, anyway.) 3. Mr Barnes and Mr Rogers hate each other. Bucky wouldn’t have it any other way.

Crack My Back Like a Glowstick (Rated: T, Words: 1K) by moodymelanist / @moodymelanist

Summary: Actors Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes read thirst tweets to promote their latest film.

Everybody is Supposed to be Dead (Rated: M, Words: 22K) by pollutedstar

Summary: “…there is nothing intelligent to say about a massacre. Everybody is supposed to be dead, to never say anything or want anything ever again. Everything is supposed to be very quiet after a massacre, and it always is, except for the birds.” In 1944, Bucky Barnes falls off a train into the Alps, missing and presumed dead. Months later, Steve Rogers nosedives a plane into the arctic. In 2010, the Winter Soldier project is uncovered by S.H.E.I.L.D., and Bucky Barnes is found alive. Three years later, Steve Rogers’ frozen body is found in the ocean.

look what you do to me (making me love you) (Rated: E, Words: 13K) by burning_brighter / @burnin-brighter & art by Reagy_Jay / @reagi-df

Summary: “Oh, you like this, don’t you?” Steve says, though it doesn’t really sound like a question at all. There’s an underlying threat in his voice, something almost dangerous, almost animalistic, and a smile spreads on his face when he sees Bucky shudder again. “Yeah you do.” Steve takes a step towards him, and he’s still so far away, but Bucky finds it hard to breathe anyway. The air around him feels heavy, tense, and he doesn’t know what to do. “Shut up,” Bucky mumbles, but he doesn’t deny it. He can’t really, because Steve is right, he is, and Bucky hates it. ———— After a failed mission, Steve and Bucky find themselves in a safehouse, where tensions run high and a lot of things come to light. When everything is said and done, it’s unclear where they stand and where their relationship – both personal and professional – is headed, but at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. Bucky has only one thing on his mind: to find out what happened on their mission.

put you on something new (Rated: E, Words: 13K) by howdoyousleep / @howdoyousleep3 & the1918 / @the1918

Summary: “What? Y’never suck a dick before, Rogers?” Steve can’t even stop the hysterical bubble of overcompensated laughter that escapes out his open mouth. It’s loud and such an extreme reaction that Steve can’t take back, makes his cheeks heat right back up. He shuffles on his feet, bounces on the balls of them a few times, has another round of giggles as he chugs the rest of his beer. “N-nah, I...fuck, yeah no I haven’t really—” --- Steve's fraternity throws a kegger. The star of the football team shows up.

Birthday Wishes (Rated: E, Words: 6K) by Graendoll

Summary: Steve Rogers has made the same birthday wish for almost a decade. The wish has gotten more explicit since he and Bucky started living together.

No One Wants Your Opinion (Rated: E, Words: 5K) by thepinupchemist

Summary: Wherein Bucky loves to cuddle Steve Rogers, Steve comes out on national television for the sole purpose of spiting conservative politicians, Tony sees things he wishes he hadn't, and Pepper doesn't know why she even bothers.

WIP

Lost Vocabularies that Might Express (The Memory of These Broken Impressions) (Rated: E, Current Words: 93K) by dorian_burberrycanary / @burberrycanary

Summary: The worst of times, like the best, are always passing away. How’s that for some consolation on the road? A post-The Falcon and The Winter Soldier Stucky fix-it as part of the all-American road trip, detours included.

twelve twenty-five (Rated: E, Current Words: 40K) by burning_brighter / @burnin-brighter

Summary: “I have to say,” Winifred says, a mug of cocoa in her hands. “When you say you were bringing someone home, I thought you meant you were bringing a boyfriend. But I’m glad you brought Steve.” “Who says I’m not?” Bucky teases, laughing when Steve lets out an exasperated groan. “You two finally got your respective head out of your respective ass?” asks George, looking at Steve and Bucky intently. “No,” Steve says pointedly, “Bucky just thinks he’s so funny.” - Ever since they met, everyone assumed it was just a matter of time before Steve and Bucky became a thing. Ten years later and it has yet to happen. But when Bucky invites Steve to spend the holidays with him and his family in upstate New York, things start to change.

Every Me and Every You (Rated: M, Current Words: 23K) by deadto27 / @deadto27

Summary: Bucky Barnes is doing his best. He’s getting by after the blip, after Sam became Captain America, after Steve…well, it’s best he doesn’t think about that. The point is, his life is different now, and he’s trying his best. He just wishes the hollow feeling in his chest would go away. —– Bucky gets blinded by a bright light as the tear seems to implode in on itself and there’s an odd little jolt as the pulling stops, and then Bucky’s blinking, trying to get his vision right again as he loosens his grip on America. “You okay?” he checks, still squinting. He’s probably not blind, he thinks. It just feels like it right now. “I’m okay,” America tells him and he sees her nod shakily as his vision starts to clear, and he carefully lets go of her, seeing that she can support herself, hands pressing onto the floor next to her. “Uh…I don’t think I am,” says another voice, and Bucky turns his head so fast he might give himself whiplash. Because he knows that voice. He knows that voice better than any other voice on the planet and he’s missed that voice, so, so much.

#Stucky #Steve and Bucky #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #fanfic #XOXOBUCKYBARNES' Stucky Fic Reading List #january reading list

111 notes · View notes

anika-ann · 7 months

Text

Seven Minutes (S.R.)

Type: TWO-SHOT, independent, canon-ish

Pairining: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 8700

Summary: You’re not obliged to go to that party, but you go because it’s a rare occasion during which most of your fellow Avengers meet and have some fun together. Until someone suggests a stupid teenage game. Until you and Steve end up locked in a closet together and things take a turn you couldn’t have possibly predicted.

Maybe you should have. Whenever Tony or – god forbid – Loki gets involved, it’s bound to end up in a disaster. Only this time, the victim of the shenanigans might be your heart.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, NSFW, (unprotected sex, fingering, glimpses of size kink and praise kink, soft hints of D/s, mirrors, possessiveness;), alcohol, a drop of angst, language (a lot)

A/N: written for @jtargaryen18 Halloween challenge. Prompt in the final notes. I toyed with it so much that it might have been cheating 😅 dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕

Part 1: Seven Minutes in Hell

“I thought about how there are two types of secrets: the kind you want to keep in, and the kind you don't dare to let out.” ― Ally Carter, Don't Judge a Girl by Her Cover

The party had died down; or as Tony said, only the fittest had survived. Banner, drunk on Asgardian liquor, let out a sensible chuckle at the words and fell asleep as he was, sprawled over one of the couches in the communal area, which looked more like a war zone than an aftermath of a giant party.

It wasn’t the mess of empty bottles and glasses and cushions having been thrown around at some point. It was the skeletons. The fake blood. The few smashed pumpkins, literally beaten to a pulp. Luckily, the one single torn-off arm which some idiot had smuggled in despite the strict ban on those, based on the fact that at least half of the guests suffered some form of a PTSD, had been kicked under the bar and covered by a cloth as soon as you had found it. Tony, despite already finding himself in a drunken haze, agreed to kick the asshole who had brought it out. Steve had shot you a grateful look when you had asked Tony to do so. Bucky – thankfully – never learned about the tasteless joke ever taking place.

Unlike the space, the Avengers had an aura of comfort around them. Lying around, some chatting sleepily, chuckling every now and then, some talking animatedly with a few friendly nudges under the ribs, they lounged in the area and welcomed the 1 a.m. announcement by Friday with relative grace.

Except for Tony, who booed and proceeded to glare at every single conscious Avenger present, one by one; Natasha and Clint comfortable on one couch, Steve and you on the other, Thor filling out a huge armchair, Rhodey looking a bit small in the other in comparison, Wanda practically lying in a lounge pug with Vision hovering by her like a guard, Helen and Maria crossed legged on tiny tabourets, Sam and Bucky, having been fighting each for their space on the couch, now sitting carelessly with Bucky’s feet against Sam’s thigh. And then there was Loki, spinning slowly in his egg chair he had charmed up and kept up in the air with his magic, Pepper having reluctantly sat down in the other which Loki had graciously made for her with a snap of his fingers.

“Seriously, guys! Just… boooo! This party is dying! We need to shake things up!” he called out theatrically, standing in the middle of the Sleepy Hollow with judgement written all over his face. Then, he lowered his voice, a wicked smile twisting his lips. “Do you wanna play a game? I do.”

At least four distinct snorts sounded around the group at his poor impression.

“Really, Tones?” Natasha questioned, probably referring to both his acting skills and the suggestion.

“I do want to play a game. It’s called let’s go to bed,” Bucky groaned, rolling his shoulders and throwing his feet back to the ground, startling Sam in the process.

“The night is still young, Barnes,” Clint huffed despite his eyelids barely staying open as he kept twisting a rubber imitation of femur between his fingers. “You sound like an old man.”

“Oh? That coming from you really says something,” Sam pointed out, a good-natured smile curling his lips; at the same time, Tony hummed: “Or a kinky one.”

“I must say I agree with Stark this once,” Thor boomed, nodding thoughtfully as several voices groaned at the gleeful grin lighting Tony’s face. “There seems to be a lull to these revels and it is indeed too soon to retire to bed. The sun has not even risen yet!”

A single clap of hands and Tony was gesturing towards Thor. “See! The Asgardian agrees with me. I must be right.”

“I bet he’s already regretting his words,” Steve noted, drawing a small chuckle from you.

In all honesty, you would be inclined to agree with Bucky on this one. Going to bed sounded heavenly, but there was one huge disadvantage to bed compared to the Sleeping Beauty Castle the Halloween party had turned into: the company wasn’t nearly as good. You weren’t greedy – you wouldn’t need all the Avengers present to come cuddle you in bed. Just one would do. The one whose thigh occasionally brushed yours as you talked about anything and everything, all kind smiles and a slightly tipsy spark in his gorgeous blue eyes which were complimented by the treacherous midnight shade of his one-size-too-small shirt.

“Now, now, Captain. The other Asgardian agrees too,” Loki’s voice slowly sneaked in, something in his tone causing your heart to skip a startled and yet excited beat.

Loki was… a friend. After trying hard for redemption, he had begun to join the Avengers business on occasion, his magic always proving to be of enormous help. His humour was a little wicked and twisted, but his heart was not nearly as dark as people had believed – or even he himself had. You sensed Steve’s wariness towards him still and understood his reasons; and secretly, you revelled in the worry Steve expressed whenever you spent time with Loki, which the golden-hearted captain feared you did so with a little too much trust.

The only reason why you wouldn’t throw it back to Steve’s face that he was questioning your judgement was the fact he had admitted he did actually not do that, ever – but simply cared for your safety – and that fact that he attempted to be as respectful about it as possible. That and the heartwarming knowledge that he thought of you, one way or the other. Maybe him being the person who was giving out the gentlest hugs could have played a role as well. Or perhaps even that you had – like a silly, silly girl – fallen for him long time ago and would let him not only get away with murder at this point, but probably also ask him if he needed any help to hide the body. Because you’d either believe him it was for a good reason that he had committed the crime, his moral compass just about perfect, or simply because he deserved the most loyal friends and loved ones he could get.

The sudden heavy thud snapped you back to present, causing you to jump in your seat. Steve’s warm hand covered yours in an instant, gaze trailing to you to make sure you were alright. As he gently squeezed your hand, you glanced at him and shot him a grateful smile.

He let go as soon as your gaze returned to the source of the noise: a large closet now standing a few feet from the seating area.

“How about this?” Loki suggested, calmly beckoning to the piece of furniture having just appeared out of this air.

“Do you… want to play Seven Minutes in Heaven?” Wanda, suddenly wide awake at the stronger present of magic, questioned.

“Why not? I was under the impression Midgardians enjoyed this game during a party.”

“What are we, thirteen?” Sam asked, eyebrows creased sceptically.

“…going on thirty? Good movie,” Clint hummed, his grin showing pride at his reference.

“Ew, no-“

“Do you even know what Seven Minutes in Heaven is about?” Natasha asked, her expression intrigued; you had no doubt her mind had already begun to race as she tried to decipher the trickster’s motivations.

“Yes. I am quite pleased by the concept. If we play, perhaps I will be lucky enough to spend some private time with lovely Lady Speedy.”

Your eyebrows shot up as your gaze found Loki’s, a provocative smirk twisting his mouth. Interesting. Maybe even intriguing. Except it was not; at least not for the reason one might think. Loki was not at all interested in you. If he had, you would have known without a shadow of doubt. He wasn’t one for subtlety; if he had had an eye on someone, he would make sure to court them, persistently so. Or perhaps he would simply take.

No, Loki had not spent time thinking of you, much like you hadn’t spent time thinking about him.

There was only one Avenger whose company and love you longed for and had for the longest time – and you wouldn’t be surprised if Loki knew. What you hoped he had no idea about was the fact that you could have had it, once.

You could have had Steve, but you had mucked it up, too shocked to yes when he had asked. It had felt too fast, too surreal to be even happening – Steve Rogers asking you out for a cup of coffee – too good to be true.

Naturally, in a very Steve Rogers fashion, he had been too polite to disrespect your decision or let it negatively impact your blooming friendship back then; he had not made a single attempt to ask you out again since. In return, you had been too embarrassed to explain yourself – to explain that you felt like the luckiest girl on Earth, if not in the universe, that you would have jumped at the chance if he as much as hinted he was still interested – and in a very mature way, you never mentioned it again.

That was fine. You and Steve had become friends. Perhaps even good enough friends to mention it as an awkward memory; and only that, because you doubted that he was still carrying a torch for you. He had even briefly dated with Sharon Carter after the incident; he clearly moved on, because there was nothing to move on from. You had barely known each other back then. It wasn’t like you broke his heart or something. You just decided mess up what could have been a beautiful relationship.

Instead, you had a comfortable caring friendship. That counted as a win, yes?

And if you ended up in a closet with him for seven minutes now, you would, once again, acted like mature adults and… hug or something, yes? You would not give in into some stupid game and kiss him just because you’d have an excuse to do so. You would not be tempted to--- no. You respected Steve too much for that. You would never make anything to make him uncomfortable; if you had, you would not only not deserve to call yourself his friend, but even a decent human being.

And you were not thirteen anymore. You knew better. The awkwardness would not be worth it; the rejection would not be worth it. Losing the gift of Steve’s friendship would most definitely not be worth a few seconds of Heaven, of testing whether his lips were be as soft and gentle as you thought, if they tasted like you dreamed of. Knowing whether he would respond, whether he would kiss you, whether maybe, just maybe, there could be the faintest traces of seeing you differently than a friend and colleague.

No, the stakes were be too high.

“Hm… I think we should play,” Natasha said, earning at least five shocked stares, including yours.

“What?!”

“We should definitely not,” Steve protested, leaning forward with a very displeased frown, his eyes burning as he glared murderously at Natasha for entertaining the trickster’s whim.

“I mean… why not, after all? Two people in a closet, in cramped space? What is not to enjoy?” Bucky added, clearly changing his mind about going to bed. He was next at the receiving end of Steve’s disapproval.

“Ask a claustrophobic, I’m sure they’d come up with a reason or two,” you hummed, earning a sardonic ha ha from the dark-haired supersoldier.

“I mean… who knows. Could be magical,” Tony wiggles eyebrows.

“Are we back to 13 going to 30?”

Wanda, Pepper, Maria and Sam said NO with impressive coordination.

“I must say I am intrigued as I cannot quite see the appeal. It would be an enriching experience for me to understand. What is the worst that can happen?” Vision questioned.

“You did not just ask that,” Sam complained.

“Please tell me it’s just a closet and not some sort of a portal to Narnia?” Pepper chimed in, Loki’s smile surprisingly pleasant as he turned to her.

“It is simply a closet, my dear Lady Potts.”

“I don’t know, you guys, it still sounds like a pretty bad idea,” you chuckled nervously as you felt the air shift towards agreement to participate in this ridiculous game.

“Seconded,” Steve grunted by your side – but it was too late.

“Too bad, I’m getting an empty bottle,” Tony blurted out as he practically sprang after the nearest bottle indeed.

It was the perfect opportunity to walk away; it was the last chance to get out.

You didn’t.

Perhaps you didn’t want to look like a coward. Maybe you didn’t want to be a party pooper. You guessed you hoped they would scrape the idea after one round, because they would realize the game was lame and boring. Maybe, just maybe, a little part of you wondered if something interesting would come out of it – and you didn’t want to miss it.

Those were the things running through your head when you walked side by side with Steve, cursing the universe or some sort of physics cheat Tony had pulled or maybe Loki’s magic. Because of course it happened. Of course, the bottle pointed at you – and then on Steve.

Could have been worse, you reasoned with yourself. Could have been… yeah you didn’t know who. Bruce who might turn in to the Hulk while in there was asleep, so he never was an option.But it was too late to back out now.

Steve, ever the gentleman, let you walk in first, offering a hand, a gentle smile on his face as he rolled his eyes at your friends being children. You squeezed his hand and smiled back, grateful – and calm.

Yes, being with Steve in such tight space with the knowledge what the game was about sent a few tempting thoughts into your head – but you’d be fine. You’d just chat, privately; you had done that countless times before, late night talks and maybe even your head resting on his shoulder when you got too sleepy to sit straight. You’d be fine.

Steve climbed up after you so you stood face to face, flashing you one last comforting smile. And then Tony closed the door behind you, leaving you in utter darkness.

Your first thought was that the inside of the closet was a lot smaller than it had appeared from the outside.

Your second thought was that perhaps that was not the fault of the closet or your eyes; the sheer width of Steve’s shoulders and other proportions of his body which had starred in too many of your dirty dreams and innocent fantasies alike were to blame instead.

Your third thought was that the air was becoming a little too hot and heavy to breathe a little too fast and that you weren’t certain you could last seven full minutes in this space where it felt you might as well already be wrapped in Steve’s arms. The subtle tones of his woodsy cologne, the heat radiating off his skin, the faintest light peeking through the door reflecting in his slightly ruffled hair and in his eyes, caressing his features the very way you always wished.

Your fourth thought was, incidentally, less of a thought and more of an emotion – a red hot one at that. The flash of anger that ripped through you honestly took you by surprise, and hit you too hard to be ignored.

Because this was stupid.

This game was the stupidest thing possible that your friends could come up with. Steve was entirely stupid with his brilliance and courage and care and morality and outrageous handsomeness and most of all with giving you hope once that you could be good enough for him, that there was a glitch in the universe large enough that would somehow made the two of a potential couple. And you, oh you. You were the most stupidest of it all. To allow yourself to hope as well. To not let go of that fleeting seconds when the light of Steve Rogers was in your reach and you stood there like a dumbass without grabbing it, never speaking of it again then and yet still carrying a torch for him for two idiotic years.

Maybe if one of those things had been different – most likely of all, you – you could have been making out now. Maybe, you would feel his gentle touch in these shadows; or maybe hungry touch even. Maybe, because your friends were nosy assholes and drama queens, they would have banned you from participating in this in fear that they would have to disinfect the closet after you got full seven minutes in here.

Instead, all you had was a tentative brush of Steve’s hand to your elbow and the kind rumble of his voice, laced with worry.

“Hey, Shines. Are you okay?”

Ah yes. Another maddening thing: Steve’s sweet nickname for you. Where others called you Speedy – because of how quickly you had finished the intelligence test and made your way up in the Initiative – Steve had expressed his distaste in the nickname because just around the same time, he had learned about the modern term “speed”. Apparently, he did not like the idea of calling you something that reminded him of amphetamines. So instead, he had once admitted, he converted it in his head to the speed of light. And so Shines had been born.

The affection he sometimes spoke the single word with – the affection you longed for and mostly only imagined – was perhaps even more idiotic than your lack of reaction to his slightly shy advance two years ago.

For someone with your IQ score, you really were surrounded by stupidity and radiated it generously yourself.

The chuckle that escaped you tasted bitter on your tongue. “Why, sure. You?”

Even with the limited amount of light, you could see Steve’s searching gaze clearly. You could practically hear his mind whirling, wondering where the sudden ire had come from.

In an instant, you felt bad for snapping. Your trouble and your insecurities nor your anger at yourself were something he deserved to bear consequences for.

“I’m… fine,” he said after a while, kinder than you would have in his place. “Is there anything I can do to make the ‘sure’ better?”

Yeah, you thought. There were quite a lot of things; either put his mouth on yours – or elsewhere on your body, you weren’t picky – or maybe stop being so damn good of a person and being so damn loveable all the time when he didn’t mean anything beyond friendship by his behaviour.

You swallowed the once again bitter note and charmed a smile, your hand covering the back of his, still softly resting on your elbow.

“No. But thank you. I’m… sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he replied, eyes still searching. And soft. So annoyingly soft and caring.

You lowered your gaze and gulped, not finding it in yourself to respond. What could you even say to that?

The problem with Steve was that even if you weren’t looking at him, you could still feel him looking at you. At rare times, it felt like a punch, if he got truly angry with you – when you did something he considered stupid and dangerous as if you hadn’t been quite inspired by his own bravery – but at other times, like this, it felt like a fluffy blanket and a warm cup of tea pressed to your hands when the blues came knocking on your door.

No words were spoken for a long minute. And then, like you should have known they would, Steve’s arms carefully pulled you to his chest and wrapped you in a hug which felt just like his gaze a moment ago; except this feeling was real. He sucked up all your anger and frustration you into his chest with ease, breathed in once, then twice and unlike you, he simply let it go, allowing you to soak in his affection instead.

You could cry at the sweet gesture. Sweet, sweet Steve: deadly force, righteous passion, beautiful soul and infinite kindness locked in a body of a gentle giant.

“Thank you,” you muttered into his shirt and you could hear the smile in his voice when he responded, arms tightening just a fraction.

“Any time.”

You felt your lips curl up in a smile too, allowing yourself to bask in the goodness he was. Strong embrace, but kind. Almost too hot to touch, like a sun, but somehow still feeling like sunshine instead. Lips soft as they touched your hairline, fingers gently running through the length of your hair-

You stiffened. It felt too good; it felt like what you wanted but didn’t actually have. Steve Rogers did not kiss you; not your cheek, not your lips, not your forehead or the crown of your head.

Or at least he never had before.

“Steve?”

His smile was a little bashful as he retreated, his hand sliding down your hair, holding your chin in gentle hold you could easily escape should you want to. But you didn’t. Why would you when his thumb caressed your cheek, eyes firmly holding your gaze even as his smile was slightly shaky?

You didn’t dare to stop whatever this was; because this was what you wanted. Whether this was Steve giving into the game only or anything else, you’d take it. Because you didn’t start it, you didn’t force him into something you wanted. He initiated it; he held you as if you were something precious all on his own. If this behaviour expired in a few minutes, well. At least you would have a sweet memory to cherish, wouldn’t you?

“I’ve been thinking of you.”

Your eyes must have been wide – even ridiculously so – at the admission, your heart like a thunder in your chest and in your ears. You… certainly you must have misheard. You must have misinterpreted what he was trying to say. That was not right. Was it?

“…you have?”

His smile widened, eyes full of good-natured amusement. “I’m always thinking of you, Shines. I’m honestly surprised I’m keeping it so subtle that you are this shocked by the revelation.”

You licked your suddenly dry lips. You must have breathed in something. You had too much to drink. Tony sneaked some edibles into the refreshments – yes, that had to be it.

But then the even more rational part of your brain chimed in: you could never dream up something as detailed. And Steve would have been immune to the drugs. He hadn’t drunk too much of the Asgardian liquor from Thor’s flask either.

You were both perfectly sober at this moment – as insane and surreal as it felt. Did Steve really…? You swallowed the slightly hysterical giggle trying to claw its way up your throat.

“You wouldn’t… you wouldn’t make fun of this, would you?”

Steve’s eyes grew serious even as they remained kind.

“No. I wouldn’t,” he assured you, the slightest hint of offence in his tone. “You’re just… you’re everywhere. I try to focus on work, but you’re always on my mind. That smile, those pretty eyes. This… this drive and passion you have and turn it into hard and good work and kindness. Those gorgeous, gorgeous lips…”

You licked again them on instinct, not missing the fact that Steve’s gaze flickered down at the motion.

No way. No way.

You had hit your head. This was a fever dream, this… this was all you wanted and needed, it couldn’t possibly become true all of sudden. Right?

But if this was a fever dream, you might as well enjoy it. If it was reality, even the better. Because Steve Rogers was serious in matters of heart – he was most definitely not pranking you. So if he was saying he had been thinking about you, you had no reason to doubt him.

There rarely ever was a reason to doubt Steve Rogers.

“I… I think about you too,” you reluctantly admitted, his lips suddenly so, so close you could feel his breath when he spoke only one word in response.

“Good.”

The first touch to your lips was nothing but tentative; nothing but temptation and yet everything you could ever want. His hand cradled your face like precious porcelain and his kiss was like one of an artist asking his muse to allow him into her favour. Warm and soft; his lips were as soft and gentle as you had always thought they would be. The tender brush of his fingertips to your face however made your first kiss all the sweeter, as did his smile and the sparkle in his eyes when he released your lips. The giddy feeling burst inside your chest with intensity you couldn’t possibly contain.

“Yeah, I’m… I’m gonna have to agree with good,” you whispered; and before you could feel silly, Steve’s low chuckle echoed in the limited space, his thumb tapping your lips.

“Yeah.”

That was the only warning you received before his mouth were back on yours, letting you taste that smile of his; his arms, still around your waist, pulled you closer against the hard planes of his chest, the sensation reminding you that you could in fact too do more than simply lay your hand on him. He appreciated your initiative with a content hum, the vibration against your lips sending pleasant shivers down your spine and into your belly. When he deepened the kiss, his touch on you growing firmer, angling your head to his liking, you felt like you could melt from the inside, all nerves on the most beautiful fire.

Your startled sound when your back bumped into the wall of the closet drowned in Steve’s mouth, your parted lips but an invitation for him. The sensations were quick to rise into your head like a heady wine and suddenly only seven minutes in whichever alternate reality you felt as if you had entered seemed unfairly short. Your fingers flexed in the material of Steve’s shirt, his large palm sliding to your hip and squeezing. His hips rocked ever so slightly against yours and the semi-hard bulge pressing against your core had you whimper his name just as his lips moved to your jaw.

“Love hearing my name like this from your lips, Shines,” he whispered like a secret into your skin, teeth grazing your sensitive flesh and nearly causing your knees to buckle. I’ll say it as much as you want, you wanted to say, the words stuck in your throat, only a breathy Steve coming out again, much to his apparent delight. “That’s it. Wanna hear it more… but not here.”

The flash of a rationality was brief; before it could take, his lips were back on yours and you felt yourself falling, leaning into his touch, hands wandering over his exquisite body, hips rutting forward at the beautiful, beautiful groan your touch elicited from him.

I did that. He wants me, he wants me like this. I want him. I need him.

The simple thoughts occupied your brain, a last portion of coherency you managed as his palm slid to your ass with purpose and pressed you against his hardness in a promise of what was to come. You decided that you could die a happy woman right there and that you needed his mouth on your more than you needed oxygen; you grabbed onto his face, pulling his lips back to yours, rewarded by a deep kiss and both of his hands grabbing your hips, fingers digging into your flesh with a little too much vigour.

You succumbed to the pleasure of his touch, head spinning, the world passing by in a blur.

It didn’t matter how you got into his room next; it didn’t matter, not when his hands were on you again, an absurdly polite can I? as his dextrous fingers slid the strap of your dress off your shoulder, a kiss to every inch of the newly revealed skin, leaving nothing but hunger for more in their wake.

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart,” he praised as he mouthed at your skin, the new endearment causing your heart to tremble, stomach fluttering pleasantly. “The times I imagined this, imagined you… turn around, Shines.”

You’d swear that you would let Steve Rogers get away with murder; but asking you to turn away from his hot lips, that was toeing the line of insanity.

“Steve-“

“Shhh… I’ve got you,” he cut of your protests, strong hands simply spinning you around.

He rewarded you for the lack of resistance by placing his hand over your stomach, skin hot even over the thin fabric, pressing you back against his chest and his more than evident arousal, lips attaching to the column of your neck, sliding the other strap of your dress down. Instinctively, you leaned your head back, exposing your throat to him, a small but sharp nip of teeth sending a fresh wave of arousal into your core.

Long fingers slid up your throat, turning your head so his lips could meet yours again, demanding and yet so giving, hand inching from your belly down your thigh, toying with the hem of your dress and causing your breath to hitch.

God, you needed him. You wanted him in every way possible, but if this was what came before he’d take you out, you had zero problem with that. You needed to feel him.

The please escaping your newly freed lips sounded almost pathetic to your ears, but Steve clearly disagreed with your assessment.

“Oh sweetheart, you sound so pretty like this… and look at you,” he rasped, nudging you to actually look ahead, only for you to realise you were now facing the tall mirror of his closet, gaze setting on your own face, dominated by the kiss-swollen lips and pupils blown up by lust. “Gorgeous… and you’ll look even more beautiful when you’re coming apart for me. First on my fingers and then…”

You shuddered when his fingers finally slid under your skirt, caressing the lace of your thigh-highs, chest vibrating against your back with an appreciative hum. Your gaze strayed to Steve’s face, only to find his eyes laser focused on your face in the mirror, flashing darkly when his fingertips found the soaked fabric of your panties and pressed.

“So wet for me, Shines. I can’t wait to feel you wrapped around me. Can’t wait to make you mine… you want that, don’t you?” he whispered, your lips parting wordlessly and at the very moment, he pushed the offending fabric to the side and dipped his index finger in your slick. He stroked a few times, coating his fingers in your essence and entered you with two with laughable ease. You pushed your hips forward on instinct, already needing more.

“Steve, oh god-“

“Fuck, look at you,” he rasped, free hand pressing your back to his front, hardness digging into our ass. “I can’t wait to see you take my cock. You’ll be as pretty as a picture…”

Vainly wriggling against his strong hold because that was exactly what you wanted, you caught his smile in the mirror, his lips pressing softly against your temple as his fingers begun pumping in and out of your tight channel, stealing the breath from your lungs. Resigned and secretly thrilled by his dominance, you leaned against his chest, letting your head fall back against his strong shoulder, praying he’d give you more soon.

Instead, he pulled his fingers out altogether, painting your inner thighs with your slick, stepping back, leaving you cold and empty.

“St-“

His hand landed gently on your shoulder, his other hand easily sliding the zip of your dress down your back, letting it fall to the ground. Standing in front of the mirror in nothing but your stockings, soaked panties and lace bra, you shuddered under Steve’s hungry gaze; but at the same time, the adoration and admiration shining from his gaze even made your stomach flip and stopped your hands from self-consciously covering yourself at least a bit.

You weren’t shy. You weren’t ashamed of your body; but goodness, Steve’s eyes trailing the length of it, taking in every inch of bare skin and appreciative of how the fabric hugged the parts still covered made you feel like a goddess. A muse.

His gaze was hypnotic as his eyes met yours in the mirror again, his smile soft before it earned a lustful edge.

“You’re a piece of art, Shines…” He stepped back to you, lips attaching back to your neck and his fingers pushed the panties down and let them slide down your legs, hand sprawling over your pubic bone and teasing your core with his fingers again. “And I’m going to appreciate that in every way I know… but you’re gonna watch. I wanna watch you as you fall apart for me, and I want you to see how beautiful you look when I make you mine. Can you do that, sweetheart?”

You didn’t think. You nodded at the promise of pleasure, instantly rewarded by three fingers stretching you, one of your hands landing on his wrist to keep him inside, the other grabbing at his head behind you. You felt his smile against your neck before he sucked on your skin, setting a punishing pace, this time letting you meet his advances. The sight of his large hands over you was insanely erotic; his size and strength captured in a repetitive picture, your muscles contracting as you tried to encourage him to give your more. The pleas seamlessly blending with his name were falling from your lips as the pressure inside you built and built, the wicked curl of his fingers nearly having you reach for the stars.

“Oh my god, oh my god, Steve-“

“Watch, sweetheart,” he reminded you feverishly, the blue of his irises nearly swallowed by his blown pupils, dark, pleased and unabashedly on you taking his fingers one moment, on your face contorted with pleasure next, the sheer hunger in his gaze aimed at you only adding fuel to the heat in your abdomen.

You tried to keep your eyes on your pair, you truly did, just to please him, just to gain more. It earned you a whispered praise to your ear, a sucking kiss on your throat and circling motions on your clit.

That had you were done for. Your eyes fluttered close as you clenched around Steve’s fingers with a breathless cry, ecstasy exploding inside you and lighting your body on fire.

You could feel Steve’s burning gaze on your still, but he didn’t push you again, didn’t deny you just because you didn’t give him what you couldn’t at the moment, too wrapped in your bliss. Of course, he didn’t. He was still Steve; much filthier than you imagined, but still himself. Warm and safe, holding you close when his motions slowed down, prolonging your pleasure, still supporting your weight when your legs nearly gave out. Chuckling silently with an adoring soft kiss to your jaw when you breathed out a thank you, thinking about the fact he caught you, probably sounding as if you were thanking him for absolutely ruining you with his fingers only, not so subtly showing you that you might not survive when he’d turn it up a notch and actually took you.

“You’re beautiful, doll,” he whispered into your hair, carefully pulling out his fingers as not to hurt you. “Even more beautiful that I imagined.”

You shuddered, unable to respond with words, turning around and chasing his lips instead. He obliged and kissed you sweetly, wrapping his arms around you close, only now having you realize he was still fully clothed himself. And that the way his had cock pressed against his slacks must have been painful at this point. For that reason alone – that he put your pleasure before his, as you knew he would – you would sink to your knees in an instant if your core wasn’t already throbbing for him.

“I want you,” you said against his mouth, revelling in his smile and the playful nip on your lower lip he graced you with upon your admission.

“Good. Because I need you. I need to see those pretty lips parted for me and unable to speak anything but my name when I fill you up so well you’ll never even think about another man again,” he said slowly, letting every heavy syllable sink into your skin and have your already racing heart nearly give out – and letting your lips loose.

“Yes. Please.”

When you suddenly found yourself in the air, held firmly in his arms and carried to the bed, you couldn’t find the shame in you to be bashful about your needs.

Because when he sunk into you and delivered on his promises, you felt like you entered another plane of existence. When his hands grabbed onto you, his body an art piece you could feast your eyes on and touch, you suddenly understood his need for a mirror, for a glimpse from every angle, the absolute beauty of your bodies together as one, of seeing him lose himself to pleasure of his own.

His chants of endearments, praise and mine echoed in your ears, your lips indeed only remembering to speak his name, whisper it and scream it. When he lifted you to your high two more times, filling you with his spent to make you his indeed, you knew that you would be his forever; you had been for a long, long time.

“You’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine…”

“Yours, I am yours.”

Blinking your eyes open, you slowly realized you never knew darkness could feel so violent to your eyes. Steve’s deeply concerned gaze was firm on you, frown settled in his brows, both hands on your biceps holding you as if you were about to pass out any second.

His relieved breath brushed over your face, shoulders sagging.

“Thank god, Shines. I was starting to get worried. Are you alright? It’s like you went to a completely different place for a moment there.”

Why were you standing? You had been just lying down, the heat of Steve’s skin seeping into yours from your back and his arm wrapped around your middle as you had fallen asleep.

“What?” you rasped, feeling the ghost of the soreness in your throat as you nearly lost your voice having screamed his name. You blinked again as the image of his beautifully red parted lips trembling with your name flickered in front of you, disappearing just as fast – replaced by him growing worried by the minute.

In a closet. You were in a closet. The sound of idly chat and chuckles dimmed by the walls of the closet reached your ears. The party was still in a sleepy swing; a stupid game was still on.

The realization was like a bucket of icy water dumped on your heated body, all-consuming confusion swallowing all your thoughts.

But… how? You--- that wasn’t- you had been to Steve’s room. He had—- he had kissed you, right here, a dream coming true when he admitted he was still thinking of you and was ready to act on it, his hot soft lips, his hands, deliciously long thick fingers, wickedly dextrous as they sneaked between your legs, opened you up for his--- he had stretched you so good, in every way imaginable, his gaze so dark as he watched you both in the mirror, so sweetly and devilishly delighted at filling you up to the brim, making you his-

“Okay, that’s it, Shines. We’re out of here-”

“No!” you blurted out, horror seizing you at the mere thought of coming out to the light right now. With you face flushed; with your core painfully empty and slick even as the aftershocks of your orgasms, having felt so real, turned from echo of pleasure to mortifying all-consuming shame. “No, no, it’s fine! I’m fine. I just… I must have had too much to drink and zoned out.”

“You didn’t drink that much,” Steve opposed swiftly, his gaze so unnerving, and could he just stop, stop looking at you like he cared, so sweet and nice and so frustratingly not yours even if the affection in his gestures felt all the same as in whatever fucked-up dream experience you just had just been through. “We should-“

“Please, don’t-- they’re never gonna let us live this down if we bail,” you argued lamely, unconvincing even to your own ears, feeling tears burn in your eyes and desperately trying to stop them from showing.

“Fuck that. It’s just a stupid game.”

‘Fuck, look at you. I can’t wait to see you take my cock. You’ll be as pretty as a picture…’ echoed in your ears, so crystal clear you would have sworn it had happened – but what other evidence did you need that it was just a wild creation of your mind?

Steve didn’t love you. Steve didn’t want you this way. It had never happened. You were still in this closet in the dark, blinded by the light his persona, this time annoyed since the light only hurt your eyes.

And you heart. Your stupid little foolish heart.

“…yeah. Yeah, just a stupid game. Just… so so stupid,” you muttered, no longer talking about the game – and unable to stop the tears from coming anymore.

You laughed bitterly, understanding nothing, but not caring, even more irked at the alarmed expression on Steve’s face when he noticed the few glistening drops rolling down your cheeks.

“Shines… what is it? What can I do to make it better?”

His hands, having been burning a brand onto your biceps, shifted, one caressing your arm, the other rising to your face; and you couldn’t take it. You couldn’t take the touch, not when it meant less than what you wanted and needed, not when his fingertips brushed your cheek as if it was something precious to him – not when you knew it wasn’t.

You stepped back out of his reach hastily, your back hitting the wall; but not without catching the flash of hurt on his face when you rejected the affection and comfort he was offering.

“I’m sor-“ The words died in your throat, the sudden almost electric shift in the air making your hair stand on end.

As fast as if you snapped your fingers, Steve was no longer looking at you.

In fact, he wasn’t looking at anything.

Your stomach dropped.

“…Steve?”

Your whisper was tentative, but your step forward was not. Heart thundering in your chest, your eyes roamed his suddenly expressionless face. What the hell was happening?

Gulping, you reached out for his hand with yours; but as you squeezed, his hand remained limp by his side.

“Steve, can you hear me?”

Frustration and shame swiftly forgotten, your fingers slid to his wrist, feeling for his pulse. It fluttered under your touch like a hummingbird; but with how fast your own heart was beating, it might have been that you could feel your own.

You went to a completely different place for a moment there, you recalledhis words, real words, right after you found him observing you with concern rather than pulling you to his bare chest after an intense session of fucking.

Whatever had happened to you, be it blamed on alcohol or anything else, was clearly happening to him now. That or you accidentally triggered some kind of a flashback with the way you had reacted. If you had, you’d never forgive it yourself; but you’d have time to feel like an asshole later. Now, Steve needed your help. Fast.

Except you had no idea what was actually taking place in here, let alone how to solve it.

“Yeah, fuck this game.”

You were not going to stay here another second. Not when Steve, sweet kind Steve who deserved the world, was stuck in some strange trance you might have caused.

You were just about to bang on the door of the closet with all your might when a gasp for air had your head snap back to Steve so quickly you almost gave yourself a whiplash.

Your hands were on his arms to steady him before you could think about it twice. Relief flooded your body when his gaze unmistakably found yours, even if he stared at your wide-eyed, clearly rattled by whatever had just happened.

“Shines?” he rasped, blinking a few times as if to adjust his sight to the darkness again, following the lines of your arms to where you were holding onto him with confusion. You swiftly dropped your hands, his frown only deepening at that.

“Sorry. Are you okay?”

“I--- I think so?”

The uncertainty in his voice and the suddenly unreadable emotion in his face made a lump grow in your throat.

“Yeah, the fact that this sounds more like a question than an answer really tells me you were right,” you stated, feeling small as you saw Steve had trouble finding his footing. As his friend, you had the privilege to see him vulnerable more often than the general public, but that didn’t mean the fact he seemed clueless and slightly lost now was still unsettling. “We should get out of here, right now. You were staring blank ahead for at least a minute. You really scared me, Steve.”

His eyebrows shot up as he learned that was what happened.

“I was…? That’s what-- you scared me too. You were staring into space before too... What happened to you in that time?” Steve queried, gently despite obviously being affected himself. “Do you… do you remember any of it?”

You let out a small distressed noise, heat of shame flooding your body all over again.

Yeah, no. You were not going to tell him what exactly happened, regretfully only in your head.

You rarely lied so blatantly, less so to Steve, but these were desperate times. You’d rather keep at last some of your dignity.

You licked your lips. “I… I just zoned out. And then suddenly you were here, asking if I was sure I was okay. You?”

His eyes searched your face for a moment as if he could sense your lie – or at least lack of complete honesty. Yet, he didn’t press, swallowing loudly instead and giving you a shaky smile.

“…yeah. Yeah, same. That was… strange.”

No kidding. You believed him losing consciousness the way he had was strange indeed.

Except when you zoned out, you dreamed of a world where Steve railed you into oblivion while watching you both in a mirror. Until now, you thought that shoving you against a wall and hauling you up in those enormous arms and railing you like that would be more than enough to satisfy your cravings, but apparently you were wrong. But never mind that, right? You could be flexible… flexible enough, in more ways than just one. God knew sex with a man as fit as Steve might require some stretching.

You licked your lips again, mouth feeling dry at the memory. And yet. It wasn’t all a memory. He still was so close, watching so intently. Almost as if… no.

You laughed without a trace of humour.

“Yeah, well, maybe Stark laced the walls with something when he was closing the door-“ your voice trailed off, eyes growing wide as you entertained the wild thought. “Actually, you know what, I wouldn’t even be surprised.”

Honestly, it would be a perfectly plausible explanation. In fact, you wanted that to be the explanation; it shifted the blame. You and Tony could share the blame for the inappropriate images still flashing in your mind at least.

Not to mention that theorizing was the most welcomed distraction you could get in the tiny space growing hotter by the minute, full of Steve’s masculine scent seeping into your skin and making your underwear even damper by the second.

“Hm…” Steve hummed, intrigued, his concern melting into outrage. “Loki suggested the game and made the closet. Whatever happened could be on him.”

You frowned at the implication, instinctively protective of the god of mischief; Tony was the kind of guy who would pull this kind of shenanigans using precisely the fact Loki might end up being blamed while he’d laugh his ass off.

“Tony didn’t exactly protest, maybe he just jumped at the chance.”

“Hold on a second… do you think they would team up? To deliver some sort of an advanced Halloween prank?”

Your first instinct was to say no. The thought was absurd. Loki and Tony tolerated each other at best, Tony being one of the people having the hardest time forgiving Loki for the destruction he had once caused… when it suited him. Other times… well.

“I’m…” you hesitated, “I’m not sure, actually. But I know I’m not laughing.” For sure.

Steve face was serious as he observed you, worry creeping into his expression again – you only hoped he forgot all about your earlier outburst, even as you were aware that was very unlikely.

“Can’t say I do. Once we’re out, this game is over.”

“Yeah, good idea,” you agreed instantly. “Are you sure that you’re okay?”

He seemed a little flushed, a little shell-shocked still. Then again, you imagined you did too. At least you hoped you did; you hoped Steve couldn’t read you like a book… and you hoped Wanda was smart enough not to enter your mind while you were in here.

Oh god, Wanda.

“Yeah… but that’s only cause it’s not a terrible imposition to be here with you of all people,” Steve said lightly, a ghost of a genuine smile curling up his lips, an unvoluntary smirk passing over yours at his choice of words.

“Well, I’m honoured not to be a terrible imposition to you, Captain,” you sassed, unable to stop the warmth spreading in your chest. “I suppose there are worse people to get stuck with.”

“Such a compliment,” he threw back readily, eyes twinkling. Minutely – and you would swear it – his gaze flickered to your lips.

You heart started racing. You only imagined it. There was no way. Was there? Or…?

“Shines, I… there’s something I think I should tell you,” Steve said slowly, voice turning surprisingly soft.

You blinked, the feeling of déjà-vu hitting you like a train. You had to be dreaming again. There was no way he said those words, not so tenderly, not-

The door opened so suddenly you had to squint against the flood of light; light as harsh as the truth, overtaking all of your senses.

You stumbled out of the tight space with a deep breath, the colder air sobering you up fast. Whatever Steve was about to say, it didn’t matter; it was probably your mind playing tricks on you again and if it wasn’t, it was probably just words of consolidation he came up with at the spot, an attempt to sooth whatever had bothered you before. Nothing more.

Because whatever you had fantasied about in the closet, it was just that: a fantasy. True, one you weren’t aware you had, but a fantasy nonetheless.

Steve had long moved on from asking you out two years ago. Whatever could have been, you had missed your chance then; he was just being friendly. He tried to offer comfort, because that was what he did. Even when you hurt him by your rejection of it, even when he was rattled himself by whatever he had experienced, he tried to comfort you again what could be two minutes later, because that was what good friends did.

Not a terrible imposition – that was what he said, after all. Even as you knew he probably chose the words on purpose to distract you and amuse you, it was not exactly a declaration of love. There was nothing but friendship between you, not from his side and that meant you would keep it that way unless you were ready to risk it all.

Which was going to be never.

As Steve firmly announced that the game was over, contrary to the booing from several Avengers, you wondered what it would take to rename the stupid activity to Seven Minutes in Hell.

Part 2

Steve Rogers masterlist

Complete masterlist

Thank you for reading 🥰 I hope you had fun! Leave feedback if you have the energy and time, we love interaction in this house💕

I suppose this is where you could end it, but you won't find the what the heck actually happened and how - and what will happen next 👀 I hope to post part 2 soon since it's almost done 🎃 If you enjoyed and wish to be tagged, let me know :)

Prompt: 7 Minutes in… Where?: You know the game. Only when you and your significant other are locked in the closet for 7 minutes, you’re transported somewhere else.

Many thanks for Jamie for hosting this challenge and stirring this sleepy fandom to life 🥰

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers lemons #steve rogers #captain america #JamiesHalloween2023 #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #seven minutes #anika ann

168 notes · View notes

roosterbruiser · 9 months

Text

𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 — 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

—𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄'𝐒 𝐀 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄'𝐒 𝐀 𝐖𝐀𝐘. —𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟕.𝟗𝐊 —𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 —𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐀𝐊𝐒, 𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟑𝐑𝐃, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

There are five bodies lying in the mess hall at Camp Arcadia, which is nestled in the desolate woods of Great Oakes, Maine. It is a long, long hike to town and there is a partially burnt dead tree lying in the middle of the path out still.

Standing here in the mess hall, the heat nibbling on your ears and clouding your lungs, you keep counting the corpses as if the number is going to change. As if you aren’t the one that brought all of them in here with Coyote. It is elementary to count--one of the first skills you learned, unfurling your lumbering fingers to form crooked three’s and seven’s. But you’re just not sure what else to do but look down at them and count.

It was your idea to have all of them in here together.

Fear is what woke you up--early in the morning, before the sun rose, when Jake had just nodded off after assuring himself that you were out. He’d watched you for as long as he could, his back pulsing dully and his eyes drooping. He’d even pushed through Coyote’s snoring, which he didn’t realize he’d missed until he heard the first distinct grumble.

You suddenly tore out of your slumber with a gasp, sitting up on your elbows, heart beating erratically out of your chest. And, really, you couldn’t discern what was wrong for a moment. You were safe in your cabin. Coyote was snoring and Jake was breathing. The kids were with Phoenix, safely tucked into their beds. There was no more maniac to worry about. You were finally sleeping.

Then you pictured it: Bob alone on the bus in the dark underneath the jackets and without his arm. Bradley alone in the nurse’s office with his face turned away from the window. Reuben and Mickey in the woods a few feet apart from each other in the dark. Paul’s body face-down in the middle of the desolate woods.

Never mind the rot and the bugs and the wild animals. Never mind everything that is cerebral, sensible. You were worried--agonized, really--about the people you love being alone.

So, not a moment after you woke up, you were slinking out of the cot with your heart in your throat and gently shaking Javy’s shoulder until he was blinking himself awake.

“Javy,” you whispered. He squinted in the dark, yawning, just barely able to make out your familiar silhouette. “We have to go get them.”

“Who?” Javy had asked, still half-asleep. “The kids?”

“Bob, Mickey, Reuben, Bradley, and Paul,” you whispered.

Saying their names felt like swishing a mouthful of tacks and biting down hard. You swallowed with difficulty your throat still numb with grief, and wondered if your gums were bleeding.

Javy sat up a little straighter, eyebrows coming together.

“Right now?” He asked. “What’s the matter?”

Immediately, his mind pulsed with sulfur. Maybe you’d heard coyotes crying in the distance--or a bear rummaging around in the bus barn. He couldn’t bear the thought of something else happening to his friends, even if he knew they wouldn’t be able to feel it.

“I’m not gonna be able to fall back asleep if we don’t,” you told him.

He slumped in his chair slightly, sighing.

“Why are you so amped? The sun hasn’t even come up yet. Can’t you chill? Besides…” Coyote sighed, pressing his palms to his eyes. “Aren’t you worn out?”

A moment flitted by--quiet as ever before.

You sucked in a deep breath and shook your head.

“They’re on their own,” you whispered, shaking your head in the dark again. “I can’t…I can’t bear the thought.”

Once you said it--they’re on their own--Javy suddenly had an identical fear. Forget bears and coyotes. Yes, they’re alone. Your friends are dead--but more than dead, they’re all by themselves. They can’t be out there by themselves.

“Shit,” Coyote whispered, shaking his head. “Anyone ever told you that you’re pretty convincing?”

“No,” you said back quietly.

Bob was first. The sun was beginning to rise and it was already hot--mosquitoes were swarming, biting your shoulders. But all the same, you climbed onto the bus before Coyote and stood at Bob’s body. And he was there, under all the jackets, waiting for you.

“Let’s move ‘im before Nix gets up and at ‘em,” Coyote insisted, shaking his head softly. “He would’ve…I mean, he really would’ve hated how badly this hurts her.”

You nodded. You were almost glad for a moment that he was dead, because he would rather be dead than watch her suffer.

“That would’ve killed him,” you whispered.

Then it was Bradley.

Lying in the nurse’s office, all his blood and your blood dried, his head turned away from the sun. What struck you as so peculiar when you saw him was that his eyes were slipped shut as if he was only basking in the warmth for a moment. The soles of your shoes were sticking to the dried blood on the floor, but that wasn’t what stopped you dead in your tracks. What stopped you dead in your tracks, stuck still and staring at him, was the thought of him opening his eyes and turning towards you with a sultry grin.

“Christ, didn’t even hear you coming, birdie! Trying to give an old man a heart attack?” He’d have said. He would’ve really beamed at you, holding his finger with the tiniest of splinters up to you. “I’ll give you the download--I’m hurt real bad. I need you in a bad way. ”

He didn’t move though. He stayed where he was, still and silent.

“You okay?” Coyote asked. He debated resting his hand on your shoulder, watching your dull eyes as they gazed upon Bradley’s body for the first time since yesterday. “Do you want me to do this one?”

“No,” you’d answered quickly, not looking away from Bradley. “I told him I’d say until he was gone.”

“He is gone,” Coyote whispered to you, brows knit.

That was the first time he was scared that you--you who had almost single-handedly ended the horror at camp, you who had been nearly choked to death and still had the strength and gall to be chased through the woods, you who had somehow saved all the campers and him and Jake and Phoenix--were beginning to fold.

You swallowed hard, eyes twitching as you blinked at Bradley. There was a vague incredulousness to your gaze.

“But he’s right here,” you whispered. “I had him…right here.”

How could he be gone if he was right there within the reach of your fingertips? How were those ears, the ones he always teased piercing, un-hearing? Couldn’t he hear the swallows crying and the mourning dove singing? How could he be gone when he was only just there?

Coyote laid his palm on your shoulder. You were rigid beneath his touch.

“Do you wanna leave him here?” He asked quietly.

He glanced at Bradley and his belly turned. Part of him was mourning him--one of his closest friends suddenly dead right before him. And the other part of him, a small and strange part, was relieved. Not because Bradley was dead--but because it was over. He would not go to prison. He would not kill anymore. He would stay wherever the two of you put him.

“No,” you whispered, rubbing your face. “He can’t be alone forever.”

Coyote followed you through the woods, stepping over gnarled tree roots and ducking beneath the low limbs of American beech trees, to Paul’s body. The sun was shining brightly then, the clock racing towards mid-morning, and Paul’s body was crumpled and blood-soaked.

“Poor old man,” Coyote whispered.

You had nothing to say.

“He knew about the original massacre,” you whispered to Coyote, sniffling. You were watching the sun beat down on Paul’s gray skin. “Why do you think he stuck around?”

“Beats the Hell outta me,” Coyote responded. “Maybe he was one of them true crime fanatics.”

“Or he had a death wish,” you said softly.

Coyote recoiled at your words.

“We should’ve…maybe we should’ve come and gotten him when things first got ugly,” Coyote said. “Maybe he could’ve…”

Another should’ve. Another could’ve. You’re up to your ears in should’ve’s and could’ve’s.

“Fat chance,” you whispered.

And you sounded heartless when you said it, but you weren’t. Paul wouldn’t have survived. He was too old, too slow. There was no more room on the bus. You couldn’t have saved him.

Then the two of you walked tentatively down the trail where you knew you would find Reuben and Mickey, no longer afraid that someone was just further down the road, ducked behind a tree and lying in wait.

And you found them there, just as Damien had told you, not even two miles down the trail. They were only a few feet away from each other, strewn across the gravel like sacks of flour.

“They didn’t leave each other,” you quietly said to Javy.

It was just as he’d told you. They never left each other’s sides.

Sweat dripped down your face. You wiped your brow.

“Does that make you feel better?” Javy whispered to you.

“No,” you said.

“Ditto,” Coyote whispered back.

Leaning down, you picked up the walkie that was lying only an inch from Mickey’s hand. Within an inch of his life. And when you saw Mickey’s face, frozen in its final expression of terror, you could almost hear your name falling off his lips and puncturing the air.

When you walked back, Mickey’s weight heavy in your arms, fragments of skull crunched beneath your feet. They were almost indistinguishable from the gravel. You pretended not to notice Coyote’s tears.

Once the bodies were all in the hall, nestled in beside each other, you left Javy alone to gaze at them. He was still wiping beneath his eyes, shaking his head, unable to let his gaze linger on any one person for too long.

“Gale! Where you going?” He called out, but you were already crossing the courtyard and heading towards the cabins. “Gale!”

He figured that you were going to check on Jake. Maybe you were finally going to shower. Or maybe you were just going to be by yourself for a minute. He had yet to see you cry--he wasn’t sure what to gather from that yet.

But then you returned a few minutes later with a heap of flannel sheets in your arms.

The two of you covered each of the bodies carefully. Neither of you made light of the fact that it would be the last time either of you would see the faces of the people you loved. It would’ve been impossible to slide the sheets over their eyes, even if they were stained with blood. How could the two of you say goodbye to these people you didn’t even know were leaving?

You covered Bradley last, on your knees and dressed with an indiscernible expression. It dawned on you, just as you pulled the sheet to his chin, that it was the closest to a funeral he’d ever get. No parents. No siblings. No girlfriend. Only you. You and whoever else was left.

So, you paused. You looked down at his face, which was more bruised now. Violet and gray. His face was still unmistakably his face, though. It made your belly turn to think of never seeing it again this close to yours.

Bradley hadn’t ever told you his religion. You weren’t sure if he had one. Religion made you too dizzy to think about now, anyway. But you felt that there must be something--something close to an utterance of a prayer or a hymn--that you could say to him. Even if his ears weren’t hearing anymore.

It was only a moment until the memory of the bonfire graced the forefront of your memory. Warm and bright, when you were a little drunk and a lot high, when everyone was eating s’mores and the campers were sleeping and you were dancing. When Bradley was strumming his guitar and singing Joni Mitchell and watching you, his eyes alight with joy.

Maybe it was one of the last moments he was himself.

“I could drink a case of you, darling,” you whispered to him very seriously. You paused, choked up, and slid your hand through his curls. Still so soft, so thick. You could still smell the sweat on his scalp. “And still I’d be on my feet.”

Then you covered his face. And you never saw that face again--not with your naked eyes close to his. Only in dreams and photographs and murky memories.

Coyote was already gone by then, clenching his jaw tightly and walking across the courtyard to be with Jake and breathe in the fresh air. He was tired of being around death. He was tired of being soiled with blood. He was tired of watching you hurt.

You left, too.

Walking quietly and silently out of the mess hall and into the sunshine, you swallowed all the thick saliva coating your tongue and teeth and wished that it wasn’t so hot already. If not because of the sweat already gathering on your neck then because it would speed up the decomposition--

You had to rub your eyes until black and purple and pink spotted your vision to chase the thought away. Stop thinking about rot. Stop thinking about rot. Stop thinking about rot.

A few of the campers were beginning to crowd the courtyard, playing meagerly as Phoenix sat off to the side with her legs drawn to her chest, her cheeks resting atop her knees. She had woken up in her bunk, well-rested for the first night in a long time, and had almost felt peaceful as she listened to the sweet snoring of the campers and the swallows calling.

Then, as if someone had thrown a wet sheet over her face, she remembered that Bob Floyd was dead. And with wet, wet grief blanketing her and water in her lungs, she sunk back into her pillows and wept as quietly as she could. She did not wake any of the campers.

Phoenix watched you as you rubbed your eyes. You were swaying in your step, looking about ready to fall over if a gust of wind blew you too hard. And she watched you suddenly stop, blink yourself back into reality, then start towards the showers.

Good, she thought. You deserved a shower after everything.

She watched the children for a few more minutes, making sure no one wandered. But then she thought of you--all alone in the shower stalls, finally getting out of your soiled clothing, scraping the blood off you like a second skin. There would be places on your body that you would not be able to reach--like the back of your neck, between your shoulder blades, behind your ears. You wouldn’t be able to get clean on your own.

And with that thought, Phoenix walked over to your cabin. Jake was in bed, looking pinker in the cheeks and brighter in the eyes, eating a piece of toast. Javy was sitting in the chair beside him, listlessly looking down at his hands, trying to blink the image of Bradley’s body out of his vision.

“Hey,” she greeted--her voice was soft.

Javy glanced up at her, eyes glassy. He was taken aback that she was up and around. Earlier, he’d seen her positively mopey as she watched the children play. He understood. Of course he did.

“Hey,” Jake said back with a mouthful of toast. He coughed softly and managed a small smile. “How’re things?”

“Dandy,” Phoenix said back without smiling, glancing at Coyote. “Can you watch the ankle-biters? I’m gonna help Gale.”

“She alright?” Jake asked. His heart was suddenly in his throat as he adjusted himself, sitting up straighter on the bed, wincing. “Where is she--?”

“Cool it, Clydesdale,” Coyote said to Jake, sighing as he sat up and stretched. “I just saw her headed for the bathroom. You gonna shower, too, Nix?”

Phoenix just swallowed.

“Yeah,” she answered.

She didn’t knock on the door of the bathroom--she just walked in. And you were there, still dressed, standing just outside of the stream of the shower. Steam plumed around you like a thick fog.

You didn’t turn around to see who was there. You didn’t care to. It didn’t matter.

What mattered is that you were finally standing in the bathroom, ready to wash yourself clean of your blood and Bradley’s and Bob’s and Paul’s and Jake’s, and you couldn’t make your feet move. Your sneakers were suddenly made of solid silver--glued to the tiles.

“Hey,” Phoenix said softly. She adjusted uncomfortably, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. “I figured you might need…”

“My clothes are beyond help, I think,” you said softly to Phoenix, glancing down at your dungarees and button-up. And you were right--no amount of laundry detergent, no amount of elbow grease could restore them to what they once were. The blue will always be tinted red. “I don’t know if I should take them off.”

“You should,” Phoenix said softly. “It would feel better.”

Feel better. That strikes you as funny. Your father’s chicken soup used to make you feel better. Wool socks. Orchid-scented candles. A new bottle of perfume. Fresh scrubs. Brushing your teeth. Kevin Bacon in Footloose.

But now, in the after, you weren’t sure there was anything that would ever dull the ache in your bones. You weren’t sure there was anything on this green earth that would ever make you forget Bradley closing his eyes and slipping away as you held him close to your body.

All the same, though, you didn’t fight Phoenix when she set a hand on your shoulder.

“I’ll help you,” she said.

And all you could say, with tears brimming your waterline, was okay.

Carefully, you unhooked your dungarees and Phoenix pulled the straps off your shoulders. When you let them fall--finally fall--they puddled in a red and blue heap at your feet.

“I’ve got them,” Phoenix insisted. “Step out.”

You unbuttoned your shirt with quivering fingers as she pushed your soiled overalls aside, straightening her posture and holding her hand out to take your shirt from you.

But you hesitated for a moment before slipping out of the shirt. It had been on you for days. It had been on your body since the night you had given yourself to Bradley, when Bob lost his arm, when everything started to go wrong.

“It’s alright,” Phoenix insisted. She swallowed hard herself, nodding at you like you’re some sort of creature she had to convince. “I’ll take it.”

Quivering, you took it off. And for the first time in days, your bare skin touched warm and wet air. Something tickled your spine, something between a tingle and a shiver. Phoenix took the crumpled shirt and you hesitantly walked towards the water.

Wanting to give you privacy, Phoenix glanced down at your shirt. It used to be powder blue and flowy. And when she was holding it then, as you very gingerly dipped your fingers beneath the boiling stream, it was red and stiff.

“Merry-Go-Round,” Phoenix said, reading the tag. You turned to her, eyebrows knit, arms beneath the stream finally. Phoenix swallowed, softly smiling at you. “You’re bougie. I’m more of a Debs girl.”

At first, you just stared at her. Bloody water was beginning to circle the drain as it melted off your forearms and hands. Phoenix was still smiling, unsure of herself and her words, but determined to give you a kind face to look at.

“It was on clearance,” you told her.

And then the both of you laughed. First it was you--a crack in the delicate porcelain, a throaty thing that bubbled up from your belly. Then it was Phoenix--sweet relief, breathy, quiet. It echoed off the tiles, hid beneath the stream, mingled in the steam, circled the drain dressed in pink and dark red.

But then as you stepped forward into the water, biting your quivering lip, your throaty laughter faded. Suddenly your eyes were prickling with tears and your cheeks were burning and the water wasn’t hot enough to wash away all the filth you felt caking your being and you were tired and your lips were stinging.

Phoenix stopped laughing when she noticed that you were weeping. And instead of bringing light to the matter, instead of asking you what was wrong--which she decided was fruitless--she picked up the bar of soap and lathered it in her hands.

She didn’t mind that her clothes were wet as she stood close to you and your jerking shoulders and swollen face. She didn’t mind that spit was leaking from your cracked lips as you cried.

She just washed the places you couldn’t reach.

Now, you’re alone in the mess hall again, counting and recounting all these bodies. You’re clean finally, hair still dripping cold water down the back of your neck, dressed in a pair of ringer shorts and your STAFF shirt from a few summers ago.

Five. That’s more bodies than there were Beatles. That’s every single finger on one hand. It’s the number of all human senses. It’s the number of years you have to live before you’re allowed to pack a paper bag lunch and finger paint all day. Five.

“Miss Nightingale?”

Turning, pausing on three--Paul--and biting the inside of your cheek, you meet Mable’s weary gaze. She’s backlit by sunlight, which is vivid and unholy, stooping softly because she’s unsure if you’re going to chastise her for coming into the canteen. In her hands, which are trembling, she has a bundle of delicate plum-colored irises.

Moving off your hands and knees and into a crouching position, you shake your head softly at her. Your face is still kind, though. Looking at Mable now, that little lost girl who everyone mocked, your heart aches.

“You don’t wanna be in here, honey,” you say quietly. “It’s not for kids.”

You’re the only counselor who can stomach this.

But Mable can, too.

“I brought some flowers,” she says after a moment, glancing down at the quivering petals. She sniffles and then looks back at you. Your eyes are wide and your face is finally clean. You’re beautiful--a fact that exists always, even when you’re covered in blood. She glances down at your throat and looks at the bruises that lay there like a necklace. They’re the same color as the flowers. “They’re irises.”

Now you glance at the irises. They're still wet with morning dew.

“Oh,” you whisper. You sniffle, biting your lip hard enough to taste blood. “They sure are pretty.”

Hesitantly, she steps forward. You don’t tell her to stop. You don’t shake your head at her. You don’t so much as narrow your eyes at her. And for Mable, that’s as good as an invitation for her to come forward.

The air in the mess hall is muggy and musty--a scent she recognizes from her dog’s fur when he rolls in something rotten in the backyard. Yes, that is what it smells like. Rot. Something rotten. But she keeps coming towards you.

“There’s flowers at funerals, right?” She asks you, glancing at the sheet-covered bodies. THe hairs on the back of her neck are raised, but she continues marching forward. “That’s why I…brought them.”

“That’s nice,” you whisper. When she’s close enough, you stand up and go to her so she doesn’t have to get any closer to the bodies. Taking the flowers, you inspect them a bit closer. There’s a few ants crawling on the stem and petals, erratic. You don’t flick them away. “But this isn’t a funeral, sweetheart. They’re not gonna…stay here.”

“I know,” Mable says, looking down at her shoes. She scuffs the wide-plank floors and shrugs. “We aren’t staying here, right?”

“No,” you quickly say to her. You sigh, closing your eyes. “Mister Coyote and Miss Phoenix are going to Mister Paul’s cabin to see if he has an old radio.”

“A HAM radio?” Mable asks. You nod, mouth dry. “My Papa had a HAM radio. We used to gab on it, like, all the time in the shed.”

Twisting the flowers in your fingers, ears ringing, you nod. Everyone’s grandpa has a HAM radio, you’re sure.

“We’ll call for help if we can find one,” you tell her.

She nods with another little shrug.

The other campers are playing outside, laughing with their mouths wide open and their hair stinking of grass and lake water. The sun is high in the sky and the wind is blowing in the trees and the ground is hot. It is a perfect day.

“My Papa died,” Mable says, bringing her eyebrows together. She plays with the skin around her fingernails, unable to meet your soft gaze. “He liked irises a lot. It’s what he…well, it’s what him and Meemaw named my mama when she was born. Iris. We put them on his grave every year.”

You just watch her, eyebrows blanched and heart steadily pounding. She looks so small right now--so much smaller than she looked when she said Mister Jake would die, when she was carried away from the mess hall. Her arm is still wrapped where Rooster sliced her--the bandage is clean. No more blood oozes from the wound.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you whisper. “Iris is a pretty name.”

“He always told us about the Greek goddess Iris. Do you know her?” She briefly glances up at you and you shake your head softly. “She was a messenger between Heaven and earth. She would…take people that died up to Heaven. Be their friend on the way. That’s why Meemaw planted all of ‘em around his grave. She said it would…oh. What’s the word when you call something?”

And suddenly, Mable has reminded you who the camper is and who the counselor is.

“Summon,” you tell her.

She nods.

“Yes. Summon. The flowers summon her and she takes them with her,” Mable says. She glances at the bodies. “There’s enough for us to give them all one.”

With your tongue thick with tears, you glance at the bodies. Right where you left them.

“Oh,” you whisper, looking down at the flowers in your hands.

“Flowers can feel like talking to God sometimes,” she says.

She can picture her mother, clear as day, bending over the thick stems of her father’s grave and saying hi, daddy. And with a sudden and horrible ache in her chest, she realizes just how bad she wants to go home.

With the sound of children playing and birds singing and leaves rustling flooding the air you occupy, you pad across the wooden floors and carefully lay one plum-colored iris on each of the bodies.

And then you stand back, heat in your cheeks, and look at them all. Flowers on plaid sheets. Bodies lying on the floor. It is enough to turn your stomach.

“Miss Nightingale?” She whispers. You hum, but don’t look over at Mable. “Is this gonna happen again?”

“No,” you tell her. You’re determined as you wipe beneath your eyes and dry your hands of dew on your cloth shorts. “I won’t let it.”

“How?” Mable asks you.

“I don’t know yet,” you whisper. “But I’ll figure it out.”

♀

When Phoenix and Coyote come back, they’re empty-handed and hollow-chested.

Not every grandpa has a HAM radio.

They find you standing just outside the mess hall, watching the children play. Your eyes are drooping but shining beneath the glittering sun, and your jaw is flexed as you bite down hard on your own molars. The bruises around your throat are wildly apparent now that there is no blood to shroud it.

“Nothing,” Phoenix says to you as soon as you’re in earshot.

You turn to her, eyebrows drawn. You glance at Coyote, who shakes his head, then look down at your feet.

“Not even a walkie? A landline?”

“Nope,” Coyote sighs, heaving himself onto the ground. He fingers the gravel below him and watches a game of Tag unfold before him. “That was pointless.”

You chew the inside of your cheek.

“What are we gonna do?” Phoenix whispers.

“Mav and Penny--!” Coyote starts.

He’s interrupted by the immediate shaking of your head.

“We’re gonna run out of food by then,” you whisper. You glance at the mess hall. “And the bodies are gonna start to…”

They can fill in the blanks themselves. Smell. Rot. Decompose.

“Gnarly,” Coyote whispers, rubbing his face. “So…we’re fucked.”

“This is just…so our luck, isn’t it?” Phoenix says with a pitiful and strained laugh. You and Coyote look at her as a few tears flood ehr waterline. Just being so close to Bob makes her emotional--that and the crippling fear of being found when it’s too late. “We…we fight our way out, tooth and goddamn nail, and still! Still we’re…screwed. Totally screwed.”

“We’re not…” you start. But you don’t know how to finish the sentence. “There must be another way for us to get a message out.”

“Well, the phones are still out. There’s no HAM radio. None of us are in any condition to make the hike out. We’re in the middle fo nowhere. Nowhere!” Coyote groans. “I’d say that’s as close to fucked as fucked gets.”

Saying nothing, you swallow hard. There’s a lump in your throat.

It’s hard to even imagine a world outside of this one right now. A world without a mess hall, a nurse’s cabin, a cluster of camper cabins, a latrine. No canoes and no lake. A world without five bodies covered in sheets with a single flower on their chests.

“What if someone took a canoe across the lake?” Phoenix asks, biting her lip. “Where would that take us?”

“To woods and more woods,” Coyote answers. He points towards the mouth of the trail. “That is the way to civilization.”

Phoenix follows his finger and sighs.

“Civilization,” she repeats, shaking her head. “We’re gonna have to be reintegrated into society like a bunch of wild animals.”

A smile tugs on Coyote’s lips. He glances at Phoenix and she is smiling, too--a soft and meager thing, one that is ready to flee at the first sign of protest. But he just nudges her with his shoulder.

“What will we tell the cops?” You ask. They both look at you. “Now that he’s…I mean, they can’t…”

“We should just tell them that Bradley did it,” Phoenix says. She’s not bitter, but mournful. Her chest is wounded so tight that she feels like she’s about to spin out of control. “I mean, you’re right. He’s gone. He’s not gonna suffer the consequences.”

“He kinda already did,” Coyote says softly, sadly. “Won’t that be staining his memory if we…?”

Looking off into the distance, you swallow hard.

“He said he was sorry,” you tell them. They keep their gazes fixed on you. “When he came to…I mean, it was only for a little while. But he said he was sorry. Said he wouldn’t have been able to live with what…”

When Phoenix realizes that you’re choked up, she presses her arm against yours. You just clear your throat and try to unfurrow your brows.

“So, we’ll tell them he did it,” Coyote says after a moment. He waves away a few mosquitoes. “And then he couldn’t live with the guilt. You know…offed himself.”

Phoenix watches your face for any sort of fight--but there’s nothing there. You just nod, steely. Your lip is tucked between your teeth.

“But this is if we get out,” you whisper.

No one says anything for a long while. You just watch the children play.

♀

When Jake wakes up, he immediately feels the warmth of your body pressed against him. There’s sweat dotting his forehead and his back hurts and his throat is dry, but he can feel all of your skin and heat against his body. So, he’s alright. He’s alright where he is.

You’re tucked up against his side, cheek resting on his shoulder, open hand splayed across his chest to feel his heartbeat beneath your palm. You’re awake--heavy-lidded eyes drooping and breathing slow and even but awake--just blinking at all the green outside your window screens.

“Sleeping?” Jake whispers, half-expecting you to not answer.

“No,” you whisper, glancing up at him. He’s already looking down at you, cheeks pink and forehead shining in the afternoon sunlight. Your chest is tight as you reach up and very softly press your fingers against the scruff on his chin, his cheeks. “We might never get outta here.”

When you say this, Jake knows that it isn’t to frighten him. It isn’t that you’re trying to be bleak. It is not for the sake of doom and gloom. You’re saying it honestly, earnestly. You have to tell him the same way you had to tell Bob that you were sorry, the same way you told Bradley you wouldn’t leave until he was gone.

“Chipper,” Jake says, a weak smile gracing his lips. He reaches up and carefully grazes your throat, face twisted in utter despair. “He got you, huh?” Nodding, you say nothing. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“You were a bit preoccupied yourself,” you whisper, not smiling. “Coyote had me.”

A sudden and fleeting burst of joyful pride floods Jake’s chest. His best friend saving his girl. But then his brows knit as your eyes flit across his face, lips flat.

“They didn’t find a HAM radio, huh?” He whispers.

“No,” you whisper. “I thought every geezer had one.”

“Me too,” he sighs. “And the phones are still…?”

“Out,” you confirm. “Food’s dwindling, too. Shouldn’t have feasted the way we did.”

“We deserved it,” Jake says. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

Maybe he means if they’re all gonna die out here, at least their bellies were full one last time. Frozen apple pies and bologna sandwiches and apricots and trail mix. He’s not sure he’s ever seen the children as happy as they were, finally eating after the harrowing few days they endured.

“I think I would, too,” you tell Jake. “I just wish things were different.”

He sighs softly, really taking in your appearance now that you’re clean of blood and gore.

The bruises are deep--he can make out the bend of Bradley’s fingers. He can imagine, clear as day, your lips turning blue and your eyes bulging as the air left your lungs and sat stunted just outside your mouth.

There are other cuts and bruises littering your body--a few on your neck, your arms, your legs, your face. Little things that will heal one day. One day, when this is all over and if all of you make it out, those bloody seams will close. Your skin will come back together, stitch itself. The blood that rose to the surface of your skin will settle and, just like that, the bruises will be gone. You will have nothing to show for them.

But the cut on the outside of your arm, the one that looks as gnarly as Jake bets it feels, will scar. He looks at it now, touching the delicate skin around it, inspecting it with his lip tucked between his teeth.

You’re watching him with your brows pulled together.

“Isn’t that a bit bloody for your taste?” You ask weakly.

Jake glances up at you, worry staining his twisted lips and pink cheeks.

“I think I’m a big boy now,” he says and it sounds more like an apology than anything else. “Blood doesn’t make me wanna Ralph all over your jellies.”

Spine prickling with something resembling love, you nod.

“Who would’ve thought?” You whisper. A stray tear rolls down your cheek. “Exposure therapy really works.”

“I’m the poster boy, baby,” he whispers, thumbing the tear away from your cheek.

Poster.

Glancing up and around, you take in your walls. All the crayon and watercolor pictures made for you by campers billowing in the wind, thumbtacks just barely hanging on. The sticky notes from your fellow nurses at the hospital, scribbled on blue paper with curly letters. One reads come back to us! Another reads If you see Kevin Bacon in a banana hammock when you get there--RUN! The photograph of you and your father in the kitchen of your old house, when you were no older than little Susie, when he was no older than Jake is now. And your trusty Smokey Bear poster, the one you’ve brought with you every--

The skin on your scalp prickles as you suddenly jolt up, still staring at the Smokey poster.

“What?” Jake asks, eyes wide with bewilderment. He tries to follow your gaze but hisses as his wound presses against the wall wrong. “What is it--?”

“Forest fires,” you say. You look down at him, eyes wide and mouth ajar.

“Only we can prevent them?” Jake tries.

“Smoke,” you say. “Smoke!”

And then it dawns on him--smoke signals.

He sits up straighter, ignoring the searing of his flesh and the sting of pain crawling up his spine.

“Holy fuck,” he says. His hands are trembling as he reaches for you. You let him pull your body against his, still in awe of your idea and the poster and fire, and bask in his tight grip for a minute. “Baby, you’re a genius!”

Glancing over at the taper candle, you spot the matches. Right where you left them. Waiting for you to light the candle and finish Carrie. You never got to do that. You reckon you never will.

♀.

Everything is in place.

Everyone is a few miles down the trail--far enough away that the campers will not see the explosion and it will not burst their eardrums. The fire will not touch them. Even Jake is with Coyote and Phoenix and everyone else, his arms slung over their shoulders.

He didn’t want to leave you, face screwed up with defeat and anger and helplessness, as he argued.

“You shouldn’t be alone,” he said, shaking his head.

Phoenix and Coyote had only watched the two of you, still digesting your plan. You were rapidly throwing what belongings that mattered to you into your duffel, heart racing.

“I have to be,” you said. “I’m sorry.”

“You know,” Jake started, sitting up with a bit of a struggle. “You always say that and it’s just--it’s just never true.”

You paused, glancing over your shoulder. He was staring at you, brows furrowed.

“I am sorry,” you said softly.

Coyote was staring at his feet, his own breaths coming in sharp puffs.

“I didn’t mean that part,” Jake said, shaking his head.

But still--you’re alone now.

The cabins are empty of belongings. Even everyone that is gone--their items are thrown into duffles and were lugged away from older campers. The only thing you nabbed, the only thing of Bradley’s you could stomach seeing, was the can of hairspray. That is not to say that it is for you to keep and cherish--the can is sitting on top of the gas oven in the kitchen, the dials turned all the way up.

You walked everyone of the mouth of the trail, just as you had walked Mickey and Reuben. There was more urgency this time, everyone racing away from the loudspeaker and courtyard and flagpole. But Natasha, Javy, and Jake lingered by you.

“I don’t like this,” Coyote said. “What if it gets out of control?”

“The mess hall is right on the water,” Phoenix had said, glancing at you.

You nodded at her, grateful. She nodded back.

“You shouldn’t be doing this by yourself.”

That was when you reached the point of no return. That was when you reached the point of gravel where they would go forward and you would go back--all the way back to the camp.

They all turned, eyebrows drawn together. Jake’s jaw was clenched still.

“I’ll see you on the other side,” you told them. You were holding the shotgun again. “I swear.”

“I’ll kill you if you die,” Javy said seriously.

You saluted him.

“We’ll wait for you,” Phoenix said seriously.

“I’ll come,” you told her.

Jake looked at you hard--the woman he loved, cut and bruised, holding the shotgun he taught her to shoot. His heart was in his throat and his eyebrows were knit and his back was pulsing, but when he spoke his tone was even and gentler than before.

“Really. You come just as soon as--!”

“--Just as soon as I know they’ve seen us. I know. I will.”

Everything is prepared in the kitchen of the mess hall. All three gas stoves are on and turned all the way up, the stench of the fumes flooding into your nostrils and singeing the delicate skin there. Every aerosol can you could find, you set atop the stoves.

The bodies, the ones that were resting in the mess hall, are now lined up in the courtyard. Blots of dark plaid on the white rocks, little bits of purple peeking out of the bleak colors.

And now you’re standing in the middle of the courtyard, waiting for the inevitable to happen. The ovens will explode--if they do not explode in tandem, then the first explosion will trigger the second. The ax, the one marked by D.G., will burst into a million pieces from its spot inside the oven. And every other ax at Camp Arcadia will burn just as brightly as the old wooden building. The blood that seeped into the floors will curdle in the heat. The buckshot doors will catch fire, too. Black smoke will rise. Help will come.

“C’mon,” you whisper softly, fingers trembling as you hold the gun. The sun is beginning to set, the sky a soft blue and bright purple. “C’mon.”

Adjusting, you plant your feet in the gravel. You know the initial explosion will be strong--maybe strong enough to make your ears bleed, strong enough to throw you flat on your back. But you’ll be ready. All this grief, this rage, this agony--you’re sure it will keep you on your feet.

Staring at the completely intact building sitting against the tall, tall oak trees and the fading sky, your fingers begin to tremble. Maybe it won’t work. Maybe they won’t get hot enough. Maybe there’s a safety mechanism in place that will assure they don’t explode.

“C’mon,” you say, louder now, staring hard. “Just--just c’mon already! You coward!”

Really, it isn’t the building you’re talking to. And, as if he knows, as if he hears you loud and clear, the hair on the back of your neck prickles. Your stomach turns. Your fingers ache. The scent of sulfur tickles your upper lip. Dread drips down on you like fat raindrops.

“You’re not real,” you whisper, not tearing your gaze away from the building.

You can’t even blink, can’t look away even for a millisecond. There are tears streaming down your face, fat and hot, and you can do nothing but let them fall into your open mouth and dissolve on your tongue in puddles of salt.

Distantly, you hear pops and cracks. They sound like the figure that contorted in your nightmares, the one who stood before you and let you gaze upon its figure. The one that was Damien all along, the one that would take everything away from you.

Screwing your eyes shut, you try to breathe through the sudden fear that is sitting so heavy on the column of your throat, pressing its thumbs against your delicate skin.

“You’re not fucking real--!”

That is when it happens.

The ovens do not explode in tandem. The first one goes and then the second. And it is enough to make your ears bleed, it is enough to knock you away from the building and flat on your back. Gravel digs into your skin and black clouds your vision as you close your eyes during the blow.

The unmistakable scent of fire overwhelms you--just like it did the night the tree fell. Something is burning.

Pain marks your body as you scramble to your elbows, legs flung out below you like a ragdoll. Your ears are ringing, muffled. You can’t hear the fire that is suddenly roaring before you and eating the mess hall--but you can feel it against your skin.

Slowly blinking, shellshocked, you watch the azure flames lick at the sky. Red and orange and yellow against the muted colors of the nature that surrounds you.

It is so hot, so overwhelming, that you feel like you’re on fire yourself. Heat blankets you, suffocates you. Vaguely, you know you’re coughing. But you can’t feel it in your chest or hear it.

Thick, black smoke billows into the blue sky. They will be coming soon.

Scrambling to your feet, leaning on the shotgun to support your weight, you stand.

You stand and watch.

Camp Arcadia is burning.

And with it, your cruel summer is burning, too. Soon it will be dust like the ax and the wood and the dinner plates and the silverware and the food. The blood must be congealed now, well on its way to curdling then crumbling away.

“Jesus,” Jake mutters to Coyote. They’re standing a few miles down the trail, all huddled up together, watching the fire with their hearts in their throats. “Fucking shit.”

Coyote glances at Jake, who’s holding his face in his hands now. He claps Jake on the back.

“I know you missed it, man,” he starts, swallowing hard. His ears are ringing. “But it was her. It was all her.”

“What do you--what are you saying?” Jake asks, glancing up at Coyote.

Coyote meets his gaze, his brows pulled together.

“We’re here because of her,” Phoenix says before Coyote can. “Some fire, some explosives…it won’t stop her.”

“The Devil couldn’t keep her down,” Coyote finishes. “She’s alright. She’ll make it.”

Jake looks back and sees the flames licking the sky. Fuck.

Stumbling forward, you stand near the bodies, still coughing and trying to blink through your tears. The roaring fire falls silent upon your ears.

As if standing guard over them, you look up to the sky and wait. You wait for help to come, even if that didn’t work before. It will work now. You know it will.

The fire is beginning to spread--it’s eating the grass around the cabin, inching closer to you and the bodies. You won’t let it get to you. You can’t.

“C’mon,” you say again. Your throat vibrates with it--but you don’t hear it. “C’mon!”

And suddenly, like a bubble has burst, your hearing comes screaming back to you.

The fire is louder than you imagined it to be--screaming, eating, burning.

You watch it with quivering lips, feet firmly planted on the earth below you, finger resting on the trigger. You watch the sky, too, waiting for something.

And then you don’t have to wait any longer. You hear it in the distance--at first no louder than the buzz of a fly as it darts past your ear. But then louder, more distinguished. Louder than the flames eating the oak tree’s leaves. Yes, there it is. It’s coming closer now--the distinct churning, chopping sound of a helicopter’s blades.

Just as soon as you see it, see its black peeking through the thick smoke and hovering over you, your body goes slack.

Help is here. You are getting out. It’s over. It’s really, actually over.

Your finger is steady when you pull the trigger. The final bullet bursts into the air, punctures heat, flashes like the bulb of a camera and draws the attention of the pilot in the helicopter.

Eyes slipping shut as the gun falls from your grip, the heat of relief hugs you close. It feels like being in the arms of death--perfumed with familiarity, rubbing its nose against yours. Except you know in the marrow of your bones that it is okay.

It’s passing.

Everything always does.

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: THE WAY I CRIED WHEN I WROTE THIS FINAL LINE WTF!!!! SPECIAL THANKS TO @laracrofted FOR BETA READING!!!

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒:

@thedroneranger

@fandom-life-12

@avaleineandafryingpan

@popsycles

@guacala

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@oliviah-25

@zalmael

@chicomonks

@aboutelijahhh

@angelbabyange

@zbeez-outlet

@dempy

@awkwardgiraffe726

@awesomebooklover17

@ofxinnocence

@nyx2021

@callsign-joyride

@flashyourgreeneyesatme

@one-sweet-gubler

@olliepig

@beyondthesefourwalls

@cherrycola27

@hangmans-wingman

@malindacath

@thenewdaysalreadyhere

@shehulkracing

@vemonbby

@ohemgeewhat

@emi-flaces

@mishala005

@headinthecloudssblog

@anony1080

@bellaireland1981

@djs8891

@xoxabs88xox

@stiles-banshees

@birdy-bat-writes

@bananas1234

@shotgunhallelujah

@pono-pura-vida

@agentminnesota187

@onethirstyunicorn

@furiousladyking

@fandomxpreferences

@untoldshortsofthefandoms

@rintheemolion

@daggerspare-standingby

@harper1666

@princess76179

@roosters-girl

@jstarr86

@blahblechblah

@aemondssiut

@twsssmlmaa

@shawnsblue

@wolfiealina

@gothidecorem

@the-philthepill13

@hangmanscoming

@whoeverineedtobe

@lostinheavensworld

@laneyspaulding19

@averyhotchner

@peakascum

@jjlevin

@endofdays56

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@hypatia93

@sunlightmurdock

@tvjunkie08

@okyeeaaahhhh

@ijustwantedplums

@darkheartcherry

@sometimesanalice

@angelbabyyy99

@bradshawseresinbabe

@unhinged-btch

@bradshawbabe

@topguncult

@kmc1989

@callsign-magnolia

@ohgodnotagainn

178 notes · View notes

thefallennightmare · 9 months

Text

Soldiers-seven

credit to whoever created the gif. found on google/Pinterest.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes(winter soldier era) x Reader.

Warnings: angst, language, fluff, violence, smut.

Summary: Reader has spent the last seventy years in hell as a prisoner soldier; Hydra's greatest weapon. Well, second greatest weapon after The Winter Soldier. The only thing that got her through that hell was him, even if she was the one behind his biggest pain.

Authors Note: Smut ahead! Tags are open! There are a few sentences in Russian in this chapter, translations (best to me knowledge) will be at the bottom of this chapter.

Tags(open): @elizacusi-blog @pattiemac1 @yvessaintmuerte @mdpplgtz03 @mayjaysthots @broadwaybabe18 @sebsgirl71479 @yourfavunsub @themorningsunshine @nikwld @splendidreads @fall-myriad

6 MONTHS LATER

I let out an agitated groan as I let the sparks crackle to the tips of my fingers and wrap around the head of the man that kneeled before me. His cries of pain fell on deaf ears while I stared forward, keeping my eyes out in case anyone else surprised attacked me.

I scoffed at the thought. This man didn’t surprise me, nor did he even attack me. He thought he was being stealthy by sneaking up behind me but before he could press the blade of his knife across my throat, I spun on my heels and kicked his feet out from under him.

His body fell to the ground, lifeless eyes staring back up at me, and I stepped over it, the mission nearly finished. It was all I thought about, weighing heavy on my mind and shoulders because I knew that once I returned to the compound, it would put me in the good graces of Ivan. With how everything had been lately, that was something I desperately needed. I needed to show Ivan that he could send me on these high stake missions. Since he was now in charge, everything I did was under a hard gaze. He was apprehensive about my abilities ever since the first day they brought me to the compound. Even with everything I’ve accomplished for Zola, Ivan was still unsure.

At the thought of Zola, my heart dropped only for a split second. I didn’t feel sad that I missed him because I sure as hell did not. It was sad that now someone more ruthless than Zola was in charge. The Americans had captured Zola and there wasn’t a tear shed for that man from either Soldat or I.

Soldat.

My feet froze momentarily as I thought about him and how his mission was going. Our last mission together was when we hid in the closet, barely able to keep ourselves off of each other. When we returned a day later, we found out that Ivan was in charge and he did not like the idea of Soldat and I going together on missions.

If you both went on your own missions, we could get a lot more work done.

Ivan’s thick Russian words replayed in my mind and I shivered the exact way I did when he first said it.

While Soldat received all the high-stakes missions, they succumbed to Ivan’s errand girl. He only sent me in when he needed something cleaned up which is what I was doing now. One of Ivan’s men was supposed to steal an important document from this rich guy’s estate but failed when he was caught and hid somewhere in this house so Ivan sent me to find him and save him.

“Don’t forget the file!” Ivan called out after me while I was leaving the compound.

I turned the corner and met yet another dead end. An aggravating groan fell from my lips before I turned on my heels and went back the way I just came from. Whatever blueprints Ivan gave me for the estate haven't been updated in some time. They held the guy up in some kind of office but with four floors he could be in any of these rooms.

Stopping quickly, I decide to listen for where he was. I closed my eyes and focused on all the noises that were flowing through the house.

On the current floor, there were two voices down the long stretch of hallway. Young voices which meant kids, so I made a mental note to make sure they didn't catch me here. It still fucked my brain up from when I had to kill that young girl last year, I refused to do it again.

On the floor above me, there were two voices again, these older. Their breaths were short and raspy, moans echoing in my ears.

“Oh, Alexi. Harder.”

“Quiet! My wife is here, if she hears you I will cut off your tongue, understand?”

I rolled my eyes in disgust at the man who had no problem bringing his affair into the house where his wife and kids lived.

Two floors above, I heard a soft female voice singing while water ran in the background.

“Must be the wife,” I grumbled.

Then finally I heard Ivan’s man on the floor below me which I guessed was the basement. His cries were the only voice I heard downstairs and knowing that he was alone, I made quick work of slipping through the large house quietly, playing the errand girl yet again.

“Good work, Voin,” Ivan nodded with his lips pulled in a thin line as his hand gripped tight on the folder I had brought back.

Once he saw me stepping back into the compound with his man hoisted over my shoulder, he only cared for the folder that was tucked underneath my arm.

I nodded in return, hands clasped behind my back, as we stood in his office back at the compound. Finding his man tied up in a room in the basement was easy, as was the retraction and save as well. I got away with only killing two witnesses so as Ivan said; it was a good mission.

“Anything else?” I questioned.

Ivan ran a hand over his face as he mewled over something in his mind before shaking his head.

“You’ve done very well the last few weeks. I’m impressed. You can take the rest of the night off. No training or missions.”

I bit the sly remark deep into my tongue and nodded instead, quickly leaving his office before Ivan would change his mind. It was a rare occurrence after returning from a mission to take the rest of the day off. It usually was filled with rigorous training or leaving right away for another mission. But I couldn’t hide the small smile on my lips when I thought about everything I could do tonight.

First on my list was soaking away the dry sweat and blood from my body in the tub, letting the hot water ease my aching muscles. Then I’d spend the rest of the night in my small cot with the same book I had read countless times over. It wasn’t much but with the hell I had endured here the last handful of years; it was enough to bring a light up in my step.

There was hesitation in my steps as I came to a stop in front of Soldat’s living quarters. We haven’t seen each other in almost two weeks, both of our mission schedules not matching up. A part of me wondered if Ivan did that on purpose, he never liked the idea of Soldat and I being a team so it made sense that we would be sent on different paths. The door to Soldat’s room was closed so I couldn’t see if he was inside so I listened intently; I realized he wasn’t back yet from his mission. Ever since Ivan became in charge, he opted not to freeze Soldat in between missions only because they sent the both of us to one back to back. He would only freeze Soldat when Ivan deemed it necessary.

Thankfully, Ivan hasn’t made me erase Soldat’s memories in a long while. He wanted Soldat to be strong and remember every death that came at his metal fingers. My disgust at that was clear with the grumble low in my throat but I had to show I was happy about it; mostly because I wasn’t causing pain to Soldat.

Once safely inside my living quarters, I continued to walk the path toward my bathroom and let all of my things clatter to the floor. First were my weapons and the straps that held them. Then, I kicked off my boots; them sliding across the cold floor beneath my feet. I practically ripped myself out of my tac suit, the leather peeling away like a second skin. A guttural groan crawled its way through my throat when I let the cool air brush against my heated skin.

As the warm water filled the tub, I dared a glance in the mirror that hung above the sink. My hair was still in its braid to the side of my head, the end cascaded over my shoulder, and my eyes were dark with exhaustion. But that wasn’t what had my attention; it was the scars that littered all over my body.

Over the years being here, I had grown quite the collection from either missions or training. The largest and noticeably the worst one ran along my stomach, just above my belly button. It was about three inches long and the skin didn’t heal the greatest even with my super healing. The memory of how I got it was still fresh in my mind six years later.

I was on a mission, I couldn’t quite remember what for, but somehow got corned by two guards. I did my best to fight them off but when they eventually got the upper hand and dragged a hunter's knife across my stomach. My tac suit at the time wasn’t as strong and thick as it is now so the sharpness of the blade cut clean through. The blood pooled around my feet and for a moment; I thought I would die. But that thought left my mind as soon as it crept in. I gained some strength to kill the two guards and finish my mission.

The sudden cloud of stream brought me out of my past and I turned towards the tub, shutting off the water. With the tips of my toes first, I slowly stepped into the tub and let the heat of the water scold my skin. It washed away the remnants of today and I closed my eyes allowing myself to relax for the first time in quite some time. I hummed a Russian tune, my gentle voice echoing off the walls of my bathroom and when the water lost the warmth that my body craved, I reached for my shampoo. The peach scent made me immediately think of Soldat.

He told me when we were in the closet together that he loved the smell of my shampoo and ever since then I made sure to always use it. One of the few luxuries I could have here.

Once the bath was ice cold now, I stepped out and then wrap a towel around my body. The scratchy material felt rough on my skin but as always, I ignored it thankful that I could even take a bath. For being held captive here, Zola made sure I had everything I needed, with some restrictions. Ivan kept that rule once he took over.

My feet padded through the bathroom back to my bedroom where I froze suddenly, the large body looming in the doorway. The pounding in my chest from my heart was so loud and hard, I heard it echoing loudly in my ear as my mouth ran dry.

“Soldat,” I breathed.

His burning eyes watched me, unmoving. He still wore his mask and tac suit which meant he had returned from his mission probably not that long ago.

Feeling hot under his gaze, I gripped the towel tighter around me afraid it might slip through my shaking fingers. Usually, I have better control of myself when around him but this was the first time I had seen him since our time in the small closet; I wasn’t sure how he would react because of it.

Did he regret it?

Was he upset that I grabbed the side of his head?

Did it turn him on as much as it did me?

Did he think about it like I had?

“How was your mission?” I asked trying to ease the sudden tension between us.

“Eto bylo khorosh.”

The Russian words were muffled through his mask but I understood.

It went well.

I nodded once then took a step towards the dresser to grab some clothes. Soldat moved towards it before I could, blocking my path. My shoulders went rigid in slight fear. For the first time since we had been working together, Soldat was unreadable in what his actions meant and that scared the absolute shit out of me. I didn’t know why he was in my room, this being the first time. I was the one who trained him into who he was today so I knew if he was going to attack me, I would have a chance against him.

My mind swirled with so many scenarios on why he was in here. The one that stood out was that maybe Ivan had said those damn words to mind control him and sent him in here to kill me. Maybe Ivan wasn’t happy with how well my mission went and sent Soldat to take care of me.

“Soldat,” his name came out in a breath, “I need to get dressed.”

He stood unnerved, still blocking my dresser.

I let out a deep breath. “Please move.”

The way his hazel eyes burned into me made my entire body shiver with delight, goosebumps pricking at my skin. When I saw something twitch underneath his pants, I realized he was not here to kill me. Soldat was here for a different reason. My tongue rolled over my bottom lip slowly as the grip on my towel lightened a bit but did not let go.

“You don’t want me to get dressed, do you?” I asked.

Anyone without the trained eye I had would have said Soldat didn’t move his head, but I saw it; a small shake.

The surrounding tension became thick with something sexual and with one large breath, I let the towel fall to my feet now standing bare in front of Soldat. His eyes darkened with lust and my usual strong demeanor faded the longer he stared at me.

His name faltered off my tongue when he began stalking towards me like a predator ready to catch his prey after hunting them all day. The bottom strands of his hair bounced against his shoulder, eyes bright with desire. He was backing me farther into the room and only stopped when my back hit the wall. Soldat was so close to me, I could feel his warm breath through the holes of his mask. I could feel how wet I was between my legs because of his stare alone.

I clenched them together, hoping that it would curb my desire for a few moments.

One metal finger raised to my face, tracing the line of my cheek then my jaw, stopping at my bottom lip. The coolness of it ghosted over my bottom lip before all of his fingers wrapped around my throat and my blood filled with something other than fear.

Sheer ecstasy.

Soldat’s fingers gripped my neck, not tight enough to cut off my oxygen but hard enough to leave faint marks. I wanted to speak, but no words reached my lips.

His thumb pressed under my chin so he lifted my face closer to him, his nostrils flaring.

“Peaches,” was the only word he muttered.

I knew what it meant though; my shampoo.

Hand still wrapped aroung my neck, Soldat pressed his large thigh between my legs and the roughness of his pants scratched against my pussy. I moaned in pleasure with my eyes fluttering shut.

“YA tak davno khotel poprobovat' tebya.” His breath fanned over my lips.

I swallowed the large lump in my throat as best as I could with Soldat’s hand still wrapped around me. He still wore his mask and as much as I wanted in off so I could see all of his face, the thought of coming undone under him while he wore his ignited my skin.

“Soldat,” I whined at his words while rubbing my core against his thigh, trying to chase the high I desperately needed.

He grunted in response, hand dragging away from my neck and wrapping around my back. Our chests pressed together, and I pulled at all the straps and buckles of his vest hoping to get it off.

“Please,” I begged, a puddled mess in his embrace.

I kept rubbing my pussy against his thigh, my arousal coating his pants, as my high was so close I could almost taste it on my tongue.

“Y/N,” he groaned my name into the skin of my neck.

Being this close, I could hear him more clearly underneath the mask and knew that by the tone of his voice, my actions on his thigh was sending him over the edge as well. My hands began treading down his chest to the front of his pants where his erection was begging to be let out. Before my hand could palm it, Soldat gripped my hands and pinned them above my head.

“Oh fuck,” I moaned.

With my hands pinned above me and my erratic movements against his thigh, I felt myself bleeding into the white light of an orgasm.

So close. So fucking close.

I was afraid to do anything wrong or differnt to cause Soldat to step away from me. It had been so long since I had an orgasm and craved it so bad. As if he could tell, his metal fingers pinched and pulled at my nipples before cupping my breast into his hand. Feeling his finger work the perky buds of my nipples and my wetness soaking his pants was enough to make me reach the edge, but I needed a bit more to push me off.

“Konchi dlya menya, kukolka,” Soldat ordered through the confines of his mask.

That was all I needed. His words in Russian urging me to cum for him to tip me over the edge, a mind screaming orgasm wrecking through my entire body. I writhed against Soldat whose arms now wrapped around me to keep me steady as I rode out the last of my orgasm against him.

Our eyes locked and through my blissed out gaze, I saw his pupils were blow wide, blackness clouding his usual hazel eyes.

“Soldat,” I crooned his name, my pussy throbbing against him.

No words came from him as Soldat let me go, the coldness of the room painting over my blazed skin, and turned his back to me, leaving me standing in the middle of my room alone.

Eto bylo khorosh.-it went well

Konchi dlya menya, kukolka-cum for me, doll

YA tak davno khotel poprobovat' tebya-i've wanted to taste you for so long.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes and reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x yn #bucky barnes and yn #bucky barnes reader insert #the winter soldier #the winter soldier x reader #soldat #soldat and reader

108 notes · View notes

stxrvel · 9 months

Text

the voices in my head (7)

series summary: you woke up from a long coma with no memory of a part of your life only to be told by your teammates that you're married to the man you hated seven years ago. even though that seemed to be the only problem, as time goes on you're realizing there's a lot more history and mystery behind the accident that left you in medical care for months. blackouts, more memory loss, mistrust and a strange man who seems to be connected to everything. every day it gets harder to trust anyone around you, but you won't stop until you can finally uncover the truth behind the accident.

chapter summary: you try to get answers, but not everything is as it seems. you may actually be living a lie.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

words: +5k

warnings: bad words and descriptions of blood. a lot of confusing answers too.

note: ok guys. heres the next part in this series and i dont even know what happened. im kind of a let it happen writer, so i just started writing this chapter with what i had in my drafts, and the suddenly everyting came to life and started to write itself. like i dont know whats happening anymore, 80% of this wasnt planned. BUT i dont dislike the way this one turned out. im actually happy because it filled a gap in the plot that i'd had for some time and didn't know how to handle. as you may have seen in my reblogs, i dont tend to plan things out, i just start writing and the characters will tell me their stories. so, i just hope you guys love and ejoy this chapter!! know feedback is alwas appreciated! and i hope you end up as confused as i am. love you all!

masterlist | next | series masterlist

Bucky was in a haze. His fingers were trembling and he felt his heart racing to get out of his chest. He didn't know what he was doing, but he let his body guide him because there had to be a reason for all that, for all that fuss, for all that suffering. His feet hurt, he didn't even know how long he had been running for, but not even the rest of the team following behind him had made him stop until now. (Maybe they didn't want to stop him either.)

Maybe he was already in the middle of that city. There were too many buildings, sounds of car horns, the hurried footsteps of people walking past him, tapping his shoulder, not even looking at him as if he didn't even deserve to be recognized by a stranger before staggering his whole world.

Bucky wasn't sure he deserved many things anymore. He used to think it was all a gift, he used to think that after so much pain he was finally collecting happiness and peace of mind. He thought he really deserved it. But maybe he didn't. If all that had happened behind his back, if he had allowed it, if he hadn't even suspected it? Did he even deserve a look?

No, maybe he deserved those rubs, the footsteps on his boots, the coffee on his jacket. Maybe he deserved to feel that pain, that burning. Maybe it was the least he could do, it was the only thing he could give back, because in his foggy mind he couldn't think of what else he could do. He deserved that pain and more because it surely didn't even compare to yours, nor did it come close on the heels of everything you had to do.

There was a moment when he thought that had he had the chance to handle that damned time gem hanging around Strange's neck he would have done it without hesitation, not for a single second, not like that damned Stephen had hesitated and in vain. Maybe things would have been different, maybe everyone would be different now? Maybe you would hate him now. Maybe now the pain would be bearable. Maybe he wouldn't walk the streets of that city that had taken everything from him thinking the world had just fallen on his shoulders.

“Bucky, you're not going to find him,” he heard Carol speak to his left side, but his mind erased the memory.

He was alone walking through the city. He couldn't even remember why his white shirt felt sticky against his skin.

Whatever had happened that morning seemed to have been momentarily erased.

Bucky stopped.

What was he doing there?

The sound of morning stress suddenly stunned him. He shifted on his feet to look around, to see how everyone was still moving, how the sun was still shining and the clouds were racing across the sky, seeing how everything was still the same while for him everything had stopped.

“Where is she?” Bucky thought he was asking a voice in his head, a figment of his imagination, but the hand on his shoulder had to be real. It felt real.

Bucky didn't say much for much of the morning. You watched him, stoic and lost in thought from time to time, barely shaking his head in acknowledgement when you told him something. He had given no answer to your questions and as much as you wanted to keep asking, as much as you wanted to insist, something in his eyes prevented you from doing so.

So you spent a good part of the day like that, with Bucky at your side, reluctant to let go of your arm, not encouraging you to do anything else. Everything that had happened that day, all your crazy conjectures and theories slowly faded from your head as you relaxed by his side, letting go of the accumulated tiredness you'd felt since the day everything started to change.

And you had several strange dreams, surrounded by destruction, blows that felt strangely real, full of tears and full of suffering.

But one of them stood out from the others.

You were somewhat confused to see Bucky that morning. His mission was supposed to take at least a few more days and you had already made up your mind that you wouldn't see him for a while. Getting used to it was easy though, but you preferred to ignore that reality.

He passed right in front of you, walking as if it was nothing, ignoring your presence completely. Not that you were expecting anything different either. No, of course you weren't. After the way things left off when he left, you didn't expect him to forgive you so soon.

You could barely let out the air you were holding when he disappeared down the hall.

“What's wrong?” you heard Natasha's voice.

You turned around startled. She had planted herself next to you, her uniform dirty and heavily bloodstained.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it's not mine.” Natasha waved her hand in a nonchalant gesture.

“Why did you guys come back so soon?”

“The track was a dead end. There was nothing there.”

“It was a trap.”

“Yeah,” Natasha sighed, turning her head to see Steve getting off the Quinjet. “She knew we were going. She couldn't wait to see our stupid faces.”

You clicked your tongue. “How come she's always three steps ahead of us?”

“We've been wondering the same thing.”

Natasha had started walking toward the end of the hallway and you were about to follow her until you ran into a familiar face on one side of Steve.

“What's he doing here?”

Natasha didn't answer you, and when you turned to see her she had a tired expression on her face.

“Well since we've been going on so many missions without a good result, the UN panel that controls us is going to start limiting our outings.”

“What? But she's completely unpredictable!”

“I know, believe me we tried to talk to him. They contacted us since we were coming back. They're very adamant, and it's not like we can do much about it.”

Natasha giving up just like that didn't give you much hope. You watched Steve listen to Secretary Ross with his hands on his hips and a droopy expression. He didn't seem to agree much, but he couldn't say no either. Surely more than anyone else he was the one who was having the hardest time with the whole Accords thing.

You wanted to think for a moment that that was the real reason Bucky had ignored you when he arrived and not because of the discussion you two had that was overheard by half the building about three days before. The subject of the Accords was also a hard subject for him, but more than anything else because of the bombing, because of everything that had happened after that. The fight he blamed himself for every chance he got and the concede. They had been able to go far but not far enough. You knew Bucky spent many days thinking about all that.

But hey, besides that news he must still be pretty mad at you. At least that was something you could fix.

“So we're back to waiting,” you finally spoke up turning to look at Natasha. The woman barely twisted her lips in response.

“If they don't think this is a global threat, I don't know what one thing has to happen for them to let us do our job right,” Natasha walked down the hall with you trailing at her heels, a grimace on her face and a frown on her face. “Will it have to cost someone's life for them to notice?”

“Nat,” you furrowed your brow at her words. “We should think this is enough. Something worse could have happened. If Steve hadn't given up after the fight at the airport, where do you think they'd be now? And you? The group would have disbanded. We could have been pushed even harder, but the government and the countries were more condescending.”

“I wish it was enough for me. Thinking like that must bring you peace.”

You ran your tongue in front of your teeth with a disguised grimace. Natasha didn't notice as you watched her red hair and black suit as yoou approached the main hall of the Complex.

“I'm just thinking this way to ease the violent thoughts of you all. You know I didn't want to sign either.”

“But you did,” Natasha paused at the foot of the stairs. You could tell from there that Bucky was talking to Sam and Tony was meeting with Clint.

“It was all going to end very badly if I didn't. You know what they think of me. If I had gone with you and Steve they would have not only wanted to contain me but neutralize me. And you know they would've done it any way they could.”

Natasha's eyes flashed in recognition. You knew what was going through her head because you had been through it once before and it had been a horrible experience that had been burned into the minds of every one of your teammates. Especially Bucky's and yours.

“I wouldn't have let them near you,” she spoke, her voice soft and full of feeling.

“And I wouldn't have let you carry that for me.”

Natasha sketched a half-smile, shaking her head.

“I guess we'd both die trying to keep the other from dying.”

The conversation ended there and soon you were both in the living room near Clint and Tony. You watched them chat about the mission. You noticed the somber expression on Stark's face when Natasha told him that Secretary Ross was talking to Steve. You caught the moment when Clint sighed heavily and moved his hand to turn down the volume on the device in his ear, he did that every time someone mentioned something about the Accords or the Secretary. Sometimes even when someone talked about Germany. Clint was the most evasive of all on that subject.

Sam and Bucky were too far away for you to tell if they were listening the conversation, although considering that the latter had a super serum running through his veins, he probably had super hearing that allowed him to, even if it was against his will.

But despite the distance you could tell that his eyes were on yours. He was resting his elbows on his knees, leaning forward. His expression matched Tony's and you wondered how much it would cost you to get the two of them to sit down and talk about the things that had happened. Within that civil war, they were probably the ones who had had it the worst. But that was almost impossible, they both hated each other almost to death.

You were attracted by his gaze and started walking before you knew it. Sam stood up and gave you a nod of greeting as he passed you. Surely they had already spoken.

Bucky didn't stop looking at you until you took the spot where his friend had been.

“Are you okay?” you asked him, bringing your hand up to his right shoulder. He was too tense.

“Ross doesn't understand anything,” was what he replied, his voice laced with a hateful venom that sent a shiver down your spine.

“I know.”

“He's gonna get us killed. Him and that damn panel.”

“Bucky-”

“Nothing's going to make them understand until a massacre happens and that blood is on their hands.”

“Honey,” you stepped closer to your boyfriend, his body tensing even more, but moving closer to yours as if it were his nature. He straightened up and allowed you to fully embrace his right arm. “I think you can rest easy because you're doing your job and you're doing it well. I know you feel the helplessness, we all go through that. And I would love to tell you that we can change it and do something about it, but I can't. I can only remind you that you've been doing it right and you've been doing everything in your power to make it so. Ross and the panel are going to come to their senses at some point. They're going to understand what we're doing at some point and then we won't have to fight anymore.”

“I think you're the only one on the team who believes that,” Bucky tried to sketch a smile turning his face to look at you.

“Someone has to do it or you're always going to be like cats and dogs.”

“Yeah, you're the one who brings balance to this place,” his beady eyes didn't leave yours. “To me, too.”

You felt a sting behind your eyes and your chest compressed.

“Bucky, I'm sorry-”

“No, leave it.”

“No! It was my fault and I spoke to you too ugly-”

“I already forgave you, Y/N. Don't keep talking.”

“Don't do that. Let me tell you-”

Bucky reached up to plant a kiss on your lips. You reached up to move back a little, but his hand went around your waist and he pulled you tighter against him. He moved his lips over yours as if it had been months since the last time he did it, gentle, taking his time, savoring every second he could. Your hands cradled the sides of his face, kissing him back with the same intensity he gave you.

When he pulled away, you were breathing heavily.

“I said leave it.”

“You're mean.”

He moved closer and gave you another quick peck before settling back in. His eyes didn't leave yours even though your body was beginning to lose the warmth he'd given you. At that moment you thought you could spend your whole life like this and you would be entirely happy.

Apparently Bucky thought the same thing.

“Marry me.”

“What?” you exclaimed, an expression of surprise making its way across your features.

Bucky smiled at your half-open mouth.

“Marry me, Y/N.”

“Bucky…”

“I never wanted to spend the rest of my life with someone as much as I do with you. I can't even remember what it was like to live before you anymore. So, yeah, that's it, marry me.”

It had been at least about two hours and you couldn't stop thinking about it. It felt too real to have been just a dream.

You had woken up in a room all alone. There wasn't a single trace that Bucky had been there with you at any time. For a moment you thought maybe you'd dreamed all that day, but you could still feel the strength of Bucky's arms around your figure. You could still feel his breath in your ear every time he mumbled an apology from the bottom of his heart, not really knowing what he was apologizing to you for.

You felt it as real as that kiss. Like that emotion when in your dream he proposed to you. Maybe it wasn't a dream, you'd been married after all. But how could you remember that now? What had changed?

And that conversation with Natasha…

You heard the bedroom door open and a few seconds later Bucky appeared in front of you. You felt your stomach churn.

“You're awake,” he commented as he approached the bed. He set down a mug of hot liquid on the nightstand before sitting down across from you, and you stood a little while longer watching the smoke billow out. “You must have a lot of questions.”

You turned to look at him. He looked better than the last time you had seen him. Calmer and more serene.

“Go ahead. Ask.”

Even though yes, you did indeed have too many questions, at that moment you went blank. You felt like your heart was going to pound out of your chest with how fast it was beating, so hard it was thundering against your bones. With sweaty hands you tried to arrange your hair in a carefree gesture, but you were sure you had a desperate grimace on your face.

So much had happened in the last few days, and there was even something you still hadn't told Bucky…

Sighing, you decided to let out the first thing that came to mind.

“What are the Accords?”

You noticed Bucky's face process your question, his face contorting in confusion. “The Accords?”

For a moment you thought it wasn't true, and you were giving yourself the nod thinking you'd just had a meaningless dream, until Bucky spoke again.

“Where did you hear about that?”

You frowned. “Is it real?”

“Yes,” Bucky nodded quickly. “The Sokovia Accords. It's a document signed by a large number of countries that allows a United Nations panel to monitor the activities of the Avengers.”

That made sense according to what you remembered from that dream. So it could be true…

“How did you propose to me?”

Bucky frowned even more than the previous time, and you knew that maybe those weren't the questions he was expecting, but you needed to know.

“Uhm,” Bucky took a moment before answering. “I had just returned from a mission where we were ambushed. I was nearly killed. Maybe I had a moment of lucidity, I don't know, all I knew was that I'd never felt so scared about not being able to be with you. So I came in, we talked and I just did it.”

“Did anything happen while you were coming in from the mission, before you made the proposal?”

“Mmm, yeah, something did happen,” Bucky looked more than confused somewhat suspicious. “The Secretary of State is like the spokesman for the panel I mentioned to you. That day coming back from the mission he contacted us to tell us that we would have to start getting out less and plan better plans, long story short. I was very angry. Too angry. And you and I… Well, we had argued before I left so we didn't talk as soon as I got there. But yeah, that happened.”

So it was a memory.

“Y/N? Why are you asking me these things?”

“You told me to ask.”

“Yeah, well,” Bucky pursed his lips. “I didn't expect you to ask me those questions.”

“Why is there a dome around the Complex?”

“Well,” Bucky cleared his throat. “Generally speaking, in the beginning it was to keep the military from intervening in the Complex because… let's just say we did something against the rules of the Accords for a while. Then we decided to keep the dome to prevent him from finding us.”

“Him? Who is he?”

“They call him The…”

For a moment you stopped hearing Bucky, though you could see his mouth was still moving. A high-pitched whistling filled your hearing. It was loud and painful. You moved your hands to the sides of your head to try to isolate yourself from the sound, but you felt it coming from inside you.

“… are you okay? Y/N?”

You could hear him again. That was weird.

“What happened?”

“I don't know,” you moved your jaw to uncover your ears, but in a second it seemed like nothing had happened. “I felt a ringing in my ears, but too loud.”

Bucky arched an eyebrow, scanning your face. You could tell the concern on his face and it compressed your chest.

“I'm fine, what were you saying?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, go on.”

Bucky hesitated for a few seconds, his eyes still detailing your features as a precaution. Finally he sighed and shook his head in assent.

“Well, the man you most likely saw on television was…”

You lost your hearing again and a second after you saw Bucky's mouth move without a sound, the high-pitched beeping returned. That time it was so loud that you couldn't help but scream even though you couldn't hear anything. You felt Bucky's hands on your forearms as you covered your ears again, but it seemed to increase the beeping and along with it your vision tried to go white. You thought you saw a hand outstretched in front of you.

You were about to lose your mind until you finally found silence again.

You had leaned forward and Bucky had leaned over you.

“Bucky?”

“Y/N? Are you okay?”

You straightened up and he quickly did the same. His eyes desperately searched your face and body for something.

You felt dizzy all of a sudden, and when you reached up to massage your temples that's when you saw the blood.

So did Bucky.

You brought your hands to the sides of your face and it felt wet. For a moment you felt like you were going to throw up.

Bucky took your face in his hands and turned it sideways, looking at the blood that seemed to have come out of your ears. You couldn't look away from your blood-stained hands. For some reason, you felt a strange familiarity in your chest.

“Bucky…” you mumbled without looking up. “What happened? The day of the accident, what the fuck happened?”

“Y/N, are you-”

“Say it,” you raised your head. His frown made you uncomfortable.

“I don't think-”

“Tell me, Bucky.”

It looked like Bucky thought he knew what was going on and didn't want to subject you to it, but you'd seen something and you felt that's where the answer was.

“Say it and don't stop talking.”

Your features were hard, you didn't give a single space for doubt. And Bucky sighed when he realized he couldn't convince you.

“The accident was because of…”

There it was again. Louder and angrier than the previous two times. It seemed to want to berate you for some reason. So much anger was overwhelming. The sound was deafening. The pain was uncontainable. You couldn't help but shout as you felt like you were being ripped in two.

And then, you saw it. A hand stretched out in front of you.

Writhing in pain, you gripped it tightly.

And you opened your mouth to take a big breath of air.

Everything was white around you. To your left, right, above and below. There wasn't a single shadow or a sign that so much brightness was coming from somewhere. The white seemed to stretch on forever when you started walking, because there was no sign of even corners or stairs. It was a simple white plane.

You walked as if that was the solution. As if at some point you were going to come across something that would give you the answer, but there was simply nothing.

And when you finally stopped, you heard it. You recognized it instantly.

What are you doing?

You moved sideways, looking for the source of that voice, but there was no one even miles away. You couldn't see a single speck.

“Who are you?” you exclaimed angrily to no one in particular.

I'd already told you.

“No! Drop the fucking mystery, who the fuck are you?”

Silence followed your question.

“Didn't you want me to trust you? You told me they were the bad guys.”

They are, the voice replied.

“Then prove it. Tell me who you are. Let me trust you.”

There was silence for several seconds, and in between all the emptiness you swore you could go crazy. Fine, and you were already hallucinating things.

But then… footsteps.

You turned suddenly.

There was a man. Very short hair, with a big beard that hid his whole jaw. Dark clothes, a jacket and a baggy jean. He was leaning against something, with his hands inside his jean pockets, even though no matter how hard you looked you never found an object there. He must have been handling what was going on here. His face was barely minimally familiar to you, but not enough to make you suspect him.

“Who are you?”

“You can call me Nathaniel.”

Nathaniel? He didn't sound remotely familiar.

“You were the one who did that thing?”

“What thing, Y/N?”

“The beeping.”

“Ah. I couldn't risk getting your head filled with lies. I told you I'd take care of it.”

“And you had to hurt me in the process?”

“My apologies. It was the only way.”

“Are you seriou? Bringing me here was the only way too?”

You watched the man, Nathaniel, undo his serene expression for the first time to frown at you. He moved to approach you and you couldn't stop your body from shifting away from him.

“Don't you know you're the one doing this? You called me here. This is your invention.”

“What? No. That's impossible. I didn't… I'm not…”

You looked around. It couldn't be you. You didn't even know where you were while Nathaniel could sit comfortably waiting for you. It couldn't be your doing.

“This is your mind, Y/N. Don't you recognize it?”

Miles of emptiness greeted you as you turned to survey the place. That shit was impossible.

“Well, it's missing some memories, sure.”

You frowned and turned to look at him. He seemed to have his hands folded behind his back and he had that calm, almost expressionless face again. He looked like someone who inspired confidence, you didn't doubt that if people looked at him they would surely believe him because that was the aura he had around him. Still… the tightness in your chest wouldn't go away.

“But it's still yours.”

“You can… bring my memories back?” you weren't entirely sure why you asked, it just popped in your head, out of nowhere. It wasn't as crazy as it sounded taking in consideration that he was the beeping in your ears. He definitely could do something. Maybe it was your subconscious.

You noticed when his eyes twinkled as he shook his head. A small smile crept onto his face, as if he'd been waiting for that question.

“Well, I can definitely try.”

You felt a relief sweep through your entire body.

“You're on my side, right?” your cautious side came to the fore.

“Of course, Y/N. I've been trying to help you all this time. It's a little hard, but I've tried.”

“It's hard?”

“Yes, it's just that…” the man, Nathaniel, averted his gaze from yours as if he was thinking about whether or not to continue. When he looked back at you his expression was much softer, more real, “You're too far away. I can't do much like this.”

“And where are you?”

Nathaniel smiled, “Even if I told you, you couldn't look for me. You can't get through the dome.”

You clicked your tongue. You had the chance to finally remember everything in the palm of your hand and you wanted to take it with all your might. Because you had already realized that this man was very powerful and that, in his delusions of helpfulness, he wouldn't let anyone in the group tell you the truth. If he wouldn't even let Bucky do it, he wouldn't let anyone but him do it. And you had a bad feeling, but what else could you do?

“Then you'd have to come to where I am.”

Nathaniel nodded slightly. “Just tell me where you are and I'll come get you.”

“I'm at the Avengers Complex,” you spoke after a sigh. “In Washington.”

The man in front of you sketched a smile, but rather than reassuring you it was more nerve-wracking.

“Ah, you see. I told you you couldn't trust them.”

“What are you talking about?”

Nathaniel resumed walking, his steps getting closer and closer to you.

“You're not at the Complex or anywhere near Washington.”

“What? But…”

“They've got you trapped. They won't let you out. They won't even tell you where you really are.”

You shook your head in denial. What he was saying made no sense. You could literally see the city from the roof of the building. You had even gone out one of those days and toured the city, how was it possible that you weren't in Washington?

Although… You weren't even sure what Washington was really like. You had no memory of that city in your head. You had never seen the city anywhere else. You were just told you were there and assumed that what you saw was that city. But what if it wasn't?

“Find out where you are, Y/N,” Nathaniel spoke again while you were still lost in your head. Almost at the same time, the ground began to shake. “Figure it out and come back and tell me where I can find you and get you out of there.”

The ground shook vehemently, but the man in front of you didn't look as scared as you did. He still had that calm expression, his hands in his pockets and his head cocked to one side. He was looking at you as if he longed for something from you.

You no longer had the slightest idea what was going on.

And then you heard other footsteps approaching fast.

“Y/N!”

You recognized her instantly, but instead of being reassured, you were frightened.

You turned around to find Wanda Maximoff trying to get closer to where you were, running through the white debris falling from somewhere above.

“They're going to try to get you away from me,” Nathaniel spoke, and you moved to look back at him.

“Get away from him!” Wanda exclaimed.

“They don't want you to know the truth. Even if you think they're going to tell you the truth, they're not. It's a lie. It's always been a lie.”

“Y/N!”

“They didn't even tell you where you really are.”

“Shut the fuck up! Y/N, don't listen to him!”

“They've been keeping things from you for a year. They didn't even want to tell you that you have powers.”

“Don't listen to him!”

“If you hadn't brought it up to Bucky Barnes, he never would have told you.”

The way his name came out of his mouth was disgusting. You never wanted him to mention his name ever again.

“Think about that,” Nathaniel finished and watched beside you as the woman kept running trying to dodge the falling debris for some reason; mind you, it wasn't falling where you were, just where she was stepping. “Goodbye, Wanda, see you soon.”

When you turned around, the man was gone, and when you turned around again, Wanda crashed into you with a thud.

You opened your mouth to take a breath of air. You felt your body heavy. The first thing your eyes registered was color. You were no longer on that white plane, in your mind, you were back in the room.

But you were not alone.

Sound came slowly to your hearing, as you could barely differentiate between the faces that peered out to see you. You stopped when you found Wanda's reddish hair right in front of you. The hands at your temples must have been hers. It must have been the same as last time.

You sat up with a jolt and didn't disown, though you felt a whiplash of pain run from your back to your feet. You looked back at the woman who had gotten into your head sitting across from you. Your head had been in her lap. She looked as tired as you.

“Nothing he said is true,” was the first thing Wanda said, holding up her hands as if her sound of peace meant something to you.

“He?” you heard Bucky's voice, and that was the only thing that made you tear your gaze away from Wanda's clear eyes. “Who are you talking about?”

When you found Bucky, you clutched at his hands.

“Y/N,” Wanda spoke again. “What he said isn't true. He's a manipulator. He'll do anything to get you on his side, but you can't believe him.”

“So I'm supposed to believe you guys?” you almost spat the words out, an overwhelming fury roaring deep in your chest. You squeezed Bucky's hands as you turned to look at him. “Bucky, where are we?”

“Y/N, no,” Wanda interfered, but that only unleashed your fury.

“Shut up!” you raised your hand in her direction and the woman moved back a considerable distance on the ground, as if she had been pulled. You looked back at Bucky. “Tell me, where are we?”

Bucky was looking away, most likely to where Wanda was, but you didn't have time for that. You moved your hands to cradle Bucky's face and bring his eyes back to yours. That position brought back the memories of your dream and you felt a sharp pain in your head when that happened.

The moment Bucky turned to look at you, you felt as if a sword had cut you in two. An electrifying light and a bunch of scenarios where you had taken in Bucky's face in the same way.

“Y/N?”

You blinked rapidly, pushing those memories out of your mind. It seemed that every time an image of those appeared in your mind it was accompanied by excruciating pain.

“Answer me, please.”

“We're at the Complex, Y/N. In Washington,” Bucky replied and you felt his words were dirty.

“No,” you frowned and your hands over his face took on strength. “Where are we really?”

“Y/N,” Bucky looked confused, and for a moment you thought he had been lied too, until he moved his eyes to look behind you and without turning you knew who was there.

“Look at me,” you commanded between your teeth and his clear eyes focused solely on yours. “Tell me where we are.”

Bucky began to shake his head and reluctantly closed his eyes tightly. It seemed that simple question caused him physical pain.

“I-I can't. I can't tell you, Y/N.”

“Bucky, stop it. Don't talk.”

The order came from Carol Danvers, and you hated the way the man's face contracted as he heard it. You didn't want him to listen to her.

You wanted to turn to see her, you wanted to tell her that it wasn't her place to order him such things, that she was no one to talk to him like that. But Bucky's hands cupped your face before you could see her in your peripheral vision. His pleading eyes melted your heart and again you felt the pain shatter your head.

A hundred more scenarios where Bucky had looked at you that way.

“Y/N, relax, okay? We're going to talk, but I want you to calm down first, okay?”

You took a deep breath, trying to push through the pain, and nodded in his direction.

“Okay, all right, breathe with me.”

You noticed his chest inflate as he inhaled and mimicked his action. Also when he exhaled. And then again and again and again. Until you felt a little more serene and Bucky's eyes looked warmer.

Maybe it was what had happened with that man in your head, because of the stress you'd felt and the hopelessness when you woke up and felt for a moment that everyone was against you, but suddenly you felt so tired that you just laid your head on Bucky's shoulder and closed your eyes.

a/n: thank u so much for reading 💜

Taglist: @cjand10 @yallgotkik @ruffdog921 @coracal @its-just-kayy @pono-pura-vida @vampiresarezombies @kaz11283 @vicmc624 @calwitch

62 notes · View notes

anonymityisfunwriter · 2 years

Text

Two Sides of The Same Coin - Chapter 32: "Last Kiss"

"Never thought we'd have a last kiss. Never imagined we'd end like this. Your name, forever the name on my lips..."

Pairing: Sunshine!Reader x Grumpy!Bucky Barnes

It was only moments ago that FRIDAY announced that you were needed in the conference room.

You pad over to the conference room, fairly ecstatic because you're absolutely positive that this means that you're being cleared for field work again.

Only seven weeks had passed since your were shot, but even with the two month suspension before that, it felt like a lifetime ago since your last normal assignment.

You walk into the conference room with an extra skip in your stop, only to immediately feel the heavy atmosphere of the room.

A familiar feeling of dread starts to form in your stomach, you look to Sam and Nick for reassurance, but neither will meet your eyes. All around the table sit Nick Fury, Sam, Steve and Buck, though Steve and Bucky look just as confused as you are.

“What’s wrong?” you gently ask, taking a seat at the other end of the table, right next to Bucky.

Nick breathes deeply, “Something’s come up.”

“Okay,” you hesitantly smile. “What’s come up?”

Through a tightly clenched jaw, Nick says, “The council has recently re-evaluated relationship with your handler, and they believe that it’s time for you two to part ways.”

“So I won’t have a handler anymore?” Neither him nor Sam reply, and you take the room’s silence as your answer. “They want me to have a new handler?”

“Unfortunately, it’s more than that,” Nick solemnly states.

“Well, what is it?” Bucky urges, feeling particularly uneasy at Sam’s silence and clenched jaw.

"They're recalling you," Nick states.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, and you can see the way Steve's shoulders stiffen at Nick's statement. "Recall me? What does that mean?"

“They want to relocate you,” Nick explains. “Move you as far away from New York as possible. Start over somewhere new.”

“What?” Bucky angrily scoffs.

Nick continues speaking as though Bucky hadn't said anything and like he isn't glaring holes into the side of his head. “They want you on the next flight to D.C. and from there to an undisclosed location.”

“I don’t want to go to D.C.,” you tremble, your pleading eyes flickering to Sam. “Sam?”

“It’s not up to Sam," Nick interjects, answering for an uncharacteristically silent Sam. "It’s not even up to you. They’re not exactly going to take no for an answer.”

“She’s a grown woman,” Bucky spits, his fists clenching tightly. “They can’t just take her away. Doesn’t she get some say in this?”

Nick sighs remorsefully. “They don’t see it like that. She’s still a SHIELD asset, an asset that is continuously put in danger by her entanglement to Wilson and the Avengers.”

“A person,” Bucky counters, his voice dripping in contempt. “A person who’s entire life is here in New York.”

“Her life is in New York because they wanted it to be. And now they don’t," Nick continues.

“Isn’t there something that can be done?” Steve diplomatically asks. “She’s an American citizen. She has rights, Nick.”

“No, she’s not,” Nick corrects. “She’s not an American citizen. There’s no record of her, remember? No birth certificate, no Social Security number. If she wasn’t here in this room, you’d never know she existed. In SHIELD's eyes she's not even really a person.”

“And how is that her fault?” Bucky demands. “SHIELD was supposed to take care of that. Seems like a little too much to be a coincidence that they dragged their feet on that one, doesn’t it?”

“So I’ll never see the team again? Any of them?” you squeak, completely ignoring the semantics that Steve and Bucky are arguing because you're simply dumfounded by the dramatic turns of events. It felt like a punch to the gut, as though your newly healed stitches were just torn open leaving you completely breathless.

“No," Nick states simply. "You won’t be able to see them anymore.”

“I don’t want to go,” you repeat, slightly hyperventilating. “I want- I want to stay.”

“And I’m telling you, it’s not up to you. Just as quickly as they made you an asset, they’ll make you an enemy,” Nick states matter of factly. There's no underlying threat in his words, at least not coming from him.

But you suck in a breath as you remember Rumlow's words to you: Just wait- they'll turn on you soon enough. At the time, you didn't want to believe him. But here it was, cold hard proof that he was right- they were turning on you.

“Don’t threaten her,” Bucky explodes, almost bursting out of his seat.

“Sit down, Barnes,” Nick orders. “I’m not threatening anyone. I think she’s safest here- with Wilson and the Avengers. But it’s not up to me. And they will use force if necessary.”

“When do they want me to leave?” you whisper, tears burning at your eyes.

“Now.”

You vehemently shake your head, trying to process all this new information. “I have- I have to pack my things.”

Nick remorsefully shakes his head, taking another deep breath as his fists clench. “That won’t be necessary, they’re not going to let you hold on to anything.”

“I’m not going to have things again?” you ask. You knew it wasn't your biggest issue, but it felt like adding insult to injury being stripped of not only the people you'd come to love, but also the things you'd collected and cherished along the way.

“I’m sure wherever they place you, you’ll have the chance to get more things.”

“But I want my things,” you object.

“I know this is hard for you, but you will be okay,” Nick assures you. “It will all be okay.”

“Okay,” you nod, trying to pull a smile on your face. Even as your mind races, you try to put a positive spin on this, to look on the bright side. And there simply isn't one.

Bucky can see right through it, you place your hand on your chest to calm your uneven breaths, he can even hear the way your heart races. Bucky's throat constricts, too shell-shocked to say anything. Not even the super-soldier serum can help him process what is happening right now.

“Do you want me to call the rest of the team?” Steve quietly offers.

You nod wordlessly, wiping the tears away from your eyes.

Wanda’s the first person who walks in. She immediately notices your distress. You shakily stand out of your seat, trying to keep your breathing even.

“What’s wrong?” she coos, quickly sticking her arm out to steady you.

“I have to go,” you brokenly whisper, a tear slipping down your cheek.

“Go?” Wanda asks, looking at Steve and Bucky, who look equally shocked and distraught.

“They’re relocating her,” Steve numbly explains, his heart breaking for both of his friends. And even for himself, you'd become such a fixture in his daily life and the life of the everyone on the Compound that this was something that he could've never predicted. “They’re severing her connection to the Avengers.”

“What?” Nat exclaims, walking into the room with Bruce and Tony just seconds behind her.

“Pinkie pie, what’s wrong?” Tony asks, not having heard Steve’s explanation.

“I have to leave,” you exhale when everyone else is too staggered to say anything. “They won’t let me stay here anymore.”

“Who’s they?” Bruce asks, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“SHIELD is recalling their asset,” Nick explains again, and it stings just as much as the first time he said it.

“But Sam’s her handler? Is he leaving too?” Bruce audibly wonders, just as confused as everyone else in the room.

Nick shakes his head once. “Wilson is no longer handling anyone."

“Well, where are you taking her?” Tony questions, the indignant anger in his voice as clear as day.

“That’s not your concern,” Nick replies, mostly because he doesn't even know where they plan on taking you. To SHIELD, he was as much of the problem as anyone else, so he wasn't even privy to that information.

“So you’re just taking her? There has to be something that we can do?” Tony scoffs. "She's one of us."

“As I’ve explained, there’s not. No one has any choice in the matter. She’s leaving and cutting any and all ties to the Avengers and New York.”

“Nick,” Nat interjects, looking pleadingly at the man. “Come on.”

"No!" Bucky sneers, finally regaining his ability to speak. "There's no fucking way we're letting this happen. We can't just let them take her away. I'm not letting this happen."

"And how are you going to stop them? Where would you go? Madripoor? Bucharest?" Nick rhetorically asks, trying to remain calm as it all unravels right before him. "If you think there's a place anywhere on this Earth that SHIELD won't track her down, you're mistaken. She's an asset- you do not want to make her an enemy."

"James, it's okay," you whisper, placing your hand on his arm before you turn away from him to say the rest of your goodbyes.

“I don’t think I’m going to make it to the next girl’s night,” you mumble, embracing Wanda.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” she tells you, wiping away her tears as she pulls away from you.

“Make sure you give them a little hell, okay?” Nat sadly smiles, clutching your shoulders as you step away from Wanda.

You nod wordlessly, then turn to face Tony and Bruce. “Thanks for helping me learn to read, Bruce.”

“Anytime,” he says through a clenched jaw, giving you a tight lipped smile.

“Oh, I’m not really good at the whole sad goodbye thing,” Tony quips, trying his best to look unaffected.

“Okay,” you sadly smile. “Tell Morgan I’m going to miss her.”

“SHIELD is going to have a very angry six year old to deal with,” he halfheartedly jokes. You’re about to walk away when Tony sighs and quickly wraps his arm around you. “That didn’t happen.”

With each member of your former team, you feel your resolve crumble just a little bit. Each friend you’ve made, each memory you’ve made and bond you’ve built- all being ripped away from you. And it hurts. It hurts in a way you didn't think you could be hurt anymore.

Then Steve, who takes no issue with pulling you into a tight embrace, whispering into the top of your head. “You’re going to do great, wherever you end up.”

“Thanks, Steve.” Then you nudge your head to Bucky. “Take care of him for me.”

“Of course,” he sadly smiles at you.

Before you turn to Sam and Bucky, you turn back to the rest of the team. “Can you guys tell everyone else that I’m sorry I couldn’t say bye in person? Peter, Thor, everyone else. And that I’ll miss them.”

To which you receive scattered silent nods.

And then it’s possibly the hardest two goodbyes you’ve ever had to say.

Bucky wraps his arms around your waist, holding you as closely as he can like that will somehow anchor him to you. He bends down to your ear, quietly whispering, “Just say the word and I’ll get you out of here. Just you and me, anywhere you want. Just say ‘yes’.”

And though the yes is on the very forefront of your mouth, you know you can’t. You can see the scene playing out already: you and Bucky would make it out of this room, off the compound. And then the two of you would be on the run. You’d send him back into a life on the run, a life as a fugitive. And you can’t do that to him.

If you can’t have peace, maybe you can give that to him.

The selfish part of you wants him to remember you, to remember the future that you desperately wanted more than anything. The part that won out was the side of you that wanted him to go on. That hoped the sun shined, and wherever he ended up was beautiful even if it was without you.

“Please say yes,” he quietly begs.

You don’t tell him no, you don’t say anything. You can’t. If you told him that he himself was the reason you couldn’t say yes, he’d tell you that it didn’t matter. That life as a fugitive was better than a life without you. He’d tell you everything you want to hear until you said yes, so you say nothing, only allowing a shaky sigh through your lips. And once he hears your shaky sigh and he knows the answer.

“I love you, okay? Don’t ever forget that,” Bucky whispers in your ear, clutching you tightly to his chest. “I’ll always love you.”

And then Sam, who still isn’t looking at you. And all your resolve disappears as you crumble into Sam’s shoulder. “Please, don’t make me go,” you beg, your head buried in Sam’s shoulder. “Please, I don’t want to go- I don’t want to leave.”

He gently pries you away from him. “You have to. You have to go,” he plainly states, his voice not revealing a single ounce of emotion.

“Please,” you desperately plead, tears slipping out of your eyes. “I’ll do better. I can do better.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, tearing himself away from you and storming off without another word.

Next Chapter

"Two Sides Of The Same Coin" Chapter List AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

288 notes · View notes

kittenofdoomage · 2 years

Text

Autumn Falls: Friday

Summary: Y/N’s had a run of bad luck that’s left her miserable, so her sister and best friend surprise her with a trip to Autumn Falls, the exclusive Californian resort where your every dream comes true. Seven days of relaxation and luxury await her, but will her vacation lift her spirits or leave her longing?

Pairings (reader is female): Negan x reader, Bucky Barnes x reader, Thor Odinson x reader, Sam Winchester x reader, Negan x reader x Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester x reader, Geralt of Rivia x reader, Steve Rogers x reader

Word Count: 37041

Warnings (expect any combination): slight angst and commiseration, non-disclosure agreements, flirting, conversations about relationships, oral sex, vaginal sex, public nudity and skinny dipping, size kink, sex in a hot tub, suspension (sort of), intense sex, breeding kink, yoga, my obsession with Sam’s hands, massages, dirty talk, slight praise kink, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, and squirting, threesome, double penetration (vaginal/anal), handjobs, shower smut, sex in a kitchen, horse riding, wild nature sex, over-stimulation, excessive orgasms, comfort, companionship, aromatherapy and hot stone massages, anal sex, light BDSM, restraints, spanking/paddling, anal play, double penetration with toys, gagging, cuddling, post-vacation blues

MASTERPOST

Only Negan was beside her when she woke up the next morning, rolling onto her side to meet his smiling face. She smiled back, a little shyly, which was ridiculous considering what had happened between them the night before. “Morning,” she murmured, propping her head on the pillow. “Where’d Sam go?”

“Had to leave,” he replied softly, shifting a little closer. “You sore?”

Stretching, she moaned under her breath, feeling the tenderness between her legs. “Some.”

“How about a shower?”

It didn’t take much to convince her to join him under the hot spray, and she shouldn’t have been surprised when he was on his knees less than two minutes later, one of her thighs hooked over his shoulder as he lapped at her sensitive folds. She wasn’t sure she would have anything left to give after the last three days but somehow, Negan had her coming again under his skilled tongue, and he didn’t stop even when she was slumped against the tiles.

“Get under the water,” he groaned, getting to his feet as she dragged him with her. “It’ll make you feel better.”

He wasn’t wrong. The hot spray soothed every ache and bruise, and she hummed happily when Negan kissed her, blindly groping for his erection as they crowded under the water. When she wrapped her fingers around him, he moaned and gasped, pulling back to look at her with dark eyes.

“What’re you doin’?” he slurred.

“Showing my gratitude,” she whispered, using her free hand to pull him into another kiss. He hissed when she tightened her grip, beginning to stroke him with a steady rhythm, dragging her thumb over his sensitive tip to add to the sensation. Precum wept from his slit, adding to the water to slick her path.

It didn’t take long for him to spill over her fingers and belly, and he moaned into her mouth as he came, pulling her tighter against him until she couldn’t move her hand anymore. The sticky mess between them washed away with the spray, but they didn’t part, continuing to kiss for a few minutes longer.

Negan grabbed the soap, pulling away enough to start washing her down, and she returned the favor, both of them stealing soft caresses as they went, until she could feel her fingers wrinkling. He turned the spray off once the suds were gone, stepping out of the shower and giving her a spectacular view of his ass.

“Can I ask a question?”

“That depends what it is,” he shot back, holding out a towel for her.

“Is there anyone who works here that isn’t over six feet tall?”

Negan chuckled. “Megan’s only five ten.” She scowled at his flippant response, covering herself with the towel and starting to dry off. “Don’t you like the tall dominant types, sweetheart?” he crooned, and she turned her face away, biting her lip in an attempt to ignore his teasing.

Once again, he wasn’t wrong. She did have a thing for tall guys, though she hadn't realized how much of a thing. It was another moment of reality setting in; she’d slept with four guys in a week, when before she’d never slept with that many people in a year.

As if sensing her sudden tension, Negan stepped up behind her, placing his large hands on her shoulders. Calm swept through her, and she turned to him, looking up with a guilty expression. “Do yourself a favor,” he murmured. “Stop overthinking this. Look how much fun you’ve had, that you’re still having. You don’t have to preoccupy yourself with real world shit here, darlin’. Just enjoy the ride. There’s nothin’ to feel guilty about, no consequences.” He leaned in, kissing her softly, and she moaned, pressing her hands against his wet chest. “Roll with it.”

Her stomach rumbled loudly, and she ducked her head. Negan laughed under his breath, catching her chin to make her look at him again.

“Dean’s waitin’ for you in the kitchen downstairs.”

“Dean?”

He grinned. “Your companion for the day. Happens to be Sam’s brother. And he likes food.” His hand closed on her ass and he squeezed, kissing her one last time. “Get yourself dressed, and I’ll take you down there.”

The kitchens had not been part of the tour, and she was expecting a busy area when she walked in. Instead, there was only Megan, which seemed to puzzle Negan, who looked around when they walked in.

“Mornin’, Y/N,” Megan chirped happily. “Uh, Dean’s just dealing with a problem out by the pool, he’ll be back in a -”

“I’m here, I’m here,” another man announced, strolling in with a smile on his face, his attention zeroing in on Y/N. She froze at the sight of him, a little taken aback by how pretty he was, and she almost jumped out of her skin when Negan chuckled. “Sorry, man, the grill fucked up on Tom last night and he asked me to take a look.”

Negan frowned. “Is it fixed or do I need to make a call?”

The man dismissed the concern with a wave of his hand. “Nah, just a blocked valve,” he explained before smiling at Y/N, offering his hand. “Hi, I’m Dean.” His smile was dazzling, and she was a little too caught up in his perfect jawline to answer for a second.

“Y/N,” she finally replied, taking his hand and shaking it.

“You’re even more beautiful in person,” Dean murmured, winking at her, and she grinned, taking her hand back. “You hungry?”

“Very.”

Megan disappeared and Negan chuckled, resting one hand on the small of Y/N’s back and leaning in. “Enjoy yourself, princess,” he rumbled, and she shivered, glancing at him as he walked away and disappeared out of the same door as the other woman. Dean waited until he was gone before looking back at her with a smile, gesturing to the large metal countertop beside them.

“Can I assume we’re cooking?”

“You definitely can,” he replied. “I think brunch is on the menu.” He reached over, pressing a small set of buttons on the countertop. At the further end, a television suddenly popped up, emerging from an almost invisible seal, and at the same time, another panel lifted and slid to the side, revealing a stove top. “Man, I love the fancy gadgets they got here.”

“So are you a good cook?” Y/N asked.

“I’m… competent,” he laughed. “My brother will tell you my mac and cheese is the greatest. Or he would have when he was six anyway.”

“Sam, right?”

Dean smirked, eyes darkening. “Yeah,” he drawled. “Heard you met him.”

Heat filled her cheeks, and she leaned on the counter, watching the screen load up with what looked like options for cookery shows. “Oh, I like Gordon Ramsey,” she said, unsubtly changing the subject.

“Let’s see what recipes he’s got then.”

One thing she realized she missed most of all, as she and Dean created chaos in the kitchen, was doing things with other people. She remembered being in college, always having something going on, and it shocked her to take stock of what she did with her life now. The only thing she really had outside work was reading books, and she knew that returning to her life, she needed to make some change. There was a new confidence to her now that she was sure had only come from being here, and she was beginning to worry that the vacation would be over too soon, that she’d never feel this good again.

Brunch ended up being a little bit of a disaster but not an inedible disaster. They made pancakes, eggs, and bacon, followed by waffles with melted chocolate and fruit, snacking as they went before sitting on the stools at one end of the counter to tuck in.

“How did you find the other activities?” he asked as she chewed on a mouthful of pancakes, trying not to choke as she remembered the “activities” he was probably not referring to.

“I liked the hike,” she said, once she’d swallowed her food. “Wasn’t so good at dancing, I guess I’m not as fit as I was in high school.”

“Dancing?” He grimaced. “I think I can manage a dad dance now and then. What was it, like a rumba?”

She giggled. “No, just like a waltz. Thor was very patient with me stamping on his feet.”

He grinned, shaking his head as he picked up another bite of food on his fork. “Lemme guess at Sam’s - yoga, right?” A nod confirmed his guess and he chuckled. “I don’t know how anyone can do yoga. It’s so boring.”

“I enjoy it, or I did. Something I’ll probably pick up again when I go home.”

“You gonna pick anything else up again?”

She nodded, pushing the last piece of her pancakes around her plate. “I think I need to. I spent so long just… in this funk, and it kinda feels like I’m starting to be me again, y’know?”

A smile spread across his face, only making him all the more handsome. “I get it,” he replied. “Sometimes you need something to pull you out.” He watched her for a second, then picked up one of the strawberries from the bowl between them, dipping it in the chocolate sauce. “Wanna try?” he asked, voice low and seductive.

Roll with it.

She opened her mouth, leaning in as he fed her the sweet treat, his gaze focused on her lips as she bit into it, a drop of sauce clinging to her lips when she pulled away. Dean instantly reached out to wipe it away with his thumb and she grabbed his wrist, licking the sauce from his thumb with more of a flair than required. His jaw dropped and his eyes darkened, his whole demeanor suddenly changing on a dime.

“I thought I was supposed to seduce you,” he murmured, pulling his arm back when she released it.

“Maybe I’m feeling a little more myself than I thought,” she whispered back, getting to her feet and sliding towards him, slotting herself between his muscular thighs.

“Oh?”

She nodded, biting her bottom lip as she slid her hands over his chest, feeling the thick muscle underneath the black cotton. He watched her, unmoving, mouth slightly agape as her fingers curled into the edges of his flannel overshirt. “I’m going to kiss you now,” she whispered, more to herself than him. Dean gave a light nod, dropping his gaze to her lips as she closed in.

He tasted like the syrup from the pancakes, sweet and tangy against her tongue, and she moaned into his mouth when his hands grabbed her ass, pulling her flush with his crotch. His lips parted, drawing her in, both of them growing hungrier by the moment.

Their location suddenly flooded back to her and she froze, jerking back. “Won’t someone walk in?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No one’s around,” he assured her, tugging her back into his arms. She smiled, sinking into another kiss, feeling his fingers creeping up underneath her shirt. “Take this off,” he whispered, pulling the fabric up. Y/N acquiesced without hesitation, and Dean’s hands cupped her breasts through her bra, squeezing them together before shoving the bra up too, exposing her pert nipples. His mouth was instantly around one, and she moaned, tipping her head back as he sucked it into a hard bud.

“Take yours off,” she whined, plucking at his shirts. He released her breast with a wet pop, smirking up at her as he released her to grant her request. Underneath the layers was just as firm as she expected and she couldn’t resist pressing her hands against his pecs, running her palms over the smooth muscle. “Damn,” she muttered. “You really are pretty.”

He snorted. “Pretty?”

“Guys can be pretty,” she defended with a giggle. “What would you prefer? Handsome? Gorgeous?”

“Sexy,” he purred, pulling her into another kiss, sliding his fingers through her hair while using his other hand to snap her bra open. It fell and she shook it off before letting him pull her against his chest, the warmth of his skin seeping into hers. She moaned, wrapping her arms around his neck as the kiss deepened, and her hips rocked into him instinctively.

His hand moved between them, unbuttoning her pants with one flick of his fingers, and she shifted to accommodate him as he tugged them down enough to slide his hand inside. She gasped into his mouth when his fingers found her wet underneath her panties, and he stroked two against her folds, swallowing down her whimpers.

He watched her as she leaned into the hand cradling her head, keeping her hands on his shoulders as he worked his fingers inside of her. Her breaths came in desperate little pants, hips rocking lightly into his touch, and when he twisted his arm to get a better angle, he pressed his thumb into her clit. The action made her jerk and whine, her whole body trembling as he worked her higher.

“Oh, god,” she panted, “oh, god, please, fuck me.” Her legs shook, the peak of her orgasm forcing her to tighten her hold on him so she didn’t collapse.

Dean withdrew, getting to his feet as he licked his fingers clean. “Hands on the counter,” he ordered, unbuckling his belt to shove his pants down. She turned, gasping when he pulled hers down too, using his feet to kick her legs apart. The sudden roughness made her wetter and she moaned when his fingers rubbed against her again, coming away with fresh moisture on them. “You’re so fucking wet,” he grunted, fisting his cock with her juices.

“Please, Dean…”

A low laugh reached her but her attention was on the pressure at her entrance, the threat of his thick cock breaching her. She wished she’d gotten a look at the rest of him, though she could feel how big he was already just from the burgeoning penetration.

“Goddamn,” he groaned as her heat enveloped him. “So fucking tight too… fuck…”

She gasped as he filled her, his groin coming flush with her ass as he held himself deep. It was difficult to concentrate on breathing, and her head swam with arousal, forcing her onto her elbows. He started to thrust, short and sharp, punching a high-pitched yelp from her on every stroke. His height had her on her tiptoes, and each stab of his cock filled her with ecstasy, dragging her headlong into a climax that left her slumped over the countertop.

He withdrew when he felt her shuddering, almost tackling her down onto the floor until she was on her back before tearing her sneakers and pants off, and shoving his own further down. His hips pinned her legs apart as he entered her again, and when he was pressed deep, he pulled her right leg up, tucking it under his hip. Her cries were cut off with a kiss, and he started to move again, fucking her into the cool flooring.

“Wanna feel you cum one more time,” he growled, slamming into her, “and then I’m gonna fill you up.”

“Okay,” she whined, too cockdrunk to say anything else. Dean grinned, lifting up onto his knees, getting more leverage to thrust into her. The world faded away as she spiraled, each wave of pleasure getting stronger until she was sure she would be dripping down his thighs.

“That’s it,” he groaned, feeling her walls tighten around him. “Squeeze my cock, baby.”

She screamed, and the sound echoed off of the metal cabinets. Trembling from head to foot, she rode it out, Dean’s warm climax adding to hers, trickling down the crack of her ass. He slumped forward, nuzzling at her cheek, coaxing her into a kiss as he let her come down from the high.

When he finally withdrew, she hissed, biting her lip to silence the noise. He looked at her in concern, tilting his head. “You okay?”

“Little sore,” she admitted, reaching for her shirt with a wince.

Dean chuckled. “How about we clean up this mess,” he gestured to the remains of the cooking and food, “and go chill out with some movies in your room, order room service? You could probably do with staying off your feet for a while.”

“Sounds great.”

He didn’t leave her room until nearly midnight. She wasn’t sure if it was the good food or the wine that made her sluggish as she closed the door behind him, smiling idiotically when she paused to lean against it. The day had been so relaxing, watching movies with Dean, the slow, lazy sexual interactions that left her satisfied and feeling incredibly good. Dragging herself into the bedroom, she sank onto the bed, laying back for a moment before a thought struck her.

Negan answered after three rings, amusement in his voice. “You need a hand again?” he asked.

“Not tonight,” she replied with a giggle. “I think I need to rest.”

“Probably a good idea,” he agreed, chuckling down the phone. “You’ll find everything you need for tomorrow in the closet. And don’t mind Geralt, he’s a little sullen, but he’s soft as shit on the inside.”

“Geralt?” she asked, though she knew better than to expect any more information.

The laughter on the other end confirmed it. “Sweet dreams, princess.” He hung up, and she stared at the phone a moment before getting to her feet and approaching the closet. Inside, set apart from her clothes, was a pair of jodhpurs, some Hunter boots, and a thick sweater. Above them, a helmet was on the shelf, and she pulled it down, frowning at it. It looked almost like a bicycle helmet, though she hated cycling, so she wasn’t sure what it was for.

“Rock climbing maybe?” she murmured. She’d always wanted to go rock climbing but she didn’t think she’d ever told anyone that. With a shrug, she put the helmet back, closing the closet before turning to her bed, contemplating a shower. Her muscles ached, answering the question for her, so she stripped down to her panties and crawled into the bed, trying not to think about what awaited her tomorrow.

Feedback is golden, thanks for reading, please consider telling me what you think! 🎃

#fanfiction #fanfic #supernatural #spn #the walking dead #twd #negan x reader #negan #dean winchester #dean x reader #smut #adult fiction #autumn falls series

74 notes · View notes

srgntjamesbuckybarnes · 2 years

Text

Buck & Doe (2)

Summary: Natasha attempts to take down Dreykov, who is mind controlling Black Widows. In her quest she recruits Y/N, a former Black Widow turned science experiment. Bucky and Natasha share a history in the Red Room but his life might be intertwined with more than one Widow. The closer they get to taking down Dreykov, the more secrets come to light.

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of torture, loss of child(ren), and inability to conceive

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Not Beta'd

Series Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Chapter 2

“Hey big fella,” Natasha called out, catching Bruce’s attention.

Bruce smiled, taking his glasses off and wiping his palms on his white lab coat.

“Hi Nat. What can I do for you?”

Natasha beckoned Bucky forward with the small girl curled up in his metal arm. Steve trailed behind waving them off as he went in search of Tony.

“I need you to use one of your seven doctorate degrees to check out my friend here.” She motioned to Y/N as Bucky sat her on one of the counters.

Bruce looked over the small girl frowning.

“I’m not a pediatrician.”

“It’s not the girl I’m worried about.” Natasha mumbled as she approached Y/N. “Hey Jane, I need to speak with the other one now. Okay?”

Y/N frowned up at Natasha’s request. The adult Y/N wanted to grieve in peace; the child wanted to play. Any decision Y/N was about to make was taken from her as a large, warm, comforting palm rested on her shoulder, fingers grazing her neck. Tracing the hand back to its owner, her large doe eyes met a pair of steel blue eyes. A gasp pulled their eyes away. Instead, her eyes landed on Bruce gaping next to Natasha.

“‘m gonna go find Steve and Tony.” Bucky announced giving her shoulder a quick squeeze.

He didn’t have to ask Natasha but she knew the invitation to go with him was there. They knew whatever Bruce discovered wasn’t going to be good. Bucky wanted to give Y/N space, some privacy after having her life uprooted. Natasha, however, didn’t want to leave her alone. She wanted her to have a shoulder to lean on, a familiar face despite the news she would receive. Perhaps part of her was curious too, jealous even.

“I’m gonna stay,” Natasha called over her shoulder giving Y/N’s hand a squeeze.

Bucky spotted Steve and Natasha each with a shoulder leaning against the wall as they spoke in the dark hallway. He knew they were talking about the mission due to his super-soldier hearing. Deeming it was safe to intervene he made his way towards the pair. He had been searching for a moment to check in with Natasha ever since her reaction to the blood on Y/N.

At the sight of Bucky a few steps away, Steve sent Natasha a soft parting smile. He clapped his best friend on the back as he passed him down the hall in acknowledgement. Steve knew Bucky like the back of his hand considering they grew up together. He was thankful that despite HYDRA, his connection with Bucky had remained. Steve still wasn’t sure of the details between Bucky and Natasha, but he knew when he wasn’t needed.

As Steve turned the corner Bucky took Steve’s original spot leaning against the wall facing Natasha. He had waited a moment for his best friend to get a bit further so his super-soldier hearing wouldn’t eavesdrop. Bucky bit his lip glancing at his feet before daring to meet Natasha’s tied eyes from beneath his own lashes.

“How are you holding up?” Bucky mumbled.

Sure Natasha had always wanted to know her real family or to even reunite with her fake family but these desires paled in comparison for her desire to start her own family. The Red Room took that from her. Dreykov took that from her.

“Fine.” Natasha lied but Bucky was quick to see right through it despite her stoic expression.

“Nat, it’s me you’re talking to. You don’t have to lie.”

Natasha regretted her moment of weakness during her time in the Red Room. Upon one of many of the Winter Soldier and Black Widow’s secret intimate moments, she had confided in the soldier. She told him about the graduation ceremony, how she was sterilized and more importantly how she longed to have a child of her own. Clearly, he hadn't forgotten.

Natasha pursed her lips pushing her shoulder off the wall and crossing her arms. “What do you want me to say, Bucky?” Her tone was sharp. “That I’m jealous? Envious of a woman that just had a miscarriage?” She scoffed in disbelief.

Given Natasha’s heated expression Bucky dropped his head, his metal hand picking at the skin on his right hand. “Only if it’s true.”

Dots danced behind Natasha's eyelids as she pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes. “What’s wrong with me? I shouldn’t feel like this. I’m an awful person,” she rambled.

Pushing himself off of the wall, Bucky grasped both of her wrists, removing them from her face. His thumbs rubbing circles on her wrists forcing her to look at him. “Jus’ because she’s been through a lot doesn’t mean your feelings are invalid. You’re a good person Romanoff, you deserve to be happy too.”

The left corner of Natasha’s mouth twitched upward. “You should take your own advice. You deserve happiness too.”

The corners of Bucky’s mouth lifted into the smallest smile, but he knew Natasha saw it. Bucky released Natasha's wrists brushing past her satisfied she opened up to him.

“Oh.” Y/N was surprised to find Bucky alone watching tv in the common room. “Hey.”

Bucky nodded in acknowledgement.

As the credits began rolling on the film, Bucky pulled out Steve’s old paperback book recrossing out the latest film he watched. Catching sight of the book Y/N strained her eyes trying to make sense of the list. During her time in the Red Room, she was kept up to date with modern times. It was important for a Widow to know random information in case it came up during a mission. Y/N however, was kept in the dark from the outside world after her reproductive organs came back. She was never given an outside mission and instead chosen for a different task; one she never knew the details of but had no other choice. Whatever Bucky was crossing off his list was nonsense to Y/N.

Bucky could feel Y/N staring and quickly pocketed the book in his jeans. When his eyes met hers, he knew Y/N knew she was caught but neither of them commented on it.

“Actually,” Y/N began twiddling her fingers. “Have you seen my book? I brought it with me but, well, I changed before we left.”

Bucky hummed in thought before glancing at her bare legs sticking out from the long dark t-shirt she wore. Bucky clicked his tongue, turning back towards the television. “Ask Steve. He brought your pants in somewhere. Probably put it in your pocket.”

Y/N blushed at her lack of clothing. It hadn’t been a problem in the Red Room but she wasn’t in the Red Room anymore. She was in a tower full of strangers and yet her clothes never changed size as she shifted.

When Bucky noticed she had not made an attempt to move, he glanced back at her nodding his head back towards the tv. “Wanna watch something?”

Y/N rubbed her bare arm, her eyes darting between the large flatscreen on the wall, the long white couch and the super-soldier sprawled out before her.

“I don’t watch tv. They um-” Y/N searched for the right words.

Bucky nodded. “’s okay.”

Natasha had told him of the Red Room’s use of movies to train the Widows. It had never been a trigger for Natasha but he supposed each Widow had different experiences. Bucky turned back to the tv as the next film started but jumped when he felt the couch shift. Y/N awkwardly sat on the opposite end of the couch keeping some distance between the two. At first, he assumed she was going to watch the film anyway but after a few minutes into the movie he felt her staring at him. When he turned to face her, she was still sitting in the same position. Her palms face down beside her gripping the couch cushion as she sat on the edge. She never leaned back into the couch, she never got comfortable. Bucky knew something was on her mind so he paused the movie raising an eyebrow in her direction.

Y/N took a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize.”

Now both of Bucky’s eyebrows shot towards the sky.

“For the way we met,” Y/N continued. “I was in a bad pla-”

“‘s fine.” Bucky waved her off.

Y/N shook her head turning her body towards Bucky. “No, it's not. You guys were trying to help, you didn’t know. I had all of these negative emotions and they shouldn’t have been directed towards any of you.”

Bucky frowned. She had every right to react the way she did. He still remembered all of the feelings he had when he escaped HYDRA, hell, he still carried the feelings with him. Y/N cut off Bucky's spiral of thoughts as she continued. “And for whatever happened on the way back. What the other me did.”

Bucky’s frown deepened as he absorbed her words. She spoke as if she didn’t remember being the little girl. “You don’t remember when you shifted?” Bucky asked while brushing a strand of hair behind his ear to see her more clearly.

Y/N shook her head. “More like can’t. It’s like I black out when I’m her.”

Bucky pushed all thoughts of his life as the Winter Soldier from his mind trying to focus on the woman in front of him. Before he could even think of a response to what would be considered unsettling information to anyone, he noticed her body language had relaxed as if she had accepted the information long ago.

“I wanted to ask you,” she had shifted on her knees facing Bucky. “Were you there before?”

Bucky cocked his head in confusion.

“Red Room.” She elaborated barely above a whisper but the super-soldier heard her.

When Bucky offered no information, she continued.

“It’s just that, when you, Steve and Natasha came to get me Steve stuck out like a sore thumb, ya know? All the bright colors, red, white and blue full of hope and talking about freedom. He took in his surroundings as one would in unfamiliar territory.”

Bucky grunted, crossing his arms and avoiding her eyes. He had forgotten she had been trained much like Natasha. Of course while she was in distress she was still observant. She was literally trained to be a spy.

Y/N opened and closed her mouth a few times searching for the right words. Her eyes scanned him for a reaction, any sign that she was correct. She could tell Bucky was uncomfortable but he didn’t correct her nor try to stop her so she continued. “Then there was you and Nat, the complete opposite of Steve. All dressed in black talking about fighting. I know Natasha’s been there, that’s how she knew where to find me. But you, you didn’t take in your surroundings because you already knew them.” Y/N was confident in her accusation.

Bucky sighed leaning back into the couch. Everyone else knew about his time as the Winter Soldier so it wasn’t exactly a secret. “My brain was fried but yeah, I was there.” Bucky mumbled. Y/N mimicked Bucky leaning back into her end of the couch. “Winter Soldier Program.” Bucky stated while watching the women before him become the most relaxed she had been during their entire conversation.

Usually people pitied Bucky or feared him at the mention of the Winter Soldier but not Y/N. She, like Natasha, had found comfort in not being alone. All they had been, since being part of Department X, was alone.

Instead of giving Bucky a pep talk she pointed to her own brain. “Scrambled.”

Next Chapter

122 notes · View notes

ronearoundblindly · 6 months

Text

The Stark Legacy (27)

Tony Stark's daughter (OC) x Bucky Barnes epic slowburn

Pigeons, part of Book III: Power (see previous or series)

Summary: Bucky, Steve, and Sharon help Samantha with target practice.

Warnings for canon-level destruction (but in a training sense), guns, pranks, and awkward convos. Rated Teen/15+ ONLY, please. WC 2.2k

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN—April 2039

Without coffee, Sam did not recall why her alarm clock went off so damn early. She could not remember the previous day’s embarrassment at all until squeezing a leg into Johnny Storm’s jumpsuit. Why the hell would a man wear something this tight? Sam hoped training today involved punching something she was less afraid of than Natasha because she was poised to wail out frustration on something flammable. Tandy spoke of her required ‘discharges’ of Lightforce if she hadn’t used power for a long period of time; Sam wondered if this was the same thing. Maybe her body was just antsy with pent up energy? Maybe it had nothing to do with Bucky himself? She hoped.

Out on the lawn, travel cup in hand but not enough caffeine in her veins, scarfing the last bite of a croissant sandwich down, Sam walked sloppily towards a car in the drive. A small kit of pigeons pecked between the gravel at the corner of the lawn. Sam kept shuffling forward expecting the birds to scatter as she neared, but in her morning haze, it slowly dawned on her that they didn’t move. Her foot stopped less than an inch away from one’s foot. She stared curiously.

The birds took flight simultaneously aimed at her body. Startled, Sam raised her hands to her face, tossing her mug aside, and falling back onto the drive. The squeaking noise that erupted in her shock was followed by a snickering laugh across the lawn. Big Sam stood in his sweats, arms crossed over his heart, cackling.

“Your face,” Wilson breathed through joyous belly laughs, “priceless.”

Sam wasn’t hurt, save her pride and liquid lucidity. Option #1 for punching: Big Sam. She grabbed her half-spilled tumbler off the ground, frowning, but thankful that she had not worn her white sweatshirt as she dusted off. Bucky stood by the car, holding out a peace offering of more coffee and failing to hide his own smile. Sam got into the car, thinking Option #2 within arms length.

Trailed by various soaring friends, Big Sam waved Sam and Bucky on as he completed his run before training the teens. His pace was slow but steady, his salt and pepper hair glittered in the dawn light. Samantha tilted her forehead to rest against the window of the outlandish, dark green, custom Ferrari Bucky had chosen from Tony’s garage. Bucky must have done something right to convince Tony to give him access to his ‘babies.’

Sam drank some of the new tumbler then wiggled it into the holder. “How long is the drive?”

“Over an hour, when I go the speed limit.” Bucky smirked, energized by their little prank. When Sam didn’t reply, he shifted his eyes from the road to her, his nub of a ponytail gently scratching against the leather head rest. “It looks nice,” Bucky tried, making a waving gesture over a shoulder with his free hand.

Trying to put a shine on early hours with a compliment of her hair cut was not going to work.

“I hate you,” Sam grumbled before shoving her hands into her kangaroo pocket and nodding back off against the pane of passing trees.

Bucky smiled again.

Sharon adjusted Sam’s shoulders and feet. “Try it like you’re shooting.”

Sam hit zero of the stationary targets set 50 feet out, facing away from the Rogers’ classic farmhouse home outside of…where? Sam had no knack for domestic geography. She wanted desperately to be fantastic at this. Instead, her showing so far was truly pathetic. All that came forward from her palm was a wide spit of flame that launched Sam backwards into the grass.

Her coach returned to her side. “Ok, describe to me what you’re doing.”

They wanted her to fire a blast of energy that maintained inertia across the rich green field from her left arm, of course, which was not her dominant. She was having to mentally adjust the few aiming lessons of her life to the other side, and she felt overwhelmed and stupid for not picking this up immediately. She was good at a plethora of things, all sorts of subjects, but not this. Sam’s analytic mind reeled, rushing through physics calculations and velocities and impacts and force and speed. Equations were much easier on paper. Or when Missy helped. This was Sam, alone, with an audience of professionals. It should have been her dream, what she’d worked for this whole time. It made her sweaty instead…or would have if she could still sweat.

“I’m…aiming like drawing the bow back.”

Sharon laughed at herself. “Right, shooting arrows, with Clint." She rounded on her heels, remarkably spry for a woman in her fifties. “Bucky, give me your weapon.”

The resistance to the tug of the assault rifle from his chest let Agent 13 know just how possessive the soldier was of his comforts. Nobody ever fired it except Bucky unless some bizarre happenstance prevented him maintaining and cleaning it himself. Steve couldn’t stop the curl of his lips.

“Just for a moment,” Sharon comforted, “I promise, I just need to demonstrate kickback. This is the most equivalent size. Pretty please?”

Bucky relinquished.

Sharon gingerly cradled Bucky’s metal baby in her arms, stifling a laugh, until she was back by Sam’s side. She positioned the girl’s hands, shoulder, and the angle of her hips. “I’m expecting this to knock you over, so prove me wrong, yeah?” Sharon lowered her voice to barely a whisper, adding, “I know you can impress them.” She winked before shifting to stand behind Sam. “Tiny burst towards the targets, just so you can feel the force and correct. Just one, or Bucky will have a heart attack.”

Sam’s breath caught as she lifted the heavy weapon, afraid of falling on her ass, so she dug her heels in for balance and concentrated. She could feel something summoned inside by her focus, a tendril of steel reinforcing her arm, strengthening her shoulder socket. She practiced a one-count in her mind in an attempt to automate the timing in case the kickback overwhelmed her. Her finger gave a tentative squeeze.

The tat-tat-tat of gunfire startled her even when she expected it. Her feet did not falter until after the firing stopped, but then she stumbled back, unable to shift her balance forward against the punch of the butt into her pectoral.

“Goddamnit,” she mumbled.

“Not bad,” Sharon whispered with a pat on Sam’s shoulders, calling “You can have it back now!”

Bucky hovered a foot away and grabbed the gun back faster than Sam could release her hands. Sam had the distinct feeling she had managed to defile something precious to him, but he was gone before she could apologize or thank him for allowing it. Sharon wasted no time. “That’s the kind of thing happening inside your body—best guess—so I want you to prepare, to push back so that your balance aids your aim. Alright?”

Sam’s face betrayed her terror. Sharon put her arm around Sam, blocking the eye line of the men. “Sam, think of it as you are the bow string, you are what pushes the bullet forward. Sorry, mixed metaphors, but you are absolutely smart and strong enough to produce the different velocity and distance shots I’m asking for…plus I’d rather you learn to take down targets when they are far away rather than up close. This will technically make you good at both, and you’ll get stronger by producing and aiming different forces.”

Sam sagged a corner of her mouth in response but nodded. Her heart raced as Sharon walked away, leaving the impression of a demolition expert unspooling a cord to distance herself from dynamite. Missy’s voice quoted mathematical possibilities in her head. It made Sam focus on the problem at hand, in her hand.

So my body is a weapon now. Release the safety, feel the balance, and control to discharge…that’s shit soldiers say, right? Her eyes focused on the red center of rings but didn’t fire. Her eyes, she noticed, shifted focus as if a solid tunnel formed between her and the spot; the closer her field of vision got to the tiniest of spots, the hotter she felt.

Sam raised her arm. Every cell produced a tiny wave of energy, little ripples bouncing around, magnified when they hit the echo pad of her vibranium skin. She willed the little echos to converge to her left palm, and they did exactly as they were told. Behind her ears came a high ringing like the charge before Iron Man’s blast. Something methodical took over. Her periphery shut down. The game was an experiment; Sam needed the results. It was that simple. She made mental notes…that she couldn’t share with Missy. The ringing peaked. She fired off like a snapped rubber band, a bright whip of fire racing from her outstretched palm.

Sam did not puncture the target—she blew the whole thing sky high.

“What the hell,” Bucky shrieked.

Steve beamed with pride, but his eyebrows raised high in surprise anyway.

Sharon clapped after a split-second of shock. “Great, and now we’re gonna reign it back in a bit.”

Samantha Stark’s first ever shit-eating grin spread ear to ear across her face.

Sam smiled all through lunch; she didn’t even mind the other three chatting as if she wasn’t there. She had no notion of what they were saying anyway. At some point, after Sam inhaled her pot roast and salad, Sharon turned to discuss a burgeoning plan to fully train her.

Sharon Rogers was engaging and kind, but Agent 13, the professional, dived back in with precision and intensity, convinced that she had relevant footage to help Sam train.

“No, no,” Sharon insisted, “the DVDs are in the garage. I know they are.”

Steve shook his head. “The player doesn’t even work anymore.”

Unhappy to see her trainer deflate, Sam offered to help. She fixed the Barton’s stuff all the time back when she lived there.

Sharon rushed to gather everything, dropping the hardware off at the table with Sam and her husband before disappearing again to search the garage. Bucky excused himself to set up the afternoon’s exercises.

While Sam tinkered, Steve stared out the window at Bucky work then shifted to watch her. Sam assumed he didn’t want to talk until he blurted, “I chose to be changed, too, back in ’43.”

Sam barely raised her chin, intent on her task, and clueless as to what he meant.

Steve started swirling his tea around in the cobalt blue tumbler. “I’ll give you the same advise I was given. Remember who you are. That doesn’t change simply because you can do more.”

Sam had no idea what prompted his concern, but it felt out of place with their current circumstance. “You mean, stay the girl born into technology so I can repair some old fart’s video system?” Sam smiled in jest.

Steve couldn’t help but smile back. “You’ve been hanging around Cloak and Dagger too much.” He knew Sam would never have spoken to him like that a year ago because it was familiar and playful, friendly for once. “You like it, admit it,” he added, grabbing away one of the little tools Sam had set down only to watch her fling her hand out in offense.

“Give,” she demanded.

He handed the screwdriver back. “I meant that sometimes when people have the ability to do something, they tend to think they must, that they have to use power. You don’t have to, you understand?”

Sam tinkered for another moment. Steve sipped his tea, thinking that the task before her did not require such an intensely dark expression.

“Sir, I wasn’t anybody before this,” Sam started slowly, “not to you or anyone else. I was given everything, and I was still nothing. So pardon me for enjoying being noticed, whether it’s because I can blow stuff up or because I can fix things.”

Bucky and Sharon returned before Steve could protest. Sam tightened the casing she’d replaced and triumphantly trotted to the living room.

“Perfect.” Sharon followed Sam. “Let’s set up while Bucky tries to clean my dishes without breaking anything.”

“Sharon,” Steve warned, hanging his head.

“Or twenty bucks…for interest added.”

“You said 15.99,” Bucky quoted, gathering plates, “and I would rather be blown up.”

Steve snorted, waving his hand forward. “Sam. Sic ‘em.”

“I’m not a dog. You’re the golden boy. Let’s make sure this plays,” she finished, turning into the den, “I promise I won’t set your house on fire.”

“I know you won’t, sweetheart.” Sharon, jumping forward to her plan, handed over the disc. “But after this, I want us to get back finding that sweet spot you found with that first target. Everything was in balance, you could see it in your glow.”

Sam crouched down to plug in the cables behind the viz-screen base. “What’d you mean?”

“Well, you know, the Extremis and vibranium, they work against each other or one dominates and you are orange and violet or your skin’s all a patchwork, but when it all works—” she linked her fingers “—together, you’re basically green. That’s a balance. We need to work on that.”

Sam’s training in the afternoon was less terrifying when she tested the nuances of her energy strikes. She even shot the Cap Shield out of the sky…once.

Bucky couldn’t explain why Steve got choked up when Sam celebrated by bouncing up and down. Kid stuff, he thought, but while the dark road in front of him zipped under the car, he understood that his friend had no children to teach. Samantha Stark was the only child Steve Rogers had been around from her birth to adulthood, and his friend witnessed her learn something new. Bucky never considered that a bond on its own.

It was a confusing day for Bucky, including the cryptic conversation Steve had with him over the dishes. The talk ended with “Buck, if you don’t even bother to look for the right partner, the dance ends with you alone.” The sentiment was not new, but it came out of nowhere. Bucky remained distracted the whole afternoon while watching ancient footage of himself, Rogers, and the Howling Commandos, clips that Sharon had compiled long ago and refused to embarrass Steve with until she thought it might inspire Lil’Sam.

After seeing others go through growing pains, progress never feels as slow and arduous. It worked for Sam, but Bucky hardly paid attention.

“I see why they live like that,” Sam chirped, breaking the silence of the ride back to HQ, “it’s peaceful. No people around.” She’d continued her great mood all day.

“Yeah, nice to be secluded,” Bucky replied softly. Why was what Steve said bothering him so much?

When Sam made no further comment, his eyes focused back on the road, and the silence descended again. Bucky’s mind wandered to the distinction between children and adults for a time. He certainly felt his own innocence die with his father, having already grown up without a mother, but he remembered moments at Lehigh when recruits would befriend him. He knew, even at thirteen, the difference between being treated with respect or as a naive brat. He’d known then, and he was nowhere near as smart as Sam at that age. Why did he associate her joy negatively with youth? Why did he think Sam acted childish and unprofessional for celebrating a successful day? Hell, most of my training consisted of being brutalized until I complied. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

A thought popped into his head out of nowhere. “Where did you find the whisky?”

He knocked Sam out of deep contemplation aimed at the window. She raised her brows, tired.

“My gift, thank you by the way, how did you find it?”

“Oh,” she blinked, “my search of your name for information on your arm.” She shoved her hands back into her sweatshirt, adding,“happy belated birthday, by the way.” She was frozen in cryo on the day last month.

Bucky snorted. “I don’t count those anymore.”

Perhaps Sam was too tired to filter her thoughts. “If I were that old, neither would I.”

He tried to suppress a hearty laugh, biting his lower lip, darting his gaze off to the side. His attention turned back to the road quickly, but his smile did not fade right away.

Sam giggled, a new, charming sound. “Did you know that there are fan clubs dedicated to you? It’s actually a little freaky the number of photos they have of you, but there are so many fans of Captain America… They make up all these stories of celebrities you date, or have one night stands with. It’s weird.”

Bucky scowled, the first one Sam ever saw on him. She had to know this made him uncomfortable, but she kept going.

“I’m just saying you’ve got a big pool of options. Lots of takers. No one should be alo—”

“Would you and Steve mind your own damn business?” Bucky exploded. His blood boiled over in an instant.

Sam’s arms snapped to her sides, eyes as big as half dollars.

“It gets old really fast when you all just blurt out what you think I need—”

“Hey,” Sam yelled back, ”Steve knows you better than any person alive.”

“Then leave me to my life.” His temper wavered. Apparently, she was not angry that he’d snapped at her, but Bucky saying something against his friend, a man not around to defend himself, that crossed a line. Odd. An uncommon response from a teen.

“I’ve—” Sam got quiet while he stewed in irritation. “You’re right. I have no right, but…Tony, without Mom…he’s a shell, and I don’t want you to be a shell.”

Bucky pursed his lips. That insightful little twerp, he grumbled, unwilling to relinquish his anger yet, she has a point. Is this how Steve feels too? He made no reply aloud. He already knew the answer because Bucky heard the same speech year after year.

“Excuse me for not wanting that to happen to anyone else.” Sam let out a huffing sigh and shifted. “How much farther is it?”

“Why do you always ask me about this stuff?” Bucky couldn’t let it go just yet.

“I only asked if you knew about fan clubs, and then you screamed at me. Didn’t hear you screaming at Steve earlier…What did he say?”

“I wasn’t—sorry, I’m sorry.” The apology hardly explained, but this topic needed to die a quick death in his book. On top of all the rest, he kicked himself for ruining Sam’s good mood.

She curled into a ball in the seat. “Whatever. Be an asshole. Just get us home.”

Bucky found it interesting that Sam finally referred to headquarters as ‘home.’ She looked comically adorable when she pouted, but he thought it inappropriate to smile before being forgiven.

[Chapter 28: Room]

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

#the stark legacy #tony stark's daughter #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes fic #slow burn #slow build #epic tale #avengers fanfiction #tony stark fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction

5 notes · View notes

classic-caldwell-moment · 1 year

Text

ENDER IS MAKING ME WANNA BITE MY FINGERS OFF THESE DAYS WITH THE ANGST MAN- SO TAKE MY RAMBLING SELF INSERT STUFF!!!! HHHHHH!!!!!!!

Title: "Yellow Eyed Companion."

Category: ???

Warnings: Cannibalism implied.

Summary: Just a pilgrim and his completely feral monster friend.

Aiden pushed the barns door open and stepped out onto the small, purple lit dirt road, the icy cold air hitting his face and causing him to breathe out shakily, watching the mist from his lungs drift into night with a fondness, then the sound of shuffling feet caught his attention, a pair of wide, honey coloured eyes stared at him from across the narrow road, hidden in the darkness, away from the UV glow, the pilgrim didn't think he'd ever get used to that; maybe that's how Hakon and Lawan feel whenever he's lurking in the dark, locking eyes with a neon blue that was familiar, yet inhuman.

"Alright, alright- We can go." Aiden sighed and made his way across the dirt to the shadow shrouded zone, standing before the yellow eyed figure and gesturing for them to follow him, they blinked and grunted quietly, beginning to follow behind the man with a slow pace, their feet dragging across the ground, "They didn't have much to trade this time around. I mean- Can you believe this 'deal' they offered me, Lee? Leather and twenty gulden coins for three cans of non perishables-" Aiden huffed as he made his way down the street, he knew deep down he wouldn't get a verbal response but, he also knew his companion was listening, always listening; the sound of a low groan leaving Lee's throat behind him probably meant 'Assholes', Aiden snorted at the thought.

The two figures drifted down another dirt paved road, past small fields of vegetables, nothing useful really, and Aiden knew stealing would get him nowhere with these people, they were honestly the best connections he had near the coast, it's better not to piss off farmers, "Besides the absolute bullshit offer, I managed to get my hands on some bread, it doesn't mean much though. It'd be better to get something that'll last longer. Nine coins for something that will decay in two weeks, man." he continued his rant, Lee grunted and clumsily stumbled forward, accidentally bumping into Aiden's back, "Shit-" Aiden hissed as he spun around, backing up cautiously, Lee had never been instant on biting him, a simple scolding could get him to lay off, and he hadn't felt the cold gnaw of teeth on his shoulder, but he couldn't afford to let his guard down; the companion he and his partners housed wasn't like him, if Aiden was feral, Lee may as well be fully rabid, as ridiculous as that analogy sounds, considering what the virus is.

Aiden's eyes met with those yellow ones now they were facing eachother once again, he was still backing up ever so slightly, but Lee hadn't moved an inch, yellow eyes wider than ever with obvious shock and confusion, eyebrows furrowed in thought, "Sorry- Sorry, Kid. Just, you know the rules. I can't...Let you touch me when I'm not expecting it." the pilgrim breathed out slowly, raising his hands apologetically and watching the infecteds body language cautiously, Lee tilted his lead slightly and groaned, a clawed hand waving towards the road behind Aiden, 'Move it, we have places to be' is what it most likely meant, "Right. Yeah-" Aiden snorted and slowly turned to keep walking, casting one last glance to the boy to see Lee slowly trudging forward, patiently following behind Aiden with lumbering motions.

Aiden did feel bad, treating Lee like a wild animal, an attack dog really, kept around seemingly for extra defense, but...He did care for the boy, he met the kid when he was seven years old, the poor boy had walked miles to seemingly find him, at least that's what Aiden thought, it was no coincidence he found him that day, he was sure of it, but until he was sure Lee could control his ability to take chunks out of people without being pushed away or scolded: he couldn't risk anything.

#postinginsilence #writinginsilence #dying light #dying light 2 #dl2 #dying light fandom #aiden caldwell #dl2 aiden #dying light 2 aiden #dl2 oc #dl2 self insert #self insert & canon #oc & canon #dl2 lawan #(mentioned)#dl2 hakon #(also mentioned)#tw.cannibalism #🌼him.txt

10 notes · View notes

hawksonfire · 2 years

Note

For the tropes and AUs, Magical Accidents and Magic AU with winterhawk please and thank you? :)

Ever since Clint was a boy, he’s had the same dream. The night sky, pale grey and glittering with stars, stretching as far as the eye can see and beyond. He could never make out any constellations, but it was always jarring to wake up and see his own night sky, so empty and dark in comparison.

He only brought it up to his mother once. She went pale and took him by the shoulders, and told him he could never speak of this again. He nodded and listened to her, and never spoke of it to anyone. Ever.

It was only many years later that he discovered he had a minor magical ability to see into other dimensions. But since he only ever saw that endlessly starry sky, he was classified as a One in SHIELD’s system and they moved on. Even as a One, he rose through the ranks quickly. He liked to think of it as getting closer to the stars.

Natasha, of course, was a Ten. Clint still doesn’t know what she can do, and honestly? He’s a little scared to ask. Clint is the only person rated below a Seven on the Avengers—and hell, that seven is Banner (Hulk’s a Nine).

But regardless of ranking, it’s all hands on deck when a portal opens in SHIELD headquarters. Clint stands at the front with Fury, Maria, and the Avengers, aiming an arrow right at head level in case anything comes out. “If something comes out, do not fire!” Fury barks. “We are subduing first, people, do not make me repeat myself.”

Clint’s about to crack a joke abour not hearing him—perks of being deaf—when the portal starts to swirl faster and spits energy out. He readies himself, shifting on his feet, and then a form comes tumbling out of the portal. It snaps shut and fades with a crackle of energy, leaving the form crouched on the floor.

“Identify yourself,” Fury says, his voice ringing off the walls. “Or we will fire.”

The man looks up from the floor, his eyes scanning the room—and then his gaze meets Clint’s. “You,” he breathes, standing and staring at Clint.

Clint’s struck dumb, unable to look away from the man’s eyes. Pale grey, glittering with a thousand stars. He’s barely aware that he and this man have started moving towards each other. “I can see worlds in your eyes,” he breathes.

“I have crossed worlds to find you,” the man says in return, reaching out to him. “My name is Bucky. Bucky Barnes.”

#hawkie writes #winterhawk #bucky barnes #clint barton #marvel #hawkeye #winter soldier

49 notes · View notes

live-laugh-loverpool · 2 years

Text

Jurgen Klopp and the Impositor

Also known as the one where Klopp has...a secret twin?!

Tags: @millythegoat, @alissonbecksfan234, @robbothegoat

Dear Diary,

It’s me, Pep Lijnders. Oftentimes Jurgen gets on my nerves. But not in a bad way! It’s just that he keeps tripping over his own feet, and making horrible dad jokes, and is secretly horrified, scared, terrified and has a whole defense plan against octopi hates Burnley (don’t tell him I told you). When those times come, I take a deep breath in the mirror and tell myself that it isn’t that bad. Imagine if there were TWO of him!

Well, it turns out that I may secretly be a prophet…

It was a hot, sticky day in Singapore. An alarm clock rang in a tiny hotel room--and instantly got hurled to the floor.

“Ugh, stupid alarm clock!” a very familar voice groaned, tossing the quilt further up the bed. “Do I have to get up, Ludger?”

“Whoo,” the barn owl hooted from his cage. “Whoo, whoo!”

“Fine, I’m up.” Klopp scowled, not even bothering with his hat. He unlocked the birdcage and Ludger flew onto his shoulder. “Come on, Ludger. Let’s go see what crap the day has in store for us.”

“Whoo.”

The German bumped into Lijnders literally two seconds after stepping out of his room. The Dutch had obviously already had his coffee, and he was grinning like he’d just visited Heaven.

“Morning, you two!” Lijnders grinned. “The others are already up, Jurgen. You sure slept in today, huh?”

“Crap for you--er, I meant good morning!”

Lijnders raised an eyebrow--Klopp was never this crabby. “Is the timezone catching up to you?”

“I’ve been to Australia and back, I’m fine.” Klopp spotted Alisson down the hall. He was holding baby Grace, who he had a giant soft spot for, but didn’t seem all that cheerful.

“Stop looking at me like that, Gracie!” the goalkeeper begged, taking a seat and bouncing the fussy one-year-old on his lap. “I told you, you can’t handle baby carrots yet…alright, that is a very sad face.”

“Is Grace trying to convince you again?” Klopp tried to sound like there was no other place he’d rather be than in a humid city-state in the middle of Asian nowhere. “Because it seems to be working.”

“Look at her!” Alisson rotated Grace so that she was facing Klopp. “She looks so lonely!”

Upon seeing Ludger, Grace squealed, reaching her chubby hands out. She had always been fascinated with birds of all forms, and Klopp was considering putting up a bird feeder outside the nursery window in Kirkby--if Robertson wouldn’t knock it down searching for Staffa.

“Birdie!” Grace squealed. “Birdie!”

“Whoo!” Ludger flapped his wings in warning. The owl had never really liked children. “Whoo!!”

“That’s quite enough, Ludger.” Klopp turned to Alisson, smiling now that Grace was no longer giving him the baby eyes. “We’re going down to the cafeteria for breakfast, Ali. Want to come?” No matter how much Klopp had to put up with, he would always find a smile for Alisson or one of the kiddos.

Before Alisson could answer, a shout echoed from down the hall. It was Firmino, running as if he were haunted by a madman.

“Boss!” he moaned, throwing himself onto Klopp. “You have to stop her!”

“Stop who?” Klopp asked the Brazilian, surprised. “Bobby, you have to remember that more than half the world’s population is female and--”

“It’s Chan!” Firmino whined, refusing to let go of Klopp. “She’s married to Vera now!”

Klopp groaned--he knew where this was going. In Thailand, Firmino had met a Thai dancer, Kanchana Nguyen, who he had developed a huge crush on. But she had rejected him, and soon Firmino found out why--Kanchana, also known as Chan, had been dating one of their own medics, Vera Torres, for seven years. The two had just gotten married in Thailand and were currently enjoying their honeymoon in Bali--but that wasn’t sitting easily with the Brazilian.

“Chan and Vera were dating for seven years, Bobby,” Klopp explained for what must have been the ninety-second time. “And they’re happy together. That's enough for me. Chan’s a good girl and so is Vera. They deserve to be with the ones they love.”

Firmino sighed, going back into his room and plucking a daisy.

“Where’s your hat?” Lijnders asked Klopp, noticing the iconic baseball cap was gone. “You don’t usually go without it.”

“Oh, that!” Klopp had woken up more now, and then realized that it was missing. “It’s still in my room. I’ll just go pick it up.” He didn’t say he would come downstairs--first he had to actually find the motivation to be pleasant.

Klopp grabbed his hat off the sidetable. Noticing the unusual layer of dust on it, he shook it vigorously, causing Ludger to fly off his shoulder. That’s when he realized this hat wasn’t gray--it was more blue.

“Blue?!” Klopp showed the hat to Ludger. “I never wear blue. This is not my hat!”

Ludger hooted, hopping onto the bed. That’s when Klopp realized there was still a lump in it. A human-sized, moving lump.

The German yanked the covers off the lump, expecting a bunch of pillows or maybe Florrie and Kairo playing hide and seek again. He got none of the above.

What he did get was what seemed to be an exact copy of him. But this one’s hat was in a more bluish shade of gray.

And then it woke up.

“THE DAMN CRAP!”

“This isn’t happening!”

As soon as his look-alike had screamed the exact same words he had, the real Klopp had instantly tied him under the bedsheets. Now he was pacing around the room, Ludger following him.

“I am not going insane,” Klopp muttered to himself. “I am not going insane. I do not have a twin. I do not have a twin.”

“Bro!” The look-alike popped out from under the bedsheets, still tied up. “Long time no see! But this isn’t Kirkby.”

“BRO?!” Klopp refused to face him, deciding the blank walls were a lot more inviting. “Get out of my room, you impositor! I have no brother, DO YOU HEAR ME, ANDREAS?!”

“Andreas?” The Klopp look-alike shook his head in amusement. “No way! I’m Jonas, remember?”

“No, I do not damn remember. Maybe because this is not funny at all!”

“Now, now, Jurgen.” Look-alike-Klopp swung out of the bed, wriggling out of the ropes. Surprisingly, he didn’t trip over anything. “Is that the way to talk to your elder brother?”

“Shut up!” Klopp threw a coat at the impositor, shocked when it didn’t hit him. “You are not my elder brother! I don’t even have a brother! You idiot! I am not going insane! Get. Out. Of. My. Room.”

The impositor just laughed. “Granted, I am only a few minutes older than you. Man, how it always drove you crazy.”

“Andreas Kornmayer, this is not a joke!” Klopp grabbed his ashwood bat out of a corner, threatening to hit. “Show yourself!”

“Jurgen, I’m not an impositor!” The look-alike finally seemed to realize what was going on, distancing himself to the other side of the room. “The name is Klopp. Jonas Klopp.”

When Rafa Benitez had left Liverpool, he had written a guide on ways to avoid and solve certain situations. While Klopp had often found the manual, which he used for reference, very helpful, it wasn’t complete.

And just like he’d expected, there was nothing in there about a creepy look alike of yourself following you around and claiming he was your twin brother.

So Jurgen Klopp had no choice but to let Jonas Klopp follow him down to breakfast--where, as expected, his players--bar Alisson, who was surprisingly missing--received the biggest surprise of their pre-season.

“What in the name of MANCHESTER UNITED is going on?!” Henderson yelped once everybody was done sitting there in shock. “Boss? You never told us you have a twin!”

“I don’t have a twin!” Klopp glanced at Kornmayer, who was still frozen midway through drinking coffee. “At first I thought it was Andreas playing a very tasteless joke on me, but as we can all see here, he’s stuck midway through lifting a coffee cup.”

Henderson frowned--he could already see the differences between the original Klopp and the suspicious impositor. While the real Klopp tripped over thin air and laughed it off easily, the impositor had managed to run around the entire table--three times--without even coming close to stumbling. And when Milner had finally had enough and slapped him, the impositor had flopped to the floor, screaming.

“What a Neymar,” Firmino muttered.

“Will you shut the CRAP up?!” the real Klopp yelled, annoyed with this “twin” of his. “I know Milly is strong, but a slap from him can’t send you to the ground, you damn DUMMKOPF!!”

“It hurts, Jurgen!”

“Maybe you have bones of damn jelly instead of calcium!”

“You mean osteoblasts, osteocytes, osteoclasts and bone lining cells. According to the National Library of Medicine, ‘osteoblasts, bone lining cells and osteoclasts are present on bone surfaces and are derived from local mesenchymal cells called progenitor cells--’”

“JONAS, SHUT UP!”

“Okay, so Jonas also happens to be a nerd,” Jardim noted, taking the information down on a flashcard. “And while the real boss is a bit of a sailormouth--”

“A bit?!” DIaz rolled his eyes. “I’ve heard more swears from Klopp than I’ve heard anywhere else in England.”

“--okay, a lot of a sailormouth, and Jonas doesn’t seem to swear very much.”

“Thank goodness for the children’s sake,” Adrian pointed out, still covering Grace’s tiny ears. “My fingers are getting numb.”

Finally impositor-Klopp decided to sit down, as did the real one. And when it was time for the day’s announcements, the Liverpudlians noticed yet another difference.

“Alright, boys! Our next friendly is on Thursday, so take today to rest and recuperate. Diogo and Ox, you wil be spending one hour with the physios for rehab, and then you’re free for the rest of the day. We will be stopping back in Kirkby before heading to Austria, so prepare to go home.”

“Kirkby!” Florrie cheered, accidentally dropping her fork with excitement. “Oops.”

The real Klopp rolled his eyes in amusement before going on. “We will meet back up here for lunch. Please stay away from any football highlights, football news or football players except ourselves and former players of ours, and especially stay away from Bruno.”

“Whaaa…”

“Just kidding, everybody can talk about Bruno as much as they want! Just don’t start singing it. Us staff will go insane if we hear that song one more time!”

“Then why were you guys singing it this morning while tidying the office?” Henderson couldn’t help but point out.

The real Klopp shrugged. “Well, we were complaining about it…”

“Please don’t start singing Bruno, no no no!” Lijnders scolded thin air as he swept the office. “Please don’t start singing Bruno! But! It was her wedding day!”

“It was their wedding day!” Klopp chimed in, pointing to a picture of Vera and Kanchana on their wedding day, beaming even though their pistachio green dresses were covered in colorful powder.

“Bruno started playing and we’re reading the vows to the brides!” Lijnders went on.

“Stuck in our heads ‘til we die!”

“The song it plays in our head, not again!”

“Again!”

“It’s become the soundtrack of my life!” Lijnders moaned.

“You will be cursed by this song…”

“Bruno plays inside your brain--”

“Musical tapeworm!”

“Until you’re going so insane!”

“I’m singing it in the shower!”

“Crap, we’re singing it again!”

“Mind your language please, there are children!” Klopp warned, pointing to a sleepy Florrie approaching.

The two quickly finished their song. “Please don’t start singing Bruno, no no no! Please don’t start singing Brunoooo!!!”

“Complaining?” The impositor Klopp laughed, putting back on his blue hat. “It sounds like some botched Broadway parody! And Andrew?” He pointed to Robertson, who was currently stuffing his face with oatmeal. “You could afford to eat neatly once in a while.”

The Scot frowned, pushing away his bowl, and that was when the real Klopp saw…well, you know what color he saw.

“Jonas, that was totally unnecessary!” he scolded the impositor version of himself, brandishing his ashwood bat. “He was eating perfectly neatly and it was a healthy portion!”

“I was advising him on his manners!”

“Maybe you could afford some!”

“These are the things that make me bang my head on Oscar’s can!”

“These are the things that cause anorexia!”

Both Klopps went on arguing for the rest of breakfast. By the end, they were the only ones at the table.

“The sooner I get Jonas out of here, the better,” Klopp muttered to himself as he paced the office. “He and I look exactly alike except for our different hats, but he’s…so different. He’ll ruin the whole squad!”

“Whoo…” Ludger hooted, as if to say “you should have more trust in your twin, Jurgen”.

“No Ludger, I have to get him out of here. But how?” Klopp stared at the newest squad picture on the wall. There was him, the real Klopp, right there, holding Florrie with Ludger perched on his shoulder. “He does not exist in this world. So he’s from another world, or somebody’s playing a really convincing trick on me.”

“Whoooo!”

“Yeah, Ludger, who? Who could be trying to ruin our sacred Liverpool empire out of sheer jealousy, fear or obsessive United support? Who, I say, who?”

“Um, boss?”

Klopp paused his ranting. Milner was standing in front of him, holding up something. A gray wig.

“I think we found the impositor’s identity.”

“Who did?”

The last part seemed to slow down time to a grinding halt. “Bobby.”

Milner had pulled Klopp out of his office, all the way to the assembly hall. He pulled the door open, to reveal Alisson bound up in a chair.

“WHAT?!” Klopp whipped out his pocket knife, preparing to untie Alisson. “Why is Ali tied up? Why haven’t you done anything, Milly?”

“HIS KID! HIS KID!” Robertson chanted from outside the door, holding up a banner that read, Alisson is the Gaffer’s Kid!

“Hendo and I began getting suspicious after breakfast,” Milner explained. “We knew that you don’t have a twin. You don’t even have a brother. So it had to be a prank.”

“What if it was…magic?” Klopp didn’t like that implication. “I mean, would somebody walk around pretending to be my twin? I hardly see it coming.”

Henderson came in, hiding something behind his back. He nodded at Klopp and took a seat near the wall.

“At first, we thought that it was Guardiola or Neville, one of them trying to mess up the team’s bond,” the skipper continued. “Then Bobby mentioned how he hadn’t seen Alisson since before breakfast.”

“We linked everything up.” Milner held up the wig. “Bobby told us you’d woken up on the wrong side of the bed earlier, and how Ali never misses a meal. And so we wnt into Ali’s room--and found him taking off the same gray wig that ‘Jonas’ was wearing--and with the same blue cap on his bed.”

“And we Nab-y-ed ‘im!” Henderson finished, holding up a rope.

“Wait, hold on!” Klopp signalled a time-out, pointing to Alisson. “So he’s Jonas?!”

“It was just supposed to be a joke, boss!” Alisson protested, still trying to escape the ropes. “I just thought you needed a laugh. I didn’t think you’d get this mad!”

“Well, think about it!” Milner snapped back. “Because he was mad!”

“Mad? No!” Klopp shook his head, beginning to cut the ropes binding Alisson’ feet to the chair. “I just thought it was sabotage! If I knew one of you was just playing a joke, I would go on with it!”

“You want me to go on with it?” Alisson asked, surprised at his boss’s response. “But…you know now! What’s the point of keeping up, anyways? I mean, no offense to you, but,” the keeper chuckled, “pretending to be your super-annoying, thorn-in-your-side twin brother isn’t exactly how I want to spend the rest of my summer.”

“Well, how about this, Ali?” Klopp finished freeing Alisson, pulling him up to a stand. “You, Milly, Hendo, Bobby and I know, but the rest of the team doesn’t. How about we extend ‘July Fools’ Day’ for a while?”

Alisson grinned. “I’d like that very much, bro.”

At training that day, Alisson was still missing. Who was still there was…Jonas Klopp.

“You are SO annoying!” Jurgen Klopp groaned as his “twin” managed to make it through the hurdles without tripping. “How come I got all the clumsy genes?”

“You think that’s bad?” Jonas Klopp shot back, approaching his “brother”. “You got all the social genes!”

“Gene hog!”

“Gene bull!”

“Is that even a term?!”

“Honestly, stop fighting!” Lijnders chastised them, walking past with a clipboard in his hands. “You two fight like Kilkenny cats!”

“Okay,” Jurgen Klopp muttered, before dragging the other away into the office. “We’ll sort it out inside my office.”

They barely managed to get inside the office with straight faces. As soon as Klopp pushed up the door, he and Alisson burst into laughter.

“They’ll never know!” Alisson sighed, finally collapsing into a seat as he took off his wig. “Will they, boss?”

“Our secret is safe with me as long as you like,” Klopp assured the Brazilian. He took a seat as well, still amused from the practical joke. “But what will we say?”

“Say when?”

“When you have to come back to training.”

2 notes · View notes