kittyminion

[kittyminion]

‘incoming.’ bucky barnes.

summary: after two years of you talking into his ear, bucky meets the face behind the voice on the comms after a tricky mission.

pairing: tfatws!bucky barnes x fem!reader

insp by: an instagram reel from an art account that drew bucky on the phone with someone screaming at him…….. guys trust me my brain was thinking big things… also inspired by the goat penelope garcia!!!!!

word count: 10.1k… wowza… read at your own risk

content warnings: usual description of violence (blood and punching and stuff), being trapped under rubble, swearing, mentions of dying death and murder, very slightly suggestive content, explosions, guns and shooting

a/n: my first bucky fic!!!! for @opheliabbarnes since you got me hooked into bucky with all of your bucky propaganda and also becuade you cheated in my poll and used your bucky powers to make me write this. also guys for the sake of the book just imagine that bucky is working with sam and doesn’t divorce him

"comms are live. hello, can you hear me?"

a pause.

there's a static crackling that rings through your headset before bucky's voice comes in, low and gruff, "yeah, unfortunately."

"good morning to you too, barnes." you smirk as you lean back in your chair, the screens in front of you flickering to life one-by-one. "it's nice to hear that your sunshine and optimism lived to see another day."

"play nice, you two." sam warns, "we haven't even gotten inside."

"i am playing nice." you retort, "that was me being sweet."

"define sweet..." bucky grumbles. you're not sure whether he's forgotten you can hear everything he's saying or if he's doing it just to spite you— but you let it slide.

you glance over to a screen where you can see joaquin's boots— and only his boots— thanks to his poorly angled body cam. it's shaking like he's struggling with something.

"joaquin, you there? i think your mic's off."

"yeah, he's here. he just can't figure out his ear piece." sam sighs. you watch him step into joaquin's screen and grab something from his hands, "you just have to click the button, man. it's not that hard—"

there's an awful screeching noise that pulses through your headset. it sounds like someone had just murdered a sentient robot and then fed its screams through a megaphone.

you pull it off in a hurry, waiting until it goes silent, and then place it back onto your headset with a huff. "everybody just... stop touching things."

another screen immediately catches your eye. blotches of red and orange pop out amongst a deep blue background— heat signatures patrolling the perimeter of the building that sam, bucky, and joaquin are in. you watch as a handful of them enter the warehouse.

"we've got movement." you still up in your chair, zooming in as the thermal overlay focuses, "there's about four patrolling the west perimeter. there's five— no— seven of them have just entered through the east side of the first floor."

sam peaks around the corner, but he can't see much unless he wants to compromise their position. he pulls back, "super soldiers?"

"i can't tell. they move like it, but nothing’s confirmed." you narrow your eyes. your eyes flicker to a smaller screen and a controller that sits beside it, "i'm sending scout. incoming!"

from somewhere in the sky, a grey blur cuts across the roof of the warehouse. bucky rolls his eyes as he watches it zoom past.

on your screen, scout's POV snaps into focus— clear, high-res, infrared, and absolutely glorious. it’s practically your child. you guide the bot with a simple flick of your wrist.

a small drone no bigger than a tennis ball and stamped with a white 'S' on its side zips through the air like a wasp on a mission. it's virtually silent, zipping low as it peaks around the corner of the east wall.

"okay, they aren't armed, but—" you pause as you rotate scout, "wait, there's a truck pulling up on the east loading dock."

sam furrows his brows. they didn't plan for anything other than a simple surveillance and a couple catch and arrests. "can you see what's inside?"

you turn to another screen— a thermal drone that's zoomed into the truck. "one driver and one passenger. there's a few crates in the back, but i can't see what's in them. they must have some sort of cooling system because they're freezing."

joaquin glances between sam and bucky, "that has to be the serum, right?"

"this must be one of the meeting points for their buyers." sam says, "they're gonna be here any second."

"don't worry. i've got eyes on them." you cut in, fingers flicking across your keyboard as another feed pops up, "i'm guessing it's the four black range rovers approaching from the south along franklin street."

there's a pause, then bucky asks, "what's our game plan?"

he's not looking at sam or joaquin. he hasn't moved a muscle. his voice is low and steady, his eyes fixed straight ahead— like he's waiting for your voice to tell him what to do next.

and you don't hesitate.

"we need to seperate them from the buyers. if this is an exchange, they're going to have bodyguards. we can't have thirty armed criminals in one warehouse. can you handle that, torres?"

joaquin nods, "loud and clear."

without another word, he takes a running step off of the warehouse's broken wall. his wings snap out from his jet pack with a hiss, catching the wind as he flies south along franklin street. you watch his tracker blip across another screen, already zeroing in on the buyers.

"and you two have to take these guys out." you continue, focus turned on sam and bucky, "there's five on the perimeter, all armed. there's two that have just wandered off towards you guys. pick them off."

sam's voice crackles in, "i'll take the guys with the guns."

there's a pause—

"we can take the guys with the guns." he corrects himself a moment later— probably after a look from bucky.

"they're unloading the crates now. the truck is electric, so i think can stall it long enough for you guys to get close— maybe cut off their exit entirely. we still don't know if they're enhanced, so be careful and don't be stupid."

you watch sam's body cam as bucky turns to him, his voice flat through the comms, "yeah, sam."

sam scoffs and waved him off as he readjusts his shield, "i think she means you, man."

"i was just throwing it out there." you roll your eyes, fingers flying across your keyboard as you send joaquin backup, "torres has already contained the buyers, so you're up— go."

bucky's already moving before you can even finish your sentence, heavy boots almost silent against the concrete floor. sam vaults the barrier to his left, moving fast and low.

sam closes in. a pacing guard turns just a moment too late— sam drives his fist into the side of his face. he drives into another guard, sending him tumbling into a wall with a dull thud. another one spins around with a gasp. he fumbles for his weapon—

crack.

a metal fist drops him before he can even point it. bucky steps over the guy, barely slowing his pace or breaking a sweat. but then another guard rounds the corner— one who doesn't fumble with his gun— and shoots.

you look over to another screen. the thermal camera shows more figures closing in on sam and bucky, clearly on high alert. the tension in their movements show that they're panicked. the four crates that had been unloaded were now being covered back up.

"you've got six of them heading your way, and fast." you scramble. the truck's screen is visible on your screen, but your software is still trying to figure out the password, "they're unarmed, but be careful."

sam's wing fans out in a practiced motion and shields them both from the bullets. the shots ping right off of the reinforced metal. his wing retreats, and the guard looks terrified. he tries to reload the gun, but he's struggling.

sam's voice comes through, dry but amused, "i guess we're past the stealth phase."

"i didnt like that phase anyways." bucky grunts as he shoves the guard against a wall. he makes a point by grabbing his gun and snapping it in half like a twig, tossing it out reach. he knocks the guy out with one swift punch to the jaw.

they're doing good— clearing the path with ease and making sure to be vigilant— but then they walk into the main area of the warehouse. it's wide open and humming with the sound of the truck and trailers shoving the crates back into the back, and there's at least a handful of masked figures standing there.

the six figures you had seen nearing sam and bucky are already stepping into the light of the warehouses main floor— calm, coordinated, and slightly intimidating.

each one is broad-shouldered and looks battle-worn. their body temperatures come up significantly warmer than both sam and bucky's, and you can tell something is wrong.

"you think they've taken the serum?" bucky shifts his stance, fists already clenched.

you watch as one of the men lurches forwards— blindingly fast— and throws sam across the room, far too fast for sam to catch himself. he hits a pillar, sliding down it with a groan.

"shit." you inhale.

"i think so!" sam yells, voice strained.

the rest of them charge. bucky's the first to meet them head-on. he lands a solid punch to one of their jaws— and it should've dropped him— but the guy just snarls, barely flinching, and drives his knee into bucky's stomach.

sam's back up, his shield snapping into place just quick enough to block a hit. he's fighting hard and moving fast, wings flicking around for balance and defence, but for every hit he dodges, there's another one right after.

you're watching the fight from a drone overhead like a game you can't control. youre working on trying to stall the truck, but it's difficult when youre also watching your friends get their asses beat.

sam takes out one guy with a swing of his wing and a nasty uppercut, but two more corner him. bucky slams a guy through a metal beam— literally through it— but it only buys him a second before another super soldier grabs him by his jacket and tosses him across the room, back slamming into a shelving unit.

then— like a miracle— a screen on your right starts beeping. a red dot farts across the radar, closing in on the warehouse. you spin in your chair to check the corresponding feed just as a figure cuts through the sky.

you grin, "torres incoming!"

not even a second later, joaquin bursts through one of the warehouse windows, wings flaring wide. his visor glints as he absolutely bodies two super soldiers like bowling pins just as one of them winds up to hit bucky again.

he lands with a thud, wings retracting quickly as he jogs up to sam. bucky is close behind, but he's still fighting off two super soldiers.

"about damn time." sam huffs.

bucky wipes the blood leaking from his nose, taking a moment to catch his breath, "what the hell took you so long?"

"traffic." he grins and holds his hand out for sam, who's literally holding on by a thread, trying to prop himself up with his shield, "was getting your asses kicked a part of the plan?"

sam groans as joaquin pulls him up, "don't push it, joaquin."

you're still watching the fight through various monitors. the comms are full of grunts and sharp breathes, but now that joaquin's there, they're struggling a little less.

and then there's a beep— a small, sad beep— and a window that says 'OVERRIDE FAILED' in big red letters. you freeze.

"they've locked me out of the truck's system. they're overriding my remote access." you scramble to restart the process, but it doesn't let you.

you glance at another screen. the camera feed confirms your worst fear— they're escaping. one of the super soldiers is climbing into the driver's seat, the rear doors slamming shut as the engine hums to life.

"they're taking off—" you panic as you watch the truck pull out of the warehouse driveway, "shit, someone stop that truck!"

before anyone can respond, bucky takes off in a full sprint— no hesitation, no plan, and clearly no intention of letting that truck get away or waiting for anyone. his boots pound against the asphalt as he trails it.

"barnes—" you call through the comms, stressed out of your mind.

you hadn't expected him to chase after it. he was the only one without wings or a jet pack, yet you watched him run after that truck like he was chasing all he's ever wanted. the panic in your voice doesn't help. if anything, it only pushes bucky harder.

he barrels out onto the street, only a few metres from the truck. you send a drone up ahead, the camera feed glitching as it races to keep up. you're trying to calculate every route the truck could take to evade capture— until your eyes land on a large clearing.

there's a river glittering under the sun, splitting the city in half. a large drawbridge stretches over it, connecting the two sides of land. just next to it, there's an enormous cargo ship waiting to cross— and your heart stops when you notice the bridge is already at a 70 degree angle.

"they're gonna jump the bridge, barnes." you quickly warn, "if they make it across before the split—"

"they're gone." he finishes, breathless but ready. you can hear his sharp breathes through your headset, "i'm not letting it get away. 'gonna jump it."

"fall back, barnes, you're not going to make it." you bark through the comms, trying to keep your voice steady. you watch as he speeds up, running faster than you've ever seen him run.

"you better listen to the lady, bucky." sam adds, wings slicing through the air as he tries to catch up.

you watch as the truck barrels forwards, climbing up the incline of the rising drawbridge like it's easy work. bucky's close— too close to stop. he digs his feet into the ground harder as he launches himself up the incline.

you can see it all through a drone— the truck about to leap, bucky on its tail, the bridge yawning wide open underneath them, and the water far below shining like teeth. the cargo ship blares its horn as it draws closer to the bridge, wary of what's happening.

it happens too fast—

the truck leaps across the gap. its front wheels leave the ground for just a split second before the back wheels follow, and then its airborne. behind it, bucky jumps too.

you're on your feet now, eyes locked onto the drone feed. your hands are braced on either side of the desk and your knuckles have gone bone-white. you're not breathing or thinking. you're not even sure if your heart is beating.

for a moment, he's airborne. then just as quickly, he's falling straight through the gap and into open air. the wind catches in his jacket, gravity yanking him down towards the water and the cargo ship below.

just before he hits the ship deck, a blur of red, white, and blue zips past— sam.

his wings flare as he dives, hooking one arm around bucky with precision, the two of them twisting mid-air as the momentum nearly sends them spiralling. they hover under the bridge for a moment before sam takes off towards solid ground.

you collapse in your chair and yank the joystick for scout, who zooms towards bucky and sam. its camera focuses, cutting through the haze of the sun to check on them.

"jesus christ, buck, are you okay?" you panic into your mic, already trying to see if he needs medical attention.

"i've caught the princess, he's safe." sam replies, smug as ever.

you lean in closer to the screen as scout zips around him, "are you injured? you might need to take your vest off so i can assess it and let medical know."

"take me to dinner first." he doesn't look thrilled about the rescue. he brushes off his jacket with a clenched jaw, then narrows in on scout, who's circling him. he flings his hand at it like a fly, "and get that stupid drone out of my face. it's ugly."

"rude." you frown, "he just risked his tiny propellor life to check up on you."

"yeah?" bucky asks flatly.

you narrow your eyes, "yeah."

bucky gives scout a fake smile and says an insincere 'thanks buddy'. then— without hesitation— bucky grabs scout mid-hover. you barely have time to shout at him before he launches scout straight up into the sky, spinning wildly and almost vanishing.

the feed spins out of control as the stabilisers struggle to compensate with the speed it'd been hurled at.

sam clicks his tongue and shakes his head, "ooooh, she's gonna kill you."

bucky shrugs, utterly unfazed, but there's a shadow of a smile sitting on his lips, "i didn't like the way it was looking at me."

"you better pray he still works when you get back or else i'll murder you in your sleep." there's a lowness in your voice that should be intimidating, but bucky doesn't falter.

"i'd like to see you try." he retorts, his tone bordering amused.

"you've never seen me." you reply matter-of-factly, "you wouldn't even see me coming.”

"oh, trust me, the moment i hear nasally breathing, i'd know exactly who was about about to beat my ass."

"that sounded like a compliment, barnes." you roll your eyes, ignoring the insult and simply smirk, putting on your best mock-sultry tone, "are you complimenting me?"

"don't flatter yourself. i've just taken too many hits to the head."

he hears you scoff, and it makes his grin widen. he can almost imagine you in your little computer room at the base, sitting in front of your set-up with an unimpressed look on your face, or even pacing back and forth muttering about how annoying he is.

it's weird how he knows so much about you, but still can't really picture what you look like. he's tried, but it's mostly just a blur— almost like a familiar face from a dream.

sam stops walking and turns to bucky with his hands on his hands, "are you guys done flirting or do you want me to circle back in a couple of hours?"

"you should've just let him fall into the river, sam." you grumble through the comms.

"hey guys?" joaquin's voice comes in clear and troubled.

sam pauses, his eyebrow furrowing, "what's up, torres?"

"you might wanna come and check this out."

it's later in the day. the team had gathered back at the base to debrief, worn out and trying to gather themselves after the failed mission.

sam is slouched on a chair, eyeing the information on the screen to figure out what went wrong, bucky's leaning against the wall with a towel around his neck and a band-aid above his brow, and joaquin's icing his shoulder and holding up his phone, where your voice comes through the speaker.

"so youre telling me that they just abandoned two entire crates full of super soldier serum and then just dipped?" you spoke— sharp and unmistakably done with everything.

"uhhhhhhhh... yeah." joaquin blinks, then tilts his head in confusion, "i thought you were already caught up with this?"

"do i sound caught up, joaquin?" you roll your eyes and take a deep breath, "it just doesn't make any sense. they went through all that effort to keep up busy, only to leave the serum behind like its nothing?"

"you think it was a decoy?" joaquin asks.

"i don't know." you half-shrug, "they've barely touched it, and i just got a message that they want me to check it out before they log it and send it into evidence."

sam straightens in his chair, "you want backup?"

"it's sitting in the middle of an air-force base, sam. if someone pops out, they've got bigger things to worry about than me— like the twenty armed guards surrounding it or the drone that's been circling it for the past hour."

"you're actually leaving your cave?" bucky jokes.

"yeah, barnes, i am." you deadpan, hand already on your 'caves' door handle, "since you threw scout into orbit, i'll have to use my eyes like a normal person. he's fine, by the way. just a bit of whiplash."

sam huffs out a laugh, but his shoulders are still visibly tense, "hey, just be careful, okay?"

"always. i'll call back in ten." you say, more to yourself than anyone else, then hang up.

the room is silent for a few seconds. the low him from computer monitors fills the space, punctuated by the slow ticking of a clock nearby.

joaquin sighs, then mutters, "can't believe they left the crates behind." he shifts the ice pack on his shoulder, "feels... off."

sam leans back in his chair with a tired sigh, "if anyone's gonna spot something we missed, it's her."

then another moment of silence stretches through the team. outside the window, the airfield lights burn against the dusk. the base is usually quiet at this time of day.

bucky stares out of the window. then he asks, "is she always like that when she's out in the field?" he doesn't clarify what he means by that, but the others seem to understand what he means.

"what, annoyingly confident?" sam lets a small smile wander onto his face as he thinks about you, "she's about ten times worse when she's not behind those screens. but it's good. she doesn't miss much. and when she's got a gut feeling..."

sam doesn't finish his sentence. he doesn't need to.

"you should see her during intel briefings." joaquin adds with a goofy grin, "she'll shred a guy's whole thesis with like... three words. it's brutal."

"and that weird 'incoming' thing she does?" bucky frowns, like he's genuinely confused, "what is that?"

joaquin laughs under his breath, "she's been doing that since we were recruited. it's like... her thing."

bucky's quiet for a moment. his eyes glance at joaquin's phone where your voice had just crackled through not even a minute ago. it sat idly on the table. there's a weird feeling in his chest— almost embarrassment. he'd known you for two years and was only just now asking questions.

"is she tall?" bucky blurts out.

joaquin blinks, caught off guard, "what?"

there's another beat of silence. sam turns his head away slowly from the monitor, clearly unimpressed, and gestures vaguely to bucky. he deadpans, "he's never seen her."

"seriously?" joaquin raises his brows, "you've been working with her for two years, and you've never ever seen her face?"

bucky runs his tongue against the inside of his cheek. he wants to just get over the subject, but he's brought it onto himself. he shrugs like it's nothing as he pulls the towel from around his neck, but the pink tips of his ears say the opposite.

"she's always behind a screen or..." bucky runs his hand over his face, exhaling like he already regrets having this conversation, "or on encrypted phone calls, or in a control room in some random part of this place. she's not exactly the easiest person to bump into."

"you've never looked her up? never seen a photo?" joaquin still looks utterly amused, inching ever so slightly across the table, "you haven't even stalked her, just a little bit?"

bucky looks at him like he's spewed gibberish, "no."

"she was standing right next to you last week." joaquin exclaims incredulously, "at the debrief? she was standing next to you with her arms crossed? we could go check out to the crates right now. she'd be there."

bucky furrows his brows, completely silent.

sam leans back with a knowing smirk, "trust me, if he'd seen her, he'd remember her."

"what's that supposed to mean?" bucky frowns, unsure if he should be offended or if he actually has a point to make.

"it means she's memorable, man." sam says like it's the most obvious thing in the world, "voice like that? brain like that? you think the looks don't match? she’d have you thinking about her 24/7.”

joaquin raises his brows in agreement, "he's got a point."

bucky doesn't respond, and his silence says more than any smartass comeback ever could. he's just sitting there, absentmindedly playing with the towel in his hands and staring at nothing in particular, his gaze far off— maybe trying to picture you again. maybe trying to figure out if he should go out and see you— but it feels wrong.

sam watches him for barely a second and has already read him like a book. he rolls his eyes and leans forwards with intent, like he's seen this before. and he has. "don't go getting all obsessed, buck."

that snaps bucky out of his head. he scoffs, "i'm not—"

"she called you buck and you didn't say anything about it."

joaquin watches the exchange like its an intense tennis match.

"i've known you for, like... ten years. i called you buck last year and you didn't like it." sam points out, gesturing emphatically, "and you just asked if she was tall like you were filling out your dating profile preferences."

"it was a question." bucky defends.

"a weird question." sam retorts.

"oh, give me a break." bucky clenches his jaw, "you're telling me that if you there was a voice in your ear 24/7 for two years, you wouldn't be going insane?"

and he meant insane. you were everywhere. in his ear during missions, on his phone when you need to let him know important intel at ungodly hours, in briefing folders where half of the intel had come straight from you, and even in conversations he overhears whenever he walks through the base.

you— the genius air-force captain who works directly for the new captain america.

no one really knew how you ended up running tactical for sam, but no one had questioned it either. you were just good. scary good. the kind of smart that made people shut up and listen, and the kind of precise that made bucky trust your voice more than his own gut.

bucky had fought his entire life— in wars, for and against hydra, stared down gods and aliens and wizards— but somehow, it was you, the staticky voice in his ear, that kept him on edge.

how can someone be everywhere, but nowhere to be seen?

but then there's a loud bang— loud enough to jolt sam and joaquin out of their chairs. its sharp and feels wrong in their guts, the kind of sound that doesn't belong in a secure military base.

"what the hell was that?" sam shouts.

an alarm starts blaring in the main sector of the air base— where you are.

the three of them were already sprinting down the hallway before they had even registered that they'd moved. the smell of smoke hits their noses before they even make it out of the doors— acrid, bitter, and smelling off chemicals.

outside, the air is thick of it. it sticks low to the ground, a handful of military personnel already corralling debris and shouting orders at each other amongst the wreckage. something had definitely exploded.

"jesus—" sam mutters with his mouth shielding his face from the smoke, "isn't that where the crates were?"

bucky's jaw tightens. there's a crunch under his boot, and when he lifts it, a tiny vial with blue liquid stares back at him. his eyes sweep through the smoke, but he's not sure he could even recognise you. a figure in fatigues passes by and bucky's wastes no time in stomping towards them.

"hey—" he calls, voice rough with urgency. your name slips from his mouth, "was she here? was she hurt?"

the figure turns and points to the other side of the base, "they took her to medical." they quickly reply.

joaquin wastes no time and bolts in your direction, not bothering to ask any questions or where you are— he'd find you.

sam is already stepping over the debris to try to figure out what had happened. when they'd transported it back to the base, there had been no signs that anything was wrong. and now, after hours of silence, one had detonated after you had checked on it.

"she said she felt something was off." sam stiffens, "and she was right."

bucky rounds the edge of the blast zone, his eyes scanning the ground. bits of scorched wood and metal are strewn everywhere with dark smoke still curling upwards like it's taunting them. his boot kicks something small and metallic, half buried in the dust.

"sam." he calls, crouching down.

sam looks over. his eyes narrow as bucky reaches for a small warped disc. it's blackened, but not completely unrecognisable— a thin casing, circuit etching, and what looks like melted adhesive around the edges.

"they were never gonna come back for it." bucky turns over the deflated bomb, "wanted to cause serious damage to whoever took it."

"yeah, and it worked. they've put our man in the chair in hospital."

bucky rips off a flailing piece of plastic from the bomb. underneath, there's writing writing in minuscule block letters and unintelligible to him at first glance. its not english or in any language he recognises.

he squints, turning it slightly, "you seeing this?"

sam leans over and brushes soot off of the surface, "some kind of... manufacturing tag?"

"could be a location." bucky matters, pointing at a short line of text half-buried under the sticky residue, "this part here looks like latitude and longitude."

sam exchanges a stumped look with bucky, "so what, they booby-trap the crates, nearly kill our comms specialist, and then give us a return address?"

"looks like it."

they both fall silent. there's still a hum of chaos and confusion in the air with military personnel running back and forth to figure out what's happening, and joaquin's still in medical trying to find you. sam's jaw ticks.

"you thinking what i'm thinking?" he asks.

bucky nods once, "yeah. time to pay 'em a visit."

the moon hangs heavy over the towering complex. the building hangs on the edge of a tree line, swallowed by both nature and time. what used to be a lavish apartment complex in the 70s was now home to spiders, rats, and bird nests, the crumbling skeleton of concrete and steel forgotten, but not untouched.

joaquin frowns, craning his neck just to look up at the building, "you guys sure this is the place?"

before he can even finish his sentence, a slow gust of wind passes through. it whistles through the exposed windows and cracked walls, groaning like its alive. the metal structure groans under its own weight and it sways.

"that cannot be good." sam audibly winces.

they shake it off, moving without speaking. joaquin checks his wings and weapons, bucky is staring up at the windows like he's trying to see something through them, and sam is trying to get redwing to scout the area— a poor substitute for the tech they had gotten used to.

there's a silence surrounding them that crawls under their skin. no crackling in their ear pieces, no humming from drones zipping around in the air, and certainly no voice in their ears telling them what to do next. all that accompanies them is the sound of wind and the thud of concrete as chunks occasionally fall from the building.

then joaquin exhales through his nose and shifts uncomfortably like your lack of presence is physically effecting him, "yeah, this feels weird."

"right?" sam lets out a relieved laugh like he's been thinking the same exact thing, "it's almost too quiet. i dont know what to do with myself without someone yappin' in my ear."

he glances sideways at bucky, who looks like he's thinking the same, but is keeping his mouth shut about it. "you miss her too, don't you, buck?"

bucky pauses like he's about to say something witty that'll get sam off of his back, but he lets out a small breath in amusement and nods once instead, "yeah. i guess i got used to her bossing us around all day."

then, as if summoned by pure magic, there's a crackle that hits all three of their ear pieces.

"you guys can't get rid of me that easily." your voice slips in, smug and unhurried— like you'd been listening the whole time and were just waiting for the perfect moment to turn your mic on.

sam jumps so high that he nearly flies redwing straight into a power line, "jesus christ—"

bucky's head snaps straight up. his hand flies to his ear piece like he can't believe that your voice is actually there. "what the hell are you doing on comms?" he asks sharply, but he can't hide the hint of relief he feels.

"it's nice to hear you too, barnes." your roll your eyes, amused.

"they cleared her." joaquin laughs, answering the question before they could ask.

"yup." you nod and gesture to your face as if they can see you, "i'm a little burnt and they had to remove a piece of metal from my cheek, but other than that, i'm fit as a fiddle."

your monitor flickers to life. in one of them, you can see the tips of bucky's fingers pressing against the lens of the small camera he usually wears on missions.

"what are you doing, barnes?" you deadpan as you watch one of your screen flip back and forth.

"i'm trying to put—" bucky sighs as he tries to jam the camera into a small hole in his vest, but it twists and turns and wont stick. "this camera's broken."

"it isn't broken. you're just putting it in upside down."

"... didnt the nurse tell you to stop talking?" bucky grumbles as he messes with the small camera. he flips it around and scoffs when it sticks on with ease, "y'know, to preserve your vocal chords and prevent any more damage or whatever?"

"a bomb exploded in my face, barnes, not in my throat." you roll your eyes, "and look— it's in now. see what listening to me does?"

"i thought i was... zooming in."

joaquin snorts, "dude's out here trying to fight super soldiers with the tech literacy of a toaster."

"i've killed people with a toaster—"

"love the attitude today, guys. very inspiring." sam grumbles. redwing flies back into their radius and clicks back into sam's pack, "now that you're here, you mind checking out the perimeter?

"whatever. scout is in—"

"incoming." the three of them chime in unison, perfectly timed and perfectly familiar. there's a silence before you laugh.

"wow, you guys." you sigh with dramatic flair, a mix of both sarcasm and genuine amusement, "i've babied you guys for so long that you're finally taking after me. wanna call me mama next?"

you can hear joaquin snicker loud and clear through the mic, and you watch through sam's body cam as bucky scoffs, rolling his eyes like he's annoyed with your antics.

sam gives the camera a flat look, knowing that you were probably laughing at their faces, "this is what happens when they let her out of medical early."

scout zips into the scene, a quiet mechanical sound whirring past the team. it flies high up into the abandoned apartment complex, small enough to squeeze into the cracks of broken windows and rusted beams like a bird, scanning the surroundings and mapping them out on sam's tablet.

"scout's in." you announce, weaving scout through dusty cloth and abandoned furniture.

from outside, the guys glance up, watching as scout disappears for a moment before darting back inside.

"i'll never get used to how fast that thing moves." sam mutters as he watches scout zip through the top floor.

"he's faster than redwing." you simply reply, but sam doesn't miss the slight edge of challenge in your voice.

"excuse me?" he scoffs, glancing at bucky's body cam like it's you and you're actually there, "trust me— if your tiny little tennis ball goes down, you're gonna be begging to use redwing."

"i'm not touching your freaky little robot bird. i have standards."

"hey, i met your ex. don't you talk to me about standards—"

there's a sharp bark of laughter from joaquin, but bucky cuts in before you and sam's banter can escalate. "can we focus?"

you roll your eyes, but narrow in on scout's POV.

"something moved on the fifth floor. it could've been the wind and some tarps, but it could've also been— woah."

that gets their attention.

"what is it?" bucky asks, immediately alert.

you zoom in slowly. "there's... something big in here. looks like machinery— lots of it. the whole setup looks old, but it doesn't look abandoned."

"what kind of machinery?" sam asks.

"hang on." scout scoots a little closer, and your eyes widen. "it's a production lab— specialised injectors, gene sequencers, stabilisers— i think this is where they were were making the serum."

joaquin narrowed his eyes in confusion, "they used this place as a super soldier factory?"

you shook your head, "no, not anymore. looks like it's been stripped clean, but the setup's still here. they didn't even bother hiding what it was and just left it to... rot. scout's picking up residual heat signatures, so whoever was here cleared out recently— maybe a few hours ago, maybe less. it should be safe."

“should be." sam mutters under his breath, but he's already pulling his shield to his chest and heading towards the door, "never feels comforting when you say that."

the team fans out as they enter the apartment building— or what's left of it.

sam sticks to the lower floors, descending down stairs leading to a basement. the flashlight on his vest isn't bright enough to cut through the vastness of it.

bucky decides to check out the machinery to see if they left anything of importance behind. he mutters something about it smelling like a meth lab as he heads upstairs.

joaquin jets to the rooftop. he wants elevation, to see the layout of the place and the potential leads that could find the group behind this— but he also wants to avoid being on the ground floor if the building decides to give way.

"scout's overhead if you need backup. keep your comms clear and open. let me know if you find anything." you tell them before turning your microphone off.

"wouldn't dream of ignoring you." joaquin teases.

and then you're alone in the silence of your command room. you lean closer to your monitors, hands intertwined against your mouth as you watch your boys disappear one by one into the dingy bowels of the apartment complex.

it's dark, and even with scout's night vision, you can barely see ahead. the hallways look more like underground tunnels, and you can only imagine how cramped it must feel. the camera stutters with static as scout floats ahead, probably from the lack of service. you're almost afraid you might lose contact with them.

scout rounds a corner. you dont necessarily know where you've guided him— it's too dark to see— but you know you're somewhere down below. you're half-focused, watching bucky's body cam and keeping tabs on joaquin's feed— until something jolts scout off course.

the small drone clips the corner of a wall and bumps into sam's shoulder, startling him.

"what the hell?" he whips around, staring down at scout like he'd just punched sam in the face, "don't sneak up on me like that."

you click your mic on with an apologetic smile, "sorry. wasn't looking where i was going."

sam rolls his eyes and turns back to the basement. it's almost a labyrinth with how many empty boxes and crates are stuffed down there, and it smells of mold and rot. sam scans the room, and you do too. there's an old supply crate shoved into the corner of a hallway, covered by a measly and moth-eaten tarp.

"hang on..." sam mutters as he nears it.

"sam, wait, don't touch it—" you warn, but it's too late. sam nudges the tarp aside, and what's underneath sends your stomach plummeting.

"it's a bomb." you breathe, "get out, sam, now—"

"sh—"

the comms explode with static— not just sam's, but bucky's and joaquin's too. there's a high pitched ringing noise piercing through your headset and sam's screen goes white, then black.

your hands fly to your keyboard, pulling up scout's emergency override system. he's still functional— wobbly and a bit glitchy, but functional— and through his lens, you see smoke and chunks of plaster. there's a section of collapsed ceiling sitting beside scout's whirring body.

before the smoke even clears, another explosion rings out— louder and closer, and then there's another. for a split second, all you can see is light, your screens showering you in a horrible, horrible feeling of dread. for a second, you think you've lost all of them.

"sam!" you yell, "sam, can you hear me? sam?"

there's movement— and then there's a groan.

"still alive." he coughs through the dust, his voice strained, "think i caught the edge of it. damn shield saved me."

"okay. you're okay—" you let out a horribly shaky breath, "just... hold still. i still need to— joaquin? bucky? someone, come in."

there's nothing but static, and then one of your screens flashes back to life. it's joaquin's, who's outside and on flat ground.

"i'm fine— jesus, i barely made it out of there." joaquin pants, doubled-over with his hands on his knees, "the roof's collapsed. i managed to fly out just before it gave out."

you close your eyes for a split second, relief washing over you— but then it's gone just as fast as it came. you whip your head towards the last monitor, the screen still static and your heart clawing in your throat.

"what the hell happened?" sam grunts as he pushes a chunk of concrete off of his chest.

"i don't know, man." joaquin replies, still catching his breath, "i was heading down and there was a POP, and then the whole building blew up like a chain reaction."

"it was a chain reaction. they must've known we were coming." your voice is low, urgent, "one in the basement near sam, one on the roof, and—" you pause as you glance at bucky's feed, "one near the lab."

sam presses his hand to his ear, trying to filter out the crumbling concrete from the static in this ear piece, "bucky, do you copy?"

"barnes?" you call again, leaning over your console like it'll bring you any closer to him, "barnes, can you hear me?"

"come on, buck, say something." sam mutters, pacing through the wreckage, "try bouncing the signal again."

"i am." you snap, more out of fear than anger, "i've already rerouted twice. there's just— there's nothing." then, more quietly you add, "he was right by the lab. that blast radius—" you swallow hard.

"i'm going after him." sam says immediately, already pushing his way out of his entrapment.

"no— no, wait, sam. the buildings not stable. i have to run a structural integrity scan before you can move." you pause, frantically typing, "follow scout— he'll find a way out. i'll find barnes."

sam clenches his jaw, but he listens.

"i'm going to try switching stations. maybe in the explosion he accidentally hit a button. maybe he just lost signal— a tech issue, maybe. either way, i can fix it."

you try reasoning out loud— trying to stay calm— but you're not convincing anyone, least of all yourself.

from the middle floor, bucky lets out a wrangled sound— half-cough, half-groan.

he doesnt know where he is. everything's dark and dusty, choking him every time he takes a breath. his ears are ringing, and the ground is cold and damp beneath him, and it even takes him a moment to register that he’s on the ground.

and there's a throbbing pain in his leg— dull at first, but then sharp, like someone lit a fire in the muscle just below his knee. he tries to shift it, but the pressure doesn't give.

"shit.."

its hard to focus. he can't remember where he was or how he had gotten there. he blinks, once, then twice. it's silent, and he's alone. he can tell before the thought even forms, and a deep unsettling feeling forms in his stomach.

there's no chatter or humming of a drone. there's no voice telling him where to go or what to do— there's no you.

bucky clenches his jaw as he pulls himself up on one elbow. he grits his teeth as he shifts, enough to look down. there's a large metal beam pinning him down just across his shin. he exhales, trying not to move too much— trying not to panic.

he reaches up to his ear, pressing against it just to see if there was anything at all. his fingers press the buttons, trying to switch the dials— anything to get a hold of someone— but there's static.

"sam?” he rasps, "sam, come in.”

a shifting groan in the walls answers him.

"torres?" his voice cracks, "joaq— joaquin, come on. hey—"

the metal beam pinning him down just creaks under pressure.

panic starts to creep into his minds, replacing all logic. the pressure on his leg is sharp now, his side aches, and the silence is starting to weigh on him.

and then— barely a whisper— your name slips from his mouth. once, twice, and then once more, calling for you like you'd appear and rip the rubble from off of his body yourself.

"c'mon, talk to me." he pants, "tell me that i'm holding the camera upside down, or... or that scout's incoming. anything— just— say something."

he waits, and waits, and waits, but only static answers.

bucky doesn't know what to do. if he moves, he's afraid the rubble around him will crush him. if he doesn't, he'll never get out.

he squeezes his eyes shut, his forehead pressing against the dusty concrete as his breath stutters. his heart is pounding in his chest and he can hear it in his ears, unsure if it's from fear or the lack of oxygen.

he doesnt want to die. at least not like this. not alone.

a sharp, dry laugh escapes him— bitter and breathless.

"shouldve told you i missed your voice before i got crushed by a goddamn support beam." he mutters to no one, "that would've been smart."

his hand slips from his ear and falls to the floor. he's tired.

then—

"barnes? barnes?"

his earpiece glitches as he turns his head, looking around like the voice might be there. there's a sputter, and another glitch— but the voice in his ear is unmistakably you.

"bucky, can you hear me?"

your voice cuts through the static like a blade of light in the dark. youre clearer now, sharper— desperate.

and bucky laughs. its all he can do. a soft, disbelieving laugh into the stagnant air, his chest stuttering with pure, aching relief. its the sound of someone trying not to fall apart.

"you—" he coughs, dragging a shaky breath into his lungs, "you dont know how happy i am to hear your voice. where's sam and joaquin?"

he can hear a loud breathy laugh and then a thud, almost like you just collapsed at your desk from sheer joy, "they're fine. they're out. you just... you scared the hell out of me, barnes—"

"call me bucky’."

there's a silence on your end— like you're letting his words find their way into your brain. like maybe you needed to hear that.

then softer, you smile. "okay. bucky."

he closes his eyes again. he lets the sound of his name in your voice carry him through the weight pressing down on your leg.

"can you move? are you bleeding? are you—"

"i'm trapped." he cuts you off. he knows you're stressing yourself out far too much, "there's a support beam pinning my leg down, but otherwise, i think i'm fine. i can't get a hold of sam or joaquin, so... you're all i've got now."

"good. i've got you all to myself now." you try to joke— trying to keep bucky from panicking— but he can hear the quiver in your voice and the way your words wobble just enough to betray you.

"hey." he softens, "you don't need to worry. i'm okay. i'm alive."

"right. sorry, i'm just—" you swallow, eyes boring holes into bucky's monitor, "i was scared."

there's a silence, and for a moment, you're afraid bucky's been knocked out— but then he laughs. with his usual calm certainty you're so used to now—

"takes a little more than bombing a building to get rid of me."

you smile— watery and breathless— even if he can't see it. but he can hear you, and that helps with his pain. bucky huffs out a soft laugh, but it catches in his throat when the rubble around him shifts against his chest.

you catch the sound immediately. "what was that?"

"i'm under five hundred pounds of concrete and steel." bucky grunts under his breath, "i don't think it likes me moving."

"okay, okay. hold on. i'm pulling up scout's last scan of your level." you're already typing, eyes darting between monitors. "there's a structural weakness about two feet to your left. if you can push against it, i think i can guide you out."

"you think?" he mutters.

"barnes—"

"bucky."

you sigh, "i'm going to get you out, bucky. just.. trust me."

"i do." he says without hesitation.

you breathe in. "alright— now lean over and try to pull out your leg out from under that beam. it's cracked and scout thinks you can snap it. from there, you should be able to push some of the concrete away on your left and climb out."

"i'll try."

there's a deep rumbling sound coming from bucky's mic, and it was now more than ever that you wished his body cam had worked. there's a sharp grunt from bucky, and then—

there's a metallic groan, and then a cracking noise.

"bucky?"

"i'm out."

"jesus christ, bucky, don't ever do that again. i thought you broke your leg or something."

"you just told me to do it."

"that's not the point. i just—" you stop yourself and place a restless hand against your forehead like you can scrub the panic away, "i'm re-routing scout to find you. sam and joaquin are moving to help you from the outside.

there's a pause— just the low hum of your tech and the faint hiss of static in bucky's ear.

"you're doing great." bucky says gently as he pulls away a handful of debris, "seriously. you've got me halfway out already."

"halfway doesn't count." you mutter. youre focused on scout's monitor as it zooms up multiple levels towards bucky. you're barely blinking, and you're thumbnail is torn up from where you've been nervously chewing on it.

he smiles faintly— dusty, tired, but honest. "it counts to me."

scout clears the floors— each level scanned and discarded— and then, like a light in the dark, you can spot the unmistakable glimmer of bucky's vibranium arm under the rubble.

you switch back to sam and joaquin's channel, your voice breaking through the comms, "bucky's on the sixth level's east corridor. he's trapped, but he's okay."

"copy that!" joaquin responds instantly.

before long, bucky can hear two pairs of boots thudding against the ground. he blinks slowly as a flashlight burns into his face. he turns his head just enough to see them through the haze— sam on the left and joaquin on the right.

"took you long enough." bucky jokes as he shoves another piece of debris out of the way.

"oh, he's alive." joaquin exhales as he grabs at chunks of metals, "i thought we were gonna be digging out a corpse."

bucky rolls his eyes, holding out an arm, "love the optimism."

sam practically leaps forwards, crouching beside him, "you're a damn cockroach, you know that? an explosion, six floors of concrete, and you're still alive." he says, grabbing bucky's arm and slinging it over his shoulder, "can you walk?"

"i'll manage." bucky leans on sam and joaquin more than he wants, but at least he's upright.

as they make it out, scout trails behind them like a loyal shadow.  your voice crackles through, but not in their ear pieces— through scout. "you've got a clear past east. the stairwell's stable, but don't waste time."

bucky glances up, and although he can't see you, there's a softness in his expression as he limps down the hallway, "still with me?"

you smile, "still with you."

joaquin glances awkwardly at sam, then rolls his eyes, "alright, you can flirt later. let's just get out of here."

the hangar is dim, lit only by overhead lights that flicker slightly and the occasional sensors that turn on when a janitor walks by. sam, bucky, and joaquin stand in a semi-circle staring down at atleast ten full crates of super soldier serum, the lids pried open and the vials staring— almost mockingly— back at them.

no one speaks for a while.

"so you're telling me..." sam pauses as he holds his hand to his mouth, trying to make sense of the unbelievable situation in front of him, "we almost died... and the serum was in john walker's hands?"

joaquin tilts his head, "hell of a sentence."

bucky leans over and plucks a vial from it's foam confine. it's heavier than he expected. he tilts the vial, watching the blue liquid slink to its side, an inkling of suspicion growing in his chest.

"who's to say this isn't a trap?" he places it back into the crate and crosses his arms against his chest, "walker drops off ten crates of serum and walks off, no questions asked? i mean... how'd he even manage to take these guys down? he doesn't have the shield or the government's support."

sam turns around and shakes his head, too stressed out of his mind to even think about it anymore, "i don't even wanna know, man."

behind them, a door opens with the familiar hiss of hydraulics. and then there's footsteps— soft, but certain.

"what are you guys looking at?"

bucky freezes.

it hits him like a punch in the chest— he knows that voice. he hears it in his sleep. in the quiet between missions. in the static of a dead ear piece. and now it’s just here— fast approaching.

it’s you. he knows it’s you.

he doesnt want to turn around— not yet— because turning around would make it real, and if it’s not— if its just his mind trying to comfort him with something familiar in a world that keeps pulling itself from under his feet— then he’s not sure he can handle it.

but then—

“why do you all look like someone died?”

and something breaks lose in him. bucky turns— he can’t stop himself— and there you are. you’re walking towards them, headset around your neck and your sleeves rolled up, clearly just finished with reports, debriefing and damage control. you look tired, but so alive that it almost knocks the air out of his lungs.

he doesnt know what he expected, but you look better than anything he could have possibly conjured up in his mind.

it’s instant, like something short circuits in him. you’re safe. you’re here. there’s no more static through a headset, no dust, and no explosions. you’re real and you’re standing ten feet away, completely unaware of the fact that he hasn’t stopped thinking about you since you said his name over comms.

you walk closer, hands on your hips as you peer into one of the crates. you speak, but bucky barely hears you over the roaring in his ears.

she’s fine. she’s fine. she’s fine.

he swallows hard. his metal hand twitches. you feel his stare before you see it. you glance over.

there's dust still smudged along the side of his jaw, and a faint scrape just above his eyebrow. but he's standing there and breathing, watching you like he can't believe you're real.

“hi, bucky.” the corner of your mouth twists up into a warm smile as you give him a proper once-over, “you look good.”

you say it like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

as you walk up to them, your shoulder brushes his for a fraction of a second. you just stand beside him like it's nothing— like this isn't some world-shattering event for bucky and that you weren’t a disembodied voice talking in his ear less than an hour ago.

even sam and joaquin are surprised, side-eyeing each other over the crates with identical expressions of is this really happening right now? and why is he just staring?

he's trying to play it cool, but he can't— he just can't keep his eyes off of you.

"holy shit, is that—" your jaw almost goes slack as you peer into the crates, eyes glazing over the glass vials in their foam casings, "where the hell did these come from?"

joaquin lets out an exasperated laugh, "you'll never guess."

you blink, "john walker?”

sam snorts, “okay, maybe you’ll guess.”

"i heard you say his name before i came in, i just didn’t think he was the one who dropped these off." you exclaim. you’re sort of impressed, "are you kidding me? how'd he even manage to get in here?”

your voice pitches with incredulity, the question half-rhetorical, half pure disbelief. you’re already running through possibilities in your head, and none of them are good.

you’re still peering into the crates, but bucky’s barely processed a single word since you walked in. his brain short circuits a little, and he speaks before he can stop himself.

“you’ve got… pen on your cheek.”

you blink, caught off guard, “what?”

bucky gestures vaguely to his own face, like his hand can explain for him, “right there. blue. it’s… smudged under your eye. must’ve been from the, uh… debrief reports or something.”

there’s a pause.

"seriously?” sam turns to face bucky’s, his brows raised so high that they’re practically part of his hairline, “you see the lady's face for the first time and that's what you say?

joaquin chokes on a laugh. you stare at bucky with an amused grin. he looks absolutely mortified.

“wh— it was distracting.” bucky waves sam off, trying to get him off of his back.

but you only laugh as you watch bucky scoff, "two years and you still don't know how to greet me. you could at least tell me i look good.”

he furrows his brows, caught somewhere between embarrassed and flustered “that’s a bit egotistical, don’t you think?”

you shrug, “oh, my bad. i forgot that you were the only one who’s allowed to be a little full of yourself around here.”

joaquin sucks in a breath through his teeth, “she’s got you there, man.”

bucky rolls his eyes and sighs. he opens his mouth, then closes it, and then he just shrugs, “you look good. really good.”

its awkward and a little stiff, but something about the way he says it makes it feel real— a little vulnerable— like he means it more than he knows how to physically express it.

you soften, just a little, “thanks, bucky.”

a short silence passes again, more comfortable now.

“okay, but seriously, what the hell are we gonna do with these?” you nod towards the crates, nudging one with the toe of your shoe.

sam blows out a breath, “i don’t know, but i do know one thing.”

you, bucky, and joaquin all look at him as he claps his hands together like he’s had a brilliant idea.

“i think we deserve a drink— y’know, to celebrate not dying.”

joaquin raises his hand, “i second that.”

“best idea you’ve had all day, sammy.” you grin, “i’ll go grab the good stuff.”

bucky watches as you turn and leave, something unreadable in his eyes. he stays frozen as he watches you disappear behind a door.

once you’re out of earshot, sam turns to bucky and pats him firmly on the shoulder—

“don’t worry.” he says with a knowing grin, “i’ll make sure you get another chance to say something better.”

bucky doesn’t reply, but the faintest smile pulls at the corner of his mouth.

[kittyminion]

hi stranger, i'm awkward logan howlett x mutant!f!reader

-logan howlett arrived at the mansion exactly when you did, and despite always being in the presence of each other, it was always awkward. but after a violent outburst from you, logan is curious and things are even odder than before. until charles sends the two of you on a duo mission together. the entire relationship changes...for the better -fluff, angst, canon-divergence, reader is a mutant called telekinova (nova), awkwardness, violence, bickering, mild enemies to lovers, kissing, suggestive content., cursing -word count= 9k (ooh wee mama)

The room was silent. Awkwardly silent. So silent you could hear the kickstart of the air conditioning outside. Or at least you willed it to, your fingers flexing subtly, because you needed anything to fill the silence.

Charles Xavier hadn't entered his office yet, supposedly dealing with some troublemakers who'd destroyed some things in the courtyard, so that left you and him alone. You didn't know his name, nor did you care to, but he was large—larger than any twenty-something-year-old you'd seen before.

He seemed to have this constant nonchalant look to him, especially as he leaned back in his chair, one leg lifted ontop of the other, hair styled like a cat's, sort of mullet-ish, but flowing to the back, but you shook your head at the thought, groaning lightly.

You took to circling a paperweight between your hands, your energy parting the gravity surrounding the object. The man glanced at you suspiciously, eyebrow quarked, but he said nothing, continuing to let the silence stretch, even as he stood.

"What the fuck is taking so long?" He muttered, tugging his zip-up jacket a bit tighter around himself. He didn't dare leave, maybe because the Professor forced him to stay, but he began searching through the drawers of the Professors desk, all the while you watched him vacantly.

Throughout all your years, you'd been alone, struggling through the world. You were ophraned, your parents killed by your own hand—or perhaps your abilties' hand because you didn't know how to control them then. You ran from everyone—people who wanted to help, people who wanted to kill, and anyone in between.

It became exhausting, but you couldn't stop, and it weighed on your shoulders like a neverending burden. So when Charles Xavier approached you in a motel, having said he'd been tracking you for weeks, you were shocked.

"You're an omega-level mutant, but the fact that you hide so easily, caught my eye. Due to your age and experience, I would like to invite you to be a teacher at my school."

That day forward was a blur. And before you knew it, you were staring up at the multi-million dollar mansion wondering where this place had been all your life.

The man slammed a drawer closed, and plopped heavily down in his chair, groaning loudly. It did nothing to cure the unpleasant atmosphere in the room, and neither of you made a move to speak to each other, which made it worse. You were very easily an introvert, and maybe he was too.

"I apologize for the wait." Charles wheeled in, looking as mysterious as he usual did. You let out a relieved sigh and stood, "what took so long?"

The Professor approached his desk, and raised an eyebrow suspiciously, noting the things out of place, and he focused a heavy gaze on the man.

"Logan, were you rifling through my things?" Logan didn't bother to lie and simply nodded, staring out the window, "how did you know?"

Charles simply chuckled, "it would be odd for me not to know. Anyway—I wanted to personally welcome the two of you to the mansion. Each of you will be assisting me with the students, teaching lessons and conducting missions with Ororo, Scott and Jean. Speak of the devil—" The trio came into the office, and Scott almost immediately got into a spackle with Logan.

That left you watching boredly, tossing things into the air. But, eventually, Charles got a hold on everyone, "I would like to introduce, Telekinova." You didn't realize he was introducing you, so you continued leaning back in your chair, face to the ceiling as you rotated object after object.

When you noticed it was deathly quiet, you glanced up and everyone was looking at you. The things fell, but you stopped them right before they hit the floor, and smiled curtly, "hi, I'm Nova."

After that moment, you had minimal issues. Ororo and Jean took you in as if you'd been there for as much time as them, and you appreciated their kindness, because for so long it'd just been you. Scott was a different story though, you didn't speak to him often and when you did, it was either extremely professional or clumsy, like you were never meant to be speaking in the first place.

You had no thoughts on Logan because you didn't speak to him at all. He conversed with the others as you did, but when silence surrounded the two of you, neither made the move to speak. Like now, you were sitting in the kitchen, just having finished breakfast when Logan walked in.

His hair was messy, face a little puffy from sleep, but his chest was bare, abs flexing from the cold. You pursed your lips at him, subtly watching as he raised his arms to stretch. You couldn't deny that body, so you watched shamelessly—your eyes following the thick trail of hair as it disappeared into his pants, then his arms as he put them down and propped them on his hips.

You were sipping coffee, lips still plastered on the rim as your eyes ran back up his body. His pecs hardened, then you were on his jaw, then the glowering frown until your eyes locked with his. You shrieked in surprise, spitting whatever coffee was in your mouth back into your cup.

"Sorry, sorry. I don't mean to stare." You muttered into the cup, twisting in your chair as you blushed and Logan scoffed, "well you were. Very boldly, I might add."

You gave up on the coffee entirely and sent it over to the sink, ignoring the shakiness of it, because Logan had undoubtedly caught you off guard.

"It won't happen again."

He scoffed once more, roughly this time, "you lie easily." At that, the conversation ended, leaving the kitchen tense and awkward. You honestly didn't mean to stare. He was just there, naked. So as Logan began making himself breakfast, eyes straying to you every few seconds—attempting to catch you—you slipped out of your chair and cleared your throat, nonchalantly leaving the kitchen.

Logan caught you though, eyes heavy on your figure.

That whole situation ruined any chance of a friendship you ever could've had with him. But you didn't mind, because Logan could be a real asshole sometimes, and according to him, you were just hard to talk to.

"That's what he said? I'm not hard to talk to, am I?" You stared at Ororo, horrified, wondering why Logan would ever mention you to her in the first place.

"Yes, but, I did ask why the two of you don't talk to each other. It's just weird you know, to be so close with you within a few months, but Logan and you are still strangers, it feels like."

You leaned back on the couch, head pressed against the cushion, "he's the one hard to talk to." You muttered and Ororo shrugged, "I talk to him easily enough, and I talk to you easily too, so maybe it's just—"

"—both our faults." She nodded in agreement, "maybe try a little more?" You scoffed, "he should be the bigger person! He's always stomping aorund the mansion like he owns the place! And he takes up all the space in the bathroom in the mornings. Not to mention the missions? He storms in taking everyone out before we can even get the chance to—"

It seems within your tangent, the very man you were ranting about appeared, "—the chance to what? Create a stupid little plan, while it takes me less time to do the fucking job?" His anger was constant, and that was one thing you'd gotten used to in the past few months. But that didn't change the embarrassment you felt as he walked in.

You practically curled in on yourself, cheeks so hot you could see steam. Your fingers shook, aching to control something to calm yourself down, so you played with a strand of your hair as Logan stomped in front of you, staring down at you angrily.

"We're a team though, we should at least—" your voice was quiet and submissive, which was something you'd never been before. So when Logan began yelling insults at you, you glared at him and stood. Your fingers delivered the lightest touch to his chest, and he was across the room.

He left a whole in the wall where you'd shot him and Ororo stood quickly, "Nova, Logan didn't mean anything by it, right?" She glanced at Logan with panic and the man scoffed, "I meant everything I said!"

He walked back over to you and the two of you stood chest to chest, or rather boobs to torso. "You think because you're this big, brainless man that you can say anything you want, huh?" Logan rolled his eyes, "I know exactly who I am, bub. You wonder why we don't speak, well it's because you're so fucking weird—"

Your eyes brightened with anger as you hovered above the ground, meeting Logan face to face. Everything not attached to the floor rose and Logan froze, staring at you with surprise. He wasn't scared necessarily, but he'd never seen such a powerful display of your abilities before. Of course, there was the typical telepathic stuff you used during missions, but this was different.

He could feel his own heart thrumming out of place. "Weird? Is it because I don't fawn all over you that you think that? The claws: typical, the attitude: typical, and most of all you're so stupid, you're stuck being the brawns of this entire operation."

Ororo ran out of the room, probably to get the Professor, and Logan's jaw clenched angrily. He crossed his arms and nodded at you slowly. You were trying to get him to touch you—hit you, push you, anything so you'd have an excuse to lash out, but Logan was smarter than you thought.

"Is that what it is, Nova? You think I'm stupid? Not stupid enough to see the loneliness you wear on your sleeve." He leaned closer, watching your face split into shock, "I hear you at night, crying. I see you in the morning, trying to piece yourself back together so no one knows. Then, at the end of the day, I see the exhaustion from trying to fit into the little social box you put yourself in every day. So honestly, it's not because you're weird that I'd rather not talk to you, it's because you hide every aspect of yourself."

That was the final straw. You lifted your hand and Logan was at your mercy. You controlled his limbs as you pulled him into the air, your eyes blinded with tears, forehead creased with rage—rage so hot you didn't care what happened to Logan, you just wanted to see him hurt.

He groaned out in pain as you stretched his limbs painfully, like he was a puppet for you to control. Then, you extracted his claws and raised his hands to his own neck, "is this hiding, Logan?" You floated closer, tilting your head with mock concern, lips pouting. Logan watched you fiercely, neck tense and red as you forced him to hold his breath.

"This is why I hide Logan, because I can so easily tear this world apart. So unless you want to put me here again, mind your tongue." He collasped to the ground, sputtering and coughing, face red, lips purple, and that's when the others came running in.

The Professor subdued you easily, mind locking onto yours and he forced you to freeze, even as the tears streamed down your face, your eyes still locked onto Logan's. His face was placcid, but you could see the astonishment in his eyes.

"Logan, are you alright?" Jean muttered, kneeling next to him. Even as the Professor pressed his finger to your temple and the world glittered away to darkness, Logan stared at you.

Maybe he was wrong.

⨷

You woke up with a gasp, lying in your bed, the sheets tangled around your body messily. You'd dreamt the entire time, about imperticular things, but it was dark as you woke, the moon streaming in though the windows.

You remembered every second of the day and despite the anger of it all, you were entirely embarrassed. No one in the mansion had seen you like that before, and you hadn't gotten to that point in so long that it hurt to even think about that part of yourself. That didn't mean you regretted it. Logan deserved everything he got, and if anyone was to apologize, it wouldn't be you.

The sleep Charles put you in made you realize how tired you were, because you woke up so well rested you could practically feel your energy buzzing in the air. But you stayed in your room until morning, mostly because you didn't want to run into Logan like you usually did late at night.

So when you left your room—expecting to find Ororo and Jean—and instead saw Logan leaning in front of your door, arms crossed, eyes low, you made the move of slamming your door, but he was quick to intercept, hand pressed against it, "Nova—just listen to me for a second!"

He was stronger than you and easily slammed the door open, causing you to stumble back, but you caught your footing and glared, "forcing your way into rooms now?"

Logan rolled his eyes, "I'm sorry about yesterday. I was being nasty like usual and I didn't expect you to—"

"—retaliate? You think you can just go around bullying whoever you want? First Scott, now me." He scoffed at you, "Scott is a dick and you know it!" You paused, shaking your head back and forth givingly, "fine, but I'm not Scott. I'm not here to impress the Professor and abide by the rules, even when you sit there like the cocky thing you are and call me weird!"

You stepped forward, and when Logan simply stared at you, refusing to move, you placed your hands on your hips and smirked, "we really doing this?"

He shrugged, "I guess we are. And I didn't mean to call you weird, it was the wrong word."

"Then what was the proper word?"

"Introverted?" You rolled your eyes, waving your hand and he was out of the way within a second. You ignored his complaining, "no abilties and you still would've been in there!" You didn't want to admit that fact so you said nothing, stomping into the kitchen, him right on your heels.

"So you go from kinda avoiding me to following me outright? You're the weird one, Howlett!" You yanked open the fridgerator and Logan leaned against the counter beside you, "because I was wrong! I shouldn't've been rude in the first place."

"Fine. I forgive you." He paused with surprise, mouth falling open and you nodded, smiling fakely, "that simple. Now leave me alone."

Logan didn't follow you that time, but you could see the mischevious look on his face so you stopped, "what the hell are you thinking?" He turned to you and shrugged casually, "nothing."

You stormed over to him and stomped down on his foot, to which he yelped and shoved you, hard enough to create distance, "what the fuck was that for?"

"Because I can see you planning something in that dumb little head of yours."

"If I can't call you weird, then you can't call me stupid or dumb."

"Fine—deal, but if you do anything—" he raised his eyebrow, "—out of the ordinary, I'll make you punch yourself black and blue."

⨷

Of couse he didn't listen to you, matter-of-fact, immediately after the conversation he walked to the Professors office and proposed a very stupid—in your opinion—plan to get the two of you to interact. Logan completely misread you from the beginning, and now it rubbed him the wrong way that he'd treated you badly in the first place. And now he wanted to fix it.

So when Logan came up to you in the courtyard, wearing his infamous tank top and jeans, you knew something was up. He looked too giddy and excited, which was an emotion you didn't often see. He was holding your jumpsuit, one hand on his hip as he paused in front of you, blocking the sun.

You attempted to ignore him, your eyes still focused on your book, but Logan didn't leave. You glanced up at him, eyebrows raised, "what?" He threw the jumpsuit in your lap, "we have a mission."

You stood with a sigh, "what about?" Logan followed you into the house, then down the hall to your room, where he leaned against the doorframe, "anti-mutant camp in Pennsylvania. They've kidnapped some kids. The mission will take at least of few days because we haven't done recon yet."

Nodding slowly, you began gathering your things. You could practically hear the nervous thrum of Logan's heart, so you paused, turning to him, "what's the catch? You wouldn't be still standing there if there was none."

He moved closer and stood in front of you, chest rising and falling heavily, "it's just you and me." You stared at him for a second, a little chuckle seeping from your lips then you shook your head, "how could we possibly do this job alone? We don't even get along here!"

You continued shoving things inside your dufflebag, thinking Professor was the one who assigned the mission, and you wouldn't dare go against his judgement. Little did you know, Logan had had his eye on this hostage camp for a while and when the opportunity presented itself, he offered to go with you. The Professor accepted immediately, already catching on to the plan, but he didn't dislike it.

"It's no big deal, Nova. We'll be gone three days at most."

Scoffing you turned to him once more, ignoring his hovering, "sleeping outside in a tent with you a few feet away doesn't sound like an ideal situation, Logan."

Logan raised his eyebrow at you and plopped on your bed, lying back, "if you're afraid of the outdoors, just admit it." You slapped his feet aside at you sat, glancing back, "I'm not scared—you are."

"What about that time you woke up the entire house because of a spider?"

You blushed, "it was in my bed!" Logan glanced down at the sheets cautiously, and saw nothing, but he smelt your scent. He didn't move though and continued watching you pack. "We leave in a hour."

⨷

The X-Jet was quieter than it usually was with just you and Logan inside. He took to flying it, which was a bit shaky at first, but eventually he got the hang of it, shushing you heavily each time you attempted to tease him. "I can take over if you want." He didn't know you were practically flying it with your fingertips, keeping the thing high enough in the air so the altitude didn't drop.

Logan shook his head, "nope, I've got it." You let your energy disperse and grabbed hold of the throttle just to scare him, your body falsely nonchalant. When the warning lights started blinking and the jet was practically falling through the air, Logan cursed, "fine! Hurry up before we die!" He grabbed your arm, gentle, but firm and pulled you over to him.

Your leg was against his knee as you stood in front of him, straightening the jet once more. Logan stood, chest brushing your back, then he sat in your seat. You gulped heavily at his closeness, but said nothing, sitting down in the pilots seat.

Logan rested his chin against his knuckles and stared out the windshield, "are we almost there?" You nodded, "about fifty miles out. I'll land the jet a few miles from the camp so we can set up." Logan yawned heavily and you scoffed, "does this bore you?"

He rolled his eyes, "I didn't sleep last night."

"Why not?"

"I hardly ever sleep but last night was the worst." You hummed in response, turning back to the front. That was something you didn't know, but perhaps it was given due to how often you ran into him at night. Most times he was in the kitchen, staring into thin air, sipping on soda or juice. Other times, he sat in the courtyard or in the entertainment room playing pool.

Those night were usually the most uncomfortable because you expected to be by your lonesome, but as soon as you walked into the room and saw shirtless Logan, hair messy, eyes shadowed with dark cirles, you froze, pursing your lips and just leaving the room, exchanging nothing but a simple nod of acknowledgement.

You couldn't deny that you didn't enjoy having someone else to talk to though. Logan was the only one who knew of your struggles, even if it was by accident. You had little to hide from him, so that left room for something authentic, even if he was the only one trying at this point.

"Is it because of me?" You said quietly, knawing at your fingernails and Logan shook his head, "because of your crying? No. More like nightmares and trauma—the normal stuff." Both of you shared a little humorless laugh bounded by likeness.

"Maybe you can sleep tonight. When I was in Europe, it seemed the worst places gave me the best rest." He hummed in surprise, "I didn't know you were in Europe. Where exactly?"

He turned towards you, legs spread as usual, "the U.K. for a while, then France and Spain. The Professor found me in Spain—cozied up in this little hostel. I was sleeping in a room with six other people, but it wasn't the worst."

"What was the worst?" You paused, weighing if you really wanted to tell Logan about your worst moment. "I'm not gonna tell anyone, Nova. Besides, I didn't tell anyone about the crying."

You glared at him, "stop bringing that up!" He raised his hands submissively, then you spoke once more, "it was in a camp similarly to the one we're going to. I was about fifteen, I think, and there was a group parading around the west coast capturing mutants, no matter their age. I was there for a month, before I escaped. Caught a ride on a rich families yacht all the way to the east coast then hopped on a plane."

He nodded slowly, figiting with his beard, "long journey then."

Eventually, you arrived at the destination and landed the jet. You saw the compound while flying and decided to hide out a few miles away, far enough that you and Logan wouldn't have to mind yourselves.

He carried all the bags from the jet and began setting up the tents. The first was his, a large thing with small mesh windows and a sheer top. But when he got to yours, and began setting it up, he called you over, "this one has a bunch of holes in it."

You kneeled next to him, eyes squinted, your arm brushing his as you grabbed the tent. The holes were random, but tiny, just enough space that you could see through. "What the fuck?" You muttered, spreading it out farther and when you unraveled it completely, an entire rat shot at you.

You screamed so loud your ears rattled and Logan jumped up, eyes wide as another rat untangled from the tent. "Logan, fucking kill it!" You shouted, throwing the rat off of you as the other skittered across the ground.

You scrambled behind him, your hands fisting his shirt as the rats ran underneath one of the bags. You were stuck to him like glue as he moved closer, one of his arms wrapped around you—nearly carrying you because your body was so rigid. "Scott is supposed to clean the storage every month!" You spat, cursing him in your head and Logan nodded, "why are you so scared? You can kill these things without even touching them."

He paused and glanced down at you, chuckling at your terrified face and you rolled your eyes, "I have to see them in order for that to work!" You stepped away from Logan, albeit not very far, and raised your hand. The bag drifted into the air and the rats scurried.

You froze one while Logan chased after another, his claws shooting into the fat little thing while you stopped the heart of the other. When all was said and done, Logan tossed them far into the forest and sat on one of the foldout chairs, "how did rats get on the X-Jet in the first place?"

You shrugged, "either way, it looks like you and I are sharing a tent." He didn't seem to mind entirely, but he stood and began unpacking the rest of the stuff, which included a bunch of food, a small portable stove and a few gallons of water.

As the sun fell, it got colder and colder. You broke off from Logan to shower behind the X-Jet, using the portable shower. "We couldn't have stayed in a hotel?" You called, the streaming water muffling your voice, and Logan shrugged to himself, "the nearest town is three hours away!"

When you were finished, Logan took your place while you dressed in the jet, returning to the fire afterwards. Logan seemed to be a camping extraordinaire because he had the place set up perfectly, despite the loss of the second tent.

He'd heated up a can of beans and put some in a bowl for you, so you sat outside and ate, your energy surrounding the camp just incase something decided to sneak up on the two of you. Logan came back shirtless as usual, the hair on his chest damp, while his sweatpants hung low revealing the sharp angles of his v-line. He shook a towel within his hair and then sat beside you, leg impeding on yours.

"You clearly don't understand how big you are." He leaned back in his chair and shrugged, hair damp and sticking to his forehead. "I need space and you have plenty of it. Are the beans good?"

"They're as good as beans get." You sat your empty bowl down and sighed heavily, staring up at the sky. The stars were bright tonight, moonlight streaming in through the canopy of trees. "Recon tomorrow?"

Logan sat up, elbows on his knees, "yep. We need a clear count of men and children inside. Thankfully, I packed the thermal scanner." He smirked at you smuggly, eyebrow raised, then riffled through his bag, pulling out the device.

You chuckled at his expression, grabbing the scanner, "perfect. We shouldn't have to get too close, right?" You lifted your legs onto his lap ignoring his false look of disgust, even as he rested his hands against them lazily.

"No more than fifty feet." He snatched it back and threw it into the bag, "the others will call to check up in the morning." He placed your legs back down and put out the fire, then crawled into the tent. You followed after him a few minutes later and scoffed, "Logan, you're taking up all the fucking space!"

He was spread over the entire tent, one leg raised as he rested his head on his arm. Logan stared up at the mesh ceiling, watching the stars, "it's only meant for one person, so don't complain."

You zipped the tent closed and kneeled in the entrance, deadpanning him, "well I'm not the one who forgot to check the storage." Logan suddenly grabbed your arm and tugged you beside him. You were pressed into his side, your cheek against his chest. "Be a darling, bub, and get the blanket."

You rolled your eyes and drifted the blanket ontop of the two of you, still cuddling Logan. His eyes were closed as you glanced up at him, your scarf inpeding his eyes, but he did little to move it away, his arm wrapped around your shoulder. "I know you're not asleep."

He scoffed at your whispering, "yes, but I would like to. As long as you don't talk my ear off." You pulled out of his grip and tossed his arm back onto his chest with a grumble, but you stayed close, "you're lucky you're fucking warm."

He laughed a genuine, cackling sort of thing and turned on his side to look at you. "you're not half bad, you know?"

"And you're just as bad as I thought you were." He scoffed playfully at your words, reaching up to flick your nose, "liar." When he did it again, you grabbed his wrist and pressed it against his chest. Logan was much stronger than you and twisted his hand from your grip and grabbed both your wrists in one hand. You let out a laugh when he poked you in the stomach, the blanket slipping away.

"Ticklish, huh?" He sat up on his elbows and tickled you in the side, laughing when you snickered, trying to get out of his grip. Finally, he stopped and lied back , intercepting your attempts to get him back. You gave up and stared at the sky, arm pressed against his, "with abilties, you're at my mercy."

He didn't deny it as he nodded, "true, but I win in strength."

"Because your fucking arms are the size of melons!"

⨷

When the sun peaked through the tent, blinding you momentarily, you woke up, but you couldn't actually move. There was a heavy arm across your waist, Logan's fingers underneath your shirt, fingertips grazing the bottom of your breasts. You blushed, pulling his hand out, glancing back and chuckled at his sleeping face. He let out a snore, but didn't wake up as you climbed out of the tent, body buzzing, skin red.

You got ready for the recon—brushing your teeth, straightening up the camp, etc., then cooking a few eggs on the stove—Logan loved his protein. As you finished up, scooping the eggs onto two plates, Logan crawled out of the tent, yawning heavily, creases from the covers on his chest.

"Fuck, that's the best sleep I've had in a while." He disappeared behind the jet to brush his teeth then he gratefully took the eggs, thanking you, "how did you sleep?"

"Good. No crying, if that's what you're asking." He nodded happily, mouth full, "recon today, then?" "Yep. I already have the scanner packed up. It'll take an hour for us to walk the three miles, so I packed some water too." You went to get dressed after that, slipping behind the jet while Logan returned to the tent to fold the blankets.

When you returned, Logan got dressed—not in his jumpsuit, he never wore that—but in his white t-shirt and jeans, belt buckle clinking when he walked, the two of you left your camp in search of the building holding the hostages.

Logan didn't say much on the way there, his mind faraway, eyes on the ground watching for rocks and branches. You didn't like the silence because last night was the opposite, but you also didn't want to bother him. He'd been trying to befriend you recently and you just now started accepting it.

So neither of you said anything. It wasn't awkward neccessarily, but instead tense like important words were unsaid. When you stopped for a water break, he sat on a large stump beside you, staring ahead at a clearing.

"What's wrong with you?" Your voice was rough as you said it, face placcid and Logan glanced at you in confusion, "what are you talking about?"

"You talk your ass off yesterday and now you're mute. What's the matter?" He stood, hands on his hips in front of you, "no reason." That's when you noticed the large buldge in his crotch. You saw it this morning, but it was small and insignificant, so you chalked it up to a simple morning wood. But it was bigger now, enough to make his gait weird.

You could see the redness in his cheeks and that's when you realized why he was so quiet. He was so focused on hiding it from you that he was too embarrassed to say anything. He'd made the mistake of leaving the bag he was using to hide on the ground beside you, so when he saw you staring at his crotch, his eyes widened and he fell to his knees, "what the fuck are you looking at, freak?" He muttered, avoiding your eyes as he snatched the bag and placed it on his lap.

You chuckled, "Logan, you have a massive boner. How the fuck can you walk with that thing?" He groaned at you, standing, the bag still on his crotch. He shoved your shoulder gently and kept walking, face as red as a tomato.

"It's none of your damn business!" You jogged to catch up with him, "should I pour some of this water on you? I'm sure it'll help—" he suddenly stopped and tossed the bag aside.

Your smile fell as he leaned down to your height, face arrogant, "want to know why, bub? It's 'cause I saw you undressing earlier. I looked out the window of the tent and there you were, by the shower."

"I wasn't naked, Logan!" You shoved him in the chest and he barely stumbled as you continued walking, faster now. He chuckled at your embarrassment, "it doesn't matter to my dick. Saw your panties, saw your bra and it clearly freaked out."

"You're the freak!" He scoffed, "oh please. You've peaked at me before—intentionally! I accidentally saw you changing." You spun around and glared at him, stomping closer until your chest brushed his, "and I bet you kept watching, huh? Maybe you wanted to stop, out of respect, but you didn't."

He stammered, mouth open and you smirked, "exactly."

You continued walking, still cocky, and Logan returned to your side, still covering his boner shamefully. "I'm sorry—" you shook your head, "you don't have to apologize."

⨷

There were at least fifteen children and twice that of men. Neither you nor Logan didn't have the confidence to take them out, but a plan would need to take place, to assure the childrens' safety.

It was still tense and silent after the boner situation, but eventually, Logan returned to normal, after excusing himself when you returned to camp. You didn't comment on his red face nor his lack of breath, and you assumed he knew you knew because he avoided your eyes.

You'd never seen him so flustered before, and the fact that it was because of you was a bit shocking too. There'd never been any ounce of romance between you and Logan until now, and you couldn't deny your satisfaction. Both of you were stubborn, but it seemed whatever weird feelings Logan had gained for you overcame whatever dislike you had before.

So you didn't mind it, and you let it happen.

When Logan 'unintenionally' touched you, you leaned into it, and you didn't mind giving him the subtle affection either.

"We need to approach together and create some sort of distraction that will draw the men out. And while one of us deals with the ones outside, the other can go inside." Logan and you were inside the X-Jet drawing up a plan on the whiteboard.

You drew out the camp, sketching little stick figures to represent the children inside. "There's thirty two men and sixteen children. We need more men outside than inside to ensure the childrens' safety." Logan hovered behind you, his arm brushing your hip while he pointed at the drawing, "we've got some explosives in storage and I can set them up on the scraps outside the building."

"While you do that, I'll sneak to the eastern entrance and wait for you to set them off." You leaned back against Logan, then he grabbed the marker from your fingers and drew a horrible drawing of you.

"Who the fuck is that?" He scoffed, "it's you!" Rolling your eyes, you snatched the marker back, "I'll do the drawing because you're shit at it." He scoffed, but didn't argue.

"We need at least fifteen men outside."

"Do you think the explosives are enough?" You glanced back at Logan and he shrugged, "I can't be sure."

"Well let's hope when they see a big, muscular dude such as you with claws in his hands, more will come." He smirked, chin resting on your shoulder, "want a peak on the workout?"

"You're so egotistical it's ridiculous." You stepped away and Logan followed you out of the jet, "I'm inviting you to work out with me."

When you worked out, it was usually with Ororo and Jean in the basement, but you rarely, if ever saw Logan down there unless it was to train in the Danger Room. But you couldn't deny your curiosity."

"Fine, but if you need a spot, you'll have to ask Scott." He rolled his eyes, returning to the fire. The sun had began going down now, and showers were already finished, so both of you retired to the tent.

Logan laid down and took up most of the space, leaving you a small sliver next to the entrance. "If we're going to sleep in here together, I need more space!" He muttered underneath his breath and scooted over a bit further, giving you more room and you laid down, pulling the blanket up to your chin.

The tiny camping lamp lit the tent dimly, and you glanced over at Logan, staring at his profile, "try not to suffocate me in your sleep." He turned to you, "what do you mean."

"You tend to cuddle." He was quiet as you turned onto your side, then you felt his arm wrap around your hips and tug you against his chest, "do you mind the cuddling?" You shook your head, grabbing his arm. "A big teddy bear is what you are."

He chuckled, lips against your shoulder blade, "just don't tell the others, okay?"

⨷

The blast was huge—shaking the ground as soon as Logan detenated the explosives. You were knocked off your feet, watching Logan floating through the air, the shockwave pushing him dozens of feet into the air. The entire scene played out slowly in your eyes as you saw his face split with fear, his body upside down.

You could feel the men inside the building pounding out through the northern entrance and you hopped up quick, ignoring the stabbing ache in your ankle from falling and you raised your hands, mind splitting as your energy surrounded Logan, pausing him in mid air.

He looked over at you with shock, his breathing irratic, and you placed him gently on the ground. He gave you a nod and a flash of a smile, then immediately got into action. He was no longer Logan, but instead the infamous Wolverine. He was rough and powerful as he fought the dozens of men coming at him. They didn't land a single touch, his claws blocking bullets.

You limped inside the building, wincing at your twisted ankle, but you knew you had a job to do. All of the children were in the middle of the building, bounded with shackles, a few of them sitting in cages with shock collars on to keep their abilities in check.

The first men you saw raised his gun at you, but you threw it across the room, delivering a solid punch to his jaw, then throwing him against the nearest wall. You fought fluidly, thankful you didn't have many against you, unlike Logan.

The children watched you with fascination, even as your leg buckled and you were pulled to the ground. You made sure to not be too graphic, which was something very easy for you to do, but you were cautious of the kids. You didn't want them to be afraid and it would be much easier taking them back to the mansion without worrying about fearful tears.

After you finished taking everyone out, you unlocked the cages, shackles, and collars, "me and my partner, Logan, are here to rescue you all. We'll take you to the X-Mansion in New York, then contact your loved ones from there." The oldest was a teenager, the youngest being no older than five or six.

The teenager helped you gather all the children then you all moved outside cautiously. You couldn't hear Logan nor any fighting, so you assumed he was finished.

And you were right, Logan pushed a limp man off of him and came over to you, kneeling so he could speak to the children. He said an iteration of what you had, "we move quick and we move quietly. There's no telling who will show up."

Thankfully, you and Logan already packed up camp, so as soon as the jet was in view, you could just load all the children up and speed off.

You and Logan lingered behind on the way back, his arm tucked around your waist to take weight off your ankle, "you're clumsy, you know that?" You rolled your eyes playfully, attempting to keep up a protective barrier around the group, but it kept wavering and fading each time you took a step. You were exhausted after fighting, and your abilities had limits no matter how big they seemed.

"It was that damn blast. I didn't expect it to be that big." He shrugged, "neither did I. But thanks for saving me—I surely would've broken my fucking back otherwise."

You knudged him as a small child turned around to look curiously. When the child said fuck lowly, mimicking Logan, you gaped, staring up at him, "you have to watch your mouth!"

He groaned a little, "I'm sure they've heard worse!" You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could, you heard the cocking of a gun. You pushed away from Logan quickly and raised your arms, focusing all of your energy into keeping the barrier up. The culprit moved closer, a dozen other men behind him, "give us the mutants!"

He didn't let you reply before he pull the trigger, but the bullet his the barrier and fell to the ground, squashed like a coin. The kids looked at you with astonishment and the oldest teenager raised his fists defensively. "I'm not going to be able to hold it much longer!" You huffed out, face red, chest heaving as you tried your hardest to channel your abilities.

Logan glanced at you with concern, but he slipped out the barrier and got to work, slinging men aside and snatching their guns just as you collasped, mind muddled. The barrier glittered away and the teenager crouched next to you just as he let out a purple blast from his fists. They were like lazers and burnt the men to crisps, but it wasn't enough.

Your ears were ringing as Logan returned to you, still on high alert as men rushed him. The kids had all sorts of abilities, enough to fight back and give you all the upperhand. The youngest child turned into a bird and bit chunks out of the men, another kid spat boiling water from his mouth, and another one could teleport with a blink of his eyes.

When the kids were done, all the men were either dead or unconscious and Logan laughed, shaking the nearest kid by the shoulder, "you rascals are amazing!" He focused back on you though and shook his head softly as he picked you up, his arms hooked underneath your neck and knees.

"We have to move quick, others could be coming. As soon you see the big jet, get on it!" The group sped into a run, Logan at the back to make sure everyone could keep up while he glanced down at you, wiping away the sweat accumulating on your forehead.

As soon as everyone was on the jet, Logan did a headcount then shouted for everyone to buckle in where they could, "I don't care if you have to squeeze two asses on a chair, but I can hardly fly this thing!" He strapped you into the passenger seat then sat, powering on the jet and taking off immediately.

The kids yelled out complaints at the shakiness, but Logan ignored them, arms flexing as he pulled the throttle. He could barely keep his eyes off of you for a second, but he forced himself to focus as the jet rose higher and higher until it was hidden in the clouds and finally balanced.

Logan called the Professor and he picked up within a few seconds, "are you and Nova heading back?" The Professor's face glittered into existence, glitching away every few moments, but Logan replied swiftly, "she's fucking exhausted, Charles. Her body is burning up and I really don't know what to do!"

Charles' eyes widened at Logan's panicked state and he sat up straighter, "she's at her wits end. She needs to rest to get better, and nothing else can rush the process."

"Fuck!" Logan muttered, glancing back at the kids who were simply staring at him with mixed emotions, "and I have these kids here, but I don't know what to say! She's the one who was supposed to—"

Charles shushed Logan, "you need to stay calm! You're incharge of sixteen kids while flying multiple tons of machinery. This is no time to freak out. Nova will be fine. Just get back as soon as you can, the others are waiting."

The Professor ended the call and Logan ran a heavy hand down his face, eyebrows creased to all hell. He couldn't calm his raging heart nor the worry. You'd never been this tired before—never—so he had no idea how to react. Maybe it was because you had to save him? He cursed lowly, pounding a heavy fist on the console.

"You okay, man?" The oldest kid, Marcus, appeared beside Logan, arm resting against his chair and Logan scoffed, "you seem smart, bub. Do I look okay?"

Marcus shook his head, glancing over at your slumped figure, and he grabbed a nearby towel and wiped your forehead, kneeling next to your chair. "No, you look like you're losing your shit."

Logan laughed humorlessly, "yeah, well I'm glad you're perceptive. Do you know any of these kids?" Marcus nodded lazily, sitting on the armrest of your chair, "all of them. I've spent the last few months being with them twenty-four-seven so it's hard not to."

"Well we're going to need your help getting everyone where they're supposed to be. If they trust you, they'll answer whatever question you ask them." Marcus nodded, raising his hand where a small orb of purple light flashed, "will do."

As soon as the mansion came into view, Logan let out a laborious sigh as he landed the X-Jet—very roughly. When he opened the door, Scott, Ororo, Jean and the Professor were standing there, and they immediately hopped into action, guiding the kids to the mansion. Charles stayed back through, watching Logan lift you gently, his eyes creased with worry.

"Somethings shifted." Charles noted, following Logan inside the mansion and Logan chuckled, "a lot has changed since we left."

"For the better I assume?" Logan nodded, placing you in your bed, his hands moving your curly hair from your face, then he wiped the sweat from your body and stood, "she's going to be alright?"

"I wouldn't lie to you, Logan. She needs rest and a lot of it. That means she may be asleep for days, but she will be fine. I want you to check up often, give her water, and if she does wake, get her to eat. And don't worry if she falls asleep after."

Logan noted it all in his head, thanking Charles with a nod.

⨷

"And suddenly you like each other?" Ororo said, face stretched with surprise. Everyone was sitting in the entertainment room, all except for you. Three days had passed and you still weren't awake, but everyone could feel your strength coming back. Ororo sat by your side when she wasn't busy, Jean too, often muttering all about how much everyone missed you in the mansion.

Students left gifts by your door and some left them with Logan, your nightstand covered in wildflowers from the field behind the mansion. You had a bucket full of candy in your closet, a crotchet blanket from Kitty, and Rogue made you beaded jewelry.

Everyone missed your witty charm and bickering with Logan. They missed your tenderness on tough subjects and your easy explanations when speaking about topics in class. They missed the board game nights you and Ororo organized each Friday night.

But, mostly, Logan missed you. He was surprised how much though and he hadn't realized how often you were involved in his routine, despite the lack of communication. He cuddled up with you at night, though, arms loose around you and sometimes you would squeeze him back, muttering his name hoarsely, and all the stress would fade away.

He'd been more engerized then ever, but he wanted you by his side. He wanted to kiss you for the first time and spend the weekends with you playing pool—which would probably end up being a vicious competition, but that's what he looked forward to the most.

Logan had just returned from a solo mission. He was tired and ready for bed despite the suns presence. Obviously, he wasn't wearing his jumpsuit—his tanktop damp with sweat, legs suffocated in jeans, his belt loose to give him space. He pushed open the side door in the kitchen, stretching heavily, his back sore, knuckles attempting to scab.

Ororo, Jean and Scott were in the living room, laughing so loud it annoyed him, but he said nothing, pulling open the fridge and looking for a beer, but when he realized there would probably never be a beer in this entire mansion, he wanted to collaspe to his knees and cry. So instead, he grabbed a soda and began the walk to your bedroom.

Just as he passed the couch, fingers trailing on the back of it, he paused, noting a figure sitting beside Ororo, who was watching Logan with a light smile as he paused and turned around. Scott snickered at Logan's confused face and you did too, cheeks red as you attempted and failed to hide your laughs.

Logan's eyes widened at the sight of you and he forgot the soda entirely and rushed farther into the living room, "you're awake." You raised your hand as you curled the carbonated liquid into the sink and stood, your hands on your hips, "yes I am. I went looking for you but found these fools instead—" you gasped as Logan hugged you, his arms heavy.

Your face was stuffed into his shoulder, you feet almost hovering off the ground from how tight he was hugging you. You could hear the quick pulse in his neck and you smiled, arms wrapped around his torso as he slipped a hand against your head and inhaled your scent deeply.

"Gosh, I didn't know you two were fucking." Scott muttered, standing. Your friends gave you two privacy and Logan pulled away and sat heavily on the couch, head leaning back, "when did you wake up?"

"This morning. I think you'd left by then." You glanced at him and pushed yourself closer, head resting against his shoulder. Logan grabbed your hand and intertwined your fingers with his, "I missed you, bub."

"No one would believe how gentle you are."

"And we're keeping it that way. Scott is already gonna tease me about the hug, I know it." You chuckled, kissing his cheek, his beard rough against your lips, "who cares what Scott thinks? Besides, we said nothing when Jean and him couldn't keep their hands off of eachother."

Logan nodded in agreement, "exactly. They were sucking each others faces off!" Each of you shivered in disgust and you moved onto your back, your head against his lap, eyes closed as Logan's hand rested against your chest gently.

"Then I guess they'll have no problem getting used to us." He hummed in susprise, smirking and you sat up once more, tilting your head for the perfect angle. Your lips were gentle against his, your knee digging into his thigh, but Logan didn't care—all he cared about was you. Your scent was blinding, your fingers chilly against his neck. Logan grabbed your waist and shifted you on your back, his other hand gripping your thigh.

He was exactly the teddy bear you said he was because he was gentle. He didn't bite or force, nor was he rough. He was dominate of course, guiding his tongue into your mouth as he devoured you, but you didn't complain. Logan took care of you and you would do the same.

Your head fell back as Logan's kisses trailed down your chin then to your neck, his lips against your racing pulse. When his fingers attempted to slip beneath your waistband, you grabbed his wrist, shaking your head, "not now." He mirrored your smirk, allowing you to stand.

"Then when?" You didn't reply, attempting to walk away, and Logan grabbed your arm and reeled you back in, fingers hooked in your pants, "I can wait as long as you want, but at least leave me with something to dream about."

You laughed, forehead pressing against his chest then you nodded, "fine." You stared at him as you guided his fingers underneath your shirt, shivering at the chilliness of them. Logan's cheeks were so red it made you smile, just as his hands groped your boobs. You let out an airy breath as you leaned back. Logan kissed you, arm hooking around your body as he pinched your nipple, "that's plenty, bub."

[kittyminion]

you before the others, part two arthur morgan x debutante!f!reader

-arthur takes you up on your offer -fluff, canon-divergence, implied age-gap (reader 20s, arthur 40s), arthur is rich now -part one

Your second dress was better than the first, with flowy tendrils coming from the sleeves, the neckline modest, but showing off the angles of your clavicles, your neck glittering with expensive jewels, the sort of stuff Arthur spent stealing years ago.

He was better now though, having broke off from Dutch and his neverending plans that always seemed to stab someone in the back. Arthur bought stocks from the mayor of Saint Denis, and his life only looked up from there. He owned his own stables and a vast Victorian mansion, and all he needed now was a woman. He'd come to the ball after being given an invitation from your Father, and he wasn't expecting much from you—considering your wealthy history—but now as he saw you, he thought much more of you.

You were younger—younger than most women he went for, but you were pretty and seemed darling. So he approached you after you reappeared in the ballroom, ignoring your parents confused glares and the looks of the other suitors.

You grasped his hand as he offered it, smiling gently as he spun you onto the dance floor, cologne and cigar smoke drowning your senses. "I can't help but be surprised at your interest." He muttered, the side of your forehead pressed to his chin as the two of you danced. The guests of your ball looked curiously, but said nothing—even as your mother moved throughout the crowd, trying to advert the gossip.

"He's a family friend." You heard her call, and you rolled your eyes softly and glanced up at Arthur, "you are a fine man, Mr. Morgan. But, I admit I haven't seen you around before."

WIth a hum, Arthur spun you, fingers grazing your hip lightly before he tugged you back into his chest, albeit a little passionately, but it made your heart flutter as you blushed. "I've been in Saint Denis for a few years now, but I've just now started entering the social scene."

You nodded slowly, "where are you from, then?" He didn't answer for a second, blue eyes piercing on your own, but when you didn't glance away, not an ounce of judgement in your gaze, he replied easily, "Blackwater. I had a bit of a different lifestyle before this."

He scoffed unsurprisingly as your eyes widened with recognition. All you could remember were the constant headlines about the Van Der Linde gang, and a certain Morgan man terrorizing people all over New Hanover.

"I don't mean to offend you, Mr. Morgan."

He kept dancing with you nonetheless, eyes a bit more guarded than before, "nor do I mean to be offended. Spent so much of my time here trying to erase my past, but it's practically impossible."

When the song finally ended, you tugged Arthur towards the edge of the crowd and sat at a table, "you're reserved now. Is it because of my surprise?" You reached over to grasp his hand and Arthur let you, moving closer, his knees knocking with yours.

"Yes. I admit I expected a different reaction." You grinned slightly, "and what reaction was that?"

Before he could answer, you felt a tap on your shoulder. It was Mr. Brown, the first suitor to sign your dance card. He stared down at Arthur with such hatred it surprised you, "madam, did you forget we were to dance?"

He turned his gaze to you and you stared at him for a moment, "I'm sorry sir—"

"—clearly she's occupied, Mr...," Arthur grabbed your dance card and tugged it from your wrist, "Mr. Brown. I think she's finished looking for suitors for the rest of the evening." Arthur ripped the card in two, and you chuckled lightly, cheeks warm with a blush, but you nodded, "Mr. Morgan is correct. I've decided to dance with him the rest of the night."

Mr. Brown spluttered, face red with anger, "are you insane? He's twice your age!" When you made no move to argue against it, Mr. Brown stormed away, pulling at his hair.

"I assure you I can handle my own battles, Arthur." He nodded politely at your words, standing, "I'll keep it in mind for next time." Instead of taking you to the dance floor, he guided you back around the corner, and in the hall where you'd first met.

"Does it bother you—our age difference?" You wondered, arm locked around his. Arthur moved slowly, trying to savior the moment, and he shook his head. "You're an intelligent woman who can make her own decisions, right?"

You nodded, pausing in the hall, "I am."

"That's all I needed, then." He grasped your jaw and pressed a kiss to your lips, arm wrapped around your body to lean you back a bit, your leg raised to his thigh. You gasped as he tipped you, the sound fading into a weak moan as your tongue tangled with his. You could taste the smoke in his mouth, and you assumed he tasted the sweetness in yours.

He made a low, gutteral noise then pulled away, eyes still pressed closed as he placed you back on your feet. "then I shall make my claim to your father. If only you want it that way?" He watched you silently, eyebrows raised, and you tilted your head, lips pursed.

Arthur stared at you with confusion, "is that not—"

"After a date first."

He let out a surprised laugh and kissed you once more, "you like to joke, I see."

✮⋆˙

requested by @nexamoon

[kittyminion]

mental anguish, part two logan howlett x ex!mutant!f!reader

-after deciding to stay friends for a while, you and logan start building a relationship, one much better than the first time -fluff, angst, smut 18+, poc reader, reader has curly/coily hair, violence, arguing, reader is a mutant called Psi (sigh), exs to friends to lovers, bub -part one

Months went by, and although you distanced yourself from Logan, things were well. You were friends once again—a simple relationship that wasn't complicated at the surface. You could stay up with the others laughing like nothing mattered—because you finally let it go.

Logan and you weren't meant for each other—wait no. You were meant for each other, but just not now. Your heart was fixing itself as time went on, and you could see Logan doing the same. He had no flings or relationships, which pleased you in the deepest parts of yourself.

You wouldn't be able to deny the jealousy then, because even though you and Logan weren't together, you still loved him—and loved how he treated you. The thought of that same concern and consideration directed at another person made you feel a deep ache in your heart. No matter how much you stuffed the thought of Logan with someone else away, it wouldn't disappear. So you didn't dwell.

You went about your life as normal, continuing to hone your abilities, and as you became stronger and more grounded, your abilities reflected that. It seemed they were no longer tethered to your emotions and you could control them just as easily as the Professor could. Of course, you weren't as strong as him, but people had reason to fear you.

That didn't mean you didn't lie awake at night wondering how it all went wrong, but you were still grateful for the past, otherwise you wouldn't be where you were today.

It was early when you woke, the sun still hiding, just little bits of light streaming in through the windows. You could smell the dew in the air as you sat in the courtyard, still in you pajamas, a cup of coffee in one hand while the other was pressed to your temple. You could see nor feel anything as you rifled through your memories. The worst of them made your body tremble, but the best of them—the ones with Logan, Ororo, Jean and Scott, made happiness swell within you.

Your limbs were slow and lethargic as you pulled out of your mind, the cup of coffee almost falling on your lap, but there he was, catching it.

"Clumsy as always." Logan muttered, voice still ridden with sleep. He placed the cup on the armrest of the bench, then sat beside you, body spread, taking up his entire half of the bench. He wore his usual hoodie and sweats, feet bare, eyes low and red.

"Did you stay up all night?" You glanced at him, watching him play with his beard, and Logan nodded, shaking his head with a scoff. "I don't sleep anymore."

You wanted to say you agreed, because the last time you actually got a good nights rest, was when the two of you shared a bed. Those were the best sleeps of your life—full of twisted covers, sweat covered skin and embarrassed drool. And on the weekends, the two of you would lie in bed all day, watching stupid movies and talking about nonsense.

Neither of you dared to mention the past, so you just turned foreward once more, watching the sun rise. When you shivered, Logan turned to you with a raised eyebrow, then pulled off his hoodie. He was left bare, but he didn't seem to care as he placed it over your chest. "You could get sick, you know?"

You slipped the hoodie on, and inhaled his scent, eyes closing as you pulled your legs up to your chest. Logan moved closer, fingers brushing your shoulder, but he didn't go farther than that. "You could also get sick. Just 'cause you've lived a million years doesn't mean the cold doesn't bother you."

You cocked an eyebrow at him suspiciously, laughing when he betrayed himself to smile, "I'm not a million years old!" He flicked your ear, causing you to curl in on yourself and chuckle, "somewhere around there then."

When he pressed you into his side and pressed his lips against your forehead, both of you froze—Logan moving away cautiously. It was awkward after that and you pursed your lips and stood, pulling off the hoodie and handing it back to him, "we have training with the Professor," you called curtly.

Logan nodded, glancing down at his watch, "in ten minutes." Your skin was buzzing with embarrassment as you broke off to enter the mansion, your back burning with his gaze. His thoughts leaked into your mind, fuck, am I moving too fast?

It's not like you didn't enjoy his affection, but you didn't want to fuck things up either. Both you and Logan understood a relationship wouldn't have worked a few months ago, but now it was like you were dating again—accepting each others interest.

Each of you went out of your way to impress the other these days, and it turned into more than a simple friendship, or whatever fucked up relationship you and Logan masked everything with.

Now, it was more. You felt the little flutters when he touched you, felt your heart stop when you caught him staring, and Logan felt the same. He wanted to wake up and see you each morning and he enjoyed going out of his way for you.

Training in the Danger Room was intense as always, leaving you sweaty, tired and headachey, which often ended with a bout of medication and sleeping the rest of the day away, but Charles wanted to round all five of you up for an upcoming mission.

All of you were in his office, Ororo and you sitting in the small chairs in front of his desk, while Jean sat against the armrest of your chair. Scott and Logan were standing a bit behind, Logan flipping through the books on Charles' shelf.

"Just some recon. I want a full view of the building and the area surrounding it. If we can get pictures inside, do it, but no one should be caught. They'll know we're coming if you do."

Charles continued speaking, but all you could hear was him. He was obviously unblocking his mind simply to taunt you.

You look pretty, bub.

Your shifted in your chair, attempting to focus on Charles, but he continued complimenting you in his mind, obviously trying to make you fluster. It was working though, because your skin was sweaty, your cheeks red.

I know we're both afraid to try again, but I think it's time.

At his words, you turned around and glared, mouthing him to stop, but Logan didn't, a light smirk growing on his lips as he popped his eyebrow smugly, arms crossed. You could feel your heart pounding harder and harder as his thoughts continued to enter your mind—all about a relationship, how beautiful you were and not to be afraid.

Your leg was bouncing anxiously, fingers clenched, chest rising and falling roughly. You could feel a migraine growing, but you could hear nothing but him. Logan approached your chair, hand landing on your shoulder, "heard that, Psi?" You glanced up at him, confused, your senses returning as you looked at the Professor.

"I guess I'll repeat myself—Logan and you have a seperate mission. Ororo, Jean and Scott can handle the recon, but you two will be a few miles away, taking out the small group of men who patrol the area." You nodded slowly, and stood, "of course, Professor."

When he dismissed the five of you, your hand locked around Logan's wrist tightly, your mind forcing his legs to move. He let out a gasp of pain as you dragged him from the room and around the corner.

You continued twisting his arm until Logan was at your mercy, on his knees, face red as you threatened to break his arm. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Logan? You can't force me to listen to you just because you don't have the courage to say it out loud!" He kicked out your knee and you lost balance, collasping in front of him.

The two of you were face to him, albeit him looking down at you, but your glare was heavy as you grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled him closer, "want to be with me? Say it. Because when you run your mind to all hell, it makes me want to rip my brains out."

He paused at yours words, eyes hard against yours, "I didn't know. I'm sorry." You rolled your eyes as you stood. Logan's footsteps rattled behind you as he followed you back into the main living room of the mansion. You could see blotches of black in your vision while walking into the kitchen, unlocking the medicine cabinet and struggling through it for ibuprophen.

Pain blossomed behind your eyes as every thought of every person in the mansion hit you all at once. It was like your breath ripped out of your lungs and you lost your footing and almost hit the floor, but Logan was there, scooping you up in his arms as he stared down at you, horrified.

"What do I need to do? Tell me now!" You could barely hear him as he spoke, but you pressed your finger to your temple and forced the thoughts to cease. Bile rose in your throat at the feeling of your energy impeding your mind, and Logan was quick to carry you over to the sink.

You leaned your arms against it, and Logan pulled your hair back for you, muttering apologies over and over again until you glared at him to stop. "It's not your fault, Logan. I was already weak from the training."

"But I made it no better by forcing my thoughts at you." You nodded forgivingly, wiping your mouth. Logan helped you over to the bar, and grabbed you by the waist, plopping you in a stool. He sat beside you, fingers clenching the counter, "are you alright now?"

"Yeah. It was just a lot for a second." He reached over and grasped your hand, knees knocking into yours as he twisted in his stool. "You were right earlier. I should have just said it this morning." You covered his hand with your own and grinned lightly, reaching over to hug him. Logan—ever the furnace—was so warm against you as he pulled you closer, "we're trying again, then?"

"Yes, we are." You squealed as you tugged you onto his lap and kissed you. It'd been a long time coming, and although you hadn't kissed Logan in a while, your lips still belonged against his. Despite his size, Logan was gentle, fingers delving into your hair as he scratched at your scalp. His tongue tangled with yours in a vicious scene that anyone would be flustered to see.

But you and him were desperate, and had been for so long. So it was only right when he carried you to his bedroom. The bed was a mess, ripped in two complete pieces. You gasped at the sight as Logan lowered you to your feet, "what did you do, Logan?"

He rolled his eyes playfully, "I said I was restless." That didn't stop his desire for you though. His eyes were like two stars as he kneeled, pulling you with him. He stared at you like you were the Earth and he the Moon, forever in your orbit, but you didn't mind, because you needed him no matter what.

He kissed down your body, hands roaming, and you moaned until your voice was raspy and desperate. He delved a single finger inside of you and filled you entirely, inhaling your moans like it was the only thing that kept him alive.

You scratched up his back, leaving red marks, trickled with blood, but Logan moaned at the feeling, especially as you palmed him. The floor was cold against your back as he ripped your shirt in two, but he warmed you with his kisses, "I love you, bub. You know that?"

"I'd be a fool not to, Logan. But, I love you more."

That night was full of violent love that left his mind pierced and your body in shambles. But he put you back together and you did the same, happy that you kept him vocal the entire night.

Though the bed was ruined, the two of you traveled down the hall to your room, where two people became one, his body wrapped around yours so tightly you couldn't discern where he ended and you began.

"To the end of my days, right?" You muttered, lips ghosting against his neck, and Logan nodded, "they'll never know me without you."

[kittyminion]

mental anguish, two-shot masterlist logan howlett x ex!mutant!reader

-after logan breaks up with you, you wonder why he seems perfect, but eventually the two of you rebuild your relationship, and it becomes better than the first time -fluff, angst, smut 18+, violence, language, arguing, poc reader, reader has curly/coily hair, bub, reader is a telepathic called Psi (sigh) -word count= 3.7k

⚟ part one ⚟ part two

[kittyminion]

mental anguish, part one logan howlett x ex!f!reader

-after things don't work out between you and logan, you're emotionally devestated and confused on why logan seems okay -reader is a telepathic mutant called Psi (sigh), fluff, angst, poc reader, reader has curly/coily hair, mind reading, bub, language, arguments, mentions of sex -part two

Logan was sitting there—smiling and laughing like things were okay. He spoke to Jean quietly, legs spread, one hand resting against his thigh while the other played with the edge of his tanktop. He acted as if he didn't break up with you a few weeks ago, his excuse being we've grown apart.

You'd spent the better half of your time as an X-Man loving Logan. Ever since the moment he saw you, he was by your side, albeit unintentionally keeping you company. He didn't speak much back then, just accompanied your late night visits to the kitchen, a soda in his grip, hair mussed like it usually was.

Back then, you didn't talk much either so all you could do was sit in silence and rethink everything that had gotten you to the point you were at now. You had constant brain splitting headaches then, your eyes constantly bloodshot, body lethargic as thoughts and memories of every single member of the mansion entered your mind.

You could barely filter out what was yours and another persons, but you knew you had many origin stories and plenty of trauma to keep you awake at night. Logan seemed the same—not able to sleep, filling the void in his mind with another person—which happened to be you—and you didn't mind it, because it seemed to quiet when you were in his prescese. Now, you knew it was because he was so hard to read, but either way, you and Logan built a sort of bond that grew into something more.

After Charles helped you tame your abilities, you were yourself again. You socialized with the others, built friendships with Ororo and Jean, bickered with Logan and Scott, and helped teach the kids in the mansion.

You and Logan got closer—like hands roaming in the middle of the night close. You would slip into his bed when the moon was at its peak and tuck yourself into his side, your curly hair impeding on his face, but he just pushed it aside and held you close, breathing syncing with yours.

He never labeled your relationship, but he was exclusively yours. He didn't glance at another girl nor desire to. Logan only saw you—in all your rich-skinned glory. He didn't mind the constant curls of hair found in his bed or the shower, nor did he mind the multiple bonnets found underneath the pillows.

He helped you wash your hair every few weeks, then would sleep the exhaustion off afterwords, still holding you close. And you loved Logan wholeheartedly. Even the callousness and lack of patience—you accepted him.

But things changed a few years into your relationship. Resentment sprouted, and it seemed the two of you became tired of each other. He couldn't look at you longer than a few seconds and you couldn't bare being in the same room, and you knew not why. The love halted and hatred spread in its place. The arguments were constant and meaningless, but then he finally gave up.

It was late the night he broke up with you and it was disgustingly sad. He held you as he mumbled the words, attempting to wipe your neverending tears. He let you pierce his mind and remind him of all the good times you had, he let you freeze him in place so he wouldn't leave the room.

But in the end, he was gone and so were you, you just didn't want to admit it.

You still loved him, but it was hard to see if he still felt the same about you. Especially since he seemed to miracurously heal after only a few weeks. You still cried yourself to sleep some nights, missing him, but Logan—Logan was perfect.

You could feel your heart pounding heavily as you watched him from across the jet, your suit getting tighter and tighter, your head pounding with a massive migraine as you felt the memories of your partners filter into your brain.

You saw Jean's past, then felt Storms chilliness on your body. You saw Scott's childhood, and Xavier's trauma. Your leg bounced anxiously as you shook your head, trying to rid the thoughts, your mouth extremely dry as you swallowed, sweat trickling down the back of your neck.

"Yeah—I think that one's pretty good." Logan said with a raspy laugh, his eyes straying to you. You were too busy trying to get a hold on yourself to notice his attention, but you stood and walked over to the front where Charles and Storm sat, leaning against the formers chair, "I think I need a block—a mental block, quickly before I—" Charles turned to look at you, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and when he saw you he jumped into action, fingers pressing to your temples.

You felt his telepathic energy flood your mind and then everything was clear. You could only see your own memories, and the headache was nothing but a mild thrum.

"You need to get your emotions in check, Psi. I've been inviting you to therapy sessions for years, but you constantly refuse it." You rolled your eyes at Charles' words, returning to your seat, ignoring Logan's heavy gaze on your face, "I don't need therapy, sir."

That didn't change.

His concern for you.

You inhaled deeply, letting Charles' block overtake your body as you begin to regain control of your emotions, attempting to completely ignore Logan, but he seemed determine to catch your attention.

"We're arriving now." Storm called from the front and you were the first out of the jet, ignoring the constant feeling of Logan's eyes on you.

"In and out." Charles called, and all of you nodded, breaking up into your usual pairs, which happened to leave you and Logan alone. You ignored his presence entirely as you entered the building, which was a rumored hideout for Magneto.

"What's up with you, bub?" Logan called, following you inside, his claws extending as you moved farther inside. Shushing him, you took out the first person you saw, forcing the man to shoot himself in the head with the gun he was holding. Logan left the conversation for later and immediatly hopped into action.

It took a few minutes for everyone to be taken out, but once they were, all of you met in the middle of the building, "look for any evidence of Magneto's whereabouts," the Professor said and you broke off into a small office, sighing when Logan followed you.

He leaned against the door frame, arms tight and covered in sweat as they usually were, "now what's the matter? You almost lost control on the jet—why?" His voice was rough, lacking any of the softness he'd given to you previously. His patience was running thin, and it made it no better that you were refusing to speak to him entirely.

Logan's jaw clenched tightly as he moved closer, watching you rummage through drawers, your head beginning to pound harder and harder as he pestered you.

You could hear the whisper of his thoughts then.

What the fuck is her problem? Was it because I was staring?

Scoffing you turned to him with a slight smirk, arms crossed to mimic him, your leg cocked out as you tilted your head, "want to know why I'm pissed off? It's been two weeks since you broke up with me, and you seem perfectly fine. If you really loved me like you said you did, surely you're hurting, right?"

He propped his hands on his hips and glared up at the cieling, blocking his mind off from you entirely which made you nod knowingly, "you're about to lie."

"What's wrong with being fine?"

"When you put up this weird facade that everything's okay, it fucks with my mind, Logan! I loved you and now you pretend like we didn't exist!" You ran a fustrated hand down your face and turned back to the desk, rummaging through it once more, then moving to a large file cabinet.

Your eyes were beginning to cloud, but you wanted to hide it, so you didn't move when you felt Logan at your shoulder. His hands were big and heavy against your shoulders, his body radiating warmth like a furnace.

"You think I don't hurt at the thought of missing you? You think I don't cry myself to sleep some nights just because I regret what I did?" His arm wrapped around your neck and you leaned back against him with a deep inhale, letting his scent overtake you entirely.

His chin pressed against the top of your head, his belt buckle digging into your back, but you ignored it, anything to be in the moment because you didn't know if you would get another.

"Why did you do it then? Why break up with me if you still love me?"

"The small things—the arguing, the resentment, the miscommunication. It was too much and it was breaking us apart. I think because we were together so long, we forgot what it was to be us."

Logan spun you around and wiped your tears, "I love you, bub. But we can't be together 'til we can figure this out." Nodding you hugged Logan, your head pressed against his chest.

"Guys, we found something!" Ororo called, and that was the cue to let each other go. For the moment at least.

[kittyminion]

nurse me back to health bucky barnes x nurse!reader

-after bucky stumbles into your apartment late at night, he forces you to fix him up, then reveals some surprising information -angst, poc reader, reader has curly/coily hair, bucky has stalker tendencies, breaking and entering, mentions of smoking, violence, language, not proofread

You got out of bed to pee, curled in on yourself to push away the chilliness in your apartment, your eyes pressed closed as you made you way to the bathroom, darkness surrounding you. Your legs were bare, bottom barely covered by the oversized t-shirt you wore, your bonnet slipping down to your eyebrows.

You shoved it back with fustration, plopping on the toilet to do your business, you limbs still lethargic. You refused to look at the clock, hoping it wasn't too early in the morning, or you'd never be able to fall back asleep comfortably. Not to mention the warmth in your bed that you hoped would lull you back to sleep.

Working mutiple shifts after the other at the hospital made you the way you were—tired twenty four seven, your senses lacking and slow. So when the glass of your window shattered in the living room, you either ignored it or didn't hear it all. You just flushed the toilet and went back to your bedroom, plopping underneath the covers, the noise of your fan lolling you back to sleep.

Your knees were pressed to your chest—nose peeking out from beneath the covers. There was a muffled sound of footsteps in the kitchen, but you didn't hear it. It was only then that you flinched awake when something large hit the floor. You gasped aawake, shooting out of bed like you were on fire—completely forgetting about your lack of clothes.

You grabbed the nearest thing: a pair of small scissors, meant for you eyebrows, and moved slowly into the hallway. Your eyes were barely open, but you could hear nothing but the beat of your own heart and your heavy breathing. Your chest rose and fell greatly, your toes sticky against the wooden floors.

Pressing yourself against the wall the peeked around the corner, looking around your living room for a culrpit, but everything looked as it should have—save for the bluddy pile of glass underneath your window.

Half of you wanted to be brave and confront whoever was inside your apartment, but the other half just wanted to call the police. It was far too late to get yourself killed, but maybe your exhausted self gained some sort of odd braveness because you kept walking, farther and farther into the living room.

The couch was untouched, all your unecessary throw pillows tossled like they usually are, and so was the blanket, thrown over the back of the couch, your imprint still on it from your latest couch rot.

The kitchen though was another story. The counters were clear, shattered glasses and mugs you washed earlier on the floor. One of your wooden cabinets had a door missing, the hinges hanging haphhazardly.

You yelped when you saw a man laying face first on the floor, one of his arms metal, his hair full of debris and dirt. He had a long gash up his back gushing blood, and mutiple stab wounds across all of his body.

You touched him with your foot, expecting him not to move, but when he shot up so quick and grabbed you—hand wrapped around your throat—you practically threw up your own heart.

Your feet hung off the ground, your back pressed roughly against the wall. The scissors you held fell to the ground and you gasped for breath, hand raised to his face. The man in front of you had steel blue eyes, his eyebrows pulled taunt. You could see the exhaustion in his body, his skin covered in a sheen of sweat, dirt and splattered blood.

His lip was busted, nose crooked, but when he saw you—really saw you, he immediately pulled back, eyes widened before he apologized roughly and coughed, clutching his torso.

"You're a nurse, right? Patch me up." You just stared at him, rubbing at your sore neck, legs crossed—extremely conscious of your appearance.

When you didn't answer, he glared at you, long brunnette hair sticking to his forehead, but he pushed it back thoughlessly and collasped to one knee, blood trickling from his nose.

"Fix me up!" He bellowed, rattling the walls and you yelped frightfully, moving towards him with caution, your arm wrapping around his to pull him up. He was heavy—and you struggled to pull him up, and despite his attempt at helping, he was still deadweight.

"I wouldn't have yelled if you listened the first time." He squeezed his eyes shut as you rushed away, scrambling underneath the sink for the first aid kit. When you returned, he was on both knees, still clutching his ribs. You kneeled in front of him, and pressed your fingers in his side, wincing when he did.

"What's your name?" You wondered, curious if he was going to notice, but he answered easily, "Bucky Barnes—formerly the Winter Soldier." Your eyes flashed at his name, and he chuckled humorlessly at your reaction, pulling a way a bit, "want to stop now?"

You shook your head, "I've seen you on the news. Even heard the gossip." Bucky raised his arms to give you more access to his ribs. He said nothing as you cut his shirt in two, revealing a defined set of blood-ridden abs. You pocked and prodded at his skin, moving quickly, "what did you hear exactly."

"Your ribs are frectured. And not much, something about mind control and Hydra?" He didn't attempt to clear up your confusion, his eyes fluttering closed as he rocked back on his knees and fell onto his behind.

You grabbed a pillow to support his head, "you've lost a lot of blood, but it should be fine within the next few hours. Now, I'm going to clean and stitch your wounds."

Bucky said nothing at the flash of your panties as you leaned over to grab more supplies from the first aid kit, nor did his eyes linger. "I'm sure you're wondering how I found you?"

You nodded sarcastically, "obviously. Especially when a mysterious stranger broke into my apartment—asking for help."

Bucky barred his teeth as you cleaned his stab wounds, but he didn't give you too much trouble. "Saw you outside the hospital one day, smoking. Knew you worked there 'cause of the scrubs. Then you were walking home."

You paused, glaring, "so you followed me?" He grabbed your wrists and pressed your hands back against his chest, ushering you to keep working, "yes. I was sent to kill someone in your building, so I needed the code. You should watch your back more often."

Scoffing, you roughly pressed into the wound and Bucky glared at you, "don't blame me! You live in fucking New York of all places. There's dirty men around every corner and you seem to not understand it."

"Oh I understand it clearly! Why do you think I carry a gun?" He seemed surprised at your words, but he just sighed, "perfect. Every shot someone then?"

You rolled your eyes, pulling Bucky up by his arm roughly. He groaned as he sat up, leaning forward as you rounded him and began cleaning his large gash. "Of course I've shot someone with it! There would be no point in having it if I didn't use it."

"Plenty people have a gun and never use it."

"Well I guess I'm unlucky enough to not be that person."

It was quiet after that, even as you stitched Bucky up. He didn't make much more noise after that, and maybe it was his lightheadedness, but you were grateful for his lack of mouth. He was an expert at annoying you.

"Done. Now turn around. Your nose is out of place and this will hurt." Bucky turned as you asked, body lethargic like an old mans and perhaps he was one—if the gossip was true. He looked like he was in his mid-thirties, blue eyes as bright as a young person's with all the hope in the world.

He stared at you as your fingers prodded at his face, his pink lips dry and creased with blood. You ignored him as he examined you, his eyebrows furrowed, lashes fluttering as he looked between every feature of your face.

"I lied by ommision." You looked at him and tilted your head with a sigh, fingers pressed to his nose, "can this wait until after I fix your nose?" You didn't wait for his answer, because you were already cracking it back.

Bucky spat out fowl words and shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose, then he glared at you, "you could've counted at least!" Shaking your head, you began cleaning up all the supplies, "counting makes it worse. Now, what were you going to say?"

He let out a heavy sigh and pulled himself to his feet, limping slightly as he moved to sit on the couch. "I said I lied by omission. The time I followed you wasn't the only."

You froze, mouth falling open, but you said nothing, "when else did you follow me?" You stood in the middle of the living room clutching the first aid kit, eyebrows furrowed heavily.

"I was in the building to kill someone, but after that, I came back to the hospital. You were there again, smoking, but you had a bruise on your—nose I think." He swallowed heavily, avoiding your gaze.

"A patient punched the shit out of me that day." You knew not what to say, but Bucky continued, "I followed you home again. To make sure you were safe—"

"—oh fuck that! You've been stalking me?" You dropped everything, ignoring the clatter of the box and shook your head, "why would you stalk me?"

He shook his head, "I don't know! All of this was when I was being mind controlled, so between assignments, I guess I took an interest in you. I came back to the hospital every shift and learned your schedule, then I started following you home. It was like I was compelled to do it."

Your cheeks reddened at the thought of him following you and you ran a heavy hand down your face and sat on the couch beside him, "so you're telling me, somehow your mind controlled brain took a liking to me? Why?"

Bucky stared at the blank television in front of him, his fists clenched tightly, as if you were trying to rip the truth out of him. His ears and cheeks were red, body full of rigid embarrassment, but he kept talking anyway, "you were different, I guess. I saw you cry and agonize on each break and every walk home and somehow I felt—comforted, like you and I were the same."

It was hard to accept that he turned into such a vastly different person. At first he was rough around the edges, but now, you were trying to build a different—more vulnerable—view of him in your mind.

"How long did you watch me?"

"For a few months. And when Steve woke me, the first place I knew to go was here." He turned to you and shook his head softly, "I would never, and I mean never stalk someone, but it just happened and I'm sorry."

You were frozen in disbelief, your eyes going up and down his figure before you focused on his arm. It looked familiar for some reason—especially the red star on the bicep. You reached towards him, your fingers touching it gently, and Bucky watched you silently, hoping in his heart whatever this was would end well.

"You were there, that night." You whispered, fingers run down to his wrist, where you raised his hand and pressed your own to it. His titanium fingers were larger then yours, but he grasped your hand and nodded.

"I was walking home after a shift and it was dark. Then someone grabbed me and pulled me into the alley. But then you showed up—you beat the guy to pieces."

He nodded, "that's why you got the gun isn't it?"

"Yeah. I wanted to at least be able to defend myself." Bucky squeezed your hand then stood up abrubtly. He almost lost his footing, but he regained it quickly and became walking to the window.

"Wait! Where are you going?" You followed him over to the window, confused as to why he was leaving, but Bucky didn't heed your words. He climbed out, ignoring the broken glass and turned to you, "thanks for the help."

Then he was gone.

[kittyminion]

you before the others, part one arthur morgan x debutante!f!reader

-you fancy the beautiful man in the ballroom -reader is a debutante, implied age-gap, fluff -part two

You stood near the bar, drowning in your dress, your feet swelling in your heels, posture oddly stiff, face blank as you stared ahead at the large crowd in the ballroom. They were all there for you—and more importantly, for your introduction into society. You were ripe for marriage, fresh and blooming, like the prettiest rose of the season.

But you couldn't help but feel anything but. Your dance card was full, but you had no desire to dance. Your mother was eying you harshly from across the room, but nothing she could say nor do would make you move from your spot. Your father—ever the loving man—kept your mother occupied. Each of them could tell something was the matter with you, but they knew not what.

Suitor after suitor came up to you, kissing your knuckles, leaving you impressed or bored, but you stayed where you were, your lungs collasping in on themselves as your corset became tighter and tighter.

There were stars in your vision along with little dots of black as you stumbled a bit, catching hold of a barstool near by. Despite the event being yours, everyone else gossiped about other things—so that gave you the chance to catch your breath. You tugged at the laces of your corset, pulling blindly, and little relief came.

You knew you were expected on the dance floor soon enough, and your newest excuse was running out. Your drink was gone and each time a new man came up to you, you simple let him sign your dance card, then you sent them on their way—a polite, but panicked smile on your lips.

It wasn't until sweat started dripping down your neck that you saw him. He was older, older than socially acceptable for you, but he was handsome. You could see the evidence of labor in the creases of his skin and he was dressed perfectly, suit pressed to all hell, dirty blonde hair slicked back. His blue eyes were like the clearest sky, fingers curled around a thick cigar, smoke billowing out between his lips.

The only thing that made him out of place was the cowboy hat tucked beneath his arm. He walked nor talked to no one in particular, but he greeted whoever he could, and they laughed in his prescence, like he was the god of entertainment and easy conversing.

You hadn't gained your breath back, nor did the panic stop, but you were only momentarily distracted before you started gasping for breath, cheeks reddening, your lips dry from lack of air and eyes wide.

"Are you alright, madam?" A Mr. Blane asked, slipping his arm underneath yours as he lifted you. Nodding, you slipped into the barstool nearby, "I'm fine, sir. Just need some—...water." He rushed away to ask a bartender just that, but he wasn't hasty, so that left you getting up.

You tripped over your skirts and barely regained your footing before you were stumbled out of the ballroom, using the wall as support. You knew not where the kitchens were, but you pushed open every door until you found it, grasping a knife, and immediately hacking away at your dress, not caring as jewels and beads alike clattered on the floor.

Your breath rushed into you as the dress fell—cut in two. You sat on the floor, legs pulled to your chest, staring down at the dance card, already feeling more overwhelmed at the thought of a dozen men twirling you 'round.

You couldn't possibly enter the ballroom again wearing just your undergarments, so you gathered your dress in your arms and left the kitchens. Just as you turned the corner, set on running up the stairs to find something else to wear, you ran straight into a chest. The sharp bone of your chin collided with his breastbone, and the man groaned painfully, his hands wrapping around your arms to stabilize you.

When you glanced up, mussing at your chin, the dress forgotten on the floor, you almost gasped at the sight of the serene man from the ballroom.

He stared at you for a few moments, just dazzling at your appearance, then he glanced down at your attire and stepped back entirely, staring at the wall, "aren't you the lady of the hour?"

You pulled the dress up to cover you, chuckling nervously at the thought of being alone with a handsome man. Of course, you had your fair share of flings and the like, but it seemed to be different now. Marriage was in the question, and despite all your potential suitors, this man intrigued you the most.

"Yes, it seems I am. Do you happen to be looking for something?"

"Just the mens room. I was told it was this way." Nodding slowly, you pointed farther down the hall, your lips pursed. "Might I know your name? Perhaps you can add it to my dance card."

At your invitation, he glanced at you once more, marveling at your appearance before he nodded, procurring a pen. He signed, Arthur Morgan, and shook your hand politely, "I'm sure it'll be after all the others?"

"I think I can bump you up the list." He hummed in satisfaction to himself, voice deep and raspy, cigar still puffing smoke, then he continued walking, giving you one fair glance.

"I shall look forward to it then."

[kittyminion]

money can't buy love 40s!bucky barnes x heiress!f!reader

-after bucky comes back from the front to be a bartender for the rich upper class, he keeps seeing you——the wealthy and pretty girl who's one of the only people to give him the time of day. -fluff, angst, canon divergence/au, poc reader, reader has curly/coily hair, violence, language, flirting, steve and bucky arguments, reader has a sister, 3rd person dual pov, overbearing father, smut 18+ -word count= 6.9k

When Bucky came back from the battle front with zero dollars to his name, his first instinct was to get a job, as any normal person would. He was drowning in eviction notices and past due bills—his shared apartment with Steve dusty, forgotten, like a place held in time.

Steve was quick to use his money to get the boys back on their feet, which wasn't hard considering his multifaceted benefits from being the United States' Captain America. He was a character of the country, despite his huge successes in Europe, and many people still saw him as that previously small man who'd transformed into a sort of war personification, like the infamous Uncle Sam.

Bucky was happy for his best friend's successes, but that didn't change his poorness. He'd borrowed money from bad men, lied, cheated, stole, anything to survive, but once he became a bartender at one of Manhattan's most renown venues for black tie parties, he'd finally had money in his bank account.

The job was right up his alley anyway—he was able to charm the rich and keep himself busy. Even if that meant flirting a little too loosely with a man's wife for an extra tip, he didn't mind.

He came back from war with honor, but it meant nothing without money. Especially when he lied in his bed every night wondering how things could've went differently. He woke startled from nightmares, still reeling from old wounds and tender thoughts.

But you were his latest distraction.

He'd been working at the event center for a year and a half now and found his place there. He could pour drinks so quick, the people were flattered. His hands no longer cramped up from the shaking of the bottles, and he found himself sick of alcohol these days.

The night he saw you was a simple one. He was tired, legs aching, Steve sitting at the bar, swishing around a bit of liquor to take his mind off the dozens of photoshoots and interviews he had the next day.

"We have to deal with it at some point though," Bucky muttered, pulling his sleeves up as he prepared the next order of drinks for a nearby table. Steve scoffed in response, downing the last of his drink, "I don't want to be sprayed by a fucking skunk, Buck! I'll pay you to do it."

Bucky rolled his eyes with a smirk, "how much are you willing?" He moved his finished drinks onto a tray and attempted to hand it to a server, but the man shook his head, "nope. My shifts finished. All on you now, Barnes."

Bucky scoffed, daring to curse, but he decided against it and just smiled, bowing playfully, "as you wish."

"I'll pay no more than fifteen dollars." Steve stood as Bucky rounded the bar counter, the tray resting in his hand, the drinks swishing gently. "So you want me to risk my ass, just because you're afraid of a skunk near the dumpsters?"

"Yes! Exactly that. Don't you want fifteen bucks? That's more than you make in an entire shift." A little pang of irritation broke Bucky's expression and Steve frowned, "sorry—but you could just as easily make as much as I do with the photoshoots—"

Bucky rolled his eyes, eyebrows furrowed tightly, "and who's asking me for photoshoots? Huh? I'm just your best friend, that's all they see me as. Just the guy who stayed by your side when you were decrepid and asthmatic."

Steve glared at Bucky, but made no extra move to argue against him, because Bucky was right. As he made his way towards the expecting table, he inhaled deeply, sly smirk on his lips once more—hair skillfully messy, eyes soft like a feline's.

"Sorry for the wait, ladies and gentleman. Had a little scuffle with one of my fellow servants." He passed the drinks out swiftly, giving the group polite smiles. It was only four in the party—a man, and three women, two of the women significantly younger than the first.

You caught his eye immediately, so much so that his fingers slipped from the drink he was serving. He was able to tighten his grip on it though as he placed it in front of you. "Almost ruined that beautiful dress." And it was exactly that, a periwinkle thing that hung off your shoulders, displaying the angles of your clavicles and the glitter on your rich skin.

You smiled at his words with a polite nod, yours eyes glued to his. "Don't worry about it, sir. Got plenty more in the closet." It was the most nonchalant display of wealth he'd ever heard, but he chuckled nonetheless.

"Let me know if you all need anything. Name's Bucky." His eyes lingered on you a bit more before he walked off, back burning from your gaze.

"What in the world was that?" Your sister said and you waved her off, sipping your drink while your family stared at you expectantly. Your mother had a certain look on her face that made you blush, while your father—ever the serious—just watched you silently, eyebrows raised.

"What? I can't flirt with the nice bartender? He's my age, I can tell!" Your father shrugged at your words, "no one is a bartender because they simply wish it, darling." You scoffed, "does everyone have to be rich for me to like them?"

Your sister laughed, "it's surprising you want someone less than you." As her elder, you were quick to reprimand her words, but it disinheartened you nonetheless that you couldn't simply fancy Bucky—as he said his name was.

He was cute, in a certain siren way that had you drawn to him. His eyes were mesmerizing, not to mention that smile. You knew he hid many things and probably seduced many girls in the way he just looked at you, but you didn't care.

Bucky returned to the bar to find that Steve had gone, which didn't surprise him much, but it was bit of a disappointment considering he still had three more hours left of his shift. But he kept busy anyway. The event center had sprung into full action as the moon rose higher and higher in the sky. Bucky had a pocketful of tips and a back full of cricks, but it didn't matter, because you were still there.

He had the perfect view of you as you spoke to your family, quite intensely he realized. Your eyes were hardened, a low frown on your lips as you squeezed your drink tightly. But then your father spoke. Bucky couldn't hear what he said, but it was hard and rough because you were quick to fall submissive.

You eyes fell to the table, and your mother and sister each glanced away from the matter like it no longer meant anything to them—only because your father had said so. Bucky could see your eyes glittering with emotion, but you sucked it up quickly and stood, your mouth moving before you walked away from the table.

Bucky absentmindedly made drinks as he continued watching you. You walked up to a man near the dance floor and said only a few words before he was nodding and taking your hand. And you were mesmerizing when you danced, your smile not so full anymore, but you were breathtaking.

Bucky wholly wished he could throw his duties aside to invite you to dance, but he was sure you could see right through his confident facade. He was just a simple, scarred man, with not many advantages to him, besides his charming mouth.

The man was quite close to you as you danced, his hand just a little too low down your back, his hand sweaty against yours, but you needed anything to distract you from your family. Your father was stuck in his superior ways, and neither your mother nor your sister could stick up to him.

Most arguments ended the way that one had—someone cowering, while your father had the last say—every time. You seemed to be the only one to challenge him, but you'd yet to stick to your air of confidence.

"That's your father?" Your dance partner said with wide eyes, and you nodded with a grin, "quite surprising he's here actually. Most days he's in the office."

"He's paved the way for New York single handedly." That lead into a momentary ask where he wanted you to introduce him, but you were quick to decline, sour that you were once more reminded of your father. You just wanted to have a simple conversation about anything else.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Bucky saw you and your family in the newspaper the next week. It was then he learned your name and just how influential your father was. He was wholly surprised by your wealthiness, because he was surrounded by rich people at his job, but you were filthy rich. Like have mutiple homes in America and Europe rich. Not to mention you were inheriting it all.

"You smell like shit, Bucky!" Steve said as he poured another can of tomato juice into the tub. Bucky rolled his eyes throwing the fifteen dollars onto the toilet seat after Steve handed it to him. "I was going to call the exterminator, but that was almost thirty dollars, so I handled it first. Not before it sprayed me right in the fucking face."

Steve winced and leaned against the sink, staring down at his best friend, nose still wrinkled from the smell, "working tonight?" Bucky nodded with a roll of his eyes, "all night."

Steve stood, eyes pointed at the wall as he scratched his neck, "got you an opportunity." At his words, Bucky sighed heavily, "are you serious? You don't need to get jobs for me—"

"—three dollars an hour. Working for this rich guy down in the countryside. Heard some guys talking about it. They want someone with experience for security. You're perfect! Look—." Steve kneeled next to the tub, eyes wide and hopeful.

"—you were in the military for almost five years. Through a war and all. People know your name, you have a fucking Medal Of Honor! They'd be a fool not to take you."

"Yeah and look where it's got me!" Bucky stood angrily, his boxer briefs soaked in tomato juice, face red from rising anger. "I'm poor and I have a poor man's job. And guess what? I saw a beautiful dame the other night, and I bet the only thing that's holding me back is money. I could tell she liked me—pretty eyes just stuck, and mine stuck on her. But I got no choice! I don't need your help, Steve."

That led into a very long and tiring argument between Steve and Bucky that left feelings hurt. Steve stormed out the apartment that night, a small bag tucked underneath his arm, but Bucky didn't bother to care.

He didn't need to be taken care of.

So he went about his day as he usually would, thankfully rid of the skunk smell, but still feeling vile nonetheless. He didn't flirt like he usually did, and his tips were to show for it. Bucky made the drinks swiftly, spoke when he needed to, and admired the men and women around him. He knew Steve was right—he deserved more than he'd got after the war, but there was no reason to dwell on it.

"What's got you so down?" You sat in front of Bucky, wearing a blood red gown that looked like liquid silk. Your hair was done up nicely, lips coated in rouge, eyes a bit guarded.

"Madam, it's nice to see you again." He smiled at you politely, mood brightening a bit, but you could tell he was still upset about something. You had no desire to know what it was—because he was still a stranger to you—but you did want to cheer him up.

"Can I have an amaretto sour? Or do I have to climb back there myself?" He rolled his eyes playfully, lips pulling into that infamous smirk, "there's no need to. Here so late, why?"

You shrugged, watching Bucky's agile fingers pour your drink, "it's boring when you're in the house all alone. I was invited to a party, and I wanted to get pretty and socialize."

"With the bartender? Plenty men out there who want your hand, I'm sure." He placed the drink in front of you, then plopped a fresh orange slice and cherry right on top, napkin underneath the glass. You took a sip before you answered, eyes slipping to his before you glanced away, looking at the dance floor.

"You interest me. I think I've seen you before—before the other night." He didn't answer immediately, busy tending to another customer, before he returned just as quick, wiping his hand on a towel thrown over his shoulder.

"I've worked here for a while. Almost two years. Never seen you though." You smiled, eyelashes fluttering, fingers touching the rim of the glass. You leaned towards him a bit, voice lowered, "I usually come with friends, so I keep to the shadows."

Bucky nodded slowly with a smirk, "don't want daddy dearest to find out?" He meant it as a joke, but when your smile faltered and you cleared your throat awkwardly, he was quick to apologize.

But you shook your head, "It's not you. I guess the thought of him just makes me—upset. And I bet you wouldn't guess it, but I've been to college." You said it exasperately, eyes rolling smoothly, "I'm an adult, I have a degree and my own money, but constantly he treats me like a child. It's ridiculous."

Bucky knew not what to say, but he let you rant, nodding so you knew he was listening.

"Enough about me. Tell me about you." Your drink was near finished now, and Bucky's break was coming up in a few minutes. When another bartender came to take his place, he slipped into the seat beside you, a glass of ice water in his grip.

"Well, I'm a retired veteran." You tilted your head in confusion, "but you can't be much older than me?" He chuckled, sipping his glass, "I was Sergeant in the 107th Infantry Regiment. Been a few years, but I got some medals and what not—" you gasped, hand grabbing his arm, "you're James Buchanan Barnes? I was there when you got your medal! I guess I wasn't close enough to recognize your face."

Bucky couldn't deny that your joyful face made him a bit flattered. He'd been recognized a few times for his service, but he guess because he didn't flaunt it wholeheartedly, it was rare that someone would.

Your hand slipped into his as you turned towards him fully, knees brushing his, "you're friends with Steve Rogers!" He almost thought you were going to start fawning over his friend, which made his smile falter, but you didn't, "I read an entire article about you in the papers when you were first awarded the medal. They said you were wounded on the battlefield, but you still completed your mission successfully."

Bucky nodded, heart softening, "not often that people recognize me." You pulled your hand from his and rolled your eyes, "they're fools not to pay attention to you, Bucky."

Eventually, the conversation led into many other things and before Bucky knew it, he was being dragged back behind the counter to bartend. You'd been talking to him for hours now, and the conversation flowed well—so well it was like he'd known you forever.

"I think it's time for me to go." You said a bit sadly, pushing your empty glass away as you stood. Bucky watched you quietly as he polished a few glasses. He could tell you were a bit tipsy, "got a ride?"

You nodded, using the bar to guide you, "my driver's waiting in the parking lot for me."

Bucky set his glass down and rounded the counter, offering his arm to you. You took it with surprise, "won't they wonder where you've gone?"

"It'll only take a second. Besides, don't need nobody bothering a pretty girl such as you in the parking lot." You blushed, walking with him towards the exit.

"If you're looking for another job, my father's got a position open. Three dollars an hour for twelve hours of perimeter checks at the house in the countryside. Two fifteen minute breaks every shift, plus there's provided room and board. Just in case." You glanced up at him with bright eyes, your lips pursed with expectancy.

Your heels clicked against the concrete outside, the dim lighting making your skin glow like the sun.

It was the same job Steve had told him about, and now he felt bad that he wanted it. He should've never been rude to Steve about it, because now he wanted the job simply because he knew it had something to do with you.

He stared at you for a second, making your cheeks redden, but you didn't look away until Bucky was nodding slowly and pausing in his steps to turn to you. The tips of your toes touched his as he moved closer, your head tilted to lock eyes with his.

"Want to hear something funny? Steve told me all about it, but I blew up on him. Thought he was pitying me." You frowned, eyebrows furrowed, your hands clutching your purse tightly. Of course, you wanted him to take the job, he was perfect for it, and it could lead to other opportunities, not to mention you would see him more. But you understood why he wanted to decline.

"I couldn't take it without apologizing to Steve first. You understand, right?" His hand slipped around your wrist gently, and you pulled his hand into yours and nodded, "I'll try to keep it open, but I can't promise."

He inhaled deeply and nodded, beginning to lean towards you, and you grinned, lips pressing against his with such earnest that Bucky gasped, arm tucking around your waist to hold you closer.

Your purse was long forgotten on the ground, your fingers buried in Bucky's hair while he swallowed you whole. His hands were gentle, but his kiss was dove-like. His tongue tangled with yours, minty breath mixing with yours. Your perfume rubbed off on his shirt, his cologne and smokiness blending with your hair.

You could feel nothing but him and the chilly wind of Manhattan, your lungs burning from lack of air, but you didn't have the courage to pull away, not knowing if it would be the last time. Bucky pulled away first, eyes big and bright, so cloudy blue that you could mistake them for the sky.

"This isn't the last, I promise."

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

"So because of a girl, you want to take the job I already recommended to you? You yelled at me, Bucky! You cursed me up and down the halls, you forced me out!" Steve stood up angrily from the couch in the living room and Bucky raised his hands submissively.

"I know, Steve, and I'm sorry. Ever since the war ended, I've had a hard time accepting your help, and that's completely my fault. You're my best friend and I should've let you help me."

Steve scoffed, "what's her name?" Bucky told him and Steve scoffed once more, obnoxiously this time. "His daughter? You've got yourself caught up with the man's daughter? What'll he do when he finds out you swallowed her face off?"

Bucky rolled his eyes, sitting on the sofa and Steve collasped next to him, eyebrows raised expectantly. Bucky spoke up a bit shyly, "what's wrong with kissing her?"

Steve just simply laughed, so hard and loud that Bucky regretted telling him at all, but then Steve exhaled deeply and nodded, "fine. Take the job. But if he finds out, you're either dead or gone. And next time, don't refuse my help. It'll save us both a lot of trouble."

After that, Steve requested to meet you. It was a bit surprising to Bucky that Steve wanted to get wrapped up in the complicatedness of your so-called relationship, but he didn't mind.

So when he saw you, approaching the bar on a Saturday night, weeks after the kiss, he was excited to see you. Steve was sitting at the bar himself, "that's her." Bucky whispered, nodding towards you, and Steve stiffened, before he spun around slowly, a smile rising.

You glanced at the both of them suspiciously, a small smirk on your lips, "am I being ambushed?" You sat beside Steve and shook his hand politely, while Bucky shook his head, "he wanted to meet you."

He began making your usual drink without you even asking, "so you've been talking about me then?" You said it playfully, fingers brushing his as he gave you your drink, but Steve spoke up, "not negatively, I assure you."

You nodded slowly, thanking Bucky for the drink. He was busy silently admiring you, eyes stuck on your face, fingers itching to touch yours, but he stayed professional.

Thankfully, it was a slower night, so he rarely needed to take time for other customers as the three of you spoke. "The pay could go up, depending on his skill. I think the highest wage is six?"

Bucky shook his head in disbeilef, eyes staring wide at Steve, "are you hearing this? What man pays a security guard six dollars an hour?" You chuckled at his words, knudging Steve, "I think Bucky might combust."

"Rightfully so. But that's why you should take it, Buck. And as quick as possible. You said your father had an interview the other day?"

You nodded, "yes. He didn't have your resume Bucky, but he's definetely capable."

"So when can I meet him then?"

"He's holding interviews between nine and eleven at his office in downtown Manhattan. I would offer to take you, but I don't want my father to suspect."

Bucky nodded with understanding, "I'll drive myself, sweetheart. It's no problem."

Once Steve left, it was just you and Bucky. There was a comfortable silence between the two of you as jazz hummed in the background. You opted your amaretto sour for a simple water and Bucky happily obliged as the time wound down towards the end of his shift.

"Where do you and Steve live? Maybe I can come by?" Your eyes were hopeful and shy as you said it, but Bucky was happy at your offer, "in Brooklyn. Call if you come though, so I can meet you at the entrance. There's some eager men around there."

You didn't cringe nor judge at Bucky's words. You knew him and Steve were simple men, and unlike your family, you wanted to surround yourself with ordinary people. For far too long had you spent with girls your age who were discriminatory and cared for nothing but money.

Bucky was your breath of fresh air.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ 

Bucky wore his nicest suit for the interview. He knew your father would already have a picture painted in his head about him, especially because of the encounter with his daughter, but he wanted to impress, especially assuming your father wasn't aware of his military experience.

The doorman welcomed Bucky inside the building with a smile and walked him to the front desk, where a polite-looking woman sat, papers surrounding her.

"Hello, madam, I'm here for an interview?" She asked for Bucky's name and the position he wanted, then she sent him over to the elevator where another man sat on a tiny stool.

Bucky told the man what he was there for and after a few minutes, the elevator rolled open to the topmost floor. It was a large office, fit with sofas and seats, and a small bar in the corner.

Right in the center was your father behind a large wooden desk. It was neat, unlike the secretary's, but when your father saw him, he hummed to himself. "You're here for the security position?"

Your father had a scary demeanor that made Bucky want to cower, but he knew he deserved to be there, so he sat in the chair in front of the desk and nodded, "yes. I was referred by my friend Steve Rogers. He said you were looking for a security guard, experienced with weapons. I'm your man for it."

Your father wasn't surprised at Bucky's confidence, and neither did he seem to dislike it. "What makes you the man for the job? Last time I checked you're a simple bartender who flirted with my daughter."

Bucky's ears reddened, but he kept his face placcid, "I have military experience—four and a half years in World War II. Sergeant in the 107th Infantry Reagement."

The man's nodded with surprise, writing everything Bucky said on a small notepad, "James Buchanan Barnes, then? You earned the Medal. I can't help but wonder how someone so successful ended up a bartender though. I can look past the flirting—my daughter is a complex woman and you're a simple man—see something pretty and immediately take ownership of it."

He stood and straightened his suit jacket, body big and heavy, like he held raw power underneath his clothes. Your father had a mysterious air about him, like he had secrets that could destroy the world, but he was wise enough to not reveal them. His eyes were shadowed with stress and the like, face downcast and blank, but his eyes fought against Bucky's.

Bucky didn't back down though. And it wasn't just because of you. Of course he wanted to spend time with you, even if it meant sneaking around corners, but he also wanted the job because he could finally get his recognition. With just a simple word from your father, Bucky would matter again.

He knew it was bad to put his fate into the man's hands, but he had no choice. He couldn't go shouting through the streets that he was James Buchanan Barnes, holder of a Medal of Honor. That screamed desperation and would get him no where. So he would have to trust your father.

"I don't see your daughter as something to take ownership of, sir. I'll admit, she's beautiful and successful and a stupid man would easily take advantage, but I'm not that. I'm sure you know we'll interact no matter what while I work on your property, but I promise I have no ill intention. Not against you, or her."

He nodded slowly, "my daughter will do whatever she likes. No matter what I reprimand her against, she likes the touch of danger. And you seem to be just that. So if you do this job well, I'll allow whatever relationship seems to be happening."

Bucky's eyebrows furrowed, "relationship? We aren't—"

"—you can't kiss my daughter and expect me not to know, son." He chuckled at Bucky's confused face, then sat on the edge of his desk, arms crossed, "I'm sorry, sir."

Your father shook his head, "don't apologize. It's done and she's an adult who can make her own choices, but if you hurt her—just one time—you're done—and I'm sure you can imagine what I mean by that. Understood?"

"Wholeheartedly."

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ 

"I start tomorrow."

You were sitting at Steve and Bucky's dining table, watching the latter pack his clothes. Steve sat in the living area, beer in his hand. "Aren't you excited, Buck? Finally not sharing a place with me anymore."

You chuckled at his words while Bucky scoffed, "an hours ride and I'll be back. Not like I won't see you. Besides, I only work four days a week. I'll come see you when I'm off."

Steve nodded with a smile, throwing his empty beer bottle in the trash, then he threw on a jacket and grabbed his keys, "I've got a pretty dame to see."

"You mean Peggy Carter?" Steve blushed at Bucky's words, but left afterwards.

"So he knew about the kiss?" You questioned, standing and beginning to help Bucky pack. He nodded in response, chuckling, "a bit scary, I think. Maybe your driver saw us."

Bucky snapped his suitcase closed and sat on the couch, patting beside him. You sat happily, your arm wrapped around his and Bucky rested his head against yours. "I wouldn't be surprised if he was peaking around the corners. I couldn't sneak anywhere or he'd know the next day."

Bucky rested his feet against the coffee table and chuckled, "so why even hide then?" You shrugged, fingers intertwining with his, "guess it gives me a semblance of privacy."

"He's not a bad man, I don't think. He just loves you a lot." You nodded, glancing up at Bucky, your lips pressed against his chin, then you pulled away, "I know, but sometimes it sucks—especially when you're in your twenties still scared your father will catch you at the bar."

Your eyes fluttered closed as you kissed Bucky, and he pulled away a bit to reply, "then show no fear." His lips ran down your neck as you moaned, your arm wrapped around his neck.

"He is fear, Bucky. I hope you won't ever be on the other side of it, but my father is the scariest man on Earth." Bucky's tongue lolled out to lick a stripe up your throat, then he cushioned your back against the sofa and climbed over you, lips against yours once more.

"I think I already was on the other side of it, sweetheart. He was mild today, but it still—"

"—scared the shit out of you?" Bucky nodded with a chuckle reverberating against your throat, his cheek resting against your chest. You ran your fingers through his hair gently, fingernails scratching at his scalp.

"Just don't fuck up, and you'll be fine."

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ 

The house was enormous—a grand thing with mutiple windows, high ceilings, and unnecessary rooms. The floors were marble checkerboard, the house's kitchen so large that speaking to your father was like he was in a cave.

The man wore a elegant suit, you by his side as you two showed him around the house. "Primarily, you'll be outside. But during the nights, you'll switch with Smith and parole inside." You could barely contain your smile at your fathers side, your fingers tapping against the kitchen counters.

Your face was bare of any makeup, and you wore a simple silky robe, your hair wrapped up. Bucky had never seen you that way before, but you were wholeheartedly beautiful, and he wanted to shout it throughout the house, but he kept his face placid, hands hung by his sides.

The uniform he wore had your family's emblem on it, the pants black while the shirt was a simple khaki button down. A gun was strapped to his thigh—just a simple pistol just in case there was any trouble, but as your father said, there rarely ever was.

Your mother and sister had already met him officially that morning, and you didn't know Bucky had arrived until you were walking down the grand steps, speaking to your maid.

When you saw him standing at the entrance with your father, you froze, eyes a bit wide, cheeks red as you glanced down at yourself, but you saved face in front of your father. He obviously was amused at your show of professionalism as you shook Bucky's hand, but you kept up the facade, "nice to see you again, Mr. Barnes."

Bucky nodded at you, "you as well, madam." That's what led into the tour, and finally, Bucky was shown to his quarters. They were in a midsized building on the edge of the property, to which he shared with the other servants and guards. It was just a simple room with a single bed. He'd have to share the bathroom and kitchen, but he didn't mind, especially since he'd lived with Steve for so long.

"Have you anywhere to go, darling?" Your father questioned as the tour finished up, and the three of you were heading back to the main house.

You nodded simply, "I have a meeting with one of my partners." At Bucky's confused face, you smiled, touching his arm gently. Your father eyed the two of you quietly, but he said nothing, moving ahead of you. "I own a sales firm. We mostly avertise things for women, like beauty products, clothes, and the like."

Bucky hadn't known what exactly you owned, but he knew you made your own money. He was proud to hear of your successes, "that's great! I think I've seen a few of your billboards in Times Square."

You smiled, taking his arm as you stepped inside the house, "it's still crazy that I was even able to advertise there. We should go together some time—"

"—Mr. Barnes, I assume you have work to get to?" Bucky nodded at your father's words, giving you a small apologetic smile before he pulled away, "we'll talk about it another time."

Once Bucky was back outside, you eyed your father suspiciously, "are you sure you don't mind? The guy I'm dating works for you, and now he can see me whenever he pleases."

You couldn't fathom the fact that your father actually liked Bucky. Other guys you'd brought home were rich, but almost always assholes. Either they disrespected you or were downright careless. But now it was opposite, Bucky wasn't rich, but he was respectful and cared for you alot, despite the little time he'd known you.

"Mr. Barnes is trustworthy, darling. And he fears me. Besides, you're an adult and it's time I started treating you like one."

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ 

Your room was on the second floor at the end of the hall beside your sisters. It was late when you came back from your meeting and you wore a heavy dress, your face tiresome and dejected, but when you saw Bucky leaning against the wall beside your bedroom, you smiled, gathering your dress as you approached.

"Does anyone know you're here?" He shook his head, "surely your father expected this, but I'll be respectful and not go into your room. I just wanted to wish you a goodnight." You nodded slowly, setting your purse aside and stepping onto your tippy toes to kiss him.

His hands grasped your waist and he smiled into it, feet crowding yours, your arm wrapped around his neck. "You aren't too tired are you?"

He shook his head, pulling away and sitting in the seat in the hall. "It was straightforward work, besides, the other guards are entertaining." You sat in Bucky's lap, your legs crossed over one another, while Bucky's hand rested against your backside.

"Leave it up to you to make friends. I'm sure you don't miss bartending?"

"Not at all. Not when I can see you." You blushed, deciding to stand, and Bucky did too, leaving a kiss on your cheek. "I'm not working tomorrow, so maybe we can go somewhere?"

"Of course. I can meet you at the gates around noon."

Just as Bucky began walking down the steps, your sisters door swung open, and there she was, bonnet on her head, robe pulled tight, "who was that?" She spat angrily, glaring.

She stomped over to the stairs and glanced down the banister, trying to catch a glimpse of Bucky, but it was far too dark and he was already gone. You grabbed her arm and shushed her, "it was no one! Just go back to your room."

She wrenched her arm from your grip, "it was that guy—Bucky! Does father know you're entertaining him upstairs?" You scoffed, pushing open your bedroom door and she followed you inside.

"He probably does, and I wasn't entertaining him. We were just talking, besides, it's none of your business."

"When will you get it in your head that he's not good for you?" You ripped your jewelry off angrily and rolled your eyes, "is it because he's not rich? Money isn't everything, besides, he makes me happy!"

"You only met him a month ago. How can you possibly love him already?"

"I don't love him. I only fancy him, and if it happens to spread to love, who cares? He's mine not yours, so leave it there! If you want to marry a rich asshole, go right ahead, but we aren't the same!"

That clearly struck a nerve because she cursed you out one final time then stomped back to her room, slamming the door roughly afterwards. It was clear she was either jealous or bored. She'd never had the tendency to date less than her, but perhaps she was envious of your boldness, especially since you'd found someone who actually valued you.

You didn't want that to be the conclusion, but maybe it was.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ 

As the weeks went by, Bucky became the top guard. He let nothing get passed him, he didn't make excuses, and he was wholly respectful of your father. He didn't ask you out unless your father approved, nor did he attempt to hide the relationship the two of you had.

He kissed you when he could, made the rounds upstairs when he was supposed to, and detoured to talk to you. As long as he did his job successfully, your father didn't care.

More months passed, then he'd asked you to be exclusive. It was a pretty show of affection, to which he asked your father first then took you out to a beautiful restaurant with his newest paycheck.

After that, he took you home to his old apartment in Brooklyn. It was dark when the two of you entered, but you cared little. Your hands roamed Bucky's body just as his did yours. He kissed you all over your skin, your moans filling the apartment like an angels call.

When he pulled you onto his bed and crawled down your body, tongue heavy against your skin, you were forever grateful, especially as your body shook with pleasure. Your skin was sweaty and smelt of cologne and perfume, not to mention your lips, swollen and red—Bucky's face covered in red lipstick.

His fingers were gentle inside of you, teeth nipping at your skin, tongue lolling out to lick at your cunt heavily. He groaned against you, then loosened his tie, moving back up your body as you came, eyes rolled back.

"You're so perfect, sweetheart." He whispered, resting behind you, the tip of him rubbing at your entrance, body melding with yours. The moonlight streamed in through the windows and made you look like a goddess, and Bucky's only words were that he loved you.

When the night was over, each of you exhausted with pleasure, he cleaned you up nicely, and drove you home, greeting your father before he retired to his room in the guards' house.

A week later, he was given a promotion.

You and your family sat in the living room when Bucky walked through the front door. You looked distraught, eyes red, dark circles shadowed underneath your eyes.

You had a bruise on your neck, a cut on your lip, and when Bucky saw you, he froze, face screwing up into such a nasty look that the whole room felt his rage. He was at your side within a second, your head against his chest as you cried, body shaking with such anguish that it made his own eyes tear up.

Your mother had a deep frown on her face, her fingers busy with crotchet, while your sister looked quite the same. Your father looked worse—worse than you, his body sagging with exhaustion. He looked heartbroken at your state, and it was the most emotion Bucky ever seen on his face.

"She was attacked coming home from her office in Manhattan. A man grabbed her, but luckily she was able to fend him off and call the guards at her office. They arrested him and he said he was with a business partner of mine. Apparently they want revenge for my withdrawal of profits in their investments."

"So they had her attacked?" Bucky spat, hands rubbing at your back, and your father nodded, shaking his head slowly. "For the last six months, you've shown how dedicated you are to this job, and her. So I want to offer you a position to be her personal guard. She's had one before, but I think she trusts you the most. You'll be paid handsomely, as long as you can protect her, and I know you can. You'll be given the spare room on the second floor to be close."

Bucky accepted immediately, and your father expected nothing less. Your mother and sister had no qaurrels with him then, because they knew he cared for you immensely. They'd rather ignore the money issues if it meant a gaurantee for your safety.

Bucky tucked you into bed afterwards and sat with you, fingers twirling at your curly hair, his body tense with anger. Of course he was happy for the promotion, but not the circumstances which introduced the job.

You stared through your window, curled in on yourself, your hand squeezing Bucky's. "It won't happen again." He muttered, and you twisted onto your back, "you can't predict the future, Bucky."

He scoffed, "yes, but I can change it when I'm there. If a man dares to approach you, I'll kill him!" Your heart squeezed at his protectiveness and you mustered up a smile, "you can't kill everyone man that wants to talk to me."

He leaned down and kissed your cheek, "then, every man that wants to take advantage."

[kittyminion]

the white widow bucky barnes x widow!f!reader

-you are the white widow, close friends of natasha romanoff, who you knew from the red room, but when Natasha invites you to join the avengers, you accept the offer, not knowing bucky barnes would have it out for your every move. each of you clash in every way, and tony stark, still inadvertently angry at bucky for his parents' death, assigns the two of you on missions together -fluff, angst, language, violence, mention of the red room, abuse, canon divergence, poc reader, reader has curly/coily hair, do avengers actually kill?? well they do today, -word count= 5.5k

Every night, it was the same nightmare. An empty room, checkerboard floor, walls tinted red, dozens of girls inside, completeing every combat simulation there was to complete. You remembered the sweat dripping from your body, the aching of your muscles as your body trembled, either from the latest whip or the physical exhaustion.

You remembered the feeling of constant blood soaking your clothes and the calluses on your hands from loading a gun over and over again. But then the best part of the nightmare was her. Her voice, her hair, her figure from across the room as she watched you. Natasha was your saving grace in the Red Room. Despite her lack of smile, like majority of the woman inside, you could see the heavy emotion in her eyes.

That look of blank hope that made your heart thrum with the same thoughts that one day it would be over. And of course it was, but not without a long scar across your abdomen. You never knew what you'd lost until you were out in the real world, killing for Dreykov. You saw pregnent women, children, and families all the like, and still wondered why you couldn't do the same—why were you like this, and not like that?

You spent the years after the graduation ceremony killing whomever you were told to, not worried about the consequences nor the effect on your mental health.

Not until you saw Natasha again. You recongnized her instantly—that red hair and sharp eyes, the strong set of her jaw, and the familiar Black Widow uniform, despite her alliance with S.H.E.I.L.D. She recongized you too that day, disappointedly though, which made you all the more regretful for not breaking completely from the Red Room.

The courtyard you saw her in that day seemed empty, like only the two of you were there, no other witnesses to see the evidence of your distress. You could feel your heart pounding, your eyes watering as she approached you, face blank. She was the closest reminder you had that you could be different—that you could choose your own fate.

"Still doing this, huh? You know you can stop?" She stood in front of you idly, arms hanging by her side, wearing a sleek black combat suit. You shook your head softly, eyes wide, still prosessing it was her, and Natasha reached up, running a gentle hand down your face.

"I have nowhere else to go!" You cried, tears slipping down your face. It was the weakest moment you ever had, but Natasha didn't comment on your emotions, she just simply pulled you close and hugged you tight, "come with me then. Got just the place for you. It's full of assholes and misfits, but we do good things, better than the Red Room."

After that day, Natasha kept you close. She introduced you to Nick Fury and Tony Stark, and pleaded your case. Of course, they saw you just as they first saw Natasha—reckless, an assassin, and not accustomed to working in a team. You were quick to prove them wrong though, once you and Natasha completed a week long mission in a few days.

Thereafter, you were an Avenger, the White Widow. Skilled, intelligent, thoroughly closed off, and a former Red Room assassin. They saw you as a cut throat woman, dedicated and no-nonsese, despite your dry humor. You quickly rose in rank in the Avengers, and were a go-to employee.

But that was before Bucky Barnes joined the team.

It'd been six whole months of his prescense in the Avengers Tower, and you still couldn't get used to him. Which was odd considering the newest members, Wanda and Vision, who you had no problem congregating with on missions and outside of them.

It was a chilly October morning when you'd arose from your bedroom in the Tower, intent on working out in the training room before everyone else woke up. You didn't care to hear Steve and Tony arguing, nor Thor complainining about whatever godly problems he seemed to have every second.

Natasha was away on a mission with Clint and Sam, Vision and Wanda were also away, so that left you to your own devices, which you didn't mind, especially since the Tower seemed to never be quiet, except in the early mornings and late nights.

You wore a simple training suit, your White Widow logo on the front, your hair pulled back and away, while you carried your waterbottle, dusk leaking in through the windows.

It was dim in the kitchen when you entered, the counters clean and clear like they usually were. You opened the fridge and pushed passed Thor's dubious amount of protein shakes and Tony's fancy energy drinks, reaching for your own can of energy.

When you spun around, cracking the top on the can, you flinched at the sight of Bucky, cursing lightly. He moved way too quietly for his own good. He wore nothing but a pair of pajama pants, his chest bare and tense, hair wet from a recent shower, while his cloudy blue eyes were poised on you as he frowned indecently.

"What?" You spat, slamming your can on the counter, beginning to put ice in your water bottle. Bucky simply shrugged at you, arms crossed in front of him as he spun slightly in the bar seat. He tapped his mechanical fingers against the countertop, click clank ringing through out the kitchen.

There was a tense silence between the two of you as you watched for your waterbottle to fill, but then Bucky spoke up, "got a mission. Country-side, some guy that's holed up there, been trying to infiltrate something of Fury's."

You let his voice drown out against the trickle of water inside your cup, and after you didn't reply, and began leaving, Bucky scoffed, "did you hear any word I just fuckin' said?"

He stood up and stomped over to you, hovering over you slightly, feet crowding yours, and you glared up at him, hand poised on his chest as you shoved him away. He stepped back slightly, sneering when you sipped your energy drink, "Tony assigned it, so don't blame me!"

You rolled your eyes, spinning around, "fine. I'll meet you at the helipad tonight at eight."

Bucky continued following you, "no, we leave at eleven. I don't want to be up in the middle of fuckin' nowhere just because you wanted to leave at eight." You stepped inside the elevator, still ignoring him. You expected Bucky to leave it there, but he followed you inside, hand reaching out to stop the doors, bare feet sticky against the floor.

"We need cover in the middle of fuckin' nowhere. What'll a little country couple think when they see the Quinjet hovering over their tiny little farm? You think they'll be facinated or horrified? Aliens have been to this planet before, and people are terrified." You leaned against the handrail of the elevator after pushing the training floor's number.

Bucky stood in front of you, eyebrows furrowed, "are you serious? He gave the assignment to me—" you scoffed, hand cocked on your hip, eyes finally leaving the doors of the elevator as you glared at him, "he didn't give it to you, he gave it to us! You're not the leader of anything and damn sure not me, so when I say we leave at eight, I mean it!"

He seemed a bit surprised at your authority, his ears red from either anger or something else. He puckered his lips into his mouth, then nodded, smiling sarcastically, soft eyes alighting as they usally did, "you serious?"

Of course you'd heard the stories of James Buchanan Barnes and Steve Rogers. He was the charmer, the pretty boy, and maybe it was easy for him to get women back then when Steve was just a tiny malnourished man-child, but now, things were different, and you definetely wouldn't fall for his stupid little charm.

"Did I sound like I was bullshitting, Barnes?" As the elevator chimed and the doors pulled open, you shoved passed him, his scent enveloping you before it completely vanished, and you were standing in the empty training room.

When you heard the doors close, you let out a heavy exhale, head falling back, "what a bastard."

⧗

That wasn't the only mission Tony assigned the two of you on, and they seemed to get longer and longer, a few days here, and a week there. The longest was two weeks, in a small country in Europe, so that meant packing for mutiple days and spending torturous time together in a tiny bed and breakfast, food shoved down your throats by an overly friendly little old lady who was far to curious on the nature of your relationship with Bucky.

"Why do you keep putting him and I together? Don't you realize we don't get along?" You complained to Tony, sitting in the boardroom after a meeting. Everyone had slowly trickled out afterwards, and that was the perfect time for you to confront Tony.

"I don't see a real problem." He said absentmindedly, going over the meeting notes, tongue notched between his lips while you sat at the table, tapping your fingers anxiously. Tony was hard to talk to sometimes, especially when he didn't value the topic.

"Do you want me to quit, Tony?" You spat suddenly, and then he paused, glancing up at you, mouth open slightly. "quit? Why would you quit?" He placed his clipboard down and sat in front of you and you nodded slowly, grinning humorlessly.

"Why do him and I keep getting put together? If I was with Natasha, or even Thor for that matter, I'd complete the mission much faster. So this isn't a matter of efficiency. You're doing this for some other reason."

"You're one of the best Avengers! You get the job done quick, you're skilled, not to mention the pay—you're a millionaire." He was obviously trying to change your mind, and no, you wouldn't quit, but that was the only thing that could get his attention.

"Tony!"

He smacked his lips and stood, rubbing his chest, "fine. It's clear he's doesn't like you, so it was intentional, I wanted him to be miserable."

Your eyes widened at his words and you stood up with a scoff, "are you serious? You're doing this because of your dislike towards him? Did you even think about me?" You started walking out the room, still muttering words underneath your breath.

"Him and Thor get along, and Natasha is all business. Steve and him are best friends, and Wanda would rather be with Vision, so you were the next best thing!"

⧗

You were training when he walked in, carrying his duffle bag, hair slicked back, eyes shadowed from lack of sleep. When he saw you, he scoffed, but didn't bother leaving, his duffle bag landing roughly on the padded flooring. You ignored his prescense entirely, busy weight training, your arms sweaty and strained as you flexed the small barbell in your hands.

There was a tense silence as Bucky began his training, which included a bunch of obnoxious grunting as he repped obnoxious amounts of weights that had you rolling your eyes.

"Can you be anymore loud?" You paused your training, placing the barbell aside, standing from the bench as you sipped water, a heavy glare directed at Bucky.

He sparred you no glance, his chest flexing with each rep, small puffs of air exitting his lips, a tiny smirk alighting his face, like he enjoyed the torture he ensued upon you. Rolling your eyes, you flicked him off, "guess what, Bucky?"

You only wanted to say it because you wanted to wipe the smirk from his face. Too long had Bucky thought he had a one up over you, but you were about to burst the little cocky bubble he surrounded himself in.

"What?" He groaned out, strands of his hair falling into his face, his mechanical arm tightening around the bar. You siddled up next to him and leaned against the wall, leg cocked out, arms crossed, your hair down and free, neck sweaty.

"I know why Tony's always pairing us." That seemed to get his attention, because he finally stopped his reps and placed the barbell down. He wiped his face with a towel then sat, sipping his water, "why? Something petty I bet."

You hummed, "still mad at you. His own little way of torturing you for killing his parents." You said it not knowing the amount of tormoil it would cause for Bucky.

He froze, tilting his head slightly, eyebrows furrowed, casting a heavy shadow over his pale blue eyes. "What the fuck?" Suddenly he stood up, tossing his waterbottle aside like it weighed nothing—the metal bottle denting against the floor.

"What the fuck!" He shouted, storming out of the room, a certain anger you'd never seen covering his face. You followed after him, jogging to catch up, your face full of worry, "Bucky, it's really not a big deal—"

"Oh, fuck that! All you give a shit about is the fact that it's affecting you. Right?" He paused, turning to you, chest heaving and your mouth opened but no sound came out and you shrugged, "I'm not—"

"You know what, fuck you! You're so selfish it's ridiculous!" He continued walking, face red, footsteps pounding. He practically broke the buttons on the elevator, metal fingers slamming into the wall with hellish rage.

When he slammed his fingers far to hard, and a big crator of wall and plaster landed at his feet, he cursed violently, taking a turn for the stairs. "You're going to take five flights of stairs, all to yell at Tony Stark?"

"Who said I'm gonna yell at him? I'm beating his fuckin' ass!" Your eyes widened and you ran to intercept his path, your hands plastered on his chest. Obviously nothing would come good of that. It would become grim, just like what happened between Steve and Tony.

Before you knew it, you'd have to pick sides, and then it would be all over the news, casting you and the other Avengers as the enemy. During times like that, it didn't matter who you did or didn't like on the team—it was simply business. And as a Widow, it was easy for you to slip into that mindset.

You could barely stop Barnes from walking, his hands grabbing at your wrists to push you aside, "get the fuck out of my way! You should be happy I'm doing something!"

He stomped down the steps twofold, and you sighed to yourself. "I'll hurt you if I have to, Bucky."

He paused and chuckled humourlessly, "and what's stopping you? You hate my guts for no clear reason! To you, I'm just an obsticle—in your way of killing people, 'cause that seems to be your only goal. You don't even flinch at the thought of taking someone's life."

Your neck rolled back with offense and you shook your head to yourself, chuckling slightly, "is that really what you think me as? Just a fuckin' killer?" You moved closer to him, just a few steps above, your hands curling into fists as your voice echoed throughout the stairwell.

Bucky scoffed, "you're a fuckin' Widow for Christs' sake—"

You were on him before he could even blink, your fist colliding with his jaw. Bucky stumbled back heavy, groaning, but he wasn't quick enough to invade your leg as you stomped on his foot and fisted his hair.

"You don't know me, so don't pretend like you do! Just because I live in this Tower along side you, doesn't mean we're friends. Understood?" You yanked his head back further, face hovering above his, and Bucky winced, hand over yours, "fuck you."

His metal hand wrapped tightly around your throat and he shoved you against the wall, "you and Natasha are one in the same, sweetheart. She just seems to have her past on a tighter leash than you. Don't think I can't see the hurt in your eyes every day?"

Your face reddened from the lack of air, your hands beating at his arm to loosen his grip, but he didn't stop, hand continuing to tighten around your throat while your legs dangled helplessly.

"You suck at hiding it."

"What the fuck are you assholes doing?" Natasha kicked Bucky's leg out and you collasped heaving and coughing trying to force air back into your lungs. You couldn't hide the watering of your eyes, nor the fresh scar on your heart. He was the first to tell you the sad truth, and you'd been oblivious to it.

Every night you saw the Red Room in your dreams, and every morning you woke up with the same dread in your belly that Dreykov would appear to drag you back to hell. Your lungs would be on fire, face wet with tears, body shaking anxiously, and you begged for anything to distract you.

"She fuckin' started it!" Bucky laid on the floor for a good few seconds, then he pushed himself up, delivering a solid glare at you, but you ignored him, staring squarely at the wall, your eyes wide, body shaking.

When he was finally gone, Natasha grabbed your cheeks gently, "hey, what's the matter?" You shook your head slowly, "he's right." Her eyebrows furrowed at your words, but she hugged you nonetheless, "he's a dick. Ignore him."

⧗

You vowed to yourself you wouldn't speak to Bucky Barnes ever again. He'd uncovered your deepest insecuries, and the only logical way to heal yourself was to completely avoid him entirely. Every mission Tony assigned, you completed by yourself, not bothering to confide in Bucky at all.

Of course, it cost you extra wounds and time to complete them, but it was better than enduring his judgeful stares. You went as far as completely changing around your schedule so you didn't have to see him at all. You trained late at night with Thor, who could barely shut his mouth, but he was a good spot.

Your meals were often with Sam, who was a great cook, but unfortunately he and Bucky had made some weird friendship, so Bucky was constantly involved in conversations. His name left a bad taste in your mouth indefinetely so after an outburst from you, Sam agreed he wouldn't mention Bucky at all.

It was during a routine meeting that Bucky voiced his thoughts to you.

Tony and Steve were rambling about the usual things at the board, the rest of you sitting around the table. Thor was busy swinging his hammer, putting in unnescessary imput about the budget, while Sam was begging him to be quiet.

Clint and Natasha were successfully able to mask their annoyance, but every so often, Natasha would glance at you and roll her eyes. Wanda and Vision weren't in attendance, but it mattered little to you because Bucky was directly across from you. He seemed to find a liking to your face, his gaze unwavering and forever unchanged, his fingers tapping against the table absentmindedly.

You were busy staring blankly at the board when you felt someone kick you underneath the table. "Thor, what the fuck?" You spat, glaring at him, and he turned to you with a confused glance, "what are you talking about?"

"You just kicked me!" You kicked him back just for good measure, then that started a childish footsy game between you and Thor, that was ended by Steve calling the two of you children.

"I am not a child, Rogers! What child carries around a thunderous hammer?"

You scoffed, just as another kick landed on your leg, and that's when you noticed it was Bucky. You glared at him, middle finger raised subtly, "stop that!" You mouthed, and he rolled his eyes, whispering, "we need to talk!"

You ignored his words, delivering a sharp stomp to his foot, to which he kicked you back. This lasted the rest of the meeting, and when you left the boardroom, he was hot on your heels.

He followed you into the elevator and crossed his arms firmly, "you've been avoiding me. Doing all the missions yourself too. Tony doesn't know it."

"And he won't ever know!" You leaned against the handrail, staring at the numbers roll by, wishing the fourth floor to appear faster, but Bucky suddenly slammed the stop button and the elevator rolled to an abrubt stop.

"What the fuck are you doing?" You tried to push him aside, but he was an unwavering boulder, "is it because of what I said? That was all bullshit, you know?"

You scoffed, "very vengeful bullshit! Do you get off making everyone miserable, huh? I've done nothing to you, and constantly I'm reminded how shit you are!"

"You fuckin' hipocrite! Every chance you get you're trying to be the fuckin' boss of me! You can't ever just listen to what I have to say!" He ran a fustrated hand through his hair and shook his head, "do you even know how to work in a team?"

"Obviously I do! I helped this team beat a fuckin' god and robots!"

"You think you're above me for that? Well you're not! We all save the fuckin' world, you're not cool for that!"

Your eyes widened and you laughed, "cool? Why would it be cool to kill people every day of the week? You know, I thought you'd be different 'cause you were forced to kill too, but I was stupid to think that! You're just like every egotistical man in this world." You finally pushed him aside and started the elevator once more, ignoring Bucky entirely.

He just leaned against the wall, nodding slowly to himself, "think what you want about me, but I'm not about to let you do another mission by yourself. We go to Russia tomorrow, early just like you fuckin' want. So instead of letting this job rip newfound emotions from you, just be a trained killer like you're meant to."

⧗

You were loading your supplies into the Quinjet when Bucky arrived, carrying his own boatload of luggage and weapons. "It's just for a week, not half a year." You muttered, throwing your final bag inside, and Bucky rolled his eyes, "you'll be the one fuckin' crying when you realize you've forgot something."

He climbed into the jet and said nothing as you sat in the pilot's seat, he just obdiently sat in the copilot seat, leaning back lazily, fingers picking at his beard.

"Tony said five targets. All in Kazan." The thought of Russia made you want to gag and turn around, but you'd done all of that last night. You couldn't get a wink of sleep, too afraid to let darkness overtake you. You were figidy and restless now, and Bucky noticed immediatly.

"Had too many energy drinks?" You said nothing, fisting your shaking hand, eyes ahead on the thick clouds in the sky. You knawed the skin from your cheeks, blood filling your mouth, but the iron-y taste was the only thing that kept you sane.

You glanced down at the scars on your fingers, and practically heard the sound of the whip across your hands. Suddenly, your eyes burst with white, and you were back in the Red Room, loading each and every gun nonstop. Your fingers were bleeding, your eyes on Natasha as she was once again the first to load her gun.

You didn't despise her for being the best, matter-of-fact, you didn't know what to despise. Perhaps the pain, or maybe the disappointment because you weren't the best.

"Wake the fuck up!" Bucky grabbed the tiller just as the plane tipped in the air, dropping a thousand feet. He set the jet to autopilot and grabbed your cheeks, slapping them gently. You were still buried in your subconscious, your eyes staring blankly at Bucky.

"Did you sleep at all last night?" He picked you up gently, hands cupped underneath your thighs, and you muttered absentmindedly, "Instill fear and pain." You muttered over and over again, your voice shaky, fingers gripping Bucky's shirt tightly.

His eyes softened at the sight of you, lips curved into a never-ending frown as he placed you down on a seat. "Hey, wake up." He patted your cheek once more, a bit firmly and you seemed to startle awake, sighing deeply when you saw Bucky.

He pulled away from your face, eyesbrows furrowed, but he said nothing.

"What? Not gonna say anything? I'm sure you want to run your ass back to the Tower and yell throughout the halls how fucked up I am." He scoffed, arms resting against the table, "no, I actually don't. Why aren't you sleeping?"

You shook your head, glancing out the window, "thought of Russia, then of Dreykov. That led to the Red Room, then suddnely it was like I was just a mindless assassin again—killing just because I was told to. No morals, no sense of right and wrong. No matter if it was a child or an adult."

Bucky's cloudy blue eyes were the softest thing in the jet at that moment. There was no judgement, no disgust, nothing but pure tenderness for you. And that made your heart squeeze pleasantly. Bucky grabbed your hand and squeezed it firmly, saying nothing as you cried silently.

"Every night, it doesn't end! You'd think when it's time to sleep all your worries will just fade, but they don't. They consume me like darkness, like I'm nothing but what I used to be. You know?" You expected him not to answer, but he did.

"I do. It's all I've ever felt since I woke up. Just a pawn in someone elses game. Never my own person. And the nightmares are terrible, but I cope." You inhaled deeply at his words, "how?"

"Accept it. Accept you were brainwashed, accept you followed every order. But also accept that you've escaped and you follow your own path now."

⧗

You seemed to work better stressed and dejected. Your aim was perfect, headshots everytime. And you were nothing but business. You didn't speak about the incident in the Quinjet, nor the constant tender look Bucky had been giving you—like he was seeing you in a new light.

"There, six o'clock!" You called to Bucky as the two of you lie ontop of an abandoned building, staking out your targets in Kazan. You held a long and heavy sniper while Bucky seeked out targets too difficult to shoot.

You were lying on your belly, eyes in the scope, your skin covered in goosebumps from the freezing air of Russia. "Do you have him?" You questioned, glancing over at Bucky, who was already standing and tightening his arm for good measure.

"He's the last, right?" You nodded, putting your sniper to the side and sitting on the edge of the building, "don't take too long—I'm starving." He scoffed playfully at your words, hopping off the building feet first and landing squarely in a small alley beside the building. You couldn't help but admire Bucky's skill. He was quiet, but harsh and rough. His body was agile and quick, with just the right amount of force.

He crept down the alley, and peeked around the corner.

You spoke into your earpiece, "about fifty feet from you. Smoking a cigarette." Bucky nodded stiffly, moving closer and closer, until he was nearest the target.

Barely a second went by as Bucky grabbed the man by the collar and slammed his face into the brick wall beside them. A sickening crack echoed throughout the dusky morning, and the man cried out, slipping to his knees, nose crooked and face dripping with blood.

"Who the fuck are you?" He said with a thick accent, and Bucky just chuckled, head tilting as he kneeled towards the man, "think you can slip shit into American pharmacuticals and not have consequences?"

Bucky didn't let the man have another word before he was pulling his silenced pistol out. There was a muffled noise before the mans eyes slipped into lifeless voids. Bucky spun around and immediately met your eyes, "done."

You nodded and stood, "there's a cafe ten minutes from the motel." Bucky disappeared as he made his way back to you, but he responded nonetheless, "perfect. I just need to change. Smell like death."

Before you could even think of laughing, strong arms wrapped around your throat and you were being yanked back. "Bucky—" you cried out, trying to alert him, but your voice was raspy and choked up as you beat down on the figure behind you, trying to loosen their grip.

Just as Bucky pulled himself back up the building, you were pulling your knife and stabbing it into the mans side. Bucky's eyes widened at the sight, but he hopped into action immediately, taking on the other man who'd scaled the building after the first.

As the man dragged you down, you spun to deliver a punch to his jaw, while Bucky tossled with the other. The man you fought was a typical Russian looking man, with his gang's tattoo on his throat, which you assumed was the group of people poisoning medicine being sent to the U.S.

The man bled out as you stabbed him once more, and Bucky threw his man off the building. You stood up huffing, massaging your neck as Bucky began to rushfully pack up your belongings. "I doubt that's all of them. We can't be tracked, right?"

You nodded, helping him, "our best bet is to hole up in the motel for the rest of the day. It's half an hour from here, so if we leave now, they'll expect us to be in the area." He nodded, tossing the dufflebag over his shoulder as he pounded down the steps of the building, you right on his heels.

"How'd they know we were here?" Bucky shrugged, unlocking the car you'd rented for the trip, it's plates registered to a nonexistent Russian woman. You hopped in the passengers side, while Bucky threw the bags into the trunk then got in and sped off.

You groaned to yourself, noticing a heavy bruise blooming on your leg from the fight—probably from when he'd dragged you down. Bucky glanced down at your leg, watching you pull the leg of your combat suit up, "fuck, that's bad."

You rolled your eyes, "clearly and it hurts like all hell." He reached towards you and touched it gingerly, to which you winced and glared, "don't touch it!"

Thankfully, no cars had followed the two of you back to the motel, but as soon as you got into the room, you were ripping the curtains closed and Bucky secured the door. Of course, the room was terribly low budget, which made your inner mind cringe, but you had no choice but to endure the double bed in the middle of the room.

You still thought heavily about the Red Room and everything else to accompany it, but Bucky and your mission had been successfully distracting you—Bucky more so. He purposely kept your mind running with all his nonchalant questions.

He collapsed in the bed next to you, hand resting on his chest, while he stared up at the stained ceiling. "Are you showering first, or me?" You shrugged, "I guess whoever makes it to the bathroom first." His eyes widened as you shot off the bed, barreling towards the bathroom. But he was quick to follow after you, his hands slithering around your waist as he tugged you back, "you sly fox. Just not quick enough I guess." You were off the ground for a second as he picked you up.

You placed your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself and Bucky sat you back on the bed gently, his legs crowding yours, while you stared up at him silently, a little smirk on your lips.

He rolled his eyes playfully at your expresson, fingers reaching up to run through his hair as he sat beside you, leg touching yours. You surprisingly moved closer, your head leaning against his shoulder, "what changed?"

He hummed to himself at your question, hand reaching for yours. "Everything. Realized you're brave enough to show emotion in front of a stranger."

You scoffed, glancing up at him, your chin against his shoulder, "you're not a stranger. I've known you for almost two years anyway."

"Fine—you showed your deepest emotions to me—someone who's made your existence a living hell purposefully." You smiled at his words, eyes sliding down to his lips, "you were successful then."

He kissed you after, lips gentle against yours, mouth practically overcoming yours like a bear would it's prey, but you enjoyed it. For too long had people treated you as the bear—all besides Natasha—but Bucky was brave enough to see you for who you were. And despite your flaws and insecurities he still wanted you.

He squeezed your hands tight as he continued to kiss you, eyebrows furrowed roughly, but he relaxed when you pressed your fingers to his neck. He was submissive then, allowing you to take control, your tongue dominant, fingers mussing at his hair.

When you pulled away, lips swollen, cheeks and ears red, Bucky chuckled into your skin, pale blue eyes so incredibly enduring that it made you want to drown in them forever.

[kittyminion]

Ordinary teenager girl by day, fanfic reader and writer by night

[kittyminion]

improvements

jacaerys velaryon x f!reader

-after queen rhaenrya notices her son's lack of skill with a sword, she reassigns her sworn shield to him, which happens to be you -all characters 18+, fluff, angst, jacaerys is a bit mean at first, reader is skilled in combat, canon divergence, poc reader, reader has curly/coily hair, jace is suddenly an expert at high valyrian, mentions of sex, violence, language, maybe ooc daemon (??) -word count= 6.1k

You joined Queen Rhaenyra's service three years ago, and you were quick to move up to her primary sworn shield. You were protective, swift, and dedicated to keeping her safe, no matter if you had to be a dick to do it. And because you were young, the men of Rhaenyra's council often doubted you.

They thought you weren't skilled, figured you wouldn't be able to keep her safe. Besides, you were just a woman—someone Daemon had found off the streets of Kings Landing, known for protecting important things at a manageable price.

The first day you arrived at Dragonstone was eventful to say the least. Prince Daemon rowed you across Blackwater Bay himself, face tight with stress, long snow white hair dirty and dull from his latest battle. He smelt of dragon smoke, skin caked with mud, still wearing his Valyrian steel armor.

"Did they lie about you?" He didn't spare you a glance, arms flexing each time he pulled the oars back and forth once more, eyes in the sky watching for foreign dragons. You shook your head, tightening your cloak around yourself, blocking the misty breeze from the Bay, "it would be dense to lie."

Daemon scoffed, eyes rolling onto you, the creases in his face full with dried blood, "people as a whole are dense. But are you dense enough to lie to me? Perhaps you just want safety from the Greens. I heard you stole from Alicent for coin."

You laughed grimly, eyes rolling as you leaned back into the boat, twisting a knife between each hand, "got hired to steal a necklace. The man said it had been in his family for years before Aemond Targaryen took it from him, simply because he liked it. And I hear the judgment in your tone—' why steal from the most powerful people on Earth?' Because I need coin to feed myself, and food to live."

Daemon chuckled at your bitter tone, staring down Driftmark as he passed the lonely island, "what will you do if someone breaks into the Queen's room? First thing that comes to mind."

"Kill them." You didn't hesitate to answer. This job was your most profitable one, and although you didn't want to get between the problems of the Greens and the Blacks, if you were to pick a side, it would be Rhaenyra's.

"And what if I tried to kill her?" You stared at him with mild surprise, sticking your knife into the wood of the boat's bench, "you wouldn't kill her. You love her."

Daemon rolled his eyes, "but if I did?"

"Kill you too." As you saw Dragonstone come into view, you paused, seeing the dragons circle above head, the stone of the castle dark like it had been burned by dragons. You could smell the smoke in the air and even see ash on the shoreline.

"No hesistation, or it'll cost her life."

.ᐟ.ᐟ

Your first year was difficult. You had to get used to following someone around six days of the week, and when you weren't with the Queen, you were either sleeping the day away from exhaustion or trying to re-up on your skills. But she was easy to work with.

She didn't question your abilities or authority and followed your every order when her safety was put into question. You even built a simple friendship that made your job feel less like a duty and more like you were just spending idle time with a friend. Of course, that went out the window every time assassins were sent, but after the first few times, you and Rhaenyra had built a sort of system.

She'd crowd behind you and let you do your responsibility, which usually included a takedown and sword to the chest. Other times it was dirty, like multiple enemies to worry about, which meant calling for backup. Some days you ended up with deep bruises, and other days it was something you and Rhaenyra could easily turn and eye to afterwards.

"Do you like it?"

You were halfway through your second year by now, and you and Rhaenyra had built an odd friendship that included you and her trying expensive candies together. It was her way of winding down from a long day full of her Queenly duties, and you didn't complain.

You stuck the lemon flower hard candy in your mouth, your sword resting between your legs as you stood in front of Rhaenyra, while she picked through a decadent box of candy. Your mouth puckered out the sour taste, but you nodded, "yep, it's good, better than the last one."

Your armor had started to weigh you down by this time of day, so Rhaenyra welcomed you to sit at her tea table, which you gladly accepted. "I like it too, I'll hide these in the wardrobe so Lucerys can't find them."

You'd met her children a few times, but otherwise, you rarely saw them unless it was dinner time and you were walking Rhaenyra to the dining hall. Around that time of night, you switched off with another guard, while you took the rest of the day off. You knew Jacaerys was around your age, but he'd barely sparred you a glance after the first time he met you, while Lucerys was just an adolescent child that you had nothing in common with.

You didn't feel bad for not meshing with them—they were just your Queen's children anyway.

Just as Rhaenrya stuffed another candy into her mouth, the door to her bedchamber pushed open roughly, and Jacaerys was stomping inside. At his roughness, you'd stood up swiftly, hand squeezing the hilt of your sword, but when you saw him, you rolled your eyes and sat.

He was carrying his own Valyrian sword, but it did little but serve as a decoration to his person. Yours, on the other hand, was gifted to you by Daemon the first week you were employed. He'd even shone it up for you, but now it needed a bit of maintenance.

"Mother, Rhaena, and Baela are going out to fly, can I join?" Jacaerys' eyes were on you for a few seconds, just watching you suck on a piece of butterscotch, then he scoffed, "isn't she supposed to be your sworn shield? I didn't know she was your personal taste tester."

You ignored him, eyes straying to Rhaenrya, who was nodding slowly in satisfaction at her own piece of butterscotch. You leaned your chin on your palm, curious about what Rhaenyra would say. Recently, there'd been a bit of heat with Daemon and Aemond, not to mention everything going on with Aegon taking the throne. It was rarely safe, but he would be on a dragon, and the only active dragon rider with the Greens was Aemond, and Vhagar was far too cautious to approach all the dragons perched on Dragonstone.

"What do you think?" Rhaenrya tilted her head at you, eyes squinted slightly, and you shrugged, "partially safe, as long as they don't stray too far."

Jacaerys scoffed, cocking his leg out as he watched his mother, "you're letting her decide? We're the same age!" He shoved his curly hair from his face, eyebrows furrowed angrily, and Rhaenyra glanced out the window, "go if you want, Jace, but be careful."

Jacaerys murmured a thank you, sparring you a weak glare before he stomped out of the room and you said nothing as Rhaenyra watched you silently, "the two of you are the same age—but I can't help but think you're more mature."

You shrugged, not wishing to get involved in family affairs, but Rhaenyra continued, "he has no outstanding swordsmanship, but you do. I've seen you kill a man with a single swipe of your sword. If I assigned you to my son, could you teach him?"

You pursed your lips, but didn't say no as you stood, honestly not wanting to be with moody Jacaerys all day indefinitely, but you couldn't refuse, so you just nodded, "of course, Your Grace, but I can't predict how long it'll take him to improve. I've been training since I was young."

"He's smart and adaptable, even if it doesn't seem like it. Just give him a chance."

.ᐟ.ᐟ

After your week ended with the Queen, you switched to Jacaerys. Thankfully, Prince Daemon gave you an entire week off after that and filled Rhaenyra's sworn shield position with a recent hire that, unfortunately, wasn't better than you, but still exceptional.

You spent most of your week off training and sleeping, and on the last day of your time off, Daemon appeared in the training room, hair pulled up into an intricate knot of braids, while he wore a simple pair of silver armor.

You were busy sparring with a guard, your skin sweaty and red, hair pulled back. You delivered a swift punch to your opponent's face, but he blocked it successfully, and attempted to swipe your feet, but you jumped up and landed on his ankle. A crack rang throughout the room, and Daemon winced, leaning against the wall.

"Fuck, you said this was just practice!"

After the guard was gone and nursing a broken ankle, you approached Daemon, sliding down the wall beside him, your chest heaving, "I assume you're not here to watch?" He shook his head, arms crossing, "I want you to be hard on Jace."

You looked up at him in surprise. You knew that Daemon wasn't his father, but he seemed to have some sort of soft spot for Jace. "Never said I was going to go easy."

Daemon nodded in approval, grabbing your hand to help you up, "you'll be guarding him just as often as Rhaenyra, but each day, try to squeeze in some training. I'm assuming he'll drag you around just to tire you out and get you to want to switch, but just ignore him."

"And where exactly will he be dragging me around?" Your eyebrow quirked suspiciously, and Prince Daemon grinned, waving you off nonchalantly, "Jace has been wanting to help out, and since you'll be with him, I thought it would be good if the two of you went on reconnaissance. Been sighting of Criston Cole near Harrenhal, just want some insight on what he's doing, no approaching."

You nodded slowly, "and how will we get to Harrenhal?"

"Vermax."

Your eyes widened and you shook your head, "his fucking dragon? I've never ridden a dragon before, Prince Daemon!" Daemon shrugged carelessly, "better get used to it quickly."

.ᐟ.ᐟ

Jacaerys looked angry to see you. You were leaning against the wall in front of his bedchamber when he came out, sword hilted, wearing his velvet clothing and a blood red half cloak that matched yours almost perfectly.

"Good morrow, my Prince." He stepped right past you, ignoring your words as he walked, footfalls heavy against the floor, shoulder knocking into you, and he almost knocked you aside, but you stayed upright, cursing him silently for his height.

"I won't say anything if you just leave me be. Go eat fucking candy or something." You scoffed in response, jogging to catch up with him, hand on your sword lazily, "I do more than just eat candy with your mother, Prince Jacaerys."

He scoffed, pausing to look at you, "I can't tell! Everything I see you, it's all fun and games." Your neck rolled back as you eyed him distastefully, "you think that's what I am—her hired best mate, well I'm not. How many times has she told you about my saving her life? The dozen times I killed a man or shoved a man's face in the dirt? What about the time I took an arrow to the thigh that was meant for her head?" You paused, staring at him with fake wonder.

You put your hands on your hips, legs cocked out, your curly hair pulled back into a bun, strands near your face and neck, "what about...hmm, what about the patch of my hair ripped from my scalp because I pushed her out of the way of a man's grip?"

Jacaerys glanced down at his feet with shame, and you scoffed, "you're pathetic. But you're lucky I make enough money to put up with your bullshit."

He rolled his eyes at you, continuing to walk, not bothering to offer you any sort of apology, which you accepted but were still sour about. You stayed a few feet away from him, just trying to regain your composure, while Jacaerys stayed quiet, posture rigidly aware of your presence.

"Where to? Perhaps breakfast, or the battle room to find your mother?"

He shook his head, glancing back at you, a small devious smirk on his lips, "I'm going to check on Vermax. He was out last night hunting." You pursed your lips with a slow nod, "and does that include getting close to him or—"

"—yes, it does. Do you have a problem with that? Hope you're not scared of a simple dragon." His lips curled into a genuine smile, and you rolled your eyes, "I'm not scared!"

You were stupid to not be scared because Vermax was huge. He had green scales and orange wings, tail lined with spines that bristled when he saw you. You were pressed against the wall of the steps, watching cautiously as Jacaerys approached Vermax, smiling so brightly it was completely foreign to you.

"Don't worry about her, she won't bother you." Jace brushed a gentle hand down Vermax's head, eliciting a deep vibration from the dragon's throat, and you saw a puff of dragon fire in his throat, which had you retreating even farther, but Vermax let out a simple billow of smoke.

Jacaerys glanced back at you and laughed, "he won't do anything unless I say." You gave him a thumbs up, pushing yourself off the wall as you stepped closer, shaking fingers, squeezing the hilt of your sword.

"So he won't bite my head off or burn me to a crisp?" Jacaerys waved you closer, "no, so stop being a pussy and come closer." You did, with a deep breath, moving closer until you and Jace were side by side. He grabbed your wrist gently, then placed it on Vermax's nose.

The dragon bristled at first, and you flinched, but Jacaerys spoke up, "Gīda ilagon, Vermax. Ziry's ȳgha." Then Vermax calmed and leaned into your hand, icy blue eyes peering into yours before you pulled away, hand warm and smelling of dragon.

Jacaerys watched you carefully, waiting for your reaction, but then you touched Vermax again, running your hand down his nose, the texture of his scales foreign to you.

"Good?" Jacaerys asked, and you nodded, smiling.

That didn't mean the two of you were friends, because he was quick to turn on you when you suggested training afterwards. "This is ridiculous!" He spat, stomping into the training room, and you rolled your eyes, "your mother suggested it, so don't be angry at me."

You started pulling your armor off, placing your sword aside, and Jacaerys watched you silently, eyebrows furrowed in curiosity. You tugged off your shirt, revealing your undershirt, to which Jacaerys glanced away quickly, following your lead in setting his sword aside.

"I thought you wanted to train." You tugged off the armor on your legs, then nodded, "I do, but with fists only. Not many people know how to fight without a sword, so if I'm going to teach you, then I want you to be skilled in every aspect."

You joined Jacaerys on the training mat, and he just watched you as you crouched, your stance wide, knees tight, but agile, waiting for him to strike you. Your arms were pulled into your torso, fists clenched, "try and hit me. And don't take it easy."

Jace nodded slowly, still skeptical, but he tried his best to mimic your stance, his knees cracking as he bent, which elicited a blush on his cheeks. You waved it off with a gentle smile, your face quickly falling into a placid look.

The Prince started by trying to grab you—he reached towards you, and you jumped back, light on your feet, constantly moving, while Jacaerys tried again, this time trying to knock your feet out from under you. You slid out of his reach, then delivered a sharp punch to his jaw.

Blood sprouted from his mouth as he stumbled backwards, a blooming bruise on his jaw, "what the fuck was that? You said you're teaching me?" His eyes were watery and red as he glared at you, and you winced with a bit of guilt, hoping you didn't take it too far.

"I didn't say I would go easy on you either! Now get up! If someone puts you on your ass, don't stay there or you'll surely die." He lethargically did as you asked, groaning beneath his breath as he raised his fists once more and continued circling you.

"Perk up, or I'll punch your ass again!" You shouted, shooting towards him so fast his eyes widened. He just barely blocked another hit to his face, but he left his torso unguarded, and you kicked him right in the ribs.

He collapsed and tugged his shirt up, where a purple bruise was already blooming. "I'm fucking done!" You attempted to help him up, lips pursed, knowing the training wasn't over, but he swatted your hands away nonetheless and pushed himself up.

Jacaerys tugged his shirt up, revealing a lean, pale body covered in moles. He had good potential, but no sort of definition, besides in his thighs and biceps, probably from dragon riding.

"Fine, I'll let you hit me once, and I recover fast, to show you how it's done." He froze on his way towards the weapon wall where his sword was, and spun slowly, a hopeful grin on his lips, "are you lying?"

You shook your head with a bit of contempt, already regretting your decision, but as Jacaerys approached, he circled you, body brushing yours gently, "is this just another excuse for you to hit me back?"

You shook your head honestly, "one thing I don't do is lie." He scoffed, "everyone lies."

"Not me. Just hit me, see what happens." Jacaerys stopped in front of you, and his eyebrow raised suspiciously, but then he stepped back a few inches and clenched his fists. He swung back softly, clearly afraid to hit you, and you stopped him, shaking your head.

"What are you, a pussy? Hit me harder, Jacaerys!" You shoved him in the chest hard, and that seemed to push him over the edge because he swung back hard and fast, fist clenched, face tight with disdain, then struck you in the cheek.

Despite the immense pain, you were proud. You were knocked onto your side, blood gushing from your mouth, but you got up quick, despite the dots in your vision, and were quick to get into your stance. You grabbed Jacaerys by the arm and made the move of twisting him over your back, but stopped short, proving you wouldn't hurt him.

When you let go of him, Jacaerys watched you with concern, "was that too hard—"

"No—fuck you hit me hard." You wiped the blood from your mouth, wincing, but you recovered after that, "when you're hit, it' important to recover, understand? Because if I lay on the ground for longer than a second, you could've easily hit me again, right?"

Jacaerys nodded, jaw clenched tight. Maybe it was good that he felt remorse about hitting you. It was good to have humility, and that was one less thing you had to teach—an impossible thing at that.

You motioned Jacaerys closer, "now this time, we're going to start from the beginning and actually spar. If I hit you, recover quickly and keep fighting."

Jace ran a hand through his hair and sighed heavily, moving closer, his trousers hanging low on his hips, revealing a disappearing strip of hair.

"For the stance, there's no set way; you just want something grounding and unmovable. Tight fists, covering your torso, ready to pounce at any moment. Get there," you pointed in the center of the training mat, and started positioning Jacaerys, your hand gentle against his skin.

You brushed your fingers up his back, and he shivered, but you adjusted his posture, "no slouching." You knocked his feet apart, "wide and grounding." When he was close to perfect, you returned to the front, nodding with approval.

"Good, now if I knock you over, you're not tight enough." You jumped onto his back, and Jace wobbled, hand reaching up to steady you, but you locked your arms around his neck, "if you fall, you owe me a hundred pushups."

Jace shouted, "Gods, how do you expect me to hold you without actually touching you?" You shrugged in response, fingers messing with his hair, then you moved off of him and tried to straighten his arms, but he stayed tight.

"Excellent, now we spar." You got into your stance and then tried to grab Jace's arm, but he moved away, eyes hard and determined, which made you grin, also determined to make him break. You and Jacaerys circled each other, and you suddenly tucked your foot behind his, and he tripped.

You hit him square in the nose, and Jacearys groaned, clutching his face, but he was quick to move away, eyes watering, but he didn't see you move behind him.

You jumped up, legs locking around his throat as you tugged him down to his back. Jace hit the ground hard, eyes bulging, "what the fuck was that?" He tried to move away, but you pulled him into a headlock, "I win."

.ᐟ.ᐟ

"Ready?" You placed your fingers against Jacaerys' nose, hovering over him slightly as he sat on a bench in the training room. "This is going to hurt, but just for a few seconds, then it'll be sore."

Jace inhaled deeply, nodding, "just do it—fast!" You did as he asked, cracking his nose back into place, and Jace yelped in pain, hands squeezing your arms, but he pulled away, shaking his head to drown out the pain, "fuck that hurt."

"Told you." You grabbed your armor and started slipping it back on, just as Prince Daemon came inside, walking slow and casual like he always did, but you could tell he had meaning in coming here.

"Roughed him up a bit, yeah?" He crossed his arms, hair glittering like snow in the sun, and you nodded slowly, wondering what he'd think about your lack of tenderness.

Jacaerys scoffed, pulling on his shirt, then clipping his cloak back on, "don't pretend like you didn't know this was happening. I'm sure you're all for it, huh?" Daemon shrugged, grabbing Jace's sword and swiping it in the air skillfully.

Jace watched quietly while you stood by the door, waiting for Jace. It was close to dinner time now, and soon you'd be relieved of duty.

"Your mother wants to keep you locked up, because you're her heir, but it's bullshit, and she knew it." Daemon pointed the sword at Jacaerys' chest, and Jace just glared at him, knocking the sword's edge aside as he slipped on his boots.

Daemon slid the sword into its hilt and handed it back to Jace, "you'll improve quickly. She's a good teacher." You gave Daemon a purse-lipped smile, eyes downcast, your body already exhausted from the day.

"The reconnaissance is in three weeks. I expect top-notch work." He gave you a subtle glance that you nodded at, then he left, leaving you and Jace alone in the room. The Prince was quick to leave afterwards, walking quickly toward the great hall.

You made no move to catch up with him, leaving a few feet in between the two of you as he walked, your fingers straightening out your messy hair.

When the grand door to the hall came into view, he slowed down, stopping to glance back at you and you waved him on, "I'll find you after dinner." He nodded, slipping inside the room.

.ᐟ.ᐟ

As the weeks went by, you and Jacaerys continued to spar and train more and more. He started to improve greatly, and caught on to your fighting style easily. The two of you moved as one most days, you just a tad bit more agile and smooth, which was just your personal style, but Jace was a bit more harsh and rough, which gave him a bit of a strength booth.

"One more day." You called, while Jace drank water near the bench, chest heaving, skin sweaty, red, and bruised. You had more bruises, too, which was a bit unfortunate, but also made you proud of your teaching skills.

"We leave early, before the sky clears, that way, Vermax is hidden by the clouds."

"And how long will it take to get there?" Jacaerys shrugged, pulling on his shirt, "two hours? Maybe more?"

"I'd like it if you knew these things." He rolled his eyes at your snarky tone, waiting for you to redress. As you struggled to strap your armor, Jacaerys sighed dramatically, coming up behind you, his fingers grabbing the straps. When it was time to pull on your breastplate, he did that too, and your shoulder pieces.

When he was done, he handed you your sword and was out the door without another word. "You know, it'd be safer if you didn't take off every chance you got!" You called down the hall, jogging to catch up, and Jacaerys ignored you, on the way to his bedchamber.

"I'm pretty sure I can take care of myself now." You laughed, shoving him in the arm, and he rolled his eyes, "what?"

"You've been training for two weeks."

"And I can put you on your ass." You paused, and grabbed his arm to stop him, "that's a lie." Your eyes were squinted as you stared up at him, and Jacaerys gawked at you, "I just did!"

"Yeah, 'cause you went at me before I blew the whistle." Jacaerys paused, then finally a smile sprouted on his face, "you're joking, right? Just trying to compliment me in your own weird way?"

The two of you stared at each other silently for a moment, then you broke, laughing, leaning over to catch your breath, your head pressed to his chest for a second before you shook your head, "you should see your dumb little face!"

Jace stared at you with a fake glare, lips failing to neglect a smile, then he continued walking, knocking into your shoulder, "you're a bastard."

"Actually, you're the bastard." He deadpanned you, and you laughed once more, "you love making me upset, don't you?"

Shrugging, you crossed your arms, "it's only right. Still haven't forgiven you for being such a dick." He pushed open the door to his bedchamber, and you walked inside with a heavy sigh, dramatically collapsing into a chair at the tea table.

Jace disappeared into his bathroom, "will you be here overnight?"

You nodded, cocking your legs out, stretching heavily, "ever since that assassin snuck inside, we've upped security. I think your mother has two guards at all times, so it's pretty cautious right now."

Being with Jacerys overnight usually meant staying up talking about nonsense, then getting annoyed with each other by morning. You then would stomp your way out of his room, sleep for a few hours, then meet him after breakfast.

"Then why is Daemon letting us go monitor Criston Cole? Usually they'd lock me in the castle." Jace sat on his bed, waiting for your answer.

"He knows you're getting better. Your swordsmanship is excellent; you can successfully hold your own against me. Still can't beat me up, but you're improving."

"Still can't give me a full compliment, but you're improving." He gave you a sarcastic smile, then started removing his clothes in preparation for a bath. You also needed one, your skin sweaty, but you were content in not having one for a few hours more, so you busied yourself with reading the High Valyrian translation books on Jace's shelf.

He'd started teaching you the language, and although it was hard, you found yourself able to understand sentences. Of course, you couldn't understand when Daemon started to rant in High Valyrian during council meetings, but you were still a beginner.

"Kostagon ao bāne nykeēdar syt issa isse se perzys?" Jace called from the bathroom, and you huffed, standing dramatically, "I'm not your maid, Jacaerys!" You grabbed the bucket of water that a chambermaid had set out that morning and lit the fireplace, setting the bucket inside.

Jacaerys came out wearing just trousers, his chest sculpted and much more defined than it used to be. You could feel your chest fluttering at the sight of him, which had been happening more and more lately.

Just simple little moments where he got too close to you. He would blush, apologizing, hands still on you, and you would do the same, able to recover quicker, but it still hit you just as hard. Other times, the feeling would be elicited by a simple hand to the waist, or if he grabbed your hand absentmindedly to pull you along somewhere, especially when he dragged you with him to see Vermax.

There were also the occasional times you caught him staring at you, and those were the worst, because it was obvious, but neither of you wanted to admit it.

"There, happy?" You muttered, sitting back down, and Jace nodded, thanking you, "your High Valyrian is getting better." He started gathering clothes for after his bath, and you nodded, "but, sometimes I struggle to pronounce words."

Jacaerys hummed, sitting beside you, scooting his chair closer, "is it the throaty words?"

"Yeah." Jacaerys said a few things in High Valyrian, the words perfect for you to practice on. He leaned his arm against the table and watched you repeat after him. Your leg was stretched out beside his, your calves brushing.

"No—you want to stretch your mouth more, so it rolls easier." He reached up and grabbed your chin gently, "again." You said the word, eyes a bit wide as Jacaerys widened your mouth, his other hand against your throat, pressing softly against the hollow of your throat.

When his hand pulled away, and he rested it against your knee, you said nothing, allowing him to teach you. "Yes, that's perfect." He pulled away entirely, scooting back in his chair, eyes boring into yours as you blushed, "what?"

You shook your head, inhaling deeply, "can you show me the smoother words too, so I know for next time?" Obviously, you were bullshitting, and you were about to do something either very stupid or exactly what he wanted too.

"Yeah, of course." He scooted close again, "when your tongue rolls, let it. I know when we speak English, our tongue doesn't roll as much, but with High Valyrian, it does a lot."

As he tilted his head at you, watching your tongue roll, you suddenly leaned close, eyes inviting, awaiting his next move. You grabbed his jaw gently, angling your head so you could kiss him, waiting for him to protest, but he didn't. In fact, he kissed you first, lips gentle, skin hot against yours, and he smelt heavily like sea foam and smoke.

Jacaerys tugged you closer, arm poised around your back as he loosened the straps of your armor. "How long?" You questioned, standing up, so he could remove your armor better, and Jace pushed your hair aside, lips against your neck, "ever since I saw you. But the jealousy was stronger."

You scoffed, "jealous of what?" Your armor clanged against the ground, and Jace spun you around, kissing you once more, his hands heavy against your body as he squeezed and groped your waist and thighs, hands trailing down your back to your ass.

"You protected my mother better than anyone ever did. And I wished I had that sort of skill." He inhaled your scent deeply, kisses trailing down your neck as he bit at your chest.

"You can protect anyone now, you know that?" He walked you over to his bed, touch gentle like a ghost's kiss, "all because of you. So let me thank you."

.ᐟ.ᐟ

You were a bit embarrassed to be lying there, covered in evidence of sex and smelling much more like it. Your hair was messy, your clothes thrown about the room, but you threw all the negative thoughts away at the thought of Jacaerys.

His arms were wrapped around you, chin atop your head as he slept, legs tangled with yours. You were wholly comfortable, and although you knew it was a bit improper to be sleeping with him, you enjoyed it nonetheless. Besides, Rhaenyra adored you like her own daughter, and Daemon had likened you to an important person to Rhaenyra.

But that didn't mean you could throw away your duty.

You and Jacaerys still needed to do recon, and you wouldn't let your feelings blind you enough that you couldn't do your job.

Jacaerys startled awake, squeezing you firmly before he groaned, yawning, "we have to go, don't we?" You nodded, turning around, a grin on your lips. "In an hour, or we won't have cover."

He let out a dramatic sigh, kissing you a bit hesitantly, still trying to get used to whatever relationship the two of you were in now. He stood thereafter and started getting ready, while you did the same.

Once the two of you were finally ready, you went outside, where Vermax was already perched. As Jacaerys prepared Vermax, you spoke to Daemon, who met the two of you before you left.

"In and out. We only want an expected route. No fights, no fire, nothing. If it seems he's going to Harrenhal, I'll go there first." You nodded, "an are you confident that Jcaerys can handle this?"

He shrugged, "are you?"

You nodded, "yes, I am."

"Good. If you pull this off, you won't be a simple guard anymore."

You rolled your eyes with a smile, "I should've never been a guard in the first place. We both know I'm too good for it." He scoffed at you, smirking, "if you're gone for more than half the day, I'm coming for you."

You nodded, watching Daemon leave before Jace came to tell you that Vermax was saddled.

"So how does this work?" Jace grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers as he led you beside Vermax. "I'm going to hop on first, then I'll pull you up."

You nodded with determination, watching Jace pull himself up, leg perched on Vermax's lowered wing. When he was successfully up, he reached down for you, "hope you're not afraid of heights."

You rolled your eyes at him, grabbing his hand. Jace pulled you up, then sat you in front of him, his hand resting against your thighs as he attached the two of you to Vermax's saddle, "just in case we fly upside down."

He laughed at your horrified face, "Vermax, sōvegon." The dragon took off quick, wings flapping, the ground getting farther and farther away. You squeezed Jacaerys' arms tightly, "and you're not scared?"

He shook his head, "nope. You'll get used to it trust me."

.ᐟ.ᐟ

The mission was successful, and it took no more than four hours for you, Jace, adn Vermax to fly to Harrenhal. When the two of you saw the party nowhere, you were a bit confused, until Jace was able to spot the Greens near Brindlewood, which was at least half a week's journey from Harrenhal.

After relaying this all to Daemon, he thanked both of you, and you and Jace were off to his bedchamber.

"I think he'll make you Master of Combat." You scoffed playfully at Jace, "I thought that Essosi guy was Master of Combat?"

Jace shook his head, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, "that guy was in multiple fights with the other councilmen and lost both of them. You, on the other hand—excellent."

You smiled, "and what's the benefit of being Master of Combat?"

"Well, if we make it through this stupid war, you'll be offered land and an estate. I'm sure you'll be well known, not only for being close to my mother, but also because of your skill. But best of all, you and I wouldn't have to hide."

You glanced up at him curiously, "and why is that?"

"It would be proper. We could even get wed if we wanted to." You gaped at him playfully, pinching his cheek, "you really like me, don't you?"

He rolled his eyes, blushing, "don't pretend like I don't make your heart flutter."

[kittyminion]

all 'cause of the rain contractor!tommy miller x f!reader

-tommy is the general contractor overseeing work done on the readers house -nothing but sweet fluff, reader is a die-hard lover girl, reader has sisters, reader and tommy have a crush on each other, no outbreak

You decided to move into a small fixer-upper in East Austin. Your grandmother passed and gave you a bunch of money, and after finally landing a job, you thought it was the perfect idea. Despite not having family or friends in Austin, you enjoyed the mysteriousness that surrounded moving and being out on your own, especially since you spent so much time under your mother's wing in college.

Of course, it would cost a lot to fix up the house—the plumbing had started to corrode, doors were broken off hinges, walls had holes, ceilings had leaks, but after six months of work, you were almost done.

It drained almost every single penny from your inheritance, but you were making good money from your full-time job, so to treat yourself, you hired Miller Construction, a mid-sized business in the city that one of your co-workers referred to you.

You wanted an in-ground pool built as a final hurrah to the beautiful home that was almost complete. After multiple phone calls with the owner, Joel, it was finally time to start construction.

There were dozens of men all over your property and a huge excavator to scoop all the dirt from your backyard. It was a loud process, and you sort of hated yourself for being too eager when you were woken up at six a.m. on the dot. You were still wearing your robe when you pushed your front door open and saw the workers, multiple trucks in your driveway, and near the curb.

"Hello, hi, I thought construction was starting next week?" You tapped a man on the shoulder, and he spun around, a light smile on his face, and when he saw you, he paused, "you must be the owner?"

You nodded, eyes squinted to the rising sun as you pulled your robe tighter, smoothing down your messy hair when you saw him. He had eyes like blue sea glass, and a smooth, sharp face, eyebrows thick and untamed. His mustache and beard were growing in, pink lips stretched with a smile that had you inhaling deeply, severely self-conscious of your morning appearance.

"I tried to call you a few days ago, but it went straight to voicemail. We had an opening in the schedule, so we decided to come early." He tucked a clipboard underneath his arm, pulling up the sleeves of his flannel, cocking his leg out, boots scuffing against the concrete of your driveway.

He glanced over at your car, wincing at the men and machinery crowded around it, "would've had you move your car, but I know it's early. Don't got work or anything?"

You shivered as a chilly breeze ruffled through your robe, "fortunately I don't. Is this an all-day process or..." you raised your eyebrows at him curiously, and he stared at you for a few seconds, unblinking, "I don't think I introduced myself—I'm Tommy Miller, contractor."

You shook his awaiting hand, his palms rough with calluses. "If there's anything I can do to make this better, please tell me. I wasn't trying to surprise you or anything."

You chuckled to fill the awkward air, "no, it's fine. Should've picked up my phone, is all." Both of you stared at each other for a moment, Tommy pushing his chin-length hair behind his ear, "well I'll be inside then!"

You said it oddly loud, smiling brightly as you walked up the steps of your porch, pulling the door open, waving at Tommy. He did the same, "yep. We'll be outta here for the day by eight p.m."

As soon as you were inside, you were glaring at yourself in the mirror. Thankfully, you looked decent, which made your beating heart calm, comforted that you didn't look astronomical in front of the cute guy in charge of the construction on your house. He was young, at least thirty, and seemed to have something for you, too, unless he just thought you were weird.

Shedding your robe in the living room, you peeked through the window and saw him, speaking to a few men wearing hard hats and neon colored vests. "if it rains tomorrow, we raincheck the entire thing and start a few days later, but no matter what, I want flawless work for the pretty lady inside."

Your heart spiked at the compliment, and you danced around your living room like a psycho, then returned to the window, where Tommy was making rounds with all the workers. His arms flexed as he helped carry supplies, and you could see the muscle from a mile away.

So hours later, you decided it was time to stop rotting in the house. You were still bare-faced, your teeth clean, but this time you wore a thin sweater to bite back at the chill and a pair of jeans, your hair pulled back into a simple pony, a few strands loose.

When you walked out of the house, keys in your hand, you pursed your lips at the stuff surrounding your car, but when Tommy saw you, his face brightened as he came over, noting the purse around your body and the keys between your fingers, "need to leave, I assume?"

He stood next to you on the steps, fingers hooked into his belt, and you nodded slowly, "if it's a problem I can stay, I don't mind—" Tommy cut you off with a simple shake of his head, "you're the one incharge here, so don't worry—everybody listen up!" He jogged down the steps and immediately got everyone's attention in the front yard.

"The beautiful owner needs to leave, so I need all this shit out of the way!" He began moving shovels and tools, while the men nodded, giving you smiles and nods, dropping everything they held to rush over and move the stuff.

You were in awe at the swiftness they had, and especially surprised at the ease Tommy had to direct so many men all at once. You watched them silently—more specifically Tommy—despite the cold, he had a steady sheen of sweat on his face, and he grabbed the end of his shirt to wipe it away, revealing a tight-fitting tanktop which outlined the valleys and hills of his abs, so lean and defined that you pursed your lips, humming to yourself.

"There you go, sweetheart. Didn't take long, did it?" After you unlocked your door, Tommy pulled it open for you, "not long at all. I'm not sure how long I'll be gone, so call me if you need anything."

He nodded, pushing the door closed firmly and patting the top of your car, before you began pulling out.

ᖭ༏ᖫ

The next day, it did in fact rain. So hard that you heard your windows rattle. You unfortunately had work, so you bundled yourself up in a jacket and stepped out of the house, umbrella at the ready, while you locked the door.

When you spun around and saw Tommy Miller's truck pulling into the driveway, you froze, watching him rush out of the car, face dripping wet, and hair slicked down to his head. Once he was finally under the safety of the porch, he smiled sheepishly at you, "I'm sorry I didn't call, but I wanted to let you know we won't be back the rest of the week. With the forecast, it looks like it'll be pouring down for a few days."

You nodded in understanding, looking up at him with furrowed eyebrows. You could tell he was cold, and luckily, you had an extra thirty minutes before you were supposed to clock in, "you could've just called, Tommy. Would you like a towel?" You were already unlocking the door before he could say anything.

Tommy stood in the doorway, "just wanted to come tell you myself!" He shouted as you disappeared deeper into your house, returning with a towel. You wrapped it around his body gently, chuckling when excess water swung into your face.

He sat on your chair on the porch and dried his hair, feet squelching in his boots. "I really do wish you had called." You sat beside him, watching the rain pour down, the sky dark with storm clouds. Tommy waved you off, "It's fine, besides, I don't live too far from here. Just about ten minutes."

You nodded slowly, trying to hide a smile at the fact that he went out of his way for you. Maybe your little romance fantasy with him wasn't just in your head. He'd complimented your appearance twice anyway.

"Do you enjoy being a contractor?"

Tommy placed the towel on his lap and leaned back, hand raised to his chin in thought, "most days I do, but since I work with my brother, Joel, sometimes it's just a day full of us arguing about dumb shit."

You smiled, outstretching your hand for the towel, and Tommy gave it to you, standing when you did, "I bet it's nice to have a good relationship with him, though, right?"

"Oh, of course." Tommy leaned against the doorframe, watching you throw the towel into your laundry room, "he's good to me. Just a dick sometimes. Do you have any siblings?"

"Yep, two sisters, one above me and the other below. It was hell." He laughed, "how so?"

"Well, I had one sister angry at life because she was a teenager, and the other begging me to play Barbie dolls twenty-four-seven. But now, since we're older, we get along better. We all understand the struggles of life together. Looks like the rains is slacking up."

He hummed at your words, "guess my excuse to continue talking to you is gone." He smiled at your blush, and you stepped down the porch, making your way to your car, "don't flatter me, Tommy."

He chuckled, pulling open the door to his truck, "I'll see you next week."

ᖭ༏ᖫ

You weren't home when Tommy called you. "Tommy? Are you heading to my house?" His voice was a bit choppy, but you could hear him nonetheless, "yep. We're gonna need your driveway, got some machinery. Is that alright?"

"That's fine, I'll park on the curb. Have you been well?" You could barely get the words out, hoping you weren't overstepping the weird boundaries the two of you had, but Tommy responded nicely, "doing great actually. I'm taking my niece to the movies tonight, so I'll be gone a bit early."

"Sounds fun! Well, I'll see you later on." It was still a bit tense between the two of you, maybe because both of you were aware that you liked each other, but neither did anything about it. You could hear the tenderness in Tommy's voice when he hung up, and it made you all the more disappointed in yourself for not saying something.

You could've asked him to dinner, or anything. But you were too shy to say anything, because what if he did reject you? Was it wrong that you liked him in the first place, or was this some weird contractor and contractee boundary that you'd crossed?

When you finally made it back home, the trunk of your car full of groceries, Tommy jogged over, "need some help?" You sighed in relief, "yes, please." Tommy grabbed almost all of the bags, leaving you with a few, then he stood by the door and waited for you to unlock it.

"Making dinner tonight?" You nodded, starting to unbag the groceries, and Tommy helped you, "invited a few friends over. It's this girl's night sort of thing we do every month."

"Sounds fun," Tommy said nothing about your box of pads nor the bottle of Midol. Maybe he was familiar with it because of his niece, but either way, you were grateful.

Once the groceries were put away, the two of you were just staring at each other—you leaning against the counter while Tommy stood in the entrance, lips pursed.

"Do you—"

"Would you—"

You both laughed, "you go ahead," you said, walking up to him and Tommy nodded, blushing, lips curving into delayed words, his eyes downcast shyly, "would you like to go out with me? Like on a date, this weekend?"

You watched him with wide eyes, lips apart slightly, curved with a gentle smile that made hope glow in his eyes. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his feet, "sure! How about Saturday?"

He seemed a bit surprised at your acceptance, but then he smiled, chest rising and falling greatly before he gave you time, "I'll pick you up."

ᖭ༏ᖫ

Saturday couldn't come quick enough. You put on a nice dress you got from the mall, dolled up your face, and styled your hair to perfection. You sprayed your signature perfume on, slipped on your kitten heels, then sat on the couch, waiting for Tommy.

He'd been texting you throughout the week—pretty casually about any and everything. He'd even dropped off some food for you on one of the hard days of your period, which you thought was nice because he remembered a conversation the two of you had about you loving tacos on your period.

He was so gentle and understanding it was ridiculous, and multiple times you caught yourself thinking he was too good to be true, but he continuously proved that he was basically perfect.

So when you heard the doorbell ring, you were extremely giddy. You checked your appearance in the mirror, then grabbed your purse and pulled open the door. When Tommy saw you, he froze, eyes scrolling down your body before he smiled, "you look darling."

You blushed, thanking him, noting his crisp white dress shirt and black slacks. "Not too bad yourself." He handed you a bouquet of blood red tiger lilies, "got these for you. Expensive as shit too." You chuckled, grabbing them, "they're very pretty. I'll even preserve them so you get your money's worth."

He ended up taking you to a fancy restaurant in the middle of Austin. The two of you spoke about everything—dreams, nightmares, fears, what you wanted in life, and everything in between.

It was like you were in a fairytale, no flaws, just perfection, which was something you weren't familiar with. After you ate dinner, the two of you shared ice cream, and Tommy took you ice skating. It was full of wobbling and falling, and the two of you looked out of place, but you held onto each other so tight it looked like you were one.

Then, once the moon peaked, Tommy kissed you. You were sitting in his truck, staring out at the Capitol building. "Did you have fun?" He asked, thumb rubbing against the back of your hand as he held it, and you nodded. "Tonight was perfect, Tommy."

You stared at the slope of his nose, your fingers reaching up to move a piece of his hair out of his eyes, and Tommy muttered a thank you, lips raised in a sweet grin.

Music hummed softly from the radio, and Tommy turned to you, "when's the next time you're free?" He intertwined his fingers with yours, and you smiled, "tomorrow. You?"

"So am I. How about I come over?" You nodded, and Tommy leaned towards you slowly, eyes tender and soft like the sky, elbow resting against the console. When you didn't stop him, he kissed you, lips against yours gently, his hand against the back of your neck while you gripped his wrist to pull him close.

You could smell nothing but his scent, and you were so full of happiness that it hurt to quit smiling. Tommy's fingers slipped down your back, and he gently grabbed your hip.

"You taste like ice cream," you muttered, pulling away for air, and Tommy laughed, "so do you!"

[kittyminion]

vigilante arthur morgan x murderer!f!reader

-you are arthurs newest bounty -language, violence, mentions of murder, crime, poc reader, reader has curly hair, is reader a psycho, maybe??, mentions of rape and assualt, platonic relationship

They'd been talking about you for six months straight at the sheriff's department in Valentine. They described you as ruthless and no-nonsense, like the grim reaper, willing to do the hard things no one else would. You killed all sorts of men—rapists, assaulters, racists, anyone who hadn't been hit in the face with reality.

You were swift, just a quick slice to the throat, then you were gone, no sort of evidence or fingerprints, no bootprints to mark your flee nor any unnecessary violence, which many of the sheriffs expected from a vigilante like you.

It was as if you were a professional, as if you knew exactly what to do and what not to do. Some said you were the deputy's daughter, hidden under his wing, your behavior excused, while others believed you were just crazy, a psycho with a god complex.

Arthur didn't know what to think. He just wanted the five thousand dollars tied to your name, dead or alive. He first saw your wanted poster plastered on the board at the sheriff's department in Valentine. He was leaving the building, a hundred dollars richer, when he saw the number, feeling like what he just earned was nothing compared to those three zeros.

He was quick to turn around, the poster in his grip.

"I'll do this one." The deputy stared at him for a few prolonged seconds, then burst out laughing, his cheeks red, his gasps rasping as he slapped his knee. "I've had thirty-five men attempt to get her, but no one's succeeded."

Arthur shrugged, pushing his hat up so the man could see his eyes clearly, "and how many bounties have I done for you, deputy? Have I ever failed?"

The deputy let out a loud sigh, tilting his head at Arthur, then he shook his head softly, "fine, but when you come back here, tail tucked between your legs, richer in bruises, I don't want to hear a word."

And that's how Arthur ended up in the middle of rolling hills, nothing but himself and his horse for miles. The sun was beating down on him roughly, his body sweaty and covered in a day's worth of dirt, but he kept looking for anything.

He rarely passed anyone as he searched for you, gulping down water every so often just to keep his head on his shoulders. After hours had gone by, Arthur came upon a dense forest right at the edge of the hills, and that's when he smelt it.

"Smoke."

He hopped off his horse and tied her near the edge of the forest, hand on his gun as he stepped over large branches and avoided crunchy sticks.

As the smell became more pungent, he crouched down behind a large tree stump, checking his bullets as he rounded the tree and saw your camp. It was a minuscule thing, but very permanent, like you've been camped there for a while.

There were piles of wrist watches near the fire, and a small tent right on the edge of camp, a bag of food sitting at the entrance. The fire he'd smelt was starting to burn out, which didn't surprise him considering the smoke.

He saw you nowhere, though, but he knew you were around; your horse was whinnying just a few feet away. He pointed his gun as he continued searching, kneeling at the tent. When he glanced inside and saw you, crouched over and attempting to open a can of beans, he cocked back the safety of his gun, and you froze.

Your head snapped over to him, hand at your holster, but he stopped you with a shake of his head, "wouldn't do that if I were you."

You were dressed simply, in a tunic and leather pants, a pair of scuffed boots on your feet, while your hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Your face was red and sweaty from the heat as you climbed slowly out of the tent, hands raised cautiously.

"How much do they want for me?" You asked, and Arthur shrugged, "hefty amount."

You grinned pridefully as Arthur grabbed your arms, binding them with rope in front of you. "You're quiet, you know? Most of the others barge in, loud and guns blazing, but you—very smart."

He rolled his eyes playfully, "not gonna tie your legs, so if you run, I'll kill you. I get money either way." You hummed as you sat near the tent, watching Arthur search around your camp for evidence.

"Who's your next target?" He questioned, pulling off his hat to scratch his head, sweat beading down his nose, but he wiped it away carelessly.

"A guy, about thirty-five. Stole from a little ole' lady near the Dakota River. Roughed her up real bad afterwards—broken leg and tons of bruises."

Arthur listened to you, rummaging through your belongings before he focused on the pile of watches, "and how do you know who to kill?"

"They tell me." He glanced up in surprise at that, searching on the back of the watch faces where last names were carved. Clearly, they belonged to whoever you killed—they were your trophies.

"And who are they?"

"The people—any people. All the way from Blackwater to Lemoyne. Get letters at my old place telling me where to go." You didn't mind telling him because it would change nothing. You were determined to escape, you just didn't know how yet.

Arthur started stuffing the watches in a small bag, then he stood, walking over to you, "they're probably gonna hang you."

"I know."

"And you're not scared." He started dragging you over to his horse, then he picked you up and sat you on the saddle, then he climbed up behind you, hands heavy on your thighs as he grabbed the reins.

"Why should I be? I've been alive plenty of years, and most of them have been spent bringing people to justice."

Arthur scoffed, "to justice is what you're calling it? You're murdering them."

You rolled your eyes, "don't pretend like you don't kill."

"And how can you tell?"

"See it in your eyes."

It was quiet after that, and Arthur asked you no more questions as his horse left the forest and entered the rolling hills once more.

But Arthur didn't see you reaching into your boot as you pulled your leg up slowly, your eyes ahead, body loose and relaxed against his. You brought out a switchblade and started cutting the rope around your ankles.

"Why'd you start killing?" He asked, chest rising and falling against your back, and you answered smoothly, still cutting the ropes, "I was a kid. My father had put his hands on my mother, and he was gone a day later."

Arthur hummed low, hands tightening on his reins, "been doin' it ever since then, huh?"

You shook your head, your hands free, but you sat there, "not for a while. I was extremely guilty after, so I kept quiet until a man tried to rape me. Again, when a man broke into my house. Then one of my friends was kidnapped, so I killed the man who took her."

You jumped from the horse.

It was a hard fall, and you heard something in your body crack. "Damnit!" Arthur shouted, stopping his horse, but you were already running, hard and fast in the opposite direction.

You could hear his horse pounding down behind you, but you kept running, no forest in sight. You were limping slightly, teeth grinding down on your cheek in pain, but you kept going.

Arthur grabbed the back of your shirt and tugged you back onto the horse, and you shot your elbow out at his face. Both of you fell from the horse, tumbling back and forth on top of each other, Arthur trying to grab your hands while you were at his holster, pulling his gun, and scrambling away.

When you raised it, he froze, hands up, eyes wide, "now, sweetheart—"

"—don't call me that, you barely know me." Your hands were shaking as you pulled back the safety, and it was clear you didn't want to shoot him.

"I know you don't want to do this." He moved towards you slowly, shaking his head slowly, and you scoffed, "of course I don't! But I have no choice."

"You do have a choice." He continued moving towards you, but you held the gun tighter, finger on the trigger. He paused, "you kill me, and they won't care, but I know you will. I'm not a bad man—if anything, you and I are the same, I only kill the people that deserve it."

You inhaled deeply, removing your finger from the trigger, but you kept the gun pointed at him as Arthur moved closer and closer, until his hand was on top of yours and he was lowering the gun.

"Just let me go." You begged, eyes watering as Arthur took the gun and stuffed it back in the holster. Your ankle was buzzing with pain as you moved away from him, but Arthur moved closer.

"Every single time, they deserve it! I only do what needs to be done."

Arthur grabbed your hands gently and pulled you into a firm hug, hand pressed on top of your head.

"You've got to stop. One day, you'll kill the wrong person, and you'll have a gang of bad men after you, understand?"

You shook your head against his chest, "I can't just let them live peacefully! I'm not gonna let that happen."

Arthur pulled away, hands on your shoulders as he stared down at you, "then what happens when you die? You'll be powerless then. So just stop while you're ahead. Bad people get what they deserve anyway, even if it's not a death you want."

You nodded slowly, chest rising and falling greatly. Arthur stepped away from you, nodding along, "I don't want to hear any more stories about you, alright?"

"Fine, but I can't promise anything."

[kittyminion]

one for the books low honor!arthur morgan x sheriff!f!reader

-you are one of the best sheriffs in valentine, so you try your hardest to bring the infamous arthur morgan to justice, but he's as good as you are, perhaps even better -enemies to lovers, smut, 18+, fluff, angst, au, violence, crime, language, poc reader, reader has curly hair, reader is deputy sheriff, canon divergence, public intimacy, nonconsenual recording (not arthur) -part two ?? -word count= 6.6k

You'd been the deputy sheriff in Valentine for six years, and half of those years were spent looking for the Van Der Linde gang. Every morning when you woke up, and once you had your coffee, and traveled down the road to the station, there they were on the bounty board—Dutch, Arthur, Hosea, and the occasional Charles Smith and Bill Williamson.

You were assigned to Arthur Morgan, though. And he kept you on your toes. Some days were simple reports of robbery—a stolen horse or home robbery. Perhaps missing items with his M.O. written all over it.

But, the majority of the time was much more complicated crimes: train robberies, hostage situations, bodies found in homes, and money stolen from the bank. Enough that had you stressing each night, attempting to track his every move, especially since it seemed he was on a solo mission.

There'd been sightings of him in nearby towns, tiny remnants of fires in the forests, full of leftover food and the evidence of some being there.

You couldn't help but assume it was Arthur. Maybe he wanted to be found, to lead the trail away from the gang, which was, of course, your first thought when someone reported sighting of a figure behind their cottage in the woods.

You'd shown up alone, assuming it was just a simple misunderstanding, maybe some stupid children playing a prank, or perhaps just some animals who'd been roaming recently due to the chilly weather.

You were dressed in your usual clothes, long leather pants, with your blood red boots, the heel of them thumping against the ground as you rounded the house. You had a matching vest with floral patterns on it, your silver badge shining against it, while a leather jacket covered your arms, blocking the cold of the outdoors. And a dirty cowboy hat sat on your head, a curly bun at the nape of your neck.

Your hand was resting lazily on your holster as the owner of the cottage pointed you in the right direction, "and you said you've been hearing shuffling late at night?" You questioned, turning to the little old lady who'd reported.

She nodded with wide eyes, bent over painfully from age, a wooden cane keeping her stable, "usually when it's dark, and sometimes I'll look through the window, but I usually see nothing." Nodding slowly, you spat the reed in your mouth aside and replaced it with a cigarette.

As you lit it, you continued walking, "let me handle this, miss. Just go back and rest, I'll let you know when I've finished." She gave you a grateful smile, beginning to shuffle back to her cottage, and you continued on your way, lighting your cigarette, eyes cut at the woods as you entered.

You kept your hand on your gun just in case, feet avoiding loose branches and crunchy leaves, noting the lack of wildlife. It was silent besides the ruffle of wind through the trees. You could smell the brunt scent of wood as you continued approaching, pushing through thick bushes and leaves, until you came upon a small solo campsite.

You hummed to yourself, eyebrows raised as you glanced around, moving cautiously towards the put-out fire. The wood was still smoking, indicating whoever was occupying the area hadn't long left.

But there were still belongings there. A small sleeping bag and a tent above it, a few empty cans of corn lay out messily, while a damp shirt was hung on the tent to dry.

The safety of a gun clicked.

You froze, eyes squeezing tightly shut before you sighed and stood slowly, "put your hands on your head, and throw that gun aside." A deep, gruffled voice said, and you shook your head with annoyance, doing as he said, sliding your gun backwards, then placing your hands upon your head.

You stood to your full height as you did, still sucking on the cigarette, the smoke puffing out of your nose as you did. You heard the clinking of a holster as footsteps approached you, then a small hum as heavy hands landed on your body.

The man felt around you swiftly, hands throwing all your belongings from your pockets, then he felt on your thighs and down your legs. Once he was finished, he grabbed your wrists and began threading rope around them.

"I've seen you far too many times, sweetheart."

He pushed you down onto your knees, and you finally turned your head, heart spiking when you saw Arthur Morgan smirking back at you. He chuckled at your face and unfolded a small chair and tugged it in front of you, where he sat, gun pointed lazily at your chest.

The tip of it moved your jacket to the side as he poked at your badge, "is it real? Last time I checked, people don't fare female sheriffs."

You scoffed, sneering at him, "well, I'm just that good."

He laughed, blue eyes poised on you like a laser, "well, I guess you've met your match." He leaned down, elbows on his knees, waving the gun back and forth as he talked, the tip of his hat touching yours, "what's your goal here, huh? Tryna put us all away, or is it just some personal vendetta that makes you try so hard?"

You could feel the blood pooling into your arms as you lost feeling in your hands, the binds too tight, but you ignored it, sucking on your cigarette once again, the smoke burning the back of your throat.

Arthur's eyes dragged down to your lips, and he suddenly plucked the cigarette from your mouth and stuck it into his.

"Do you realize how much heartache you cause in Valentine? The constant killing, the robbing? So many people have lost family members because you and your jackass gang won't follow the law."

He raised his eyebrows at you, picking the cigarette from his lips to exhale smoke directly into your face. Your eyes squeezed closed as you coughed, chin pressed to your chest, but Arthur slung off your hat and grabbed the base of your bun to pull your head back up roughly.

He kept your head fixed as he moved closer, face inches from yours, "you think we haven't lost people too? We're not just doing this for fun; we're doing this because people like you constantly shit on the poor. How many people have come to that bank in Valentine begging for loans so they can pay bills, huh? But no one gives a fuck, because we're just the bottom of the barrel, right? We don't matter."

His demeanor had switched from nonchalant to no bullshit in a matter of seconds. His grip was tight upon your hair as he talked, the gun still pointed at your chest, his fingers gripping it tightly.

You shook your head stiffly, eyes trailing down his tan face, "you think I don't understand struggle? Like you said, I'm the only female sheriff in Valentine, perhaps the whole of New Hanover. I've been manhandled, assaulted, and spit at, all so I can track down motherfuckers like you who have a savior complex. You kill people because you like it, not for justice."

He stared at you silently and inhaled deeply, nodding, letting go of your hair as he sat back, "have you ever killed someone?"

Your eyebrows furrowed at his question, but Arthur just picked at his scuffed pants, adjusting the hat on his head. "Yes, I've killed people."

"Then you understand as soon as you pull that trigger and see the life flash from somebody's eyes, that you can never forget it. So why the fuck would I kill just because I like it?"

Before you knew it, Arthur was adjusting the gun to your forehead and standing, jaw clenched tightly as he stared down at you. You could hear nothing but the loud beating of your heart as you glared up at him, "they'll massacre your entire gang if you kill me, and they'll never stop until all of you are dead."

"You're not the first deputy we've killed, and you certainly won't be the last—" he clicked back the safety once more, and you squeezed your eyes shut, still working your binds off, and once they fell off your wrists, you delivered a sharp punch to Arthur's crotch.

The gun went off and swung right past your ear, but you ignored the burst of pain, watching as Arthur collapsed, groaning as he grabbed at his balls.

You retrieved your gun and pointed it at him, but he kicked your leg out and you fell onto your hip with a gasp, wrestling against Arthur as his hand wrapped around your throat and squeezed.

Your legs flailed helplessly as your lungs emptied, your fingers scratching at his face while your vision clouded. Your hips bucked trying to get him off, but he was too large and too strong, lips pursed tightly as he choked you.

Tears were streaming down the side of your face, but Arthur kept squeezing. You pulled your hands away from his face, turning your head and seeing a pile of your belongings. Your fingers just barely grabbed your blade as you stabbed it into his side, feeling the tear and squelch of flesh as you did it.

Arthur groaned and his grip loosened, his skin seeming to pale as you finally bucked him off of you, standing up so quick you were dizzy. Arthur was clutching his side as you ran, fast and hard out of the woods, calling for help as you did.

You were coughing hard as you tripped and fell, knees scraping in the dirt, your hands shakingly pointing your gun towards the woods, expecting Arthur to be behind you, but he wasn't.

When you heard the door of the cottage swing open and the little old lady waddling over to you, you attempted to pull yourself up. "I need to go. And when I leave, I need you to lock up tight and not leave your house until a sheriff returns to tell you it's safe, understood?"

She nodded quickly, eyes full of worry for you as you touched your ear and pulled away, hand full of blood. You tugged yourself onto your horse and was gone thereafter.

ʊ

That was your first time encountering Arthur Morgan, and thereafter, you were cautious. Whenever there was a sighting, you brought a whole squad with you, always angry when you'd arrived too late. You hadn't even seen him after the first time.

Maybe he was more careful now, too. That made you a bit prideful, but also knowing the Van Der Linde gang probably had something up their sleeve that easily outnumbered you.

You spent several months following dead leads and attempting to track them, but it seemed Arthur had quickly rejoined the gang after his run-in with you, which meant they were much more cautious due to the number of people with them.

You'd heard it wasn't just the gunslingers but women too, voluntarily running with them for safety, protection, and freedom. It was hard for you to fathom the thought of living in the Van Der Linde gang, but you somewhat understood the notion of wanting security.

But after a long day, you were tired. You'd dealt with a bunch of small bounties for simple criminals that you could handle on your own. Your system was full of coffee that had just trickled into exhaustion, and as soon as you pushed into your house on the outskirts of Valentine, you just wanted to collapse in bed.

You threw aside your holster, ignoring the loud clatter of it as you missed the table and it hit the floor. You slipped off your boots, unbuttoned your vest, unpinned your badge, and pulled off your pants, left in a bra and underwear, as you lit candles in the small kitchen, which was directly across from your bed.

You didn't notice the figure sitting on the edge, nor the open window, broken glass underneath it. You didn't realize there was an extra hat on the coat rack, nor the gaze on you as you started boiling water for a bath.

Once you began slipping the straps of your bra down your shoulders, you heard the clearing of a throat. You screamed so loud your own eardrums rang, kicking the bucket of water, which spilled everywhere.

Your eyes were wide and full of horror as you stared at Arthur. He had a cocky smirk on his face, leg propped up on your bed like he owned the place. His gun was lying on his chest while he spun the magazine, not bothering to point it at you, because you were already vulnerable.

You rushed to your gun, struggling to remove it from the holster as you pointed it at him.

"Got one of those cigarettes? Haven't found one like it." He stood, stretching as he did, a loud moan escaping his lips as he approached you, noting your shaking form and the unsteadiness of your hand.

"I actually scared you, huh?"

"You snuck into my fucking house and were sitting in the dark!" You yelled, steadying your gun with your other hand, your hair hanging down your back in tangled curls.

Arthur snatched your gun and threw it aside, rolling his eyes, "I've got a proposition for you, sweetheart." He circled you, fingers trailing down your spine and over your hips, as he removed his jacket and draped it over your shoulders, circling you once more to tighten it around you.

You stared at him in shock, trying to step away, but he pulled you close, tilting his head, "your sheriffs are being paid off."

Your breathing stopped, and you shook your head in disbelief, "what are you talking about? Nobody is paying off anyone!" You shoved away from him, moving towards your wardrobe and slipping on a pair of pants.

Arthur sat on your bed, "by the O'Driscoll gang. This sheriff slips Colm money from the bank every Sunday, and most of your sheriffs know but you. They keep quiet 'cause of the money, and they know you're too honorable to allow it to happen if you knew."

Arthur continued, "so, if you help us get rid of the O'Driscolls, we'll help you deal with those sorry sheriffs of yours."

"I don't need your help to deal with my men!" Both of you knew you were lying, but you didn't want to admit it.

"They'll throw you to the side as soon as they realize you know. Besides, they don't respect you; they may pretend they do, but you don't hear the rumors." Arthur looked down at his hands, and that's when you knew he pitied you.

He pitied you because you were at a disadvantage, a disadvantage so sad and pathetic that you were embarrassed just standing there. For so long, you'd thought everything was fine. Of course, when you started, you were disrespected left and right, but you thought once you'd become deputy sheriff, it had all stopped.

But instead, it just quieted down.

You ran a frustrated hand down your face, still feeling the stresses of the day as you sat in a chair across from him. Arthur looked at you again, no hint of humor in his face as he stared.

You stared back, legs kicked out lazily in front of you, all your emotions on your face. You were sure he could see all the desperation and sadness, all the late nights spent trying to prove yourself. Every word thrown at you to discourage you, every mention of your role as a woman, every grope of your ass, and every curse.

But then he could also see your determination in your eyes. Every time you broke a man's jaw for touching you or every time you cursed out a man for demeaning you.

Of course, it'd been a lot, but you were strong.

"Our camp's on Horseshoe Overlook, just over the ridge. Don't come lookin' all flashy, because we all know what you're capable of. Make sure no one's following you and don't tell anyone where you're going." Arthur pulled himself onto his feet and walked over to the door, swinging it open.

He paused before he left, a heavy gaze on you, "haven't hit rock bottom yet, have you?"

You shook your head, feeling your eyes water as you turned forward.

"Good."

ʊ

Your horse was whinnying as you approached the camp, a small bag tied to the back of your saddle, while you stopped and tied her up to a tree.

You could already feel eyes on you as you entered, and they were mixed—some disdainful, others curious. "Well, you must be Madam Deputy Sheriff! I'm Susan Grimshaw." She grabbed your hand and shook it softly, hair big and large, tufts of it hanging out meticulously. She guided you over to a large tent in the center of the camp, "don't worry about the others. They don't understand why you're here yet, but once Dutch tells 'em, we'll all be best friends, right?"

You smiled awkwardly as she ushered you inside, where four men sat. There was Arthur, of course, then three other men you were familiar with, but never met: Dutch, Hosea Matthews, and Micah Bell.

The latter stared at you so hatefully, you could feel your skin burning. His glare was rough as you sat next to Arthur, ignoring his small smirk, his arm resting against the back of your chair.

"At least she's pretty," Micah muttered, and you tilted your head at him, eyes hard, and he glanced away from you, tapping his fingers against the table. You focused your attention on Dutch, who was smiling, "it's a pleasure, deputy."

He shook your hand firmly and sat back in his chair, eyes on the older man, Hosea, whose gaze was surprisingly polite as he flashed you a smile.

"I'm sure you already know us, don't you?" Dutch questioned, eyebrows raised, and you nodded, "more or less. Micah here seems to know me real well, despite the fact we've never met."

Arthur just watched you silently as you looked at Micah, who scoffed, "you've been givin' us hell, lady! How do you expect me to not hate you?"

"It's deputy or sheriff, and it's my job to give you hell, as you said."

Dutch waved the two of you off and stood, retrieving a rolled-up piece of paper, "this is the O'Driscoll camp, not too far away, at least half a day's ride. It'll be only a few of us going, me, Hosea, Arthur o'course, Charles, Micah here, Bill, and Sadie."

"Sadie?" You didn't know that name. Perhaps she was one of the women who ran with the gang.

Arthur knudged your arm to get your attention, "a woman we took in a while back. She been gunslinging with us ever since." You nodded slowly, "and just about how many men are in the O'Driscoll gang?"

Dutch weighed his head back and forth, "at their main location, just over fifty, I'd say?" He looked back and forth at Arthur and Hosea, who agreed with him, but Arthur spoke up, "but expect a few to trickle along. They've always got men returning from jobs."

"How much should we expect?" You questioned him with a bit of attitude in your voice, spinning in your chair to face him fully, "it's insane that you expect what—seven of us to go kill fifty plus men. And what if this trickle is at least a dozen?" You waited for Arthur to respond.

He gave you a distasteful look, jaw clenching as a sardonic smile overcame his face, "sweetheart, fifty, sixty, fuck seventy men is nothing for us. But, you... I don't know."

Dutch, Hosea, and Micah just watched the two of you, Micah with a certain amused look on his face.

"Don't you dare question my capability! I practically put you in the dirt." Micah winced, then ignored Arthur's middle finger, "then what are you worried about? Think we're gonna leave you for dead if things get hard? Well, as soon as you agreed to help us, that means you're stuck with us."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, "fine, but if I have to drag you to safety because you underestimated all of this, I'll kill you my damn self."

After Dutch and Hosea went over the plan, it was midday. You were already tired, mostly from arguing with Arthur and Micah, so when Miss Grimshaw wanted to introduce you to everyone, you just about wanted to die.

"This is Sadie Adler. She'll be going with you in a couple of days." Sadie glanced up at the mention of her name as she stood. When she saw you, she smiled, "Madam Deputy, it's about time we joined together. Rarely see a woman out here holdin' her own."

You smiled, shaking her hand, "we'll keep the men in line, won't we?"

Grimshaw quickly pulled you away afterwards, introducing you to Tilly, Mary Beth, Abigail, and Jack, who were all a bit cautious but still polite, and offered to give you whatever you needed while you stayed.

Karen, on the other hand, was quite standoffish, which may have been because of her relationship with Grimshaw, but either way, you decided you'd avoid engaging with her if you could. And Molly O'shea was quite the same.

You met Uncle and Josiah, Javier and Charles, Lenny, Strauss, and Bill, and everyone else who was around for you to meet. "Abigail's husband, John, is too hurt to travel with you all; that dumbass got mauled by a couple of wolves. Ask Arthur, he'll tell you all about it."

Speaking of Arthur, there he was, grabbing a bowl to fill with stew, his hat tucked underneath his arm, brown hair tousled and light from the sun. As soon as you saw him, you rushed over, grabbing your own bowl. "I think Arthur can show me around, right, Arthur?"

You shoved him roughly in the side, and he raised his eyebrows at you, chuckling when he saw Miss Grimshaw watching impatiently. "That's right, I'll show her around, I'll even set up her tent."

Miss Grimshaw nodded approvingly, farring both of you goodbye as she rushed off, and you let out a sigh, "that woman is a lot."

ʊ

Your tent was directly in front of Arthur's. You lay on your cot, watching him stick a toothbrush in his mouth as he sat, eyes closed, and hat lying on his lap lazily. You could see the exhaustion in his body—the dragging of his feet as he lit a cigarette and replaced the toothbrush with it.

There was a small, dimly lit candle beside him, illuminating his face in a warm glow that made him look airy and all of the outlaw he'd been described as in the past few years.

Despite the chilliness outside, you couldn't deny the comfort of being in nature, hearing the chirping of insects and other nightly creatures. It just about lulled you to sleep, your eyes fluttering closed, your hair braided into a plait that wrapped around your head like a halo.

Before you realized, the smell of cigarette smoke intensified. When you opened your eyes, Arthur was standing above you, hand on his hip, while he sucked on the cigarette, blowing out another billow of smoke.

"Can't sleep." He muttered, shoving your feet out of the way so he could sit, and you glared at him sluggishly, deciding to sit up, your night gown's silky material light against your skin as you wrapped your blanket around yourself, "probably because you're smoking yourself to death."

Arthur offered you the cigarette, and you took it gratefully, your knees slotted against your chest. "How long have you been with Dutch?"

Arthur hummed in thought, "I'm thirty-six, been in the gang for twenty years or so, so since I was sixteen, give or take?" Your eyebrows raised in surprise, not realizing he'd spent so much of his life in this sort of lifestyle.

"That's a long time. Did you enjoy it more back then?" You were genuinely curious to know because you couldn't imagine spending so much time involved in crime.

"Didn't enjoy the stealin' and killin', but I stayed cause I had John, we're like brothers, y'know? Besides, Hosea's basically my father, so it was only right to stay."

You handed him back the cigarette, your fingers brushing his delicately before you pulled away, wrapping the blanket around you tighter as a gulf of wind blew.

"Did you always want to be a sheriff?" Arthur glanced at you, and you shook your head, "absolutely not. I never thought I'd ever have a job. I saw myself as the perfect wife, taking care of the children, cleaning the house, makin' dinner. But all the women tell you to do more than that—to have your own source of income, no matter how dirty it is, so I guess I just took that to the extreme. Saw an open listing for a sheriff in the training department, so I took it."

"And now you're deputy." Arthur said it with a bit of pride for you, like he was happy, which made you chuckle, "how do you go from trying to kill someone to being happy for them?"

You stared at the side of Arthur's face, watching the straight slope of his nose, the moles on his forehead, and the crows' feet near his eye as he smiled and turned to you, "thought you were pretty ever since the first day I saw you. But duty calls."

You rolled your eyes playfully, "and what exactly makes me pretty, or are you just flirtin'?"

Arthur threw the burnt-out cigarette aside and stomped on it. "brown skin so smooth I just wanna run my fingers over every inch of you. Not to mention the way you handle a gun—" Arthur's lips brushed your temple as he kissed it, standing soon after, "but now we work together, so nothing's stopping me."

You couldn't deny the blush on your cheeks or the undeniable flutter in your stomach as you watched Arthur enter his tent and lie on his cot, hat placed over his face as he attempted to fall asleep.

"What a flirt."

ʊ

The next morning was spent going over the plan with everyone. All eight of you were in the tent, Sadie standing near the entrance as she paced, while you, Arthur, Micah, Dutch, Bill, Hosea, and Charles were sitting at the table.

You were busy shining your revolvers—two matching sterling silver guns with flowers carved into the handle, the bullets emptied nearby. "We'll all pair up and approach the camp at different angles, guns blazing. Hosea and I are together, Bill and Micah, Sadie and Charles, and Arthur and Madam Deputy. It seems they're a match made in heaven."

Bill let out a snarky laugh, and you rolled your eyes, putting the magazine back into your guns as you holstered them, ignoring Arthur's fingers playing with your hair as he rested his arm against your chair.

You were starting to enjoy his company more, especially as he started going out of his way to take care of you. He heated your water for a bath, provided you with a toothbrush after you forgot yours, and served you stew, all things you could've done yourself. Obviously, you'd been in relationships before, not that you and Arthur were together, but no man had ever catered to you like this. And it felt good.

"I don't really care how we do it, I just want those bastards dead." Sadie said, finally sitting in her chair, her dirty blonde hair pulled into a loose ponytail, and you raised your eyebrow at her in confusion.

She smirked at you, "they killed my husband. So it's only right I get revenge." You nodded with understanding, tightening your holster back around your waist. When you struggled to fix the strap, Arthur took over for you, knuckles brushing your waist as he did.

When he was finished, he tucked your shirt in for you, arm landing back on your chair. Once you glanced up, Micah was staring straight at you, a smirk on his lips as he raised his hands, making the sign for sex, "you two are fucking." He mouthed, and you rolled your eyes.

You could see the tension in his muscles, eyes straying to Arthur as he glared, "nothing is going on." You muttered, and he scoffed at you, paying attention to Dutch again as he spoke.

"Should've lied." Arthur murmured in your ear, and you blushed, shaking your head, leaning back in your chair, "what good would that do?"

You turned your head to look at him, but he was already watching you, "you're just trying to make him jealous."

"And what's wrong with that?"

"Because—" underneath the table, Arthur's fingers brushed your clit, making your breath stutter as he shut you up entirely. His hand delved into your pants as he ran his fingers up and down your slit, one finger entering you slowly.

You could feel hot pleasure in your belly as you gripped his wrist, staring at Dutch as he continued talking, "we'll have to split up here."

Arthur's fingers pistoned into you slowly, enough to make your skin fluster, his thumb pressed firmly against your clit. Your ankles crossed tightly, but you made no move to stop him, breath stuttering as you leaned against the table, eyes fluttering closed as you bit your cheek.

As you came closer and closer to your orgasm, everything around you seemed to disappear, and you saw and felt nothing but Arthur. He had a great poker face as he fucked you, and an even better one when you pinched his wrist hard, indicating that you had orgasmed, not to mention the gush of fluids as you did.

He didn't stop until you let out a loud sigh, drawing Micah's eyes to you. He watched you suspiciously, and to placate you, Arthur pulled his hand from your pants and continued like everything was normal, even putting in impute when Dutch asked.

ʊ

"What is your problem?" You spat quietly at Arthur, pulling the flaps of your tent down as you glared at him, and Arthur sat on your cot and shrugged, "you looked pent up."

You rolled your eyes, "yeah, because your stupid friend, Micah, was watching me like I was a piece of fucking candy! And you make it no better by sticking your hand down my pants!"

Arthur stood, towering over you as he placed his hands on your waist, pushing his body close to yours. You could feel the bulge in his pants as he pressed his nose against yours, blue eyes boring into yours, "has someone ever fucked you so good that your toes curl and you see stars? So good that they stay on your mind for days afterwards?"

He watched your face with a smirk, like he already knew the answer. You shook your head slowly, gulping heavily as Arthur grabbed your hands and secured them behind your back, lips heavy against your neck as he sucked on your skin, leaving bruises and marks that you'd struggle to cover up.

"Do you want me to, sweetheart?" He began pulling up your shirt, then tugged down your bra, fingers chilly against your nipples, nose sniffing up your scent like a desperate dog.

You stuttered out a yes, nodding eagerly, your eyes rolling shut as Arthur licked your nipple, still restraining your arms. His tongue swirled your nipples back and forth, his other hand groping at your ass roughly, a permanent grin on his lips when he heard your breathless moans.

Arthur reached behind you to unbuckle your bra, then he spun the two of you around, lying you gently on the bed as he kissed down your torso, stopping to nibble. Your panties were soaked, with not only arousal, but spend from your previous orgasm, and Arthur wanted to push you farther over the edge. He tugged his dick from his pants, while you kicked your own down, "quickly, Arthur! Anyone can walk in."

He playfully rolled his eyes at your impatience, rubbing his tip against your entrance, "soaking wet, huh?" You pulled him close by the collar to smash your lips against his in a messy kiss, full of ravenous moans and swapped saliva.

You could barely tell where he ended and you started, especially once he thrusted into you, arm supporting your head as his hips bucked back and forth gently. He reached the deepest depths of you, and your skin was buzzing with want. "You look so beautiful," he muttered lips pressing against your jaw.

You could hear the creaking of your cot as he fucked you, but you couldn't care less, reaching down to massage his balls, which made Arthur groan against your skin, cheek shoved against yours.

"Almost there," he sighed out, and you nodded in agreement, reaching down to rub your clit, but Arthur quickly took over, large thumb pressed on it, making your body shiver in pleasure.

As soon as you felt his spend enter you, Arthur collapsed on top of you, still thrusting, hand wrapped lazily around your throat as you moaned, toes curling, and back arching off the bed as your vision burst with glittering white.

Arthur thrust one last time, kissing your g-spot, and you cried out a moan, muffling your moans with his arm as you came again, fisting Arthur's hair firmly.

"You won't ever forget me." He whispered against your ear, and you let out a satisfied sigh, "I've been on your mind even before you saw me naked."

He laughed sarcastically, kissing you one last time as he stood, pulling up his pants, tanned skin sweaty and red.

When he left, you just lay there, smiling to yourself.

ʊ

Abigail was standing by Pearson's cart, speaking to him about providing better produce for the gang when you walked over to her, face a bit shy as you tapped her shoulder.

She turned to look at you, a polite grin rising on her lips, "Deputy, it's nice to see you this morning! Are you ready for the ambush?" There was still one more day of preparation ahead, which included stocking up on ammunition and weapons.

She pulled you along with her as she began walking over to her tent, where John was busy attempting to polish his gun. He still had heavy bandages on his face, but when he saw you, he waved.

You returned it, leaning towards Abigail as you whispered, "do you have any means of preventing pregnancy?" She was stuck, paused for a second, just blinking, before she nodded, lips folding in determination as she tugged you inside her tent, "I've got pennyroyal and tansy. I can brew them up for you and put them in your tent?"

You nodded, "you are a lifesaver, Abigail."

While Abigail got busy preparing your tea, you sat near the campfire, where Uncle, Micah, and Javier were sitting. None of them were used to your presence yet, but Uncle had a way of making jokes to lighten the mood.

When he saw you, he offered you a bottle of moonshine, but you declined, "once we handle the O'Driscolls, I'm all yours." Uncle let out a laugh, taking a swig from his drink.

It was silent for a while. Arthur was gone with Dutch and Hosea, so that meant you had no choice but to occupy yourself. You spent a lot of time at the campfire speaking to Uncle, then with Mary-Beth and Tilly just talking, until finally Micah came over to you near your tent.

Abigail had already stashed your tea when he'd arrived, holding a tape recorder. Before you'd realized, he'd grabbed your arm roughly and tugged you inside the tent.

You wrenched your arm from his grip, hand already on your gun, but he stopped you with a sinful smile, "think you're slick, madam? Well, you're not."

He pressed play on the recorder, and that's when you heard you and Arthur having sex. Your moans and his mixing together in a gentle harmony. Before you could stop yourself, you had your gun pressed to his heart, a heavy glare on your face.

"You think you've got something on me? Well, you don't. You're just a pervert who records two adults having sex." He raised his arms mockingly, stuffing the tape recorder back in his pocket as he chuckled falsely, "I think it's a coincidence that you and Arthur—the man always arguing against Dutch—sleep together. The two of you could be working together!"

You clicked back the safety of your gun at his words, "that's stupid and you know it!"

Of course, you weren't going to shoot the guy, but either way you were embarrassed and angry. You had a great time with Arthur, but knowing Micah was there listening made horrified shivers go down your spine.

"Give me the tape recorder, or I'll shoot you." You raised your hand out, and Micah scoffed, "what, so you can go destroy it?"

"Obviously."

Before he could reach into his pocket and grab it, Arthur was pushing his way inside. The smile on his face quickly fell, and his eyebrows furrowed, "what the hell is going on?"

Micah handed you the tape recorder quickly after that, "don't want no trouble, Arthur." His confident demeanor quickly switched, and you rolled your eyes, holstering your gun as you approached Arthur, "he recorded us."

Arthur watched you for a second before his eyes flashed in recognition and anger, and he was quick to grab Micah, hands heavy around his throat as he dragged the man out.

"What the fuck's your problem, man?" Arthur's voice was loud as he shouted, and you heard the sound of a scuffle before you rushed out.

Arthur delivered a sharp punch to Micah's jaw, and that's when chaos ensued. Uncle was screaming, and Dutch was hollering for everyone to stop. Charles was grabbing Arthur, and Lenny grabbed Micah.

John was attempting to limp over, but almost fell, and Javier had to help him, while Sadie was cursing at Micah, "finally someone put you in the dirt!"

Micah had a nasty bruise on his jaw, and unfortunately, he'd gotten Arthur in the cheek, but once everything cooled down and everyone knew vaguely of what Micah had done, you decided to visit Arthur at the medicine cart, where Tilly was pressing a cold cloth against his cheek.

When she saw you, she smiled, and you took her place, sitting on the crate beside Arthur as you pressed the cloth against his face. He winced when you pressed it too hard, his arm resting against your thigh, "do you still have the recorder?" He muttered, and you nodded, reaching into your pocket to retrieve it.

"We should keep it." You scoffed at his words, "why?" Arthur grabbed the cloth from you and threw it aside, "for memories."

He smirked at your face, pressing play on the recorder. You covered your face in embarrassment at the sound of your moans, slapping his arm, "turn it off, Arthur!"

"Fine," he stuffed it into his pocket and hooked his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer, "it's not just a one-time thing for me, you know?"

Your heads pressed together as you stared at the horizon, feeling a sprinkle of your drop over you, but you nodded, "if it were, I don't think I could handle it."

[kittyminion]

A+ hermione granger x f!reader

-you and hermione are academic rivals -kissing, fluff, arguing, nerd alert

"A ninety-seven? Are you fucking serious?" You stared down at the paper with disbelief, the number circled with red ink, Professor Snape's signature right beside it, and your friend, Cedric Diggory, rolled his eyes at you, twirling a quill between his fingers, "Isn't that the highest score in your grade?"

At his words, you glanced over to her. She was standing beside Ron and Harry, face happy as she showed them the paper. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, Gryffindor uniform crisp and perfect like it usually was.

"What'd you get, Hermione?" Harry asked her, and she smirked proudly, "A one-hundred."

At that, you cursed once more, stomping out of the classroom and down the hall, Cedric at your heels. "Just three points higher, it's not a big deal." He attempted to calm you, but seeing the angry look on your face just made him stay quiet.

"It is a big deal, Diggory! She's going to rub it all in my face at dinner. Just waving around that stupid paper like she always does." Your fists were clenched tightly, the paper suffering as it crumbled, and you stuffed it into your bag.

Cedric tousled his brown hair, a smile growing on his face as he knudged your arm, "why are the two of you always arguing anyway?" You shrugged, arriving at the Hufflepuff commons, then plopping onto one of the couches, throwing your bag aside absentmindedly.

Cedric sat next to you, his feet resting against the table as he awaited your answer.

"She's just always there, you know? When I'm studying, so is she. If I decide to go to Hogsmeade for butterbeer, so is she."

He rolled his eyes at your response, "the majority of us go to Hogsmeade for butterbeer, sweetheart. I just think you like her." You blew him off, rolling your eyes, "why would I like that little goody-two-shoes? All she does is brag twenty-four-seven!"

Your cheeks warmed either way and you ran a hand down your face, shaking your head, while Cedric watched you with a smirk. "Ever since we've known each other, it's always Hermione this, Hermione that. Just admit it: you have a crush!"

He pressed his finger into your side and you chuckled, slapping his hands away, but arguing against him nonetheless. "We'll just see what happens at dinner."

✮⋆˙

You were right, of course. Hermione was walking right towards you, skipping nonetheless, a cocky smile on her face as she waved the paper back and forth.

She sat right next to you, thigh touching yours as she showed you the paper, "oh what's this? A one-hundred percent!" You rolled your eyes, pushing away her arm as you stuffed your mouth full with cheese and crackers.

Hermione leaned against the table and smirked at you, "and what'd you get?" You let out a loud sigh, glaring at her as you pulled the crumbled paper out of your bag and shoved it into her hands. When Hermione saw the score, she chuckled, eyebrows raised cockily.

"Just three less than me. Maybe your study methods aren't working." You gaped at her, straddling the bench as you turned, "the recall method is perfect, Hermione!"

"Then maybe it's just you." She looked you up and down playfully, standing, her skirt swishing in your face as she walked away, but you stopped her by shouting her name, "how about you teach me your method? Then we'll find out who's really better."

She spun around and returned to you, "if you say so," while picking a grape from your plate, the ends of her hair brushing your shoulder. You got a strong whiff of her shampoo and practically fluttered, a weak chuckle coming from your lips as you nodded, "tomorrow night after Astronomy."

✮⋆˙

You were already waiting for her when she entered the library, wearing her usual uniform while carrying her bag along with a separate bag you assumed was full of nonsensical stationery.

When she saw you, she smiled faintly, plopping her bags down as she sat, "ready to learn from the best?" You rolled your eyes, grabbing her stationary bag and looking through it, scoffing at the different varieties of highlighters and pens.

"Do you really need all of this?" She shrugged, pulling out a journal full of notes, "I think color coding works the best for studying—you just separate things you do and don't know well, so you know that you have to go back and familiarize yourself."

You hummed in response, grabbing your own set of notes and a few highlighters from her bag.

"For me, I do things I understand in green, things I sort-of understand in yellow, and things I struggle with in red." You nodded absentmindedly, skimming over your notes and beginning to highlight.

Hermione looked at you, placing down her highlighter, "but the key is to write good notes. You can't get by just writing bullshit."

You glanced up at her and glared at her judgeful face, "my notes are perfectly fine, thank you."

She scoffed, grabbing your notebook, "you write like a fucking troll! How do you even understand any of this?" She flipped through your journal, and you rolled your eyes, scooting your chair closer so you could get a peek at her notes.

You grabbed the journal and began flipping through it, but that's when you stopped on a page full of words. When you looked closer, you realized it was your name. It was in all different fonts, sizes, and colors, like Hermione had returned at different times to copy it down.

"What the hell—" she glanced at you, and when she saw what you were looking at, she jumped up, attempting to grab the journal, but you got it out of her reach.

"It's not what you think!" She placed her hand on your shoulder as she tried to reach the notebook, but you stood on your tippy toes, lips curled into a smirk, "does someone have a crush? I thought you were strictly school, Hermione."

She rolled her eyes, jumping to grab the journal, and once she successfully did, she threw it on the table, frowning, her cheeks red.

"Don't be shy," you said with a chuckle, sitting back down and deciding to grab your own notebook. You flipped for a few seconds and showed her a page at the very back full of descriptive words like pretty, or smart, and plenty of other things that were obviously about Hermione.

She smiled lightly, glancing at you, "I must distract you a lot, huh?" You moved closer towards her, your heads pressing together lightly as both of you examined the page.

"Big-headed?" She muttered, eyebrows furrowed suspiciously, and you rolled your eyes, "it doesn't hurt to be humble—"

She shut you up with a gentle kiss on your lips, hands resting on the tops of your thighs while you fiddled with the ends of her hair. You could smell her perfume and shampoo and even taste the lipgloss she wore.

"How long?" You said once she pulled away, lips close to hers as you pecked her once more, and Hermione smiled, "first year, I think."

[kittyminion]

desperation ex husband!arthur morgan x f!reader

-you come looking for your ex-husband so he can help you deal with a bit of trouble -fluff, angst, mentions of child loss, canon divergence, crime, language, poc reader, reader has curly hair, mentions of violence, mentions of rape, partially revised, kinda short (??)

You were sitting in a small booth in a dining hall, a cup of steaming coffee in one hand while a plateful of pancakes sat in front of you, piled high with butter and warm syrup. Your eggs were already gone when he walked inside, a limp in his gait that you realized was purely performative, something to push him higher on the list of mysteriousness.

The people of Saint Denis didn't know Arthur Morgan yet, but on the surface he looked like a simple out-of-place gunslinger—cowboy hat, heavy holster swinging back and forth as he walked, clinking together like a woman's many pieces of jewelry. His pants were messy with dirt and dried blood, shirt wrinkled and boots scuffed, evidence of his labor.

He went up to the counter, his light brown hair brushing the back of his neck as he leaned against the counter and questioned the waitress standing there.

"Lookin' for a woman, about this height," he raised his hand as he said it, "with pretty brown skin and long curly hair. She mighta' told a stupid joke when she met you?" Arthur turned his head to search the dining hall, but you were tucked far in the corner so he couldn't see you.

You couldn't deny the heavy beating of your heart as you saw him. It'd been five years since the last time. Of course, you'd crept around corners to keep an eye on him, curious on what the Van Der Linde gang was getting up to, and he did the same. When you were in Valentine, you caught glimpses of him, sitting in dark corners in saloons, gaze heavy against your skin, which you couldn't mistake for anyone else.

You shoed the plate foreward as the waitress pointed towards you, your hat blocking them from view as they approached. Your skin was buzzing with anxiety, but you clenched down on the fabric of your skirt, boots knocking absentmindedly against the old wood in the dining hall.

"Thank you, madam." Arthur dismissed the waitress afterwards, and sat heavily across from you, taking up then entire booth, his feet encroaching upon your space as he used to do. Whenever you were with him, there was no you-space, there was only our-space. Arthur practically shoved himself into your skin—always touching, no matter if it was knees or the tips of your fingers.

It seemed he never lost the quality.

You glanced up from the table and there he was, same ocean blue eyes and tanned face, full of wrinkles, folds and sun damage. He had a heavy beard, one that covered his upper lip and kept his hand busy as he watched you, eyes frozen onto your face like you were the one think he reveled in seeing.

You could see his chest rising and falling fast, then you motioned to the plate, "eat, Arthur." You said it simply, like no time had ever been lost between the two of you—like you were simply meeting him for breakfast, not here to beg him for help because people were trying to kill you.

Arthur grabbed the silverware, and began cutting into the pancakes, one hand clenched on top of the table, while you sipped your coffee and played with a napkin, ripping it into tiny pieces. Your knuckles were covered in tiny bruises and cuts, dried blood in the crooks of your fingers, your arms revealing bruises and bandaged wounds. You made no moves to pull your sleeves down, the collar of your vest tightening upon your neck as Arthur's eyes examined you.

His jaw clenched tight at the sight of your wounds, fingers itching to touch you, but when he reached to grab your hand, you shook your head, eyes folding closed as you cleared your throat, "there's a group of men, been following me all across the country—from Strawberry to Blackwater, and all the way to Lemoyne. Just a gang of bastards who rape women and hide their bodies afterwards."

"I know you've had a run in with them, and they know we were married."

Arthur scoffed at your words, finishing his last pancake then pushing them aside, and you glared at him, "what?" You spat and Arthur shrugged, "so they want you, '''cause of me?"

You stared at him blankly, eyebrows furrowed, then you just shook your head and began standing, "I don't need your fuckin' snark remarks about this Arthur, so just forget it!" Before you could even make it out of the booth, he was already grabbing your hand and tugging you back down, and you let him, not pulling away as he squeezed your hands gently, "what's the name of the gang?"

You gave it to him and his eyes flashed with recognition, "few months ago, I think. Sean pissed off the wrong person, fucked the wrong girl. Ever since they've been giving us problems. Guess they're trying to get you to get to me."

Nodding, you pulled your hands out of his loosening your collar. Arthur stared at the bruise on your throat, "really roughed you up didn't they?" He said it with quiet anger and you nodded, "well the ones who did it are dead now. Hope you're proud."

He rolled his eyes at your sarcasm, leaning back in his booth, feet kicking at yours, but you said nothing, your legs crowded around one of his.

"What've you been doin' lately?" Arthur glanced out the window, where the horses were tied, and you hummed, "handling bounties, doing jobs for local sheriffs. Simple stuff."

Arthur turned back to you with a smirk on his lips, cheeks flushed from the heat, "still a badass then?" You struggled to keep a smile off your face, eyes crinkling as you chuckled with a short nod, "just like you taught me."

And Arthur taught you well. The two of you met in Blackwater, back when you both were still young and naive. He charmed your pants right off and you did the same, then you left with him and the others, knowing there was nothing left for you in Blackwater.

Your parents were dead and you had no siblings, so you were alone—until you met Arthur. He was your rock and you his, so it was only right when the two of you got married. It was a simple title, but it quickly came complicated once you got pregnant.

You were still young in age, just twenty one, and still slinging guns and robbing trains with the Van Der Linde gang. Arthur was willing to put everything aside for you, but that's when you lost the baby. Maybe it was stress, or maybe your body just wasn't in the position to nurture something.

You can still vividly remember the blood—so much blood—and pain that had you barely able to stand. Arthur was by your side the entire time, but things went downhill afterwards. You were quick to anger, and so mean to Arthur that the things you said make you hurt for him.

You all stayed together for a few more years after that, trying to fix the large whole in your marriage, but it wasn't enough. To much hurt had damaged the relationship, so you left.

The thought of the past had your face darkening into a nasty frown as you shook your head and cursed under your breath. Arthur's eyebrows furrowed at your expression, but he said nothing.

"The gang with be on the outskirts of Saint Denis in two days. There's at least a dozen of them, but if we can take them out, that'll be the end. There won't be enough of them to regroup, so the gang will likely just trickle into nothing."

At your quick redirection to seriousness, Arthur just sighed, fingers tapping against the table, "well I got a room in the center of town we can stay and regroup in."

You didn't deny the offer so you nodded, beginning to stack the empty dishes in a pile as you threw a few bills onto the table and stood. Arthur followed you outside silently, watching you pull yourself up onto your horse, then look at him, "gonna show me the way, right?"

𐚁

The room was small and only had one bed, but it worked. You and Arthur constantly got in each others, way, apologizing awkwardly, but eventually the two of you got into a small groove.

Arthur sat on the bed, mapping out the gang location, putting his artistic skills to use, while you were at the desk, a dim candle to light your way as you recapped him on the most dangerous members and who to look out for.

"Tom's the leader, and he's a violent bastard. Usually the one to initiate which girls to kidnap. He's quiet big, but I think you can handle him pretty easily. James is Tom's bitch, just follows his orders like a dog, and if we get to Tom first, James will either run or die trying. Once we take the two of them out, the rest of the gang will stick around for revenge of Tom and James, so it should be simple to pick them off."

You turned to look at Arthur, but he was just staring at you, chewing on his cheek while his pencil hung lazily in his fingers, "you've got this all figured out, don't you?"

You waved him off with a roll of your eyes, blushing slightly as you stood, "I was trailing them for a while, just observed and wrote what I needed to remember." You began gathering your hair into a ponytail, the ends of it brushing the dip of your back as you secured a tie around it.

And Arthur watched you. He watched you peel off your clothes, piece by piece until you were left in your undergarments, more bruises revealed, your body tense from stress. Your body was plush and looked the same to Arthur, and he was comforted in the fact that you still weren't shy around him.

"Retiring early?" He questioned, watching you wrap a robe around yourself and pull open the door, "been up all night. I'm going to go bathe, then I'll be back."

When you returned thirty minutes later, Arthur was writing in his journal, pencil moving rapidly, scratching at the paper. "What are you drawing?" You questioned, climbing into bed, leaving a considerable amount of space between you both.

He ignored you at first, continued to draw, but eventually he turned the page towards you, revealing a rushed drawing of you. He got your curly hair and facial features right, even drew on a polite smile, mischief in your eyes.

You couldn't help but be softened. You grabbed the journal from his grip and examined the drawing with a grin, eyes watering a bit as you began flipping through the journal. There were dozens of landscapes and places Arthur's been, but the most popular topic was you. Drawing of you doing domestic things or pointing a gun.

Some were more intimate like you with a small pregnancy bump or you naked. You realized they were recreations from pictures you'd taken long ago, and Arthur handed you the pictures once you dug them from his pocket.

You wiped your tears away and smiled, "you keep a naked picture of me? Pervert!" You slapped his arm playfully and Arthur pulled you into his lap, lips resting against the crown of your head while you hugged him.

"I miss you. A lot." Arthur muttered, lips vibrating against your skin and you hummed, "I miss you too."