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adrenaline-roulette · 4 years

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Four Eighths

Pairing: Four x Eight (Reader) Word Count: 4K+ Warnings: Lots of course language, Violence, Angst, One is kind of a dick, so is Four though....

*Disclaimer, this chapter is kind of intense, but like not, at the same time if that makes sense? Chapter Four will bring back some humour, and things will change between Four and Eight, so keep an eye out for the next instalment!

Missed Chapter One and Two, you should probably check those out first!

Chapter Three: You're not the big fish in the pond no more

Despite the rigorous training regime, you’d experienced these past few weeks, that was either designed to make you get up and leave, or potentially kill you on the spot, you had stayed with the Ghosts. You were taught how to handle different weapons, a makeshift firing range being set up for you to practise at. You would be the first to admit that your aim was not always perfect, but you were getting better, there was no doubt about it. Basic fighting techniques were passed from the other Ghosts down to you, though as Two had warned you, it was one thing to fight a punching bag, and an entirely other to fight an armed person.

*****

Three had woken early as usual, getting himself dressed in his athletic wear and lacing up his trainers tightly. Jogging on the spot, he waited patiently for Two just out the front of her trailer, knowing she would be joining him shortly. Despite it being a well-known fact among the small group, that the two were, as Four had said ‘involved’ with each other, that hadn’t changed his and Two’s sleeping arrangements… Well, at least not permanently. Mostly it was just to keep One happy, so they kept their separate trailers, though there was scarcely a night where one would sleep without the other. Each morning, they would return to their respective homes, and begin the day as if nothing had happened. This morning was no different, Two had been in Three’s trailer up until twenty minutes ago, she had kissed him good morning, then raced to her trailer to get ready. Thee found it idiotic that they had to hide their relationship, though they all knew One’s stance on the subject. He didn’t want anyone getting too close, forming friendships could only lead to heartache and tragedy.

“Only a quick run this morning, Eight will be here early for her combat training.” Two smiles as she leaps from the stairs of her trailer, landing carefully on both feet, before breaking off into a sprint.

Three leaps into action, taking off after the speedy blonde. “How is that any different to usual?” He calls, trailing a small amount behind her as they cover ground.

Two slows her sprint to jog, turning so she was now facing Three, and jogging backwards. She knew the path well, knew where to turn, and when to be mindful of any dips in the terrain. “We will be giving the punching bag a rest for the day. She will instead learn how to fight against someone who can counter and attack her back.”

Nodding his head once he had caught up to Three, he mulls over her words. “Do you think that you’re the best fit to challenge her? You want it to be difficult, don’t you?”

Two pauses, a hard glare forming over her eyes and brow. “Of course I want the challenge to be difficult! Which is why I am the perfect sparring partner for Eight, I have years of hand to hand combat under my belt.”

“I’m not questioning your skills, but you two are well matched in height, that’s not always the case though is it. When was the last time you got into a punch up with someone your height or shorter?”

“Well then, who did you have in mind if not me?”

Three waves his hand down his chest, a broad grin spreading over his mouth. “Me of course! I’m taller, and bigger than Eight, it’ll be good to see how she goes against someone double her size!”

Two rolls her eyes, turning on the spot, and picking up her pace once more, before turning to call over her shoulder. “I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into!”

*****

Which is why it came as no surprise to find Three waiting for you the morning of your next training session, Two stood to the side of the training grounds that had been set up. A circle had been drawn in the dirt, with a line trailing straight down the centre. You stretch your arms behind you, feeling your shoulder blades pop, before the tension you had held there alleviates. Three was stretching in a similar manner to you, sweat beading on his brow for his morning jog with Two. “Good morning Eight. I hate to throw you into the deep end this early, but we need to get you up to speed with combat. Three has offered to be your sparring partner.” Two offers a gentle head nod, the closest she had gotten to smiling at you since the day you arrived.

A flicker of mirth flashes through Three’s eyes, as he lifts his head to look at Two, their eyes locking for a moment in silent communication. As you stretch, you take the chance to look around, despite how early in the morning it was, everyone seemed to be milling around, waiting for the show to start. Seven had set up a green and yellow woven lawn chair out the front of his trailer, a beach umbrella opened above him to shield from the harsh sunrays, as a steaming cup of coffee rests by his feet. Five seemed to have dragged her own chair over to join him, an old plastic thing, which at one sage had been white. Though after months of being exposed to the elements, it had faded to a pale brownish yellow colour, with pieces flaking off. She too had hot cup of coffee and was sipping it patiently, and set by her feet was a small medical kit, a green circle with white plus slapped on the front of the box. It was just there as a precaution, you told yourself, turning away from the kit. Five likely took it wherever she went, just in case…

Directly across from Two was One, he was leaning back against a shipping container which was close enough to see the fight, but not close enough to be hit in the crossfire. His arms were folded over his plaid shirt, while one foot was kicked over the other, he looked the picture of relaxed. As you fished out your Bluetooth earbuds, you took a moment to notice the one person who hadn’t shown up. Four was no where to be found, not that this surprised you. He seemed to have been avoiding you at all costs, he had outright refused to show you any fighting techniques when One had requested he do so, and you had a hunch as to why. One had made it no secret as to what your skills would be within the team. While Five, Two, Seven and Three had welcomed you with open arms, finding what you could do with just a few mouse clicks to be phenomenal, Four had simply shrugged, mumbling under his breath that, “It didn’t look that hard.” When you had brought up a window on the screen you were working at, typing in a few codes, before the entire base was plunged into darkness, all except your computer. After that little demonstration, he had stalked off and promptly steered clear of you for the following weeks.

With your earbuds clutched in your fist, you made your way over to Two and Three, both of whom were waiting for you. “First rule, this is mostly directed at Three, though Eight please keep it in mind. There are to be no weapons of any kind used during your sparring. You will both start on opposite sides of the circle, the aim is to get the other onto your side and have them removed from the circle. If that does not happen, then the only other way for the session to be over, will be for one of you to tap out.” Two explains, her eyes focused on you, though occasionally she gazes to Three, ensuring that he too was listening.

You both nod your heads in understanding, before you slip an earbud in, pressing the tiny button to connect them to your phone. “Oi Eight! What are you doing?” One calls across to you raising an eyebrow at your frozen posture.

You stood with one hand halfway to your ear, the second earbud pressed between your fingertips. “I work better with music!” You shout back.

A low chuckle rumbled from Three behind you, though you paid him no mind as he whispered to Two. “Sound like anyone else we know?” He smirked, noting the absence of their fellow avid music listener, who could often be found with his own music blaring in his ears.

“You won’t always have time to put earbuds in Eight, you’ll have to learn to fight without music!” One replies, causing you to frown. Why should you learn to do that? There was absolutely no reason as to why you would be on a mission without your music and earbuds.

“One, you know I work well with music. You saw how quickly I got those cameras down at the museum with my music playing. It’s basically the exact opposite of a distraction to me!”

You watch as One opens his mouth, ready to shout his response, before being cut off by and angry French woman. “Suffisant!” Two bellowed, both you and One turning to look at her sheepishly. “If Eight wishes to use her music while fighting, then that is her choice.” Two doesn’t wait for a response from One, nodding at you to finish setting up. You take your place on one side of the line in the circle, as Three does the same on the opposite side. With one hand raised to your left earbud, the other balled in a fist and raised to just bellow your eyeline , your feet are planted firmly on the ground, legs parted and knees bent, so to absorb as much shock as possible in the event of you being struck. “Commencer!”

Your index finger presses against the button, before your hand flies down to join your other in a defensive block, Your eyes locked on Three’s in a never ending staring contest. The music kicks in, Ain’t it fun by Paramore floating through the earbuds, and filling you with a newfound sense of confidence.

You strike first, a right-handed forward punch aimed at Three’s throat, the punch itself was clean and smooth, and if it had hit its target, would have left Three feeling rather sorry for himself. Your punch never landed however, being blocked by Three’s fast-moving forearm, which knocked your fist off target. He followed through with a right hook, which connected with your shoulder painfully. You twisted your body to follow through with his punch, to absorb as much of the shock as possible.

As you swing around with his punch, you lift both your arms up, locking your fists together, throwing them down hard and fast so your elbow juts into his side. Your aim was off, you had hoped to hit his chest, though with the force your elbows had hit him, they seemed to have caused a decent amount of damage. Using the pause in Three’s movements to your advantage, you bring your locked fists up once again, turning to the opposite side before swinging around once more, this time you elbow connects with his upper torso, slamming into one of his ribs without mercy. Had it not been for your music, then you would have heard the faint crack of the impacted rib, though while you missed the sound, Three sure as hell didn’t.

He stumbles away for a moment, pressing his palm against where you had struck him, his eyes growing dark at the pain that was radiating from the impact point. You had no way of stopping what happened next, it didn’t matter how desperately your braced your knees, fists once again guarding your face, there was no way you could do anything but shriek as Three rugby tackled you, his broad shoulder crashing into your gut with so much force, you thought you would to die. He pushed you backwards, as your feet scrambled to gain purchase on the ground to try and stop your movements. ‘Ain’t it fun, living in the real world?’ Hailey Williams’ voice breezed through your ears, as the wind was knocked from your lungs, the irony of the situation certainly not lost on you.

As Three pushed you backwards, you fought to decide what your next move would be, you had to hurry though, there was only so much of this searing pain you could endure, before you opted for the cowards way out, and tapped out of the match. Before you had the chance to formulate a plan, Three had shunted into you with his shoulder again, this time using his entire body weight. You had no where to go but down, the white hot pain of where Three had rammed you was beginning to take over your entire body, your vision was fuzzy, and your limbs tingled. You flung your arms out to your sides just as your back slammed to the ground, your palms slapping against dirt to alleviate some of the impact.

*****

One watched with keen eyes as the fight took an interesting turn of events, you had had the upper hand for the most part, though clearly you had struck a nerve with Three, or a rib. As Three barrelled into you, he fought back the desire to call the fight off. It was hardly a fair pairing, Three was massive, and was made of pure muscle! You hardly stood a chance against the man. Just as he was about to call for a time out, a low chuckle came from above him. Pushing away from his lean against the shipping container, he looked to his left, up at the trailer beside him. “Jesus fuck! How long have you been there?”

Four smirked lopsidedly down at One, his blue eyes meeting the surprised ones of their leader. “Well, I saw when you picked your nose. So sometime before then I guess...”

One planted his hands firmly on his hips, raising both brows up at the blonde Brit. If he weren’t so fucking good at skywalking, then he would’ve happily left him in a foreign country somewhere, for him to find his way out, and hopefully to not return to the team. “What’s so funny then huh?”

“Eight, she’s getting absolutely smashed out there. I told you we didn’t need a fucking hacker, we need someone who can bloody fight.”

*****

As your vision cleared, you found Three looming over you, not with the intention of helping you up though, no, you were outside the circle that’s for sure, but you were still on your side. He was ready to carry you over the line to claim his victory. You couldn’t let him win, you had to prove yourself to the team, prove that you belonged here just as much as them. With a new found strength, you sweep your legs to the left, smashing into Three’s right calf. He had been stood over your collapsed body, though he hadn’t made it further than your knees, which was perfect for you. Groaning, Three landed heavily on his knee, as you rolled away from him, crawling onto your hands and knees, before making it back to your feet. He was on your side of the circle, and better still, he was outside of the circle. All you had to do was hit him while he was down.

When the Ghosts had asked if you had any previous combat training, you had said no, which was the truth, really. The type of fighting skills they were looking for were those of a boxer, wrestler, or soldier, which you were none of. You had however, spent two years learning karate when you were a young teenager, it had been your mother who insisted you learn some form of self-defence, she wanted you to be able to protect yourself if you were ever in danger. You hadn’t practised in years, so you thought it better to not mention anything, lest you give them hope in your abilities. Now though, you had no other choice. From what you could recall, none of the moves the Ghosts had shown you during your training sessions would be of any use to you now.

You pivot on the spot to face Three, who was slowly raising from the ground, his knee obviously bruised from his heavy landing. With your feet planted firmly, and your hands once again raised to block, you meet his gaze. “Sorry Three.” You smirk. With a practised speed and precision, you lift your right leg from behind you, bending your left knee to keep you balanced. Your leg swings around the side, your knee remaining bent slightly, so you could retract quickly if necessary. This would not be the case however, as once your right leg finishes it’s arch, your lower shin connects with Three’s jaw, sending him crashing to the ground with a grunt.

“Eight est victorieux!” Two shouts, as both she and Five race towards you and Three, ready to congratulate and bandage you both.

*****

“Now that? That you can laugh at!” One grins, a look of wonder etched on his face, where you’d learnt a perfect roundhouse kick like that, he had no clue. But fuck, you executed it perfectly! “Still think Eight can’t handle herself in a fight then kid?” One grins, turning to the trailer where Four had been stood atop only minutes ago. The roof was empty now though, with no signs of the man having ever been there.

A low whistle comes from above, and One tilts his head back to find Four crouched on the roof of the shipping container he was leaning against. He was crouched down low, one forearm resting against his knee, while his other hand sat between his feet, gripping the edge of the shipping container to prevent him from falling. “Alright, so I didn’t see that coming. Don’t think anyone did…. Where’d she learn a move like that?”

One paid no mind to Four’s words, blinking rapidly up at his teammate. “When the hell did you get there? I didn’t hear you move!” Four tilts his head to look down at One, closing his eyes tightly, unable to bring himself to answer. “And what the fuck is with the way you’re sitting? What are you? A cat?”

With a deadpan expression, Four opens his eyes, locking them with One’s, both men ignoring the five people all gathered just a small ways ahead of them, congratulating Eight on her victory, and helping to patch up Three. “Meow.”

*****

“You little shit! You didn’t tell us you could fight like that!” Two grins, as she and Five help you over to your trailer. A stitch had formed in your stomach, and you still found it difficult to breathe from where Three had rammed you, but a grin remained plastered to your lips. You’d done it, you had beat Three!

You collapse against your bed, groaning deeply as you sink into the mattress, if you had it your way, you would stay there for the rest of your life. “I haven’t practised in forever. I didn’t think I would remember anything.” Your shoulders jerk in a weak shrug, but the ladies get the gist.

“You did amazing today.” Five smiles, handing you an icepack, which you promptly pressed against your stomach. “Get some rest, when you’re up and ready for the day, come find me, we have a surprise for you”

Peeling your eyes open you squint at Five, trying to asses if her smile was genuine or not. “Is it more fighting? If it is, then I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to make it. I’ll be dead.”

“You’re already are dead.” Two pipes up, from where she had made herself comfortable on the dresser in your trailer.

Five rolls her eyes, shaking her head down at you. “No, it’s nothing like that. There’s a few shops not too far from here, it’s where we buy the essentials. There also happens to be a shop that sells furniture and such.”

Slowly, you close your eyes again, feeling sleep wrap its tendrils around your mind and body. “Oh how nice, a shopping spree….”

Five and Two share a smile as you drift to sleep, both women silently making their way out of your trailer. It was a depressing place to call home, but rules were rules. Until today, you were still considered to be in orientation, though now, you’d graduated. Which meant, you could finally decorate your trailer, and make it feel more like an actual home, and not like you were hiding from the law, as you were.

*****

You have no way of knowing how long you had slept for, though as you opened your eyes and looked out the window, you saw the sun now higher in the sky, so at least you hadn’t slept through the entire day. Flinching as you get up, you grab your cosmetics bag filled with your toiletries from one of the drawers in your trailer. Clothes and shoes are clumsily draped over your arms, as you make you slow shuffling way to the bathrooms. The facilities were as basic as they could get and reminded you of the communal bathrooms at camp sites you had visited with your family while growing up. There was one building for the men, and another for the women of the team, you had Five to thank for that. Apparently when she had first joined there was one unisex bathroom, she had gotten into a screaming match with One over this, and ultimately won. Thus, the now separate bathrooms.

Inside were four toilet stalls, two sinks, and a large tiled area with four shower heads, a plastic curtain pinned to the ceiling to block off the shower from the rest of the bathroom. A large mirror hung above the sinks, and beside it were multiple wooden shelves. Shrugging out of your clothes, you placed them onto one of the shelves, using a separate one for your clean clothes. With soap, and hair products in hand, you step into the shower, the cold water taking far too long to heat up. Though you supposed you should be thankful that there was hot water, there had been plenty of times you had been camping, only to find no hot water in the showers.

*****

After scrubbing yourself clean and redressing, you return to your trailer with the intentions of putting away your old clothes. On your way through the base, you hear two people arguing, the first voice was the all too familiar voice of One, while the other was less familiar but all too recognisable, Four’s deep British accent spitting words of venom at One. “I don’t give a fuck if she can fight! We don’t need a fucking hacker; we need a god damned driver!”

You falter in your steps, turning to look in the direction of the argument, finding the two men facing off from an abandoned plane. One stood in the plane’s exit door, a ladder propped against the side for easy access, while Four stood bellow him, hands balled into fists as he stared up at the older man.

“You do not decide who we do or don’t need on our missions Four.”

“She’s a fucking liability! Sure, she got lucky with Three today, but that won’t always be the case!”

“Eight’s role in the team isn’t combat! She’ll be doing things from a distance!”

Four laughs, a dry bitter sound that causes you to flinch. “Right, I get it. We put our necks on the line, but she gets to sit back in her comfy chair with a computer.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh, isn’t it?”

“Of course it isn’t! She’ll be working from afar most of the time, but that doesn’t mean she’ll be under any less threat than us!”

“How do you figure that?”

“Missions change! What if you’re stuck in alley somewhere, no chance of escape and the closest person to your location is Eight. Wouldn’t you rather she have some combat training to help you? Or would you rather she just leave you there?”

“Well that all sounds great, but who gives a fuck if she can help us if we have no getaway vehicle?!”

“We don’t need one specific person dedicated to being the getaway driver!”

“That’s not what you said when you brought in Six! You told him he was the best Auto Racer you had ever seen, and that without him we wouldn’t stand a chance at escaping your fucking missions!”

“Six was a phenomenal racer, but look where that fucking got him! We don’t need a repeat performance!”

“Don’t you fucking dare talk about Six that way. He’s dead because of you and that clusterfuck of a first mission!”

“I won’t have you question me again Four, if you don’t like how things are around here, then you can fuck off back to England. You all do what I tell you to, and if I say we’ll be sharing the driving on missions, then we’re sharing the fucking driving.”

“You’re putting her on a god damned pedestal, all she can do is log into a bloody computer, and knock Three onto his fat arse. What makes you think she could drive a getaway car if you asked her to?”

You don’t stick around to hear the rest of the argument, anger rising up in your chest as you march off towards your trailer. You would show him, Four could doubt your abilities as much as he wanted, but you would prove him wrong.

From his high vantage point on the plane, One watches you storm off across the base from nearby. Had you heard all of that? Four follows One’s gaze, eyes landing on you as you make your way through the grounds, running a hand through your messy hair. Fuck, if he’d known you’d been there, he would’ve kept his mouth shut…

Taglist: @not-the-cleavers @jinxfirebolt18902 If you would to be added, let me know ❤

Chapter FOUR Check out my Masterlist!

Also, I’m kinda thinking of making a playlist on Spotify for this Fic. I’ve been listening to a heap of music while writing it, and they all seem to work pretty well with the story! Let me know if y’all would be interested in that at all?

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chayanne-z · 4 years

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I know it’s wrong, but it’s so hard to stop it alone (I can reach out to someone not like me)

Quirks are a mysterious phenomenon. Sure you could study quirk genetics as you would with any other science, but do not forget that science is just magic that can be explained. Unfortunately for everyone living with quirks, there can be unforeseen consequences. Have you ever thought (and I mean really thought) about how the quirk gene affects the DNA, about how the body compensates for these supernatural abilities? One girl, Momo Yaoyorozu , thinks about this every day. Sure there are quirks that are not compatible with the person's body, such as Yuga Aoyama or Izuku Midoriya, but that is not Momo's problem. No, her problem is that her quirk is too compatible with her body And that is something that is constantly plaguing her mind.

momojiro, as well as Midoriya and Yaoyorozu friendship

read on AO3

Chapter 1:

Mirror mirror on the wall

Tunnel vision on the flaws

In the scale of things it's unimportant

So no talking but it's still an intrusive thought

I'm shivering and shaking, and I tell myself it's fine, but

You can't fool your body, you can only fool your mind

Quirks are a mysterious phenomenon. Sure you could study quirk genetics as you would with any other science, but do not forget that science is just magic that can be explained. Unfortunately for everyone living with quirks, there can be unforeseen consequences. Have you ever thought (and I mean really thought) about how the quirk gene affects the DNA, about how the body compensates for these supernatural abilities? One girl, Momo Yaoyorozu, thinks about this every day. Sure there are quirks that are not compatible with the person's body, such as Yuga Aoyama or Izuku Midoriya, but that is not Momo's problem. No, her problem is that her quirk is too compatible with her body And that is something that is constantly plaguing her mind.

I can reach out

To someone not like me

If you ask for help it doesn't make you´re weak

Being an underground hero meant that being observant was essential for survival, this was undoubtedly something Aizawa knew. As a UA teacher, he had to use his quirk on his students often, in an attempt to prepare them not to rely on their quirk so much. Every time he used his quirk on a certain student, Momo Yaoyorozo, he could see a brief flash of panic run across her eyes, before she regained her composure. He chalked it up to the fact that since her quirk was extremely strong, she was less confident in her abilities outside of it. He earnestly tried gently encouraging her in his own ¨Aizawa¨ way whenever they practice combat without quirks (the ¨encouragement¨ consisted mostly of telling her that she ¨did ok¨ but that was really the most praise you could get out of him.) Shockingly, despite Aizawa´s best efforts Yaoyorozu still always flinched when she felt her quirk depart from her body. This really made Aizawa sad, try as he might to conceal his feelings, he deeply genuinely cared about his students. He didn't have favorites but if he did, Yaoyorozu would be rightfully it (Shinsou doesn't count since he is his son.) Yaoyorozu by heart was a studious young girl; who had ambition, skills, and never goofed off. So why she was so deeply insecure, Aizawa didn't know.

He thinks he started to piece it together when he overheard ¨The 1A Gurlz¨ (as they have affectionately dubbed themselves) discussing the topic of motherhood after class.

¨I don't know if I'll want children, maybe someday, though it's unlikely, kero¨, Tsuyu said.

¨HELL NO, I don't got time for kids when I'm a hero¨ said Mina.

¨Hell yeah, stick it to the patriarchy!¨ Jiro fist-bumped her pink friend's fist.

¨I kinda agree with Mina, I like the idea of children, but heroes are awfully busy. Plus what if it puts the child at risk since villains would target them¨. Uraraka said.

The rest of the girls nodded understandingly but Hagakure sighed, ¨Still I'd love to be a mother one day¨.

Jiro rolled her eyes, ¨you´re such a romantic, Hagakure, no wonder Ojiro is head-over-heels in love with you¨. She tried to give her invisible friend a playful shove, but missed and had to promptly catch herself. Hagakure´s quirk meant that her skin cells refract the light around her making her invisible. Unfortunately, this did not apply to her blood cells; she was blushing beet red. She stammered a lot until Tsuyu interjected with a question she had.

¨Would a Hagakure-Ojiro child be visible but with an invisible tail?¨

¨Or maybe they would be all invisible except for the tail!”, Ururaka exclaimed

¨so you would just see a floating tail?¨ Mina asked. The girls burst out with laughter (even Yaoyorozu, who throughout the conversation has remained stiff and quiet, started to giggle).

¨What about you Momo? You've been awfully quiet ¨ Uraraka turned to Momo. Now all the attention was on Yaoyorozu, and she did her best not to look visibly distressed.

” You ok ‘Mo?” Jiro quietly asked, always showing concern for her girlfriend.

¨I-I I'm fine! Um, I just...¨, Yaoyorozu stammered, ¨I´d sincerely like to be a mother one day...b-but I'd probably have to adopt since...you know...¨ Jiro and Yaoyorozu both blushed and looked elsewhere, ¨also I worry… about...some unintended ramifications of my DNA if their quirk is...Not...” Yaoyorozu trailed off. The lunch bell rang and “The 1A Gurlz” left, Yaoyorozu stayed behind for a second before taking a deep breath and walking out the door. Aizawa was extremely concerned, to say the least, he made a note to keep an eye on Yaoyorozu to make sure she was safe.

Kyoka Jiro was a very insecure girl, sure at first glance, she seemed confident and stand-offish that was not at all how she felt inside. She cringes at the memory of being sad that m*neta wasn’t harassing her but harassing all the other 1A Gurlz. Internalized misogyny was SO not punk rock. Sure she liked being her authentic self but there were times she wished her authentic self was seen as normal. It took her a long time to accept her feelings for Momo, and even longer to actually ask her out. But- it was ‘Mo; beautiful, smart, badass MOMO! How could she deny or hide her feelings for such a wonderful girl? Gradually with the help of her friends, Kyoka started increasing her confidence. Kyoka recognized that Momo was just as insecure as she was, though she could never understand why. Why would someone as competent, skilled, and amazing as Yaoyorozu Momo not be able to recognize how she lights up everybody’s life? Nevertheless, she recognized that ‘Mo was in pain, and she needed to support her. She just wasn’t sure how. At lunch Momo looked down at her food sadly, she still ate, thank goodness, Kyoka thought. Though Momo was always a stickler for portion control, what she ate, and when. Come to think of it , Kyoka pursed her lips, s he’s always been a little obsessive when it comes to food. Make no mistake Momo was not starving herself. She consistently made sure she had enough to eat- her quirk depended on it after all. Knowing ‘Mo it’s probably a system designed specifically for her quirk -that nerd, Kyoka thought to herself with a smile, still she does put an awful lot of planning into what she eats.

After lunch, the young couple headed toYaoyorozu's dorm to study. Jiro was a bit behind so she was grateful for the extra help. Kyoka sat comfortably on Momo's bed, her head resting peacefully on her lap as they head the hero studies textbook together. It was serene and peaceful. Momo cherished these small and intimate moments with her partner. We´ve been through so much lately... it was nice for the biggest problem to be an upcoming exam, she thought with a smile. T hick thighs save lives, Kyoka thought happily as she absentmindedly patted her GF's thigh. She then felt Momo tense up from underneath her when she did that.

¨...’Mo?¨

¨Hm? Yes?¨

¨What's wrong?¨

¨N-nothing! I'm fine!", Momo looked away and clutched her stomach.

¨Momo...¨ Kyoka rolled over and gently took her girlfriend's graceful hands in her own. ¨you're beautiful you know that right?¨

Momo blushed, ¨as are you, Kyoka¨. Kyoka´s placed her hand on Momo's face and slowly bridged the gap, as they shared a tender kiss.

#my fic #bnha #momojirou #erasermic #dadzawa #angst #quirk study #character study

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nctlvghts · 5 years

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Armoured heart (Part 1) {Cross Posting from ao3}

Comfortable spring breeze carried the sound of clanking swords. The trees around him green and flowering, Jaemin took a deep breath.

He watched as his prince pranced around in a make-pretend sword fight, though the swords were real, and the opponent was skilled, but they were in no battle field. Surrounded by servants dressed in fine fabrics and standing in broad daylight only some minute space away from the sea.

The sea. The only thing squire Na Jaemin would rather look at rather than watching his prince fight. He grew accustomed to standing outside in whichever type ofweather, tracking Jeno's movements, every little one, and he's been doing it for years on end. He could successfuly predict Jeno's next move in most situations, the way his feet shift across the floor, where his sword-free hand goes when he doesn't need it, even where his eyes trail when he's far enough from his opponent. He's been trained so thoroughly and he knew exactly what he needed to know.

Some servants in the castle spread rumors saying that Na Jaemin, the prince's squire, was more skilled in combat than the prince himself, to which Jaemin replied saying that it's a load nonsense and that he can not possibly be better than someone he's been training to be like for years, let alone a prince, with conquerers' blood. Granted, he's been trained by the same masters, and is one of the most highly skilled with the sword in their kingdom, but in no way better than his prince.

The sea was particularly blue on that spring day, the subtle breeze creating small waves Jaemin could follow with his eyes. He had always said that he envied the waves, so light and free, and it surprised him how he always got the same reply, regardless of who it was, they'd always say, "knock it off and stop being so dramatic"

"Jaemin", the prince was suddenly very close to Jaemin, it appeared he had been calling for a while longer than he intended.

"Your highness", Jaemin said, startled. He would always get lost while day dreaming about his surroundings, but Jeno's voice calling his name would usually wake him.

"Allow me to assist you" Jaemin said, carrying Jeno's sword and sheathing it.

"Take this" Jaemin spoke, handing the sword to the servant on their side, who placed it on a soft velvet bed. Jaemin often thought about how that sword's bed was more comfortable than two third's the kingdoms pillows.

Once Jaemin freed his hands, he moved on to Jeno's light armor, reaching to unbuckle the strap on his shoulder.

"No" Jeno said, briefly looking Jaemin in the eye.

"Inside" he completed.

Jaemin understood. Jeno's sword fight practices often lead to him getting tired and slightly pissy, but he was the nicest pissy person Jaemin knew.

He couldn't imagine the miserable lives of servants who had to take care of most of the people in the castle. He was glad he squires for Jeno. Not only was Jeno the prince, he was also Jaemin's childhood friend, despite the power dynamic, so he mostly enjoyed his role.

The prince walked ahead of his squire and towards the oak door leading to the indoors of the castle. The whole walk up to his wing with the two guards is silent, absolutely no words spoken. Jeno barely even breathed in Jaemin's direction. Heavy footsteps thomped on the stone floors.

Once they got to their destination the guards opened the wooden doors leading into Jeno's room, bowed down, stood on either side of the door, one holding a banner with the Lee sigil, and shut it once again.

The doors had barely fallen shut when Jeno pressed his lips onto Jaemin's. For a moment there were no hands, no touching, just lips pressing so passionately against Jaemin that the poor squire would have fall to the ground if not for his solid stance. Jaemin giggled quietly while pulling his hands up from between him and Jeno's close bodies and placing them on the back of his neck. Jaemin pressed further into the kiss, slithering his long fingers between the black hairs at the back of Jeno's head. Jeno wrapped both of his arms firmly around Jaemin's thin frame, gently yanking him closer by the waist. Jaemin broke the contact and pulled his head away in order to be able to see Jeno's full face. The squire's fingers found their way to a strand of hair on Jeno's face, twirling it around. Jaemin took a long look at Jeno's face, admiring his eyes, his cheekbones, his skin.

"mm...", Jaemin made a small satisfied sound, staring deeply into Jeno's features.

Jeno chuckled and blushed, flashing Jaemin his eye smile before burrying his face into Jaemin's neck and rocking their bodies from side to side on the cold floor, like they were doing a small still dance.

"I missed you", Jeno semi-whined, the sound muffled into Jaemin's neck.

"Me too" the squire says, smiling to himself and wrapping his arms crisscrossed around his prince's head.

Jeno turned his head so that his head was still resting on Jaemin's shoulder, but this time one side of his face facing up, tip of his nose barely touching Jaemin's neck. He breathed out gently, which tickled Jaemin.

"Stop, you're tickling me", Jaemin giggled and lifted Jeno's head in his hand, cheeks in palms. He looked into his eyes deeply this time, pecked his lips and maybe took a slight bit longer than usual for a peck. Their lips made quiet sounds when they pulled away, Jeno still had his eyes closed.

"You need to change out of your armor" Jaemin said,

"Must be very uncomfortable"

Jeno nodded in confirmation, allowing Jaemin to undo the buckles that kept his breastplate together.

Jeno was down to light clothes, which made him feel releaved in the warm weather.

"Tell the guards to call a servant to fetch me a bath" Jeno said before he pecked Jaemin's cheek gently.

"I'll do it" Jaemin's eyes lit up, and was ready to get going

"No, don't" Jeno pulled him by the waist into his chest once again

"You stay here with me" Jeno completed, "They go fetch a bath and get that bucket to my room, you stay here. This is your place"

Jaemin didn't know what to say, just blushed and relaxed into the backhug. Jeno was never much of a talker, let alone anyone to speak in such manner of possessiveness but he reminded himself that Jeno was a prince after all, he was born with the role of demanding people to do things.

While waiting for Jeno's bath to make its way into his room the boys cuddled on the prince's soft bed covered with silk sheets. Jaemin would often think about how much he hated the fact that Jeno wasn't the king's heir. He loved Jeno's older brother, Taeyong, dearly but he didn't believe he could control the kingdom wholely. He had a soft heart and many would take advantage of that. They would often joke that it would get him killed, but Jaemin was concerned that it won't turn out to only be a joke.

Familiar with Jeno, Jaemin knew he would make a great king. He's a great fighter, a very kind hearted man but had firm boundaries and mostly made good decisions, with the exception of the time they were 13 and he demanded they sneak into the forest which resulted in him getting bitten by a snake.

Jaemin cried violently that day, everybody at the castle assumed it was because he was scared of his punishment or because he failed his role in helping the prince, but in reality it wasn't about himself at all, it was his fear of losing his boy. He couldn't bear the thought of not having him, and so he cried for hours in his chamber while Jeno laid with the maesters, who were able to treat him with enough speed, and the first thing he said when he woke up was "it wasn't Jaemin's fault, please don't hurt him".

They heard a knock on the door.

"Your highness, your bath is ready"

They both jolted off of the bed, arms off of eachother, and stood 10 feet apart. Jeno fixed his posture and fixed his hair, Jaemin looked at the floor and put his hand behind his back.

"Bring it in, please"

Four female servants came in the door carrying the large wooden tub filled with steaming water, they placed it close to the large arch window, curtsied and left. They looked at Jaemin, most of them smiling his way, which he returned. He could even hear them giggling outside about him, but none of them saw anything as suspicious which was exactly what he wanted. The doors were shut once again.

Jeno walked closer to the tub and took his remaining clothes off, but didn't walk a step closer before turning around to Jaemin.

"Come on, come in" Jeno smiled

Jaemin sighed and slowly walked towards him.

"Jeno, I can't" he complained, "someone could see us" he completed.

"Jaem, no one can just walk into my room"

"But your father can." Jaemin stated firmly

Jeno signed and walked over to the table in the middle of his room, naked. He filled two cups with wine and took a sip from his own. He turned to face Jaemin.

"Father is busy today, he won't have the time to interrupt me" he states as he takes another sip.

He walks over to Jaemin and hands him the other cup of wine gently.

"Busy with what?" Jaemin inquires, raising an eyebrow, body still stiff in stance.

"Oh" Jeno makes a soun

"A feast" Jeno replies simply, "We have guests coming over, some royal family" he paused, "The ideal plan is wedding their daughter to my brother to form an alliance" he completed, drinking more wine and filling his cup again.

"Oh", Jaemin barely said much more and drank some of his wine. "Well if you insist"

The black haired boy walks back over to Jaemin, lightly pressing his palms onto his clothed chest.

"I insist" Jeno nodded smiling, carefully taking Jaemin out of his clothes.

The servants in the castle moved frantically. Music coming from the main hall was loud, accompanied with the continuous chattering of lords and ladies, squires and servants and the castles main guests.

Jisung glided into the main hall, wearing elegant light armour and supporting himself by the wall, several feet from the large feasting table that sat in the middle of the hall.

High above the feasting table and stretching across the length of the hall was a large glass ceiling, transparent and allowing the early afternoon sunlight in. Jisung could see the slits in the stone supporting the glass ceiling. The slits hid the arms holding the large, glamorous royal chandeliers. Just as the sun comes down, the chandeliers would be dropped at once, lighting up the entire hall.

Jisung noticed somebody sliding closer to his slide. He turned his face to his side.

"Jaemin!", Jisung exclaimed with a smile on his face

"Jisung!" Jaemin did the same, returning the boy's smile with a grin

They both turned their heads back to the table where the two royal families were seated.

King Lee seemed to be speaking passionately, and everyone else just nodded their heads continuously. The squires noticed the Lee brothers exchange quiet looks.

"What do you think they're talking about?" Jisung asked, having been wanting confirmation on his ideas of reasons a royal family would travel to a kingdom to speak with another rather than sending a messanger or a raven.

Jaemin breathed quietly, "I don't know" he said simply, knowing exactly what they were talking about.

"You have been a generous host, King Lee" King Choi spoke, "I believe it is time to discuss important matters"

Jeno’s father placed his utensils down against his plate and met the other man’s face.

He inhaled deeply, and said in one comfortable breath,

"It would be our house's and our kingdom's honour to ask for your daughter, Princess Choi Eun's hand in marriage to our elder son, Lee Taeyong" King Lee said swiftly. Taeyong tried his best to sit straight up in his chair, and turning his head to meet the princess' eyes, but her face wasn't meeting his.

The Choi's collectively made a suprised face.

"Oh" King Choi spoke, "I believe there is a misunderstanding"

"Princess Eun is already arranged a marriage to the Na family" said the queen of the foreign land, "We came here under the impression that we would arrange a tie between our daughter, Princes Somi, and your son, Prince Jeno" she completed, "I believe they're of the same age, and quite suitable for eachother! I hear you're a gracious fighter" she finished, this time directing her speech towards Jeno.

This time it was the Lees' turn to make a face, but they didn't. The two brothers and their father froze. Jeno stared at the plate infront of him. Taeyong on the other hand, stared at his younger brother with an expression which subtly hinted towards concern, knowing exactly what the problem was.

King Lee cleared his throat and sat pushing his shoulder blades stiffly gainst his chair. He picked up his cup, lifting it up with his hand, after what felt like an eternity.

Jeno’s head buzzed slightly. He was not ready for marriage. He was not willing,

and he loved a man.

His father slightly raised his left hand queing for the entire hall to go quiet, and as soon as they did, he announced loudly,

“To Jeno and Somi!”

#nct #prince au #history au #nomin #lee jeno #na jaemin #lee taeyong #park jisung #nct fanfic #nct fanfiction #nct imagines #nct scenarios #boop boop kids

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a-splash-of-stucky · 7 years

Text

I Know This Game | Three

Pairings: Bucky x Foster!Reader || Loki x Foster!Reader

Summary: You have some unfulfilling sex with Loki, then come to a gigantic realisation about your love life.

Warnings: Oral sex (f/r and m/r), vaginal sex (protected), mentions of unprotected sex (bad idea, kids), slightly possessive/dom!Loki, dub-con (kind of?)

Notes: Guys, do you like the banners? I’m rather proud of them, given that I have no skills whatsoever 😂 Loki is a selfish asshole, I’m just telling you ahead of time

IKTG Masterlist

“You’re so beautiful,” Loki murmurs, ghosting his lips over the side of your neck as his nimble, slender fingers work down the line of buttons on your shirt. You tip your head forward, towards him, your lips eagerly searching for his. He makes a pleased sound in the back of his throat as your tongue lazily traces over the seam of his lips, then presses forth into his mouth to dance with his own. Your fingers cup the back of his head gingerly, tangling through his long hair, the way you used to—

No. Not again.

Your hands fist in the front of his shirt, pulling your bodies closer together. You try desperately to ground yourself in the moment in order to block out thoughts of your ex. You focus on the smoothness of Loki’s skin beneath your fingertips as you trail them down his neck, the silkiness of his hair, the way his deep, musky scent fills your nostrils. Your lips start to move more desperately against his and, when the need for air becomes too great, you pull off and start grazing them over his clean-shaven jaw.

Perhaps sensing the fact that your mind is not wholly into the game, Loki makes quick work of stripping you naked, deftly unclasping your bra and helping you shimmy off your smart slacks and lace panties. “Lie back,” he breathes, pushing on your shoulders and walking you backwards until your knees hit the edge of the bed. With one last peck to your lips, he playfully topples you over, then falls down on top of you, bracing his weight on his palms. His straining erection pokes you in the thigh.

You bite your lip as he looks down at you whilst grinning roguishly, dark eyes glinting with mischief. Loki ducks his head to press his lips to a hinge of your jaw, then proceeds to shower your neck and collarbone with gentle, butterfly kisses. Your eyes flutter shut and you allow your body to settle back, relaxing completely into the mattress and trusting him to take care of you.

His hand feels strangely cold as it glides over your ribs. You’re reminded of a cooler hand, tentatively touching you for the first time. A collection of images flash through your mind, mostly of that same hand being wielded with greater confidence as your relationship progressed. Oh, how wonderful it had felt to have those metal fingers dancing over your heated skin, acting as a blessed salve, a much-needed relief during the heat of the moment. It had taken him a long time to accept that the arm was a part of him, and longer still to realise that he had the capacity to use it in a non-destructive manner. He had been so reluctant to use it on you, fearing that he might hurt you — but the look on his face when you’d moaned wantonly after he brushed it over your sex for the first time had been priceless. His opinion on it had changed drastically ever since.

Loki nips at your hip, then brushes his lips back and forth over the crease of your thigh, making you squirm impatiently. With a dark chuckle, his hands shove your legs apart, splaying you open. He slides off the bed to kneel between your legs, draping your thighs over his shoulders, and leaving you completely at his mercy. Backlit as he is by the light spilling in from the hallway, all you can see is his darkened silhouette, and for a moment, your brain is tricked into believing that it’s Bucky.

Bucky was always so eager to taste you. If he had his way, he would probably live with his head buried between your thighs. You recall how he used to groan lustfully at the first taste, muttering something about how damn sweet you were. Whilst he ate you out, he would moan as much as, if not more than you did. He always went at it like a man possessed, using his lips, tongue, teeth and fingers in mind-boggling synchronicity to give you some of the most intense orgasms you’ve ever had. It seemed that his honed expertise at reading people in combat situations translated into positive attributes in the bedroom.

Some nights, when he was overcome with a wave of insecurity, he’d want to make you come over and over using just his mouth and fingers — content to ignore his own body’s needs, in favour of focusing on you. Seeing you come apart so completely in his hands seemed to do wonders for his self confidence. Nothing riled him up more than seeing you squirm and writhe on the bed, your hips bucking and grinding against his mouth as he brought you to release. You’ve never been with anyone as good at pussy eating, or enjoyed doing it as much as Bucky.

Loki gently nibbles your inner thigh, drawing you out of your reverie. He winks playfully at you, and that is all the warning you get before he is pressing his lips to your cunt.

“Ah! F-fuck yes,” you stutter, as he runs the flat of his tongue over your slit in one broad stroke. Loki repeats the action several times to warm you up, patiently waiting until you’re huffing breathlessly before switching gears. You feel arousal pooling in your gut like warm honey, and you will yourself to restrain your thoughts, keeping Bucky-related things to a minimum.

Now if I keep my eyes closed, he feels just like you

Your heavy-lidded eyes slide shut. You throw your head back in bliss and fist your hands in the sheets as Loki laves away at your sex. The rest of the world falls away, all your woes and worries temporarily fading to muted background noise, as you surrender yourself completely to him. Loki laps and nibbles at your slick folds, then stiffens his tongue and fucks it into your hole, relentlessly teasing your entrance.

“Yes, baby!” you cry, when he swishes his pointed tongue over your engorged clit. He alternates between swirling around it in tight, concentric circles, and lashing across the nub from side to side, making you thrash and squirm in his unforgiving grip. You mewl helplessly when he closes his sinful lips around the swollen bud, sucking on it hard whilst gently tapping his tongue on it. Bucky’s cheek feels strangely smooth against your thigh—

No. Not Bucky, you remind yourself.

In your sex-fogged state, your brain is disoriented. Part of you wants to imagine that it’s not Loki between your legs, but Bucky…even though you feel so incredibly guilty for even thinking that. The other half of you — the rational, logical, sensible part of you — knows that that is not something you’ll get to experience ever again. You feel lightheaded, partly from the pleasure and partly from your confusion. Your world is spinning. One moment, things are right way up and half a heartbeat later, everything has turned head over heels and you’re unable to tell up from down. In a daze, you struggle to make sense of things as a talented tongue dances over your dripping sex.

When a flesh finger slides into your folds, a wanton moan escapes you. “Oh s-shit, god yeah, Bucky—,” you gasp heatedly.

The man between your thighs stills and immediately pulls away from you. Oh crap, you think, realising your mistake. Loki’s chin and lips glisten with your wetness, and he drags the hem of his shirt over the area to clean things up. He’s worryingly silent and you sit up slowly, dread tightening its grip around your heart.

“What did you say?” he asks quietly, voice betraying no emotion whatsoever.

You slide off the bed to kneel on the floor beside him. Loki keeps his head down, pointedly averting his gaze. Your hands cup his jaw and tilt his face up to look at you. He avoids your eyes, keeping them locked on your lips. “I’m sorry, baby,” you murmur, “I—I don’t know what came over me,”.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” he growls, finally snapping his eyes up to meet yours.

“No one,” you tell him sincerely, even though it feels like someone is twisting a knife into your stomach at the lie. “Absolutely no one. I’ve no idea what came over me,”.

“Was he your ex?” he sneers, upper lip curling in a displeased snarl, “Someone from high school? Used to fantasise about him?”

You want to flinch at his words and defend Bucky, but you resist the urge.“Baby no,” you whisper, tilting forward to brush your lips against his, “Look, let’s forget that ever happened,”.

“Yeah? Just avoid the situation, right?” Loki scoffs, jerking his head to the side to avoid your lips. Nonplussed, you softly graze your teeth over his jaw, and let your hand drop to his crotch. You’re surprised to find him still hard and decide to use it to your advantage. You gently cup his erection, making him suck in a sharp breath.

“Want me to take care of you, babe?” you purr, nuzzling into the side of his neck, “Show you how much I want you?”

Loki loops his arm over your shoulders, curls his body around you and slants his mouth over yours, crushing your lips in a hungry, lustful kiss. You sit there patiently, letting your body go pliant and limber as he works out some of his frustrations. “You’re mine,” he says huskily, voice rumbling from somewhere deep in his throat, “Remember that, baby,”.

“I’m yours,” you echo, tipping your head back as his teeth catch the skin on the underside of your jaw. He sucks a bruise there, making you shiver at his possessiveness. It’s clear that he’s on board with the idea of you pleasuring him as a means to move on from your mistake and for that, you breathe an internal sigh of relief.

His confusion and anger is warranted, obviously. You’d never told Loki much about your last relationship, or even about your time with the Avengers, and he never pressed you to tell him. It made sense that Loki didn’t know who Bucky was; most of the world referred to him as James Barnes. Right now, you’re more than a little grateful of that — you can’t help but feel like the fallout would be a lot worse if Loki knew just how much Bucky meant to you.

Your hands tug at the hem of his t-shirt and he hurriedly flings it off. “Get on the bed, baby,” you murmur, giving his cock another appreciative squeeze. Loki grunts at the contact, then hastily scrambles to sit at the edge of the bed. You situate yourself between his spread thighs as he leans back on his palms, his chest flushed pink from the exertion, breath coming in quick pants. You run your palms down his torso, down his jean-clad thighs, then use your index fingers to trace the inner seam, making him huff impatiently when your fingers brush his bulge.

You waste no time undoing his belt and pulling down his fly. Loki helpfully lifts up his hips so you can tug his jeans and briefs down his legs, freeing his throbbing cock.

“Ohh, god yes,” he groans, carding his fingers through your hair as you swirl your tongue around his slit, lapping up the pearls of pre-come that have already seeped out. He tastes more bitter than Bucky used—

Get it together, woman.

You steel your resolve, channelling all your energy and attention into pleasuring Loki and salvaging your evening together. You pull out all the stops, flicking your tongue over the sensitive ridge, giving him tiny, kitten-licks around the crown, and tracing a wet trail up the side of his cock with your tongue. When you finally close your lips around the head, he grunts in satisfaction, hips jerking involuntarily into the welcoming warmth of your mouth.

Loki’s grip in your hair tightens and he puts pressure on the back of your head, silently asking you to take more of him down. You acquiesce his request, relaxing your jaw and engulfing his shaft nearly all the way to the hilt in one fluid, well-practiced motion. Your tongue flicks across the underside of his dick as you swallow down his length. You stop when his head nudges the back of your throat, tears springing to your eyes as your gag reflex is tested.

“C’mon baby, all the way,” he growls, pressing down even more. You can’t move your head back, so you relax your throat as best as you can, allowing his length to slide down it. The pressure is a somewhat uncomfortable, but beyond that, you can’t help but feel more than a little humiliated; you’re drooling profusely, your eyes are streaming uncontrollably and it’s a struggle to breathe. Loki holds you there — with your nose buried in the coarse, wiry hairs at the base of his cock — for what feels like an eternity, before finally letting you up.

You pull off and take a shuddery breath, grateful to be able to completely fill your lungs in one go. Loki’s expression is dark and calculating as he drinks in your naked form; the saliva coating your chin, your tousled hair, your heaving breasts. He reaches a hand out and runs his thumb over your cheekbone, down the side of your face and finally, over your lips. You part them slightly and he grins wickedly at your silent invitation, sliding his thumb in between them. You close your lips around the invading digit and lave your tongue over the pad of his thumb, in much the same way you showered his cock with attention. His pupils darken tenfold and his nostrils flare at your actions.

“Good girl,” Loki croons, delicately extricating his thumb from the heat of your mouth. “Come back to me,”.

You drop a kiss to the side of his cock, then duck your head down to mouth at his balls, lavishing your tongue over the delicate skin, before taking one between your lips. “Ahh—fuck—yeah that’s good,” he hisses, threading his fingers through your hair once more as you switch your attention back to his bobbing member. Loki makes you deepthroat him a couple more times — much to your displeasure — before finally allowing you to sit back on your ankles.

You watch with curious eyes as he curls his hand around his spit-soaked member in a loose fist, stroking it in languid, leisurely motions. Loki jerks his head to the bed. “Get on, baby, I wanna fuck you,” he says, voice low and throaty with arousal. On any other night, a little shiver of excitement would run down your spine. Tonight though, his words seem to have the opposite effect — a sinking feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. Something tells you that you’re not going to particularly enjoy this.

Loki holds a hand out and you grasp it as you get on your feet. “On all fours, ass up baby,” he tells you, as he leans over to the nightstand, pulling open the top drawer to retrieve a condom. You climb onto the edge of the bed and assume the requested position, taking your weight on your forearms and knees. In this pose, your back has an elegant arch to it and your behind looks extra curvy. From the corner of your eye, you see Loki admiring your nude body as he slides on the rubber.

He comes to stand behind you and runs his palms over your ass, marvelling at the way it’s so enticingly presented to him, ripe for the taking. You playfully wiggle it at him and he chuckles wickedly. You feel the blunt pressure of the head of his cock at your entrance, and then he’s pushing in, penetrating your folds with his girth. He steadies himself with one hand on your waist and the other on your shoulder.

When Loki enters you, it feels oddly foreign, despite the fact that the two of you have had sex countless times throughout your five months together. In fact, your physical and sexual chemistry is off the charts, and sex has become one of the foundations of your relationship. The two of you are still in the so-called honeymoon phase of your relationship, so it’s completely acceptable to be going at it as often as you do. Most times, the sex is wild and passionate, but tonight, something feels off. It’s like two strangers, not two lovers, are coming together.

You close your eyes as Loki sets up a brutal, unforgiving rhythm, driving his length into you with almost bruising force. His fingers dig painfully into your skin and your bodies collide with a resounding smack each time his pelvis meets your ass. He’s muttering a continuous string of profanities under his breath, broken up every now and then by an impassioned growl or heated moan. You find yourself blocking him out.

It’s apparent that this is a show more for himself than anything else. Loki couldn’t care less about your pleasure — your slip-up earlier on is clearly still affecting him, and his heightened roughness is probably his way of ‘claiming’ you. You let him have his moment, exerting his supposed dominance over you. With your eyes squeezed shut, you let your head hang loose on your neck, wanting to let your mind float and leave you oblivious to your surroundings.

You remember when it was a different body hunching over you. If you close your eyes and focus hard enough on the sensations, it’s not hard to imagine that you’re back at the compound, in the room you shared with him. It had taken him a long time to become comfortable enough with the idea of touching you. Initially, he’d been so timid, always looking to you for verbal reassurance that what he was doing was okay, was good, wasn’t hurting you. As his confidence grew, you began to see glimpses of what Bucky Barnes might’ve been like back in old-time Brooklyn, reeling in dames at the dance halls and showing them a good time between the sheets.

Your last night together, before he’d gone off on that godforsaken mission had been wonderful. Bucky had spread you out on the bed and crawled between your legs. You remember his rakish smirk as he put his lips to your sex. He’d made you come apart in what felt like mere seconds, his clever fingers — both metal and flesh — and talented tongue plucking at your sweet spots with stunning precision and bringing you to a breath-taking climax. When he sheathed himself inside you, you’d hitched your legs around his waist and locked your ankles behind his back. He’d rocked into you slowly, tenderly, whilst covering your neck and chest in all manner of kisses. Neither of you were in a hurry to find release, both of you just wanting to enjoy the intimacy of being entangled in each other’s arms.

You remember whispering sweet nothings to each other, and interlacing your fingers with his metal ones as he pinned your hand to the bed. You remember him pressing a sloppy kiss to your mouth as his hips started to move a little faster, rutting more desperately into your core as he neared his peak. You remember how fiercely he’d said “I love you,”, how passionately he’d groaned your name as his warmth flooded you.

The memory brings tears to your eyes. You choke back a sob, managing to disguise it as a breathless moan. You come crashing down to reality, and realise that Loki is still going at it behind you. From the cadence of his breathing and the pace of his thrusts, you can tell that he’s close. You’re thankful that your face is turned away from him, so he can’t see the few tears that roll down your cheek as you relieve the last night you spent being truly happy.

“F-fuck, I’m close, Y/N,” Loki grits out, hips starting to snap impossibly faster against your ass.

I, I know where to lay I know what to say It’s all the same

You moan as convincingly as you possibly can. “Ohhh yeah, fuck, me too baby,” you pant, even though the last thing your body feels like doing right now is having an orgasm. You discreetly wipe your cheeks on the sheets, ridding your face of any evidence of tears. You start to push your hips back to match his thrusts, forcing yourself to exhale heatedly each time your bodies meet. You breathe an internal sigh of relief when he finally comes with a clenched-teeth shout. It takes a little (a lot) of acting on your part to fake an orgasm — sadly, something you’ve had to do far too many times in the past — and you’re not sure that it’s entirely convincing, but figure that he’s too wrapped up in his own release to care, anyway.

Loki pats your rump affectionately once he’s carefully pulled out of your warmth. He collapses on his back beside you, a pleased, sated grin on his face — it’s probably safe to say that he’s forgiven you for accidentally calling him Bucky earlier on. His hair is sweaty and matted, damp tendrils clinging to his temples. His torso is redder than a tomato and his breathing is laboured. You press a kiss to his cheek, then head over to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

As you wash your face and brush your teeth, you can’t help but feel pissed off. Not because he left you unsatisfied — no, you knew going into this that you weren’t going to get off anyway, what with your mind being in such a negative headspace — but because you feel cheap and used. You feel peeved, utterly incensed by the fact that your boyfriend just used your body to please himself. Well, he’s done that before, obviously, but never has it felt so…clinical, so disconnected and impersonal.

The realisation hits you like a bullet train.

All your life, your relationships have only ever left you feeling used and cheated. You’ve been used not just for your body (though that is the most common reason), but also for your intelligence, and your reputation within the medical community. Even with Bucky — though things had looked so hopeful at the start, and you were optimistic that he would be the person to turn the tables in your favour — you felt betrayed. He’d used you to recover, to remember what it was to be a man again, and then left you in the dust as he chased after pastures more green.

Beyond that, you realise, with sickening clarity, how willingly you allow yourself to be trampled over. Not just by Bucky, but by Loki, Thor, Pietro — everyone. Everyone you’ve ever been with has used you in some way.

You’re further appalled by the fact that you feel like you deserve this. You’ve never been in a relationship where you haven’t been used, and you wonder if maybe your body feels like it needs to feel that way in order to get by. Maybe you’ve subconsciously programmed yourself to expect and accept the manipulation, deceit and betrayal. Like a drug addict coming back for a fix, you just can’t seem to keep yourself out of relationships that are just baskets of lies in disguise.

You lean against the wall for support, completely stunned by your musings. You become aware of the fact that you’ve been dragging yourself through every relationship using the same robotic gestures and repeating the same monotonous words. Sure, the names and the situation changes every time — and none could be more different than with Bucky — but on closer inspection, you realise that at its core, every relationship you’d ever had was the same. It relied upon you saying the same words, and using the same actions in various manifestations, in order to placate your partner. No wonder you felt so used each time; you literally bent over backwards to make your partner happy, yet they did hardly anything in return for you.

Silent tears roll down your cheek, but you barely notice them as you mull over these ideas. All men really are the same, it would seem.

A sharp tap on the door startles you. Loki comes in and you quickly splash some water onto your face to hide the fact that you’ve been crying. You smile wanly at him as you slip out the door, your sudden epiphany having shaken you up so thoroughly that you don’t have the strength for much beyond that.

Loki catches your wrist and turns you around to look at him. “We’re good, right?” he asks softly, eyes searching your face for clues as to what’s going on in your mind.

You school your cheek muscles to pull into a convincing-enough smile, hiding your emotions behind a mask, like you always do. “Yeah,” you say, “Yeah we’re great,”. He assess you for a moment longer before nodding and letting you go, shutting the door behind you as you leave.

They’re words you’ve said hundreds of times before; it’s a lie you’ve used on dozens of occasions. And, though you may know what to say and what to do to make your partner happy in the moment, ultimately, they never stay. This relationship, like all your other ones will come to the same ending, with you being left heartbroken and blue. Sure, the way in which it ends might be novel — maybe he’ll want to go back to Norway, or perhaps he’ll find someone prettier and decide to end things with you. It doesn’t matter. It’s all the same to you.

---------------------------- Tags are open, but I’m only accepting requests via asks or PMs. Tag requests from replies/comments will be ignored.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #loki x reader #bucky barnes angst #loki smut #bucky barnes smut #my writing #i know this game #loki angst #dub-con #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagines

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thepaperpanda · 7 years

Text

The chronicles of the winter || Part XII - The End

Part II || Part III || Part IV || Part V || Part VI || Part VII|| Parta VIII || Part IX || Part X || Part XI continuation of imagine

Word Count: 13559

Warnings: none

Author: Beast

Habit and impulse were so easy to fall back on, thinking being a costly and dangerous liability. The Asset had learned that early on, it having been forced into his program, carved into his skin among the patchwork of scars so it became a part of him. This time, however, this time it was different. This time when he woke up on that familiar cold table, seeing white-coated techs hovering over him and his wounds like vultures, he didn't feel the programming trying to lull him into docility. Oh no, this time a latent instinct, old and raw and powerful, bubbled through the cracks in HYDRA's conditioning and screamed in his subconscious, spurring him to act.

Fight.

Find.

Protect.

A snarl worthy of a predator tore its way out of his throat as he shoved the nearest tech away, the force of it throwing him clear into the opposite wall. The rest of them scattered like insects, shouting in varied languages as he pulled himself into a sitting position, glaring at them from behind the mess of his hair. A half-dozen IVs were laced into his veins, a likely but ultimately unsuccessful attempt to keep him asleep. The stiffness along his shoulder told him they had likely closed the sniper's wound, and he quickly realized his dislocated joint had been pushed back into place and immobilized with thick medical tape. They'd replaced his blood-soaked shirt with a dark grey one, and as if to mock him, it bore the SHIELD logo embossed in shiny blue thread over his heart.

"где." The soldier demanded, forcing himself to his feet, the drip-lines tugged free of his arms. The HYDRA agents and techs skittered in panic, yowling like panicked animals in a hunter's trap. When he didn't get a response did he bark the word out again, this time in English. "Where." If he wasn't told, he wouldn't hesitate to tear the place to shreds to find out. Before any of the cowardly technicians could answer, however, several HYDRA agents in full combat gear poured into the room, armed to the teeth.

One moved too close, holding a syringe, and the assassin lunged without hesitation. His metal arm felt sluggish and heavy, having been in the middle of being repaired when he woke, but that didn't hinder his deadliness any as he swung with all the force he could muster at the man's jaw. A grim sort of smirk appeared on his features, feeling bone crack and give under his fist, the soldier dropping into a crumpled heap at his feet. He crushed the dropped syringe under his boot, the sound of the glass shattering morbidly satisfying.

Something was shouted in a language he couldn't catch, but he didn't give the soldiers the luxury of time to coordinate themselves. A scalpel, lifted from the near table that held the medical supplies, in his capable hands slit the throat of one of the agents before he even realized what had happened, the bleeding man roughly kicked away into another soldier. Another's throat was caught in his metal fingers when he went to prod him with a stunstick, the vertebra crunching loudly with a single squeeze. The body was casually tossed aside, a mere afterthought. Chaos erupted, which was exactly what the Asset had wanted, as he was able to easily dispatch agent after agent, until in the confusion he was able to slip out into the hall. He slammed the door shut behind him, bending the metal frame enough that the soldiers inside weren't getting out anytime soon.

Alarms began to blare, and he knew he didn't have much time. He needed to find where they were keeping Steve, needed to find out if he was alive, needed to get him out. The layout of the building was familiar, and he soon found himself tracing mental maps that he couldn't consciously remember. Identical doors in identical halls, yet somehow he knew the way, ending up in a neglected corner of whatever backwater HYDRA base this was. Detention level. He knew these rooms all too well. Broken memories of conditioning, of training and discipline flashed through his mind. It was enough to sour his stomach.

Only one of the rooms had light filtering through the dingy door window, and he just knew that had to be where they were keeping Steve. The door was thick steel, reinforced and heavy and bolted with more locks than he cared to count. It could have been made of vibranium and it wouldn't have been enough to keep him out. The Asset tore through the locks he could, picking the others he couldn't, using every skill in his considerable arsenal but his patience only lasted so long. Normally he could wait for days, one of a sniper's greatest attributes, but this was Steve and he needed inside now.

The sound of metal rending and groaning filled the level, the soldier slamming his metallic fist into the door over and over, bending and deforming the surface bit by bit. The servos and artificial tendons in his arm screamed in protest but he scarcely cared, eventually making a dent deep enough he could get his fingers inside the stop. He braced himself and pulled with all his weight, the fatigued and aged metal shredding in his hand. That just fed his ambition, and soon enough he was tearing through the door with both hands, unfeeling to the shards that sliced through his flesh and bone hand, and to the hot slickness of blood as it poured from his palm.

Desperation was beginning to claw at his mind. He knew agents would find out where he was soon enough, and he couldn't let them take him away. Not before he knew if Steve was still alive. Standing back, the assassin kicked the door with every ounce of strength he had. The metal gave way with a great resounding shudder, the hinges failing and door swinging open violently. He was inside before the door even had the chance to hit the wall when it swung wide.

Relief isn't anywhere near strong enough a word to convey the emotion the soldier felt when he saw Steve, battered and broken and still as he was, breathing and alive. At his side in an instant, the assassin assessed the Captain's condition and wounds within moments. The man was unconscious, the worst of his wounds hidden under layers and layers of pink-tinged gauze. Smaller injuries had been ignored, his skin was pallor and in some distant part of his mind the soldier recognized this. Recognized a tiny kid with a rattling cough and pale skin who always scared him half to death with the fact that he might not make it through winter.

Medical supplies still covered the table to the side of the cot he was placed on, and without a second thought or any concern for being captured, the former Soviet started to pick through the contents. He wrapped a quick bandage around the cuts to his hand to stem the bleeding, not wanting to risk getting it on Steve when who knew what had been pumped into his system. Clean gauze was soaked in disinfectant, the excess wrung out before it was pressed to a shallow cut that burned an angry red across the Captain's cheek. The serum had already begun healing his body, the wound already mostly closed, but for some reason he found himself fussing over it regardless.

The soldier hadn't patched anyone up save himself for decades. He remembered, very dimly, bandaging someone with crimson hair that glowed like a dying fire, but the memory was so hazy and distorted that it might as well have been a dream. He was used to sewing himself up, to prying bullets out of his body and mending jagged pieces of flesh back together. As a result, delicateness was not something he was intimately familiar with, yet it seemed his body remembered better than his brain, as he cleaned the man's wounds with an unfamiliar tender gentleness.

A crackle of memory fizzled in his mind, of him sitting in a muddy, snow-filled trench, tearing a scarf free of his neck and brandishing it as if to threaten some other person. He dimly recalled blood, from a wound of some kind to the arm of someone dressed in blue, and angrily muttering something about not signing up to be a mother as he wrapped his scarf around the limb. He remembered laughter from people he didn't know, or couldn't remember, and being called a jerk. The memory faded as quickly as it appeared, and within a second of its passing it was all but forgotten in favor of focusing on the task at hand.

"Well, seems like the dosage of sedative we gave you was a bit off." A calm voice suddenly broke the silence, the assassin's muscles seizing up in remembered fear as familiarity crashed over him like a wave. He didn't move for a long moment, bloody fingers hovering over another cut to the Avenger's chin, as if his stillness could be taken as a sign of submission.

There was an amused hum from behind him, one that faded into a dark, twisted sort of laugh. "At attention, воин." The order was issued sternly, and the soldier found himself turning around to face the man, posture stiff with unease and the beginnings of fear. The man, he knew him, the name Aiden provided by the bits of memory that survived each successive wipe. A crooked grin spread across the General's face and it caused the Asset's stomach to churn.

"They warned me that you were far more… damaged than we would have liked." Black spoke with all the casualness as if they were merely speaking about the weather, "It would have been easier just to put you down, but since we have Captain America in addition to our Winter Soldier…" he trailed off, malevolent smile spreading further across his face as he approached with a proud air to his movements. Once he was close enough, the suited man regarded him with all the affection one might have for a fine weapon, eyes appraising but cold and calculating, seeking only value.

"Why, I think what's left of SHIELD would do just about anything to get their hands on him, and you as well. Oh, the secrets they think you have… they'd do anything to wring them out of you, воин, but I'm never going to let that happen, don't you worry." The acidic sweetness to his voice made the soldier's blood run as cold as the river that haunted his nightmares. It was a tone all too familiar, yet for what felt like lifetimes that tone had been the closest semblance to kindness he'd ever experienced, and he'd latched onto it desperately. Now it made him sick.

Aiden brushed past him, leaning over the cot to look at the Captain's wounds. One of his hands reached out, and the soldier let out a growl that faded into a whine at the glare he received. The man's hand remained raised with a hint of threatening intent, and the assassin felt his muscles tense in the expectation of a blow. His programming might have degraded greatly due to being so long out of cryostasis, but enough of the framework was intact for him to not attack the man or outwardly resist his commands. He could only watch as he withdrew his hand, walking back towards the shattered door, his back to him.

"I see you have some… attachment to the Captain." The General's tone held the slightest hint of bitterness, something he knew was very dangerous, "That will not be tolerated. However…" his voice went quiet, that knowing smirk once again firmly planted on his features as he spun on his heel to face the soldier, "If you cooperate and let us fix all that damage Captain Rogers and his SHIELD allies have done to your mind, we might let him live. If you don't have any more of those outbursts, we might even let you see him." It was a ruse, he knew it for sure, but he had no choice but to nod in silent agreement. Arguing would signal that HYDRA's control had faltered dangerously, and he couldn't risk Steve's safety. For the first time in his memory, he found himself putting the well-being of another before his own.

"Good, good. In that case I expect you to return to medical immediately and let the doctors finish up their work. We need you in working order as soon as possible. I expect an update on your condition in three hours." With that, Aiden Black left the room. The soldier's hearing could pick up on the sound of footsteps running down the hall to retrieve him, likely signaled by the General, and he only had a few seconds. He couldn't run, couldn't try to fight or escape, as that would get Steve killed and he couldn't bring himself to even consider that possibility.

He'd have to play this game, even fall back under HYDRA's command if it meant keeping the other man alive. It was a sacrifice he was willing to make. The soldiers crowded the room a half-second later, surrounding him and shepherding him out and away from the room, away from Steve. One of them fit the muzzle-mask over his face, and with its acquainted confines the soldier felt a foreign sense of revulsion budding in his chest. The familiarity of it all, and the horror that he found himself so easily slipping back into the mannerisms and routine, made the new fear that he might lose what little fragments of himself he'd managed to gain back seem very, very real.

Drip.

The soft, rhythmic pattern of water drops pulled Steve out of the fog of unconsciousness, cutting through the static that seemed to fill his mind. He didn't feel any pain, not yet, but he felt heavy and weak and so very tired. Stagnant, stale air coated his throat, thick with a sharp, sanitized scent that settled on his tongue with a faintly bitter, familiar taste. The air itself felt dense, as if he was breathing through cotton shoved down his throat; if he hadn't known better, he would have thought he was having an asthma attack. There was a rattling, ghastly wheeze every handful of seconds in addition to the dripping that had woken him, and it took a long, sobering moment before he realized that he was hearing his own breathing.

Drip.

His torso felt constricted, tight and immobile under what felt like a cocoon of gauze and medical tape. As uncomfortable as it was it assured him that his wounds had been tended to, but by whom the Captain had no idea. An experimental twitch of his fingers assured him that he wasn't paralyzed and could move, however difficult it may have been. Everything felt fuzzy, it was the only way to describe it, unable to feel or hear anything clearly. Everything was blurred into a mess of muffled noises and sweeping sensations, nothing distinct.

Drip.

A slight shift of his head told him just how stiff and sore his neck was. How long was I out? The thought struck him suddenly, followed immediately by the cold electricity of fear. Where am I? His eyes were forced open, but shut immediately due to the blinding light of the room. Steve groaned and squeezed his eyes shut tighter, tilting his head trying to block out every bit of that painful brightness. The movement made him aware that his head was propped up slightly, a pillow tucked behind it. It reminded him of when he'd have respiratory infections in winter and Bucky would give him all the pillows to keep his head and shoulders lifted so he could breathe easier—

Bucky. Emily.

The panic that gripped him was all-consuming, shredding through the muddled fog in his mind like iron claws. "B-Buck… Em..." the words barely left his throat, voice hoarse and rasping and lungs suddenly alight with crackling fire at the effort. The words brought the taste of copper to his lips, blood he was sure, but he scarcely cared. "B… Bucky! Emily!" His eyes shot open again, ignoring the pain of the light and he looked frantically for any sign of the soldier. Everything came crashing back in a tangle of bloody memories—the fight, the sniper, Bucky collapsing in front of him, felled by the commander—and in horror he realized they had been captured. His own pain was ignored as he tried to push himself up, the room spinning as he did so, his own weakness now undeniably apparent.

A strong, cold hand gripped his shoulder, pushing him back down onto the cot before he could even think of trying to search. Moments later a figure moved into his vision, leaning over him with a face obscured by a curtain of dark, unruly hair. He heard a hushed word of Russian, tone soft, reassuring in its sound although he didn't understand it. The Captain's vision was too blurry to see many details, but then again, he didn't need any details to recognize him.

A dozen words tried to spill out of him at once—you're alright, you're here, I was so scared for you, Buck, where's Em — but nothing left him save a wheezy exhale as he smiled in relief. He wanted to stand, to make sure Bucky was alright, to tend to any wounds he had, but he was all too aware that he couldn't do a damned thing in this state. Bucky was here and in the end that was the most important thing. Everything else could be confronted and dealt with later.

Without another thought Steve had raised his left arm, hesitantly brushing a few stray strands of hair out of the way before cupping his cheek. He wanted to make sure he was really there, that this wasn't some horrible HYDRA trick, that it wasn't the blood loss and whatever medicines he was full of making him see things. Bucky's skin was cold, rough against his fingers, but very much alive and very much real. He didn't even try to stop his smile from spreading a bit when he saw how the soldier leaned into the touch a bit instead of shying away or swatting at his hand.

"… about time you woke up." Bucky's voice was quiet and scratchy, just the barest hint of a Brooklyn accent shining through as he moved away, turning to look at what Steve guessed was the door. He let his hand fall back to his side, cringing a bit when he felt a tug at the crook of his arm. IV line; must have been what the dripping was. He tried to ask how long he'd been out but only managed to cough, tacky blood rattling in his aching lungs. The soldier glanced down to him at the sound, but quickly went back to his vigil.

"Three days" of course he'd have been able to know what he was trying to say, they'd been able to finish each other sentences in the past, "you were hurt bad, Steve, real bad. Still hurt bad, but I won't let them touch you." His voice trailed off, words carrying an edge as sharp as any blade, but also the barest hint of sadness. It was the most Bucky had spoken to him since he found him sleeping seemingly lifetimes ago, and in some distant part of the Captain his soul practically sung. He sounded more like Bucky, more like the cocky jerk he'd grown up with in Brooklyn than he ever had since he'd become the Winter Soldier. A second later just what he had said sunk in, and his optimism wavered.

"… w-who?" the Avenger just barely croaked it out, a sense of dread sitting heavy in his heart. He knew who had captured them, knew where they were, but maybe he could deny it all away. After all, Bucky was here with him, right? They would have separated them for sure...

"HYDRA." The name was spat out, deadly venom saturating his voice. Steve's blood ran cold in his veins, the room falling silent with only the constant drip drip of the isotonic IV bag keeping time between them with its ceaseless rhythm. That little bit of hope that he had been clinging to wavered, knowing just how bad a situation they were in, but it didn't go out. Emily and Sam were still out there, and he knew they wouldn't give up on him. They'd find them, somehow; Emily was clever and resourceful, she'd pick up the trail and find them, and Sam was loyal and wouldn't stop until he was found.

His lungs hurt too much to try and continue the conversation, and as his eyes adjusted he tried to make sense of his surroundings. The measly cot he was lying on was pushed against a stone wall that just seemed to exude a wet chill, meaning they were likely somewhere underground. Light buzzed blearily from a thin fluorescent fixture in the ceiling, a pitchy and irritating hum occasionally creeping over the drip drop of the IV. The walls were dingy and ill-kempt, but a glance to the door surprised him. Door was a loose term as it looked like it had been holding back a tiger, shattered glass and broken old steel littering the floor, but the door itself was made of new shiny metal. Judging from the debris, the damaged door he was currently looking at was a replacement and the first one made up the scraps on the floor. It took a few seconds before Steve realized it wasn't from Bucky attempting to break out, but from him breaking in.

That realization made his chest tighten, breath hitching slightly as he tried to breathe around the lump that built in his throat. His last hazy moments of consciousness in that alleyway, of Bucky crouched in front of him teary-eyed with gentling hands pressed to his wounds, he'd thought he had dreamed them. Thought that in his pained delirium he'd imagined hearing the soldier's meek voice saying "I'm not leaving you behind". Thought that maybe he'd mistaken seeing Bucky breaking through for those precious few minutes, and it looks like he just might have. He'd clearly torn his way out of wherever HYDRA had tried to lock him up, but instead of making an escape, he found him and broke in and stayed right by his side.

"Y-you… stayed with m-me…" Steve's voice was hardly above a raspy whisper, vision distorting as tears welled up. He wasn't sure if it was the pain or medicine or just a moment of vulnerability that brought them out, but he didn't make any attempts to hide them. Bucky protected me. He'd fought to keep HYDRA away from him instead of saving himself. Even if Buck didn't remember much of his past he had still fought to keep him safe like all those years ago. The Avenger breathed heavily, choking on his own words as he tried to say too many things at once. He knew this man wasn't the Bucky he knew so well from his past, but he was bits and pieces of him and he wasn't going to stop helping him even if the suave jerk he had spent his life with never really came back.

"Quit that" Bucky's voice was gruff, but the fingers that hesitantly ruffled his hair a moment later were gentle and familiar. "You're gonna tear that lung again if you keep talking. Get some more sleep, I'll be here when you wake up." It wasn't a command from the Winter Soldier, it was spoken too softly for that, instead it sounded more like back in their apartment in the old days, when Bucky would try to wrangle him to bed when he was sick and not cooperating. He couldn't count how many times Buck had just picked up all coughing hundred and ten pounds of him and put him to bed under every moth-eaten blanket they owned, no matter how much Steve protested. He never admitted it to him, but after his mom had died, Bucky's sometimes over-protective mollycoddling had meant the world to him. “Buck... Where's Emily?” suddenly Steve blinked, narrowing his eyebrows. “Where's she?”

Winter Soldier let out a quiet sigh, turning his eyesight away.

“Buck...” Steve felt like his heart stopped within second. “I have to know.” “She's probably dead” Bucky shrughed slightly, without a shadow of emotions on his face. “I haven't heard from her since many days.”

Bucky continued to run his fingers through Steve's hair, something he'd done countless times when the artist had been sick and confined to Buck's bed. The radiator in Steve's old room had always had piss-poor timing when it came to breaking, so whenever he had shown the slightest sign of illness Buck had surrendered his much-warmer room and they both slept curled up on that ratty old bed to try and keep warm. He wasn't sure if Bucky remembered any of that or if he was just acting on instinct or something else, but just like it had back then in their apartment, it put the Captain to sleep in only a few minutes.

With him lulled back into sleep so quickly, he hadn't had the time to notice that Bucky was dressed back into his combat gear, or see the troubled, guilty expression that he wore. Bucky hadn't wanted him to see either.

The passing of days no longer registered, the only timestamps he recalled being changes in the Captain's condition. Some days he was awake when he was bidden time to spend in the cell, most times he was unconscious or in a restorative sleep as the serum tried to patch his body back together. The tainted, imperfect serum that flowed in his own veins was doing much the same, skin and bones mending beneath his clothing. It burned with a throbbing sort of heat and sometimes hours passed as he passively observed the healing, watching his own flesh knitting back together until only scars remained.

His body was healthier, the Asset noticed dimly, his new handlers eager to get him back to working conditions as soon as possible. The constant IV drips, the strange injections, the foodstuffs he was prodded to eat, they'd all filled him out so he didn't look quite so emaciated. He halfheartedly guessed that the serum had busied itself rebuilding his muscles with the amble nutrients he was getting as much as it was healing his wounds.

With his shoulder healing up, the white-coated techs had taken to repairing the extensive damage to his prosthetic. It now moved fluidly, easily, the burn that gnashed its teeth into his artificial nerves now abated and calmed. The plates had been smoothed and repaired, the blood and grime cleaned away, although the red star he had tried to scratch off with his own fingernails and anything within reach those first few weeks remained marred and damaged. The techs didn't try to reapply it; now that he was no longer tied to the Red Room and the Soviets, they had no need to flaunt their emblem.

He knew it was only a matter of time before they'd try to deploy him, to test his programing, but he knew it was mostly due to their eagerness to try and patch the damage that had been caused by the exposing of SHIELD as HYDRA. Pierce was dead, but the saying still held true; cut off one head, two more will take its place. Aiden Black was not the new leader, but he had fallen in as his new handler, and that bit of his programming was still sound enough to prevent him from refusing orders from the man.

Today, however, he'd been granted time with the Captain after preforming well in training. He knew that Black wanted to wipe him, to rebuild the programming and perhaps even try the same with the healing Captain, but he knew that the man couldn't. This facility lacked the proper equipment to carry out that procedure safely, or to rewrite and build the programming back into his mind. It was likely why they were even letting him see the other man. It was a way to keep him under control, giving him time with him like a dog being trained and rewarded with scraps. He ought to have been offended but honestly he didn't care; any time with Steve was worth whatever hell they put him through.

His earlier thoughts were all pushed aside as soon as he entered the room they were keeping Steve in. The soldiers always left them alone, Black convinced in his control over the Asset, and he preferred it this way. He knew he was always under surveillance, but the illusion of peace he had with the Captain was enough. Despite his few hours of reprieve here he never allowed his guard to lower, never spoke out of turn or gave any indication that the programming had slipped. He couldn't allow that knowledge to fall into Black's hands. He could find some way to wipe him clean and order him to kill the man he'd fought so hard to defend. The thought alone made his breathing falter.

"… Bucky?" blinking, his focus was pulled back to the present, to the Captain laid out on the cot. The Asset straightened himself, shoved down all his disjointed thoughts, padded over to the bedside to look down at him. He might have the perfected serum but he had been wounded horrifically; he was still all but bedridden with the injuries he'd sustained. He was half convinced the only reason he survived at all was because the Captain was just too damn stubborn to die. Dim memories of back alley fights, bright blond hair matted with blood and halfhearted smiles mired by bruising and dirt flitted across his mind for a brief moment.

The Asset didn't reply with words, merely humming in response as he sat down in the empty chair next to the cot. Some distant part of him was glad to see that Steve was awake and aware, as the last few visits he'd been groggy and barely able to speak, mumbling in a drug and pain-induced haze about things the Soldier didn't remember. It was stressful, but he would rather spend his time here, questioned over things he didn't understand or know, than be primed and molded to fall back into HYDRA's command.

"… you're in gear." Steve's voice was quiet, but he could still hear the apprehension and resignation in his tone. It bothered the Asset greatly. Black had hinted at possibly sending him out on some sort of simple assignment so he'd dressed himself in his heavy Kevlar vest and armor, hiding his healing wounds and returning build. The less Steve knew about how long he'd been trapped here the better. The last thing he needed was him hatching some idiotic scheme to escape that would get him killed.

"… d'you get your orders?" the words came out of his mouth slurred and soft, his mind obviously still a bit hazed from whatever drugs they had to have pumped him full of to keep him manageable. It set the Soldier's teeth on edge, the thought of them doing something like that to Steve, but he couldn't protest or else run the risk of being separated fully. The statement did, however, fire some distant, disjointed memory. He could almost smell the musty air of some damp alleyway, blood in the mouth of his friend as he spoke and looked at him in a strange mix of admiration and sadness. It made his heart ache in a way he wasn't familiar with, even without any further context to bolster it.

"… yeah, Steve." His voice was still rough with disuse, awkward and stiff and lacking in the emotion Steve held when he talked. The last time he'd been here the other man had panicked, remembering their capture, tried to fight his way free of the web of IV line that held him. At least this way, with him lost in his own sleepy awareness, he was easy to convince all was well although every lie he told tasted bitter on his tongue.

"Be careful, Buck." Steve mumbled a bit when the Asset stood and began to pick at his wound wrappings, drawing his eyes from his work to meet his. They were hazy from pain and sleep, greyed and sick looking in a way that made the Soldier's stomach knot up. He swallowed thickly and focused on checking all of Steve's wounds, not trusting any of the HYDRA medics or their work. Most of his wounds had closed, the deepest pink with new-grown scar tissue and the lesser wounds already silvered and faded into his skin.

"I will." The response was automatic, not looking away from his task now. He was replacing the packing in Steve's side, where the sniper round had ripped his chest cavity open. Even the serum was having trouble with the wound, and if it hadn't been for that (and his damn fool stubbornness) he surely would have bled out right there in the street.

Steve made a noise halfway between a whimper and groan when he started to pull the bloodied, coagulated mess of packing out of the wound, obviously feeling it even through the fog of painkillers. He squirmed enough to make his task difficult, but at the same time it lifted his spirits somewhat. His strength was coming back, slowly, but it was a good sign. His body was starting to heal enough for his system to begin filtering the medicines in his body more efficiently; a hazy memory bubbled up of Steve complaining about Morita's morphine shot not taking the edge off a bullet wound he'd gotten in the calf. This had to be a good sign. It just had to be.

The wound still looked horrific, and he knew he couldn't chance an escape with Steve in this state. The ragged tear was having trouble healing over due to just how much tissue loss and damage he'd sustained, despite the serum flowing in his veins. Even with Steve still moving around he was able to place more sterile packing into the wound and wrap it tight with gauze and medical tape, after treating it with a potent antibacterial wash that he made sure to carry on his person at all times. That hadn't been fun. Steve had gasped hoarsely and it'd hurt him to hear, but it needed to be done. He still didn't trust these HYDRA doctors to treat the wounds correctly, even though he had little formal medical training himself. It didn't matter in his mind; his body and muscle memory knew Steve and how to treat him better than anyone else and like hell he was going to just sit passively by and let someone who didn't know the first thing about Steve Rogers try to patch his wounds.

With his work finished and Black no doubt waiting on him, the Soldier knew he had to cut his visit short. The man had mentioned something about a cleanup mission, to take care of some SHIELD holdouts that had grouped up near where he and Steve had been picked up. It would be a quick and clean mission. They'd likely pair him with the surviving members of the Strike unit to keep him under observation, but he could easily use their fear of him to make them keep their distance. He had a feeling these 'SHIELD holdouts' might be whoever Steve had alerted the night they were captured. If that was the case this mission was going to go very poorly.

"I'm leaving, don't get into any trouble while I'm gone." The Soldier mumbled a bit, not wanting to leave but knowing he couldn't stay. He gently smoothed down Steve's unruly hair with his right hand, always the right, something he felt like he'd done countless times a hundred lifetimes ago. When he was around the other man it felt like he went on autopilot, doing things he had no clear conscious memory of ever knowing how to do, yet with the ease and familiarity as if he'd been doing them all his life. He knew how to calm him down, how he liked his pillows just so, how he had an awful habit of kicking the blankets off in his sleep, things he had no business knowing yet he did.

"No promises, Buck." Steve breathed out heavily, eyes already half-lidded with drowsy exhaustion but with a crooked grin on his face. The Soldier felt a near overwhelming urge to roll his eyes and swat his shoulder but he held back, knowing he was still badly wounded and not wanting any sign of playfulness to be seen by the cameras. He merely brushed a few dirty blond strands of hair out of Steve's face instead, hiding the action by pretending to hold his palm there to check his temperature. It was a poor ruse, with his fingers lingering a moment too long, body too loose with the feeling of safety, but he didn't think it would be caught.

This mission had him nervous. It sat low in his stomach like a weight of molten lead, burning and heavy and disorienting. It felt familiar in some distant way; he remembered feeling it before, while sitting in the snow at the edge of some high cliff, the snow kept off him with a shield held above his head by the man he was leaning heavily against for warmth. The memory was pushed down as he closed the door behind him, lock clicking softly at his back before he allowed himself to be pushed by the decayed programming to report to the command center. The sooner he completed his assignment the sooner he could return to Steve's side, and that was the only thought that kept his body in motion.

"Have you heard anything back from Jarvis, Stark? We've got to narrow down our search parameters."

The past few weeks had been complete and utter hell. Without SHIELD, running a rescue mission for one Steven Grant Rogers and one possibly-hostile Winter Soldier had been, to put it mildly, completely fucking exhausting. But, this was hardly enough to make Emily Vandom crack. She'd done more with less resources and less time, and this time she had friends to help her. She poured herself another mug of coffee, glancing over to Stark tapping away at one of his fancy tablets and to Wilson and his makeshift workstation on the floor with his wingpack.

After last time when they got separated, Emily didn't know what to do and how to help Bucky and Steve, so she did the last thing that remained – she had to contact with Sam Wilson, who was (as she knew) a closest friend of Steve.

Sam, although she had known him not too long, had slotted himself into the ragtag group as easily as clockwork, as if he'd been crafted to be a part of their unit. For the first week he'd housed both herself and Barton, who'd come as soon as Emily had filled him in on the situation. It was reassuring having her partner in crime back at her side. Stark, for all his crassness and bluster, had dropped everything when she informed him of Steve's capture. As difficult as he was to work with some days, he really could be an invaluable ally as long as he kept himself occupied.

"Jarvis is going as fast as he can but there's a lot of data to go through," Tony's voice was heavy with lost sleep, as if the dark patches under his eyes and the hot coffee mug held tight in his hand weren't enough of a giveaway, "HYDRA's hiding themselves pretty well, or what's left of it anyway. They're probably disguising their shipments and covering their tracks more than usual. I doubt they'd take them out of the city yet, it'd draw too much attention, but, it is HYDRA so who knows."

Tony must have repeated that a hundred times in a hundred different ways, and she knew that the tension was getting to them all, but it didn't make her any less anxious. They'd moved into Steve's apartment and the empty next door apartment after contacting Sharon, who provided her keys to the locks which had yet to be changed. She was doing what she could to aid in the search, but with her new job in the FBI and Emily still in hot political water, she didn't want to add any fuel to that fire with her presence. If word got lose in the government that Captain America had been captured while housing the Winter Soldier, well, the repercussions were something none of them wanted to deal with.

"I'm going up to check the perimeter with Clint. Let me know if you find anything, and while Jarvis works maybe you could give Sam a hand." Sitting idle and waiting just wasn't in her nature. Sam was working on his damaged wingpack, which Tony had started to repair but had to drop to prep Jarvis for the scan of the city's information apparatus. They'd need Sam's help once the AI located whatever HYDRA hellhole Steve and the Winter Soldier had been taken to. Even though Steve seemed to trust him, there was still a wary part of her that couldn't dismiss the possibility that maybe the Winter Soldier had lead Steve into a trap, that he'd been a Trojan horse or some form of bait to lure him into HYDRA's clutches. It was a grim and farfetched possibility, but one that was all too real.

The cool air outside once she reached the roof was a welcome source of sobriety, washing away her muddled thoughts and letting her release her own tensions with a soft exhale. The last week had damn near run her ragged. To have something like this happen so soon after the fall of SHIELD, before she'd had a chance to really recover, was just not something she had ever expected to happen. She'd thought she would have had a bit more time before she'd have to pay her debt back to Steve for saving her life.

"Lower levels secure, how're things up here?" she sat down heavily near the archer, just in case he had his hearing aids turned down. He was perched on the corner of the building, goggled eyes on the building entrance and the surrounding streets. His bow was held in loose fingers, eyes never stopping their scan of the streets when he replied.

"Well, there's been an awful lot of owls around but no, haven't seen any HYDRA agents or anything unusual." Clint replied, voice a bit hoarse from not having spoken in several hours. Emily roughly shoved her half-empty coffee mug into his side, nudging him until he sighed loudly and took it with his free hand.

"You've been on watch for hours, take a few minutes." She knew he was as tense and eager to find the Captain, but with nothing to do but stand watch it had to be bothering him a good deal. "Stark has Jarvis checking shipping records and anything else we can think of to try and narrow down a few spots. We don't think they're out of the city. Sam's getting his wings ready and if we have some locales by the end of the night we can move out as early as the morning."

"Good." Clint mumbled through a mouthful of coffee, having nearly chugged the whole cup while Emily had been talking. "I've got Soviet cooties now but thanks for the coffee, 'Tasha." With an exasperated sigh Emily punched his side, which made him jump and the coffee mug to slip out of his hand and down to the street below with a muffled shattering of ceramic. "Aw, mug no."

Emily laughed, a true laugh, the kind that ended with her snorting into her sleeve. Maybe it was the tension of the night but it felt good to just laugh, and she heard Clint huff out a laugh as well. The last few days have weighed on her so much that it was nice to let off a little of the steam. She turned to make a witty comment but Clint frantically signed "quiet" at her, eyes locked down where the mug had fallen. She was up and looking over the ledge of the building in an instant, keeping low so she wouldn't be seen.

She heard him notch an arrow and draw, his breathing evening out the way it did when he aimed. She spotted in the street below within a few seconds; a shadow out of place, a brief flash of reflected light off of metal. Emily didn't hesitate to stop the archer, hand over his as he prepared to let the arrow fly, hissing out a breath between her teeth as she struggled to choose what to do. Downing him was likely the wisest option, but, if he was here, there was a chance Steve was too.

"Don't," she knew that Clint wouldn't, but speaking her thoughts couldn't hurt any, "This isn't right. If he was going to try and pick us off he would have while we were distracted. Something's going on." Clint kept his bow at half-pull, and she didn't blame him; she was cautious and untrusting herself, but as she watched the Winter Soldier looked right at them yet didn't duck behind cover. He just looked right at them.

"He could have agents all around the building we can't just sit here," he whispered harshly, pulling the bow to full-draw when the Soldier advanced until he was standing just a couple yards from the building. He was masked but lacked the goggles, dressed full in HYDRA gear with a rifle slung at his back, but hands empty.

"This isn't right, Clint." As if on cue, the Winter Soldier raised his hands, empty palms towards them. A show of submission. Emily bit her lip, not knowing what was going on in the man's head but knowing that this wasn't one of HYDRA's normal tactics. Either this was the man that had grown up with Steve or a twisted HYDRA trap, or something in-between. "… I'm going down there. Cover me."

"Emily you can't be..." she didn't give him the chance to try and talk her out of it, jumping onto the fire escape two floors down. It rattled so loud in the otherwise silent alleyway that she was sure HYDRA agents would be all over her, but seconds ticked by and there wasn't any movement, not even from the assassin in the street below. She was far from unarmed, with a pistol in her pockets, but she would never underestimate the Winter Soldier.

Being on the ground, mere feet away from the man that had shot her just a few months ago, is… tense, to say the least. Her shoulder aches. He looks different now in a way she can't really place; he's thinner than he was in her memories, eyes dark with lost sleep and weary in a way she never thought was possible from so menacing a man. He looked ragged and downtrodden and every bit as awful as Steve had described. Beneath the layers of caution and defensiveness, she admitted she felt a twinge of, pity was too strong a word but something like it, for her former mentor.

"What do you want, James." The words came out more bitter than she had intended, but then again maybe it was better to put up that façade. The man standing before her wasn't the same anymore, but hell, she changed also...

"Vitani." His voice was muffled under the muzzle-mask but that didn't diminish their effect. Vitani. Emily hadn't heard her old nickname in what felt like lifetimes. It told her that he remembered at least fragments of their past, much like her. "… I need your help." That definitely wasn't what she expected to hear him say next.

"My help?" Emily repeated the statement softly, "… Steve. How can I help?" she watched his eyes light up the dimmest bit. James slowly lowered his right hand, pulling something small and flat from his pocket. An arrow cut the tense air between them, embedding itself into the pavement a few inches from the man's foot; a clear, grim warning not to test his luck. It gave the Soldier pause before he completed his action, a small, scuffed moleskin sketchbook clutched in his hand.

"They have him." James's voice was rough and so tired, the book gently placed in her hands with his fingers lingering on her own for the briefest moment, "They think I'm on their leash still, Emily. Steve is hurt, I can't get him out on my own." His tone was almost pleading and it painfully twisted something up inside of her, "They sent me here to kill you all with the Strike team, you're not safe here any longer." Even without it being said, she knew that he had killed his own team to prevent them from hurting them.

"Where did they take him? Where are you based?" she got no clear answer, the Soldier merely tilting his head towards the thin sketchpad in her hands. When she opened the cover she realized there was a roughly drawn map, made of taken streets and turns that he must have taken to reach the building. It could lead them right to them.

"Emily, listen to me" his voice was suddenly soft, shot through with remorse, "they're trying to get me under control again. If they manage to, I need you to put me down. Steve won't be able to, and you're the only person I can trust to do it right. They might not even need to do it, I might try and hurt him if I'm not in my right mind. Please, I need you to promise." Without even seeing his reaction she knew her façade fell for the briefest of moments, blindsided by the request. She'd expected him to be hostile, to be defiant at the least, but not this.

She couldn't form the words but nodded, setting her jaw and straightening her back. The look of relief that filled his eyes was almost as heartbreaking as the whole damn situation. He started to turn but she stopped him, slipping a small object into his palm, curling his calloused fingers around it with her own hands. It was her necklace she used to wear everyday, in a shape of swan with outstretched wings. Seconds ticked by before he broke eye contact with her, looking down to his hand that she still held and then to the arrow by his boot.

"… thank you, моя любовь." She almost missed it, that softly mumbled bit of Russian that solidified in her mind that this was really James talking, and not the Winter Soldier. She never thought she would ever hear that from him again. Emily gave his hand a gentle squeeze before she backed away, the Soldier doing the same, storing the thin metal object she had given him into one of his pockets.

"Be careful, James." Emily spoke softly, "… дорогой.." She watched him stiffen at the word, scanning her eyes for a long moment before he turned his head, breath exhaled loudly through the mask. She allowed her gaze to return to the roof, where Clint was still perched watchfully, another arrow at the ready. When she turned back to the Winter Soldier he was gone, just like the ghost he was. Her grip on the sketchbook tightened as resolve settled in. As it stood, HYDRA was holding two men from her, and they would soon come to regret that action.

His mind had always been too loud. Too loud, too busy, too full of things he had no context for. He could see them in bright flashes of vivid experience; the smell of a Brooklyn alley after a midnight rain, the feel of a stray cat's fur under his palm as it arched into his touch, the sound of a train's wheels far too close, he could remember small bits in crisp clarity but the whole picture was broken. He held the shattered pieces of a great mosaic with no blueprint, no frame of reference; the grand work it once was lost, leaving him with only a hundred million broken fragments and no way to tell how they fit together.

At least, it had been that way for the decades under HYDRA's command. He'd been out of cryo so long, his mind let go to mend without the wipes and supplied with small threads to stitch the patchwork of memories together, that now he was slowly piecing that mosaic of his former life back together. His memories were less flashes of disjointed fragments and now short contingencies; instead of just an isolated sound of pencils scratching at paper he now had a tentative picture of a skinny boy hunched dutifully over a thin sketchpad as he drew, or how a Russian lullaby now reminded him of a dozen young faces in a dim military compound.

With the tentative return of his memories came the emotions attached to them. He remembered the fluttery lightness in his stomach when he laughed loud and long around a campfire with Steve and soldiers just on this edge of familiarity, or how the fear had felt like tendrils of ice snaking up his spine when he heard a door slam shut over the rattling of train wheels. He remembered what fondness felt like, how it had bloomed with a fragile warmth behind his ribs for the first time in decades when he heard the first few unsure English words leave Emily's mouth, how she'd smiled like the sun after she held her first conversation in it with him. He remembered how it felt to have the emotions, but what he lacked entirely was how it felt to receive them, to give them freely and openly.

The strings that HYDRA had cut and mangled were slowly reconnecting, threading through the holes in the decaying programming and forming stronger bonds with each day. He hid it, he hid it deep and he hid it well. If Black knew he would be isolated, probably even forcibly wiped with what little equipment the base had even if it had a high chance of killing him. He knew how Black operated, his worth was only measured by his effectiveness in the field, and he knew as soon as that was permanently diminished he was obsolete. Just another loose end to be cleaned up, a broken machine to be discarded, a toothless wolf to be tied down and shot.

A week had passed since his meeting with Emily, since he'd given her every bit of information he could to help them find Steve. He could feel the programming responding to his HYDRA handlers, feel himself falling easier and easier into old ways and habits, found it harder to recall the broken shards of his memories. It scared him, it honestly scared him. What if tomorrow he woke up and all of the progress he had made was undone? What if tomorrow he looked at Steve and didn't see him, and saw only a target or mission or body to be disposed of? If he lost Steve, if he lost him and Emily, then he knew there'd be no saving him from HYDRA; they were the only ones who stood even the slightest chance of picking up his shattered pieces. This act of putting faith and trust in others was so foreign to him it was almost terrifying but he knew he couldn't do this on his own.

The soft sound of exhaled breath brought him back to reality, eyes cutting down to where Steve was resting his head on his thigh. The wound to his right side had healed enough for him to move around somewhat, although his definition of moving was rather singular. Steve had rolled onto his left side, using the Soldier's lap as a pillow, the thin white blanket he was wrapped in streaked with rust red from the most recent change of bandages. The Asset had deemed him well enough to chance providing him with a shirt, bright SHIELD logo across the chest of it, the sight of which made him feel sick. Steve was curled up somewhat, back mostly to the Asset, trying to shrink into himself but twisting himself up in the blanket and his own limbs in the process. Wide open to attack. The thought stung in his mind, eyes narrowing a fraction behind the thick protective goggles, and was dispelled quickly. Steve Rogers was not a target, threat or mark to him, but his programming deemed otherwise.

Even with the serum Steve's wounds were taking too long to heal for the Asset to be comfortable. The horrific gunshot to his side had only just closed up, a stark red swath of raw muscle stretched taunt over mending bones. The wound to his collarbone had healed much quicker, now a silvery patch of scarred skin that was fading with every passing day. His breathing had evened out to a wheezy constant, no longer sputtering and fluid-filled. It was a small comfort to the Asset.

The HYDRA doctors kept him sedated heavily most days now, preventing him from attempting to fight back or flee. The Asset knew the drugs well enough, as they had been used on him in the past when he woke up from cryo. It had kept him docile and pliant and it made him sick to see Steve reduced to the same state. He was burning through the dosage much quicker than he ever had, sometimes snapping to awareness with a feral sort of desperation to escape. Black made an awful point to make him be the one to administer the syrette, make him stand and watch as Steve collapsed and wheezed and tried to fight the drug, always to fail. Black couldn't wipe him, but he was trying his damnedest to break him through other means.

He'd been given less and less time with the Captain, forced into training exercise after training exercise, with little rest in between. The goggles hid how cloudy from exhaustion his eyes had gotten, how dark the patches under them had become, rendering him less and less able to fight back against orders. He wanted to gnash his teeth and lash out at every turn but he didn't have near the strength to keep doing so. He was so tired. He was never going to stop fighting but the programming was much stronger in his depleted state, the feeling of it guiding his movements almost second nature after decades under its control.

Stress sat heavy on the Soldier's shoulders, weighing him down and filling him with dread. His right hand was gently carding through Steve's hair, curling through golden strands that had grown during their captivity. He had orders from Black himself, an ultimate test for his programming, and he could feel it straining in his mind, the cogs and gears of HYDRA's control creaking and screeching in protest against his unwillingness to comply. He'd known this order was coming since his capture, known since they let Steve recover, known since they let him visit him as a reward.

The possibility of it had eaten at his mind since his first agreement to comply with Black's wishes, but now that the command had been given the reality of it all had crashed down on him. It was punishment, he knew it, punishment for not killing Emily and the small group she had gathered, for killing his own team to protect them. Black wanted him to know that he wasn't to make decisions and couldn't think for himself, and Black's sick sense of humor had been summed up in his simple order. He wanted balance; since he couldn't kill Emily and her group, he had to take another's life.

He held a knife in his metal hand.

"Kill the Captain, Soldier."

Even hours later the words still rang in his ears, a roar that threatened to drown out his own thoughts. He couldn't reject a direct command from a handler such as Black, yet he'd managed to hold out this long, kept his blade from marring the unblemished skin of the blond's neck. He could feel the press of it bearing down on his mind, burning behind his temples and tugging at his limbs, but he fought it. He gritted his teeth under the muzzle-mask and hissed out his breath, trying to will himself to throw the knife away from them but his arm wouldn't respond. He couldn't disarm himself but he found he could keep himself from moving to attack; he was at a grim stalemate with the programming.

"Slit his throat, Soldier. I want you to watch him die."

A strangled sort of noise choked in the Asset's throat, swallowed down thickly as he struggled to keep from showing his distress outwardly. He didn't even realize his hands were shaking until Steve made a confused sound, tilting his head to look up at him with one medicine-fogged eye in silent question. It just made the Soldier's hands tremble more. He'd done everything he could to try and protect the few people he knew with certainty and it was being warped into Steve's own death; everything he'd done was going to kill the man he'd tried so hard to protect.

"… Bucky?"

The Asset's whole body shuddered at the other's voice, shaking so much he could hardly sit. He pulled his hand away and watched the other's face, thankful for the first time in decades for the mask that covered his expression. Steve couldn't see the pained look on his face, see how panicked and wild his eyes were through the goggles. Black's agents had locked him in here and he could see the shadows of them through the small square window on the door; he knew that they would keep him in here until he completed his mission. He'd lasted this long, he just had to keep telling himself he just had to hang on a little longer.

He had to look away. He couldn't look at Steve without the programming screaming to lunge, to hold him down and slash the blade across his open throat. The inner mechanisms of his metal arm whirled and purred, plates calibrating and lying flat and repeating, unfeeling fingers tight around the handle of the knife that he could hear cracks forming on the resin grip. He felt like some sort of predator, a monster; Steve had done nothing but try to protect and aid him and when he needed him to return the favor here he was, holding the knife that would kill him.

Muffled voices from the HYDRA agents outside, combined with their restlessly shifting shadows through the window, set off alarms in the Asset's mind. Something was going on. It was likely Black coming to inspect his progress and the thought of it was enough to worsen his shaking. He was being pulled in a dozen different directions; Black's words tugged at him to attack, his own mind screamed at him to get Steve out of this hellhole and protect him, while the programming whispered encouragements to complete his mission and be rewarded with the quiet sleep of cryo.

The weight in his lap vanished and he didn't dare look to see; he could hear Steve straining to sit up, breath wheezing out of his still-healing lungs from the effort. The programming lurched at the opportunity like a starving animal presented with a meal, teeth bared and desperate for blood. It'd be so easy to just turn and plunge the knife into his back; the blade was long enough to reach his heart through his ribs if he aimed right, he'd bleed out if it didn't outright kill him..

"Buck."

His grip on the knife tightened, servos in his arm whirring into readiness. If he completed his mission Black would put him in cryo, would stop all the noise of the broken memories in his head and let him rest; he was so tired, he'd run and fought for so long that even the horrors of his captivity seemed like a sweet relief from the pain of remembering. The fragments of his memories had always just been background noise before, but now with time and healing they were loud, intrusive, overwhelming and smothering. He couldn't handle it on his own.

"Buck, something's going on, we need to get out of here..."

He was so far lost in his own mind, moving without knowing, drowning inside his own thoughts and broken memories. There was only so long one could fight before it all collapsed, until one gives in under the pressure. With his memories a jumbled heap, struggling to stitch together, the pain of it all was overpowering. He felt trapped inside a cage like a wild animal, desperate to get out and escape from all the noise.

The soft touch of warm fingers on his right arm triggered an immediate response, twisting and clamping his hand onto a still-healing shoulder, knife edge pressed to soft skin. He was instantly still, muscles wound tight like a spring, blade biting into his throat just enough to draw a single trickle of blood. Steve, this is Steve, stop. He was horrified, wanting nothing more than to bolt out the door before he could do something to hurt him more, but he couldn't move. He could only watch as Steve swallowed, eyes staring into his featureless goggles, confused and frightened but, God, still so bright.

"Bucky, put it down… please…"

A sound that could have been a whimper escaped him, stomach turning in disgusted horror at himself. Yet he still couldn't move the weapon away. He couldn't just ignore his mission but he could try and fight it, try to delay it, give Steve enough time to try and get away but unless he got a new command he had to complete it. It was the worst part of the programming.

"You don't have to listen to them anymore, Bucky.."

Steve sounded more lucid than he had in weeks, even with his eyes still fogged from medication and pain. He knew Steve, he'd made the connection between him and the boy with the sparrow-thin bones and bloodied knuckles from his memories, but seventy years of forced obedience and programming and control were impossible to just shrug off. Steve must have sensed it, but then again even the broken fragments of his memories told him that he had always been able to read him like a book.

He didn't show an ounce of fear as he slowly raised his hand, hovering it over his metal wrist, never breaking eye contact. He reasoned he wanted him to make sure he saw what he was doing. He remained tense and stiff, ready to slash the blade the inch it'd take to kill the man, but he waited. Steve seemed to take it as permission, lightly laying his hand over his own metal one, trying to gently push it away from his throat. He resisted at first, artificial muscles clicking and flexing before he slowly relaxed, letting his arm be guided away and down.

"You're okay, Bucky," he started, keeping his voice low and even, not even blinking at the impossibly loud sound of the knife clattering to the floor as it slipped from the Asset's grip, "you're my friend, you don't have to make it on your own."

Thank you Buck, but I can make it on my own.

The thing is, you don't have to.

Something about those string of words sparked something, a bright image flashing in his mind. He remembered Steve, so much smaller with red-ringed eyes. He remembered his hand gripping his shoulder tightly; he realized dimly that he was doing much the same now, a twisted sort of parody of a gesture that no doubt had once been based in comfort. Steve lifted his free hand, the other still cradling the metal wrist that a moment ago had been poised to slit his throat, reaching slowly towards his face. The memory was so vivid he didn't even react until he felt his goggles being gently tugged away, dropping discarded into his lap.

The Asset tried to suck in a breath through the muzzle mask but his lungs hitched as his whole body began to shake, arms dropping into his lap, limp. He had no idea what was happening. The programming had faltered, leaving him unable to complete the mission; the conflict between his programming and the memories was just too much. Panic filled every bit of him, heart hammering against his ribs and stomach threatening to retch. He'd never felt like this in any of the memories he had and it terrified him. He couldn't get enough air and he felt entirely out of control of his own body, his breathing loud and ragged and desperate under the mask.

He felt Steve's hand on his left shoulder, thumb just barely tracing the ragged seam where metal met flesh, his eyes focused on his own as he spoke although he didn't hear a word he said. Normally he flinched or reacted violently to contact but he didn't this time, merely shrinking into himself in an attempt to hide from the storm that was his mind. It was oddly assuring, the feeling of his firm grip on his shoulder, although it didn't immediately register that he was touching his left arm. He couldn't touch him with his left arm, he couldn't, he couldn't. He was dimly aware of a loud noise outside the room, an electric sort of noise that sent the panic coiling in his belly shooting straight up his spine. He needed to get away. Electricity meant pain, meant the wipe that would steal Emily and Steve and his fragile memories away again.

His legs felt boneless when he tried to jump up but he didn't make it any farther than that, Steve's grip on his shoulder turning strong as steel, pulling him back down. The Asset dimly heard him yelling at him; he heard Bucky and he heard its okay but everything in between was lost in the blur that was the panic swirling in his mind. The electric noise was right outside, it was too close. Too close.

"S-Steve, I..."

The door was blown off its hinges with a bolt of blue, slamming into the wall, and all thoughts screeched to a halt and screamed attack.

Steve flinched violently when the door exploded to his right, shards of hot metal bouncing off his side. The air was full of the acrid stench of charred metal and sharp electricity, a scent he knew like the back of his hand. Stark. Thank God, Emily had gotten help and somehow found them. They just might get out of this mess after all. He had his visor flipped open and grinned when he saw him, motioning to the two of them broadly. He didn't have enough time to warn him about Bucky, to warn him about the sound the repulsors made, to warn him about anything.

"Tony, turn off your Repulsors!" he shouted but by the time the words left his lips Bucky had already sprung, producing a knife from somewhere on his person and lunging at Tony like a bird of prey, blade like a talon aiming straight for the suit's Arc Reactor. Tony didn't even have enough time to flip down his visor before Bucky barreled into him, sending them both to the floor. Steve tried to jump up to pry Bucky off but the drugs were still in his system, making his limbs feel a hundred pounds heavier and the room spin with any sudden movement. It felt like when his blood sugar used to dip before the serum.

The screech of metal against metal was nearly ear-splitting, the knife glancing off an armored gauntlet when Tony threw his arms up to deflect the strike. Bucky jammed the blade into one of the seams, Tony actually letting out a yelp before he jerked his arm back, the knife catching and snapping from the torque. The useless hilt was discarded, fingers curling into a fist and slamming into the Arc Reactor, cracking the protective covering. Steve's heart skipped and he screamed at Bucky to stop but he watched as he raised his fist again, aiming to break the Reactor which would trap Tony in the powerless suit.

A brilliant flash of blue filled the room and Bucky was thrown off, the sleeve of his uniform disintegrating and exposing the metal underneath. The Repulsor blast had been drastically dialed back, only enough power behind it to knock him away, but it still nearly blew him into the far wall. He landed on his feet like some sort of cat and skidded back, tattered sleeve smoking and the plating of his arm mired with superficial electricity burns. His breathing was far too fast and he was still shaking, hardly able to stand on his own two feet.

"Bucky, calm down!" Steve pulled himself free of the IV drips, using the wall to steady himself as he moved closer to Tony; he was hedging his bets on the fact that Bucky hopefully wouldn't attack with him so close to his target. "Tony is a friend, he's not going to hurt you!" he could only watch helplessly as Bucky tensed himself up again, coiling in on himself like a snake about to strike. "Bucky, don't! I promise he's not going to hurt you!" he placed himself between the two, holding his hands up submissively. Tony quickly did the same, powering down his Repulsors completely.

Bucky remained crouched and ready to lunge, another much larger blade in his right hand. His eyes darted between Steve and behind him to Tony as if he was trying to judge his distance; it made Steve's stomach drop. He edged forward slowly, closing the distance hesitantly even though he heard Tony's concerned hiss of Steve be careful behind him.

"Buck, its okay, I promise. Its fine, Tony's not going to hurt you or me." he assured, reaching out and slowly taking hold of his hand with the knife. Bucky didn't let go, keeping his eyes locked on Tony over Steve's shoulder as if daring him to try and take another step closer even though he was now shaking so badly he could barely keep his stance. His eyes were still unfocused and wild, nothing like they were the last few times he'd visited him in his cell.

"Cap, I think he's having a panic attack" Tony said suddenly, visor flipping up, "try and get him calmed down so we can get you both out of here. Emily is coming down the hallway, I'm going to make sure our path out is clear but we need to leave before more HYDRA agents show up." Steve nodded back at him before turning his attention back to Bucky, hand still on the hilt of the knife to try and keep him from lunging around him at Tony.

"Buck, Bucky, I need you to look at me" Steve spoke sternly, Bucky's gaze snapping back to him in an instant, "please try and calm down. You're breathing too hard, just, try and focus on slowing it down." He'd talked Tony through his panic attacks in the last few months when something triggered them but Tony had never had a penchant to try and kill him during them.

The knife came loose from his grip a moment later, Steve quickly tossing it out of reach onto the abandoned cot. Bucky was shuddering so much he looked like he was about to shake apart, breath heaving in and out. He wanted to get the mask off of him but he didn't think it was a good idea with him still so flighty. He could easily end up hurting him or himself.

"James, теперь ты в безопасности."

He felt Bucky jolt to look over at the remains of the door where Emily was now standing silently, the shield strapped to one arm. Steve would have spun around himself but he didn't dare make any sudden moves with Bucky in his state, knowing he was teetering on the edge of attacking him or attacking anyone who so much as came within three feet of him with a weapon.

"E-Emily." Bucky's voice was painfully weak, hardly audible over his breathing. Steve heard her walk over, she deliberately making enough noise so not to startle him, reaching out to lay her hand on his arm gently. It seemed to ease his shaking a bit, having two grounding points, but they didn't have the time to get him completely calmed down. They still had to get out of this nightmarish place and get to safety.

"You're going to be fine." She reassured him soothingly, her voice softer than he'd ever heard it before, "we're going to take you and Steve somewhere safe." Bucky seemed to calm a bit at her words, tentatively nodding in agreement as his tremors subsided. He still looked pale and nervous but he didn't seem to be on the verge of passing out anymore. "Steve, Stark has the hallway clear but we need to go now. More agents are inbound and we don't have the head of the base pinned down. Do you think he's good for extraction?" Steve turned to look at the Soldier at her words, and he mirrored the action.

"Do you think you can make it out of the building, Buck? We need to go." Steve asked and was relieved when he saw the slight nod he got in response.

"Good. Clint and Bruce are outside in a Quinjet. Let's get you both home." Emily whispered with a little smile in the corner of her lips.

FOUR YEARS LATER

“Mommy!? Mommy, mommy, mommy!!!” a squeaky voice has spreaded its echo around a cottage.

Little girl ran through upper floor, heading towards stairs leading at the ground floor. She ran into the living room, looking around, but there was no one, so she ran further. Girl spotted the black chow-chow, who was laying at the dog bedding near the main door.

“Hey! Xena! Have you seen Ma?” girl, laughing loudly, went to the dog and pet dog's head playfully. The animal only barked lazly, so girl shook her head and decided to ran to the garden.

But at the door a pair of strong hands had caught her and she had been picked up. She was laughing and squeaking. “Uncle! Put me down, put me down!!!” she giggled, looking up into pair of familiar, huge blue eyes. Steve smirked and made an offended face. “Nah, I don't think so, I like to have you close, besides, now I hope I'll have better deal with your mother if it comes to a dessert!” Captain tickled little belly of the girl, causing a bunch of giggles and squeaks. “Uncle! Unfair!” little girl nuzzled to his neck. “Well, I'll help ya with a dessert if you'll help me to look for my Ma! I can't find her.” Steve laughed briefly and gave a slight nod, then stepped outside t the garden, holding girl in his arms.

Emily was sitting at the wide swing with Bucky, they were catching sunrays of the late summer, cuddling and talking. When little girl noticed her parents, she squeaked once again, tugging Steve's sleve. “Mommy! Daddy!” she yelled loudly and as soon as her little feet touched the ground, she ran towards them, jumping at Bucky's lap. “Mommy! I was looking for you everywhere!!! I draw something for you!!” little girl held a dawing in her hand and she passed it over to Emily. Redhead woman took a piece of the paper in her hand and whistled shortly. “James, look, I bet our girl's gonna be an artist in the future!” she giggled. Bucky took the drawing in his metal palm and took a look on that, letting Steve to watch it also. “I bet she'll” Bucky took girl into his arms and hugged her tight, smiling proudly. “My beautiful Marika.” “I'm sorry to interrupt, but what's with that dessert you had promissed me?” Steve poked Emily's shoulder and woman rolled her eyes. “Captain is hungry as always. I told James before, they should've been calling you Captain Hunger instead of America” Emily summed up, smiling sweetly.

All four talked for a while, then headed back to the house. They were living in peace, filling their lives with love and hope. Hope for better world.

Whatever they had missed, they possessed together the precious, the incommunicable past.

The End

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qualiteadnd · 5 years

Text

The Princess is in Another Cave

— A CHWINGA CHASERS ADVENTURE

When the high priestess of Halarahh is stolen away in the night, two unlikely warriors are hired to return her safely.

When the Spellplague hit, those that could fled. The wizards of Halarahh fled further than most, however, transporting their entire city to another plane. But in their absence over the years, a myriad of peoples and creatures moved into the southern plains they had called home, making their fairly recent return a little jarring to some. But the city, with its incredible mastery of the arcane, was still flourishing and drawing the attention of travelers to its harbors once more.

A young warrior looking to test his strength, Sei’ku had been traveling east from Chult, following the wisdom of his angelic guide. Unlike the rest of his kind, the young aasimar’s golden wings were flesh and bone, gifting him with flight, but making it impossible to blend in. The arcane city of Halarahh with its tall towers and sky ships was a pleasant surprise after the flat lands of his travel. He’d spent more than a few days at a small inn, taking up small adventuring jobs around the area, and exploring the high reaches of the city.

Winged and armed with both his talons and a shining, curved spear, it was only a matter of time before he caught someone of importance’s eye. On his tenth day in the city, he was asked to meet with the wizard queen, Netyarch Kerime, in the palace and the paladin readily accepted.

As he entered the chamber hall, he was met with not only the Netyarch and her council, but with a very large warforged wielding an even larger sword. Messenger and Sei’ku gave each other appraising looks, but were called to attention by Netyarch Kerime.

She informed them that word of their prowess had made its way through the city and back to her. With Halarahh still in a delicate position in the region, she had use for two fighters such as themselves, as she could not afford to spare anymore of her own spellswords on the task when the city still needed their protection. Two visiting warriors, making names for themselves with their might, were exactly what she needed.

“Several nights ago,” she told them, “our high priestess was taken from within the city. Those we sent after her have yet to return and I grow increasingly worried. You are not from Halarahh, you are strangers and not beholden to me, but I ask that you do me this favor and know I will return it kindly should you return my daughter to me.”

Sei’ku bowed his head and swore he would do what he could to see her safely returned. Messenger, encouraged by the prospects of both a fight and a reward, agreed as well.

A gentleman stepped forward and introduced himself as Gideon, an archwizard of the University within the city. He informed the two warriors that their scrying magic had led to a cave to the north, a two days journey from the city. Last they had seen, High Priestess Amara was still alive, but they worried for how long if something was not done.

With this information, Sei’ku and Messenger headed out of the city gates, neither doing more to prepare for the journey ahead of them than grab their weapons and go. Their journey north was a quiet one, both in terms of safety and socializing. Neither was the chatty sort and so despite their many differences and only recent acquaintance, they fell into an easy companionship.

Messenger didn’t ask about the wings. Sei’ku didn’t ask about the giant mecho-arcane thing. And they focused on the road ahead of them.

After a two day journey, with Sei’ku scouting from the skies and Messenger watching guard through the nights, they came across a cave entrance that matched the descriptions Gideon had given them. After descending into the subterranean darkness of the cavern, Sei’ku touched his hand to Messenger’s giant blade and cast Light, turning the massive sword into a beacon.

A short way into the cave, they found the looted bodies of two Halarahhan spellswords who’d come after Amara and they knew they were on the right path. Sei’ku said a short prayer for them and they pressed on, ready and alert.

Things weren’t quiet for long, however, and the two quickly came across a trio of thri-keen, humanoid insects that coordinated their attack in a chittering language. Ready for a fight, Messenger swung his massive blade, Nameless, at the nearest one and dove in. Sei’ku took to what heights the cavern allowed him and struck the bugs from above.

In this manner, they fought off a number of the thri-keen as they progressed through the cavern. And Sei’ku quickly learned his companion was something of a hoarder as he rage-looted every corpse after each fight. Sei’ku himself was not terribly interested in picking the dead clean and simply stood back, offering what healing was needed.

Though Sei’ku was more deliberate and careful while Messenger wanted to hit things hard until they died, the two found respect for each other’s skill with their weapons. After a quick rest, the two proceeded deeper into the caverns, leaving a trail of insect corpses in their wake.

After finding some glittering stones in one of the stalagmites, Messenger moved to pry them free of the rock. “We have more important matters to attend, Messenger,” Sei’ku reminded him, but his words fell on mostly deaf ears. Sei’ku stood on reluctant guard, feathers ruffled, as Messenger filled his bag with the precious stones.

In combat, they made a good pair. Out of combat, it was already clear their priorities were not exactly aligned.

The deeper they proceeded in the cavern, the warier they became, still unsure what it was that had stolen the priestess from the city. The thri-keen were annoying, but not particularly clever or subtle enough to whisk her away in the night.

In one of the caverns they explored, they came across a deep, dark pit and a large crack in the stone wall. The beacon of Messenger’s blade and their not exactly stealthy presence summoned two fire newts and a large salamander from the darkness.

To their relief, the salamander was already wounded heavily and, though it was still not an easy fight for them, that gave them the long term advantage. The body of another spellsword, with warped and melted armor, and the charred remains of a camp told them not all had been so lucky against the beasts.

But still there was no sign of the priestess. Wanting to nurse their burns and rest before going further, they made their own camp near the slain nest. Messenger sat watching the pit through the night, but nothing else climbed out.

Come morning, they scavenged what they could from the camp and nest, including a broken necklace, and then pushed on. Through the day and with a few more thri-keen encounters, Sei’ku continued to mutter over Messenger’s pack rat tendencies with shiny stones. But at the sight of blood staining the sandstone ahead, they readied their blades together.

A pile of bloodied bones from all manner of creatures, ranging from ancient to uncomfortably fresh, sat in the center of a high cavern. And though their alarms were raised, the sight of a young woman laying prone before it urged them quickly forward.

Dressed in red robes, with a serpentine staff dropped beside her, the high priestess did not move as they neared. Without hesitation, the familiar glow of Sei’ku’s healing magic began to radiate at his talons when another figure staggered from the shadows.

“Don’t get near her!” cried a second Amara.

Before they could consider heeding her warning, the prone priestess’s eyes flashed open, revealing her monstrous nature. The false Amara’s form shifted into that of a lamia as she struck out at the paladin who’d come to her aid.

Struck across the chest with her dagger, Sei’ku recoiled and Messenger rushed in.

“My staff! She stole my staff!” the true Amara shouted as the fight broke out. Sei’ku managed to slide past the clashing warforged and distracted monstrosity long enough to throw it to the priestess. Armed again, Amara blessed the two warriors and supported them through the battle from afar.

Outnumbered but still formidable, the lamia tried to curse, charm, and cut any who neared her in the fight and gave back as good as she got. There was, however, nothing she could do to stop Nameless from eventually piercing her through. She collapsed into a heap before the pile of bones.

“That horrible monster,” Amara said, “dragged me out here. I just… I want to be home,” she sighed, leaning heavily on the staff in her hands. “Did the Netyarch send you?”

“Your mother is worried,” Sei’ku told her, spending a small bit of his depleted healing magic on her with a careful touch.

She nodded and looked between her two saviors. “I don’t know how well I can keep up, but I am… so done with this cave.”

Raiding the lamia’s corpse and lair, they found a number of more stones, some of which appearing less natural than the others. Messenger forced the majority of it into his bag as Amara watched, bemused and bewildered, from where she rested. Sei’ku picked up the twisted keris that the lamia had used against him and slid it into his belt before pocketing a few tiger eye stones that had caught his attention in Messenger’s looting.

And with that, they made their slow way through the caves, back to the surface. Taking a quick rest in the fresh air, Sei’ku shared his rations with Amara before they made the slow trip back to Halarahh. Though there was slightly more conversation with Amara among them, the silence that persisted was mostly comfortable.

Netyarch Kerime immediately took their audience on their return to the city, grateful to see her daughter safe and sound. Though she attempted to maintain her nobility and decorum, her relief in seeing Amara, scraped and bruised but alive, was unfettered.

“I promised to return this favor in kind,” Kerime said, as Amara excused herself to her chambers. “You have been guests of Halarahh and now you will be guests of mine. I will arrange rooms with the University for you both, even one in the towers should that interest you, Sei’ku. They will be yours as long as you see fit to stay in Halarahh.”

The idea of a room above the city sat incredibly well with the paladin, in fact, and he bowed deeply, wings flaring out, as he expressed his thanks.

With another look over at the barbarian and his bulging bag of loot the Netyarch added, “And perhaps we can do something about that bag of yours, Messenger. There is an enchanter with the University, I’ll send word to expect a visit from you.”

Polite bows and gratitude were exchanged once more and the two adventurers exited the palace hall. With neither being creatures of many words, they nodded to each other and parted ways; with Messenger on his way to meet the enchanter and Sei’ku off to see what lodgings the University had to offer.

While Messenger might have expected to be meeting with someone like Gideon again, instead he met a young mage, visiting the from afar, by the name of Angus. Eager to help, the wizard identified some of Messenger’s finds — a few Ioun stones hidden in his haul — and expanded the limits of his bag by replacing it with a Haversack.

“You’re good with enchantments?” he asked the boy.

“Well, I do try, sir,” said Angus.

Messenger nodded and removed the massive blade from his back, making the desk between them rattle as he dropped it on top. “Let’s talk enchantments then.”

Thank you Griffin McElroy for inspiring our DM, more than a few parts of this campaign, and, of course, Angus McDonald.

#qdnd #southern wilds #chwinga chasers #seiku #messenger

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centeris2 · 7 years

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8th street. Not the nicest neighborhood, but better than some areas of the city. Regardless it was still not nice enough to be walking around at night. Because it was a nicer part of the bad end of town it attracted more thieves, and it was also a place that was disputed by the local gangs, the latter being the reason Raven and Rave were there. When they first arrived on the block they saw nothing, but after a moment of glancing around in confusion heard shouts and the sound of people running. Several hundred yards from them several men bolted out of an alley, followed closely behind by several more men. They wore two different colors, the men in front wearing mostly green while the larger group behind wore a very bright yellow, it appeared to be a gang fight. Raven was unsure what they were suppose to do about a group of twenty or so men, they were severely outnumbered, but before she could ask Rave had bolted into the fray, getting ahead of the group and cutting them off.

“What are you-“ Raven didn’t bother finishing her question, staring in awe for a few moments as the masked man tried to stop the rest from not only escaping but from killing each other. Snapping out of it she raised her arms, grabbing a few of the men from the back and hanging them by their shirts from street lamps where they could not escape easily. This seemed to even out the numbers enough for the green men to turn and begin to try to kill the yellow group. To this Raven ran towards them, her hands making small flicks as her mouth quickly repeated her mantra, her magic pushing men apart so they could not kill each other and hooking their ankles when they tried to get away. Rave was fighting as swiftly as he could, knocking out those who were distracted by her while trying to not get stabbed. It did not take long for some of the men to figure out what Raven was doing, and before she realized it she was among the fighting herself, jumping back and trying to not get hurt as two men lunged at her. The chaos was added to when a shot was heard, each gang member drawing his hidden weapons. Raven could not tell who had the gun however, and was focused on not getting hurt amidst the mob of fighting men. A man from the yellow gang, armed with brass knuckles, caught Raven in the face, fist slamming into her jaw before she could block it. In the flash of pain Raven’s control slipped, and the man was thrown through the air into a building, falling limply on the sidewalk. Rave was faring better than she was, and had managed to knock a dozen or so men unconscious, and was able to wrap up with the last few as they heard sirens in the distance.

“We should go, the Shepardess doesn’t seem to like official law enforcement,” Raven heard him say as she gingerly felt her face, but she did not question and followed him up the street a ways until he saw her face better in the light.

“What happened!?” he demanded, stopping as he inspected the injury. The left side of her face was bloodied and bruised from the brass knuckles, swelling and it was possible her jaw and cheek bone had some fractures. Raven didn’t need to be an empath to see how angry he got, his gaze sharp and enraged as he bent closer to inspect it better.

“We were just stopping a gang fight…” Raven said sarcastically, although she winced when he touched the tender skin. She guessed his next response would have been something along the lines of ‘I’m gonna kill him’ or some smart reply, but instead his fierce eyes trailed to her purple eyes, his gaze softening, but he did not move his hand from her face.

“It will heal soon enough, give it a day or two,” Raven assured him, speaking softly at how close they were. He nodded once, an oddly sad smile flickering across his face.

“You’re a strong girl,” he murmured, not explaining. His shields were lowered, and Raven felt something she was not sure of, and it confused her when she felt a similar feeling in her as they stood so close, looking at the other without a word. For some strange reason, Raven wanted to ki-

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything…” the familiar voice of the Shepardess broke them apart, and they looked at the smirking blonde. She chuckled at their flushing faces before she turned away from them and started to walk away.

“That wasn’t-“

“We weren’t- I-“ they tried to explain, backing away from each other and being overall very bad at explaining themselves. To this the Shepardess laughed louder, waving off their attempts with her hand.

“Come along, the night is young! There are many other things to take care of before dawn,” with a skip she beckoned them, and they knew they had little choice but to follow her.

The sun rose, the sky clear of clouds as it brightened with the day. The night of crime fighting had ended with the dawn, the Shepardess deciding they should watch the sunrise instead, although her yawns caused her to leave early. Which left the boy and the girl alone on the pier, swinging their feet over the ledge as they thought about the night’s events. The ocean breeze ruffled their hair, the caws of sea birds and waves the only sound for a time.

“She was right you know. About needing to improve your physical combat skills,” he was referring to one of the many discussions earlier that night, where the Shepardess chided Raven for getting punched in the face and how that would not have happened if Raven knew hand to hand combat on a better level. Bringing it back up again made Raven raise an eyebrow and look at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Along with my control, mental abilities, magic, and just about everything. Is there anything I don’t need to work on?” she asked rhetorically, a bit annoyed with how much she had been bothered about that over the past several hours. Raven was already being pushed harder than she had in a long time, with going deeper into criminals minds and getting in the thick of gang fights. She considered herself lucky she had not exploded from the emotions and had only gotten a few minor injuries.

“Your sarcasm?” Raven slowly turned her head to look at him, seeing a grinning face peering at her. She fought back a smile as she elbowed him, which made him laugh, and laugh even harder when she muttered a “shut up.”

“I have armor on you know… that doesn’t hurt.”

“Well it made me feel better!” she said, pouting as his smile faded from amusement to thoughtful respect.

“You are a powerful person, Raven, with a lot of potential. It would not be hard to enhance your skills, although I only know how to do the physical combat skills. I’m not exactly a physic master,” Raven’s smile faded as the first sentence sounded familiar. Someone had said something like that to her… but, wait, what? Why would he sound like-

“And I won’t be around forever to keep you safe,” he said with a shrug, looking out over the ocean with a smirk. He figured that might distract her from putting pieces together.

“Well damn. I was expecting a white horse and suit of knight’s armor next time,” Raven sighed in mock exasperation, throwing her hands up before crossing her arms across her chest in mock resignation at not getting a shiny prince on a horse. He snorted at her sarcasm.

“You would be the type of princess who breaks out of her own tower,” Rave deduced, and Raven did not argue with it at all.

“And save the prince. Besides you let me get punched in the face, you are already failing at your duties,” she just had to bring that up, smirking as she looked up at him, he looked at her again after rolling his eyes.

“Well I protected you most of the time, besides you can heal from that. It’s not like I would let you get seriously injured or die or anything,” he said this jokingly, but Raven thought of something a bit darker to see how he would react.

“Well where were you when I was trapped in that burning building several weeks back?” even though it was said lightly, it had more serious undertones, and Rave’s playfulness died down as he glanced away, his mind blocking her so she could only sense shame and guilt. It bewildered her.

“I wasn’t around yet,” it was a simple answer but it left Raven without much to say. How does one respond to that?

“Oh.”

“But I heard about it on the news, how did you get out?” he asked, trying to get the attention off of himself.

“Someone got me out,” Raven said with a shrug, a nonchalant answer to a grave situation. She watched to see his reaction.

“Do you remember who? Was it Robin?” the last part was more a joke than a serious question, as if he was trying to play it off. But Raven went along with it regardless, despite how she wished to understand and know why he was being closed about himself.

“No, it wasn’t. I don’t remember who it was…” she confessed, she didn’t remember much of what had happened. It had been a traumatic night; it was understandable the shock had blocked it from her memory. Although she desperately wished she could remember who it was.

“That’s a shame, I wouldn’t mind thanking him,” Raven was brought out of her own thoughts by the comment, looking at him in confusion.

“Why? I mean I should be the one to find out who it was and thank him, it was my life after all,” she wasn’t sure why someone else would need to do the thanking for her, or why Rave would be so thrilled she was alive. Sure they got along well enough, but he wouldn’t have been able to miss her if they never met, and they met after the fire.

“You aren’t the only one who is glad you are alive,” ah, so he was glad to have met her. The fire would have deprived that from him, right? Was that where he was going with this? But he looked so sad as he looked at her, his mind wandering and his voice growing faint.

“I’m sure your friends were worried about you,” if only she knew how much it hurt him to say that, how guilty he was about it. Raven was not sure what to say again, not so much because of his words but because of his tone and expression.

“Yea, they were…” she had to look away; she couldn’t look at his face when it was so… soft. Caring. They only just met, barely knew each other, yet he seemed to know her so well. She did not know how to react to that. For a few moments they were silent, both of them now looking over the water to the sun, now climbing into the sky, it was well past dawn.

“So what do you suggest I do? Training wise,” this time it was Raven who changed the subject, unable to bear the silence. He was quiet in thought for a moment before he answered.

“Learn from the best I guess,” with this, Raven saw an opportunity to lighten the mood.

“And who, in your opinion, is the best? Robin? You? Some ancient monk on a mountain top?” it worked, he smirked! She was pleased with herself while part of her wondered why she cared so much about the mood he was in.

“I am not the best, Robin is pretty good though. Or you could look at it like criminals do nowadays, where they study criminology and how the police work, once they understand that they are able to exploit it, find loopholes and weaknesses. But I doubt some generous gang leader is going to offer his training services,” she grinned at the idea of being trained by the mafia, she needed hand to hand not assassination training. Although the look on the other Teen Titans’ faces when she handled a sniper rifle would no doubt be priceless. Not that she knew what she would be using the sniper rifle for, it’s not like she would ever be able to kill anyone.

“So I should go train with Brother Blood or Slade or someone like that?” Raven asked, looking at him for an honest opinion. She wasn’t really considering that, she was sure he or Robin would be able to train her well enough, but there was already the opportunity with Slade… besides, she could always try to work out a deal of some sort. Maybe get Slade to ease off the Teen Titans? Or do a sort of double agent thing?

“It could be risky, especially if they figured out what was going on,” he didn’t say no, but he didn’t say yes either. Rave just pointed out a very obvious problem in training with villains.

“Well… Slade has offered me an apprenticeship. He thinks because I have power and he has power we can become power hungry murderers together or something like that,” to be honest she didn’t know why she told Rave that, but if she could somehow play Slade… that would never work, Slade was too clever for that. Plus he always had an ace in the hole. But Raven noticed how Rave’s eyes grew distant, vaguely amused by her statement.

“Slade is dangerous, probably the most dangerous out of all your enemies,” his walls were up again, but Raven didn’t mind so much at the moment as she nodded. She respected Slade for that, if only because that bastard refused to die. But that aside, he was a worthy nemesis for the Teen Titans, his cunning and craft only reflected on how capable the Teen Titans were for being able to beat him. But it is nearly impossible to outplay a master at his own game.

“I know, not to mention how problematic that would be with the rest of the team, they would freak out, even if I tried to explain my reasons,” it was unlikely Robin would allow her to work for Slade undercover, no matter how valid the reasons were. He would rather it be himself doing it, not to mention Cyborg would be suspicious of it because he already knew of Slade’s ambitions on her.

“It could go bad either way, a lose-lose situation if you got caught. But with promising rewards,” she wasn’t sure if he was supporting this or not, he kept arguing against it, but his tone and word choice somehow made it seem like he wanted her to do it. So she asked him right out.

“What do you think I should do, Rave?” they looked at each other for a moment, her waiting and him thinking.

“I honestly don’t know, whatever you chose though, I’ll protect you. The Shepardess would kill me if I let you get hurt,” he said the last part with a smirk, and Raven grinned back at him, wondering what the Shepardess would want her to do in this situation. It was the Shepardess, who knew what she would think was best. Raven looked out over the water, the sun was now getting up into the sky, the city was waking up. For some time they sat looking out over the water as the sun inched higher and higher. A boat set sail and went out onto the water in the distance, slowly skimming across the horizon. Raven leaned back on her palms and yawned, and Rave broke the silence with a question.

“What would you do if I put my arm around you?” Raven glanced at him in surprise, but he was looking out over the water, as if not at all fazed by what he just asked. Yet he seemed completely serious about it.

“I don’t know,” she didn’t know how she would react to be frank; she wouldn’t try to kill him or anything.

“May I put my arm around you?” the fact that he asked permission got her to smirk, although she tried to hide it when he looked at her.

“I suppose that is permissible,” he grinned at her when she tried to sound snobby about it, as if he was not allowed to even look at her without her consent. But since she had no outright objections, he put his arm around her, drawing her closer to him. She put her head on his shoulder, a bit confused about why she was starting to blush. But when she felt him softly touching her mind she couldn’t help but smile and lean into him. Their minds sensed the other’s but did not go deep, staying on the surface to respect privacy, but a comfortable feeling was exchanged as well as a mutual contentment with each other’s company.

Until a beeping ruined it.

They both looked at Raven’s communicator, and Raven moved away when she answered it, not wanting the others to see whom she was with. Were they awake already? Was something happening? She fought a yawn as she opened up the communicator and answered the call. It was Robin.

“Raven! There you are! Where are you?” Robin was outside it looked like, possibly on the top of Titan’s Tower. Had he searched the whole place for her? She should have gone back hours ago before anyone was awake. This was not good.

“I’m watching the sunrise on the pier. Is something up?” Raven asked while stifling a yawn. It wasn’t a lie; it just wasn’t all the details to the truth. He hadn’t asked whom she was with… But then again why should it matter whom Raven was with? She was not with a villain nor was she supposed to be at Titan’s Tower at night unless she had permission.

“No… why the pier? What’s wrong with the roof?” Robin asked in bewilderment, and Raven wondered what Robin had wanted her for. There must be some reason to him calling her, if he was looking for her why did he need her? Robin wasn’t exactly the friendly wake up caller sort of person; he normally left her alone to wake up when she would. She was up at a reasonable hour most days. To his question she shrugged, glancing at an amused Rave.

“Nothing wrong with the roof, just a change of scenery I guess. Why did you call?” this was the second time Raven had asked about why Robin contacted her, and she wanted to know what was so important that he had to call her right then when things were so… nice.

“I wanted to do some early morning training sessions- do you have a black eye?” Robin noticed the discoloration left in her face, and his shock was rewarded by a surprised chuckled from Rave. Raven had to quickly think of an answer to get out of this one.

“I’m just tired, didn’t get much sleep. Want me to head back so we can run some courses?” Raven asked him. Technically speaking her eyes were purple, and technically she was tired so she most likely had dark circles under her eyes, and technically she hadn’t gotten much sleep if ‘much’ can be defined as ‘any.’ Robin let it drop and nodded.

“See you soon then, Raven!” they clicked off their communicators and Raven looked at Rave with a sigh that turned into a yawn.

“I guess you’ll be getting some training in after all,” he seemed a bit sour, and his mind had withdrawn from hers. She frowned a bit.

“Probably not much hand to hand, unless I ask,” Raven said, guessing he may in fact be a bit jealous.

“Will you?” so he was a bit jealous, probably because he wanted to train her himself. She looked thoughtful for a moment before slowing shaking her head.

“Not today, haven’t slept and all that. I’d rather be better rested before I try to tackle Robin,” she said with a smirk, a bit playful and glad Rave softened a bit.

“You could come train with us you know,” she added after a moment, but as she expected he shook her head, not accepting the offer.

“Things may get awkward. And I prefer to train on my own. Robin may not approve of my training methods,” he smirked at her, yet she had a feeling he wasn’t joking, which made her curious to know what he did to train. But she knew he wasn’t going to tell her, so she focused on the first part.

“Awkward how?” Raven asked, her head titling a bit as she read him, looking for an answer. Would he be serious or joke around with this?

“Well Robin wouldn’t like it if I showed him up in front of you…” he said, rolling his eyes slowly to look away from her before he looked back at her with a grin that she mirrored. Robin could be the competitive type. But an expression flashed across him, brief but shut down fast. Not fast enough to stop Raven from seeing it in his eyes. It was more serious, intense, and impulsive. But her intrigued expression seemed to tip him off, and he stood.

“You should get back before Robin starts to worry and calls again,” he offered her his hand to help her up. She accepted, but did not stop looking at his face as she stood, her hand in his. She felt unease from him, anticipating he would step away but her grip tightened on his hand and her mouth opened.

“What was that emotion? Before you stood up? What were you thinking?” she noticed everything about him, his white hair messy from the night, his wide and nervous eyes, his strong facial structure, smooth skin, and she found herself drawing closer to him. Her breathing had paused for a moment, their eyes studying the other. Rave swallowed.

“I’d guess the same as you just about now,” and with that he stepped away, Raven blinking as he pulled away from her. She found herself become angry, and she grabbed onto his arm.

“Where are you going? Why are you leaving?” she demanded, stepping in front of him and glaring at him. She was offended for some reason, like he didn’t think highly enough of her. Why was that?

“Raven- trust me. It’s for the best. This can’t happen,” she knew he wanted this too, whatever this was. Her anger turned into a sort of painful sadness, her hurt expression not well hidden and his resolve seemed to weaken.

“Why? What is this? What are you hiding from me? What are you protecting me from?” her voice was soft, confused, and he couldn’t seem to stop himself from stepping back to her and touching her face. She bit her lip and went still as his hand held her face, his thumb tracing her jawline before it brushed over her lips. It was then she felt her emotions getting too loose, silently cursing. Why couldn’t they be calm for one moment, when this was happening? How far could she get away with before her powers were unleashed? How much closer could they get as they closed the space between them? Her eyes naturally closed, head tilting slightly while she stood on tiptoe to be a little taller. She could feel his breath on her, although it was short, but her lips did not get the touch they desired.

“I’m sorry. We can’t do this,” the words were soft compared to the sound of black energy snapping in the air. And in a moment he was gone, her purple eyes opened to him running away, his emotions that of bitter resentment with… himself? A snarl escaped her lips and her eyes flashed black, energy destroying nearby crates and damaging the pier.

“DAMN YOU!” she screamed, fists tightly clenched before she softly muttered, “he better have more than two good reasons for this.”

#teen titans #raven #slade #fanfiction #my writing #my work #T&T #T and T #Traitors and teachers

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