#the Sam takes have my rolling my eyes into my skull

[icequeen-07]

Nothing like the Until Dawn fandom coming back with the movie only to rehash old discourse and presenting me with the worst takes imaginable

[literaryavenger]

So I read somewhere that if the word ‘Sputnik’ is said to Bucky it knocks him out. Like it was a way for HYDRA to temporarily incapacitate him until they could control him better if he got out of hand. I’d love to see if you could write about how the reader and the team would deal with this situation. Maybe incorporate the satellite, as we know how much Bucky loves space. 💙✨ Maybe an established relationship? Again don’t need to do this, but I thought you’d appreciate a little help to get out of this writers block :)

Sputnik

Summary: Bucky's fascinacion with Space gives the team an interesting, emotional week.

Pairing: Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Romanoff!Reader, Platonic!Bucky Barnes x Various!Avengers

Warnings: Language. Established relationship. Mentions of Bucky's past and trauma. So much angst, but tons of fluff too. My poor attempts at being funny.

Word Count: 6.4K. This one got away from me, lol.

A/N: Okay, so I heard about this too and did some research and found out it is a thing that the Red Skull uses against Bucky in one of the many universes of the comics, but it can only be used once. What I couldn’t find is how to wake him up, so that part is made up by me lol. Anyway, I hope this satisfies you, Anon, and to everyone that’s sent me requests already, I promise I plan on working on all of them, even if it takes me a little time. But keep ‘em coming! Also, I put a lot of MCU references and lines, so have fun finding them all, lol.

Masterlist

Life isn’t always fair.

That’s something most people can agree on. But it’s especially never been fair for one Bucky Barnes.

Bucky has been an Avenger for years now, and sometimes he still feels like he’s made little to no progress. Other times even he can’t deny how far he’s come.

Like right now, he’s sitting on the couch with you, his girlfriend, sitting next to him with your legs over his as he strokes your thigh absentmindedly while he’s engrossed in a conversation with Peter about astrology.

That’s something that Bucky has always found interesting, and the young genius has been filling Bucky in on everything he’s missed on the subject since the 40s.

Most of the Avengers are away on missions and the rest of the team that’s at the Compound (Tony, Steve, Peter, Wanda, Sam, Natasha, Bucky and you) are all hanging out in the common room, the fading colors of the sundown coming through the window making for a nice setting.

Tony, Steve and Sam are talking about Formula One, Peter and Bucky are in their own little nerd world and you are talking with Natasha and Wanda about the latest tv show you’ve all been binging together.

Your attention is brought on Bucky when he taps on your leg gently to signal you to get them off of him so he can get up, never breaking his conversation with Peter.

“What’s a satellite?” Bucky asks with furrowed eyebrows as he gets up from the couch.

“It’s an artificial body placed in orbit around the earth, or moon or another planet, in order to collect information or for communication.” Peter explains like the cute little geek he is while Bucky goes to the kitchen to get another beer, still concentrating on their conversation.

“You know,” Tony interjects, the whole team’s attention now on their exchange. “The first artificial Earth satellite launched in 1957, it was called Sputnik and it was-”

“Bucky?” You interrupt Tony in the middle of his fun fact when you see your boyfriend freezing as he’s about to sit on the couch where he was a minute ago.

He doesn’t say anything but you can see his eyes rolling back into his head and then he falls to the ground unconscious.

“Bucky!” You yell as you kneel beside him, everyone else rushing to his side, just as worried as you.

You grab him by his shoulders and shake him a little, but the man doesn’t move a muscle. You look around at the team, but everyone is equally as clueless about what’s happening as you are.

“Should we try slapping him?” Sam offers, earning a glare from both you and Steve and a slap on the back of his head by Natasha.

You look back at Bucky, but you can’t think of anything to do to help him, your mind completely blank. You feel a hand on your shoulder but you pay it no mind, your eyes focused on Bucky.

“We could try the book…” Steve’s voice is quiet but to your ears those words feel like a scream and your eyes snap up to his just to find him already looking at you.

You know what book he’s talking about, of course you know. The Winter Soldier’s red book, the one Bucky gave you to keep safe because he trusts you with his life.

You’re the only one that has access to it, but you’ve never even opened it because Bucky trusted you not to unless it was necessary. He chose not to destroy it for this exact reason, in case something inexplicable happened to him. 

He himself has never opened the book, so it stands to reason that there are a lot of things he doesn’t know about the Winter Soldier’s programming.

You promised him you’d keep it safe and that’s what you’ve done so far, but you also promised yourself you’d never open it and see the horrors even Bucky doesn’t know they did to him. You certainly never thought it would be necessary, that’s why you agreed to it.

But right now, as much as you hate to admit it, it’s your best option. 

You leave Bucky in Steve’s care and go to your and Bucky’s room. You go into the closet and remove the hardwood plank in the far corner and reach into it to take out a small safe.

It’s Stark Technology, even Bucky wouldn’t be able to get into it, if he even knew it was there. But he doesn’t, he was very insistent on you being the only person that knew the book’s hiding place.

You scan your thumbprint, then your retina and lastly say the voice command ‘Jamie’ and the light turns green. The safe opens and you reach into it, moving away the files about yourself you recovered from the Red Room after you and Natasha escaped, then the Hydra file Natasha found on Bucky and some other documents you have there before spotting the red leather at the bottom of the safe. You pull it out and hesitate before sighing. 

This is necessary. 

That’s what you keep telling yourself over and over as you open it and start looking through the pages for anything about Bucky passing out.

Thankfully it doesn’t take long for you to find it, and you’re careful to put everything away the way it was before going back to Bucky.

While you were looking for an explanation, Steve and Sam moved Bucky to the medbay where Tony hooked up some machines to him to make sure he was still healthy, even if he’s unconscious.

You enter the room and hesitate before walking up to the bed. You can tell everyone’s worried, most likely because even the shuffle of bringing him here didn’t wake him up.

“Please tell me nobody slapped him.” you say quietly, half joking and half actually worried someone tried to slap him awake. When Steve shakes his head no, you let out a relieved breath and cross your arms in front of your chest. “I think I know what happened.”

“You do? What is it?” Steve asks hopefully, although the tone in your voice doesn’t prompt anything good.

“Apparently, Hydra planted a failsafe in Bucky’s subconscious.” Everyone’s attention is on you, and you look at everything but Bucky. “It was made in case the Winter Soldier rebelled and they needed a quick way to shut him down.”

“I don’t get it, why didn’t Shuri take it out with his trigger words?” Sam asks with a frown.

“She didn’t know about it.” You answer simply. “Bucky didn’t even know about it…”

“If she didn’t know it existed, she didn’t know to look for it…” Tony elaborates and Sam nods.

“Does it say what the word is?” Steve asks you.

“The word is ‘Sputnik’.” You say while looking at Tony with a tight-lipped smile. You know it’s not his fault, he obviously didn’t do it on purpose and you know he understands you don’t blame him, and neither would Bucky. “Good news is, the failsafe can only be used once.” Everyone relaxes a little, at least there’s the bright side that this won’t ever happen again.

“And the bad news is…?” Natasha prompts while raising her eyebrow, making everyone tense again. You sigh, damn her for knowing you so well.

“Since it’s never been used, there’s no saying what will happen to him, how long it’ll last or how to wake him up…” You trail off, looking down at your feet while biting your lip before finishing your sentence. “If he even wakes up.”

You hear Wanda gasp at your words and the room goes silent. You don’t have the courage of looking anybody in the eye at the moment, so you just keep looking down.

“What do you mean, if he even wakes up?” Peter is the one that asks the question, his voice quiet and a little unsteady.

“It’s Hydra we’re talking about, I doubt they cared about the consequences their actions would bring on Bucky’s psyche…” You say bitterly, wishing you had any Hydra agent at hand so you could snap their neck. “That trigger word could’ve done anything to him.”

“T-there has to be something else, maybe you missed something.” Steve mutters and it takes everything in you not to roll your eyes. You know this is coming from a good place, he’s worried for his best friend, but it’s still annoying that he’s doubting you.

“All it says in the book is that it’s supposed to knock him out long enough to provide an opportunity to move him somewhere where he can’t do any damage or even put him back into Cryo if necessary.” You recall word for word what you read in the book, making it clear that there’s nothing else to be done. “All we can do is wait it out…”

You glance at Bucky and something inside you snaps. You know you can’t look at his still, angelic face any longer or you’ll lose it, so you turn around and walk out of the room, leaving everybody perplexed at the wake of your actions.

“Wait!” Steve says from behind you, but you don’t turn around until you’re at the elevators.

“We can keep watch on him one at a time until he wakes up.” That’s all you say while entering the elevator, giving him no chance to say anything back.

He understands this is a lot for you, so he decides not to push it. Instead he sighs and turns around, walking back to the rest of the team to tell them your, admittedly simple, plan.

Day 1

Steve volunteers to be the first one to watch over Bucky, hoping that he’ll wake up within a day and then everything will go back to normal.

“Hey, Buck.”  He says quietly as he sits down on the chair next to Bucky’s bed. 

“This is weird…” He says more to himself while studying Bucky’s face. “Should I talk to you? What should I even say to you? I don’t know, man…”

Steve sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “You’ve known me my whole life. My entire, overextended life… Is there really anything you don’t know about me yet? Well, maybe…” 

Steve knows there’s something he hasn’t told Bucky. It’s something he hasn’t told anyone, really. But he needs to get it off his chest, so he takes a deep breath and decides to go for it.

“It’s hard, Buck… This whole hero thing.” He says quietly while looking at his lap. “I got into this life to help people, that’s all I’ve ever wanted to do, but… I never thought it’d be this hard.”

Steve plays with his fingers as he talks. He knows Bucky probably can’t hear him, he can’t even see him at the moment, but he still feels guilty about what he’s saying. 

“Remember during the war, how we used to think about going home after it was all over and find a nice gal, settle down, have a family…” Steve can’t help but smile at the memory of all the times they spent in bars between fights with the Howling Commandos, just fantasizing about what their lives would be like after the war was over. “I know what I have with Natasha is real, and I love her, and you got pretty lucky too.” He smirks at Bucky while thinking about his relationship with you. 

“But this isn’t really the life we imagined, is it?” His smile falls. He can’t help but feel like saying these things out loud make him look selfish. But who better to understand him than his best friend, who went through something very similar? So he keeps going.

“This job, man… People depend on us to keep them safe, and that’s a lot of responsibility on its own, but being Captain America…” Steve scoffs, just the title he was given all those years ago now carries a weight he can’t escape. “It’s exhausting.” 

Steve finally looks up at Bucky, half expecting him to be looking at him with an irritated expression, but Bucky’s still unconscious, his face still and peaceful, almost as if he’s merely sleeping.

“I try to be perfect all the time, but, outside this team, no one wants me to be myself… They want me to be the version of myself that they like. The version that serves them better.” Steve leans in, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes focused on Bucky’s face. “But I’ve always known I could be myself with you. ‘That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb to run away from a fight’, right?” 

Steve laughs. That’s how Bucky described him. Even after the serum, that’s how Bucky always saw him.

“That’s me… You’ve always seen me for who I was, not who you needed me to be…” He takes Bucky’s hand in his. “Even when I had nothing, I had you… And I know what you’d tell me if you were awake,” 

Steve chuckles, knowing his stubborn best friend would insist Steve would be fine even without him. “I have the Avengers, I found myself a family, I’ll be okay…” He pauses thinking about the team, but then he gets to you and his smile falls again. “But her.” 

He knows he doesn’t have to say anything more. If Bucky were awake, he would immediately understand Steve’s talking about you. “For her it’s different.” Steve says quietly. Everybody knows how much Bucky means to you. “You’re everything to her, Bucky.”

Day 2

Bucky still hasn’t woken up, but you can’t bring yourself to watch over him and Natasha can see it on your face when Steve suggested you’d be the next one on Bucky watch, so she offers to go instead of you like the good big sister she is.

“Hi, Barnes.” She says when she sits down on the same chair Steve spent the day on yesterday. “I think we both know I’m only here for your little doll.” Natasha teases with a small smirk before she gets more serious.

“She can’t face this yet…” Natasha says quietly, thinking about your face just moments ago. “She doesn’t believe she’s as strong as we both know she is.”

Natasha knows you haven’t slept much, the darkening circles under your eyes give you away.

“But I get it,” she sighs “you mean so much to her.” She’s never seen you as happy as you are since you started dating Bucky, and she knows you’d do anything to protect that. Hell, Natasha herself would do anything to protect something as pure as your relationship with Bucky.

“Our whole lives, all she wanted was what she has with you now.” Natasha smiles sadly at Bucky. “And now that she’s found it, it’s hard for her to face reality and admit to herself that she might lose it…” 

Natasha sighs and shakes her head, thinking about everything organizations like Hydra and the Red Room took from all of them, and how they’re still managing to hurt them even after all these years.

“You know,” She says after a moment of silence “I’ve never been homesick. Because there was no place I belonged to.”

She knows Bucky felt the same way for the longest time, and she wants to give him the same hope she had. “And then I got this, this job… This family. And you’re part of that family too, Bucky.”

She leans in and scans Bucky’s face, looking for any signs that he might be conscious, but she finds nothing. 

“None of us are ready to lose that. To lose you.” She tries to drive home the point by taking his hand. “You have a family again, a family that cares for you.” 

“And you can’t do this to her… You know you can’t.” She adds after another moment of silence. “All our lives, she’s been looking for a home… You are her home, Bucky.”

Day 3

“Hey, man.” Sam sits down on the chair next to Bucky’s bed. 

“I know, I know, I’m probably the last person you want here…” Sam chuckles. “But that’s too damn bad for you, because I’m gonna be here anyway.”

Sam looks at Bucky, it feels kind of weird for him to see him without the scowl that’s usually directed at him. “Oh, how I wish I could know what’s going on in that big cyborg brain of yours…” Sam says with a small grin. 

“If you were awake you’d be glaring at me. Is it weird that I kind of miss it?” He wonders out loud. “Two days without your annoying staring problem is two days too long…” 

Sam chuckles again. He knows Bucky would be threatening his life at this point if he were awake. Not that he’d ever follow through with his threats, though. Sam sighs.

“I know you don’t want me getting all sappy on you, but… I never did tell you why I tease you so much, did I?” Sam says quietly as he sits back on his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “You’ve asked me repeatedly why, but you don’t really expect an answer when you do…”

A lot of the conversations between them end with Bucky asking Sam why he’s such a pain in his ass while Sam, and anyone else witnessing the exchange for that matter, just laugh. Even you.

“But here I am, giving you one anyway.” Sam says with a grin. At this point he’s almost hoping that if he annoys Bucky enough, he’ll wake up just to kick his ass. 

“You know how they say ‘we accept the love we think we deserve’? Well, I know how little love you truly believe you deserve.” Sam has never said these things out loud, especially not to Bucky because he knows that wouldn’t end up well for anybody. But now he feels like he has to.

“Thing is…” Sam says quietly, taking the rare moment where Bucky is not rolling his eyes or glaring at him to be honest. “You deserve so much more than you care to admit, Bucky.” 

He looks out the window for a moment before looking back at Bucky.

“And I’m gonna mess with you, and make fun of you, and tease you like friends do.” He says defiantly, almost challenging Bucky to stop him. “Because, whether you like it or not, I am your friend.”

Sam grins at Bucky, wishing he was awake just so Sam could see Bucky’s face as he annoys him. “You have people that care about you, Bucky. You have a whole team that does.” 

Sam says sincerely with an easy smile, but then he sighs. He knows, if Bucky could reply, he wouldn’t want to believe what Sam’s saying. Ever the stubborn one, that man.

“Look Bucky, I know you believe you’re hard to love…” Sam says quietly, thinking about his next words carefully with you in mind. “But she loves you like it’s breathing, man.”

Day 4 

“Good morning, Bucky.” Wanda says as she enters Bucky’s room in the medbay. “How are you feeling?”

She sits down and sighs. “Yeah, I know, I could easily just look into your mind and see for myself, like Tony has been bugging me to do since all this started, but…” She pauses and smiles softly at Bucky. “I made you a promise.”

Bucky didn’t trust Wanda when he first met her. He knew she had ties to Hydra, he knew she could control his mind and he had enough of that for a lifetime.

“I’ve never entered one of our friend’s minds on principle, but I know how important it was to you that I willingly promised you outright.” She says softly while remembering the look on his face when she seeked him out to relieve his worries. “It didn’t take a mind reader to see the weight being lifted off your shoulders when I actually said the words…” 

After that Bucky seemed less guarded around her, they even had some conversations about their experiences with Hydra, and Bucky came to understand where Wanda was coming from.

“And I get it, you’ve had no control over your own mind for the longest time, you don’t want anyone else in there.” Wanda says quietly “You trust me not to, and I’d never betray that trust.” 

She’s proud that she was able to gain Bucky’s trust, and she’d never do anything to lose that.

“You and I both know what it’s like to have nothing,” She sits back on her chair, her eyes on the window. “and we both value trust above all else, having had no one to trust for the longest time.” 

“After I got these… These powers…” She looked at the red energy coming out her fingers while they played with it. “I knew people saw me differently. I knew they feared me…”

Her Sokovian accent comes out more as she gets emotional, her eyes leaving her hand as she looks back at Bucky. “And Hydra conditioned you to expect people to fear you, too.” She says sadly. “But we can’t control other people’s fears. Only our own.”

That’s a lesson that took her a while to learn, but it’s an important one for both of them.

“We’re not monsters.” She says with conviction, like she’s trying to convince him more than just remind him, before adding. “We are all born so beautiful… The greatest tragedy is being convinced we’re not.”

Wanda smiles, that’s another lesson that was hard to learn, but luckily for them they had someone to help them believe it.

“You know who taught us that, who helped us really believe it…” Wanda chuckles softly, thinking about how you went above and beyond for both her and Bucky. Even before you started dating him, you wanted to make him see himself the way you saw, and still see him. 

“She believes wholeheartedly that you’re beautiful. I don’t need to use my powers to see the way her eyes, her face, her whole soul lights up when she looks at you…” Wanda feels like he needs to remind Bucky what he has. If he’s fighting, he needs to know what he’s fighting for. “You’re her hope, and her peace… You’re her whole world, Bucky.”

Day 5 

“Hello, Mr. Barnes, sir.” Peter says shyly as he hesitantly sits down on the chair, almost expecting Bucky to look at him and tell him not to do that because Bucky always insists Peter call him by his nickname like everybody, but Peter never does.

“I’m sorry, I know you hate it when I do that.” Peter scratches the back of his neck nervously. “You always say ‘just because I have a few decades on you, it doesn’t mean you have to call me sir’.”

Peter chuckles. “I know that, but I can’t help it… It’s not because you’re older,” Peter quickly reassures him. “It’s because I respect you. I admire you, really…” Peter blushes a little at the admission, but after all Bucky is a war hero and a role model.

“Everything you went through, even before Hydra…” He trails off, glancing at Bucky with a pained expression before continuing. “It made you stronger. You’ve always been able to help people, even without being a supersoldier.” 

Peter remembers the conversations he had with Bucky, after the man got used to the 16-year-old’s enthusiasm and energy, where Peter’s curiosity and genuine interest of what he had to say brought them hours of Bucky recalling what it was like to live in the 40s and through a war.

“You had a duty back then… To protect your country, your family and your friends… It was a responsibility, albeit a terrible one at that.” Peter says admiringly, recalling how shocked he had been when Bucky told him he got drafted and didn’t enlist like it says in his exhibit at the Smithsonian. “But you know what it’s like, to do what you have to do because it’s the right thing…” 

“I know you look at me and see a younger version of Mr. Rogers… Young and small and in need of help…” Peter says after a moment of silence, chuckling at the similarities he felt he shared with the pre-serum version of Steve before Peter got his powers. “And I get it, I spent my whole life like that… And then I got this opportunity.”

Peter looks at his hands, knowing what he can do with them alone is extraordinary. But he didn’t feel like he deserved it when it first happened.

“It was an accident. A fluke, a mistake…” He said quietly, words he’d never said out loud but he’s said to himself countless times. “But it gave me a chance to help people.” He says, now very proud of the opportunity he’s been given.

“When you can do the things that I can, but you don’t… And then the bad things happen, they happen because of you.” He says while smiling at the memory of telling Tony that when he first recruited him. “And I know fighting is the right thing to do, but it’s also a lot for me to take on…” His voice gets quieter.

“And it took me a while to get the hang of it. I still struggle with it sometimes…” He admits sheepishly. 

“But, ‘just because you took longer than others, doesn't mean you failed.’” He says before smiling at Bucky. “Remember that, kid.’” he says imitating Bucky’s deep voice with a chuckle.

“You told me that, sir. And I always remember that.” He says, proud of himself. “I’m doing my best, and that’s what matters…” His smile falters when he then sees you pass Bucky’s medbay room, like you do a few times a day even if you still can’t bring yourself to enter it.

“She’s doing her best too, Mr. Barnes.” Peter says quietly, looking worriedly at you. “To keep herself together, to not break down… To not lose hope.” 

Peter looks back at Bucky and leans in, like he’s telling him a secret. “But I can tell it’s getting harder. She can’t sleep, or eat, she can’t stop thinking about you but she can’t bear to see you like this…” 

Peter almost hoped that telling him this would be enough to make Bucky wake up, but he understands that it’s more complicated than just willpower. Peter sighs and leans back in his chair, his eyebrows furrowed with worry as he looks at Bucky. “You have to come back to her, Bucky.”

Day 6 

You almost shove Tony into Bucky’s room. Everybody else is busy, most of the team being out on missions, and you still can’t bring yourself to see him.

“Hey, Terminator, how’s the coma going?” You groan loudly enough for him to hear while yelling ‘Tony!’ from outside and he chuckles. “Kidding, kidding…” 

Tony reluctantly sits down on the chair next to Bucky’s bed. It’s not like he hates him, they have slowly developed a relationship. It’s not quite enough to call it a true friendship, but it’s enough for them to get along when they’re in a group setting, they just don’t spend any time just the two of them. 

“Fine, let’s level, Barnes.” Tony says with a sigh after several minutes of silence. “I know we’ve had a rocky relationship from the start, but you have to see where I’m coming from.” 

Tony thinks back at what happened in Siberia. He feels guilty about it now, but in the moment he was in the eye of the tornado. He couldn’t see a way out.

“Seeing you do those things on camera… It did something to me. And then that’s all I could see, your hand around my mom’s throat…” He trails off, swallowing hard as the memory comes rushing back. “But that wasn’t your fault.” He concedes after another moment of silence. 

“You know how they say that villains deserve to have their stories told from their own point of view?” He asks rhetorically, knowing Bucky can’t answer. “I never believed that. I thought it was just an excuse for bad people to justify their actions… A ‘you don’t know what drove me here, so you can’t judge my actions, as bad as they may seem to you’ type of thing.”

He glances down before looking back at Bucky with a small smile. “And then I met you. And I tried to kill you…” He chuckles awkwardly, then sighs. “But I’m glad I didn’t succeed. I’d never been able to get to know you, to understand your side of things… You’re a pretty badass dude.”

Tony smiles at Bucky. Even he has to admit that Bucky has made so much progress. He’s opened up more than anyone would’ve expected, he cares about the team, he laughs and jokes around with everybody. He’s not as guarded as he used to be, he’s truly a part of their evergrowing, eccentric family.

“I know I should’ve told you this a long time ago. It’s always been kind of implied, but…” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t blame you for what happened to my parents. Not anymore.” 

He pauses, he’s never actually said the words out loud, but right now he needs to.

“But I will blame you if you leave her like this…” He says playfully before adding more seriously. “She needs you, Bucky. More than you know, maybe even more than you need her.”

He’s never actually called him by his name, but he knows this is important and doesn’t find it in himself to come up with some funny nickname.

“Everybody wants a happy ending, and you’re hers.” He adds after another second. “And I know, part of the journey is the end, but… It’s not time for your end yet. Don’t leave her like this.” 

Day 7 

You can’t put it off any longer.

The team is out on various missions, you’re the only one in the compound along with a still unconscious Bucky. You take a deep, shaky breath and enter his room.

For a moment you stand in the doorway, tempted to run out as far and fast as you can. But you need to do this.

You walk to his bedside and bite your lip as you look at his peaceful face. Steve was right, he looks like he’s just sleeping. But you know better.

“Hi, baby…” You say quietly as you run your fingers through his hair softly. “I know, I’m sorry I haven’t… I haven’t been here.”

You feel guilty that you haven’t been taking care of him like you should. “But seeing you like this… It just hurts so bad.” You know it’s selfish. He’s the one that you should be caring for, but all you can preoccupy yourself with is your own feelings. “I want to be strong for you and I’m sorry I can’t…” 

You sit down on the chair next to his bed, gently taking his flesh hand in yours, and it’s as warm as it’s always been. For a few moments you do nothing more than just look at him, the beeping of the machines becoming background noise. You almost hope he’ll wake up out of sheer willpower, but you know it won’t happen.

“I need you to wake up, Bucky. Please…” You say quietly, almost pleading with him as tears start to come to your eyes, but you try your best to hold them back. “I need to see your smile, and your beautiful blue eyes, even if they are rolling in annoyance at some stupid pun I made.” 

You chuckle at the thought of all those times that he rolled his eyes at you when you made bad puns and dad jokes, only to laugh a second later. 

Not even because he found them funny, but because of the look you’d give him. Like you were doing everything you could not to laugh, because to you those silly jokes were the funniest thing ever, and he loved how much joy they brought you. 

And that was nothing compared to the way your eyes would light up when he’d laugh, like your greatest accomplishment in life was bringing him joy, even when both of you were entirely aware that it’s not the jokes that he enjoys. 

It’s you.

“I need to hear your voice and feel your touch… You’re everything to me, baby… Everything I need, everything I love…” You pause and bite your lip.

Love. That’s a word you two haven’t said yet. You feel it, you show it, you both know it. But you don’t say it.

Is this the best moment to say it for the first time? Probably not, but, with some hesitation, you say it anyway.

“You are love. When I think of love, when I hear it, when I say it… It’s you, just you, filling my head.” You reach out to caress his cheek. “It’s just you. I love you, Bucky. I’m sorry I’m telling you like this, and I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner… But I need you to wake up  so I can tell you. I need you to hear it, I… I need you, Bucky.” Your tears start to fall without you even noticing. 

“I can’t lose you… I’m not ready… No one ever is, but I can’t…” Your voice breaks and you try to stifle a sob but fail miserably. “I can’t do this without you, Jamie... Just please wake up...” 

You wrap your arm around Bucky's, your other hand holding onto his like it's the only thing keeping him, and you, alive. Like you almost expect to hear the monitors flatlining if you were to let go. 

So you don't, you lay your head on his arm and allow yourself to break for the first time all week and your voice becomes a whisper. “Please…”

Day 8 

Somehow you managed to fall asleep, the first time you’ve slept in a week, still holding onto Bucky’s arm. 

When you wake up the next morning there’s a few moments where you forget everything that happened. You try to get up from the bed, but feel a weight on your stomach and when you look down you see Bucky’s arm holding onto you. 

Suddenly everything that happened in the past week comes rushing back and, at the same time, you realize you’re no longer in the medbay but instead you’re laying on the bed of yours and Bucky’s shared bedroom.

Confused as to how you ended up here and still a little sleepy, you look up with a frown to see Bucky already looking down at you with a goofy grin.

“Bucky!” You all but yell while throwing yourself at him, pushing him onto his back and straddling him. You hug him tightly as he chuckles at your more than enthusiastic reaction.

You feel his arms wrapping around you as he hugs you back. You want to look at him, but part of you is terrified that if you were to let go he'd disappear. You'd wake up and realize this was just a dream and Bucky is still unconscious.

“Doll,” That simple word, his deep voice was all you needed to confirm this is indeed real and he's awake “you're kind of crushing me here, sweetheart.” Bucky teases you playfully, but he doesn't mean it and you both know it. 

Even though you are clinging to him like a koala bear, it doesn't bother him in the slightest. He just wants you to look at him.

You reluctantly pull away from Bucky’s neck just enough to look into his eyes. He brings his hand up to stroke your cheek softly and you instinctively lean into his touch. 

You close your eyes for a second before they snap open again as you realize there’s something you need to tell him.

“I love you.” You take his face in your hands. “I love you so fucking much. And I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, I ju-”

Bucky interrupts what he’s sure it’s gonna be a long rant that ends with you unnecessarily apologizing a bunch of times by placing his hands on yours on his face and squeezing them softly, bringing you back to the present.

“I know, doll.” he says simply and you frown a little.

Sure, you’ve both always known you had deep feelings for each other, but he seems pretty sure when you have never actually said the words.

Bucky can see the wheels turning in your head and, chuckling, he decides to solve the mystery for you. “I heard you. I could hear everything while I was unconscious.” 

“You could?” you ask, blushing a little now that you know he heard you breaking down. You’re glad he now knows the depth of your feelings for him, but it’s still a little embarrassing.

“I could,” he says with a smirk. “It's gonna make for a lot of interesting conversations with the team.”

You can’t help but laugh, you’re not sure what the rest of the team talked to him about, but if they were all as emotional as you then Bucky’s gonna have a field day discussing all of that with equally embarrassed Avengers.

Suddenly, Bucky brings your face down to his and kisses you. You make no attempt to resist and actually whine a little when he pulls away, which makes him chuckle at your antics.

“I love you too, baby.” He says softly while stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. “You’re everything to me. My best friend, the love of my life, my very reason to live.”

You feel your tears starting to gather again but, even if this time they’re of joy, you still don’t let them fall.

Before you can say anything though, the door of our room slams open and you can barely understand what’s happening before Steve, Wanda, Peter, Natasha, Sam and Tony throw themselves on the bed, crushing you while they all yell at the same time, the chorus of joy being along the lines of ‘Bucky’s alive’.

Bucky’s arms around you tighten while he tries to protect you from the team’s attack as best as he can while the two of you laugh at your friend’s antics.

You may have had the worst week of your life, but it’s over now. And while you’re looking forward to having some time alone with Bucky, right now you’re happy to be squished under a pile of shouting Avengers.

This just feels right. As weird as your life, and your family is, you wouldn’t want it any other way.

[axelsagewrites]

Roy Kent*Locker Room

Pairing: Season one!Roy Kent x f!reader

Word count: 2063

Warnings: swearing (kent style), m! receiving oral, voyeurism/exhibitionism, Jamie flirting with reader, Roy’s inner thoughts aka light violence, smut 18+

Masterlist here

Jamie fucking Tartt was about to get his front teeth knocked out his fucking skull if he didn’t back the fuck down was all Roy could think about during practise. that and knocking him over the head with a heavy rope, or a rock, or his fist, or his shoe, or really anything. of course, the American didn’t see the harm in Jamie running up and down the pitch like a twat but as captain Roy wanted nothing more than to ship all three of them back on a plane to wherever the hell the cowboy came from.

the only solace Roy got during that practise was your text saying you would pick him up after practise for a surprise date. for a moment it actually brought a smile to his face. that was till he caught sight of Tartt doing his own chant, so he sent back a quick ‘love u’ text before going to yell at the knob head celebrating a fake match.

Roy counted down the seconds till he could get off this damn pitch however when coach lasso called, he decided to fall back. by making sure Roy was the last one in the locker room and showers he could make sure he was as far back from Jamie Tartt who was running like he was being chased. if only it was Roy chasing him with a big stick.

anyone who spoke to him only received a grunt in return. as Roy came back from the showers with only a towel round his waist most of the team had left. Jamie was at his locker taking his stupid tongue out selfies as Issac said a quick goodbye to him, dodging Roys gaze as he and Collin split, Sam not far behind.

Roy inwardly smiled at the way Nathan ran out the room when he walked in. when he got to his locker the first thing, he did was check his phone to discover you were already here, so he quickly let you know he just had to get changed. when lasso and beard tried to say goodbye Roy just grunted as he pulled on his jeans.

when he glanced behind him, he was grateful to see Jamie finally sauntering out the room, not even bothering to say goodbye to his captain to which Roy was thankful for. when the door shut behind Jamie Roy let out a sigh of relief being the only one left in the room.

you however had decided not to wait in the car and just meet Roy in the locker room. you nodded and smiled to all the boys you passed but didn’t stop to talk since you weren’t there for them. as Isaac and colin left the two wondered how in the hell you and Roy worked considering you were always kind and happy whereas Roy was, well Roy.

You were barely able to slip passed ted and beard with just a howdy hello. However only one of the boys managed to stop you in your path, “Look who it is,” Jamie grinned, opening his arms out wide making you roll your eyes with a smile, “Its Mrs grampa,”

“Hello to you too Tartt,”

“Don’t worry love I won’t keep ya. Can’t risk grampa having to wait for his sponge bath,”

You rolled your eyes again as you kept walking, knowing full well Jamie was staring at your arse, “You’re just jealous he gets one and you don’t,” you grinned, excited to finally see your boyfriend after a long day.

“If you ever wanna be with a real footballer love you’ve got my number,” he said, clicking his tongue and firing finger guns at you before spinning on his heels and finally leaving.

you were laughing quietly as you opened the door to the locker room, finally laying eyes on your boyfriend. Roy looked up with a stone face, but a smile fell over it when he saw you, “What’s got you laughing then princess?” he asked as he fastened his belt.

“Just Jamie being a prick,” you said as you walked up to him. before Roy could start his impending rant, you looped your fingers in his belt loops, pulling him closer, “Sad I missed the show though,” you smirked, leaning up to kiss him.

Roy practically melted into your touch as his hand cupped your jaw, his other resting on your hip, “Im sure I could hit rewind for you,” he teased as he pulled back, his hands moving to your back to pull your body flush against his, “I’ve missed you,”

“You saw me this morning babe,” you laughed as your arms moved to rest over his shoulders.

Roy chuckled, his eyes glancing down, “Been thinking about you all day,”

“What about me specifically?” you teased, catching another quick peck.

his hands slid down your back slowly before he suddenly slapped your arse making you have yelped half squeal. “You know exactly what I’ve been thinking about. walking in here looking like this,”

“Looking like what?” you said, leaning in so your nose brushed against his.

“So, fucking fuckable,” he said, his voice somehow lower than before making your stomach do flips and knocking the butterflies all over the place, “Been thinking about those fucking lips all day,” Roy said before his lips crashed onto yours in a desperate messy kiss.

your hands gripped his hair making Roy groan into the kiss as his hands squeezed your hips tightly knocking the wind out of you. “Well, I can’t do much else with these lips till we get out of here,” you said, finally pulling away for air and walking backwards leading Roy towards the door.

“Says who?” Roy said, his hot breath fanning over your neck before his lips soon to kiss down your skin making you moan when he reached the crook of your neck. Roy moved you back till your back was against the locker room door.

“We can’t Roy,” you moaned, your grip tightening in his hair.

“Sure, don’t sound like you wanna stop,” he mumbled against your skin.

it had been a thought you’d had a lot, fucking Roy in the locker room. or really anywhere at Richmond. Roy had even said after his last win that he would’ve taken you on the pitch right then if he could. ever since the idea had been in your head and with the season just starting again it was seeming tempting, but you knew the cleaners would be coming round soon.

but not right now. Roy groaned when you pulled his head from your neck but his eyes about popped out his skull when he felt your hand on his belt buckle. “Seriously?” he asked, almost getting giddy about the idea as you unbuckled the belt, working quickly on the button of his jeans.

You hummed in response as you undid his zip, “Just my mouth though. for now,”

“Hey im not fucking complaining,” Roy grinned but his mouth fell open, a small moan from his lips when he felt your hand wrap around his cock, “Fuck babe wait- “he said making you almost pull your hand out his boxers but he grabbed your wrist to stop you, “Over here. so, we’re not in the middle of the room yeah?” he said as he led you over to the closest locker.

you laughed when you looked up at the locker, “You want me to suck you off in front of Jamies locker?” you said, still following Roy over.

“Cmon,” Roy groaned, his cock pulsing in your hand as he reached his enemies spot in the locker room, “This would be the ultimate fuck you. the fuck yous of fuck you,” he said as the backs of his legs hit the bench.

your hand moved from his dick, much to Roys dismay, to hold his shoulders. Roy was about ready to call it quits when he felt you push down on his shoulders, making him sit down on the bench. you stayed stood for a moment, your hand tracing over his jaw, “You Roy Kent, are a petty bitch,” you said as you slowly moved down onto your knees making Roy somehow get even harder, “Who I love,”

“I’ve never loved you more,” Roy said as he watched you with awe. you rolled your eyes as you leaned down to press a gentle kiss to his tip.

if you were going to do something so wrong you were going to do it right. you licked slow soft licks around his tip making Roy groan as his hand found its way into your hair, but he knew better than to rush you. he nearly gasped for air when he felt you lick down his shaft, your hand resting on the other side of his sensitive member.

you teased him for a few moments till you finally began to swirl your tongue around his tip before slowly sinking down his cock. Roy moaned, not caring if anyone was still here to hear him as your hands moved to cup his balls. his moans were all the encouragement you needed to keep going, your head bobbing down with an increasing pace as you felt his tip hit the back of your throat.

Roy felt like he could cum at any moment, but he wanted to enRoy this. his eyes were screwed up with pleasure but for some reason he felt the need to open them. when he did, he saw Jamie, standing at the other locker room door, his hand still on the handle and his jaw practically on the fucking floor.

having Jamie seeing this was somehow even better than him never knowing it happened. it took Jamie a moment to notice Roys eyes were open and when he met his captains eyes all Roy could do was smirk, leaning his head back to rest against the wall as Jamie stood there in awe. Roy wanted to enRoy this feeling, that was until he felt your cheeks hollow around his cock and his eyes screwed up in pleasure once more.

Roy knew he couldn’t wait any longer but when he went to tap your shoulder to tell you that, a signal you had decided upon months ago, you decided to keep going. Roy couldn’t contain himself any longer and he gasped as he felt himself spill his cum down your throat. your movements slowed but you didn’t pull your lips away till you had practically sucked all the life from the footballer.

when you pulled off, wiping your mouth with the sleeve of your shirt, you looked up to Roy with those doe eyes he loved so fucking much. seeing them made him reach down, pulling you in by your jaw to kiss you harshly. you heard some kind of click and you pulled back, glancing behind you, “Did you hear something?” you asked, slowly getting up from your suddenly sore knees.

“Nah,” Roy said as he helped you stand, getting up himself and zipping back up, “But we should go. gotta get you home so I can repay the favour,” he said making you giggle and rush towards the door, Roy slapping your arse as you went making you fake scold your boyfriend.

as you walked the halls Roy briefly wondered if he had taken it too far but after all it was Jamie, so he didn’t worry. then he wondered why Jamie hadn’t confronted him? was it actually Jamie that had seen him or some orgasm angle? if Jamie had down that to him Roy would’ve fucked him across the room and kicked the living hell out of him.

it must’ve been someone else Roy thought, trying his best to act casual as he walked with you to the parking lot. however, when Roy opened the door for you to walk into the car park, he looked up to see Jamie, sat his car eyes closed. Roy barked a laugh at the sight, making your head spin around looking for what was funny.

however, Jamie had heard your boyfriends laugh and by the time you spotted his car it was speeding out of the parking lot. You looked after the car, head tilted, “Jamies a weird one,” you said as you unlocked your car, and all Roy could do was laugh. next practise was gonna be the cats’ pyjamas.

Taglist: @clairacassidy @valeskafics

[mochinomnoms]

Hiii! For the Hanahaki event can I request Vil (romantic) with prompt #7? A gender neutral reader would be appreciated, thanks!!

Also if youre up for it maybe prompt #12 with Ace (Platonic) with the reader’s object of affection still being Vil? This prompt with Ace is too funny for me to ignore I just HAVE to sneak him in 😭😭

vil schoenheit, platonic!ace trappola x gn!reader [tags] – fluff, humor, semi enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, sickenly sweet [wc} – 3,458 prompt 7: “I've heard of wearing your heart on your sleeve, but wearing petals in your hair is a whole new level of fashion statement.” prompt 12: "No, I haven't been growing marigolds out of my ass. Why would you even ask that?!” note - writing this was surprisingly hard. but i got it and i think it's very cute, i just hope Vil is mostly in character :skull: also i don't know german so idk if the nickname is an accurate translation! comments loved and appreciated! a floral inconvenience

Marigold: often used during festivals like Diwali and Navratri, marigolds symbolize purity, auspiciousness, and the divine.

You were going to murder him. 

“Heyyyyyy Prefect!” Ace gave you a cheeky grin as he held your glass bottle of very expensive salicylic acid serum, balancing it precariously between his fingers. “What about this? Can I take this—whoops!”

“ACE!”

You shrieked as the bottle slipped from his fingers, only to be caught by his other hand, an infuriating grin still on his hand. 

“Hehe, relax! I’m just messing around—oh shit!” The bottle slipped again from his fingers as a now panicked Ace scrambled to capture it. “Oop. Got it. It’s fine.”

“Oh my gooooooooood, Ace, I’m going to fucking kill you, give that back!” You snatched the bottle from his hands, giving him a good kick behind the knees as you walked past him. 

“Owwwww, Prefect, why are you so mean to me?” Ace pouted as you put your serum back on your desk with the rest of the skincare Vil had gifted everyone at the start of the SDC training. Ace continued whining as he packed his bags to go back to Heartslabyul, being left behind by Deuce who went to get snacks from Sam’s with Epel. 

He felt bad that all the food you had was cursed by Vil at the beginning. 

“It’s almost like you want me out of your dorm, kinda rude, you know.”

“You know what’s rude?” You smacked down the pillow Ace threw your way as you huffed, “Your face. Ugly ass, you know you had a room next door, how’d all your stuff end up in my room?”

Ace shrugged as he shoved his wrapped up sweater into the now bulky backpack he’d brought over, throwing himself onto your bed and grunting as he bounced on the squeaky frame. 

“I don’t know, how’d you burn the Queen of Hearts’s statue—”

“That was you—”

“—the world will never know.” 

You rolled you eyes as you laid on your stomach next to him, hugging a spare pillow to your face. Closing your eyes, you sighed as the events of the last few weeks replayed in your head. Between acting as manager for the SDC group, to barely keeping up with classes, to Vil’s overblot, you were utterly exhausted. Speaking of Vil…

“Ah, that’s right, I should check on Vil before he leaves. I wonder if he’s doing okay?”

“With you at his beck and call? Perfectly fine, I guarantee you.” Ace yelped as you smacked his side, giving him a red-faced glare. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ace turned on his side with a teasing smirk. The kind of smirk he gave you whenever he wanted to fluster and embarrass you in front of your friends and teachers. 

“It means whatever you want it to mean. Maybe someone should consider not acting like a little kid with a crush whenever they’re around Vil—owowowowowow—stop hitting me!”

You pounded your fists onto Ace’s sides and back as he tried to roll away from your reach, arms cradling his head in meek protection. He managed to roll off the bed, turning over to look at you briefly to stick his tongue out and politely flip you off. Ace let out a small shriek as you launched off the bed after him, running out of the room into the hall and turning into a goosechase. You could practically hear the yakety sax song playing in your head as the two of you pushed past Jamil and Kalim, the former crying out at you in annoyance. 

“Watch it!”

Ace practically threw himself down the stairs, jumping past four whole steps, using the banister to whip him around into the main hallway where he ran into the living room. Finally catching up to him, Ace positioned the coffee table between you two as he continued egging you on. 

“Ayeeeeeee, embarrassed Prefect? Gonna throw a fit?” Ace let out a low cackle as you both shifted around the table. 

“Gonna throw your ass into the fucking sun, little bitch ass! You got something to say then fucking say it!” 

Ace snorted as he pointed behind you. “You’re one to talk, you wanna talk about the marigolds coming from behind you? It’s like you’re growing a garden out of your ass, wanna talk about that?”

“The fuck? I haven't been growing marigolds out of my ass. The hell you’re talking about,” You turned your head to look behind you, still growling at him now with confusion. “Why would you even ask that—WHAT THE FUCK!?”

You hissed as you jumped backwards into the table, the edges jamming into your skin. Behind you had been a long trail of beautiful, shimmering orange flowers. Upon closer inspection, you were pretty sure they were marigolds. 

“...Ace, this is your fault.” 

“What! Nuh-uh, I’m not the only with flower sickness—”

“The fuck is flower sickness?”

“You know, hanahaki? The love disease? How do you not know what flower sickness is, it’s like basic 8th grade bio—”

“I didn’t go to school here, dumbass!”

Ace’s mouth formed an ‘oh’ shape as he remembered. “Oooooh yeah, I forgot.”

“Forgot what? You little potatoes are acting awfully rowdy so early in the morning.”

You looked up to see Vil standing in the hallway, a bemused Rook behind him inspecting the flowers on the ground. Vil briefly made eye contact with you, both of your sharing a small smile before an irritating, itchy feeling made its way in your throat. 

You felt a hand pack your back as you started roughly coughing up several bunches of marigolds into your hands as Ace grimaced. 

“I forgot that they’re not from here, so they got no clue about hanahaki…or any other illness…huh it’s kinda a miracle they haven’t gotten sick from something else yet.” Ace hummed, as he leaned down to look at your face. 

You made eye contact with your peripheral vision, motioning Ace to lean closer into you and horasely whispered, “Come… closer…”

Confused, Ace obliged, ear up to your lips, giving you the perfect opportunity to sock him straight in the gut. Your dear, beloved friend gagged from the pressure, hands cradling his stomach as he fell to his knees, groaning in pain. 

“Y/N…” Vil sighed in exasperation, walking over to give you a gentle flick in your forehead as he chastised you. 

“It’s unbecoming of a friend of mine to be so belligerent, do you really have to be so crass with all your friends?”

You clicked your tongue, licking the spit from your lips. “I’m not with you, besides Ace deserves it, you know how he is.”

“Mm-hmm, and how long have you been coughing out the flowers, meine Süße?”

A pleasant warmth flooded your cheeks at the nickname. You choose to ignore the tickling sensation of marigolds growing from the tops of your head, which instead formed into sneezing fits. 

“I've heard of wearing your heart on your sleeve, but wearing petals in your hair is a whole new level of fashion statement.” He remarked, leaning down to observe the blooms. “Now, answer my question, meine Süße.”

“Achooo! Ugh,” You sniffled as you replied, “Um, not that long—achoo!—ago, ugh. Just today—”

“Ah! The little trickster started expelling the belles fleurs approximately a month and a half ago!” Rook chirped, a little too happily for your tastes. “Two weeks after we began training for the SDC.” 

Vil let out another sigh as you whipped your head to glare at Rook, hissing out, “What. The. Fuck.”

“Excuse me?! Language Y/N!” Vil barked at you, making you flinch and burst into another coughing fit. Noticing this, he softened his voice, though the blonde still sounded angry.

“That’s nearly two months with the flower sickness, have you been taking potions to help with the symptoms?” 

You shook your head, clearing your throat. “Ahem, no, uh. I didn’t know that there was medicine for this kinda thing, haaaaa I just figured I was being pranked by someone.”

You heard a snort behind you as Ace stood back up, grumbling, “Of course you would, dumbass.” 

“I will actually kill you—”

“You will actually not.” Vil placed a gentle hand on your upper back, guiding you to the front door. “Rook, ensure everyone packs up and cleans their mess by the time we get back, I believe Kalim may still need help packing up.”

“Oui! How kind of you Vil to escort our lovely Trickster to get them a remedy for their affliction!” 

Rolling your eyes, you let Vil guide you out of the dorm, calling out to Ace, “Don’t forget to grab the rest of your stuff, it’s still in my room!” 

“Okayyy!” 

With that, the door shut behind you two as you began a pleasant walk over to what you assumed would be Sam’s shop. A pregnant silence fell over you two as you walked down the pathway leading to main street, having to maneuver past the alchemy building and botanical gardens. You were hyper conscious about his hand that remained on your back, which is when you started another coughing fit. 

“Oh you poor dear, did you really have no clue what was going on all this time?” Vil spoke to you in that soft tone that he’d been reserving for you since you first became friends, a few months ago. You’d gone into the Film Research Club interested in working as a stagehand, plus you had a good working knowledge costume design and general clothes repair, which was sorely needed. 

It’d been an incredibly rocky acquaintanceship at first, as Vil made subtle, snide remarks on your disheveled appearance, while you shot back with loud, brass comments on his ‘Regina George wannabe’ act. Now, he didn’t know who Regina George was back then, but took offense that a ‘dirty, lumpy potato would have the audacity to insult him’. 

He only kept you on in the club because no one ever willingly signed up for backstage work, and you only requested free access to spare cloth and sewing materials to fix your clothes. Vil was also more than happy to point out how scruffy the patches all over your uniforms made you look: 

“You certainly fix the part of the ramshackle Prefect, now don’t you?”

Though, looking back on it now, you’re pretty sure he wasn’t aware that everything of yours was either found in Ramshackle’s attic or bought with the meager allowance Crowley gave you. Shortly before finals, Vil found you crying in an isolated part of backstage because another first-year permanently bleached your only jacket during a botched potions class.

“What’s going on back here, practice your scenes upfront with the rest of us, I don’t care how ugly you look crying—Prefect?”

You jumped, scrambling to get back up from the dusty corner you’d shoved yourself into. You awkwardly wiped the tears from your face, wrapping your arms around yourself as you gave Vil a feeble glare.

“What do you want Vil, I already told the others that their costumes wouldn’t be ready yet, if you want me to get stuff done, you gotta stop annoying me—”

“You’ve been crying.” His simple statement shut you up, as he approached you with a firm look on his face.

“…Yeah, stating the obvious much?” you muttered back, finding the scuff marks on the ground very interesting. Vil let out a sigh, reaching into his jacket to take out an off-white, embroidered handkerchief.

“I’m trying to be sympathetic. Ugh, you’re all red and puffy, let me see.” Vil tipped your chin up with his fingertips, gently patting at the tear streaks on your cheeks. “You look worse than normal…is the red bleach stain on your uniform meant to be a fashion statement?”

Pausing at the stuttering breath you took, sniffling, you answered, “No, some dumba—”

“Language”

“—Some jerk,” you drawled, “from my last class messed up his potion, and it got all over me. Stained my only jacket, right when it starts snowing, too.”

Vil raised a brow at you, leaning back once he was satisfied with your dried cheek.

“Only one? Even Ruggie has a few spare uniform jackets from Leona, did you seriously not think ahead to purchase a spare?”

You half-laughed, half-scoffed at his statement.

“You think Crowley gives me enough money to buy another jacket for his bougie ass—I mean, fancy, school? I barely have enough to feed myself and Grim between the roof caving in and the water pipes breaking. The bathroom flooded again last week.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples as you felt a migraine coming in, unaware of Vil’s growing horror.

“I was lucky enough to find my uniform in the attic, it waaay too big and makes me look homeless, but at least it keeps me warm…now it just looks even more like shit.”

You finally looked up at the blonde, expecting him to lecture you on your foul language. Instead, you were surprised to see Vil’s horrified expression.

“What do you mean, you barely have enough for food?”

It was then that you discovered that no one outside your group of friends were really aware that you were stuck on campus, victim to Crowley’s whims and needs. You know the others in Heartslabyul were faintly aware of your predicament, being from another world and stuck until Crowley found you a way home. Ace and Deuce did their best to help repair things around the dorm, but could only do so much. Savanaclaw and Octavinelle knew of the disarray of your dorm, but based on comments from Leona and Floyd, weren’t aware of just how much you were struggling just to eat and sleep. 

Ruggie definitely was, seeing as he occasionally slipped you a spare meat bun or snack that he happened to buy extra of when running errands for Leona. Ruggie was a real one, as long as you didn’t point it out. 

Since that day, Vil had sort of taken you under his wing, along with Epel who you hadn’t met yet at the time. You had to give him credit, he wasn’t the villain you’d made him out to be in your head. And Vil admitted, he enjoyed that you were quick on your feet and enjoyed your banter, as long as it was unique to him. 

He spared you his previous uniforms that he’d grown out of his freshman and sophomore year, minus the band and vest, watching as you mended the waist and ends to fix your stature. More often than not, especially after hearing that you’d be stuck by yourself during winter break, Vil was sending you care packages with personal hygiene products from brand deals he never took. He’d send fabrics and sewing supplies with sewing patterns. Vil even started buying you breakfast and lunch once back to school, though you refrained from joining him for dinner in Pomefiore. 

In exchange, you managed to replicate, with his help, some of the scripts for the more famous musicals from your world. You even told him who Regina George was! He still wasn't fond of the comparison, but did find the musical intriguing. Vil was fascinated by the works of art your world produced, and just slightly enamored in the way you described them with glee and fondness. Still, the exchanges still felt a bit uneven.

You’d once made the joke that he was practically a sugar daddy, just without the sugar. He snapped back, “Well, I’m not stopping you, now am I? I’ve never had a sweet tooth, but you’re more than welcome to give me thanks, meine Süße.” 

(You spent that night screaming into your pillow with a red-hot blush while Grim looked on with concern.)

Truly, you two had developed an unlikely friendship, one where you both spoke your minds to the other with no hesitation or fear. Which is why the lack of conversation at the moment was slowly driving you insane. 

You sneaked a peek at Vil, taking a sharp breath as your eyes met his own. It seemed that he was watching you with his very lovely, sharp purple eyes. The thought sent a hot flash through you as you sneezed a flurry of petals and pollen. 

“Ooof, ugh, this is gonna make my allergies go haywire.”

“Sam will have some potions that will help with the symptoms, though you will have to confront the root of the cause.” Vil slid his hand down to rest in your mid-back, rubbing his thumb against you in a soothing motion, though it cause you to shiver and flush. 

“Yeah, okay.” you managed to squeak out, groaning as you felt the tickle of glowing marigolds pop up on your skin and in your hair. “Ummmm, so how do you get rid of, uh, Ace called it hanahaki?”

Vil nodded and opened his mouth to speak before being interrupted by the faint screaming of your name. Both of you looked down the path, where you saw Deuce running over to you two, followed by a confused Epel chasing after him. 

“PREFECT! PREFECTPREFECTPREFECTPREFECT—” 

Yelping as Deuce skidded to a half and grabbed you by your arms, shaking you with intense concern, you managed to reply a stuttered, “W-w-what?” 

Deuce paused his shaking to give you a concerned lecture, “You didn’t tell us you had the flower sickness!? Why didn’t you say something, you’ve been running around for SDC all this time—”

“You too—”

“But I’m not sick!” Deuce dug through the paperbag you’d just notice he was holding and shoved a pale pink potion in your hands. “Here! Take this!”

Before you could even touch the bottle, Vil plucked it from a confused Deuce’s hands, studying it with scrutiny. 

“Hmm…This is an average allergy relief potion for hay fever, did you actually ask Sam for a hanahaki symptom relief potion, or did you just grab the first thing you saw off the shelf?”

Deuce visibly deflated, opening his mouth to sheepishly reply before Epel interrupted him with a harsh, “I told him to ask, but he got all riled up and started yammerin’—I mean, uh, talking about getting the Prefect help immediately.”

Vil sighed, handing Deuce the potion back and shooed the two away with a wave of his hand. 

“Just go back, I’ll handle it, just make sure your messes are all cleaned up before we get back.”

The two replied, “Yes sir!” and continued on their path, waving goodbye to you. Though you could hear Epel mumble to Deuce, “Those are marigolds, right? I think Vil’s favorite flowers are those, you don’t think…”

You slowed down to ponder Epel’s words, remembering what Ace initially called the illness. 

“Vil…Ace called it a love sickness…would these flowers related toooo, I don’t know, a hypothetical crush somehow?” 

Vil briefly opened his mouth, closing it as he hesitated to speak. You think you could make out a soft blush on his cheeks. 

“Yes. Your hypothetical crush must favor marigolds. Can’t say I blame him, I’m fond of them myself…” 

The two of you made eye contact, a knowing look in his eye and tone making your heart skip a beat and you look down in embarrassment. 

“Oh…I see…” You coughed awkwardly, a few petals flying from your mouth. “So you said there was a way to get to the root cause?”

Vil hummed, stopping at the entrance of Sam’s shop to turn to you with an unreadable expression. 

“Yes, as an illness based on love, appropriately the cure is to confess your feelings to the one you’ve found yourself fancying.”

A cold flash went through your body as your stomach dropped. Again. “Oh.” The thought of confessing to Vil made you sick, like you could puke at a drop of a coin at any moment.

“I wish you’d mentioned something sooner, I could’ve helped you…ease into it.” Vil murmured,  his hand moving to cradle your cheek. He squished your cheek with a fond look in his eye. 

“I know it’s a daunting task…I won’t rush you into it.” Vil moved his hand to brush your hair away, leaning down to place a soft kiss on your forehead. “When you’re ready to say something, just let me know.”

Leaning back, VIl covered his mouth to hide his amused smirk. Your face was a blazing red as the marigolds grew a trail down your neck and chest. He motioned for you to follow him into the shop, holding the door open as he held a hand out to you. At the moment, you’re having a hard time imagining why he’d only ever been typecast in villain roles, he looked more like an enchanting love interest catered for you specifically. 

“For now, I’ll be by your side. I will wait for you, meine Süße.”

[sensei-venus]

@gemini-sensei, suddenly had this idea.

What if Reader ends up dating Miguel after he dated Sam. Their relationship is going good but in the back of Reader’s mind she can't help but think about Sam. Sam is still good friends with the both of them, but every time Reader looks her way her mind starts going. She wonders how much Miguel actually enjoyed dating her.

Did he enjoy dating her?

What did he like the most about her?

Did she stack up the their past relationship together?

It's just a mess of random ideas that start going through her head. She tries her best to ignore all of those thoughts, holding Miguel’s hand a little tighter and kissing him gently. Looking at him with so much love.

But things change when they are in bed together.

She's riding him after a long day. She had picked him up from training earlier that day and they were now back at her place. Both of them were tired and stressed from just a hard day of working. Reader just wants to take out all of her stress including the anxiety that has been building up for weeks now. She’s so tired of it all, thinking about Sam and Miguel for so long. It's bubbling up as the minutes go by. Her hips are sputtering as she bounces on his dick. Sweat dripped down her body with even the slightest movement.

Miguel is digging his fingers into the fat of her sides. He gripped at her belly trying to get some kind of purchase to hold onto. He's grunting and moaning as he watches her through half-lidded eyes. Watching her work herself on top of him.

“Gonna cum on this dick. Cream all over it because it's mine, no body else. It's all mine.” she grunts out as she wiggles her hips. The sloppy sound of her pussy meeting the air.

“I bet she never made you feel like this, made you feel the way I make you feel. I bet she never got this dick as hard as it is now.” the words are crude.

Miguel's eyes open faster as the words keep spewing out of his girlfriend's lips. He has no idea where this is all coming from. He doesn't even really know who she's talking about. Whatever she is talking about is news to him.

Before he can try and say something his eyes are rolling back into his skull as he jerks. His balls twitch as he orgasms. Reader moans with one last bounce before she's cumming too. Collapsing on top of him in a big Huff. They both shake as they ride out their afterglow together.

Miguel rubs her back gently as they both pant. Relaxing into each other.

“Who were you talking about? That wasn't apart of your normal dirty talk I know it.”

Reader chews at her lips. She really didn't want to say anything out loud. She knew her feelings of slight insecurity where stupid. She didn't hate Sam and she definitely didn't hate Miguel. She wasn't mad at him for having sex with his previous girlfriend. Sex was a natural thing, especially at their age. But she couldn't lie to him about it. Keeping the burden of those feelings was bad for her.

“I….I was talking about Sam, you and Sam…”

Miguel was shocked for a split second before almost laughing. This made Reader look up at him, more sadness weighing on her. Maybe her feelings were right somewhat. Maybe Sam was better than she was. Maybe Miguel had more fun in bed with Sam than her.

“Babe, I never even had sex with Sam.”

“What?”

“Yep, we never had sex. We where so busy all the time with school and training, even with hanging out with our friends. We just never had the time not to mention our parents, especially her dad. If you want me to be honest all we did was make out… and I touched her ass a few times, maybe felt her tit up but that's as far as we got, I promise.”

Now she felt stupid for even letting those thoughts get to her in the first place. He just admitted to her that he never even slept with Sam while they where dating.

Then she was even more shocked.

“Wait so I was-”

“Yep, you where my first, well everything really.”

Reader blinked back tears while her lip trembled a little in a smile. She stuffed her face into his chest. Mumbling out “Oh Miggy!” Miguel chucked as he hugged her naked body to his. He kissed at the top of her head as they lay together.

Maybe it was a good thing she had said something, even if it was at an unexpected time.

(I'm making a part two of this I promise😈)

[kaylinlmfao]

Okay so you know the Dark!Ethan Landry x Fem!reader where he finds out she pregnant, can you do a part to if it?

the abortion (2/3)

type of piece(s): imagine, oneshot, drabble, series

type(s) of writing: smut, angst, fluff, dark, suggestive

warning(s): smut, rough angry smut, sub space, orgasm denial/control, overstimulation, breeding, pregnancy, ownership kink, dom ethan being a cocky tease, choking, slapping, bondage, just really dirty and nasty in general, RAPE/NON CON, degradation, ethan is super experienced like a fuckboy

pairing(s): dom!ghostface!dark!toxic!ethan landry x sub!shy!reader

A/N: thank you guys so much for all the requests that have been coming in! please, keep em coming. any idea you have, no matter how dark it is, I'll write it. but just know, I'm mainly into writing for ethan (or tara and sam) and the sturniolo triplets so if you request someone or something not those people, it might take me a little bit longer to get to them but they will be written. it'll just take a bit longer. but keep the requests coming, I love them! reblogs are much appreciated but please don't repost my original work on other platforms without giving credit! I might do another part to this but idk yet. enjoy!

I bang and pound on his back as i scream for him to put me down. "ethan! put me down right now! I don't want to "try again" you idiot! I didn't want a baby in the first place! we're only teenagers. you fucking-" he cuts off my screams by slamming me on the bed, hand gripping your throat. "fucking what, y/n? hm?" my vision was hazy as I stared into his dark eyes. "bitch" I say, spitting in his face and then starting to kick and fight him to get him off of me. I felt his leg buckle as I kicked his kneecap and I took the opportunity to roll off the bed and run to the door. as I were running, he grabbed my ankle, pulling hard causing me to fall. I let out a cry of pain and he stood and walked over to me.

"sweetheart, I want a baby so we can be together forever. what don't you understand?" "I understand that you are a demented motherfucker who deserves nothing in life." "you're making this much more difficult than it needs to be, princess. I was gonna fuck you slow and romantic on the nice soft mattress, but you pissed me off. so now you get a rough hard fuck on the floor. we could've prevented all of this if you would just listen to me" he told me, looking at me in a way that made me almost forget what he was gonna fuck me for.

i back away as he pulled his belt off with one hand, knowing what was coming. "give me your wrists now, y/n" "no! fuck you!" i shout. "what did I say? you're just making me angrier." he grabs both my wrists in one veiny ring clad hand and wraps the belt in sort of a handcuffs thing. "get off of me ethan please. we can't raise a child." he ignores me as he begins to pull my shorts off. I whimper when I see him pull a knife out of his pocket. "ethan please" "you begging just makes me wanna stuff you with my cum even more sweetheart" i hold back a moan at his words as he cuts my shirt, bra, and panties off, laughing at the goosebumps that cover my skin at his touch.

he immediately takes one of my nipples into his mouth and starts roughly sucking and biting it. I barely hold back a moan as he travels down toward my navel and then past, to where I need him most. he chuckles lowly when he sees how wet i am. "oh princess. you're soaked. do you need me that bad? you're awful wet for someone who doesn't want this." "I don't want you ethan" "so you don't want me to do this?" he asks. I gasp as his lips meet my clit and my eyes nearly roll back into my skull as I feel a rush of pleasure.

"or this?" my clit is sucked into his mouth and I make a pornographic sound I've never heard before. "how about this, mhm?" I shake uncontrollably as he sucks hard on my clit, flicking his tongue rapidly back and forth as I get closer to the edge. he plunges his tongue deep into my pussy, in and out so fast that I can't see. right as I'm about to fall over the edge, he pulls his tongue out and backs away. I let out a loud sob as tears slip down my cheeks from being so close to my orgasm and then getting it snatched away. "oh poor baby. don't worry, I'm gonna fuck you. I'll fill my cock in you so deep you won't be able to breathe. you won't be able to do anything but scream and take what I give you. and you'll love it."

"please! please!" he tears his shirt off and I stare at his muscular upper body while he takes his pants off. I see his dick flap up and hit his stomach. I forgot how big and wide he was. at the sight of his cock and the way my pussy was throbbing so hard I almost was crying, every rational thought flew straight out of my head and all I could think of was getting his dick inside of me. "I fucking-" i scream in pleasure as ethan pushes his entire length into my pussy in one thrust. he's pounding into me so fast and I have no time to adjust, it burns. but I fucking love it.

ethan lifts my legs over his shoulders and now the deeper angle he is at he's hitting my g-spot with every thrust. my breaths keep getting caught in my throat. "ethan. please. slow. down." I make out. "oh no, I'm keeping my promise. fucking you so hard you can't breathe and then filling you up so deep with my cum that your little tummy is bloated." I scream as I cum hard from his harsh thrusts and dirty words as he pinches and slaps my tits. he flips me over onto my stomach and re-enters me so quickly I didn't even have a chance to take a breath before he's pounding into me again, his tip kissing my cervix. he's slapping and gripping my ass hard. "please!" I babble, waving my hands around, needing something to hold onto to keep me from passing out. my back is arching so far as he pulls me up so my back is against his chest.

I'm about to cum again when I feel his hand wrap around my throat as he squeezes hard, leaving me with no oxegen as I cum hard again, creaming and clenching around his dick. he flips me back over onto my back again and continues thrusting. I'm sobbing, tears and mascara running down my face as I moan and babble incoherently from the lack of oxegen and the overstimulation. "who's the bitch? any other insults? I can't hear you. use your words princess" he knows you can't. he knows damn well that there isn't a thought in your head except for him.

he's pressing hard on my stomach which is exactly where I feel him. my body tightens and I come again. but this time, I can't stop cumming. and he won't stop thrusting. he needs to stop because I can't breathe and I'm gonna have a heart attack. "please slow" "you can give one more" little does he know I'm still cumming from the last one. he finally slows his thrusts, just a little bit, but enough that I have a second to breathe and stop creaming his dick.

but then he starts pounding harder than he has this entire time. I'm on my back with my arms above my head, my fists clenching and unclenching trying to find something to hold onto as they're still tied. he pinches my clit one more time hard as I squirt around his dick. he thrusts a few more times before he let's out a groan and fills up my tummy with his cum. I take deep breaths as he pulls out of me, carefully making sure all his cum stays inside my fluttering and abused cunt, which is still clenching around nothing.

I lay there as he stares at me with dark proud eyes. my hair is tangled and stuck to my forehead from the sweat. my lips are swollen and my eyes are bright red from crying. my cheeks are red and tear and mascara streaks are running down them. my tits and neck are red and purple from his abuse and the hickeys. my chest is heaving and my thighs are shaking. I can't even imagine how my ass and thighs look from the way he was spanking me and gripping me. but he doesn't care. he just looks at me with possessive eyes as he goes to run a bath and put his clothes on. he comes out of the bathroom, fully clothed as he unties my wrists. ethan helps me stand and climb into the bathtub before gripping my chin and turning my face to look at his.

"if you aren't pregnant, its ok. we'll have sex until you are. but if you are pregnant and you abort my child again, it will be worse than this. do you understand me, princess?" I nod my head slowly, maintaining eye contact. "good girl" he turns and leaves my dorm, leaving me bruised and exhausted in the bathtub with a thousand thoughts running through my head. the first being, where can I get another abortion pill? I'll be gone before he can do anything to me, but I will not have a child with ethan landry.

1.5k words (I went way overboard)

@onedayatatime6 @ilovechickenwings @tommysaxes @layla29sworld @misscaller06

I hope you guys liked it! I went a little overboard I think and I don't really love it but this is how most of my smut will be so I'm sorry if it was too much for y'all! keep those request coming please! expect more fics with ethan and the sturniolo's (mostly dark smut) coming tonight! i am also working on a chris sturniolo ghostface fic (smut), matt sturniolo ghostface (smut), and one with all three of them (suggestive). comment on this post if you want to be apart of my tagslist for my future fics! thanks! ;) -kaylin

[the-lady-writes-what]

How the Brothers react to you riding them, Lucifer

Pretty much All Porn/No Plot, so minors be warned (and stay out)

Content: cowgirl and switches to missionary, praise, sub! reader, bondage, use of "good girl," slightly condescending Lucifer, slightly mean Lucifer, creampie, mild cum play

These are all my own head canons. Don't be mean about it.

Asmo Levi Mammon Beel Belphie Satan

🔞NSFW Content Below! 18+ Only! Minors DNI!🔞

Headcanons:

I know for a fact this man is packing. You can't tell me he doesn't have a dick that matches his pride. The literal incarnation of Vanity and Pride is not going to be small. You will need some prep first

Lucifer only lets you on top if you've been a really good girl

He can and WILL turn the tables on you if you're too slow or not working for it and put you on your back

On a slightly sillier note, Lucifer will put on some music to warn his brothers not to enter. It's usually classical music or jazz (don't ask me why, I just have a feeling). Blasting "Unholy" by Sam Smith ft. Kim Petras is also on the table (again, don't ask)

Oh? You wanted to ride him so badly, well, you're going to have work for it. Lucifer is going to lay back and watch you ride him, struggling to keep a fast pace like he demands. No, no, don't stop. You wanted this remember? There just no end in sight. He's a demon, what did you expect his stamina to be?

He likes watching your face twist up and your hips move up and down him, the sweat beading down your face and neck.

If he's in a particularly sadistic mood, Lucifer with tie your hands behind your back or hold your wrists

All that being said, Lucifer isn't a complete monster. He sees you working really hard on chasing that orgasm. You're doing so well, you're such a good girl for him. You're riding his cock perfectly. Yes, just like that.

Seeing as he probably has the most discipline out of all the brothers, I bet he can come for days. I'm not even joking. When I say that he could come for five minutes straight, I'm not exaggerating. Plus, he's a demon.

Hot. You felt so hot. Like, impossibly hot. You were naked as the day you were born, not a thing on you except Lucifer's tie wrapped around your wrists and binding your hands behind your back. Sweat beaded down the side of your face and neck like fat diamonds. Lucifer, beneath you, was equally undressed but looking cool as a cucumber. You straddled his hips. His cock buried inside you to the hilt.

Lucifer smirked up at you, laughing as you struggling to take him. He shifted his hips ever so slightly and made you whimper.

"What's the matter, MC?" Asked Lucifer. "You said you can take it?"

"I-I can." You whined.

"So do it, then. Ride me like you mean it," said Lucifer.

You bounced up and down his cock with renewed fervor. Your nails dug into your forearms, biting into your skin. You chewed on your bottom lip. Lucifer filled you up so nicely, so completely. The fit was snug even after having Lucifer eat you out and edge you for what felt like eternity. You shivered each time you slammed your hips down and took him all the way into your body. With that smug look on his face, Lucifer was of no help to you. After all, you wanted this, as he reminded you.

"L-Lucifer..."

"Yes, love?"

"Please...I need more. I want to come so bad."

"Oh? You want to come, do you?" Said Lucifer. He bucked his hips upwards.

Your eyes rolled back into your skull as Lucifer rocked up into you. You panted and moaned for him. The music hiding your cries were a godsend, if the phrase could be pardoned at such a time and place. You'd be mortified if Lucifer's brothers heard you screaming out his name. Lucifer had classical music playing in the background as you fucked yourself on his cock. Nothing with lyrics to distract you from Lucifer's voice.

"Come on, MC. I know you can take it. I know you can take so much more than this. All you have to do is say the words."

You moved your hips up and down and to the rhythm Lucifer set. White-hot, scorching heat enveloped your brain. Gods, you needed to come so bad.

"L-Lucifer, please...please fuck me. Please, sir. I need it." You pleaded.

A broad, wicked smile crossed his face. "Good girl," said Lucifer.

In a flash, you were on your back and looking up at the ceiling. Lucifer came into your vision to tower over you when you're most vulnerable. Without ever pulling out, he started fucking you with wild abandon. Lucifer draped your legs over his shoulders. This position allowed him more access and reach deeper than before. He lifted your hips and lower back off the mattress, a small mercy on your hands tied behind you at the based of your spine. At least this way your body wasn't squishing your bound hands.

"May this be a lesson you remember, MC, about trying to biting off more than you can chew." Lucifer grunted as he slammed into you over and over.

Your toes curled as he pounded you into the mattress. You couldn't help but squeeze your eyes shut while Lucifer instilled in you inhuman pleasure. Nobody else could have you the way he did. Lucifer ruined all others, and perhaps that was his goal all along. He didn't demand you look at him like he usually did when he had you in the throws of orgasmic bliss. The fact that you didn't have to see him to acknowledge who you belonged to. Your body spoke for itself as you clenched down on his thick cock. You drenched Lucifer's cock and his sheets. You finished with the loudest, most lewd scream.

Lucifer still fucked you while you turned into a limp rag doll for him. You watched him chase his own high. His cock spread you open, your juices already making a mess of him. He gripped your hips. His nails bit into your skin. A surge of power summoned his true form. Lucifer sprouted horns and four ink-black wings. A diamond formed between his brows. He opened his mouth to grunt and moan, revealing small fangs where blunt teeth used to be.

Like this, he was worse than an animal inside you. A demon's stamina went unmatched and they had little sense for the weaknesses of their mortal partners. Like this, Lucifer lost himself. He was driven by this innate desire to possess you in totality. The perfect diamond in the middle of his forehead was unwrinkled though his brows formed a sharp V-shape. Lucifer's looked almost bestial.

You clenched your knees around his head. A challenge. Lucifer reached underneath you and grabbed your shoulders from behind. Your bodies collided with little space between. Lucifer plastered you to his bed as he rocked his cock deep and fast inside your body. That smug look of his was replaced by a snarling mouth uttering things you wouldn't repeat to anyone.

"Don't think for a second..." Lucifer grunted. "That you're in control here. You're my human. I control everything. I'm the master here, and don't you dare forget that!"

There was nowhere for you to go even if you wanted to. Lucifer rutted into you while his wings shielded you from the lights in his room. The music seemed to grow louder and more dramatic. Lucifer leaned down and sunk his teeth into your neck. Your back arched off the bed, leaving just your shoulders pressed into the mattress. Pleasure surged through your body again. A tightly wound-up spring snapped again. If you were able, you would have scraped Lucifer's back between his wings with your nails. Your toes curled so much that your feet cramped up and the pain shot up your leg to your ankle.

"LUCIFER!" You screamed as the orchestral music reached its crescendo.

Lucifer licked up the bit of blood he drew out from your flesh. Satisfied with his mark, he pumped more gently. The demon was tamed, for now.

"Good girl, good girl," Lucifer chanted.

His hips faltered, his eyes screwed tight, and his body went rigid. Lucifer grunted as he finished inside you. He marked you from the inside with his come spreading like a warm blanket in your lower belly. Lucifer took his sweet time pulling out after releasing rope after rope of come deep inside. His eyes widened a bit as he watched your cunt spill some of it out. Lucifer pushed back inside what tried to escape while kissing you deep. You writhed beneath him and moaned. You rocked your hips against his fingers, almost taking them inside your cunt.

"That's my girl," he cooed in your ear. "Always hungry for me. Shall we go again?"

[mads-weasley]

Punch Out

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Pilot!Reader

Masterlist

A/N: Thanks for all the support on my Rooster fics! Sadly, I do not own the rights to any of these characters except (y/n).

Summary: When practicing the climb out of the canyon for the mission, things don't go as planned for (y/n), leaving Rooster in a panic.

Warnings: mentions of death, injuries, fluff?

(y/n) - your name

(y/l/n) - your last name

(y/n/n) - your nickname

starfire - your call sign

Bradley and (y/n) were sitting next to each other at the mission brief on phase two, listening to Maverick's plan when Hangman interrupted.

"A steep climb at that speed, you're pulling 6 to 8g's."

"9 minimum." The captain responded, straight-faced.

Rooster turned to (y/n) with furrowed brows. "The stress limit of an f-18 airframe is 7.5," he stated matter-of-factly. He had told her about what Maverick did, and she could feel the anger rolling off Bradley in waves.

"That's the accepted limit. To survive this mission, you'll pull beyond that, even if it means bending your airframe."

(Y/n) placed her hand on Bradley that lay in his lap, trying to calm him down. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, taking her hand in his while Maverick continued.

"You'll be pulling so hard, you'll weigh close to two thousand pounds. Your skull crushing your spine, lungs imploding like an elephant's sitting on your chest, fighting with everything you have just to keep from blacking out."

Sighing, (y/n) ran a hand down her face, worried about the risks of the mission. With conditions like this, even training was dangerous. Sensing her worry, Bradley squeezed her hand, leaning to her ear.

"Don't worry, Star, you can pull it."

"I know I can pull it, I just don't know if I can pull it and survive." She whispered back.

Cupping her cheek, he gently kissed her. "We've faced harder things than this."

Shaking her head slightly, she replied, "Okay."

Something felt off in the young woman's gut that she couldn't shake, but she decided to push it aside. She knew her job was dangerous when she signed up, and she wasn't about to let that stop her now.

Now in the air, (y/n)'s mind cleared, focused on the mission, well training.

Bradley's voice came through her comms. "Starfire, you copy?"

"Loud and clear, Rooster. You ready?" She asked.

"Yes ma'am. Let's go."

When Maverick gave them the signal, they were off, speeding through the canyon. Everything was going fine but Rooster started to slow dawn mid-way through.

"Rooster, pick up the pace," Mav said into the comms.

Knowing their history and how one word from Mitchell could get him fired up, she spoke over the comms too.

"Roost, come on, babe. Increase speed."

To her dismay, he stayed the same speed, causing her to leave him in the dust as she sped to the drop-zone. Inverting over the top of the mountain, she waited on Phoenix and Bob to mark the target before dropping the practice bomb on the small box. She let out a sigh of relief but was soon reminded of the climb ahead of her by her favorite Captain.

"Nice job, Starfire. Now get ready to pull some g's. And don't forget about Coffin Corner."

Pulling up and climbing the "mountain" was just as difficult as he described. The pressure was compacting her lungs, making it hard to breathe. She felt as if the cockpit was closing in on her, black rimming her vision. Her breath came out in short pants as she tried to talk breathlessly. Nothing came out at first.

Mav's voice filled her ears. "I've got a lock. SAMs got ya. Blue team, that's a fail. Level out, Starfire."

"Roost-I'm goi-" she whispered, the darkness overtaking her.

"Starfire? Repeat." Rooster tried, just now inverting over the mountain. "Star! Come in! (Y/n)!"

Looking in front of him, his heart dropped as Captain Mitchell's voice yelled through their comms.

"Starfire, do you copy?" Her plane started spinning in a freefall towards a nearby mountain. "Starfire, come in. Starfire! Level wings!"

Bradley's voice was strained as he yelled through the comms. "Mav, she's in G-Lock!" He abandoned his practice run and sped towards her spiraling f-18.

"She's gonna burn in!" Phoenix shouted, worried for her friend.

Mav made a split-second decision, turning towards her at full speed.

"I'm going afte-."

Before he could finish his sentence, Rooster came flying by on his way to help (y/n). All Bradley could think about was the conversation they had earlier. He had told her everything would be alright, but now he was mentally slapping himself. One particular thought was swirling in his mind. 'I never told her.'

"Come on, come on. Get me toned," he whispered to himself, aiming to set off her plane's alarms. "Snap out of it, (y/n/n). Snap out of it!"

She was now getting dangerously close to the rugged terrain below them. With every second, she was hurtling closer to her death.

As she started to come to, the first thing she heard was Bradley's frantic voice calling her name. Her senses came back slowly, and when her eyes finally opened to see red flashing everywhere, she panicked. Being too close to the mountain to pull up, her dazed mind couldn't think of what to do until she heard Bradley's pleading voice.

"(Y/n)! If you can hear me, punch out. Now!"

Listening to the voice, she lazily reached down and pulled the yellow and black ring that would be her savior. Her head flew back against the seat from the force of the ejection, causing the darkness to overtake her again.

When Bradley saw something shoot out of the fighter mere seconds before it collided with the mountain, a tear he had been holding back slipped down his cheek. He knew she wasn't out of the woods yet, but there was a good chance she'd be okay. Throttling down, he began to descend towards where her parachute was landing.

"We need a rescue crew! Starfire's down!" Mav called to base before continuing. "Rooster, come back to base."

Anger coursed through Bradley's veins. "Sir, I need to-"

"I'm not asking." he interrupted.

With a growl under his breath, Rooster reluctantly turned around towards base, heart beating out of his chest from worry.

When she was brought in by the rescue team, Bradley had just landed. He sprinted all the way across the base to the infirmary, not even bothering to take his gear off. Bursting through the doors, he opened his mouth to speak but the receptionist beat him to it.

"Room 213," she said with a nod.

Taking off down the hall, Bradley yelled a "Thank you!" behind him.

Approaching room 213, he took a deep breath and paused at the door. He told himself to expect the worst, that way he could only be pleasantly surprised if she wasn't hurt that bad. With his hand on the door, and the other holding his helmet, it was as if he was frozen in fear. A million what-ifs plagued his thoughts. Thankfully, he was pulled out of them by a rough voice behind him.

"Son, the door handle works, ya know." Bradley glanced back to see an old man in a wheelchair. "Go on, open it," he urged.

With a small smile and a nod, Rooster pushed the door open. Looking to his right, he let out a huff of air in relief at the sight in front of him. (Y/n) was laying in the bed, peacefully sleeping. The lights were off, so he suspected she had a concussion. A doctor knocked on the doorframe lightly and Bradley turned, shaking the man's hand.

"How is she?" he asked quietly.

"She's okay...very lucky. G-Lock that bad is uncommon, but when it does happen, pilots don't normally walk away from it. She also suffered a concussion; we're guessing from the force of the ejection."

Rooster nodded, looking over his shoulder at her sleeping figure. "How long until she wakes up?"

"It shouldn't be too long, but we can't say." He glanced down at Bradley's gear-covered flight suit. "Do you need anything, lieutenant?"

The younger man shook his head, "No, sir. Thank you."

Doc turned to walk out of the room, stopping at the door. "Alright. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

Once the doctor was gone, Bradley closed the door and scooted the chair as close as he could to her bed. He gently took her hand in his, rubbing the back of it lovingly. Being this close to her, he could see the scratches and bruises that littered her body. Tears filled his vision as he realized just how close to losing her he was. Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed it softly, trying to control his tears.

"I'm so glad you're okay. I don't know what I'd do without you, (y/n/n)."

Opening the door quietly, Maverick smiled when he saw his pilots sleeping soundly. (Y/n) was asleep on the bed, and Bradley was holding her hand, sound asleep in the chair beside her. Mav noticed the pile of gear next to the chair, quietly leaning down and picking it up, leaving the helmet. Looking at the young man, he couldn't help but see so much of his father in him. It wasn't just the matching mustache or his height, it was the way he loved others fiercely and was always there when they needed him.

"It really hurt him, you know?" (y/n) whispered.

His head whipped to bed to see (y/n), laying with her eyes closed.

He sighed. "I know."

"I know you're trying to keep him safe, but he doesn't see it that way. The more freedom you give him, the more he is willing to forgive you."

"I'm trying, (y/l/n). I really am."

She opened her eyes to look at him, smiling softly. "I know. Just give him time."

"I'm glad you're okay. You really scared us." He looked over at Bradley's passed-out figure. "Especially him. He really cares about you."

Looking over at him, her smile grew and her gaze softened. "Yeah, I know."

Within seconds, Bradley started to stir. Mav saw this as his queue to leave. "See you soon," he said with a nod.

Sitting up in his chair with a yawn, Rooster glanced at the bed and saw (y/n) was awake. He instantly leaned over and placed a soft kiss on her hairline, brushing the hair out of her face.

"Hey, sweetheart. How're you feeling?" he asked, still holding her hand.

"I'm okay, just sore. And my head's really hurting."

Bradley chuckled under his breath. "You have a concussion, babe."

"Well, that makes sense then." she giggled softly, briefly grimacing after. Opening her eyes, she saw Bradley wipe his cheek quickly and turn away from her. Her heart broke at the sight of his reddened eyes and trembling lip.

"Oh, honey. I'm okay." She reassured him. He still wouldn't look at her. "Bradley, look at me."

He slowly turned to face her, sniffling as she cupped his cheeks. "I love you, (y/n). So much. And when I thought you were going down, it killed me to think of my life without you."

Tears now brimmed her waterline at his confession. "I love you, too. More than anything." She paused, looking into his sorrowful eyes. "You're the only reason I made it out."

His brows furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"When I heard you calling for me, I knew," she cleared her throat, "I just knew that I had to make it out. That I couldn't leave you behind."

Leaning forward, he slowly lifted her chin, eyes never leaving her's as he leaned in, connecting their lips. Her hands moved to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Pulling away slightly, Bradley spoke against her lips, "I love you."

With a small laugh, she jerked back from him. Thinking he'd hurt her, he quickly asked, "What's wrong?"

She laughed even louder at his doe-eyed look. "I'm fine. It's just that your mustache tickled me."

With a goofy smile, he rolled his eyes at her, holding back a laugh of his own. She pecked his lips softly. "I love you, too."

"Even the mustache?" he asked with raised eyebrows.

"Yes." she smacked his arm lightly, "Even the mustache."

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

[allandoflimbo]

Never Again (1)

Pairing// Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Type of story// Multi-Chapter

Bucky and Y/N hate each other. A lot. This isn’t your average enemies to lovers story. This is an enemies and lovers story. It will be dark. There will be sex.

Never Again masterlist || updated every thursday

Bucky

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Asa Nusara.” Bucky’s voice was like warm honey laced in gold.

“Your attempt at lying is becoming more unconvincing by the day, James.” Asa replied jokingly, but with a serious tone.

Bucky frowned as the back of his fingers traced over her dark beautiful skin on her cheeks. His thumb runs over her brow bone and then up over her head.

A beautiful black tattoo in the shapes of waves followed over her skull.

He traced those as well.

Asa could feel her heart accelerate as his blue eyes finally found her black ones.

Usually, he would play along with her jokes, but this time, his face stayed serious.

“I’d never lie to you, Ukatana.” He whispers.

The last word dangles in the air. The post coital energy around them envelopes the word tightly, holding onto what’s left of the conviction he’s trying to convey to her.

He feels her bare legs run in between his and she lets out a pleased sigh.

She takes his hand that’s on her face into her own hands and intertwines their fingers together.

Leaning in closer to him, she rests her forehead against his.

She thinks she’s going to fall asleep.

Bucky lets his nose slide against hers, tilting his head just slightly to capture her lips in a soft and gentle kiss.

“You really have to go in the morning?” He asks, pouting his bottom lip like a little boy.

“Ayo and Okoye need me. I need them. We need possession of the orifice necklace.” She states, her authority and dominance showing him that there is no hesitation in the matter, leaving no room for anything to get in the way.

He respected this greatly.

“I’ll be damned to find out why that necklace is so special that you must be away from me for a weekend,” he brings her hand to his lips and kisses the matte black band on the ringer finger. It was interlaced with gold vibranium, “unacceptable. you’ve only been my wife for nine days and I already have to let you go.”

Nusara chuckled.

“Forty-eight hours. It’s barely letting me go.” She leans forward and kisses him again, “I’ll return Monday morning. We have to start packing anyway to go back to Wakanda. Did you forget our beautiful home awaits us?”

“And our little goats.” Bucky adds with a small chuckle.

“The goats are to stay at the farm, James. I mean our home.”

Bucky smiles and nods slowly.

He lets go of her hand and grabs the side of her waist, bringing her in closer to him.

“I know, Asa. I know.”

Asa drapes her left arm over Bucky’s torso and rests her right cheek just over heart.

In minutes, they’re both asleep in his small Brooklyn apartment where they had fallen more in love two years ago.

~

Monday evening rolls around faster than Bucky had thought it would. With packing and getting things ready for his move back to Wakanda, it took up most of his time and it kept him busy.

He had packed most of his things. He left most of Asa’s stuff untouched as to not invade her privacy, nor the Dora Milaje’s.

The black and red cape he was gifted on his wedding day to wear is the last thing he packs away into suitcase before he hears a knock at the front door.

He’s confused as he look at the door.

All his friends weren’t in town so it couldn’t be Sam or Wanda. The Thunderbolts haven’t been together in months, and Yelena was oversees.

Asa never knocked.

Bucky, with the help of his job to the government, had special biometric locks installed at his apartment so she would just use that to get in.

A knock wasn’t necessarily normal so the uneasy feeling he gets is expected.

Letting out a deep breath, he finishes zipping up the bag and stands up on sturdy legs before making his way over to the door.

When he opens it, standing there are Nakia and Ayo holding their vibranium spear, their postures high and head straight.

Standing in front of them is Shuri.

Aside from the formal arrival, what pushes Bucky’s nerves off the edge is Ayo’s obvious tear streaked cheeks.

His stomach sinks.

Hard.

“White wolf.” Shuri’s tone when she calls Bucky his title is sturdy but soft.

He knows that tone all to well.

Bucky ignores her completely, his trained eyes fixing on Ayo. Through much training and durability, she looks strong and powerful, but Bucky’s experience quickly helps him see the falt in her facade.

Her inexperience to hide emotion is in her eyes and the way she is currently blinking.

Bucky has a gut feeling but he won’t listen to it unless it’s said.

He puffs out his chest and his eyes stay on Ayo.

“Where’s Asa and Okoye?” Bucky asks Ayo. But Ayo is staring over his shoulder, unmoving, “Ayo-”

“Sergeant Barnes-” Shuri starts again.

“Okoye is back in Wakanda already.” Ayo responds, cutting Shuri off.

Bucky’s expression doesn’t change but his left eye twitches slightly. He can feel his hand tightening around his doorknob.

Nakia, Ayo, and Shuri step foot into the apartment, forcing Bucky to take a step backwards.

The door is closed behind them.

It’s then, in the privacy and intimate setting of his and Asa’s home, that Bucky’s walls start to deteriorate a little more. His breathing picks up and his eyes are switching back and forth between the three women.

They also are less stiff and Shuri’s eyes soften.

Time goes by slowly as nothing is said.

Bucky’s practically huffing out of his nose now as he take another step back.

“No.” Is all he says. It’s a low growl.

“I’m sorry—” Shuri barely gets her words out before Bucky’s palms goes to his eyes and he closes his lids tightly.

“No.” He says loudly.

“Bucky—” Shuri tries again.

Her words this time are cut off by a very audible shaky inhale through his nose.

Oh, he was going to cry.

They watch as his fingers grip into his hair, his eyes finally opening and gaze gluing down to the ground.

“I’m very sorry, Sargent Barnes.” Nakia.

His face turns into an angry snarl as he turns around.

“Damn it, damn it,” he repeats. His left hand grabs desperately as his hair, “damn it!” He yells so loudly it bounces off the walls.

His vision is compromised now. Water is all he can see.

Pain and anger is all he can feel.

Ayo isn’t one to easily flinch, but Bucky’s kick to the glass coffee table does it for her.

“No, no, no,” he keeps saying to himself. Shuri swallows hard, wiping a lone tear off her face that had fallen during his last yell, “Shuri, no.” Bucky whimpers as he finally turns around to face them. Their heart breaks as they watch him finally burst into tears, “please.”

Bucky looks like he’s moments away from collapsing, his face paling dramatically, when Shuri’s hands goes to his shoulders. She gives him a sympathetic look as she guides them both slowly to sit down on his couch. The shards of glass breaks underneath her shoes and the soft fabric of the sofa underneath them, is the only sound for a few seconds until they are finally next to each other.

He falls apart.

Bucky brings her in for a tight hug.

She swallows thickly as his sobs echo loudly around the room.

They don’t know how long they stay like that.

It feels like hours until he speaks again.

Eyes bloodshot, he stares at his hands between his knees as he picks at them.

He’s also cried out; heart and soul deflated.

“How’d it happen?” He asks, ripping off the bandaid.

His voice is hoarse and he sounds rough.

“We had traced down the orifice. We were just about to enter the chamber it was located in when our entire system was breached,” Nakia states with a steady voice, “it caught us all off guard. He—” she stops right away and Bucky’s eyes drifts from his hands to the space above it. He knows she’s talking about whoever it was that murdered his wife, “It— we don’t know who the figure was—it wore all black, covered head to two, not nearly as skilled but it caught us off guard enough that when they came in—” Bucky’s face twists at this, he almost looks disgusted and physically repulsed by what he was hearing, “she was the one inside —it was fast. Too fast for reaction.”

There’s a long silence. They can feel his fury as Bucky slowly stares up at Nakia.

“You’re telling me,” He sounds menacing and cold, “an incompetent criminal in comparison to the Dora Milaje, caught my wife and her friends off guard enough to kill her in a fraction of a second and escape fast enough for you to not even see who the hell they were?”

His loud voice reverbs around them.

They felt guilty, and just as pained as him.

Nakia swallows thickly and blinks away the tears in her eyes.

“They were fast.”

“I heard you the first damn time!” He screams.

Ayo’s spear comes down hard in front of Nakia as a form of protection.

Bucky stands abruptly and points behind him as he stares at Nakia.

“My wife was in there alone! You let her go in alone! You left her without protection, without guarding her back. You let her with a will of your own step into that room and didn’t think to keep your guard up after a breaching, and watched her get killed!”

A spear is placed horizontally to his throat by Ayo and Bucky swallows hard.

He knows better than to react this way.

These girls weren’t just the most powerful women he had ever known in his life and deserved the upmost respect, especially after what they’ve done for him, but they were his friends.

He’s being emotional and irrational.

“James. Step back.” Ayo says. Bucky does as he is told, more tears falling out of his eyes, “Nakia wasn’t even on this mission.”

Bucky looks at Ayo. He sniffs.

“But you were, Ayo.”

Ayo swallows hard.

“I was,” her voice is less uneven, “And what she is telling you is the truth. None of us saw it coming. I don’t think the person that was there even realized we were either. I’m so truly sorry. I know you are in pain, and so are we. If we could’ve prevented it we would’ve, but it happened very quickly. She was killed before we realized someone else was even in there.”

He didn’t know what he wanted to do anymore. As his heart trembled, Bucky wasn’t sure if he wanted to set the world on fire or himself.

He steps away from them and walks over to his window. He looks outside into the Manhattan skyline.

He bites at his bottom lip as he tries to control more bottled emotions.

He refuses to look around his apartment, but it’s hard to when he sees some of the reflection of it in the glass.

It was a reminder that Asa had been here just two days ago, living a domestic life with him.

His heart pains again and he whimpers.

It takes him minutes to realize Ayo had come up behind him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“I’m assuming they got away? Since you don’t know who they are.” They don’t have to verbally respond. The silence is already an answer for him, “and that they got the necklace.”

Pointless mission.

Failed mission.

With a cost- a loss.

His wife.

“How did it happen?” He asks, emotionless.

He had to find out information. He needed it. No matter how hard.

“Gun shot.”

He swallows the knock in his throat and keeps his back rigid, eyes never deviating from the skyline.

“Where?” He asks next. There’s a long silence and he can feel his anger brewing even further. Brewing for the stranger that did this to his wife, “where?”

“Her skull.”

Bucky cringes.

“Fuck.” He breathes out.

He runs a hand down his face.

“And Okoye?”

“Stray bullet grazed her cheek. She’s in recovery.”

~

Bucky’s welcome to Wakanda a week later was much more than warming.

Everyone was heartfelt and kind to him. He appreciated it, he always would from this country, but he also expected no less.

They felt pity for a young widower. For a loss of one of their greatest in their force.

The loss of a powerful woman, the greatest he’s ever known; fallen to a bullet.

He never would’ve expected this. Not in a million years.

The funeral is a nightmare. People greet him as if they’ve known him forever, some he never even knew. They don’t give him space and they mention her name each time.

He could only handle so much.

He hates thinking about it, but her coffin is gorgeous, laced in gold and red vibranium.

He watches, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, as its lowered to its resting place at the end of the evening, just before sun fall.

Bucky doesn't take off his wedding ring.

He doesn’t think he ever will.

The Wakandans still allow him to reside in the city if he chooses. He’s surprised they’ve even given him an option since what happened with Zemo. Asa had been, for the most part, his plane ticket in.

His and Asa’s beautiful apartment remains untouched and brand new. It grazes the highest of clouds as it overlooks the rivers and hills he’s learned to call home.

Now, this beauty reminds him of his lost love. It physically breaks his heart.

Looking into the bright orange sun, he’s reminded of the stolen nights in the huts.

He remembers their long nights where they would help their goats and sheep give birth to their little babies, when she had taught him how to bottle feed them.

When they had fallen deeply in love and had their beautiful Wakandan wedding.

Being here, in their apartment, without her, felt wrong.

“Hey.” Sam’s voice startles Bucky for a moment before he turns around to face his best friend.

Sam gives him a weak but genuine smile.

Bucky sticks his hands in his pockets and looks back into the setting Sun.

“Doesn’t feel right being here anymore.” Bucky feels that anger again, the one that makes him physically boil.

“What’s next?” Sam asks.

“I’m going to find him, Sam. I’m going to find who did this and stick a knife through his heart.”

~

You

Your life was destroyed at nineteen years old.

Up until then, you served as a Hydra operative. Your father was one and Hyda is all you’ve known. You were taught by them and trained by them. Willingly, you stayed. You worked as a recruited spy, performing mediocre missions for them when needed.

It had been going well for you, until your nineteenth birthday.

You were taken in the middle of the night, drugged and blind folded.

When you woke up, your living hell began.

You woke up in a dark cell.

To your left was a bolted door that probably weighed hundreds of pounds. To the right of that was a little metal bucket.

The stench was unbearable and you were freezing cold.

The walls around you were cement, molded, and so was the floor underneath you. You were terrified as you continued to awaken from your drugged state, finally gathering the energy to begin crawling at the chains around your wrist.

You were chained.

You began hyperventilating.

You became frantic as you tried getting them off.

“Hayden.” You stopped. The voice got your attention and you looked towards the door. It began to creak open. You found yourself moving away from the man, your legs flailing wildly as you tried to get away, but he kept getting closer. “Hayden.” He says again.

“That’s—that’s not my name.” You stutter out, throat dry like sand paper.

“It is now.” He crouches down in front of you and repeats, “Hayden.”

You didn’t have the patience for games.

“Where am I?” You ask, stronger this time.

“You’re at a Hydra facility, agent.”

You frown.

You were being held captive, treated as an enemy. Why were you taken against your will? By your own people?

“I don’t understand. I would’ve just come if asked.”

The man chuckles and shakes his head.

“Not for this,” he leaches forward for a strand of your hair and rolls it between his fingers, “you were chosen specifically for this, but we wanted to make sure you wouldn’t back out.”

You felt pride.

“As long as it’s in the desire of Hydra and helps us, I most likely wouldn’t back out.” You say matter-of-factly.

It’s then that you realize your face is covered entirely. The only thing peaking out are your eyes. That’s why your voice was muffled.

The dark eyed man nods his head.

“You were chosen as test subject zero eight seven six for the orifice experiment.” He says.

You’ve heard of it before.

“Human enhancement, but with the capability of healing and given any power of their choosing, based off placebo and free will. Mental. It’s energy is off psychosis.” You say.

“Correct. Which is why it needs to be a hydra agent. Your power of your choosing will side with our shared desires. Your controlled power will originate from this,” he holds something up in front of you.

It’s a gold chain, and dangling off of it is a red stone, circle shaped.

It shines, its light bouncing off your face.

It was gorgeous.

You find yourself reaching for it naturally before he pulls it away from you.

“We will train you, little girl. Then we’ll begin experiments. But between experiments, your endurance will be put to the test.”

You could only frown as you heard the door open again.

When your eyes landed on the new guest of arrival, a shiver ran down your spine.

You weren’t star struck.

You were repulsed.

Despite the urge to get away as far as possible, his blue eyes were startling in the darkness of the room. They were piercing and hard to look away from.

You had only ever heard about him.

Hydra’s biggest and best asset.

The man who not only surpassed you in every way possible, but believed in everything you didn’t.

It didn’t matter to you that he was now part of Hydra, because in reality he wasn’t.

He, Bucky, believed in everything you didn’t. This man in front of you right now was just a puppet.

You never understood how Hydra could accept that.

You hate everything he stood for as both Bucky and the winter soldier.

You were equally envious of this Weapon as you were disgusted by it.

He had only gotten so close to you before you quickly hocked up what you had in your throat and spat it at his shoe.

“Slap her.” The man instructs loudly, “Enough to hurt, but not kill.”

Oh, bring it.

You grunted before the pain escaped in your skull. Your head fell back against the wall and you could taste the iron in your mouth.

Your vision went black for a fraction of a second.

“Hayden, this is just the start. He will make you endure pain so you can build your endurance and tolerance to it. And you’ll learn to take it.”

You didn’t enjoy this part of your gift.

You spat at the winter soldier’s feet again, this time blood was mixed in with your saliva.

“Hit me again, you piece of shit.” You grit your teeth at the soldier.

The man looks at Bucky and nods at him, and as the soldier is about to hit you, you kick his arm away, making him fall forward. You wrap your legs tightly around his head.

You let out a growl as you began to choke him with your thighs.

“Fight back, soldat.” You grunt through clenched teeth.

The soldier obliged, easily slipping from your grip and wrapping his left hand around your trachea.

You gasped for breath as you stared at those soulless eyes.

Blue like the sky on a sunny day.

Your least favorite kind of weather.

“Tomorrow will be your first dose, Hayden.” The man kicks the Weapon’s leg to let you go, “Soldat.”

You gasped again as his grip left your throat and you were able to breathe again.

“Rot in hell, you disgusting pig.” You say hoarsely through burning pain.

~

You were excited to be Hydra’s next test subject, and it started off well.

After your first dose of the burning drug, you became faster and gained more dexterity. You’ve never felt anything like that very first dose. You were convinced, you were all convinced, it was going to be a success.

But that was also when the accident happened.

You knew it was an accident when it happened, and not intentional, because you knew for a fact that Hydra wanted you in prime condition. They wanted you trained, but they didn’t want anything getting in the way of the experiment failing.

It happened fast.

You had been in the room again with the soldier. Your face was still covered, minus your eyes. You figured they wanted your identity hidden.

Bucky’s eyes never left yours. Not when you were punching him or when he kicked your head.

He had stood up, stepped on your cheek with his boot, and forced your face into the ground.

You’ve never felt any pain like it.

You grabbed his leg, pulling him down onto you when you felt that searing pain in your lower stomach.

You were gasping and breathing as your wide eyes stared back into his cold ones.

What the fuck did he just do?

“Soldat!” The shout came and the soldier quickly pulled himself off of you, knife still in hand.

They had punished him in a severe way that night, as deserved, and you were taken away to the medical wing.

For the first time in your short life, you almost showed a reaction of sorrow when after your surgery the doctor that told you he had shredded your entire uterus.

They had to use 15 litters of blood to keep you stable.

After three weeks in recovery, and being of no use to your people, you were finally allowed to resume training again.

This time, the soldier was only pulled out for you every once in a while.

Each time, you wanted to kill him. Kill him for being a disgrace to existence and for taking away something you never really wanted until it was gone.

After your second dose, you were the same in terms of strength and skill, but when three weeks went by without another dosage, they could sense something was wrong.

You started getting sick.

You were dying.

It didn’t take much for everyone to realize you were being poisoned by the serum.

Wether it was the incident with the soldier that threw it off, it was never confirmed, but suspected.

After your fourth dosage, you got better again, almost like a cure, and you were able to go three and a half weeks without getting sick.

With each dosage you stayed better for longer, but that was all it did for you.

Hydra took you off the mission five months later, choosing they’d terminate the project all together. You weren’t gaining more powers and it was killing you instead.

Issue with that was you now needed the dosage to keep surviving. After your eighth and last dosage at the facility, you’d knew you’d only be okay for two months before your body started dying again.

They promised to help you by sending you what you needed to keep you going. By your first year, you noticed your cure time was no longer prolonging. After each dosage, you’d only be able to be okay for four months before you got sick again.

The feeling you got when you were sick and being poisoned was unbearable.

It’s been ten years, and you still weren’t used to it.

You never had to worry about a lack of shortage or help since Hydra still had smart scientists prepping your medicine for you.

That is, until exactly three months ago when you got the news that the orifice dose was being discontinued due to lack of certain resources.

“They expect me to just die?”

“There is one way. One way we can try. The orifice necklace. Its power is immeasurable. Some of the strongest on earth. Maybe it could even cure you.” Your closest friend, and your favorite Hydra agent partner, Ivan says.

The orifice necklace.

“Gabrïël destroyed that after he found out my mission was a failure.” You say.

“That wasn’t the real one, Hayden. I can tell you where it is, but the issue is, there are others after it now, too.”

“Who?”

“Wakanda. Even some of the lasting Avengers. Other spies working for the government. Sword, even.”

“Tell me where it is. I can get there first.”

The night before you left for Mexico for the orifice necklace, you stared at what little you had left of your medication in your medicine cabinet.

You had two doses left, one which you would need to take in four weeks.

If you didn’t get that necklace soon, you were dead in nine months.

You wouldn’t dare tell a soul, but you were terrified.

Your hand trembled as you held one of the remaining doses.

You didn’t want to die, and least of all, you didn’t want to run into anyone while trying to retrieve it.

One of the people which was a complete waste and a vermin in your eyes.

You took a deep breath, and put the bottle back in the cabinet. You walked back to your room and sat on your bed.

You began looking through your photos on your phone.

It was a photo of you and Leo, your best friend, just a week before his murder.

He was killed by the attack in New York by the Avengers nearly a decade ago.

This was your reason for trying to get that necklace.

You would keep yourself alive for him.

Placing your phone down next you, you then roll up your left sleeve.

A large scar runs down the skin.

He had done that after your third dose.

You had then stabbed him in his thigh. You felt great when you’d done it, but when you were finally alone in your cell, you cried for the first time.

…

Bucky Barnes.

That’s what his name was.

~

“Get me in, Ivan.” You spoke through your com, “I can get out just fine with my speed, but I need it open first.”

“I’m trying, Y/N. You need to bare with me. Try going a little to your right.” Ivan says.

You roll your eyes and hold your arms a little higher. You had already gotten inside the coal mine and you were standing just outside the chamber, but through the back.

To avoid any possible run ins with the cocky avengers, you both decided this was the best approach.

You were lasering thorough the thick rocks, but the laser was acting up.

Just when you’re about to to complete the circle, it goes out again.

“Jesus, fuck, Ivan.”

“I’m doing my best here. I’m pulling what power I can without the risk of calling attention. Even if that side of the freaks aren’t here, if Hydra even finds out too, we’re screwed. They don’t know we’re here stealing this.”

“Don’t know why they never tried to get it before. Also, do you really think the avengers are even here yet? They don’t have the same power of jets they used to have when their lord and savior Stark was still around. And Hydra will give me a promotion for this. That is, if this necklace really works and actually saves my life.” Your voice drifts our towards the end.

“You’ll be fine.” Ivan says quietly, “Got it!” Just as he says that, the power returns to your laser and it finishes the cut. You keep your left hand on the rock so it doesn’t fall and make a loud noise. You lay it gently down on the floor.

You stand back and look at it.

“I guess it’s big enough for me to crawl through.”

“Make it fast.” Ivan says.

With a sigh you stick the laser in your back leather pocket and crawl down onto all fours. You shimmy your way through the whole and into the chamber Ivan led you to. It’s dark, smells like wet earth, and is humid. Your eyes dart around the room, until finally you find a marble box on a stand on the far right side of the room.

You were thankful for your enhanced eye sight. You knew a regular person wouldn’t be able to see it right away.

You could feel your excitement brewing.

This was your ticket to survival.

You didn’t want to die.

You open the box, and you feel the tears brewing in your eyes when you see it.

A beautiful red stone.

You take it into your hand. You don’t feel different yet, but you figured it takes time.

A very small sound of a foot on a small rock has you quickly going for your gun on your waist.

Pulling your face and hair covering higher over your head, you blindly aim your gun behind you, giving away three shots.

You know reaction is reckless and stupid. Under normal circumstances, you wouldn't haven’t pulled the trigger that soon, or at all. But with that necklace in your hand, you were afraid of losing it.

You were desperate. Your action was irrational as you shot at whatever was behind you, and escaping through your man made hole.

And then you ran and ran in the darkness.

The orifice necklace was right there, right in your hand.

“I have it, Ivan. I have it!” You shouted happily as you ran towards your jet.

“Make it quick, Y/N. I see something here on my radar.”

“On it.” You reply back curtly.

You retrace your steps with practice. The second you’re back in your seat, the sigh that leaves your mouth is palpable.

Ivan’s already in the pilot seat, getting the aircraft ready for take off.

You pull the necklace out of your jacket and stare at it in your hand.

Then something happens.

Your stomach drops.

There in your hand, the necklace begins to unravel into several pieces.

The red stone is the only thing still in tact, but in it is a message you hadn’t seen before.

Nice try.

~

Bucky

It’s been the hardest month of Bucky’s life since he’s been back.

He left Wakanda the day after the funeral.

He had decided that Brooklyn would be the best option for him.

His first home.

He still hung out with Sam and Wanda, and on occasion he kept contact with Yelena.

Him and Sam were the closest, though. They went on rogue missions together for the government and did their part when needed.

Every now and then, Peter Parker would stop by and say hello. It’s not like Queens was far. A whole different world, for sure, but he was practically a neighbor. Peter was like the little brother Bucky never had. It took him a second to warm up to Bucky, though.

Nobody would ever get closer to him as much as Steve or Sam ever did.

Getting used to life again after Asa was terrible.

Bucky even had to clean his internet history to make it.

They had googled places for puppy adoptions and vacation spots just the days before her death.

Bucky wouldn’t think about puppies for a long time now. Nor any vacations.

He just wanted to be alone.

The scarce missions with Sam helped some to distract him, but he’d still come home tired and depressed.

Everyday he’d try to contact Shuri or Ayo to find out any status of the mystery person from the chamber. When every-time he’d hear the same thing “nothing yet”, he’d do his own research, and also ask Sam for help.

One day, the answer was different.

“Hey, Buck. We’ve got a possible lead.”

He felt several emotions.

Excitement, fear, and anger.

For some reason, the confirmation of an actual killer reminded him that this wasn’t some nightmare he was just dreaming.

This was real.

Bucky had never sped so fast on his motorcycle before. Running a few red lights and nearly getting hit by a suv was the least of his concerns right now.

When he arrives to where the mission meetings have been held lately, Fury is already sitting there with Sam to his right.

“The Orifice Necklace,” Fury starts, a photo of it is on the screen behind him. Bucky eyes it like it’s the most disgusting thing he’s ever laid his eyes on. What was so special about this piece of shit necklace? “It’s a supernatural stone that releases some kind of healing power. Wakanda has known about it longer because of security reasons. They don’t want this in the wrong hands,” Bucky still doesn't understand the hype, but he understands it’s danger now in the wrong hands. Whoever it was that killed Asa really wanted it for some self gain, “Under certain circumstances, they’ve decided to ask us for help. The orifice necklace that was at the chamber in Mexico was a fake. The real one was taken we suspect maybe months before. We actually think it’s in the position of some undercover agent in Sword, which makes this tricky. Reasons for suspicions aren't disclosed other than sword members reporting strange incidents since a few months ago.” Fury says.

Bucky scoffs

“I know, Barnes, this isn’t easy for you—”.

“What?” Bucky practically laughs out the word, “you think going after the person who killed Asa is hard for me?”

“You aren’t to kill that target. That person doesn’t even have it. Their death is no use to us. Bring them in alive and alive only.”

“Are you going to tell me where?” Bucky asks.

“You sure Bucky is the right person for this? He’s too close to this case.” Sam says.

“You’ll both go together.” Fury answers. He turns back to Bucky, “There will be a gala in Venice next weekend. We suspect that the person who knows who has the real necklace, the person from the chamber, will also be at this event,” Fury doesn’t lose eye contact with Bucky when he says the next part very slowly; “We suspect them to be Hydra affiliated.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched and his nose flares.

“I expect no less from an inhumane group of people.” He’d say worst, and he wants to, but he’s feeling emotional again. He quickly rubs his nose over the back of his hand and moves up closer to Fury, clearing his throat, “Name?”

“We only have one name that came up in suspicion, based off an experiment that was done ten years ago. It was in a file we found during one of our hydra facility raids. Experiment Orifice. The subject’s name is Hayden,” Bucky takes in a deep breath as he hears the name for the first time.

“Any distinctive features to watch out for?”

“A scar on their left arm. Starting from the palm to the elbow. That’s all we know.”

“Bucky. You’re really sure you want to be the one to do this?” Sam asks, unsure about this whole thing.

“Who else are we gonna call, Sam? Wanda’s lost her shit. Peter’s a bartender now. Who the fuck knows where thor is. We have no options anymore. Even Maria is dead,” Bucky stands up, “We’ll go.”

[illusioninfnty]

Outlast: Chapter Eight (Sam Giddings x Reader)

Series Masterlist

Word Count: 2.5K

3:26

You bust into the room, Sam and Mike right on your heels. Just as you do, a scene of chaos folds out in front of you. Ashley and Chris are strapped into two chairs, opposite each other. A man in a skull-like mask stands across from them, who you could only assume is this Psycho that had hurt Sam and killed Josh.

Chris holds up a gun at the Psycho, firing rapidly. Nothing happens. Before you even have time to react, the Psycho speaks up.

“Oh Chris...Oh, Chris, Chris, Chris, Chris.”

“What the fuck…” you and Chris mutter in unison.

The Psycho reaches up to remove his mask. “Oh you've heard of blanks before. I mean really?”

When he reveals his face, you're sure that your heart stops in your chest for a second. You can hear Sam gasp behind you.

And in front of you stands Josh, smiling proudly.

“Josh?” Chris asks.

“Josh!” Sam gasps.

“Josh,” Mike mutters.

“What the actual fuck.” You rub your temples, barely able to comprehend the situation in front of you. You really wish you had some alcohol on you right now.

As Josh starts his whole spiel, you run over to untie your friends. As you get Ashley, Mike moves to free Chris.

“How does it feel? Do you enjoy feeling terrorized? Humiliated? I mean, panicked? All those emotions that my sisters got to feel once one year ago! Only guess what? They didn't get to laugh it off! No! Nope! No no no! They're gone!”

Josh’s voice is shaky and his eyes are unfocused as he rambles on. You can’t help but pity your friend, who had been more tormented than you could’ve ever imagined by the overwhelming guilt over Hannah and Beth’s disappearances.

As Josh examples his pranks, going more and more into the specific details he concocted, you can’t help but be wary at Mike’s increasing anger.

“I don't know if you noticed this, Josh, but none of us are laughing.” He bites out his words, tone rigid.

Dread washes over you as you realize exactly what’s making Mike angrier than he should be. He thinks Josh had something to do with Jessica’s death.

Fuck. Double fuck. You mentally punch yourself, allowing the miscommunication about the truth of the Blackwood Mountain to get this far. You need to explain to your friends the truth, and quickly, before more get hurt.

“Why are you doing this, Josh?” Sam asks, voice barely above a whisper. But her question still rings out in the barren room.

“He’s out of his fucking mind over here. Don’t even bother fucking asking the looney,” Mike quips.

“He’s sick,” Chris says, pity dripping off his words. His attempt to diffuse the situation is a miss. Mike is still fuming, and you can practically see steam leaving his body.

“Mike, calm down.” The words leave your lips before you can even stop them.

He whirls around to face you, and you immediately know you’re going to be bearing the brunt of the anger. You’ll gladly take it if it means Josh won’t be falsely blamed for acts he didn’t commit.

He storms over to you, chest to chest as he glares up at you. “He fucking killed her.” His words are laced with grief as he fists the front of your shirt.

“No he didn’t,” you throw back, exasperated. “It wouldn’t make any fucking sense. Think logically about this, Mike.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “You of all people shouldn’t say shit like that. Keeping all these fucking secrets. Were you in on this? Is that why you’re not saying shit?” 

You don’t even try to entertain his words as his voice gradually becomes louder, more intense, and you can hear Sam trying to break the two of you up. Her arm wraps around your bicep and she tugs you back, away from Mike.

Josh barks out a laugh behind you, causing you all focus your attention back on him.

“This is all just perfect. Come on, you guys are all going to thank me when you guys become internet sensations!”

You raise an eyebrow as Chris is the one to speak up. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh you better believe this little puppy is going viral ladies and germs. I mean we got unrequited love. We got fights. We got...we got blood! I don't think there's enough hard drives in China to count all the views we're gonna get, you guys.”

“Jesus Christ,” your hand runs over your face as you take in everything Josh says.

But of course, Mike isn’t too pleased with his response.

“What the fuck are you talking about, you fucking ass hat? Jessica is fucking dead!”

Josh blinks, looking stunned at the news. “What?”

“Jessica is fucking dead, and you are going to pay, you dick!”

“Damn it Mike, stop it!” Your words are no use, and you can’t stop Mike in enough time as he strides up to Josh and with the gun he took from Chris, hits him across the face and knocks him out cold.

Sam and Ashley gasp as Josh falls to the floor. You immediately approach Mike, snatching the gun from his hand and throwing it across the floor.

“What the hell was that, man? I told you to think before you fucking do something you’ll regret!” You poke a finger in his chest, hoping to at least intimidate him a little bit. But you’ve had heated arguments before with him, and he doesn’t ever back down.

“I don’t fucking regret it.” His tone is affirmative. It worries you that you may not be able to change his mind about it. That you’re too late, and none of your friends will trust you

You kiss your teeth. “Whatever. It’s already done.” You glance down at Josh, who looks weak and sickly all crumpled on the floor. “Someone help me move him upright.”

“No!” Ashley protests. “He’s crazy. He had us fucking chained up, and, and, chased us all around. He’s a psycho!” She hides behind Chris, who wraps an arm around her shaking body.

You can’t help how conflicted you feel about the current predicament happening. You sympathize with all of your friends and their fears. Josh went too far; you weren’t going to deny that. But he was sick. He needed help. And antagonizing him only made it worse. Besides, none of them understand the severity of your situation—only you do. But there’s no use in arguing with them all now, when they’re scared and confused.

You throw your hands up in defeat. “Okay, does anyone have any other ideas?”

Mike steps forward with a look of contempt. “I say we tie him up in the shed.”

“What? That’s insane!” Sam beats you to it, echoing the same words you were just thinking. “We just do that here! There’s no reason to leave him outside.”

Chris and Ashley share a look that has you dropping your head in your hands. “Mike’s right,” Chris says.

Ashley nods. “It’s safer that way.”

Mike glances at you, triumph shining in his eyes. “Three to two. You’re outnumbered.”

Your jaw clenches. “You’re making a mistake, Mike.”

He doesn’t respond.

You sigh. You know you’re not getting anything else out of him. Mike was stubborn as hell, even more so than you at times. “Fine. If you’re going to do this, then I’m going with you.”

They all look surprised at your offer, turning to you with a variety of quizzical looks plastered across their faces.

“Tex,” Sam’s tone is warning, as if to tell you that it’s a bad idea.

Mike scoffs. “No fucking way. You’re gonna pull some shit on us out there.”

“Look, I’m compromising, okay?” You throw your hands up in mock surrender. “You can tie him up or do whatever the fuck you want. I don’t give a shit. I just wanna be there when you guys do it.”

Chris pipes up before Mike can get another word in. “That’ll work. It’ll be better to have an extra set of hands in case Josh tries something.”

Mike eyes you down, as if trying to catch you in a lie. You keep your face still. “Fine,” he finally bites out, “let’s get to it. Before he starts waking up.”

3:41

“Guys! Guys come on... seriously, this is crazy, you know?”

“Shut up.”

You trail behind Mike and Chris as they guide Josh to the shed, not bothering to help him up when he stumbles into the snowy ground.

“Give it a rest you two,” you mumble as they continue to let out all their frustration on him. “Can’t you see how out of it he is?”

Chris sighs in response. Mike completely ignores you. Again.

“Where are we going?” Josh looks all around him, once again tripping on the unstable ground. “Where are you guys taking me?”

Mike shoves him along. “Locking you up, bro.”

Josh’s eyes shift around frantically until they land on you. “You’re gonna let them do this?”

Mike scoffs. “She’s not letting—”

You interrupt Mike before he goes on another tirade. “I can’t outnumber them, bud.” You shake your head apologetically, wishing you could do more. “The best I can do is make sure they don’t try anything stupid.”

Josh’s body falls slack, as if he’s given up. You bite your lower lip as you stare at him in pity, taking in his gaunt and sickly features. You mentally kick yourself for not noticing them earlier.

Your head throbs from alcohol withdrawal and you pat your coat pocket, before holding back a sigh as your hands come up empty. Your flask was probably left somewhere back at the lodge, amongst all the chaos when you reunited with your friends.

You ignore the aching feeling that persists as you trudge along with the guys.

When you finally arrive at the cabin, Mike practically throws Josh inside. It’s barren, old and broken pieces strewn about. Mike ends up tying Josh to one of the pillars that looks like it's one more snowstorm away from breaking, pushing him roughly and taunting him as he does so.

“Stop it,” you bite out through gritted teeth, your frustration reaching its peak. You grasp his bicep, pulling him back. “Chris.” You jerk your head towards Josh, indicating he should take over instead. He quickly gets the hint and takes the ropes from Mike.

Mike tries to pull away from you, but your grip remains firm as you drag him to the corner of the cabin. “Look,” you use your free hand to rub your temples, practically feeling the stress lines on your face from how much this night has been taking a toll on you already. “He’s off his meds. Has been for a while. Cut him some slack, alright?”

He’s practically unresponsive to your plea. “He killed—!”

“Mike.”

He pauses, chest heaving.

You continue. “I told you I would explain everything. I will. Josh didn’t do that. I need you to trust me. Please.”

You can tell by the way Mike’s brow creases that he still feels uneasy about all of this. You’re hoping that Mike still has some kind of faith in you, even just a crumb. You don’t blame him too much; you know that the way you’ve been acting has seemed suspicious lately. But your circumstances are really strange ones, and it’d be hard for anyone to believe it without seeing it.

Before you can gauge Mike’s response, your conversation is interrupted by Josh’s teasing words.

“Oh and Chris? Man, you can forget about ever gettin' into Ashley's little panties after that little cock up with the whole ‘I'm gonna shoot you in the head, thing.’ She's better off with Mike over here anyways... At least he knows how to treat a lady…”

“Fuck you, man!”

“Hey, hey!” You rush over just as Chris grabs a stray wooden board, lifting it up over his head as if he was about to hit him. “Knock it off. We can’t be causing any more problems.”

Josh’s eyes narrow as they land on you. “Drunk as a skunk, drunk as a skunk! Couldn’t solve your problems, couldn’t save my sisters!”

Guilt floods through your chest as memories of that night flash in your mind again. Your tongue feels too big for your mouth, and the faint tastes of alcohol that remain make you want to clean your mouth out with soap.

“Back off.”

Mike steps up to Josh, pushing you back slightly. “Leave her alone, dude. You should be fucking thank her for trying to help your sorry ass.”

A breath of relief leaves you as you mentally thank Mike for stepping in. Josh eventually quiets down with a huff and a glare, and once you can tell he won’t be antagonizing anyone further, your friends turn to leave.

You follow them outside the cabin, but stop before you can make it more than a couple of feet away from the doors.

“You two should go on without me.”

Chris and Mike turn back to stare at you. “Listen,” you continue, “you two need to leave and cool off some steam. I’ll stay here, watch over him. Maybe I can talk some sense into him.”

Chris furrows his eyebrows as Mike crosses his arms.

“No fucking way am I leaving you with this lunatic,” Mike grunts.

“Well that’s not your fucking choice, is it?” You raise an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms to mirror his stance. “I can handle myself. And him, if necessary.”

He huffs in annoyance, but you can tell that he can’t argue with you on that.

Chris nods in reluctance, nudging Mike’s shoulder. “I’ll make sure to tell Sam you’re safe.”

“Thank you,” you say breathily in appreciation. “I’ll be back before you know it. Don’t miss me too much.”

A hint of a laugh leaves Chris’ lips as the two reluctantly head back towards the lodge.

As soon as they leave your sight, mere specks in the crisp white snow, you begin to move in untying Josh from his constraints.

“Whoa, whoa—”

“Listen to me.” Your voice is cold, and Josh is able to hold your gaze, recognizing the seriousness. “You need to run. Get as far away as you can. Got it?”

He nods, throwing his head back against the pillar. “I’m sorry, I’m real sorry…” Josh trails off, a distant look taking over his face as you deftly loosen the ropes around his limbs.

The dull gleam in Josh’s eyes has your heart clenching in your chest. He looks so lost, so broken. You wish you were able to see just how hurt he had been this past year. You feel guilty that you, or any of your friends for that matter, weren’t able to catch just how much he’d been suffering with the loss of Hannah and Beth.

If you weren’t untying his restraints, ear right by his lips, you don’t think you would have heard his next words.

“You weren’t supposed to be there…”

You think back to his adamance on getting you out of the cabin, and somehow, your heart breaks just a little more.

Character Traits: 

Honest: 4/10 

Charitable: 9/10 

Funny: 4/10  

Brave: 9/10 ↓

Romantic: 7/10 

Curious: 5/10 

Relationship Status:

Ashley: 6/10

Chris: 7/10 ↓

Emily: 5/10  

Jess: 3/10 

Josh: 7/10 ↓

Matt: 7/10 

Mike: 6/10 ↑

Sam: 10/10

Chapter Seven || Chapter Nine

[gardensgatekeeper]

Party Favors

A/N: Hii!! This is my first post so please forgive any spelling errors, cheesy plot lines, and/or any other technical errors! My dms are open if you have any requests, ideas, or just want to say hi!

Pairing: Danny x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k+

Summary: They say drunk words are sober thoughts. At least that’s what you were telling yourself when you realized you might have feelings for one of your best friends.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Mentions of minor injury (non-graphic), drinking, language, fluff, and minor smut (wrap your willy before you get silly!). Let me know if I missed anything!

--

“Turn here!” You shouted at Josh over the loud music blaring through the car speakers. You were always the one with a better sense of direction, but Josh wouldn’t let you drive since you had already pregamed with a couple of shots. “It’s the last house on the-”

“Yeah, I figured it’s the one with all the cars.” He replied sarcastically, putting the car in park. “Alright kids, everyone out!” He said as the ignition quieted. Sam got out of the passenger seat before pulling his seat forward to let you, Jake, and Danny out of the cramped backseat space.

As you exited the small coupe, you accidentally hit your head on the hard metal roof, wincing from the pain. “Jesus Josh, when are you gonna get a new car? I don’t know how many more times my skull can take a beating.” You say while tending to the sore area on your head.

“Hey, don’t talk down on Elle Fernanda like that! You should be thanking her for all of the places she’s taken you.” He threw back, polishing a spot with his shirt sleeve.

Rolling your eyes, you made your way up the front lawn and entered the house that definitely exceeded the maximum occupancy. Quickly making your way to the kitchen, you found the excess of cheap alcohol bottles scattered across the island. Grabbing 5 shot glasses, you poured everyone in your group a drink and handed them out.

Jake toasts as you all down the bitter liquid courage, your face immediately scrunching in disgust as the alcohol burns your throat. Quickly, you mix together another, slightly less potent drink before leaving the guys who were already preoccupied in a conversation about sports that you weren’t interested in joining.

Making your way out of the kitchen, you immediately joined the sea of bodies moving to the beat of a familiar melody playing overhead. Sam, Josh, and Jake all made their rounds throughout the evening to dance with you before heading off to god knows where. You found yourself glancing around a couple of times wondering where Danny was, but shrugged it off and kept dancing. Though the songs and people around you constantly changed, you never lost the euphoric feeling running through your veins, not having a single care in the world. It felt so good to just let loose.

After a while, you quite literally needed to take a break and catch your breath. The excess of sweaty bodies mixed with the overconsumption of alcohol made the room feel like it was a thousand degrees. As you made your way to the kitchen for a refill, you bumped into Danny.

“Daniel! Where the hell have you been? This party is great!” You yelled before realizing the music wasn’t quite as loud in here. “Sorry.” You flush with embarrassment.

“S’okay.” He laughed before continuing “I had to convince Jake that jumping into the pool from the roof was not a good idea. It’s a miracle he’s lived this long.” He mutters. You chuckle a bit, shaking your head at the thought of having to explain that one to his parents.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself. What did you do, run laps around the house?” He asked half-jokingly while taking in your slightly sweaty appearance.

“It’s called dancing Daniel. You should try it sometime, it’s pretty fun.” You nudge him.

He paused for a moment before reaching out to brush a strand of your hair behind your ear. His touch made you shudder, goosebumps covering your exposed arms.

What was that about?

Only then did you take in his appearance. A faded blue jean jacket, white t-shirt, and black skinny jeans. Though this was the usual attire for Danny, something about the way he looked tonight made your heart rate pick up just a bit.

Must be the alcohol.

“Looks like Elle Fernanda got her revenge, this is gonna be a nasty bruise.” He chuckles.

Reaching your hand up to feel the area, you wince slightly at the tenderness. The alcohol must have numbed the pain as you had already forgotten the incident from earlier. 

“Damn that car. I’m surprised I don’t have a permanent dent in my head as many times as that’s happened.” You mutter.

“Let’s get you some ice. It’ll at least help the swelling.” He says, instructing you to sit on the counter beside the refrigerator. While Danny grabbed an ice pack from the freezer, your mind drifted back to how his touch felt. Sure, Danny was attractive, but he was one of your best friends. Plus, there’s no way he’d ever be interested in you like that. Why did your body react that way when he touched you? 

Definitely the alcohol.

You pushed your thoughts away as he made his way back over to you with a bag of frozen peas. Seeing the puzzled look on your face, he shrugged. “It was all they had.”

The frozen vegetables met the bruised spot on your forehead, sending a quick chill of discomfort from the drastic change in temperature. “Sorry.” He sympathized, a slight frown on his face. “S’fine. Thank you, I owe you one.” You reply quickly.

 “Don’t mention it. If it makes you feel any better, you look cool as hell. If I were you, I’d make up some gnarly story about how you got it.” He offers, listing off several scenarios that you know nobody would ever believe from you. He continued to ramble on while still meticulously holding the cold bag to your head. Sitting on the counter, you were about the same level so you couldn’t help but meet his eyes in front of you. You stared intensely at his brown eyes as they bore into yours. You had never noticed the beautifully unique hazel hue they were. Though it felt like hours, the silent staring between you both couldn’t have lasted longer than ten seconds.

Snap out of it, it’s just Danny!

“So, uh, you wanna head outside? I heard there’s a fire pit and a pool.” You say in an attempt to break the awkward silence.

“Let’s do it.” He agreed, tossing the frozen peas back in the freezer before subtly placing resting his hands on your hips to help you off the countertop.

He led the way outside and grabbed a couple of canned drinks from a cooler by the door. As he handed you a Black Cherry White Claw, you couldn’t help but wonder if he purposely chose your favorite flavor or if it was just pure luck.

He’s your best friend, of course he knows your favorite flavor.

You both made your way over to the pool since it wasn’t as crowded. Kicking off your shoes, you sat on the edge of the pool, letting your feet dip in the warm water. Danny opted to just sit beside you with his legs crossed. Though it was the middle of July, the air was surprisingly cool this evening. Noticing the shiver that ran through your body, Danny quickly took off his jean jacket and placed it over your shoulders. Before you could even protest, he stopped you. “It looks better on you anyway.” He said after a moment.

How fucking cliche.

Your eyes scanned his face for what had to be an obvious lie. One thing about Danny is that you could always tell when he wasn’t being truthful. It was just something you picked up on over the years. Anytime he was lying, he couldn’t hold direct eye contact to save his life. For example, last week you all were at the lake and when you asked the group who drank the last beer, Danny’s avoiding gaze gave you the answer you needed. But in this moment, he stared right back at you with a warm smile. He was telling the truth.

Another red flush covered your cheeks as you quickly turned away, taking in the rather large backyard of the random house you were at. After you were sure the color had retreated from your cheeks, you turned back towards him. He was still sitting in the same position, unmoved. His eyes quickly met yours again.

“I meant what I said. I mean you could wear a burlap sack and still look hot.” He spoke up after a moment.

“Oh my god, please.” Your hand shoves into his shoulder, trying to play it cool while your mind was racing with a million thoughts. Did he just call you hot?

He gently grabbed your hand, your full attention on him. “I’m serious Y/N. In case anyone hasn’t told you lately, you look beautiful tonight, and always. All the guys here are idiots for not seeing that.”

The alcohol in your brain answered before you could even process the words coming out of your mouth. “Yeah but I don’t want any of them. They aren’t you.” Your eyes widened a bit at the disbelief at the words you just spoke. Before you could even think, Danny gently intertwined his hand with yours. You looked down at the action before slowly looking back up to meet his longing gaze.

“You know, I’ve always had feelings for you” He admits quietly. “I guess I never said anything because I was worried about risking our friendship or making things awkward if you didn’t feel the same way.”

Your heart swelled as his confession. You won’t lie when you say you’ve fantasized about Danny here and there, but in all honesty, you just assumed he only saw you as a friend and nothing more. You felt butterflies in your stomach hearing him admit his feelings in such a vulnerable way.

You lean in ever so slightly and squeeze his hand that was still intertwined with yours, moving to place it over where your heart rested. “That’s how you make me feel, Danny.” You whisper, hoping he could feel your quickened heartbeat.

He looked back at you, his face flushed with a faint pink glow. His eyes flicked down to your lips and back up at your eyes, almost like he was asking for permission like the sweet and kind soul he is. Not sure if it was the liquid courage or just pure lust, you leaned in and connected your lips to his. Just like the movies described, it felt like electricity was coursing through your veins as his lips molded perfectly with yours. In that moment, you were floating on cloud nine, never wanting it to end.

The kiss very quickly intensified into more of a steamy makeout session as the alcohol gave you a confidence boost. Your body moved into his, suddenly finding yourself straddling his lap. Your hands reach up to his dark curls, giving a slight tug to pull him even closer to you. A faint whimper left his mouth from the action, consuming your body with desire. You began to slowly rock into him in a feeble attempt to satisfy the ache in your core, swearing you could feel him harden under you.

Danny quickly grabbed your hips and pulled away a bit.

“Wait, wait.” He began, seeing the confusion and panic etched on your face. “Shit, wait no. I want to keep going, trust me, but uh-fuck. How do I- You’ve been drinking and I don’t want you to regret anything.”

“Oh.” Was all you could get out. You moved off his lap and sat back on the ground, pulling your knees up to your chest as you looked anywhere but at him. Even though you were fully clothed, you suddenly felt exposed, partially ashamed that Danny didn’t want you in that way.

He quickly grabbed your hands. “Listen, I want to. I really want to. Hell, I’ve dreamed about this moment for years, but I care about you too much. I don’t want you to think that’s all I want or care about.”

He must have been able to sense that you were still slightly embarrassed, so he brought your hand up and peppered soft kisses all over your hand. Giggling from how they tickled your skin, you looked back at him and smiled. You didn’t deserve someone as sweet and thoughtful as him.

“I really like you Y/N but I wanna do this right. You know I’m a bit old fashioned in that way.” He nudged, making you smile even harder.

“I guess chivalry isn’t dead after all.” You say. He flashes you a classy Danny Wagner grin and wraps his arm around your shoulder. Using his other free hand, he grabs his drink on the ground and holds it up.

“Here’s to chivalry.”

You copy his actions and tap your can against his. “Cheers, Danny.”

“Now, what was this about a dance lesson? I do believe you owe me a favor.” He winked, standing to his feet while offering a hand to help you up.

--

[abbatoirablaze]

Welcome To The Dollhouse, Domesticated

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: mentions of an angsty past, unprotected sex/smut.

“Sweetpea…”

“Bodecker…”

Lee’s jaw clenched as he noticed Johnny Storm beside his little sweet pea, “Storm…what in sam’s hell are you doing on my doorstep?”

“I have something that belongs to you,” he said simply, gently pushing her towards him, “I have her out on a weekend loan from the dollhouse so return her or buy her out…either way, go back with her when she’s supposed to be dropped off on Monday.  Thanks sheriff!”

“What are you-“

But before Lee could so much as finish his question, Johnny was already jogging back towards his bike and driving off.  Lee stood there, staring at his little sweet pea as she watched Johnny Storm driving off.  When she turned back towards him, he caught the air of nervousness in her eyes, the anxiety palpable even to him.

“Sweet pea.”

“Lee…”

“Storm really pull you from the dollhouse?”

“It’s nice to know that someone will.” She replied shortly, crossing her arms over her chest, “you didn’t do it…”

Lee frowned, “Sweet pea…”

“Why was someone like Johnny willing to pull me, Lee?” she asked softly.  Lee frowned even more, hearing the edge of sadness in her voice, “why wasn’t it someone like you?  No…why wasn’t it you that did it?”

“Come on now, sweet pea, that ain’t a fair question.”

“Johnny thinks you really like me,” she sighed gently as her eyes gazed back towards the empty street, “he thinks-“

“I do like you, sweet pea.”

“Then why are you so against me staying with you?”

“I-I’m not.  I mean, I can’t-can’t just go around bringing you home on the weekends or when I’m free,” he began, stumbling over his words, “sweet pea, we have a lot of fun at the dollhouse...but-“

“But what?” she asked, her eyes meeting his once more, “I’m good enough to fuck at the dollhouse, but not be part of your life outside of it?”

Lee’s frown only deepened.  He didn’t say anything as he watched her body language become more defensive.  He swallowed his own nervousness and opened the door a little bit more, “that’s not it at all.  You need to come on into the house, sweet pea…”

“Why?”

“Storm signed you out for the weekend,” he said with a shrug, “and I ain’t gonna let you sit on my doorstep all weekend, looking all sad.”

“We-well maybe I’ll just go to the Baxter Building then…o-or back to the dollhouse.”

“You wanna hike all the way back into the city?” he asked sadly, “rather than just come in?”

“M-maybe I-“

“Get in the damn house, Leah…” Lee grumbled, quickly losing the nerve that he’d held.  She frowned, but followed the instructions, tucking herself under his arm and walking into his house, “now…”

“If you think that just because something’s gonna happen because I’m coming in, you got another thing coming, Lee Bodecker,” she grumbled, “you’re not getting off the hook that easy…”

“Don’t you worry, sweet pea…wasn’t even thinking about it!”

“Lee….”

“That’s right, sweet pea,” Lee growled as his hips drove forward, plunging his cock even further into her core.  Her back arched, pressing her chest further against the counter, and Lee moaned seeing her breasts nearly pouring out of the dress she wore from over her shoulder.  His hands dug into her hips, the bunched up fabric sparing her skin from any bruises as he came towards his high, “you take all your sheriff can give!”

“Lee!” she moaned again, her voice’s pitch raising ever so slightly at the end as he hit her g-spot, “oh LEE!  Don’t stop!”

“Ain’t planning on it sweet pea,” he growled huskily.  His arms slipped around her, one hand looping around her waist, to pull her weight back towards him, while the other pressed down on her stomach so that with the next few thrusts her eyes were rolling back into her skull while her core fluttered around his length, “gonna make sure you’re full of me…gonna give you that good Bodecker dickin’.”

“YES!  YES!”

“This doesn’t mean I forgive you or anything…”

Lee smirked as he took a sip of his beer.  His little sweet pea was sitting down at the table with him, a full dinner cooked for her all from his hands as she’d listened to him express himself.  But in all reality, all he’d really done was say that he couldn’t bring her home because he didn’t ‘know her’ well enough. 

“You don’t gotta forgive me for nothin, sweet pea…just making dinner.”

“I know you don’t cook, Lee,” she sighed, mad at herself for knowing the lengths the sheriff had already gone to the past few hours by taking her shopping for clothes and little gifts, and stopping at the store for groceries, “know all you normally have here is beer, some candy, and takeout containers…but you took me shopping and filled the house with groceries…I know this isn’t something you normally do.”

“You ain’t never been to my house before,” he chuckled, sipping on the beer once again, “how would you know that?”

“Cus you’ve told me as much when you’ve described your life outside of the dollhouse to me…”

“Doesn’t sound like me,” he shrugged, knowing that he was lying through his teeth, “must be from another man you been playin’ slap and tickle with.”

“We both know the only man I’m interested in actually playing slap and tickle with is you, Lee,” she sighed, shaking her head at him, “and you have told me…usually after you’ve emptied yourself into me, and you pull me close…telling me all about how empty your life is alone in this house in the heights.”

“Now why would I go and do something stupid like that?”

“Same reason you won’t buy me out of my contract at the dollhouse!” she admitted softly.  She stopped pushing around the steamed veggies on her plate and looked at him, “I-I’m not like her, Lee…I don’t wanna go leaving you once you pull me out of there.”

Lee put his bottle down, his jaw twitching at the mention of a previous relationship that ended badly from the dollhouse, “I don’t wanna go ruining the night talking about her, Leah…”

“I’m not Amy…” she said once more, a little more of an edge in her voice, “I-I care about you, Lee.”

“Yeah, that’s what she always said too,” he grumbled, pushing his beer away from himself, “til she went and fucked Arvin Russell behind my back…found that little shit balls deep in her one day when I came home, right in my bedroom.”

“And you chased him into the woods with your shotgun…”

“You know…we were having a good night, Leah,” he muttered.  He sucked on his cheeks and pushed his plate away from himself, “you know…I don’t think I’m that hungry.  Think I’m gonna go on to bed now…”

“Lee…”

He stood from his spot and started out of the room, “Might pick up a shift or two this weekend, so uh…if you don’t see me much I-“

“I’m at the dollhouse of my own free will…I could have left at any time!”

Lee stopped speaking and turned, at the young woman’s admission, “What did you just say?”

“I-I don’t have to be bought out,” she frowned, shaking her head, “I used to be the assistant for Steve and Bucky before I-before I became one of their girls…”

“Why in the hell-“

“Because I was invisible,” she said quickly, explaining to the man that she’d quickly fallen for that she wasn’t what he thought, “I’m not some abused, sex-traffic victim with no way out, or someone who was a runaway or an ex-junkie they got clean…I just was invisible.  And when they offered me a life where I would feel wanted, I jumped for it…Lee, if I wanted to leave, I could.  I don’t need you to buy me out.”

Lee stared at her in disbelief.

“I just want you to want me, Lee,” she admitted slowly, “b-because I’m completely and utterly in love with you.”

“Gonna pump you full of me,” Lee promised as his rhythm faltered, “gonna give you that Bodecker baby juice!”

“Give it all to me, Lee!”

“Gonna keep you nice and full forever sweet pea!” he growled, his speed picking up as he continued at an unstable yet punishing pace.

“Cum in me, Lee!”

“Gonna make you a nice, pregnant little housewife!” he promised.  His hand fell away from her waist and tangled in her hair, pulling it back until his lips were right next to her ear, “gonna domesticate that pretty little pussy and fill her with so many babies!”

Lee groaned when he felt her core clench around him at the dirty words.

“You like that?” he growled, “you like the thought of me fucking a baby right into that pussy?  Or you just like the thought of me making you my pretty little housewife, waitin’ at home just like you were tonight…bending you over the counters and having you like this?  Having that pretty pussy wrapped around my cock?”

“Lee!” she wailed, her walls convulsing around the sheriff’s cock as she reached her end.  Her nails tried to dig into the cheap counter, but when they couldn’t, her hands flailed, and she fell flat against the countertops.  Lee came, his load coating her walls and making her stomach feel warm and light.  She started drooling against the cool countertop as her core spasmed around him, “oh god, Lee…oh…L-Lee Bodecker.”

“That’s right, sweet pea,” Lee cooed, bending over his girlfriend’s frame as his cock spasmed with her core.  He pressed a series of gentle kisses along her shoulders while he came down and his breathing evened out, “you take all daddy can give you…”

“All of it!” she whimpered softly, her throat already hoarse from the moaning. 

Lee was gentle when he pulled out of her, her thighs shaking with such an intensity that Lee worried she wouldn’t be able to hold herself up.  But when Lee took a step back and she did, he took a few steps towards his jacket.

“L-Lee?” she asked softly, making very little attempt to look over her shoulder to her boyfriend, “Wh-where are you going?”

He returned a few seconds later, placing an opened blue velvet box in front of her face. 

Her eyes watered as she looked at the simple engagement ring.  Lee’s warmth wrapped around her once more as he helped her into a standing position, and then sat her on the cool countertop. 

She shivered, and she wasn’t sure if it was from the cool laminate, or the fact that Lee had picked up the box and was holding it between them.  A few small tears made their way down her cheeks as she waited for him to speak.

“So what do you say, sweet pea?” he asked gently, “ready to become a domesticated woman?”

“L-Lee…what is this?”

“Went out and bought it the day after I saw you,” he admitted, a blush coating his cheeks, “I love ya sweet pea…always have.”

[abarbaricyalp]

Hi! Not sure how it works, but for the Whumptober event: #15 for SamBucky?

Oh it is so embarrassing to be answering this so late. I have literally been working on it (off and on) since October. It never strayed from the top of my WIP pile. I just...gestures vaguely Thank you so much for sending in a prompt and I'm so sorry to have taken so long. I do love a good "Leave me alone, I'm fine" whump. I went with "Makeshift bandages" but I'm sure you can find "suppressed suffering" and "I'm fine" if you squint.

Putting Bandages Where Stitches Should Be

CW: Injury, violence, blood, etc

Read on AO3

Steve was right again. Sam hated it when Steve was right. It was making an indisputably bad day even worse.

"Don't go out today," Steve had said, all puppy-dogged eyes that morning. "I've got a bad feeling."

Him and his bad feelings. He called it a soldier's intuition and Sam called it a soldier's paranoia. But, dammit, he was usually right. That couldn’t be a byproduct of the serum, could it?

But it was a beautiful fall day and they needed groceries something fierce, so Sam had rolled his eyes and called him paranoid and headed out.

It had been fine for several hours, Sam wanted it noted. Just a normal day of errands. Hell, no one had even recognized him. He even tried a new coffee drink.

With a hysterical kind of laugh, Sam realized he hadn’t even made it to the grocery store yet. Probably a good thing since the car was now languishing in a parking lot somewhere and it was only going to get warmer as the day went on. What time was it, he wondered. Had Steve realized something was wrong yet? That paranoid intuition would be real handy right about then.

Sam leaned back against the dingy wall and tried not to think about how badly he was sweating against it. It was going to start mildewing. He still couldn’t figure out where these guys came from. The parking lot had been almost completely empty. There’d been no one else near him. One second, he was loading up a bag of new blankets into the back of the car, and the next someone was hitting him upside the head and dragging him away.

He knew they had to be trained at least a little. They were quiet and fierce. Nothing that Sam couldn’t normally hand, but there had been no fighting through the early wound to his head. Actually, it was still pulsing, each heartbeat a new throb of bruise-ache against his skull. The longer he sat here, the further the ache traveled, reaching for his temples, his ears, his eyes.

He closed his eyes, as if that would stave off anything at all, and listened to the ambient noise of whatever not-so-safe house he was being held in. He’d seen neither hide nor hair of his attackers since they’d thrown him into the small room. He assumed it was an apartment and this was some bedroom or office. It was clean, the carpet was almost soft. There were worse places, he thought. And with it being carpet, maybe they weren’t looking to make him bleed. That’d be nice.

He knew other people were around. He could hear them pacing around the other side of the door. His head hurt too much to concentrate on what they were saying. They were speaking German, which he didn’t speak, but it gave him a good feel that this was probably Hydra. It made the apartment even more confusing. What would Hydra want with Sam that involved just keeping him thrown in an empty office?

There was a cacophony outside then, snarling and the sounds of blows landing on bodies, bodies falling to the floor.

“Ich habe es dir gesagt!” he heard someone shout. “Er ist der Winter Soldier!”

Someone was shitting Sam. Instantly, all of the minor irritation of the day flooded over the actual concern of having been kidnapped by neo-Nazi assholes. If he’d said ‘this day can’t get worse’ this is the exact outcome that would have made it worse. He’d take bleeding over this.

There was more fighting and then the door was wrenched open and a very bloodied and bruised Winter Soldier was kicked into the room, landing hard on his face and wrist beside Sam.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Sam said, just to get it out there.

Barnes turned over onto his back, keeping his hurt wrist against his chest. He looked up at Sam, scowled through the blood on his face, managed to glare while both eyes were almost swelled shut. “I ain’t thrilled to see you neither, birdbrain,” he coughed. He turned back onto his side to spit out a glob of blood that landed on the knee of Sam’s jeans.

“Asshole,” Sam snapped and tried to clean it off, even though it was already a lost battle. “I take it you fought back,” Sam guessed.

“I take it you did not,” Bucky shot back and it felt more like an insult than an actual insult would have.

Sam scowled at him. It had been months since they’d seen each other. Sam couldn’t even say what city or even country it was that he’d caught up to Barnes in. It hadn’t been a long meeting. More or less just enough time for them to grapple and exchange a few threats before Barnes shook Sam’s tail again. At first, Sam took it as a personal failing that he kept losing Barnes. He was too ashamed to admit to Steve that he’d caught up with the reanimated best friend but let him slip away. Then, as time went on and Sam caught him more often, he placed all of the blame fully on Barnes. There were times, he knew, when Barnes let him catch up. These happened only often enough to keep Sam in the cat-and-mouse game. There were times, he also knew, when Barnes fully didn’t expect Sam to have found him. Two months ago was one of those times. Barnes had seemed healthy and adjusted. He had his own place and there was fresh bread on the table. Small miracles.

That did not explain why Barnes was in New York or anywhere near it in order to get the shit beat out of him by Hydra goons and dragged into whatever this was.

Barnes shoved himself up by the elbows and spit more blood out. So much for keeping the carpet clean. “So what the fuck did you do to land us here?”

“This is not an ‘us’ situation,” Sam objected with a snort. “What did you do to land you  here?”

“Fuck all,” Barnes answered. He leaned against the wall next to Sam, tilted his head back to avoid gushing more blood from his nose. Sam had seen him hurt before, but he’d never been around for the fall out like this. He was like some stray dog, sleeping off the worst of it and trying to lick clean all of the rest. “You told me it was an emergency.”

Sam looked away from a smear of blood on Bucky’s neck to frown at him directly. “I did not reach out to you. And what kind of emergency could possibly make you come all the way back to America?”

Bucky’s head lolled over to him. A muscle worked in his jaw and down his neck as those obnoxious eyes scanned over Sam’s face. “You said Steve was hurt. Bad.”

“I didn’t. He’s not. That’s all it would’ve taken to get you back here?” he asked, just a little offended that he’d been traipsing around the world and digging huge chunks into his sleep deficit when there was a magic code to bring Bucky back on his own. And all it would take was Steve landing himself in a hospital again.

Bucky half waved him off, turned his head away again. “Someone must’ve really wanted me here.”

“I cannot fathom why.”

They sat in stony silence for too long. Sam much preferred being alone, he decided. At least then silence was just silence and not this crackling energy between them. Barnes broke the silence by coughing wetly again and spitting out more blood and tissue.

“Christ alive,” Sam sighed. “What’s going on with you?” He reached out without any fanfare to hold Bucky’s face and examine the injuries there. There’d been no time for any of them to heal, not that Sam would’ve been able to tell through the blood. “Hold still,” he ordered and reached for the hidden knife in Bucky’s bootheel that he knew was there.

“How?” Bucky asked. Sam was surprised to only find curiosity in his voice and not anger.

“I’ve seen you take it out before. Just had to hope it wasn’t something Hydra taught you and knew to look for.”

“Nah, that one’s all Brooklyn,” he said with a tired sigh. “Well, kind of. I adapted it.”

Sam rolled his eyes. The old-timey Brooklyn posturing was the same whether it was Steve or Barnes, evidently. He cut the sleeve off of his shirt and used it to begin cleaning away some of the blood on Bucky’s face. It was slow going without water, but Barnes was remarkably quiet during the entire thing. He let Sam work without fussing. His eyes remained focused and sharp, bright even in the dim room. He was more enjoyable when his eyes looked like this, instead of the dead shark stare he got in the middle of a fight.

Not that Sam was going to admit Barnes was ever enjoyable to be around.

“What do you think this is about?” Sam asked to distract Bucky from the fact that he was about to set his nose back.

“Clearly they wanted the both of us–Fuck you, Wilson!” Bucky shouted and shoved Sam hard enough that Sam actually rocked back and lost his balance, sprawled across the floor. Sam subtly rolled out his shoulder–it was definitely going to bruise–before he sat up again and glared.

“I didn’t think you wanted the rugged crooked nose look,” he defended without any real belief in the words. He was actually kind of worried about what the serum would do to a persistently crooked nose.

Bucky rubbed from the bridge of his nose into the soft, squishy bruises around his eyes. Already, impossibly, the color was draining from the outer edges of the bruises. Sam hated him for it.

“Clearly they wanted both of us,” Sam agreed and rolled his shoulder again. “But…they don’t seem keen on cutting off fingers.”

“Not yet,” Bucky grunted.

“They gotta know we won’t talk. You won’t talk. Don’t you think it’s kind of playing with fire to bring you here? I mean, you’re not even drugged.”

As if his words were a reminder, Bucky eyed the door. Sam knew he could take it out of the wall if he wanted too. He also knew that whoever these assholes were, they had enough manpower to bring Bucky in bloodied and rough. He figured Bucky was doing similar calculations in his mind.

“Why us?” Sam prompted again.

“Steve,” Bucky grunted. He leaned back against the wall and drew his knees up to his chest. “They wouldn’t bother to hunt me down, wouldn’t take that risk, for anything else. They probably think if they have both of us, they have twice as much leverage.”

“Maybe they couldn’t decide which one he was more likely to come for,” Sam suggested, only a little sarcastically.

“That man would rend the Earth apart for you,” Bucky said as simply as he would talk about the weather.

Sam tried not to blow over again. Bucky believed that. He wasn’t just saying it to be a shit. “Have you been watching us?” he asked, instead of asking for a thesis on why Bucky thought that so assuredly.

Bucky cut him a look. It was dampened by the bruises. “I had to keep making sure neither of you had gotten yourselves killed yet.”

“Yeah, you’re a real shining example of how to do it right. Show back up on American soil for two minutes and instantly get captured,” Sam snarked back. He needed to put some distance between his current situation and the fact that Barnes thought Steve would ‘rend the Earth apart’ for him. “Come here and let me look at that wrist.”

“Is this how you were with the pararescue?”

“Good at my job? Yes.”

“So damn pushy,” Barnes corrected. But he shifted how he was sitting so they were almost knee to knee and then held out his arm. “It’ll heal on its own,” he said. “I’ve had worse.”

“Or I can just wrap it and you don’t have to worry about rebreaking it later. Do you know how many carpal bones there are? You keep fucking them up, or the tendons attached to them, and you’re gonna be in a world of hurt for longer than you need to be.”

“There are eight,” Barnes said, just to be difficult. “Should I name them all for you too?”

Sam took half a second to glare at him before returning his attention to Bucky’s wrist. Barnes was long fingered, which was something Sam knew logically. He’d seen him handle weaponry. Seen him fight. Still, it was different when those fingers were laid out across his forearm, a little swollen, a little curled in, but still so damn pretty. Sam had never met someone with pretty hands before. He’d expected Bucky’s hands to be gnarled and scarred from a lifetime of fighting and training and abuse, but they just weren’t. The serum helped, he assumed. He wondered what they had looked like on the man from all of Steve’s stories. Had they looked like this, even working on the docks all day and boxing his way through the nights?

Everyone Sam knew who’d ever worked around boats had hands that were rope-burned and muscled and suntanned. He’d half expected Bucky’s to be similar. Instead, his hands were…not soft, exactly. But clean and smooth.

He pushed his thumbs into Bucky’s wrist, dragging them down his metacarpals. Barnes hissed in a breath and his eyes darted away from Sam’s ministrations. Sam returned his thumbs to Bucky’s wrist and then pushed down into his ulna and radius. He didn’t react as strongly to that, so Sam focused on the carpals that were up high in his wrist. (Down low? He could never remember how to orient the body)

“Where does it hurt?” he asked, probing for the misaligned bone but coming up empty.

“Everywhere,” Barnes ground out. “It fucking hurts everywhere.” But he didn’t yank his hand away, so Sam kept at it. Finally, finally, something snapped as Sam pushed his thumbs down into Bucky’s wrist for an umpteenth time. Bucky swore colorfully and snatched his hand back at that, rubbing his own fingers over his wrist while new curses came out.

“Let me wrap it a little,” Sam offered, holding his hand out again.

Bucky looked at him like he bit. Sam had read all the notes about the Winter Soldier. How medical treatment was administered. When the Soldier cooperated and when he didn’t. The Soldier could handle inordinate amounts of pain. Bucky Barnes, it seemed, did not feel like keeping the habit alive.

“It’ll be fine without a sling,” he insisted. “It already feels better.” And then, from between his teeth, he added, “Thank you.”

He was still bloodied, hair matted all to hell. He looked like some kind of wild man. Actually, he kind of looked how Sam expected to find him at the beginning of the Great Barnes Search and Rescue Mission. He came forward again, beginning to wipe at Bucky’s face one more time.

“You’re disgusting to look at,” he defended when Bucky tacked a lazy glare on him.

“Just admit you wanna touch my face, Wilson,” Bucky shot back.

Sam accidentally reopened a wound, so he tore off a piece from his demolished sleeve and stuck it to the gash like toilet paper on a shaving knick. 

“You’re so dumb,” Bucky sighed as his eyes closed. Then he pitched right into Sam, almost completely boneless.

“Barnes?” Sam barked as he fought to get his hands under Bucky’s body enough to lift him again. “Do not fucking pass out,” he ordered, possibly irrelevantly. “Barnes,” he snapped again, and gently smacked the better, less bruised side of his face. “You didn’t say you were concussed. You didn’t say you had more injuries.” He yanked up Bucky’s shirt, prodding his belly and ribs for any signs of internal bleeding, but came up short. Just a bunch of outside bruises, maybe a crack in his ribs. He wrenched open Bucky’s mouth to check for signs he’d been coughing blood, but didn’t find any of that either. He was just about to shove his fingers down Bucky’s throat to look for a blood clot when his eyes fluttered open again.

He took a few seconds to recognize his surroundings–distressingly still and relaxed about waking up in a room he didn’t know–and then he reached up for Sam’s wrist and pulled his hand away. “Why were your fingers in my mouth?”

Sam rolled his eyes while he waited for his heart to stop thundering in his chest. Just his luck. Find the prodigal best friend and watch him die before Sam could drop him at Steve’s feet. “You basically begged for me to,” he scoffed. “Sam, please, you’ve just got such good fingers. I need them in my mouth.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, then grimaced. So it probably was some kind of concussion. At least Sam didn’t have to worry about blood clots. “What’s happened? How long was I out?”

“Nothing. A few seconds,” Sam answered. “Don’t do that again.”

Bucky saluted from halfway up his chest. “Whatever, man. I’m just tired.”

“I don’t care what you are. Keep your eyes open.”

The door opened then and a tall man, dressed like a movie villain with tall dark boots and a long dark coat, walked into the room. He had Sam’s phone in his hand and it was trilling with a waiting phone call.

“You don’t keep a passcode on your phone?” Bucky asked drily.

“Of course I fucking do,” Sam snapped back.

“Gentlemen, please,” the man said with a stifled German accent.

Steve picked up just before it would’ve gone to voicemail. “Sam, hey, I was about to send out a rescue party.”

Bucky looked at Sam pointedly, which Sam ignored. It was just a joke. He hadn’t been gone that long. Probably.

“Mr. Rogers,” the man in the coat greeted. Sam could practically feel Steve go still on the other side of the call. “I seem to have acquired not only your friend’s cell phone, but him as a whole person. And he came along with another friend.”

He snapped a photo of Sam and Bucky. Bucky barely flinched at the flash, but a few seconds later, he was still blinking and shaking his head, like the light was still in his eyes. The bad guy du jour tapped around on Sam’s phone and Sam heard it buzz in on Steve’s end.

Steve was quiet, contemplative for a few seconds. Then he said, “You have Sam and Bucky?”

“Yeeesss,” the man agreed with a lilting exaggeration. “I didn’t know they came as a pair.”

“They don’t, usually. But now that you do have both, good luck.”

And then the little shit hung up the phone. Even the asshole German guy stared at the screen in disbelief. Another man appeared in the hallway. He cast a nervous glance towards Bucky, whose eyes were shut again, before redirecting his attention to his boss.

“What’d he say?” the man asked. He was fully American. Jersey, maybe.

“Bad connection,” the other man ground out before stalking down the hallway. The second man hurried to keep up. The door remained open.

Sam nudged Bucky’s ribs. “Stop it,” Bucky grumbled without opening his eyes.

“If you pass out again, I’m not waking you up this time,” Sam lied. “What did Steve mean?”

“I think he meant we can handle ourselves. I just need to…” He grimaced. “I just need to rest my eyes for a little while. Then I’ll be good to go.”

“The door is open now,” Sam pointed out under his breath. “Come on, you don’t have some kind of super hearing where you can fight with your eyes closed?”

Bucky raised one eyebrow in consideration. It stressed a gash across his brow. “I can fight in the dark,” he agreed.

“I’ll keep anyone from hitting you in the face again,” Sam promised. “But we have to go now.”

Bucky squeezed his eyes open and leveled a calculating glare on Sam before he nodded. “Alright,” he agreed, which felt like a miracle in and of itself. He pushed himself to his feet and then leaned back against the wall as he pressed the heels of his hands over his browbones.

Sam stood as well and put a hand to Bucky’s elbow. In all their brief encounters, they didn’t get much time to touch each other, unless they were brawling over nothing but ego. Bucky was actually…kind of soft beneath Sam’s fingers. And warm. He was certainly not the sharp edged, battle ready soldier Sam kept finding. He felt real and alive. And he was still trying to blink his eyes open.

Sam curled his fingers tighter around Bucky’s elbow and pulled him out into the hallway. He scanned the unit for any sunlight that he could use to orient himself. Without speaking, Bucky pulled him to the stairs. They made it most of the way down before the wall of the stairs gave way to an open railing and they were spotted by more assholes in black.

“Y’all coordinate these outfits beforehand or y’all keep changes of clothes here?” Sam asked before he threw Bucky into the crowd of assholes.

He tried to keep his promise about keeping punches away from Bucky’s face. They landed damn near everywhere else. Sam had underestimated how many people there were–numbers growing from three to five to nine until he lost count. Bucky was holding his own, putting men down two-to-one to Sam, climbing to three-to-one. Sam tried to catch glimpses of the rest of the house. There was a wall of windows, covered in curtains and pasted over with film or paper. The rest of the room looked like a dining room or something. Behind them was nothing but more room and dark walls.

“Find the front door,” Bucky snapped when Sam’s eyes went to the window again. He smashed someone’s head down on the banister with enough force to crack either bone or wood. “I’m not jumping through glass.”

Sam rolled his eyes and then ducked away from a Goddamn hammer. He wrestled it away from the man wielding it, then threw it at the window to shatter it open. “There you go. No need to jump,” he said breathlessly. He turned just in time to catch someone around the waist and throw them into the wall before they could get the drop on Bucky, who was, if Sam had to guess, wrenching someone’s arm out of socket. 

Bucky got a gun from somewhere and made fast work of everyone else in the room, but not before the guy who Sam had thrown into the wall smashed Sam’s head into it in retaliation. On the opposite side from the open wound Sam was already contending with, of course. Why shouldn’t the bruises match?

“You’re bleeding,” Bucky said, cutting through the ringing, violent silence that had fallen over the house. He wiped away the blood that was pouring over his own eye, completely oblivious to the irony. “Jesus, you’re bleeding a lot. What happened?”

Sam stared at him a little dumbfounded. “Are you serious right now?”

Bucky tsked away his bitching, yanking Sam over to examine his forehead like a collector looking at diamonds. “Gross,” he decided and then ripped the collar of his shirt off like it was nothing, along with a chunk of the bottom of it. “Don’t move,” he ordered as he folded the fabric over on itself a few times and then pressed it tightly over the wound on Sam’s head. He used the collar of his shirt to tie the fabric down.

His fingers were absurdly gentle as he worked. The warmth that had radiated off of his body was gone now, fingers cool against the bruise-hot burn of Sam’s skin. Sam didn’t realize his eyes had fallen shut until Bucky gently touched his other cheek and tilted his face down just a little. “Don’t die,” he said.

Sam didn’t have the energy to glare at him. “Pot, kettle,” he managed to say. He pulled Bucky’s hand away from his face and looked around the room. “You know this wasn’t everyone.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got the rest handled,” he promised and held up a grenade.

“What the fuck?” Sam asked, staring at it like he’d never seen one before. “Why did someone just have that on them?”

Bucky shrugged. “It’s not even a good one,” he said disappointedly. “There probably isn’t anyone else here, but at least no one will be able to come back,” he offered. He crossed to the window and removed the remaining glass with his metal arm, still looking at it like it was personally offending him.

They helped each other through the window with the unspoken agreement not to mention it again after this. Both of them had enough blood dripping in their eyes and rattled brains to warrant it just this once.

“You handled yourself pretty well without your wings,” Bucky offered as they walked away from the house. “How big do you suppose that window is?”

“I was trained before I had the wings,” Sam pointed out sharply. He glanced over his shoulder to reassess the broken window. “Four by six, you think?”

“Sure, the whole thing, but what about the cleared part?”

“Two by three? Four?”

Bucky regarded the grenade in his hand and the distance between them and the house. “I can do that,” he decided.

They walked a few meters more before he turned fully, pulled the pin of the grenade, and then threw it with an accuracy that would have more Cy Young winners seething with jealousy. Not to mention the distance and force of it too.

A few seconds later, the house exploded. Bucky was right. It wasn’t a very good grenade.

Sam looked around the wooded area they were in, a marginal field around them before the trees started up again, which was probably best because of the fire now. “So, where the fuck are we?” he asked.

“And how the fuck do we get home?” Bucky finished with a ridiculous perturbed set to his lips.

“Ah, shit, that asshole still had my phone,” Sam groaned when the patting of his pants came up empty. He knew Steve’s number by heart, but he didn’t imagine Bucky had his phone on him either.

“We could go see where he went,” Bucky suggested. “That explosion was not cool enough to take out any of the cars.”

“Neither one of us is in any condition to go track someone down.”

“Could be fun.”

Bucky was already looking at him when Sam glanced over to see if he was being serious. “You wanna try to live out the last third of an action movie?”

“Second third at best,” Bucky scoffed with a wave. “Lots more adventures ahead of us. The Winter Soldier and the Falcon has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“It would absolutely be The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. Captain Good-Looking and  The Grouchy Soldier. Angel and Asshole.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky interrupted, reaching for Sam’s hand. For just a second, Sam’s heart may have stuttered in his chest. But all Bucky was doing was unwinding the bandage Sam had put around his wrist earlier so that he could patch up the sluggishly bleeding gashes on Sam’s knuckles now. “Come on, Pilot Hyperbole. We’re losing daylight.”

“The Falcon and the Hound Dog,” Sam added, following Bucky as they skirted the smoldering building to find a car.

They drove away into an easing sunset.

If you enjoyed this, please consider leaving a kudos and a note on AO3

[slutforsfender]

Photo Booth - Sam Fender

Sam Fender x Reader

You and your boyfriend, Sam, had ventured out into Newcastle centre for the day. You had both agreed to go for lunch and some shopping as a quality time activity.

Sam was walking with his arm around your shoulder which kept dropping due to distractions so you eventually moved his arm and settled on holding hands. You admired his recent look so much. His little mullet, beard, and style he had going on. You often found yourself just playing with his little curls.

"Aye babe this shop looks right up your street" Sam spoke, pointing out a shop near you which was your kind of vibe.

"Sam I thought we were going for lunch first," You say as he pulls you towards the entrance.

"I just want to spoil you darling" He speaks causing you to roll your eyes.

You both roamed through the shop, you picking up a few bits that you liked the look of including earrings, a necklace, a few rings, and other little bits while Sam pointed at everything he thought you would like. If he saw anything that was a moon, star, rose, heart, or skull he pointed it out to you causing you to laugh a little each time.

You made your way to the till at the sound of your stomachs rumbling. You placed the things on the counter and made small talk with the worker as you reached for your card but of course, Sam had beat you to it, and not without a smirk on his face.

"Not a chance of that today love," He said, kissing your head due to the height difference.

"Thank you pet but you didn't have to," You said as you picked up the bag of your things and linked hands again.

You made your way toward the door as the worker spoke.

"You two are so cute, don't let each other go," She said, making you and Sam just blush and nod.

For some reason that hit a special place in your heart as you smiled lovingly at Sam.

You made your way towards one of your favourite cafes as you spoke about little things that you liked to talk about.

"Go find a seat and I'll order the usual darling," He says, guiding you with his hand on your back towards the seating area.

Both you and Sam have a lovely meal together while talking over things like your careers, music, and anything you could think of.

You and Sam were now walking around the shops and so far Sam had stopped you from using your card every time but you knew better than to argue it.

You spent the majority of your time together in music shops looking at albums while holding hands and sharing kisses. You both picked up a few albums including one which had one of your and Sam's songs on, Combat Rock by The Clash.

Sam had also treated to a few clothes you had seen including a dress which in his words "Aye I don't see this being on very long my love" which was the only reason you brought it.

That was one of your favourite things about him, his ability to always make you feel good and confident in any situation.

You were now walking reminiscing over the little silly things you had done today as you noticed a shop next to you had a photo booth. You didn't even think about it before pulling Sam in and that's how you ended up here.

You were sat taking multiple photos in an array of different poses. Ones of you kissing, pulling faces, smiling, laughing, and anything else possible.

"Come 'ere" Sam spoke before lifting you onto his lap in front of the camera.

You didn't say anything, you just placed your hands around his neck and placed a light kiss on his lap. However, he didn't want the kiss to end as he put his hand on your neck and brought you back to him. You both pulled away, grinning wide at each other. All of which was captured by the little camera in the booth.

"I'm never letting you go y/n" He whispered, tucking a strand of ear away.

"You better not" You respond, admiring his blue eyes.

"I adore you" He whispered again before kissing you once more which such love that melted you.

[idolatrybarbie]

the world tipped on its side

chapter three - bad miracle

series masterlist | read on ao3

pairing: francisco "frankie" morales x f!reader

word count: 6.4k

rating & summary: mature | you get a phone call. frankie leads you to pensacola beach, florida.

warnings: ANGST, discussions of health and disability, discussions of surgery, details of physical injury, (the briefest) mentions of suicidal ideation, grief/mourning, reader has a disability, reusing a bit of dialogue from a glee (yes) fic i wrote in high school.

notes: OKAY so i know i am like...really making you work for the porn here. sorry. take this gut-wrenching bullshit instead ??? also thank youuu gin for cheering me on in the DMs and for getting more eyes on my little fic, you are truly the bestest.

You don’t see Frankie for a few days, things operating as usual on set as the last week of June slips by. His number is in your phone now, but you don’t call. Sam goes back to Texas over the weekend and Mia returns to the top of your frequent calls list. After that evening with Frankie things feel different between you and your best friend. You want to ask her all the things she’s keeping from you—or more, all the things she might know you keep from her. White lies and omissions that have spiralled out of your control.

You didn’t realize that lying had become so easy, almost like second nature. How hard it is now to start being honest without the fragile, springy web coming apart and Mia seeing all of it. All of you.

That night, after driving back to set from 7-Eleven and saying your goodbyes to Frankie in the dark parking lot, you went home and stared at yourself for a while in the bathroom mirror. Maybe if you squinted hard enough, you could see what he was always observing within you. All you could see, half naked in front of the glass, were all the signs of medical interference on your body. The spindly scars all along the column of your neck and top of your spine, disappearing into the hair at the base of your skull that was slightly shorter than the rest. The permanent shadow of a line under your chest, a faint reminder of where the vested neck brace sat along your ribs.

You’re sitting in your car, scarfing down apple slices from the craft services table when your phone buzzes in your lap. The number isn’t listed in your contacts, but you recognize it immediately.

“Dr. Lopez,” you say as you answer the call.

“It’s just me honey.” Not Dr. Lopez but her sweet older receptionist, Dawn. “The good doctor wanted me to remind you about your appointment this week. July third at eleven o’clock. You can still make it I assume,” she says.

Shit. Your standing quarterly appointment that you’d already had to push back twice.

“Right, yeah. Should be fine.” You nod like she can see you now.

“Perfect. We’ll see you then. Have a good morning,” Dawn says.

“You too. Bye,” you say. Dawn hangs up first, surely eager to get to that next reminder phone call.

You’ve got shit to shoot that day, but an explanation and your pointed absence should be enough to get those scenes pushed back until after the holiday. Ashton will surely remark about bleeding money for half a day’s work, and you’re already rolling your eyes at the anticipated argument. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Your health comes first, always.

Someone knocks at the window on the other side of your car. Mia waves at you, a stash of fruit bundled in her right arm as she uses her left to pull the door open.

“Hey,” she says with a huff, taking a seat next to you.

“Did you raid crafty?”

“Are you going to eat it?” she asks.

You answer by snatching the banana from the crook of her elbow, peeling it upside down before you take a bite.

“How are you holding up?” you ask.

It’s always tough for Mia in the days after Sam goes back home. That’s when she’s the one calling you at midnight, needing someone to talk to about nothing and everything. How much of a prick Ashton is, this new yoga routine she’s started that really unlocks one of her chakras, the guy with the sundial collection two doors down from you back in school.

“I’m doin’ alright,” she says. Mia slowly tears at a cutie mandarin, keeping the peel in her lap. “I think about the fact that we only have to do this for so much longer and feel a little bit better.”

“That’s good,” you say.

One thing about Mia is that she loves with her whole heart. Many of her past relationships ended because she wanted more, what her partners considered too much. She’d explained it once, tearful as she used the flat sheet of her twin bed to wipe at her eyes.

“I can’t just stop falling in love with someone. It turns into this free fall. I start to pour myself into this thing, like some sort of void. And it’ll never be full, but that’s okay because there’s supposed to be someone on the other end. Receiving all of that and returning it back to me.”

All you could do then, all you can still do now is nod silently. You have never felt that way about someone. Wasting away on love that will never be reciprocated sounds horrible and exhausting. Watching Mia lose herself in relationships to guys who meant zilch in comparison to the bright and shining star that she is taught you better. If she was decimated by a love like that, you would be absolutely destroyed.

“How’s your banana?”

“Starchy,” you say, mouth still full. You swallow. “Got that doctor’s appointment this week.”

“Oh? Is everything okay?” You hate that look in her eyes, oozing a concern so deep and immediate that it almost winds you.

“All fine. It’s just that quarterly thing. She wants to make sure I’m not dying,” you explain.

Mia hums, eyes on the citrus in her hand. She stops peeling, worry still intense all over. “You would tell me, right? If something was wrong?”

“Of course,” you say, a lie that rolls smoothly off your tongue. Internally you’re already kicking yourself. At the last specialist appointment, the doctor had taken x-rays of your skull, neck, and back. This was the appointment to discuss whatever they’d found with Dr. Lopez, and set out on the next steps in your care plan, if any at all. The fact that Dr. Lopez was so insistent about meeting each time you have had to reschedule tells you it isn’t nothing.

“I hope it goes well,” Mia says.

She pops a sliver of the fruit into her mouth. You adjust your seat back, laying diagonal to the gas pedal to rest your back. For a moment, the sun and silence drifts peacefully between you.

-

The furniture in the practice’s lobby is twenty years out of style; the fabric chairs all dark wood and fern green cushions as they form a double row in the middle of the carpeted room. Each piece of art that covers the wall space is dull and generic. A winter landscape here, mushy brown leaves there. It smells—like old people, like tiny sticky fingers, like ammonia.

When the nurse finally leads you to the last exam room on the left, your heart speeds up. This is where she butters you up, says all these sweet things before Dr. Lopez comes in and tells you that you’re going to be in a wheelchair in the next ten years. But all she does is watch you take a seat on the crinkly, sheer paper on the leather examination bed and ask if you need anything else.

“I’m fine,” you say. Then she’s gone.

You sit and wait for maybe five minutes, mind oscillating between the worst and the reality. Reality is, you’re here. Clearly this is about something, something the good doctor cannot tell you over the phone. Realistically, though, if you were going to die she would have told you by now.

When Dr. Lopez enters, your heart and mind pause simultaneously.

“Relax,” is the first thing she says, and you feel your tense muscles rest to unstrain themselves.

Why that worked, you’re unsure. Regardless, you say, “Thank you. Hi.”

“Hi,” Dr. Lopez returns. “I guess I don’t have to ask how you’ve been feeling.”

“Work’s been kind of getting to me lately,” you say. Not entirely a lie. Everything has been getting to you.

“How’s your limb function?”

“Fine. I haven’t had anything go numb on me in a couple of months.”

Dr. Lopez nods, taking a seat at the empty cushioned chair so that she’s at your level. “That’s good. Would you say you’re doing better?”

You have the urge to say maybe, to give her (and by extension, yourself) a little bit of hope amidst all of this. But you tell her the truth and say no. “That new mattress doesn’t really do anything. My neck is still stiff, and the nerve pain is almost constant.”

“You’re taking all of your medication?”

“And then some. I have an Advil delivery on auto-renewal,” you say.

“There’s an opportunity,” Dr. Lopez says.

“An opportunity,” you repeat.

“For you, for your spine. Surgery,” she continues.

“Okay,” you say slowly.

“I have to warn you that there are no guarantees, and the procedure is highly invasive. Moreso than your last.”

After your first and only surgery following the accident, you woke up feeling unlike yourself. Like someone had sliced you open and stolen a piece of your being while you were asleep on the table. Your skin didn’t feel like your own anymore. Your body was telling you something was still very wrong, as you would learn through the healing process. The pain stayed behind, even as the stitches closed and the skin at your neck mended itself into scars.

This was more invasive. Immediately, you are thoroughly uninterested, shaking your head.

“No. I can’t do that again,” you say.

She sighs. “I understand. They’ve performed the surgery a few times before to some highly successful results, which is why I brought it to your attention.” She’s shuffling through the manila file folder with all of your medical records now.

“Some,” you say.

“Pardon?”

“You said some. What about the others?”

Dr. Lopez purses her lips. She was probably hoping you wouldn’t ask. “Some other patients have seen little to no improvement to their condition or in their pain. And a small minority have experienced worsened pain and further limiting of their mobility.”

You could almost laugh. “And you want me to jump at this golden opportunity to disable myself more?” It’s rude, and you hate the way it comes out of your mouth as soon as you’ve said it.

Dr. Lopez eats the gut punch, shuffling on. “I know there’s a risk, but there’s always a risk. Without further surgery, your condition will worsen over time regardless. I thought this could be an opportunity. But if—”

“Can I think about it?” you ask. “I need to finish this project I’m working on before I can make any decisions. Could you give me the month?”

“Yes, I can do that,” Dr. Lopez says. She says your name, soft and low. The skin around her eyes crinkles, the only eyes involved in any of your medical experiences that has looked at you like another human being; like another soul. “You need to believe that things will get better or they never will. I understand that this…is not how you imagined your life going. But you have to hold space for something good within yourself. Miracles can occur.”

Now you really do laugh, a small snort out your nose as the right side of your mouth quirks up. “I’m not holding out any hope.”

Hope is a funny thing, though. It lingers, festering somewhere inside you in the hours that follow the appointment. If things go well, this could change your life. There’s that pesky word again—if. The surgery could change your life for the worse, too, bringing effects of the injury that are fifteen years away closer to fifteen months. Had this dilemma been posed to the old you, the better you, it would be a no-brainer. She was a risk-taker, fearless in her endeavours once she got a taste of what life could be like on the other side of chance. Now you hedge your bets. Take the jobs as they come, playing it safe with the projects you’re attached to.

You call Mia when you know production is at lunch, laying on your couch as you try and fail to bask in the peace granted to you by taking an emergency day.

“Hi,” you say as soon as the line picks up.

“Hey! How’d the appointment go?” she asks.

“Alright.” You shrug like she can see you. “Doc had some information for me, just thinking about it.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Mia asks. The bustle of background noise disappears as you hear a door click on her end.

“I’d like to think about anything but,” you say. “What’s going on there?”

“Ashton losing his mind in real time. Before we broke for lunch I was sure he was about to start shouting at people.”

“Great,” you sigh. “Looking forward to it.”

“At least you’ve got the holiday,” Mia says. “This is like your mid-week weekend.”

Right. Independence Day. You already know Mia has plans; she and Sam have been driving to the small, unincorporated town of Juliette for the holiday ever since she followed you down south. Every summer, she asks you to join them, and each time you say no. This year she didn’t bother to ask.

“I’m sure there’s stuff going on in the city,” Mia offers, “or you could go to Florida, hop on some boat for the night. Or follow Frankie.” She laughs as she says it, but the mention of his name has you perking up.

“What?” you ask.

“He’s headed to Florida tonight. Got this air show tomorrow, down at—shit, where was it? Pensacola something. Pensacola Beach.”

“You spoke to him?”

“He stopped by early this morning. Looking for you actually, but Priscilla told him that you’d called out,” Mia says.

“So Florida, huh?” You sit up, pulling your laptop off the coffee table.

“I mean why not?” Mia muses. “Maybe it could be good for you.” Her voice morphs into something softer, less amiable and airy.

“Yeah, maybe,” you say. You wedge the phone between your ear and shoulder, typing at your keyboard.

“But listen, whatever you get up to, text me alright? Even if it’s nothing.” Mia knows you well enough to predict your usual Fourth of July activities: curling up in bed with earplugs and a good DVD, the blinds drawn over your window. “I’ll send you some photos of the fireworks from the river.”

“Sounds good,” you say, half-distracted.

Mia mumbles her goodbye and you hang up, focused on the information passing your screen with every few clicks. In just a couple of minutes, you’ve found the Pensacola Air Show’s website. The when and where details of the event cover the landing page. There's several others, links leading to a detailed history of the show and images from past events that you skip right over. At the bottom of the tab sits exactly what you are looking for, clicking the highlighted link that says Pilots. Organized alphabetically, you find Frankie halfway down the list. What had Mia said? Or follow Frankie… Puppy, meet postman.

The picture used beside his blurb of professional experience is of a Frankie you’ve never seen before. He’s a little younger, clean-shaven in a pressed uniform, the American flag at his left shoulder. This must be his flight school portrait. He looks less weather-worn, all the weight of a life in the military yet to settle heavy over him.

In the following hour, you manage to book a room at some seedy motel in West Pensacola and pack a duffel bag with a day’s worth of clothes. You raid the kitchen, tossing bottles of water and a few granola bars in your bag for the road. Leaving at almost eleven o’clock, you set out for the very edge of Florida’s beaches.

The streets are quiet once again, the community of Cobb County asleep in their beds as you drive, stopping at an intersection. The security lights of the Kroger next to the road bathe you in a harsh white glow, lighting up the shadowy interior of the car. You look down at yourself, seated behind the wheel, ready to drive five hours and some change to go…watch planes circle between the sea and sky.

What are you doing? You aren’t quite sure at the moment. For once, the feeling is invigorating, not hapless.

It’s only when you start passing through Union City on the 403 that you begin to second guess your decision. You stop in East Newnan, the last “big” town for a little while, to use the bathroom. You buy a map and a gas station churro too, hunger getting the best of you; a stunning example of hypocrisy that you can never tell Frankie about. Something tells you he would never let it go.

The roads turn from the dry grey of asphalt to slick black, rain pooled onto the solid surface. A storm must’ve been through here recently, tall crops on either side of the highway swaying with residual winds.

Driving over the Chattahoochee River, you pull into the town of Opelika about twenty minutes later. You park away from the street lights in a Burger King parking lot, waiting for an oncoming bout of exhaustion to either pass or take you to sleep in the front seat. The radio buzzes softly from the car speakers, keeping the beat of your brain as your thoughts drift.

The question still remains: what are you doing, really? Are you so desperate for human connection that you’ll practically stalk the first person who piques your interest?

When you open your eyes again, the sky is light outside your windshield. Stores are still closed in the plaza around you. The car’s analog display tells you it’s barely seven o’clock in the morning.

Back on the road, you watch the world waking up through your windows. Montgomery, Hope Hull, and Letohatchee all pass by before you pull to the side of the road for a stretch. You take a bottle from your bag and chug water sitting on the hood of your car. You take your pills, looking up at the bright blue. Out here, far away from any city, the view is better than you could have imagined.

It’s another three and a half hours before you reach Pensacola, Florida. Eternal beachiness plagues the town, even in the suburbs away from the coast. The Western Inn slouches at the end of the street, sitting just off Mobile Highway with its rough, mint-tinted roof. Checking in at the front desk, a man certainly older than sliced bread hands you a set of jingling keys that unlock a room on the first floor.

The place is nothing special. The toilet is rusted, floors a weepy grey linoleum. The quilt that envelopes the bed is truly garish, dark red lilies and green palm fronds littering the expanse of the fabric. A sad room for your sad journey down to Florida, to see a man you hardly know do what he does best.

You never took a road trip before the accident. There are a lot of things that you never got to do, things that you’d be unable to now: hike across Europe, or drive a race car, or scale the side of the Empire State Building. A road trip seemed so out of the question—where would you go, what could you do—and yet here you are.

At noon, you take a rideshare to the beach. It’s a good thing, too—there’s barely a spot for the driver to idle and let you out of the car, never mind to park.

The sun beats down on you, hot and relentless, the air muggy with warmth. Still, the view of the water is beautiful. Beyond a crowding of luxury beach resorts, the water is as blue and clear as the sky. Waves rush up to the white sand every few moments, the foamy suds receding back into the ocean with its pull. When was the last time you went swimming? You should’ve brought a bathing suit.

Pensacola’s pier stretches out in front of you a thousand feet long. You stay on the shore, taking your shoes in your hands, balling your socks and stuffing them into the left one. The sand is soft on your skin. You dig your toes into its warmth, a small smile gracing your face. It has been so long since you’ve felt something like this.

An announcer farther down the water starts speaking into a microphone, her voice booming across the beach. She introduces the event, all business and no frills, before the sound of her speaking disappears again. The planes are off, moving in the sky before you have time to register what’s happening. Blue and yellow-striped navy planes—the Blue Angels, you remember from the website—jet into your field of view, puffy trails of white exhaust following them wherever they move. A half an hour passes, the blue jets trailing each other, flying upside down, and moving with the skill and synchronicity of an Olympic gymnastics team.

A fleet of five grey planes follow up the first performance, pulling stunts that moreso scare than amaze you. They fly in almost-circles, spinning around each other graciously in the sky before one parts from the group, dipping low. So low, you think the aircraft is about to skate along the water and fly into the Gulf of Mexico. The pilot pulls up just in time, shooting into the air at a thirty degree angle before circling back to join the identical planes.

That’s Frankie, it must be. In truth, you don’t know for sure, but you can feel it. The movements of the plane mimic that of his own, the casual sass of it all, like it’s no big deal. You imagine him in the cockpit, sweating but grinning under his helmet. Suddenly, you’re an expert in analysing the personal swagger of planes.

Another two hours passes in a blistering haze. Eventually, you put your shoes back on and take shelter in a gift shop, the sun too much for your body to handle. You buy lunch—a tall souvenir cup of freshly squeezed lemonade and a hot dog—before finding the only bench in shade left along the sandy strip. The sun eases up as more people filter away from this beach, either back to their cars or further along the sand towards Navarre.

You almost choke on the dregs of your pulpy lemonade when you spot him, Frankie, in line at one of the few other food trucks along the beach. Silently, you weigh your options. Going over and talking to him is fine, probably, but what if it isn’t? What if he thinks you’re a freak for showing up here, on this…public beach. Okay, maybe it’s fine. You can play this off as a funny coincidence.

You are up and walking over before you can think about it any longer, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. He turns, aviators protecting his eyes from the sun. Frankie says your name with an easy grin.

“Funny seeing you here,” he says.

“You too.” You shield your eyes from the sun.

He removes his sunglasses, hooking them in the collar of his t-shirt. “You down here for the show then?”

You hum. “Something like that.”

“Something like that,” he repeats, then nods.

When it’s Frankie’s turn to order, he steps up to the window and asks for waffle fries. “You want anything?”

“Oh no,” you say, shaking your head. “I just had a bite.”

“Gotcha.” He pays, then steps to the side of the line to wait for the food.

“Did you like it?” Frankie asks, cutting in on your thoughts.

“Sorry?”

“The show, d’you like it?” he asks again.

Right. The air show that you drove five hours to, rented a motel room for, bought a very overpriced rideshare to go see. That’s why you’re here.

“Yeah,” you say. “It was pretty cool. I kept half-expecting one of you to crash into the water.”

Frankie’s hand gets a gentle hold on your shoulder as he gives you a friendly pat. It burns at the skin exposed to his warm fingers. “That’s half the excitement,” he says.

When he’s handed a striped cardboard basket of waffle fries, Frankie absolutely douses them in both vinegar and orange seasoning salt. You try not to make a face. Clearly, you’re unsuccessful. The laugh you pull from his chest seems like it rips through him, up his throat and gloriously into the space between you.

Frankie starts to walk and you join him. He asks about the drive; you tell him you got here this morning, coming straight from Atlanta.

“I never realized how beautiful it is, away from everything,” you say.

“You don’t go camping often, I take it,” Frankie says.

You shake your head no, words clogging your throat like a knot once again.

“You should. I know this great spot, right up in Alabama too…” He ends his sentence there, blinking away whatever was supposed to follow it up.

“I wish. With work I barely have time to make dinner most nights.” Not untrue, but not the truth either. You could make time, somewhere in your calendar. Make use of the off-days between projects when all you do is rot against the mattress.

Frankie launches into a camping story from his childhood, when his dad drove them from Texas to Michigan in the dead of winter so they could both see some snow. The stay was tumultuous at best, your eyes widening as he tells you about how none of their gear worked properly.

“Really, I think the only thing that kept us alive for those couple o’ days was the campfire my pops kept up the whole time,” Frankie says.

The sun is setting slowly along the horizon now, the beach drawing a fresh crowd. The group is smaller than before, people awaiting the fireworks to begin popping off of luxury yachts in the distance.

“I have no idea how he did that, but I’m glad you didn’t freeze to death,” you say. “I would be royally screwed without a lighter or something.”

“You don’t know how to build a campfire?” Frankie asks.

“Nope.”

“Oh well, that’s gotta change.”

You two are back on the sand now, shoes in your hands as you walk along the grainy plains. He walks a little away from you, drifting to wherever a stray stick or smaller log lies on the ground. Once he’s collected a bundle of them, Frankie joins you again. He drops the wood to the sandy floor, sitting down in a deep hill of it. Then he’s scooping sand with his palms, leaving a hole in front of him. You sit down and join him, watching as he lays the varying sticks and driftwood into a nest of sorts.

Frankie takes one stick, running it between a deep wedge in one of the drier logs back and forth. After a few minutes of this, he sighs and pulls a lighter from his back pocket, lighting the stick before tossing it to the bed of wood.

“Had that worked, I would’ve been extremely impressed,” you say.

“Had that worked, I would have expected some sort of prize,” he says.

“I’ve got a solid high five or a pat on the back as consolation?”

Frankie raises his palm towards you, and you slap it eagerly. “That’ll suffice. I’m feeling consoled.”

“It’s too humid out here anyway. Luck is not on our side tonight,” you sigh.

“I don’t know. I feel it,” he says. You give him a curious look. “Lucky to do what I love, lucky to be here. Lucky you’re here.”

“I don’t know if luck has anything to do with it,” you say. You and Frankie have already had this conversation.

“Do you feel unlucky?” he asks.

“That’s a loaded question.”

“It’s just a question,” Frankie says. “But I know you’re squirrely about answering those.”

The sky is dark and the sun is gone, almost like it was never there. Fireworks start up behind you, beside you, in front of you. God bless America.

You mull over your usual two options. Deflecting—I’m honestly not that interesting. Or derisive—Not everyone can have a postcard perfect life.

You choose the outlier, a third option. The truth.

"You believe in a bad miracle?" you ask, your voice so quiet that the sound is almost swallowed by the fireworks. Almost.

"What do you mean, a bad miracle?" Frankie asks.

"Like, something unbelievable. Astonishing, you know? But maybe it's not good. Maybe it'd been better if it didn't happen at all."

"I guess," he says. "Why? Had any of those lately?"

You laugh, the sound small and stifled. "You know about the pills," you say—not a question, but a statement. Everyone knows about the pills. They're always on you, almost a part of you, chattering at your waist with every step.

"Yeah," Frankie admits. "Never asked. I didn't want to pry."

A long moment of silence draws on between you. It's your turn to speak, but you can't. What are you supposed to say? You've never told this story to anyone. Mia was there when it happened, and then she was at the hospital, explaining it all. After that, any doctor that you came across simply read your chart. No need for explanations.

"I had an accident," is where you start. "Two years ago. This shoot was weird. Underwater shit in Kaua'i. We were out along these rocks, away from all those beautiful beaches. I was supposed to dive, and like, swim down to the bottom.” Your voice cracks, popping like a candle wick. When did your face become wet with tears?

"So I dove, but no one signaled that there was a wave coming. The stunt coordinator was just entirely off his ass. I got flipped around right under the surface and the uh, the force from the wave knocked me—"

You can't remember everything now, couldn't remember when you woke up in a Hawaiian hospital either. You remember the searing pain after the surgery, the sensation that haunts you now, settled to a dull ebb with time and medication.

"I'm sorry," Frankie says.

"Not your fault. And anyway, I should be happy. Right? That's what the doctors said. That it was a fucking miracle I wasn't paralyzed, or something to that extent. And they’re right. It's a privilege that I'm not pissing myself all the time, that I can even sit here and bitch about it but..." you trail off. "It's kind of dark," is all you say.

"It's fine," Frankie says.

"Sometimes I wonder if it would've been better if I just hadn't made it. Like, this—this life? It’s my bad miracle." Nothing. Crickets. "Morbid, right?"

After a while, Frankie shakes his head. "No. I mean, yeah, but—" He half-shrugs. "My friend, Santiago? The asshole. He's kind of in a similar situation."

"Oh?" you question.

"They offered him another surgery, to fix the issue. He told me he asked if they were sure the procedure would kill him if anything went wrong this time," Frankie says. "So I guess that's his. Bad miracle, I mean."

There's something in his eyes, shiny and unobstructed for but a moment. A glint that makes you want to ask him, what's yours?

When Frankie looks away, he's seemingly snapping you from an overly open stupor as well. The weight of your words settles over you, a small look of horror flickering across your face before you reign it in against the dark.

You shift away from his body in the sand. You've just shoveled a small landfill of your bullshit onto this man, your coworker, and you can't take it back. You can see the words floating like the specks in your office. Bad miracle, hospital, paralyzed. You wish you could grab them from where they move between the two of you and shove them back into your mouth, down your throat where they would effectively die.

Frankie gives you a curious hum, eyebrows quirked as he looks at you under the brief, exploding lights in the sky.

"I should not have said all that. That was so unprofessional. I—"

He says your name, staring at you again. "It's fine. You're fine. We're not at work."

After a while, the waves lapping at the sand, you say, "This doesn't mean you get to pity me or anything."

"Pity you?" Frankie asks. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Good," you say. "When people find out, or even just after the accident, it's like living a gravy train of apologies and expectations. Other people's sorrow."

"I mean, I get it. You can be sorry it happened," Frankie says.

"I guess. I don’t really understand.” Then, “Condolences feel like empty bombs of other people’s grief passed off to the grieving for defusal. What's anyone supposed to do with that?"

Frankie's looking out at the water, the fire and the sand forgotten now. "Commiserate," he says. "Better to suffer together than suffer alone. On the surface that sounds stupid, but when you're in it, you want someone to do it with you."

You can't help but disagree. This thing, it happened to you. You have to live with the outcome, sure, but why should everyone else? How does that make the thing better?

"I don't know if that's true," you say.

"For you," he says. "And really, I’d say that’s not even the truth either."

The fire crackles in front of both of you, lighting the wick of indignation in your throat.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean that I've been trying to get to know you for weeks, and I think I was closer when you thought I was a carpenter here to fix the studio upholstery," Frankie says. The camp flickers and reflects in his eyes.

Suddenly, you wish you could implore that you don't like him, put the blame on that wicked crutch of an excuse. Unfortunately there's too much logical evidence against that; that first lunch interaction, the bar, here and now at the beach. Plus all the time you took considering it. Considering him. When did Frankie Morales start to take up so much space in your head?

So all you say is, “I’m sorry,” because there’s not much left but that. Your tears are dry on your face. Frankie’s hand finds yours in the sand, not holding it, but landing nearby. You don’t look at him, and you know his eyes are on you. Red, white, and blue flames light the sky.

The fire dies slowly, your signal to get moving again. If you leave now, you can catch a couple hours of sleep before the non-stop drive back to Atlanta.

You’re about to call a ride when Frankie says, “Let me drive you.”

“It’s fine, really,” you say. You’re split into two halves: the part of you that wants to run away from him, and the part that wants to pull yourself even closer.

“How long ‘til the car gets here?” he asks.

You look at your phone, reading the time estimate. “Twenty minutes.”

That’s all the confirmation that Frankie needs, nodding towards the parking lot as he puts his shoes back on. “Come on. My truck is over this way.”

Getting in is a bit of a struggle, Frankie mindful of the way your body twists as you try to get into the passenger seat by yourself. He ends up getting in on the driver’s side, leaning out of the opposite door to help you up, giving you an odd sense of deja vu.

Up here, you feel so far away from the road and the rest of the world. Sandy concrete turns to solid asphalt, the yellow lines blurring together as the truck drives by. You tell him the address of the motel, watching as he types it into his phone’s GPS at a red light.

Oh god. Oh god. Frankie Morales is taking you home right now. This cannot be happening. The truck is driving at sixty miles an hour. In another twenty seconds you are going to Charlie’s Angels roll out the door, that—

“I’m glad you came,” Frankie says.

“Huh?”

“I was kind of hoping you would. Come down, see the show.” All of his soul-delving seriousness is gone now, Frankie’s demeanor changed as he slides back into the casual banter you two share.

“That’s why you told Mia,” you say.

“Guilty as charged.”

“So that was the plan then? Get me down to Florida, build me a fire, I spill my guts?”

“Not exactly. But friendships formed from fire usually last the longest. Even if that fire is some pit on the beach,” Frankie says.

“I see,” you nod. Friendship. Friendship, friendship, friendship. That’s what this is.

The truck pulls into the dimly lit parking lot of the Western much sooner than you’d like. He walks you to the door, a true gentleman. You can’t figure out how to say goodbye, lingering just past the doorway and the open air.

“Well,” Frankie says. “Happy Fourth of July.”

“Happy Fourth, Francisco,” you return, intoning his full name to put up some sort of barrier. To scold yourself, a reminder of what your relationship to this man really is.

He rolls his eyes with a smile and a huff. “It’s just Frankie.” That should be it, the end of the interaction. Frankie still doesn’t move and neither do you.

This is taking too long, too much time passing for a farewell. You’re being obvious now, watching him watch you half in the dark. You shouldn’t have driven down here. You shouldn’t have gone to the air show. Those things can’t change now, but this can.

But then he takes a deep breath and starts to turn away from you. Your hand flies out and grabs his shoulder, because hell. There’s a lot of things you shouldn’t do. You kiss him, rough and slow, granting Frankie an out if he wants it. When he deepens the kiss, opening his mouth, it’s clear that he doesn’t.

Frankie moves his hands to your ribs, pushing his palms over your body to wrap behind you. You’re pulling him closer by his broad shoulders, noses squishing together a bit. He pulls away for a breath with that flash in his eyes you keep finding. The golden fireworks that sparkle and pop in the distance must be paid actors.

“Do you want to come inside?” you ask, voice strained. Extremely unprofessional, decidedly unplatonic.

“Yes,” Frankie says.

Who fucking cares about those things anyway?

tags: @wannab-urs / @anoverwhelmingdin / @iamskyereads <3

[drurrito]

Sorry in Advance (If I Let You Down)

a/n: working on this fic in pieces, trying to flush it out.

other works in this universe

summary: team bonding isn’t your thing.

warnings: suggestive themes, cursing, drinking

—————————

Your hands travel over the muscles in Wanda’s back. She nips at your jaw and starts to suck. You hiss pleasantly, “try not to leave a mark, I don’t want to have to explain to Cap what a hickey is.”

“Touchy,” Wanda teases before moving on to another spot. She rolls her hips against your lap and you throw your head back with a light chuckle. Your hands slide down to grip her hips but you still them when you hear footsteps coming down the hall.

“What’s wrong?” Wanda asks when you stand up, taking her with you. She steps away from you, puzzled until she follows your gaze to the door. Natasha never knocks, she doesn’t have to.

“Uh, am I interrupting?” She quirks an eyebrow at you both.

“No,” you shrug, not looking over to Wanda.

“Come on, team bonding,” Natasha doesn’t give you anything, not even a muscle twitch. You don’t move and that’s when she turns back with a stern look, “mandatory team bonding.”

“We’re right behind you,” you joke, crossing your chest with a finger. Natasha doesn’t even roll her eyes or heave out a sigh when she leaves. You turn to Wanda, she looks amused.

“Better get going before she uses those bites on us.”

“Her bark is worse anyway,” you lead Wanda out of your room, staying side by side until you reach the common room where the rest of the team is. You move to the opposite end of the room, settling next to Bucky. Wanda doesn’t follow you, she knows better.

“Nice of you to join us,” Bucky whispers to you.

“How fast can that metal arm of yours crush my skull like a juice box?” He elbows you in the ribs and you hold in a pained wheeze. Cap shoots you a look, Natasha is too busy chatting with Tony to chastise you too. Steve clears his throat to talk.

“Alright, we’re gonna hang out-”

“And drink!” Tony interrupts. Steve shakes his head, “and drink. It’s been an exhausting few weeks.” Steve takes a look around the room, everyone agrees in some form except for you. It was tiring to be on such a short leash these past few weeks. Your last mission left you brutalized and worn out for a few days. Steve said you were benched, leading the chorus of teammates that have been breathing down your neck about reigning it in. You were recruited for your abilities and skill sets and you can’t even use them without getting criticized for doing too much.

The drinking makes the bonding activities bearable. You stick around the less-talkative teammates and try to run when Sam drags you into the circle for a game of truth or drink.

“Come on, y/n,” he sits you down on the couch next to him. You down the rest of your drink and reach for his, it’s only fair.

“Y/N, your turn,” Tony shifts in his chair to get a good look at you, “tell us a time when you were truly scared.”

“Right now,” you’re the only one who laughs.

“Give us a legit answer,” Tony rolls his eyes. You sink lower into the couch and take a long sip from Sam’s drink.

“I don’t get scared.”

“Bullshit,” Sam cuts in.

“I’m serious.”

It’s hard to get a read on you, even Natasha is having trouble. You don’t have a tell like Steve or Tony who shake their head every time they lie, or the slow blink Sam does when he’s bullshitting. You don’t show any cracks in your foundation and it makes the team nervous about the damage, or lack thereof, you might be hiding.

Tony swirls his glass around for a few beats, “everyone gets scared, y/n-”

“I don’t,” you shrug.

“Maybe we should lock you in a room with the big guy,” Tony nods to Bruce who doesn’t want any part of this.

“So you get to put me in excessively dangerous situations but I can’t?” There’s no attitude in you saying that, it throws Tony off and sends him into a micro-rage.

“Running into a base saturated with HYDRA agents and gods know what else is more stupid than it is dangerous,” Tony’s tone kills any chatter going on outside the circle. All eyes are on you two.

“If you have a death wish at least be honest about it,” Tony jabs at you with a shrug, your face is made of stone. You think it’s easier for the team to think you just don’t care, anyway.

“Tony, lay off,” Steve warns.

“No, I’m serious,” Tony leans forward, swirling his drink once more before downing it, “you doing dumb stunts affects the rest of us, the world, the universe even! And you’re sitting here with that dumb look on your face trying to act like there’s no harm done.”

Sam isn’t sure you’ve even blinked at this point. Everyone's watching to see if you’ll crack before Tony decides to lunge at you.

“Well, this is fun,” Bucky pretends to inspect his glass while Steve tries to send him a look that says ‘cut the commentary’.

“I know you’re a hero,” Tony keeps going, “but stop trying to be the hero--we’re a fucking team and this isn’t some soccer game alright? You’re not going to be MVP--you’re just going to be that asshole who died doing something stupid.”

“That’s enough! Tony!” Natasha steps in this time and her voice makes his body recoil so fast you quirk your brow in amusement. You’re not able to relish in the moment for much longer. Natasha yanks you out of your seat and drags you down the hall to your room. You drop down on your bed and watch her slam the door and pace a few steps.

“Sorry about that,” she sighs.

“For Tony or for manhandling me?” You ask with a smirk.

Natasha rolls her eyes, “Tony is an asshole.”

“I know.”

“So are you.”

“I know,” you laugh.

“He shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.”

“It’s fine,” you say with an even tone. Natasha tenses, of course you’re still playing it cool. Your face hasn’t changed since Tony started yelling at you. Natasha thinks it might be a defense mechanism, a mask.

“You shouldn’t have wound him up, either.”

“You’re right. I was bored and decided to poke the bear,” you shrug, “I’ll try not to do it again.”

“Right,” Natasha shakes her head and moves to sit on the bed with you, “opening up isn’t going to kill you, you know?”

She waits for you to say something, but you don’t, “we’re not asking you to spill your darkest secrets, we just want you to give us something, anything to tell us you’re on the same page as us.”

“I’m here, aren’t I? I’m putting in the work and I go where I’m needed. Just because I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve doesn’t mean I’m not a good teammate.”

“You’re not being a good teammate when you don’t stick to the plan,” Natasha says with some bite.

“If I see an opportunity, I take it. None of you trust me to get the job done and I have proved you wrong every time.”

“We do trust you!” Natasha gets up from her spot on the bed, “that’s the problem, you put us in positions where we have no choice but to trust you when we should be right there with you! You don’t give us the chance--” Natasha straightens up and runs a frustrated hand through her hair, your face softens for a split second.

“You don’t have to do this alone, you never have to be alone,” she says so quietly, looking small standing in the middle of your room. Some soft, stupid, demon possesses you to get up and pull her into your arms.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, trying to calm her nerves.

Sorry you have to deal with me.

You hold her like that for a few moments, rocking back and forth until you pull away with a small smile.

“I’m gonna call it a night, think I’ve done enough damage for today,” you step back and Natasha does the same. She knows she won’t be able to get you to change your mind, come back out. At least she was able to say her peace before you run away like you usually do.

“I’m sure the team would love for you to come out again, but I understand,” she moves towards the door, “don’t be late for training tomorrow.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you grin, Natasha pretends to sound annoyed as she leaves your room. She feels like she might have gained some ground with you until she sees Wanda walk past her, towards your room.