#(death grip on own thigh) it’s fine that someone was wrong about my favorite character on the internet. it doesn’t Even matter

[acrobattack]

i like to complain and it is an issue

[noblehigh]

**slams fists down ** five times kissed !!! ( basically make me feel things )

send  five times kissed  for a drabble about five times our muses have kissed.

i. )  there was always a sort of unity when they were in the fireflies. they were a family, to a certain extent, but nothing like how it is here in jackson. it’s truly a  community, full of people who know everyone else, people who keep up with other’s troubles, and do their best to help  ease  those troubles. no one is given too much of a workload, and it’s fairly easy to get time off if you need it. it’s a sense of normalcy, something that’s one in a million. brian’s convinced that there’s no other place like it in the world. though, their world is very small compared to the endless opportunities that could be waiting somewhere else. they don’t know what could be waiting on another continent, if those places were even  effected.  he believes they were ; he believes everywhere is gone, everywhere is bits and pieces, and wherever there are people they’re trying to make due with what they’ve got.

tonight, the community has gathered out in the streets ; fires blazing, music playing. they’ve somehow convinced joel to play a little guitar, but most are amused by the way his brother strums on his own, taunting and joking with him. it’s not that tommy is bad, he’s just  definitely  got his own taste. laughs are shared, children run freely (  brian’s being one of them  ), and he finds himself snuggled back in a corner next to the stairs of the saloon with the one person who’s made this place truly feel like  home:  paul. 

there’s a hot cup of cocoa in his mitten-clad hands, and a gaze that was previously set on all the fuss around him slowly begins to focus on the man next to him. he just  watches.  watches as paul smiles, watching the music play and the children dance ; dina has managed to pull ellie up, and she’s up to her usual antics of putting on a show, this time with her lover. the flicker of the flames near them puts a special kind of sparkle in paul’s eyes, and brian can’t help but  smile. he leans over, presses a lingering kiss to the man’s temple. it’s sweet, soft ; it’s meant to show appreciation, more than anything. appreciation that paul is here, that he’s  alive, and that he’s  with  him. it’s an impulsive move, but at the same time it feels so  natural, like it’s the right thing to do.

ii. )  it didn’t take much convincing to get himself and paul put on a patrol together. maria and tommy are forgiving. they seem to sometimes  exude  love ; this deep care for everyone in the community, no matter the diversity or the situation. they want everyone to be happy, that much seems obvious to brian, and as long as it doesn’t harm anything and they can still get their work done, why  not  have two people who enjoy each other’s company on the same route?

brian has always had a love for horses, and has since gotten his own after being in the community for awhile. whiskey. his pride and joy. a large, brown horse who stands as tall as the highest building, with the elegance of a fine ensemble. he’s beauty, he’s  grace  --  he might just  be  mister united states. it’s why he rides him with such  pride. today, he managed to talk paul into just taking one horse ; yes, it’s due in part to him wanting to show off the stud, but also because he wanted to be  closer  to his favorite jackson patrol member. he follows along the muddy trail, sat high, hands loosely gripping the reigns as whiskey trots along through the tall grass. brian’s head turns to the side to glance over his shoulder, halfway keeping his gaze on the trail before them as he speaks to the other man,  ❛  -- i’ve always had a soft spot for animals, y’know?  ❜  oh, really?  ❛  yeah.. -- before all of this, we had a rottweiler named jackie -- she was badass. i had a horse for awhile, too-- and a  snake. i think, out of all of ‘em that the snake probably made it out.. maybe he got to live a long life. i don’t know how well they don’t out of captivity once they’ve been in it, though..  ❜  probably not  well. he turns his head back to the front, chuckles before adding,  ❛  -- his name was steve-o... y’know.. like that guy from  jackass? he was still little when everythin’ went to shit, only about two years old. he was a ball python, they’re great for p-- ❜  it’s when he glances back that he cuts himself off because, well.. quite frankly, he can see the way paul is looking at him. he’s looking at him like he’s the biggest  dork  on the planet. but that’s the thing with brian: you get him started on a subject he likes, something he’s  passionate  about, and he could talk for hours.

❛  -- what?  ❜  oh, nothing..  ❛  i’m ramblin’, aren’t i?  ❜  he gets a chuckle in response, no words, but a kiss to the corner of his mouth pairs with it. he’ll take it. smiling wide, he takes one of his hands off the reigns to reach back, giving paul a pat on his thigh. ❛  you’re by far my  favorite  person to run patrol with, you know that?  ❜

iii. )   ❛  ohhhh, c’mere, munchkin--  ❜  he drawls out, bending down to pick up his son from where he sits in the living room in front of paul. he’s got all of his legos out, and it’s no doubt going to be a  task  to clean them all up.  i don’t wanna!  ❛  well, i know you don’t  wanna, but you  gotta  go to bed. you know why?  ❜  the child shakes his head, looking rather bashful, and still rather  skeptical ; bedtime just doesn’t seem like it should be such a necessity... especially when you’re having so much fun!  ❛  ‘cause you gotta get big ‘n strong. and if you get a good sleep, maybe we can get up early and go play in the snow with dina tomorrow, huh?  ❜  that seems enough to persuade him. the boy smiles, nods his head quickly.  ❛  all right, then,  ❜  brian agrees, and he turns to look at paul before heading for the stairs,  ❛  i’ll be right back.  ❜

when he comes back down from putting oliver to bed, he notices the smile on paul’s lips. he’s intrigued, shown by the smirk that’s tugging at the corner of his mouth. ❛  -- and what are you smilin’ about?  ❜ he inquires as he heads over to the fridge to pull out two beers ; he then moseys on back over to where the other man sits, taking a seat next to him.  you’re a good dad, you know.  not even a question, a  statement. the once  uplifted  mood the man had has now turned a bit sour, proven in the way he loses eye contact with paul and looks down. he breaks open one of the beers, sliding it over on the coffee table to the other, then opening one for himself. well, he’s got some kind of vice now, so he’s willing to talk about the dirty past  (  as long as he can drown himself in  something  ).  ❛  wasn’t always like that.. -- don’t really know if it even  is  like that,  ❜  he comments, knocking bag a large swig of the amber liquid.  ❛  i wasn’t there like i should’ve been when he was a baby.. when he was  younger. had a lot of.. bad shit goin’ on in my head.  ❜  a multitude of things, but, mainly, a nasty drug habit. ❛  i’d probably still be just as shitty if the infected hadn’t started eatin’ everyone.  ❜  hey--  paul seems quick to cut off the harsh criticism of himself, and it’s probably best that way. if he lets it go, brian could easily spiral into spilling all the things he finds wrong with himself, and that would just ruin the mood of the night. he’s never been his biggest fan, and that’s one thing the end of the world  couldn’t  change.

a kiss to his shoulder is what finally makes him look back over, and he winds up resting his forehead against the other man’s, eyes slowly falling shut.  you can’t change the past.  he’s right, of course.  ❛  -- is there ever a time that you ain’t up to par on everythin’?  ❜  he swears, there’s never a time that paul  isn’t  right. still, it’s said with good intention, and it’s clear paul has lightened his mood a bit just by the faint smile on brian’s lips. he tips his chin up, lets their lips meet for a short, sweet kiss.  ❛  stay here tonight.. i don’t want you to go.  ❜

iv. )   ❛  hey!  ❜  it’s the first time he’s felt  frustration  towards the man, and he definitely isn’t scared to  show it.  paul begins to head towards the exit of their stationed patrol at the sound of a  shrilling  scream (  one asking for help, no less ), stating he’s going to go check it out.  ❛  -- we can’t just go out there like it’s nothin’, you don’t know what’s out there!  ❜  someone could be hurt, brian, you heard that. it was a call for help.  ❛  it’s outside of our zone--  ❜  brian. he’s right-- fuck, he  knows  he’s right, and it’s not like brian to be wary of going outside of zones or to even be wary of going and helping someone. he’s usually the first to jump to it, but there’s been more raiders around than usual lately, and he fears this one might be a trap. 

why are you fighting me on this?  because he’s  scared. he could give a  shit  about himself, but if something happened to  paul?  that’s something he’d never be able to forgive himself for. leaving the fireflies, all the damage and death that followed, including the death of  joel -- those are things he can find the time to push away, or find the time to get over  (  even if it comes back to haunt him every so often  ).  the more time he and paul spend together, the more he finds himself becoming  attached ; he’d be terrified to even think of it, the word  (  love  ), but he fears he’s edging closer and closer to it becoming his truth.  ❛  i’m sorry--  ❜  it’s a rarity for him to apologize, to admit he’s  wrong, but he  is. it’s out of character for him, and paul has to have noticed that, as well. he lets out a sigh, steps over to reach for his backpack that’s rested on an office chair, and he makes his way to where the other man stands. 

he fights with himself on what to say. he fights admitting that he doesn’t want anything to happen to him, that he doesn’t know what he’d do with himself if something did, that he’s increasingly becoming  scared  whenever they go out because of the countless possibility of  bad shit  that could happen to him. instead, he takes his hand, presses a lingering kiss to his forehead, and gives his hand a tight squeeze. he hopes he knows what it means without having to say it.  (  i want you safe, i want you with me when we get back to jackson. )  ❛  let’s go check it out, but let’s be smart about it.  ❜  always.

v. )  he would fight an army of infected, he would leap  bounds, if it all meant that he could savor in even  one  of these moments. he hangs onto these tightly, close to his heart. they’re both sat on paul’s bed having come back from a long patrol, the weight of his backpack finally falling as dead-weight to the floor. he brings his hand up, rubs at his sore shoulder. he watches paul as he sets his own backpack on the bed, beginning to unpack a few things he needs, and while he does that, brian pulls off his own jacket and his dirty shirt. 

when paul rids himself of his shirt, that’s when brian makes his way over to him. the bruises and scars that pepper the skin of the man he’s grown fond of are reminders of the fight they battle each day, and brian runs his calloused fingers along a few of them. his head dips down, soft kisses being sprinkled along the length of his shoulder to the curvature of his neck. one hand raises, loops a finger in the hair tie that holds the other’s hair, and he tugs until it’s loose and falls, cascading over his shoulders. palms run up and down his arms, squeezing soft at his biceps, and he nuzzles his nose against his jaw.  ❛  you’re so beautiful..  ❜  it’s spoken soft ; no one is around, but he wants to make sure only he can hear it. he wants him to know how  special  he is, because he feels like he doesn’t show it enough, and he definitely doesn’t  say  it enough. index and middle find paul’s jaw, and he turns his head until his entire body follows, and he’s facing brian. a kiss, slow, passionate, and  wanton graces his lips, fingers beginning to thread through the hair at the back of the man’s head.  ❛  you have to know how much you mean to me. i want you to know..  ❜  brian..  ❛  -- just let me love you.. even if it’s just tonight.  ❜

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

Safe with me (15)

Summary: When an unknown threat enters your life, protection is offered at the highest level. As Bucky Barnes comes into your life, the game changes, and you realise falling for the man tasked with keeping you safe is the last thing you expected.

Characters: Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. Extremely graphic descriptions of violence. Character death.

A/N: Well, here we go.

Tags for this story are CLOSED Link here for posting schedule

SAFE WITH ME MASTERLIST PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Previously…

“Alright then, if that’s what you want,” he steps even closer to the barrier, so close you can see the gleaming whites of his eyes. “I gave you a chance, so – just know that this is your fault Barnes, it’s all on you. I hope you remember that. In the end.”

Jack reaches behind him, grasping for something in his pocket, and Bucky crouches slightly, a snarl on his face as he settles into battle stance.

When his hand reappears, Jack’s holding a thick paperback book.

He smiles.

*****

"Do you know my favorite novel?" Jack asks casually, giving the book a small shake.

Peering around Bucky, you see a faded red cover, a worn and cracked spine, pages fat from decades of moisture and grimy fingers. A familiar title is stamped across the front.

"George Orwell, 1984. In my day, it was required reading for new recruits. Hydra's ideals, laid out in black and white. So easy, so obviously the right choice. Orwell understood perfectly. A shining example of how the world could prosper if you eliminate the temptation of choice."

"That story was satire you fucking moron. It was taken literally by arrogant dicks who were looking for a reason to be assholes," you scoff.

Bucky clears his throat quietly and pushes you behind him.

"Uncultured swine," you add, poking your head back around.

Bucky sighs and shoves you harder.

Grumbling under your breath, you press close to his back and he reaches around, capturing your fingers. Folding his thumb against your palm, he rubs small circles on your skin, his grip hot and reassuring.

"Let him talk, the team'll be here soon," he murmurs , squeezing your hand when he hears the annoyed huff.

Jack ignores the exchange, his attention fixed on Bucky.

"You know when I took the Head job, they gave me instruction manuals for you? So logical and clinical. Like a new appliance. Read them cover to cover, but they missed some important context."

Rifling through the paperback, he lands on a dog-eared page. Glancing down he finds the opening sentence and begins to recite, his voice as steady as the fanatic stare he levels at Bucky.

-----

"How does one man assert his power over another, Winston?"

Winston thought. "By making him suffer," he said.

"Exactly. By making him suffer. Obedience is not enough. Unless he is suffering, how can you be sure that he is obeying your will and not his own? Power is in inflicting pain and humiliation. Power is in tearing human minds to pieces and putting them together again in new shapes of your own choosing."

-----

There's silence when he finishes, still looking expectantly at Bucky.

"That was dramatic," you pipe up sarcastically.

"Oh my god, would you shut the fuck up," Jack finally explodes. "Or I swear to God, I'll rip your fucking tongue out, you mouthy little whore – "

"Stop fucking talking," Bucky snarls. "You don't touch her and you don't touch me. I won't play this game, it's not happening. Sooner you accept that, the sooner we can stop pretending like I won't tear your heart out the second this barrier comes down."

Jack cocks his head. "No, you won't. What I did all those years, it was right. My Soldier suffered because he was made to. I tore him apart and put him back together and he thanked me for it. He always thanked me. And he will again, because he needs it, he needs me."

"Jesus Christ. You're insane. I'm telling you with absolute conviction – you're extremely fucking wrong."

"Guess we'll see," Jack shrugs and gives a sly smile. "I saw the look on your face though. Expecting a little red notebook?"

Bucky is silent, but you feel his body tense.

"I was pissed when I heard Rogers destroyed it. Talk about great literature. But hey, doesn't really matter, right? We both know, I had those words memorized the first time I read them. Used to sing them to myself when I couldn't sleep."

"What the hell's he talking about?" you murmur.

Bucky glances over his shoulder, meeting your confused stare. Jaw clenched, he swallows hard.

"Ah, you forget to tell her that little party trick?" Jack asks gleefully. He throws you a taunting smile when you peek around Bucky. "Ten little words. Barnes hears them and all hell breaks loose. Ten little words and you can meet my Soldier. Trust me, he's magnificent."

"It won't work," Bucky warns. "I promise it won't. Your funeral if you try."

"You know Barnes, the funny thing is, I just don't believe you. So, let's see what happens."

This is it then.

In his heart of hearts, Bucky knew he'd end up here. For all his threats that it won't work, the unfortunate truth is that it will. After all this time, the words still exist, an intrinsic part of his DNA that's impossible to strip away. He's tried, God fucking knows he's tried, but every attempt was a spectacular failure.

But hopelessness is the lifeblood of creativity, and those failures gave him an idea. Steeling himself for the fall, he clings desperately to the hope that his untested and fragile safeguard will work, because he knows what Jack will ask when the Soldier arrives.

Clutching your hand, terror prickles down his spine and Bucky watches Jack's lips part, sees the tip of his tongue touching his front teeth as he forms the first word –

*****

EARLIER (6 HOURS AND 5 MINUTES AFTER ABDUCTION)

Down in the cargo hold of the Quinjet, Bucky kneels in front of him.

"No," Steve breathes. "Absolutely fucking no."

"It's not a request Rogers."

"I honestly don't care. I'm not doing it."

Gritting his teeth, Bucky looks up, heart aching when he sees the panic-stricken blue eyes. His voice softens. "I'm sorry, I really am. But you're the only one who knows them and I need you to do this for me. Please."

Scratching nervous fingers through his fine blond hair, Steve shakes his head in frustration. "You said you'd never willingly lose control again. How are you comfortable with this?"

"Christ, I'm not comfortable, but if this is the price, I'll pay it," Bucky shrugs, looking beseechingly at Steve. "I gotta try, and she – she's worth it."

"What if you can't get back Buck? What if I can't get you back?"

Bucky considers him for a long moment before answering.

"The book – it didn't explicitly say it. But there are eleven trigger words. Not ten."

Steve looks taken aback. "The hell do you mean? What's the eleventh?"

Dropping his gaze back to the floor in front of him, Bucky rubs his palms down his thighs and takes a steadying breath, but his voice still cracks when he replies.

"The first ten words force involuntary paralysis, but the whole thing depends on the final word. On the name you use," Bucky's throat is suddenly dry. "It's the word Soldier that finally activates him. Use my name when you want to bring me back, because he won't show up if you don't complete the string."

He hates this. Not just being triggered, although – sure, when someone says a list of code words that make your body go into shock so your murderous alter-ego can take over, yeah that does suck pretty hard. But what he hates more, is that Steve will see this, because Bucky knows without it'll give Steve nightmares for months.

But he's running out of options.

"I – god fucking dammit, I just – fuck, fuck, fuck! You're sure Buck, you're absolutely sure?"

Bucky barks a humorless laugh and wipes away the bead of nervous sweat rolling down his temple, trembling fingers gathering his hair in a messy knot at his nape. "Yeah buddy. I'm sure. I just need you to get me in there, I'll do the rest."

Steve scuffs his feet angrily, waging his internal battle while Bucky waits patiently, his head bowed. He knows when Steve runs out of steam, because he stops dancing around and stomps his foot.

And while he's pissed as hell, his voice is strong when he begins.

"LONGING – "

*****

Everything is muted.

Bucky opens his eyes.

The world around him is perfectly empty and filled with a soft gray fog. Looking down, he sees the blue coat and his worn boots, feels his knives and guns strapped comfortably across his body. His hands are clean white and shining silver, wiped clean of the blood and grime of battle. The mist swirls around his feet and it feels so tangible, he wonders if he could scoop a handful if he tried.

Has he been here before? It feels familiar.

Everything is muted. And then it's not.

He hears the soft creak of leather and he turns slowly.

Stepping from the mist, the Soldier stands before him, dressed in the last uniform Bucky remembers donning before that final day in Washington DC. Straps of thick black leather criss-cross his chest, plastic guards cover his knees. His dark hair swings forward, the edges framing the black mask covering the bottom half of his face.

He's drenched in tragedy.

Streaks of dirt line his pale face, dark circles glow like bruises under his eyes. Rivers of blood run down his arms, vivid lines of red dripping soundlessly into the fog rising at his feet. Even from here, Bucky recognizes the scents of gunpowder and copper, feels the aura of despair surrounding him, can taste the flavors of stale sweat and heat forever trapped in the confines of that mask.

He's drenched in tragedy and remains as he has always been. Death personified.

Bucky stares in silence, drinking in the image. He thanks whatever God will listen, that you've never seen him this way and he hopes you never will. But Bucky Barnes is a realist and Fate's a bitch with a tendency to kick him in the balls, so he crushes that burgeoning hope and embraces the man before him.

"He'll try and take you back. You know who I mean."

Bucky's voice sounds odd in his ears, the quiet statement filling the cavernous void of nothingness.

The Soldier merely watches him, blank eyes betraying nothing.

"I think I found a way. For you to stay in control – after."

The Soldier tilts his head and even with the mask, Bucky sees the skepticism.

"You know how the triggers work. How they're linked to my – to your – shittiest memories. I can't change that. But I think if you could just connect them to something else, to something happy and not so fucking terrible, it might take away his power."

A strange sound comes from behind the mask. Bucky hears the derisive snort clearly and thinks how unnerving and god damn weird it is to watch himself like this.

"Yeah I know. Your whole life's been one giant train-wreck, but things are different now. I've got a life again, friends to help me and a girl to fight for, and I need this to fucking work. I'll do everything I can to help you, and if it works, if you get hold of him - he's all yours. Take your revenge however you want. Make it slow, make it painful, make it bloody. Do your worst."

Something shifts beneath that flat, dead expression. A flash of interest.

Bucky holds up his hand.

"I'm asking for something in return. No matter what he says or what he orders you to do, you fucking ignore all of it and you – you protect my girl. You keep her safe. That's the mission. That's the only mission that matters." Bucky extends his metal hand, offering it palm up. "Do we have a deal?"

The Soldier stares unblinkingly at Bucky, weighing the proposal. Truth be told, Bucky understands the risk better than anyone. He knows the Soldier inside and out, because as much as he hates this fact – at his core, he is indeed both men. And when the Soldier lets go, when that carefully controlled rage spills out, no one is safe.

But Bucky also knows this. If the man in his mirror has any emotion left, it's this – an all-consuming lust for revenge. So, he's unsurprised when the black-gloved hand reaches forward, pressing his fingers into Bucky's outstretched palm, and giving a single nod.

Entwined in this gray world, identical blue eyes watch each other.

"I'm trusting you," Bucky whispers.

From somewhere far beyond the tepid waters of his subconscious, he hears Steve calling his name.

The Soldier fades away.

*****

When they created him, when they added the triggers, the process was simple.

As each word lands a new part of his body shuts down, sparking a psychological pain that feels terrifyingly real. He gets three seconds between them, three excruciating seconds, to fight the nightmarish memories tying his brain to these words, but he loses every time.

Every time. Every single time. Bucky has never won this game, not once in seventy fucking years.

This time though, if luck can just for once in his god forsaken life be on his side, maybe his hail Mary can work –

"LONGING."

The first word is always the worst. Scorching pain races up his right arm, the sensation of his fingernails ripped from the beds, of razor blades flaying open his skin and he takes quick, shallow breaths as the first memory hits –

-----

For three straight days, he's strapped to a chair, his shiny new arm hanging disconnected and useless, while doctors shoot icy liquid in his veins, press chalky pills under his tongue. Every possible variation of medicine is pumped into him, sending him flying to inconceivable heights and crashing him into the terrifying depths of bone-weary depression. The Soldier remembers the desperate desire to die flooding through him, his heart longing for it to just fucking end –

----

–"I want you Bucky," you whisper hoarsely, your lips still brushing his, and he swallows the confession with a shaky sigh. "I want you and I want this. I'm in, if you are." Bucky feels the heavy swell of longing pumping through his veins at your words, at the promise behind them, and he'd give everything to stay here forever –

-----

His vision returns with a slap and Bucky feels a surge of courage when the sweet memory stays in place –

"RUSTED."

His right leg crumples, an iron bar shattering his shin, and groans as he falls to one knee –

-----

"Internal wiring's rusted, I need to replace it. Don't knock it out, keep it conscious." The Soldier sits quietly in the chair while they disassemble the metal arm, dismissing the fact that each piece of the arm is connected to his central nervous system. It's surgery without anesthesia and with every jerk and tug, the pain blooms so fierce, he nearly blacks out. Without realizing, he concedes to silent tears, unaware as they drip down his cheeks until one of the techs huffs in irritation. "Is it fucking crying? Jesus Christ." The Soldier starts in surprise and then –

-----

– "Question. If you get caught in a rainstorm, do you get all slow and rusted? Like the Tin Man in Wizard of Oz?" Bucky grins when you look up expectantly from the ice cream cone. "Also, follow-up question. Did you see the original run of Wizard of Oz in theaters?"

"No to the first question. Yes to the second."

"God you're old, I'm buying you a case of denture cream for your birthday," you say, taking a huge bite from the ice cream cone, recoiling at Bucky's outraged gasp.

"What the hell's the matter with you, that's not how you eat ice cream – "

-----

Bucky sees you standing beside him, reaching a shaky hand toward him, and he snarls in panic.

"No, get back, get back, stay back – "

"FURNACE."

His command rolls into a high-pitched scream when the metal arm turns to fire, electricity jolting through it, shocking him over and over, until he can't breathe, he can't fucking breathe, he's suffocating –

-----

Flames rise higher into the black night, transforming the world into eerie shades of orange and gray. Like waves of heat from a furnace, the flash burn singes his eyelashes and melts the tips of his boots, but the Soldier doesn't flinch. He smells charred wood and gasoline and burning flesh, but he stands in place with his gun trained on the exit door, waiting for anyone still able to escape the roaring inferno –

-----

– Bucky feels you stirring beside him. "Cold," you sigh and at the words, Bucky pulls you closer, folding your patchwork quilt carefully around your neck. "You're always so warm," you yawn, words slurring together, and he realizes you're not quite awake. "Like a furnace. Giant asshole furnace."

"Thanks," he whispers, choking back a laugh –

-----

Electricity still crackles up and down the arm, but the sharp edges blunt and Bucky draws a shaking breath –

"DAYBREAK."

His left leg buckles and he slumps on his knees, dead arms dragging him down. His teeth go straight through his tongue when he moans, blood instantly filling his mouth.

"Bucky what can I do, what the hell do I do?"

Heart cracking when he hears you sobbing, he spits a mouthful of red saliva in front of him, trying like hell to focus on your voice –

-----

Daybreak. Sunlight filters through the dirty windows high above him and the Soldier opens his eyes for the first time. He feels the steady drip of blood winding down his scalp, itching at the back of his neck. Vocabulary lost in the foggy chasms of his brain, the only words he can summon are a strange set of numbers, 3...2...5...5...7...0...3...8..., so he mumbles them until they arrive again, with dirty knives and syringes full of fiery green liquid that makes him scream –

-----

– Sunlight is creeping over the horizon when Bucky pads into his bedroom and pulls up short at the sight. Curled in the middle of his bed, you're sound asleep, hugging tight to his pillow. He leaves a glass of water and a packet of pain medicine on the night stand, shakes out his favorite blue blanket. Draping it gently over you, he allows this single moment of weakness – his quiet bedroom at daybreak, filled with the soft sounds of your breath and the whisper of fabric when you roll over. He stows the memory carefully away, something nice to hold onto –

-----

Gritting his teeth, Bucky whispers the mantra under his breath, something nice, something nice, something nice –

"SEVENTEEN."

White hot pain licks up his spine, every nerve along the vertebrae igniting and the muscles in his back seize up, locking him in place –

-----

Stalking through the warehouse, the Soldier counts the bodies as he goes. One, two, three. There's a hand still twitching, so he adds another bullet. Seven, eight, nine. He leaves sticky red footprints in his wake. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen. Harsh breaths are coming from the man crawling toward the red alarm button under his desk. The Soldier lands a bone crushing boot in his stomach and kicks him onto his back. Staring down into a defiant face, he steps on the man's trachea and shoots. Seventeen –

-----

– Legs dangling through the railings, Bucky waits on his fire escape wearing a ragged green sweater. The March night is fresh and clear and cold, and he puffs out a frosty breath. When the midnight church bells begin to ring, he swings his legs excitedly. Behind him, he hears shuffling footsteps and Steve is crawling out the open window, carrying a slice of banana bread with a stubby candle jammed in the middle. Settling next to Bucky, his skinny legs slide easily through the metal rails and he pulls out a shiny silver lighter, the flame dancing merrily in the dark night. Lighting the candle, he wipes the sleep from his eyes and hands it to Bucky with a grin.

"Seventeen, huh? Happy birthday pal."

-----

The tiny flame still flickers and he feels tears leaking from the corners of his eyes and he braces himself for what comes next –

"BENIGN."

The metal plates buried in his shoulder twist violently and his left shoulder dislocates, his arm bending behind him with a sickening crunch and snapping in place –

-----

"Your orders were to make those deaths as painful as possible, why the fuck did you kill them quick? Useless piece of shit," the Handler hisses and slaps the Soldier's face. The Soldier says nothing, eyes cast to the floor. Turning to the technicians watching in amusement, the Handler narrows his eyes. "I'm tired of this shit. Zola promised me a cold-blooded killer, not some benign little pussy who can't do a simple fucking job. Wipe everything this time, clean it out completely and don't leave a god damn thing behind." The Soldier is silent as the techs lead him toward the chair and he begins to shake –

-----

– "Barnes, You're a sweet, neurotic, perfectly benign human being. Don't be nervous." He doesn't believe Pepper Potts, but here he is anyway, loitering in the back of a crowded hospital room, watching tiny humans wearing casts and breathing tubes bounce on Steve's shield. Bucky begins to relax until he feels a tug on his sleeve and looks down to the serious face of a determined little girl, her dark braids framing wide brown eyes. She crooks her finger and he crouches awkwardly next to her with a hesitant smile. Reaching tentatively for his metal fingers, she offers her own arm for inspection and Bucky sees a new prosthetic. His entire soul melts when he hears her fragile voice say, "Hey Mr. Barnes, we match – "

-----

Nostrils flaring, Bucky breathes faster and faster, and he looks up to where you stand, watching silently as tears slip down your cheeks and he tries to give you an encouraging smile –

"NINE."

Like a gunshot, his right shoulder dislocates, the harsh crack ringing through the air –

-----

This is familiar. The Soldier's been shot dozens of times, but tonight the Voice is in a mood and he asks to see how long the Soldier can go. "Count them for me," the order comes dangerously soft in the Soldiers ear and he's thankful his face is obscured so the voice can't see his fear. He hears the click of the hammer, a pause, and the force of the bullet makes him jerk when it hits his arm.

"One," he grunts breathlessly. Click, pause, boom. "Two." Click, pause, boom. "Three." Every time a bullet hits his body, the Soldier replies without fail. Four, Five, Six. It carries on, until Nine comes out as a broken sob and he begins to lose consciousness and the Voice begin to laugh –

-----

– Bucky drops to his stomach on the floor of his apartment, and peers under the couch. "I found nine of your M&Ms, how many did you have in that bowl?"

"Umm," you respond absently, opening containers of Chinese food. "Let's say nine."

Bucky sits back on his heels and shoots you an exasperated look. "They'll melt on my nice wood floors you know."

"Your face is a nice wood floor," you mumble, and Bucky really wants to be annoyed but he sees your little smirk and then he's laughing –

-----

Harsh laughter echoes off the bare walls, cold and insane and Bucky shakes his head in confusion, because his mouth is open and he's laughing but that can't really be him –

"HOMECOMING."

An invisible hand appears, wrapping around his neck, choking him as it slowly forces his head back –

-----

The Soldier gags, trying to find fresh air under the hood of the thick canvas bag. He can taste the sour smell of his own breath coming back at him and he switches tactics, inhaling through his mouth. Wrists secured behind him, he's balanced on one knee while waves of pain radiate from his crushed kneecap. This is always the preferred homecoming reward. He hears the Voice close behind him and braces his nerves for what comes next.

"Welcome home Soldier," pain rebounds through his body as the metal bar fractures his back –

-----

– The smell of sawdust and fresh paint hangs in the air, the wind from the river coaxing the scents through the open wall. Snapping the caps on two bottles of beer, Bucky hands one to Steve and collapses next to him with an exhausted groan. Stretching out his legs, he laughs when he sees the smears of paint on his feet and he wiggles his gray speckled toes. Steve grins and clinks his bottle against Bucky's.

"Not a bad homecoming."

Bucky gazes into the nearly finished apartment, swimming in contentment. Shoulder to shoulder, they lean against his balcony wall and drink in silence, the comforting sounds of Brooklyn drifting up from the streets –

-----

Bucky sees you shivering and his blue eyes are shiny as he pleads with you. "He won't hurt you, trust me, fuck, please trust me, I have a way back, I'll find my way back – "

"ONE."

His voice evaporates, as though his tongue was cut from his mouth. Lips moving soundlessly, he sneers at Jack through the barrier –

-----

"You're the one," the Voice whispers. "The one thing I'll always want. The one thing I need." The promise rings in his ears when the whip hits his back and the Soldier jolts against the restraints. The voice is in his ear again, with the same request that follows every session. "Thank me now, tell me you deserved it." The Soldier complies, an automatic response, but then the voice asks something new. "I love you," it breathes, fingers trailing down his neck. "Tell me you love me too." But the Soldier doesn't understand so he stays quiet and the Voice is enraged and the lash falls again –

-----

– "You're such a pain in my ass Bucky Barnes, but I love you too. More than you can imagine." Bucky feels his body turn weightless at the words. This was it, the one thing he needed, the one thing he wanted, and the one thing he never expected to have. The words are magic in his ears and he knows he has the silliest smile on his face, but he just doesn't care –

-----

His tongue feels like cotton and he aches to say the words one more time, just in case –

"FREIGHT CAR."

And then he hears Jack's victorious voice, he sees you falling to your knees in front of him, but his head drops forward and his eyes slam shut –

-----

After all this time, the Soldier still feels his heart race when the cold smoke of cryofreeze billows up around him. He has no real emotions, no anxiety, no desire, except when it comes to this one thing. When he goes under the nightmare kicks in, running on a perpetual loop until he wakes again. Sometimes he wonders if the dream is another memory he's managed to forget, because it feels so real. Blasts of blue light, holding tight to the fractured metal bar, the agonized wail of another voice, and his left hand strangely human, so cold and slipping, slipping, slipping, until he falls from the freight car into the icy ravine where sharp black rocks and pain are waiting –

-----

– Bucky moves smoothly, rocking you back and forth and never breaking the tight hold, making sure you stay pressed flush against him. His breath trails down your neck, he laces his cool fingers with yours, and he hums in contentment. Bending closer, his nose brushes the shell of your ear and he closes his eyes at the scent of your skin. There in that dark ballroom, the music washing over him, he feels the understanding roaring in like a freight car knocking him sideways. The world around him upends and when it rights itself, his entire life has changed –

-----

Lost in the darkness, Bucky sees bright silver coming closer –

*****

His breathing stops, the ragged panting going quiet. His chest still rises and falls, but each breath comes slow and steady. Clutching the lapels of his jacket, you give him a rough shake.

"Bucky. Bucky, come on. Open your eyes. Please, Bucky, please. Open your eyes for me, wake up, wake up, please fucking wake up," you beg, but his eyes remain closed, lips slightly parted.

The electric barriers are dissolving and Jack creeps forward. Leaping to your feet with a growl, you spin around to block his path, but in a flash, you're starring down the barrel of his gun.

"You are so annoying. Could you not ruin this for me? I've been waiting a long fucking time. Thanks."

"Well you can keep on waiting and fuck off, you absolute twat."

Jack points the gun at your feet and fires a single shot, cracking the concrete floor. Tripping backward, you catch yourself against the wall with a furious shout.

Bucky doesn't move a muscle, still on his knees, head bowed.

Jack reaches forward and places his hand under Bucky's chin, yanking it up.

"Soldier?"

Blue eyes snap open. In one fluid move, he rises to his feet, towering above Jack. It takes a second before he replies.

"Ready to comply."

Dark and shredded, his lifeless voice makes your skin crawl.

"What the fuck have you done?" you grit out.

Enamored with the sight, Jack strokes a long finger down the metal arm.

"I've fixed him," he says blissfully. "Finally. Barnes is gone, my Soldier's here to stay."

Jack backs up, eyes running over Bucky's stiff posture, assessing.

"You know," he says conversationally. "This is the first time we've been face to face. You really are beautiful."

He lifts the gun and pulls the trigger.

The roar of the gun covers the sound of your terrified scream when you see the bullet slam into Bucky's shoulder. It knocks him back with a grunt, but the vibrant blue fabric of his jacket is so thickly padded, so tightly woven, the bullet never finds flesh.

Jack sighs happily and holsters his gun. "That felt good. Just like old times."

"You're a fucking psychopath," you spit, pushing away from the wall.

"I really am just so fucking tired of your mouth, so let's get this show on the road. Soldier – turn and face her."

There's no hesitation when he spins crisply on his heel.

"Bucky, don't," you whisper.

"Left hand around her neck. God, I hope Barnes is awake in there, I really want him to see this."

The fingers are a silver blur when they shoot forward, long digits curling around your throat.

Wrapping both hands around his wrist, he is utterly unmovable. You feel the hard plates shifting under your panicked touch.

"Bucky, god dammit, please," you choke out, tears filling your eyes. "Please don't do this, please, please!"

Behind the hard blue, a shadow moves.

Yes, his touch is iron and unbreakable. But when that shadow appears, you realize something new - it is oddly gentle. His fingers are curved around your neck, but there's no pressure behind the grasp. Even stranger, his thumb is rubbing a small circle against your fluttering pulse.

"Squeeze until she's nearly unconscious," Jack orders. "And then let her breathe. I want her to focus on your face, before you break her neck."

The fingers tighten briefly, an unconscious flex, but then he relaxes, his thumb still slowly massaging.

"Bucky?" He follows the path of tears sliding down your face, watching as they splash on his wrist.

"Soldier!" Jack barks. "Now!"

Again, there's a small spasm of his fingers, but nothing else happens. The grip remains loose.

"Are you fucking kidding me? What the fuck did I just say? Do it now!" Disbelief rattles Jack's voice when he bellows the request.

The Soldier's eyes narrow at the repeated instruction and then a small smile lifts his lips.

Very carefully, he releases you.

Turning to Jack, he moves you gently behind him and the small smile slowly transforms into something hideously vengeful.

Jack realizes his mistake a beat too late and backpedals, scrambling furiously for the gun he mistakenly tucked away. The Soldier allows him to jerk it free and fire a wild shot, blocking it with a triumphant laugh. Stalking forward, he rips the gun from Jack's hand, twisting his wrist so hard you hear the bones snap in a long crackling rhythm.

Flipping the gun, the Soldier grips the barrel and swings it forward, whipping Jack across the face, the heavy handle caving in his cheekbone. Screeching in pain, he trips backward and the Soldier catches him by the throat, lifting him high in the air. Feet kicking uselessly, blood pouring down the Soldiers arm, you watch Jack's face turn red, mouth gaping soundlessly as he slaps weakly at the metal arm crushing his windpipe. His eyes begin to bulge and roll back in his head and you want to feel sorry for him, but the bruises on your face and the sound of Bucky's screams are too fresh. Huddling against the wall, you shudder at the sight.

You think this is it. This is the end.

But no.

The Soldier isn't through.

Loosening his grip, he allows oxygen to pour into Jack's lungs, gives him a momentary reprieve before crouching down and slamming the flailing body on the floor. The sickening crack of his skull bouncing on concrete is so loud, it makes you gag.

The Soldier pulls out the M9 strapped to his thigh and presses the barrel to Jack's forehead, digging the metal cruelly into the skin.

"Beg," the voice is shockingly guttural when he speaks, so different from Bucky's even tone. "Beg me for your life."

Gasping in pain, his body jerking and convulsing, Jack manages to lift a trembling hand to the Soldiers face, a solitary finger stroking down his cheek.

"Please – "

"Not good enough," the Soldier growls and he moves the gun down and blows apart a kneecap. The responding scream makes you cover your ears. "Try again."

Jack is crying now, coughing up spurts of blood and he tries again. "I love y – "

With a savage snarl, the Soldier cuts the sentence short. He pushes the gun back to Jack's forehead and pulls the trigger. Blood and fragments of bone spray his face, but he doesn't flinch, watching with relish as the life beneath him bleeds away.

The gunshot reverberates off the walls and settles in your ears, a drawn out echo that eventually fades, leaving only the frantic drumming of your heart.

Absorbed in his victory, the Soldier stays kneeling over the body.

"Bucky?"

With an effortless grace, he rises from his carnage and turns to you. There's a strange look in his eyes at the question in your voice.

Stepping carelessly over Jack's inert form, he walks cautiously toward you. Covered in blood, watching the slowly receding anger in his eyes, you can believe at this moment that he really is a different person. But then he scrunches up his nose and you see the tiny wrinkles around his blue eyes and it's so clear – it's all the same.

Bucky and the Soldier, two halves of a whole. You pity Jack in this instant, a monster in his inability to see the worth of each.

"Thank you," he says gruffly and his voice is so stilted and full of gravel, you wonder how often in his past life, he was ever allowed to speak.

"You're – welcome?"

You have no idea why he's thanking you, but it seems the only polite response.

He watches you so seriously, you see the gears cranking in his head. It seems as though he wants to say more, but the slap of hurried footsteps breaks through the web around you, and with a low hiss, he spins around, putting you safely at his back and raising his gun again.

Rounding the corner, Steve skids to a stop at the gruesome scene.

"Bucky – " the gunshot pings off his shield and Steve curses. "Fucking hell, stop!"

He tries to step forward and the Soldier sneers, lifting the gun again and aiming for his knees. Steve blocks the bullet with a frustrated shout.

"God dammit Buck!"

Bristling at the name, the Soldier evaluates the situation further and raises an eyebrow. "Your legs used to be skinny," he says roughly.

Steve looks irritated at the comment. "Yeah, thanks for the reminder. Dick."

"Drop the gun, please," you say quietly, wrapping your hand around the Soldier's forearm, trying to push his arm down. He looks down in surprise, perplexed at the insistent hand on his sleeve.

"I'm – supposed to – protect you," he says haltingly.

"You did," you reply, his words carving path straight to your heart. "But it's okay now and he's your friend."

The Soldier blinks, trying to unpick the word. Friend. A concept he knows, but one that is personally foreign.

"Okay," he finally says. "Okay."

Glancing at Steve, you see him inching slowly closer. He grimaces helplessly as his eyes flick a curious path from the Soldier to his shield to you, and Bucky's weak jokes about something the team called cognitive recalibration arrive with a thunderclap of clarity. Looking into the Soldier's newly trusting eyes, it hurts your heart.

Keeping your hand tight on his bloody blue sleeve, you hold his intense stare.

"Thank you for protecting me. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I – I need him back. I hope that's okay."

Disappointment clouds his features, but the Soldier lowers the gun. This was the mission, to keep you safe and take his revenge, and here the mission ends.

Success.

He knows it's time to go, but he feels the hot pull of something deep inside at the soft touch of your hand. He doesn't quite remember who the hell Bucky is, but he thinks he must be one lucky bastard to own the memories the Soldier saw today.

Resigned to his fate, he focuses on your face and reaches tentatively for your hand. Something nice to hold onto, the fleeting thought enters his mind. You feel his fingers tangle in yours and give them a comforting squeeze, right as Steve slams the shield into his head.

*****

The world is soft and cool.

Bucky feels the gentle pressure of fingers stroking his hair. It feels so damn good, he leans into the feel. It's nice here in this meditative state, but he wants to thank whoever belongs to that soft touch. It seems like the polite thing to do. Forcing himself to swim up from the depths of unconsciousness, he kicks hard through the black night surrounding him.

Cracking an eye open, he whines when the dim light sends his pounding headache into overdrive. Every pulse of his brain makes his entire body flinch and he aches like he's been hit by a truck, but other than those minor issues, he's quite comfortable. Stretched out in one of the fluffy sleep pods on the Quinjet, his arm is curled tight around your waist, his head pillowed on your stomach.

He hums and nuzzles against you. Other than all the pesky murdering required, he thinks he could get used to this.

Brain still rattling loose in his skull, he turns himself carefully, trying not to vomit. Propping his chin on his fist, he squints up at you.

"Hi," he whispers.

"Hey," you whisper and the word unlocks a waterfall of tears. Bucky feels his headache evaporate at the look on your face, or maybe it doesn't bother him that much, so he scoots up and pulls you into his arms.

"Hey now, you're okay. Where'd that fuck 'em up attitude go?" His voice is so calm, so soothing, so completely different, you cry harder. Tracing his fingers lightly down your arm, he makes soft shushing sounds while you sob.

God you really hate ugly crying, but after everything that's happened, you deserve it.

Tears are finite though, and once your head feels good and stuffy, the well runs dry. Nose running everywhere, you dry your eyes on his dirty jacket.

"Steve told me what you did. How did you know that would work?" Wrapping your arm around his broad chest, you burrow closer to his side.

"I didn't," Bucky admitted. "I was fucking terrified it wouldn't, but I had to try."

Running your hand up and down his chest, you think of the man you met. It takes several minutes of silence before you can find the right words.

"I thought that was it. I thought you were gone," you say, so quietly Bucky strains to hear. "But when I looked in his eyes, it was still you. Underneath that, I could see it."

Sorrow fills his voice when he responds. "I know."

"No, don't do that. Don't. He saved me," you say fiercely, looking up at him. "You saved me."

He lays gentle fingers under your chin and runs a finger over your lips. "You saved me too. Because of you, I had something worth fighting for."

Reaching up, you tuck a stray piece of hair behind his ear. "You know, you're a real fucking sap, Barnes."

He grins at your words, the light back in his eyes. "So true. You like it, don't lie."

"Stop talking you fuckwit, you have a concussion," you murmur, snuggling back against him. The smell of blood and sweat surrounds you, but it doesn't matter. It smells like safety. Like Bucky. You hug him tighter. "Just shut up and sleep. I'm here and I've got you. You're safe with me."

*****

Epilogue

*****

[savemefromanepicoftimewasted]

Don’t Hate The Team, Hate The Player

Chris Evans X OFC

Sebastian Stan X OFC

a/n:this is a fic for a friend and i

Moving was one of the things I hated the most, it just showed me that Chris and Sebastian couldn't keep from going after one of our asshole neighbors.  Then again there were plenty of young neighbors that tried to flirt with the boys as well. The last place we lived wasn't the best, but it was the best we had to make due with.  So when we were getting kicked out due to complaints from other tenants, Chris decided that it was time for us to move to Boston.  Sebastian wasn't too thrilled with it though, claiming he was going to get lost more often than not. “You'll be fine, nothing wrong with a change of scenery” Chris smiled over at Kaitlyn, his hands resting gently against my thigh. “It's not a change of scenery for you, Sebby and I are gonna be completely out of the loop” Chris rolled his eyes, hand tightening as he pulled me closer to his side. “It'll be fine guys, just have to get used to everything first” Sebastian crossed his arms and pouted. “Feels like I'm in a foreign land again” Sebastian hated moving almost as much as Kait and I, and that was saying a lot. “You'll be alright hun, we still have to unpack anyway” I knew Kait was trying to keep Seb calm, he had been on edge since the day we moved in.

The boxes were stacked up high around us, the only things we had managed to unpack were some clothes, blankets and sheets, and a few dishes.  The shower had been the best part of the new apartment, it was spacious enough where we could all fit if we needed.  The kitchen was any chef's dream, Chris talked about hosting a party once we were settled in.  A party could be fun, maybe invite some of the new neighbors to meet them. “How much you wanna bet the neighbors are gonna think we're in some cult?” Chris was currently laying between my legs, head resting against my chest. “We dress like normal people though, and you let Kait and I leave the house” Seb snickered to himself, rubbing his hands along Kait's side slowly. “Still, there's been plenty of cults that seem normal on the outside but are secretly really crazy once you get sucked in” Why did we let these men uproot us, again? Kait let Chris carry on with his worries and woes, assuming that our neighbors would all think there was something secretly wrong about us.  Luckily no one had recognized Seb or Chris, even though everyone knew online about the relationship, well not willingly at least. They had accidentally found out and rumors were constantly flooding the internet.  Who we were, why Chris and I were dating, same with Kait and Seb. Chris wanted to tell everyone, subtly hinting that we were in fact dating without outright telling the wrong people that we were in a relationship.  Sebastian didn't care who saw him in public anymore, whether he was with Chris, Kait, or myself.  There had been photos circulating with him and Kait, until suddenly him and I were seen together and the news changed.  They all thought they had it right, but in reality no one knew the actual truth. The other reason Chris was dead set on moving out of New York entirely was due to the fans finding out where we lived.  None of us had taken pictures unless we were inside, nothing more mortifying than being found when you're trying to enjoy your day.  Being back in a city that Chris and I were comfortable wasn't bad, but I couldn't say the same for Kait and Sebastian. “Just you wait, there's gonna be a neighbor that tries and hits on both of you” Kait swatted Seb's hand away as he reached for the cookies she was placing onto the plate. “No there won't be, maybe they'll hit on Chris since you're so awkward” Seb's cheeks were bright red with a blush, how cute. “And if he knows what's good for him he'll tell them he's taken” Kait was giggling, Chris on the other hand looked ready for the ground to swallow him whole. “The youngest person I've seen here is in her fifties, you don't have anything to worry about” So the guys wouldn't get hit on at least. Only Kait and I weren't so lucky.  One of the neighbors above us had noticed we moved in and had taken to talking to us.  At first it was standard conversation, asking how we liked living in the building, until it started to escalate.  He had heard us while we were in bed and had a few choice words to say, only he never said it to Kait or I. “There's these two girls that live below me call the guys they fuck daddy, I'd gladly let 'em call me daddy” His smirk was unnerving, how could someone talk like that? “Mhm” Chris was calmly staring at the elevator doors, hand gripping the bags even tighter. “I've managed to catch em when they're alone before, but I think one of the boyfriends came home too soon.  Couldn't make my move then” Chris's eyes were dark, he knew the guy was talking about Kait and I. The doors dinged, sliding open so Chris could step out onto his floor before turning to face the man. “If I ever heard you come around them ever again, I will make sure your death is as painful as possible” Chris hadn't felt a rage like this before, his blood boiling in his veins.

The doors shut before the man can utter any words, leaving Chris to stew in his anger and rage.  His footsteps are heavy when he storms into the apartment, dropping the bags onto the table without another word. “Hey babe, get everything we nee-” I was cut off by his lips crashing down against my own, hands gripping onto my waist. Seb and Kait were looking on in curiosity, Chris was never one to be so rough with any kind of welcoming kisses.  Right now though, it felt as if he was trying to brand himself against my own body, and I wasn't complaining. “Are you okay babe?” I pulled away from his lips, gently pressing my hands against his chest. “I heard the neighbor above us talking about you and Kait, it just got to me” Chris's shoulders slumped, arms wrapping around my waist. “Talk to me, what's going on in that head of yours” I knew Chris could get really intense when someone talked about Kait or I, and right now was no different. “He said he could hear you guys when we're in bed” My cheeks flushed with color, oh shit. “He's just being a pig, it's what guys like him do” I reached up to cup his cheek, thumb grazing over the beard that had grown in. “He knows when you and Kait are home alone, Krista this is something serious” That made my stomach turn, this guys was taking it to a new level. Seb left the room a moment later, his voice was hushed and angry as he talked to whomever he had called. “Don't do something reckless, please?” The last thing we needed was to get kicked out of another apartment building. “I can't make any promises” Chris was smiling softly, he knew that I wasn't going to get mad at him either way. “Just make sure we don't get kicked out, cause if we do I'm making you sleep on the couch for a month” Chris clutched his chest, feigning horror as he looked down at me. If it wasn't Chris, then it was Sebastian.  They were protective of us wherever we lived, and while Kait and I were flattered that they cared, we still weren't too fond of moving every six months.  I wanted to settle down and get a cat, or maybe a dog.  The point was I wanted somewhere I could live for a little while.  At least while we all got settled in. ***   Seb's P.O.V The guy hadn't given up, and had gone as far as to watch Chris and I leave to head down to try and talk to the girls.  That wasn't gonna fly with Chris or I.  These were our girls, and no one was going to make them feel scared if we had anything to do with it. “Jesus, it's like the character was modeled around you and not vice versa” Chris had been helping me slip into the costume, the arm was the hard part. “Maybe he was, everyone knows that I'm one of the favorites in the MCU anyway” I smirked as Chris rolled his eyes. He had been a favorite from day one, and now it was my turn. This guy was going to learn the hard way that you don't fuck with our girls, not when they come to me scared to even take the trash out at night. “He's heading inside, go before he sees either of us” Chris slipped the holster into place, stepping back to assess his work. “Time to teach this asshole whose boss” I smirked and slipped further down the hall.

Chris slipped into the stairwell to avoid bumping into the neighbor.  Even though I knew the muzzle gave off an even more terrifying factor, it was a bitch to breathe in. Maybe that could work to my advantage though, this guy didn't know who I was, and I could just hide other things about myself. The elevator doors opened slowly, his shadow covered the ground before he stepped out slowly, even his smirk unnerved me. “Hey, asshole” He turned to face me suddenly, hands gripping onto his bag a little tighter. “Excuse me?” The fear was written all over his face, eyes wide. “I thought I told you to leave them alone, you just don't learn do you?” I wrapped my hand around his throat, slamming him against the wall as I growled lowly in my throat.  I could only hope he had no idea how to speak Romanian or else I was going to be found out real quick. “Look man, I don't know what it is you're looking for, I don't have any money on me” He lifted his hands in surrender, time to make my point. “Leave them alone, this is your last warning” I released his throat and stepped away, Chris was watching me from down the hall. The realization crossed his features as he turned to run to his apartment, only to be stopped by Chris nearly towering over him.  If I wasn't going to strike true fear in him, Chris definitely would. “Now why do I have a feeling you won't give up?  The next time I hear you followed either one of them to the dumpster, I will break each one of your fingers slowly, only I won't stop there” The man's frame was shaking with complete and utter fear.

He turned and ran to his apartment, slamming the door shut and locking it quickly.  Chris snickered under his breath, maybe we had finally gotten through to him. “Think he'll try talking to the girls now?” I asked before stepping over to the elevator.  I knew Kait would be a little upset by me terrorizing another tenant, but the guy deserved it. “Not after that, and really?  Talking in your native language just to really get your point across?” I rolled my eyes and stepped inside once the doors opened. “It got my point across, so I don't care” Plus Kait loved when I talked to her, whether we were in bed or just lounging around. The only downside to scaring the ever loving shit out of the neighbor was that Kait and Krista were awake when we went into the apartment.  Now I half expected Kait to yell at me and say that I was being stupid, but the moment she laid eyes on my attire everything changed.  Who knew she had such a kink for the metal arm. Kristas's P.O.V I had to keep Kait away from Chris for almost the entire day, after he had heard her say she hated the Patriots all hell broke loose.  Chris was ready to tear Kait a new one, and that meant Seb was going to be on the defensive.  So the house was now divided, Chris absolutely refused to be anywhere near Kait, which only encouraged her to try and piss him off even more.

The moment she said that she not only hated the Pats, but also Brady. Well Chris had to leave the room to keep from yelling at her.  I wanted to tell her to leave Chris alone, he was just trying to enjoy the game, even if they were currently losing.  And the last thing I needed was him getting pissed off right before we were supposed to sit down for dinner. “Babe?” I stepped into the bedroom, resting my hands against his shoulders gently. “I'm fine, but I'm sleeping in here for the night” I couldn't help but frown, the last time anyone had slept in the guest room was when I was sick. And that was the worst night of sleep for me in a while. “You know I won't be able to sleep unless you're there” It was one of the things we had all gotten used to, so if even one person wasn't there none of us would be able to sleep. Dinner wasn't any better, Kait was still trying to push his buttons which lead to Chris eating only half of his food and leaving the table.  Seb told her to lay off him for a little while, the man was just a little stressed from a lot of things and needed some time to think.  Of course that wasn't going to stop her, so when Chris was laying on the couch Kait decided it was time to attack. “Why do you even bother watching the game if you know they're gonna win?” She wasn't looking at the screen, choosing to watch his facial expressions. “Because I like watching the game” Chris didn't shift to look at her, instead focusing on the screen. “Well that's just dumb, what if Krista or I wanted to watch something on TV?” Goddamnit, she was going to piss him off more than he could handle. “That's what the TV in the bedroom is for” Chris knew he was fighting a losing battle, it was just what Kait did to annoy him at times.

Sebastian pulled Kait into the bedroom a few minutes later, stating that it was getting late and he knew if she didn't sleep on time that she'd be miserable in the morning.  I wanted to drag Chris off the couch myself and force him to sleep in the bed with everyone else, but I knew that wasn't a good idea. “I'm gonna go lay down so Kait doesn't yell at me for being up so late” His eyes were on me then, the hard edge from earlier was gone entirely. “I'll see you in the morning babe” I leaned down and kissed his cheek softly, his beard was soft against my lips.

The room was quiet as Seb and Kait slept behind me, though my brain wouldn't shut up long enough for me to get any sleep.  Times like this were when I needed Chris the most, he always knew how to help me fall asleep.

After about two hours I felt a warmth encompassing my body, what was going on?  I opened my eyes partially and looked up at who was carrying me. My heart sped up as I caught a glimpse of Chris's tired face in the soft light.  He must not of gotten any sleep, my poor baby.

“Sorry if I woke you up babe, I just couldn't sleep” Chris laid me down in the bed, the sheets were cold against my legs, it was a welcomed feeling. “I don't mind, I sleep better when you're there anyway” I pulled the comforter over my shoulders, sighing softly as Chris slipped into the bed behind me.

The room was silent, the only sounds were the crickets right outside the windows. “I know I shouldn't do this after the day we had, but I can't help myself” Chris pushed himself up and off the bed, reaching over to the nightstand. “Mmm” I was too tired to really try and figure out what he was trying to say.

Something cold was slid onto my finger, wait a goddamn second! “Chris?” I lifted my head to look at him, was this what I thought it was? “I know I should've done something better, but I just wanted it to be us.  Will you marry me?” My heart was in my throat suddenly, oh my god. “Yes I will most definitely marry you” The tears were streaming down my cheeks.  This was really happening.

And it didn't matter if Kait was teasing him about his favorite sports team, or the fact that he wanted to propose to me in private. Nothing mattered except for the two of us in that moment.  Kait and Seb would find out in the morning what happened.  And they would surely be happy for us right now.

[tragically-broken]

Honey Bee

Ship: Eriel Word Count: 1,291 Type: Photo Inspiration/One-Shot

(picture is NOT MINE- belongs to @desflorecia) 

Hey Eriel lovers!!! I recently decided to do a collection of different pieces of writing inspired by multiple photographs (aka “Photo Inspiration”). Some of these pieces may be full fics, one shots, or even just a few sentences. These writings will include a variety pairings, and will vary in length. None of these photos are mine and credit will always be given to the source. If you have any questions feel free to ask! 

Liked my idea: @photofeesh @dr-woodsprite

Enjoy!

Azriel glided through the gaping open window of his town house kitchen, landing swiftly on his tired feet.

Something was wrong.

Resting the sac of seeds he bought for Elain against the sugar jar, he made his way past the oven and into the hall.

He'd been flying high in the cloudless sky when he spotted a fresh market on his way home from the most brutal fight he’s had in centuries.

But he couldn't think about that right now.

Making his way down the wooden hallway and into the living room he found her.

Lying face down on the couch weeping.

He rushed to her side.

"Elain-"

"Elain, can you hear me honey?"

She only cried harder.

He was out of his element.

Caring for her while she was in a dazed state was one thing, but she was on the brink of hysteria.

He didn't know what to do, so he did the only thing he could think of.

Sitting crisscross on the floor, tucking his wings in tight, and wrapping his arm around her shoulders he sat there.

Her shoulders shook violently as he brushed her hair behind her ears.

"Everything's going to be okay, I'm here."

He murmured

"I f-felt it."

Her words came out so suddenly he was taken back.

"What did you feel?"

"Everything...while you were g-gone I felt everything th-that might've happen-ed to you."

Tears poured down her face as she stuttered trying to explain.

He wove his fingers through her hair as she continued.

"I saw you-"

A sob choked out of her with such ferocity that she began to hyperventilate.

"Elain breath."

"C-c-can't"

"In the nose, out the mouth. Do it with me."

His deep eyes locked on hers as they breathed in and out together.

Only when she was back under control did she speak.

"I saw you die."

Her eyes bore into his as if she could keep him tethered to this world by pure will. Her confidence was short lived as she buried her face in the cloth sofa cushion.

He wrapped his arms around her once more.

"It was only a vision honey, I'm fine."

"I know *sniff*, but it could've been *sniff* r-real"

Her voice came out muffled and breathy.

He leaned forward to whisper in her ear.

"There's no one on this earth that could ever take me away from you Elain."

She slowly glanced up, face red from being smashed into the cushions.

"Promise?"

There was so much hope radiating off her face his heart cracked.

"Yes, I promise honey bee."

She wrapped her arms around his broad chiseled back, resting her delicate face, still warm with tears, in the crook of his neck.

"I love you Azriel."

Her soft voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned back so he could gaze into her bright eyes, cupping her soft cheeks in his scared hands.

He was in shock.

How could this gracious, strong, kindhearted creature love someone like him?

"Stop that."

"I-"

"Whatever you're thinking is a lie you've been told for far too long."

She brushed the hairs that had escaped his loose bun off his brow.

"I love you Azriel, and there's nothing in this world that could change that."

Tears stung his eyes.

When was the last time he cried?

The feeling was unsettling.

"Promise?"

"I promise."

He kissed her then.

Slowly and without question.

Her heated cheeks were like soft rose petals against his scruffy face. She leaned into his warmth as their tongues collided, and her small hands laced themselves through his thick hair.

"I love you too Elain."

He hadn't noticed the tears making there way down his scared face, until Elain brushed them away.

“I know the idea of being happy may seem impossible. Between your memories of the past and my visions of the future, life seems pretty bleak.”

She traced the edges of his face as she spoke.

Around his full lips, slightly red from their kissing.

The edges of his eyebrows, thick and wild in their own way.

The strong bridge of his sculpted nose.

She continued.

“All I know is that when I’m with you it’s easier to breathe. You bring a sense of solidarity to my life I never thought possible. And I’d really like if we could figure out this “life” thing together. Because I don’t know if I’d make it without you, and I have no intention of trying.”

His strong hand stroked her back up and down in a smooth motions until finally, he spoke.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. I want to figure out this thing called life together.”

Elain gripped his face wearing the hugest smile he had ever seen her wear.

And just like that she was laughing.

Actually laughing, as he picked her up bridal style and escorted her to the kitchen.

Elain had no idea where he was taking her as she kissed his neck, and she didn’t care. Anywhere he went she would follow. Not because she had to, but because she wanted to.

He sat her down on the counter top peppering her flushed face with kisses.

“I brought you something”

He dropped the sac he’d placed in the kitchen earlier in Elain’s lap as she squealed with delight!

She swiftly opened the sac.

“I can’t believe you remembered…”

She stared at him in awe

“Of course I remembered.”

One night many weeks ago Elain had a nightmare. Nightmares weren’t a rarity for either of them to have, but this one was different. There were no sobs, no screams, no deep breathes. Only shaking and vomiting. He couldn’t break through to her all night.

It wasn’t until the sun rose that she was able to speak again when he understood.

She had relived her mother’s death over and over and over again.

Unable to wake up.

Even when she woke up, she didn’t think she was actually awake.

Vomiting and waiting and hoping that if she didn’t interact with her “dreams” they would stop.

Growing up Nesta always clung to her father and Feyre beat to the sound of her own drum, which left Elain to her mother.

Her mother taught her how to tend to the garden.

Lilacs were her mother’s favorite.

Her grave site was the last place she’d ever seen lilacs in bloom.

“Thank you.”

Those two words seemed too weak for the emotions she felt, but she said them anyway.

“You’re welcome, honey bee”

He leaned in close to graze his nose against hers.

She laced her hand behind his neck.

“EW!”

“What???”

He leaned back in surprise, wearing a face that made Elain giggle.

“There’s dirt behind your neck!”

“Well, I’m sorry my “fight to the death appointment” today didn’t result in a more cleanly manor.”

“Well this simply won’t do……you must bathe immediately.”

“Only if you come with me.”

He smirked

“As you wish.”

He face slacked in shock.

They had never gone farther than heated kisses, and innocent bed sharing.

“Well if that’s how you’re going to act I might as well-“

His lips crashed against hers and he lifted her off the counter top wrapping her thighs around his waist.

“Much better.”

She mused as she lifted her shirt up and over her head.

Azriel’s eyes bulged out of his head.

Her perky breasts filled the plain white bra with lace trimming she wore.

“What is it?”

“You’re just….”

Blushing profusely she turned away.

He gently turned her chin back toward him.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

He meant every. single. word.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Azriel didn’t waist another second, digging his fingers into her thick thighs, escorting them to the bathroom where they made love for the first time.

This is my first time writing anything Eriel so pleeeeeease let me know if there was something you loved/or didn’t like about the character dynamic (but obviously be gentle b/c lets face it i’m pretty sure all writers are sensitive???) Feel free to send asks/private messages I don’t bite <3