#and making clint doubt every last life decision he's ever made. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rendevousz · 4 years ago

Text

freak

avengers x teen!fem!reader

summary: you get captured during a mission and the team saves you.

warnings: language, violence, brief misogyny, torture, **NO sexual assault (because as i was proofreading, i only implied most of the torture scenes because i didn't want to write it in graphic detail and i realised the vague wordings might be misinterpreted as sexual assault which IT IS NOT, just clearing it up), and also again, my inability to write good endings

word count: 4589

notes: i just rewatched iron man 2 so that explains justin hammer LMAO also ooc justin hammer because even tho mans evil, he gets extremely um.. cruel here but anyways i hope you enjoy this!!

you were 13 when you first met the avengers and 16 when you officially joined. you grew up as one of HYDRA's experimented children and the team had found you when they raided the base that you were in.

a small, sickly-looking kid you were, sat against your cell wall, hugging your knees. 13 but you could probably pass off as a 10 year old due to how malnourished and miserable you were. burying your head in between your knees, you covered your ears as the loud gunshot noises filled the whole place. the metal door of your cell slamming open against the wall had you whimpering, hands above your head in fear.

every time the door slammed open, guards would come drag you out for more experiments so it was an instinct for you to cower in fear at the sound.

"last room in the west hall, i found a little girl."

you heard nothing because you were covering your ears, preparing yourself to be forcefully dragged by the guards to the experiment room. but it never came.

"hey," a soft voice called. you were violently shaking at this point, breathing heavily as you tried to calm down. "hey, it's okay." the voice called out again and you felt them touch your shoulders.

your head immediately jolted up, flinching away from the stranger's touch. your eyes met a blue pair as you backed away into the corner in fear. "i'm sorry! i'm sorry, i didn't mean to." the man apologised. you slowly looked up at him, observing him. he had on a full black outfit, a quiver of arrows slinging on his shoulder and he was holding onto a bow.

"don't be scared. i'm here to help," he states with his hands out, as if to calm you down. "that's what they all say." you hissed through gritted teeth and a tear-stained face, glaring at him even though that could've been a very wrong move had it been with an actual HYDRA guard.

despite the strange feeling of being safe around this man, you didn't let your guard down. that's exactly what those scientists said seven years ago. trusting kind-looking men got you into this hell you never thought you would ever escape from and you weren't going to make the same mistake again.

"clint," a red-headed female, also in all black, entered through the open door of your cell with her pistol up. at the sight of the weapon, you broke your glare towards the man. your breathing quickened and you went back to your original position before the archer came; body pressed up against your knees and covering your ears with your palms.

"i'm sorry! i'm sorry! i'll come! please don't use that on me again," you whimpered, voice muffled as your face was hidden against your knees. the woman freezes mid-walk, looking at her friend with a bewildered expression.

"nat! put that away!" clint whispered harshly, eyes glaring at the pistol in nat's hands. nat's jaw dropped in realisation, a small gasp leaving her lips as she immediately put away her weapon.

she slowly makes her way to you and clint puts his arm out before she could get closer. he looks at her with a worried expression as he shook his head, as if telling her that she can't get too close to you. nat nods understandingly, crouching down a distance from you.

"hey," she spoke softly. "i promise you that we're not here to hurt you." you kept your face hidden from her, still hugging your legs tightly. nat sighs before sitting down.

"here, let's introduce ourselves. i'm nat and this right here is clint." you hear her speak and when you slowly lifted up your head, you saw the both of them sitting down in front of you, seeming to have made themselves at home in your pathetic cell. "what's your name?"

name? you had never been able to use your name before. you always kept your own name deep in your heart despite no one ever using it, afraid you would forget it if you stopped thinking of it. the only name they ever called you here was 'number five'.

"y/n," you whispered, still doubtful about these people's intentions. you almost burst out crying when you said your name out loud. that was the first time you introduced yourself with your actual name and not the number you were given ever since you were captured.

nat must have noticed this because she immediately spoke up, trying to distract you from your consuming thoughts. "y/n...that's a pretty name for a pretty girl like you. how old are you, y/n?" she asks again.

you contemplated once more but decided it was fine. you knew you were probably going to regret trusting these two strangers but what could be worse than what HYDRA has been doing to you for years?

"13," you muttered, looking down at your lap. you were now timidly seated cross-legged, playing with the tattered hem of your shorts. you heard a small gasp from one of them and looked up to see clint with his jaw dropped.

the two adults were both thinking of the same thing. how could you be 13? you were so small and sickly-looking, they didn't even think you were older than ten, let alone an early teen.

"i know you're scared and you have all the reasons in the world to be, but i promise you, we're here to help. we'll get you out of here, only if you trust us. will you trust us?" nat says. your mind was conflicted. you were either going to finally get out of this hellhole or you were going to be taken somewhere even worse than here. but could anywhere really be worse than here?

you decided to take a leap of faith and trust these two strangers. that decision had to have been the best decision you've ever made in your life.

you were now 18, an official avenger and you had the most amazing family you could've ever asked for. they were a bit on the crazier side but could you really have a normal family when said family consisted of superheroes? but you weren't complaining. you loved these people.

they were the ones who took care of you when you thought you had no one. having been a HYDRA experiment, you had abilities the normal human didn't. said ability being shapeshifting and healing. that's why you became an avenger. your shapeshifting ability was essential during missions where you had to sneak in and you being able to heal others was crucial when medic wasn't able to be there on time.

you pretty much came along to every mission despite the adults saying you don't have to. you knew they were only doing that to protect you from dangers of all those missions but how could you not when you had such abilities? they'd be much better with you helping.

that was why you were here, in bulgaria, fighting alongside the team. well, just steve, nat, clint, bucky and tony.

justin hammer had managed to get his hands on a type of out-of-this-planet weapon that tony was also trying to retrieve, and he had big plans with it. hence why the avengers had to come where hammer had wrecked havoc in; sofia, bulgaria. he had upgraded his robots with the tech used for the stolen weapon.

with evil robots attacking the whole city, it felt like you were living the story that wanda told you of what happened in sokovia before you met the avengers.

an hour passed before all of the robots had finally been taken down and you all knew you had to get to hammer before he activates more robots to distract you guys and uses the weapon for bad things.

"tony, have you located hammer?" steve's voice sounded in your ear through the comms. you had just finished healing the nasty gash on clint's side, nat's cut on her forehead and the bruises all over bucky. you were feeling significantly weaker now, from the amount of healing you did. you stumbled slightly when you walked and bucky immediately held onto your arm. "doll, are you okay?"

"i'm fine, buck. nothing i haven't dealt with before," you told him, gently removing his grip on your arm, walking back to the quinjet.

"no, absolutely not. we are not sending y/n right into a death trap. she's not even strong enough right now, she just finished healing us."

you were all back at the compound now and planning a second attack on justin hammer.

"it's not a death trap, buck. and i know you're worried but she's the only choice we got. y/n, all you gotta do is sneak in as one of his henchmen and provide entrance for us. once we get in, we'll take all his guards down and get that weapon from hammer and we won't have to worry about his world domination plans anymore. it'll be over as soon as it starts and she'll be back safe with us. sound good, y/n/n?"

"yeah, sure." you agreed, already having a person in mind that you were going to change yourself to.

the plan had gone just as steve wanted and they managed to raid justin hammer's building, tony stealing the very item that could've aided in the massacre of millions. justin and his henchmen managed to escape the building before the avengers could catch them.

"well, that was anticlimactic," tony scoffs, already making his way to the quinjet. "but good job, y/n. you saved the day once again."

he expected to hear a laugh from you, like you usually did, being the only one who ever responds to him after missions. but instead he was met with silence. "kid?" still no answer.

"y/n, where are you?" steve panicked, finally realising that you were the only one who hasn't responded in a hot minute. "y/n/n, this isn't funny." he breathed out.

"she's...she's gone."

"well, well, well," a voice spoke right as you woke up from your slumber. you squinted, noticing that you were in some sort of dark room with only one light bulb right above you. "what do we have here?"

a figure walks right in the light and you could barely make out justin hammer's ugly face with how dizzy you felt. "if it isn't the little freak." he states condescendingly, smirking down at your helpless position, both wrists and ankles cuffed onto the metal chair you were sat on. you struggled against the restraints, trying to get free but to no avail.

your breathing quickened, your current vulnerable state reminding you of your later years in HYDRA. they had started off experimenting on you on a metal gurney but as you grew older, you realised that what they were doing to you was bad so you started fighting back. that ended you up on a metal restraint chair instead of the gurney, strapped to the chair with cuffs on your wrists and ankles.

this felt like deja vu. the same panic you felt, the same breathing difficulties, the same amount of effort put into trying to get out of the restraints. "you should know, princess, that that doesn't work." hammer chuckled, a fake pout on his lips as he crouched in front of you, a rough hand on your cheek. you instinctively jerked away from his touch, to which he paid no mind to because he had expected that. he then grabbed your chin harshly, turning your head up towards him. you glared at him.

"you think i didn't know what you did? snuck in as one of my men using your freaky powers? not to mention useless. imagine having powers but not being able to use them to even escape from mere humans," he laughs in your face, harshly letting go of your chin, throwing your head backwards. "you tell me where stark planned to bring the weapon and i'll let you pretty little thing go."

"no."

before you could even comprehend, his fist came flying at your face and your head dropped to the side at the impact. your left cheekbone was throbbing and you could already tell you were gonna have a black eye. despite the pain, it wasn't something you weren't used to. you were an avenger, after all. getting decked in the face was practically in the contract.

he grabbed your chin once again, pulling your head upwards to face him. "you're gonna tell me where it is or i'm gonna make you regret it."

you looked up at him with a bored look. he punched you again. and again. and again. until you could taste the blood on your tongue. "think you wanna tell me now, sweetheart?"

"never. not to someone like you."

the man seemed to get a kick out of beating you up because he punched you again in the face. your whole face was pretty much numb now and the metallic taste in your mouth intensified. you smirked at the man before you, chuckling darkly.

"sure, beat up the helpless girl. that's the only way you can beat me, right? when i'm all tied up? what a man,"

his hand was around your throat within a second and he forced you to look him in the eyes again. "sweetheart, you're a girl. tied or not, you're still weak. not even with that useless power of yours."

taking advantage of how close his face was to yours, you gathered as much bloody saliva in your mouth before spitting it in his face.

it was very much the wrong thing to do because after he wiped off his face, he left the room and two men came in, various tools in hand for their fun with you.

"stark! my buddy! how's it going?" justin hammer's face appeared on the screen in the conference room, where the avengers were having a meeting about your possible whereabouts.

"where is she?!" wanda growled, standing up abruptly.

"what ever do you mean?" hammer smirked, feigning innocence. "you know what we mean. where is she?" steve spoke authoritatively, trying to control his anger at the sight of the man's face.

"i'll tell you where your thing is if you tell me where my thing is." he smiled wickedly. this caused wanda to get angrier. "y/n is not a thing! and the weapon was never yours in the first place!" vision held onto her to calm her down and it worked because she sat back down, though still glaring at the screen.

"oh she's not a thing? seems like it to me, though." he smirked and the team frowned, not understanding what he meant until they heard screams and justin's smirk widening at the sound. what a sick bastard. "what are you doing to her?!" bucky screamed, knocking his chair back as he stood up.

"i don't know, you tell me." he chuckles, and the screen changes to the live footage of you in the restraint chair with the two men in the room.

you were no longer fighting back now, just sat limply with your head dropped to the side. the first hour with them, you had been fighting back like you did with justin, despite the restraints, but now entering the second hour, you were too exhausted for anything.

your left eye had been swollen shut, you could barely breathe through your nose, your cheeks were throbbing like hell and your bottom lip was busted. your head was the only thing that moved freely when hit so the men seemed to find satisfaction the most when they punched you in the face. though that didn't stop them from inflicting pain on other parts of you.

"let her go, she's just a kid!" sam exclaimed, his grip on the edge of the table tightening to control his anger. peter and wanda were crying looking at the awful state you were in, clint, tony and bruce were silent in shock, steve and bucky were getting increasingly angry as the abuse continued.

"are you going to tell us where stark is keeping the weapon or have you not gotten enough?" one of the two men was heard asking, pulling your hair back to make you look up at him. you look at with your half-opened right eye, breathing heavily. "my answer's never gonna change no matter how many times you ask."

he scoffs, stepping back before the other man swings a bat right at your stomach. the air was immediately knocked out of your lung. the men laughed as you coughed up blood profusely. this caused wanda to get more hysterical.

"well, looks like she wants more. i'll call back when she's had enough. toodles," he waves his fingers at the camera with a sinister smirk before abruptly ending the call.

the room went silent after the call, save for bucky and sam breathing heavily from the anger they felt. bucky then turned to steve, pain could be seen on his face. "you said she would be safe."

"i–i'm sorry, buck. i didn't know he was gonna take her with him." steve was still frozen in shock, the image of you on the chair now permanently ingrained in his brain. in everyone's brains actually.

"guys, gear up, he's in colorado."

all heads turned towards natasha and she looked back at them with a 'what?' expression. "you were tracking him down the whole time?"

"um, duh? now come on, gotta save our girl."

you awoke to a stinging sensation on your inner forearm. after your bloody coughing fit, they proceeded to beat you up again and you were knocked out then. now you were slowly regaining consciousness but you were starting to prefer being passed out. your whole body was in pain and the fact that you couldn't even move made it even worse.

"oh, lookie here. sleeping beauty is up." you were met once again with justin hammer's ugly face. he was sitting on a chair perpendicular to your left side. you couldn't wait to get out of here so you didn't have to keep seeing his face every time you woke up. your inner forearm was stinging even more now so you looked down at it. you gasped at the sight.

"how'd you like my artwork?" he chuckled at your reaction. there on your arm, obviously carved out with the bloody knife that the asshole was so proudly holding on to, was 'FREAK'. carved out big and bold. on your skin. "pretty fitting, eh? freak? because, you know, that's what you are."

the blood was seeping out through the cuts and it stung even more now that it had been exposed to the air. the asshole moved his chair to your other side. "what should i write on this arm?" he feigns a thinking expression, looking up thoughtfully with his thumb and pointer finger on his chin.

"please, i–i don't know where tony put it. i really don't." you cried, tears now flowing freely down your face without a shame.

he looks at you with amusement. "what is this? are you...are you giving up already? can't take anymore?" he smirks and you sigh, closing your eyes. you just awoke but you were exhausted. so, so exhausted.

he takes out his phone, the smirk now permanent on his ugly face. "stark! kid's finally had enough. wanna tell me where the weapon is now or do you want to find her body at the bottom of the ocean?"

you couldn't even be bothered to react to his statement. the pain all finally registered and you were tired. tired and in excruciating pain.

"kinda busy right now, can you call back later?" you could hear tony's voice sound from justin's phone and the man beside you laughed. "i see you don't care for the girl. what could possibly be more important than saving her?"

"i don't know, you tell me." a voice said from behind you two and before you knew it, hammer was knocked off the chair he was on. you weakly turned your head just in time to see a metal arm force hammer up onto his feet before wrapping around his neck. "don't you fucking touch her again."

"y/n!" you heard wanda's voice as she entered the room with peter. more tears flowed down your face at the sight of them, stinging when they rolled past the cuts on your face but that didn't matter. your family was finally here to save you.

you saw the red mist of wanda's powers surround your cuffs before they clicked open. "oh, bubs, i'm so sorry." she cried, both hands hovering around your face, hesitating to touch you in fear of hurting you. her eyes fell onto the words carved out onto your skin and her mouth fell open before covering it with her hand. "i'm so sorry we couldn't get to you sooner." peter's voice cracked and you could tell he was emotional.

"it's okay," you told them, giving them a small smile, the biggest one you could give in your current state.

tony, sam and steve entered the room to see bucky relentlessly beating up your captor and wanda and peter standing by you as you cried.

"cupcake, we're here now. don't cry, you're safe now." tony came closer and despite knowing that you were because your family was finally here, you couldn't help but let out all the pent up emotions you've kept throughout your time of captivity.

sam had a go at justin once bucky was done and steve had to physically pry them both off of the sick bastard so that nat could cuff him and bring him back to the jet.

"y/n/n, i'm so sorry. if i hadn't–"

"it's okay, stevie." you cut him off. truthfully, you only did so because you knew he was going to giving a long-winded explanation justifying his actions and your headache couldn't bear to hear lengthy sentences. but you also didn't think it was in any way his fault so he didn't deserve to be beating himself up for this. shit happens, anyway.

"let's get you out of here, doll." bucky says, cringing when he sees the blood on the floor of your chair, as well as on your clothes. he quickly reaches to lift you off the chair but stops when you let out an ear-piercing scream of pain. "doll, i'm so sorry! did i hurt you?!" bucky questions in panic.

"y–you didn't, they did. it...it hurts everywhere," you cried, feeling hopeless that you couldn't even bear being carried by someone, let alone get up by yourself. their hearts broke when you said that. you never really cried much in front of them and you were known to withstand pain well because of how much shit HYDRA put you in as well as your powers being healing, meaning you had a higher pain tolerance than most people.

"it's okay, bubs. i got you. let's get you home, alright?" wanda's calming voice broke you out of your breakdown and red mist surrounded your whole body, wanda moving you with her powers. you were thankful of that because it didn't cause any more pain to your body.

maybe hammer was right. maybe you are just a freak with useless powers. wanda floated you into the jet and she set you down on the bed. "y/n, oh my god!" clint cried out once he sees you. you looked much worse than you did on hammer's camera footage during the call an hour ago. "kid, i'm so sorry."

"clint, take the wheel. bruce doesn't have all the resources needed. she needs to be treated ASAP." nat tells her best friend and he nods, taking the wheel and immediately taking off once everyone had boarded.

you were laid on the bed, right eye slightly open as bruce examined you. exhaustion hit you like a truck and before you knew it, you blacked out.

"how is she, doc?"

"pretty banged up but y/n, as i already knew, is a strong girl. lots of internal bleeding, broken bones, bruises and scars but she'll be fine. you can check her file later if you want," doctor cho tells tony outside of your room. "it's fine, can we see her?" he asks on behalf of the whole team standing behind him.

"yeah, of course! she woke up five minutes ago. i'll be off now, call me or my team if you need anything." she bids goodbye and left the group of superheroes.

steve slowly opens the door and there you were in bed, staring up at the ceiling. "hey, y/n/n," he greets sheepishly, feeling as though he had interrupted your alone time of blankly staring at the ceiling. the team trailed in behind him and soon your bed was surrounded by the avengers.

"hi, cupcake."

you looked away from the ceiling and turned your head towards tony. "oh, hey tones." you smile as sam helps you sit up while the rest sat on chairs all around you. "how you feeling, bub?" nat asks, eyes flickering down to the bold scarring of letters on your forearm.

"as okay as i can be." you answered truthfully, pressing your inner forearm closer to your body so the team doesn't see the letters carved onto your skin. you already know what you are, you didn't need the rest thinking so too.

"you're not a freak, bubs."

you look up at wanda. "i'm sorry, i didn't mean to read your mind. but they were awfully loud. you're not a freak, y/n. and you're not useless too. that bastard may have carved out that word onto your skin but the scar will fade. it's not permanent. you know why? because that's not what you are." she tells you, taking off her jacket to wrap it around you because you felt self conscious of the scars all over your arms where the team could see.

"yeah, doll. you're an amazing person and your powers help us so much. i mean, you saved millions just helping us get the weapon back from justin hammer. if you hadn't, well, who knows what could've been happening right now?" he places a gentle hand at the side of your head, stroking your hair.

"yeah and who heals us when we get really hurt during missions, huh? i mean, if you hadn't healed that stab wound i got during that mission in new mexico, i probably wouldn't even be here at this moment." clint tells you and you roll your eyes at him. "you're exaggerating."

"i am not!" he laughed and you playfully rolled your eyes once again.

"y/n/n, i'm really sorry for—"

"i don't wanna hear it, stevie."

"but–"

"no. it's not your fault. shit happens." you brush him off. "lang–"

"you say language to me, i'll blame this shit on you even when it's not your fault. try me, rogers." you glare at the blond super soldier. he raises his arms in surrender, leaning back on his chair as the team laughs.

the team continue to entertain you and you couldn't help but smile at the sight in front of you. these were the people who would drop anything for you and were willing to dropkick any asshole in the face for hurting you. justin hammer never had a chance against your family to begin with.

taglist <3

@amourtentiaa @rqmanoff @abitofeverythinggg

#avengers x reader #avengers x teen!reader #bruce banner x teen!reader #bucky barnes x teen!reader #clint barton x teen!reader #marvel x teen!reader #natasha romanoff x teen!reader #sam wilson x teen!reader #steve rogers x teen!reader #peter parker x reader #tony stark x teen!reader #wanda maximoff x teen!reader

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mionemymind · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 3: The Harsh Treatment

Fake Memories

Series Summary: After Y/n is caught cheating on Wanda with Carol, Y/n would do just about anything to get Wanda back into her life. But was it even Y/n’s fault that she cheated? Or was it the new enemy set on revenge?

Chapter Summary: What will happen to Y/n as the team pushes her past her limits?

A/n: I lied, I decided to be nice and post it now. Honestly, the amount of support that I’m receiving from this fanfic has literally made me smile so much. I really love all of you who read and/or comment. You mean the world to me. Let me know what you think. :) (Not my GIF)

Warnings: Starvation, harmful thoughts, curse words, self-doubt, mentions of blood, injuries, angst

Word Count: 5k

Masterlist

Y/n abruptly woke up at the feeling of pressurized gas coursing through her body. She quickly sat up, unable to see anything in the white fog. The cold feeling only lasted a couple seconds before F.R.I.D.A.Y stated, “Fire has been contained.” Y/n hugged herself for warmth as she waited for the fog to disappear. This was the 13th time this month that she was woken up with pressurized gas. At first, it was foam but someone in maintenance had changed the system after the 5th time she woke up.

Y/n looked at her surroundings and sighed at the damages to her sheets. There were burn marks along with small amounts of frostbite from the gas. “At this rate, I won’t have money for food.” With a grim face, Y/n got up from her bed and proceeded with taking everything off her bed, a routine she unfortunately started to learn.

Y/n didn’t know when things got worse. If she had to guess, maybe it was after the whole fiasco with Wanda. The team had been on edge ever since then. “They probably thought I hurt her,” Y/n thought at the time, but it was far from the truth. She had wanted to explain herself to the team but dismissed those thoughts with, “What’s the point in trying? I’ll always be guilty to them.”

As for Wanda, the still heartbroken girl didn’t dare to speak to the team about that night. Even she didn’t quite know what happened. Since that night, she only lied to herself stating that maybe Y/n had done something. It would probably remove the guilt she had when she thought of the blood running down Y/n’s face. But even the lie couldn’t repress the truth from her thoughts.

After she collected her bedding, she threw it away in the trash can along with the other damaged beddings. Y/n grabbed her wallet off her night stand and opened it. She couldn’t feel it, but her heart dropped at the sight of the lack of money she had. Only a $20 dollar bill as well as a couple ones were left. She closed her eyes and tried her best to keep herself calm, to try and act like the world wasn’t closing in on her. It was a couple minutes later when she opened her eyes and looked at her wallet again. “This was supposed to last me for the rest of the month.” Y/n rubbed her forehead, feeling the overwhelming stress from her lack of funds.

One might ask, “Aren’t you an Avenger? Shouldn’t you make a shit ton of money.” And at one point, Y/n would say yes, she did. But it all came back to that night. A week after, she had overheard a conversation that went…

“I just don’t understand why you’re doing this to her.” Y/n was about to go around the corner, but decided to wait at the sound of Steve’s voice. “It’s simple Rodgers - unless I have to remind you why we needed to redo the glass in the conference room.” Steve sighed at Tony’s simple minded actions. Y/n could practically feel him crossing his arms in a disapproving manner.

“Well she did work fair and hard for her money Tony - this just feels wrong.” Y/n heard a couple clicks before Tony replied with, “This is for Wanda. Anything to get Y/n out of here by her own means is worth it. If you have a problem with this, you must not care as much for Wanda as I thought.” Steve sighed again seeing as he was morally put in an awkward position. It was either care for Y/n or care for Wanda. “That’s what I thought.” Tony left with a smug look on his face as he clicked more on the screen in front of him.

It didn’t take long for Y/n to see the effects of Tony’s decision. Her pay day was the following day and the overwhelming sense of panic and anxiety rose up within her as she only had $400 to survive until the next pay day, which was a month later. Since then, her food portions have been small to say the least. Y/n learned that she only had enough money for the month to eat at least once a day and even that was cutting it. The dramatic changes to her diet had slowly affected her powers but it recently had an exponential increase.

This was her fourth month of hardly eating when her powers started to flare at night. It has gotten to the point that Y/n couldn’t control them in her sleep leading to F.R.I.D.A.Y having to deal with her fireside. But her powers weren’t the only thing that has changed. If anyone were to actually look, they would see that Y/n had gotten skinnier. Her literal glow was getting duller and duller the more time passed.

However, Y/n refused to feel sorry for herself. The sentence “I deserve this” was burned into her head. The brain tricks she puts herself through even allowed her to convince that Tony's decision was right. That Wanda didn’t need to tell the truth to the team. That Steve didn’t need to defend her. And that the team certainly was allowed to make her feel like nothing. Because to Y/n, if she didn’t deserve this, then why would you possibly treat a person like this? Just why?

Of course, Wanda didn’t notice these changes at all. The girl was trying her best to avoid Y/n as much as possible. She always had exit strategies in place in case she were to be in the same vicinity as Y/n. However, Wanda also didn’t notice that lack of Y/n’s presence. Much to her dismay, Y/n’s efforts were the reason they didn’t see each other much.

What Wanda did notice though was the slow and gradual decline of snacks in her cubby. It left her to question whether Natasha was done doing these small favors for her. But her reports were still getting done.

The red head didn’t have much room to think though as she got slammed down on the mat from the other red head. “Take a ten - you’re distracted and we can’t keep going like this.” Wanda grumbled at another failed attempt to flip Natasha over. Hand to hand combat was one of the few subjects that Wanda hated the most. With the help of Natasha, Wanda got up and walked over to the waters on the other side of the room. She was gulping down the remaining when Natasha’s words caught her off guard. “What happened?”

Wanda cocked an eyebrow while still drinking her bottle, needing more elaboration. Natasha faced Wanda while hundreds of thoughts racked her mind. Luckily for her, Wanda had trained her on how to make them quiet enough that Wanda wouldn’t be able to hear. When Natasha found the right words, she said, “I am not doubting you. I am doubting her…” Wanda closed the bottle and looked around the room to avoid Natasha’s eyes. This had been the first time that anyone from the team had remotely even asked her about that night. To be frank, she hadn’t expected Natasha to be the one to break the ice. Usually it was Steve that would act like the team’s counselor. Guess things change.

Wanda sighed and recollected her memory for the night that continued to haunt her. “One minute, I left to get a drink from the bar. - she said that she needed to go to the bathroom. The next minute, I come back to see her all over blondie.” Wanda’s grip on the bottle tightened at the words she was going to say next. “I thought it was a mistake - that she could have been too drunk that night - b-but her thoughts were so - loud.” Wanda slammed her fist at the table in front of her, tears already falling down her cheeks. “A-a-and I saw everything-”

The broken hearted girl didn’t have much energy left in her to continue. She dropped to her knees and sobbed into her hands. Natasha kneeled beside Wanda. She pulled the poor girl into her arms, trying her best to physically comfort her. But nothing could really make Wanda feel better. What could you say to a girl that saw every moment where her girlfriend has cheated on her? Nothing - you say nothing.

“It’s quite pathetic actually,” Tony said as he spun the rod, causing his player to score in foosball. He was currently versing Steve as the two decided to quietly speak about Y/n’s actions for the past couple weeks. Going on the defense again, Steve shot back but Tony was quick to block. “She’s probably just trying to get her money back.” Steve huffed from the sudden slap shot as well as Tony’s rude words.

For the past couple weeks, Y/n had gone from trying to win Wanda back to trying to win the whole team back. The first thing they noticed was all the completed mission reports and the continuation of it. Clint was the first to jokingly comment, “Bruce must really love mission reports.” But the genius bore a confused look before replying with, “It wasn’t me. Even I haven’t had anything to do in my stack for a couple days.” Bruce had a displeasured look on his face. Clint just assumed it was either he wanted to do his stack of reports or the comment was actually true...or maybe both.

When it was time for the meeting, Clint had asked everyone in the room, minus Y/n, on who was completing the mission reports for everyone. “Well, I’m doing Wanda’s and mine,” Natasha claimed as she sat in her usual spot. No one was able to detect her lie, but then again, Natasha was always good at lying.

Clint was quick to figure out that the only person remaining must have been the person responsible. With a straight forward voice, he explained to the team that Y/n had been completing everyones, besides Wanda’s and Natasha’s, reports. Still, Natasha sat there, copying the confused looks on everyone’s faces. She didn’t care to tell them the truth, it wasn’t worth it. However, the meeting proceeded with little comment on Y/n’s actions. She wasn’t worth the mention.

“What if she actually is trying to say sorry to us?” Steve couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty for Y/n, but Tony’s words made the guilt go all away. “Oh - so miss Hydra over here actually wants to apologize - hilarious Steve.” With that, Tony quickly spun the rod and scored the final point, making him win the game. What the two failed to realize was the fact that Y/n had overheard their conversation. She no longer felt hungry for the day and had retreated back to her room, feeling overwhelmingly numb from the confession she heard.

It was a new and different day for Wanda. She had managed to want to try and sit in the common room with her team seeing as sitting in her room no longer gave her the same satisfaction anymore. Scrolling through the tv, she was about to pull up Bewitched when the following words appeared on the screen:

Bewitched is longer provided on Netflix. Please see related tv shows.

“What do you mean it’s no longer available?” Wanda frustratedly questioned. And here she was trying to have a good day. “Sorry kid, I guess Netflix took it off their streaming service,” Clint said as he leaned over the couch. “No why would they do that?!” Wanda said with an exasperated look. Clint simply shrugged, Netflix did have an awful reputation for getting favorites removed or canceled. “No clue, but you could try other shows.” Wanda crossed her arms and huffed at his suggestion. “I was really feeling Bewitched today.” Ruffling her hair, Clint left after saying, “Try to feel for something else.”

However, Wanda had failed to feel anything but angry for the remaining of the day. It wasn’t until she sat in her room for the night, aimlessly finding shows in her room when she noticed Bewitched on her home screen. She quickly clicked on it noticing that all eight seasons are there for her own viewing. Her mood immensely increased for the night as she fell asleep in the middle of season two.

Outside of her room, Y/n had been cleaning up the compound for the night. It was getting harder and harder to clean the kitchen when everything in her wanted to just take a couple of snacks for herself. Her hunger was constantly on her mind as well as the stupid flashes that have sporadically appeared more and more everyday. But she wanted more than anything to prove to the team that she is a good person. Stealing, no matter how minor, was probably the last thing she needed to be labeled as.

When she completed for the night, she returned to her room but paused outside of her door when she heard the Bewitched theme song loudly play in Wanda’s room. A small smile appeared on her face as she walked back into her room and slept on the floor tonight.

“Did it ever occur to you that I love you - like a lot?” The couple were laying in Carol’s room decorated with punk rock posters and pictures of their team. Small plants were placed around the room while Malcolm in the Middle was used as background noise.

“Nah. I haven’t heard you say it in approximately - 10 minutes?” Carol laughed as Y/n glanced at her watch. They laid on their sides as they faced each other, their faces being only inches away. “Well I do.” Carol cupped Y/n’s cheek as she soon grew mesmerized.

There are words to always describe feelings with someone but they all felt overused or incomplete. Because everything felt like this daydream colored borders with warm tones and retro filters as she glanced at Y/n. She felt like she was watching a show that she would never get tired of. Even if the show was in color or black and white, new or old, slow or fast, she would watch just to see her. Just her.

“You do what?” Carol flicked Y/n’s forehead at her response. “Kidding - kidding.” Y/n said as she rubbed her forehead. Carol rolled her eyes and kissed Y/n’s head as she cuddled into her arms, legs tangled within the sheets. “I do love you.” Y/n kissed her hair as she combed it with her hand. “I know,” she whispered, hoping Carol would pick up on the secret reference. Because to Y/n, yeah, she’s worth a whole galaxy.

It was the middle of the night when Steve woke up from a nightmare that shook him from his slumber. Rather than staying in bed to force himself to sleep, he got up and headed to the kitchen for a late night snack.

Heading into the pantry, Steve pursed his lips noticing that Y/n’s cubby had been empty for weeks it seems like. The guilt that was slowly forming inside him kept building and building. Although he knew he could try to do something about it, the loyalty he had to his family - to Wanda. That was something he didn’t want to break.

The relationship with Wanda and Steve was something similar to a father and daughter relationship. Steve had always wanted a kid of his own and Wanda had lost her father. The irony of it all just happened to work for the two. Even though Wanda nor Steve would admit it out loud, they viewed each other as the roles that needed to be filled in their lives. They needed each other regardless of titles.

But then there was Y/n. The troubled girl that made Steve absolutely nervous with how quick her and Wanda seemed to like each other. It absolutely didn’t help Steve’s case when the whole team found out about Y/n’s past. His anxiety had practically skyrocketed. It eventually led to a one on one talk with Wanda about how sometimes we need to protect ourselves before letting people in.

But Y/n was still there. Breaking down Wanda’s walls. So just like any Dad would, Steve watched over. Making sure his girl was always happy and safe. So while Natasha may have refilled Wanda’ cubby and did her reports, Steve had carried Wanda to bed during nights she couldn’t sleep. He made her tea for times that she didn’t want to talk, which was often. He tucked her in at night and cuddled with her when she needed a shoulder to cry on. He was just there.

But so was she. She was there whenever Wanda cried at night. She was there when Wanda would sometimes forget to eat after busying herself all day. She was there to take care of Wanda. She was there when Steve wasn’t. And that meant everything to Steve. So why couldn’t Steve be there for Y/n?

There were a lot of unanswered questions roaming around Steve’s head. Rather than pondering more about them, he walked around the tower, eating a pack of cookies for himself. Just as he was turning the corner, he glanced towards the conference room to see Wanda asleep in front of her reports. However, the more alarming part was the girl that happened to be right in front of Wanda. Steve quickly grew on high alert and observed Y/n’s actions. However, after a couple minutes of harmless actions, Steve forced his shoulders to relax. “She’s just doing reports - calm down,” Steve thought.

But he couldn’t calm down. The guilt had maneuvered it’s way back up to his throat as he actually noticed the pale state of the once bright girl. For someone that had literal fire abilities, she lacked the glow of any raging fire. Feeling nothing but guilt all over, Steve felt compelled to say something - anything. But he froze. He didn’t know what to say.

However, the opportunity soon was lost as Y/n finished everyone’s stack of reports. Steve hid around the corner as Y/n passed him. Hearing a door close was when Steve stepped out of hiding. He glanced towards the direction of Y/n’s room, feeling every need to go to her. But his footsteps led him to Wanda. He picked her up and carried her to her room. Wanda will always be first in Steve’s heart. And nothing could change that.

“We have to stop this treatment Tony.” Steve waltzed into Tony’s lab the very next day. For once, he couldn’t sleep for the remainder of the night. Y/n was all over his mind. The guilt was practically eating him alive.

Tony rolled his eyes at Steve’s dramatic fashion for entrances. “Oh - good morning Tony - how are you - I’m actually pretty good.” Steve rolled his eyes as he stood in front of Tony, a hologram in between the two.

“Cut the crap Tony - I’m being serious.” Steve crossed his arms. This needed to end. “And you think I’m not Rodgers?” Tony was quick to respond, already growing irritated by the conversation.

“This isn’t right - none of this right.” Steve wiped the hologram to finally get a clear view of Tony as he grew frustrated by the second. Tony simply swiped it back, not wanting to deal with the issue. “Well maybe if she just quit - we wouldn’t need to worry about anything. It’s not my fault Fury hired Ms. Hydra - and if he finds out I fired her, he would not allow it at all.”

“But can’t you see that your stupid plan isn’t working? All we’re doing is abusing the girl.” Steve wiped the hologram again but Tony simply walked to a different station and continued his work. Angry with his response, Steve walked around the table and stood beside Tony.

“This needs to end Tony,” Steve said through his gritted teeth. The man was clenching his jaw so hard, it almost looked as if he was going to break his teeth. However, Tony quickly glared at Steve at the mention of his threat.

“Don’t you fucking dare. Can’t you actually see that I’m trying to protect Wanda.” Steve tilted his head at the awful reasoning for his actions. “How is this protecting Wanda? Why are you even trying to protect her?”

Tony slammed his fist into the table, feeling his anger rising by the second. “We - no - I need to protect her Steve!”

“Why Tony? Why?”

“Because I’m the goddamn reason her parents and her country is dead. I’m the reason that everything she ever loved is gone. I’m the reason for her sadness. She, of all people, deserves happiness. And I sure as hell won’t let anyone else hurt her anymore - no more Steve.” Tony didn’t give Steve a chance as he walked out the facility needing a day drink more than ever.

It was lunch time and all Wanda could think about was the need to cook paprikash. She didn’t know when the last time she had actually cooked. And seeing as the majority of the team was on missions, she could actually cook without interruptions or lingering eyes.

Walking into the kitchen, Wanda tied her hair up and started to take out the necessary ingredients for the meal. It was when she was talking the spices out when Vision had appeared out of nowhere, nearly scaring the girl. “Vision!”

Sensing a slight rise in her heart rate and anger, Vision had quickly apologized. “Sorry Wanda.” Wanda shook her head and quickly resumed prepping. “I will try to work on making my presence known. If I may ask, what is it that you’re doing?”

“I’m making paprikash.” Vision’s mind grew curious at the word and quickly searched his database for it. “I see. A traditional Sokovian food.” Wanda didn’t realize it, but she had felt a little annoyed at the synthezoid’s presence. It wasn’t anything he did, but Wanda desperately wanted alone time for herself.

Before she could ask, Vision had said, “Good morning Y/n.” Wanda’s quickly grew wide as she avoided glancing in Y/n’s direction. She hadn’t stayed in the tense position though as Vision announced, “Oh - it seems she had left before saying hi back.”

Feeling ever more frustrated with people’s presence, Wanda was about to ask him to leave but noticed the confusion written all over his face and didn’t hesitate to ask, “What is it Vision?” Vision pursed his lips and contemplated his words. It was visibly obvious to see that he was trying to wrack up what to say. “I think...it’s just…” He sighed knowing that this was going to be a sensitive subject to the witch but knowing everything she's been through, lying was not the best option. “It’s just that Y/n-” Wanda quickly cut Vision off in desperation to know what Y/n had done to Vision. If the girl were to even lay a finger on him, she was sure to deal with it herself. “What did she do? Did she hurt you? I swear-” Seeing her eyes turn red, Vision immediately explained himself. “-No no no. It’s not that, the complete opposite actually.” Wanda’s eyes slowly turned back to normal. When Vision saw that her heart rate was close to normal, he continued. “It’s just that...Y/n’s vitals have been decreasing in a fluctuating matter. Some days it would be a small decrease, but some days it would be a big decrease. Overall, her health has been poor.” Vision looked back at where Y/n once stood. If he hadn’t quickly analyzed her, he wouldn’t have noticed that today’s vitals was record worst. “Although she does have physical injuries, she seems to continue to radiate pain throughout her body even when those injuries have healed. It starts through her head and it spreads like a radio wave through her nervous system. I’ve done my calculations and the leading cause could be migraines...” Vision soon was in deep thought, trying to recalculate just to make sure what he was about to say was correct. “...but it doesn’t make sense.”

Wanda tilted her head. Processing this information was hard seeing as at her darkest moments, she wanted nothing but Y/n to be hurt. She deserved it for all the pain she caused her to go through. But hearing it now? That was a different story. It was like an internal conflict was going through her. Should she even care about Y/n’s health? “What doesn’t make sense?” Vision looked hard into Wanda’s eyes as he said, “Migraines shouldn’t cause her heart to stop multiple times.”

Wanda stared at Vision, processing the information that the love of her life is practically dying. “A-are you sure?” Vision slowly nodded. “However, after some calculations, I do believe she will be okay. She only needs a good source of food for her healing regeneration to fully heal this.” Wanda relaxed at Vision’s words. Although she has been through immense pain through these past couple months, having Y/n gone from her life like that would hurt more than anything.

Before Vision could continue his explanation, F.R.I.D.A.Y stated, “Emergency alert. All available Avengers please head to the quinjet per the request of Mr. Stark and Mr. Rogers.” Quickly, the two headed to the plane as the important part of Vision’s explanation was missed. Little did Wanda know, Y/n would not heal any time soon.

The trio arrived on the quinjet and wasted no time trying to figure out the mission that was ahead of them. There was a serious feel in the atmosphere sensing that this had to be bad. There was no way that it couldn’t have been. Because if it wasn’t, they certainly wouldn’t have invited Y/n to this mission.

Lately, the girl has been assigned to only solo missions. Y/n couldn’t quite remember the last time that she was on a mission with any team member nevermind the fact with the whole team.

“Backup is needed immediately after touch down. Vision and Wanda, meet up with Steve and Sam at the Northeast corridor. Y/n, you are assigned to the entrance,” Tony stated through the intercom.

The feeling in Y/n’s stomach worsened. Not only was she hungry and sleep deprived, she didn’t also have a partner with her. It also didn’t help the fact that the flashes have gotten worse. Y/n couldn’t help but pray for a miracle. After all, they were dealing with the very people Y/n hated - Hydra.

Y/n couldn’t quite tell when things on the mission got to shit. Maybe it was the fact that as soon as they touched down and went to their assigned positions, Y/n received a massive swarm of Hydra agents. It didn’t help that her health regeneration was not at its peak or these agents actually were decently trained. Or was it during the third wave, that was currently happening, where Y/n tested the limits of her body.

Seeing the onslaught of agents coming her way, Y/n decided it was time to test out her new ability. She rapidly swung her right arm, building momentum as the fire within her right side blazed. As soon as the enemies were close, she released a fire tornado in their path. It had managed to take out at least half of the wave, but more and more kept coming.

Pressing her comms, Y/n said, “Can someone send back up my way?! There’s too many for me to handle.” Y/n kicked back the agent that was about to stab her in the back, but was too distracted to the point a different agent was able to cut her leg. “Fuck.”

Y/n quickly released an ice wall that at first glance, appeared to be the same height as the Great Wall of China. She hoped the barrier would give her enough time for her backup to appear. Focusing all her energy on her fireside, Y/n aimed at any agent near her, using her arm as a flamethrower.

However, worry immediately grew when no one had responded to her call within a couple minutes. Before she could request again, Nat had spoken bitterly in the comms, “On my way.” Sighing in relief, Y/n continued to fight off the agents the best she could.

But no matter how hard she tried to buy herself time, it seemed that Natasha was taking forever to come. It had gotten to the point that multiple lashes already appeared. Her healing regeneration couldn’t keep up at all. Not only that, but her body was either giving up from exhaustion or blood loss. It was only during the last couple agents when Natasha had shown up and quickly killed the remainder.

Y/n glanced at the assassin and noticed the lack of any injuries on her and it was as if she barely broke a sweat. “What happened? I almost got killed.”

Natasha glared at Y/n as she responded with, “I helped Bucky and Rhodey on the way, they needed it.” Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat knowing the redhead in front of her had practically lied. If backup was needed, it was always voiced through comms.

Even if Y/n had wanted to confront Natasha about it, she couldn’t. Natasha had already left to head to the quinjet. Y/n simply limped a couple feet from her. When Y/n arrived, it seemed that everyone else was already prepared for take off. Feeling ever more guilty, Y/n simply sat at the closet seat to the entrance that was away from the team. But something inside her broke even more noticing the lack of any questions or concerns from the team in regards to her injuries.

Not even bothering to buckle up, Y/n sulked in her thoughts when she realized, “Why doesn’t anyone care about me?”

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#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #fake memories

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cathrrrine · 3 years ago

Text

RUN | Pietro x Reader

Originally from my Wattpad

CHAPTER 14 - SLUG

"Let's begin with your name."

"You already know my name." I groaned.

"Your real name."

I sighed, "You already know it. My real name is Y/N L/N."

"See? Not so bad." Natasha rolled her eyes as she tilted her head slightly to the left, a mannerism of hers that she often displayed. "Now, your age."

"Oh, that's strictly confidential." I shook my head curtly.

"Y/N..." She warned.

"All I can tell you is that I'm an adult."

She raised an eyebrow in defiance, but she didn't push further. Natasha had brought me to an interrogation room, yet again, but this time it was a different one. It didn't have the big, ugly two-way mirror attached to the wall and instead of hard, uncomfortable chairs, this one had couches. Natasha sat on the one across from me, while I had been instructed to sit on the one with it's back to the wall. The room was annoyingly comfortable, in a way that made me want to vandalise every single object in a room.

It looked like they believed my surrender after all and the change in the way they handled me showed that. For starters, I wasn't in handcuffs. But, to be fair, I guess being in the same room with Romanoff was more than enough security, maybe even more than being cuffed.

Even if I knew I could fight her well.

"I don't need to tell you twice. You lie about anything at all, the deal's off."

It was another interrogation session. Oh my god, I hate that word. I hate even just thinking about it. I've thought about it and said it at least twelve thousand times, and frankly, I've gotten tired of it. If they kept this up, S.H.I.E.L.D would have wrung me dry by the end of the week.

If I wasn't so adamant on surviving, I would've thrown myself off the side of the building by now.

"Don't you think I've been through enough interrogations?" I voiced my thoughts aloud to the redhead in front of me, picking at my nails in boredom.

"There's no such thing as enough interrogations."

"God, you people are scrutinising." That earned me a huff. "And you make me yawn."

"Better safe than sorry, that's the motto." She replied sarcastically. "Next question, how long have you been with Hydra?"

That escalated quickly.

I gulped automatically, not out of fear, but out of habit. "Ever since..." I was born. "For as long as I can remember."

I wasn't lying. But that didn't mean I had to tell the whole truth.

"And you left when?"

"As soon as I could." On my 18th birthday.

"Why?"

"There it is! The hard-hitting question. I've been waiting for that one." This was harder than I thought it would be.

"Why did you leave Hydra?" Natasha repeated the question without a hitch.

"Well, I didn't like it."

"That's all?"

"What do you mean that's all? You don't like something, you leave. Common sense."

She stared at me intently. I've gotta say, she does this thing a whole lot better than Fury. I could technically see the gears in her head turning, calculating every emotion and every word. This woman knew how to play me at my own game. She didn't crack at the silence that ensued. My skin almost crawled at her stare.

Keyword, almost.

"Staring's not going to drag the answer out of my throat, you know." I leaned back on the soft, velvet couch.

They said I had to be honest for them to trust me, but honest hadn't even been in my vocabulary until 12 hours ago. What did they expect me to do? Immediately lose every sense of self-worth and start throwing every single fact about my life, every detail of the trauma that I've endured–to them?

Doing this meant saving my life, but it also meant having to give up at least a sliver of my secrets. Was it worth trading my secrets to these people for my life? Why did the price have to be so goddamn high?

I took a deep breath. "I was 10."

"Pardon?"

"When they first ordered me to kill someone."

I remember the weight of the gun in my small hands, the smell of blood in the air when I shot the man, and the sound of his body thumping on the gravel in the dead of the night.

"I don't remember who it was or why I had to kill him. But I remember enough to know that it was..." I trailed off against my will, the memory getting the best of me. As if the whole situation wasn't already pathetic.

I cleared my throat. "I remember enough to know that it wasn't right. I felt it in my bones."

Natasha stayed silent, willing me to continue. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I'm an angel or whatever. As I grew up I understood that I didn't want to be associated with these people. Hydra wasn't exactly a paradise, obviously. But it took me a while to understand that. And once I did, I took off."

"And they've been looking for you, ever since?"

"Yes."

"Does that explain yesterday's events?"

Him. "Unfortunately."

"How long?"

"How long, what?"

"Have you been running from them?"

My mind went blank. How many years has it been? Time looked like one long line for me. I mentally calculated the amount of days, months, years that it took for me to hide.

"6, 7? I don't remember how long it's been." I bit down on my lower lip, hard. "No one's ever asked. I never bothered to keep count either."

She nodded, uncrossing and recrossing her legs and shaking out her hair. The redhead woman seemed to contemplate what she was about to say next. For a second there, I was curious. How unsettling could the question be to make her visibly bothered?

When the words spilled out of her mouth, I wish I never wondered. "This is an important question—are you Enhanced?"

I winced. One question, out of all the other ones, was all it took the break the dam that I've built in my head. Memories came flooding back in, in flashes, in the aches of my muscles, pouring mercilessly into the forefront of my brain.

Muffled voices, bright fluorescent lights shining into my eyes, cold-sweats...my head pounded vigorously. I pinched the bridge of my nose, praying hard that I was hiding my discomposure well from her.

Was it worth it?

"You have to be honest, Y/N. We need to know if we can trust you."

Strenuous hands pulling at me, strapping me down, dilated pupils, the whirring of their monstrous machines...

"Yes, Natasha. I am."

———

SIX HOURS EARLIER

"She can't be trusted."

"She's done nothing that says so, so far."

"How do you know that, Maximoff? She's sly. She's sneaky. This could just be another game of hers."

"We could be very well falling into a trap right now."

"Send me in." Natasha crossed her arms, her expression unreadable. "I'll get her to tell us what we need."

"I don't doubt your interrogation skills, Nat, but do you really think it's a good idea? I mean, she's a lot like you." Clint remarked.

"That's exactly why I should go." There was an air of mystery to the way she insisted upon it.

They all looked to their Captain for his approval. Steve had both palms on the table, his head slightly bowed. He looked up to his team, eyeing every single one of them before his eyes landed on Natasha's.

"She's right." He stood up straight, mirroring Natasha's pose. "Nat, you bring her to the interrogation room. Do whatever you need to make her talk. Get all the information we need to know about her; her past, her abilities, her name for God's sake."

The redhead nodded, gesturing for him to continue.

"Wanda, I want you to sit in the next room. Read her mind. Make sure she's telling the truth."

"But-"

"Pietro, you go with her, make sure things don't go out of hand. And don't worry, kid. She can't hurt you, especially not when she's basically just waved the white flag."

He paused for awhile before continuing. "If it ultimately goes well...we should let her into the team."

"Are you kidding me?" Tony bit back.

"No. She's an asset. She's got useful information and skills we could put to use."

"Steve. What if she goes rogue, huh? And she decides to wake up one day and kill us all? This is a situation bound to go awry. We can't let a former Hydra agent in just like that." Tony ran a hand across his face before adding another comment. "I made the mistake of giving her the benefit of the doubt before and it only got us in trouble."

Steve pondered upon Tony's opinion for a while before nodding once and announcing his decision. "So, we put her on probation. Let her know that she's not totally off the hook, see where it'll lead."

"Rogers, are you sure about this?" Natasha pursed her lips.

"Yes." He uncrossed his arms and put his hands on his hips, in true Captain America fashion. "Let her know that she'll be pardoned if she tells the whole truth. Maybe it'll encourage her. I'll inform Fury about this whole thing."

The meeting room was silent for a while before the team began to disperse. Steve was the last one to go, but not before Natasha stopped him.

"Rogers. I need to tell you something."

———

PRESENT TIME

She looked surprised, but not as much as I thought she would be. I was expecting a little bit more than raised eyebrows. Maybe even a gasp. "What can you do?"

I chuckled dryly, "Maybe it's better to show than tell."

It was her turn to chuckle, not an ounce of humour in it. "Now's not the time for your sweet little antics. This isn't a talent show."

"Oh, really? Then what is this? I thought I was auditioning for your makeshift boyband."

"Well, maybe if you talked more and sassed less, you'd make the cut."

I shook my head again, slowly. I had to be careful with what I told them. The walls seemed to look duller and the couch I was on felt like a boulder instead of the plush heaven that it was.

"I'm an Echo."

"What does that mean?"

"It means exactly what it sounds like. I echo people." My hands trembled slightly at the mention of it. "I absorb other people's powers and I amplify it."

This was as much as I've ever told anyone ever since I ran from Hydra. Genuinely? I'm a little freaked out at the fact that I just did so. But it had to be the right decision. I couldn't afford to make another wrong turn.

Besides, I was in control here. I had the choice to tell them what I wanted to tell them and what I wanted to keep from them. I figured they should know that I had that little something up my sleeve this entire time.

After all; they were my only lifeline at the moment.

"Was that how you beat us the night we caught you?"

I thought back to that night, when I ran as fast as Pietro did and broke through the barriers of the Witch's force field. I shrugged, not bothering to please her with a response.

"Tell me more about your past."

I narrowed my eyes at her, "Really, Romanov? Digging for more? I already gave you enough, don't you think?"

Natasha blinked once, but didn't back down. "I ask, you answer. That was the deal, wasn't it?"

The smile didn't reach my eyes when I jut out a grin at her. "What do you wanna know about my past?"

"The basics. Where you're from, how you're here."

"I'm half-Russian." I shrugged. "And you already know how I got here."

"No. I know how you came to S.H.I.E.L.D. We brought you here. What I need to know is how you got into this whole ordeal."

A scoff escaped me, "Is this a therapy session or an interrogation?"

"Y/N."

"No, seriously, you're asking me about things that don't matter-"

"Y/N." She repeated, more sternly.

I tucked my arms to my chest so I wouldn't flinch as I said the words that haunted me.

The ones I knew haunted her too.

"I was born into it." My tongue felt heavy. "They raised me in the Red Room."

For the first time since we started, Natasha Romanoff gasped. It was barely audible, and it wasn't the show-stopping theatre moment I'd been looking for, but it was a gasp in itself. It's funny, though. I thought I'd be more amused. But the heavy feeling that sat on my chest drained all the humour out of me.

Natasha immediately rose from her seat, staring at me with possessed eyes. Her face had gone white as sheet, her lips pale.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me, Romanov."

She sauntered over to me, one foot stepping in front of the other. "Don't you dare lie to me."

"I'm not." My voice was weaker than I would've liked it to be, barely above a whisper. "I was trained in the Red Room. As soon as I was old enough, they shipped me off to the hands of Hydra."

She wasn't listening as intently anymore. Her eyes were locked on mine, but I could tell she wasn't exactly in the room anymore. Her head's probably off in the same place mine was in just a few minutes ago.

"Is that enough for you?"

Just like that, something snapped within her. "Tell me more."

"I already did."

"You're hiding something!"

I stood up so I was level to her height, my eyebrows knitting in anger. "I gave you what you wanted. I gave you the truth."

"No." She shook her head. "I want the full one."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

She trudged towards me, lifting up her shirt so her abdomen was exposed. "Do you know who gave this to me?"

It was a long scar on her hip, positioned slightly to the left of her belly button, the skin raised and bumpy. "How the hell am I supposed to know?"

"I got this on one of my first missions. I was assigned to escort a nuclear scientist out of Iran." She seethed. "We were ambushed by Hydra at the rendezvous in Odessa. My tires got shot, the car ran off a cliff."

"Where are you going with this?"

"I managed to save us both. But as soon as I did, the assassin who ambushed us open fired. Killed the scientist. Straight through me. Left one hell of a scar." She let go of the hem of her shirt. "A soviet slug."

It was my turn to grow pale. There was only one person who could do that. And I was far from ready to say his name.

"You knew him didn't you? I should've known all along."

"How?" I begged, the somewhat 'calm' demeanour I've tried hard to keep was long gone.

"Does it matter?" Her gaze was threatening. "You were trained by The Winter Soldier, weren't you Y/N L/N?"

#the winter soldier #damn i couldnt wait to write that #run pietro x reader #pietro x reader #pietro maximoff #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #miss romanoff hello maam can u pls step on me? thx #avengers #avengers reader insert #avengers x reader #wanda maximoff #steve rogers #pietro fanfiction

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moonbeambucky · 4 years ago

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Hey Neighbor (Part 15)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 4021 Warnings: fluff, mentions of the Holocaust

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: Thank you also to Ary (formerly @johnnynunzio) for helping me with information and resources for the history of Romani people during the Holocaust

PART 14 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

Walking up the steps to the hospital becomes a little difficult as you zig-zag through groups of people trying not to hit anyone with your umbrella. Under the overhang of the building you shake it out after closing it, hoping the umbrella doesn’t drip too much on the floors as you make your way to the elevator.

It’s been a really wet day but you don’t mind it so much considering all this rain is supposed to bring beautiful flowers next month and the hope of something beautiful is exactly what you needed now.

It hasn’t been the easiest going to work every day. Metro-General is where you first met Billy and now that you’ve broken up it’s all you can think about every time you have to head down to the ER.

Wanda came over that night you got back from work and broke the news that she and Sam spotted Billy with another woman. You insisted on seeing the proof, the pictures being the final push in your decision to end things with Billy.

You admitted how things weren’t the same anymore, his attitude plus lack of caring when you were sick really made you reconsider your relationship. It had been a few days since you spoke to Billy but you wanted to call him out in person, meeting at a coffee shop to discuss things.

Confronting him was easier than you thought but watching him lie to your face was not. You had proof and he still accused you and your friends of lying just to make him look bad. After a small outburst he finally fessed up to seeing the woman named Krista. Billy didn’t tell you how long he had been cheating which pissed you off but you walked away feeling good about ending things.

It didn’t mean that you felt good. You knew that it was Billy’s loss but still, it didn’t feel good to be cheated on. You questioned everything. Was he lying from the beginning? Was work the real reason he had to cancel a few times? All of these questions made you doubt your self-worth.

Your friends were great after your breakup, each one of them there for you, readily offering up a chance to kick Billy’s ass if you let them. You all went out to celebrate how you “took out the trash,” round after round dedicated to your new freedom. But being surrounded by everyone in relationships didn’t make you feel the best, everyone except Bucky.

You might have had a little too much to drink that night and in a tearful drunken cry you might have asked him what was so wrong with you to make Billy cheat.

Bucky might also have had too much as he slurred his answer, but still he was insistent.

“There ain’t nothing wrong about you Y/N. Nothin’. Assholes like Billy treat the world like it belongs to them, like everything is up for the taking, no consequences apply. But he’s wrong and he lost the best thing to ever happen to him. You hear me? You’re the best thing that could happen t’anybody.”

You replay Bucky’s words in your mind as you pass by the nurses’ desk where Billy gave you his card. It was his loss.

Since the breakup you’ve been throwing yourself into work again. Dating Billy wasn’t a mistake, he just wasn’t the right person for you and after careful consideration you decided to chalk up those feelings you might have had towards Bucky towards all the care he gave you when you were sick.

Bucky was your friend and a great one at that and so you made sure to fill your weekends by keeping a promise. You and Bucky began your pizza quest and it has been amazing. Your pants don’t quite agree with you but it’s definitely been worth it.

In between cases you responded to a text from Wanda. The exhibit she had been working on for The Jewish Museum is opening in a few weeks and she wanted to confirm you would be there. Like she really had to ask, of course you would.

Over the last few months she’s been working so hard on this and you couldn’t wait to be there to support her. Everyone was going and Sam made sure to take the day off.

Bucky: You up for a trek to Brooklyn?

The message caught you off guard but still brought a large smile to your face. You replied quickly asking what he was talking about and by the end of your shift it was decided; you and Bucky were going to Brooklyn for pizza.

“I haven’t been here in forever,” Bucky said, while opening the door to Spumoni Gardens for you.

“These better be worth the two transfers Bucky. I am starving!”

You may have exaggerated a little but you were pretty hungry. Bucky insisted that you must try this famous pizza, arguing that Brooklyn is technically within the boundaries as part of your pizza quest. Semantics aside, you trusted that the hour long trip to get here would be worth it.

Spumoni Gardens was famous for their Sicilian pie and Bucky ordered one the moment you were seated. Soon enough twelve thick slices were laid out in front of you in the most interesting looking square of pizza you had seen before, with the sauce on top.

With a skeptical eye you squint at Bucky who urges you to take a bite, eagerly awaiting your response. There was no denying it, as you sank your teeth into the deliciously thick crust, with sauce and cheese hitting your taste buds like a pinball setting off lights and sound as it hits the winning targets.

A proud grin settled on Bucky’s face as he held up his own slice, taking a bite as he watched you dab at the bit of sauce in the corner of your mouth with a napkin. His eyes light up, raising his brows in a silent request for your opinion.

“So good.” Every bit of enthusiasm is behind the few words you’ve said, combined with the smile that stayed plastered on your face as you quickly took another bite, needing to taste the symphony of flavors again.

Bucky paid for everything despite your protests. He insisted that since you indulged him in his craving after a long day of work it was only fair. Side by side you slowly strolled back to the train, making a promise to come back for the spumoni when you haven’t stuffed yourselves full of pizza.

Conversation was always easy with Bucky, making the ride back home a breeze. When you reached your block you saw familiar faces headed towards the building.

“Hey guys,” Bucky greeted Clint and Natasha, as they walked with their arms linked to the door.

“We just had the best pizza!” you blurted out, unable to control your enthusiasm for the amazing dinner you had.

“Oh yeah, well we just had some shitty pasta.” Natasha playfully smacked Clint in the stomach for his blunt remark. “What? It wasn’t good!” he snarked.

“We just came back from a wedding expo,” she added.

Her lips were tense as they pressed together. They had been wedding planning for a while, not getting very far. Natasha’s work had set her back, which she didn’t mind since she was excelling professionally but it did require her and Clint to push back their wedding date a few times since they couldn’t commit to the time frame required.

“It’ll come together in time,” you said, offering a hopeful smile.

“All I know is Sonny Burch is not going to cater our wedding. That food was awful. Now tell me more about this pizza.”

Clint was practically drooling throughout the elevator ride as you and Bucky described the incredible pizza you had. After saying goodnight to them you and Bucky held back your laughter hearing Clint begging Natasha to go to Spumoni Gardens tomorrow as the elevator doors were shutting.

“Thanks for dinner Bucky,” you said, pressing a kiss to his cheek before unlocking your door. “Oh wait! Hang on one second!”

As you went inside your apartment you missed the way Bucky touched his cheek, still feeling the tingle of your lips against his skin. A moment later you came out, handing him a wrapped present.

“For taking care of me last month when I was sick.”

“You didn’t have to Y/N.” He meant it, whatever it was you got him really wasn’t necessary but you insisted it was.

Your lips pressed together with excited anticipation, staring at Bucky with widened eyes as he began to tear off the wrapping. He held up the stretched white canvas rectangle with vertical lines of varied height going across it. He smiled kindly, unsure exactly what he was looking at which was fine, his gift needed a little explanation.

“It’s Herrmann’s Psycho score in soundwave form.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped open as he stared at the vertical lines that conveyed every beat, seeing the taller lines represent the higher strings, the greater tension of the score. It was so unique, so perfectly suited for him and he knew you truly understood who he was.

“I love it. Thank you so much Y/N.”

One arm wrapped around you as he held the artwork out of the way. This gift reaffirmed the feelings he felt for you, making it harder to deal with the fact that he wasn’t going to do anything about them.

After your break up with Billy you made it very clear that you were not interested in dating. This was not the time for him to open up to you. He didn’t want to push you into anything you weren’t comfortable with so once again Bucky needed a distraction from his feelings. This is how he found himself back on the dating apps.

He finally went on a date with Bobbi, a few actually, only to find that the real chemistry they had was in the bedroom. The longer Bucky stared at the artwork you gave him the more he felt like calling her to help push aside you and thoughts of the amazing non-date that you had, but he knew she was out of town for the weekend.

Bucky’s too tired to get involved with calling someone else so instead he settled down in front of his keyboard. His fingers glide across the keys as he’s filled with inspiration, pouring his heart into a melody with you on his mind.

Wanda paced back and forth in her apartment, stopping each time to check her reflection in the scalloped mirror above her dresser when she passed it. The way she swept back the few loose tendrils of her now more conservative light brown hair wasn’t out of vanity but nerves, needing to do anything to stop the shakiness of her hands.

“Hey, everything’s going to be perfect. I promise you have nothing to worry about,” you said, offering open arms to Wanda.

She was so fidgety she was barely able to stay in your embrace for more than a second. Wanda couldn’t help it. Tonight was the opening of The Jewish Museum’s exhibit on The Holocaust and Wanda was extremely nervous. Knowing this day was so important to her, you took off from your internship, promising Elena you would make up the hours.

The buzzer of her doorbell rang and Wanda jumped with excitement. “Mom!” Wanda called out, running towards the door.

It had only been a few months since they saw each other but on a stressful day like this nothing comforted Wanda more than her mom.

“Y/N, it’s so good to see you sweetheart.” Marya wrapped her arms around you and it felt like home, and seeing her brought back all the memories of your youth with Wanda and Pietro.

It was impossible not to think about him, especially considering he shared so many features with his mom. Piet would have been so proud of Wanda today and amidst the hug you choke back the tears you felt forming.

Wanda needed to be at the museum early so you and Marya went for a light dinner first as she headed there. Catching up was easy and Marya told you how proud she was for all the hard work you’ve been putting in to get your degree. The passion behind social work was unspoken because she already knew how deeply you felt about the circumstances of Wanda and Pietro’s upbringing.

“I think about it sometimes… what could have been.”

The twinkle in her eye suggested she knew the childhood crush you harbored for her son. It wasn’t something you ever admitted before. Even Wanda didn’t know.

“Years ago I finally had the strength to go through his things. I may have found your names in a heart, scratched on what should have been his notes on American history.”

You brushed aside a tear that trickled down along the curved cheek from your smile. Piet hated history so doodling became a common way to pass the time, and knowing he felt the same doesn’t make it any easier in losing him.

Marya brought a napkin to her face to soak up her own tears. She apologized though you told her there was no reason to. “So tell me, are you seeing anyone?”

As you retold the story of putting off relationships while you earned your degree you saw her mouth pull into a frown.

“Don’t put your life on hold, you know how quickly things can change.”

Her advice didn’t feel like a lecture, and you knew you might have jumped the gun on calling off dating again; not everyone would be like Billy.

An intricately detailed archway leads you through the main doors and into the crowded lobby of the museum. It’s past the normal operating hours, premiering the exhibit for the media and friends and family first.

You spot your friends gathered together in the corner and happily introduce them to Marya. Sam smiles a little wider as he introduces himself. “Yes, that Sam,” he replied. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Bucky is wearing his long hair down, neatly tucked behind his ears and even in all black he stands out. The white printed pattern on his black button down shirt draws your eye to the velvet blazer that makes him look incredibly sophisticated.

“You look great,” Bucky said, as you both leaned in to press your cheeks against each other for a kiss.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of you and the shine of your beige satin shirt. The delicate gold chain you wore draped lower than the V-neck cut and he let his eyes linger down your body, from the black pants that hugged your figure to the pointed black heels.

“Thanks, you look pretty good yourself. Ooh fancy,” you said, running your hands along his velvet lapel.

The chatter in the lobby grew for another ten minutes until you were directed to follow the group towards the exhibit. Marya was accompanied by Sam and both their faces lit up as they spotted Wanda, standing proudly beside a curtain that was drawn across the entry of the main room. Her eyes twinkled as she spotted them, you and everyone amongst the crowd.

A man not much taller than her walked in front of the curtain with a microphone in hand. He introduced himself as the museum’s director Phillip Coulson. Wanda had always spoken highly of him and you can see why. He was soft spoken with a kind smile, welcoming everyone to the exhibit.

“On the eve of Yom HaShoah we invite you to do what is asked, remember. We remember through stories, from letters that made it out while their writers did not. We remember through pictures, of people and the faces we strive to never forget, of discarded belongings left behind deemed as irrelevant as the lives of their owners. As we remember the decimation and destruction we also remember the endurance, the survival. We remember and we will never forget.”

A round of applause breaks through the crowd with the increased flashing of camera lights as Director Coulson gestures to Wanda who proudly draws open the curtain, opening the exhibit.

The large room is painted in a somber blue, as if the life had been sucked out of a once vibrant sky. It’s fitting. This is a place of reverence, surrounded by artifacts that tell a painful history.

There were three smaller rooms connected to the main area, each showcasing smaller exhibits, one of which you knew was the one Wanda was most proud of. She stood in front of it, awaiting her friends so you could walk through it together.

“It’s called The Ghosts of Genocide and it focuses on the Romani aspect of the Holocaust.”

Unlike the main room there were few displays. One wall was dedicated to Philomena Franz, the first Romani woman to document her experiences in the concentration camps. You read the information beside her photograph, “Zwischen Liebe und Hass” (“Between Love and Hate”) was her autobiography, the dichotomy of a happy childhood against the brutality of Auschwitz.

The next photograph was of Elena Lacková, a Slovakian Romani poet and playwright. “Holocaust Romů v povídkách” (“Holocaust of Roma in short stories”). A copy of the out of print book was behind a glass enclosure.

The large wall featured the paintings of Ceija Stojka, an Austrian Romani Holocaust survivor. You chew on your bottom lip tensely as you stare at the images. Simple ink depictions of dead bodies stacked in a haphazard pile like they were nothing more than logs meant for a fire. One image burns itself into your brain, “Mama in Auschwitz” the wide-eyed look of fear immortalized by the memory of a child.

“Wanda.” You clear your voice of the thickness that built up inside, the heavy lump that weighed on your chest from reading everything. “Forgive me if this sounds disrespectful but I thought you were supposed to incorporate the history of those who were Jewish and Romani.”

She sighed heavily. “I was but there are so many factors that play into the reason why I couldn’t; loss of information being a big one but also most people didn’t specify that they were Jewish. Obviously we know that some were but it was an issue of safety. They were already dealing with being Romani and the prejudices that came with that so they couldn’t come out with it. It’s why we have this.”

She turned you around to the far wall, glossy black tile shines against striking spotlights.

“But it’s blank.”

She nodded, pointing to the dedication. “For the countless, nameless Jewish-Romani lives lost.”

You reached out to touch the wall, your palm against the cold tile; the emptiness that contrasts so starkly in a place filled with history on every wall. And you suppose the lack of information is a lesson learned in history itself.

“This is pretty powerful stuff,” Bucky’s voice called out from behind you.

“Yeah. It is.” You didn’t have any more words.

When the night was coming to a close everyone went home quietly. Wanda’s achievements would be celebrated another night. It was comfortably silent as you and Bucky left the elevator. The unexpected feeling of your arms wrapping around him for a hug was surprising but nice and he deepened the action, firmly pulling you closer to the soft fabric of his blazer.

“Sweet dreams Y/N,” he whispered before you went inside.

That night Marya’s words replayed in your mind and after the exhibit’s reminder on how precious life is you promise yourself to be open to whatever the future brings.

Golden hues begin to creep in on the blue sky ahead of you. As the day starts to wind down the city doesn’t stop. Construction is contained by go-away green walls, with orange and white barricades used to redirect traffic on the busy street. Brake lights flare as the cars begin honking incessantly at the driver going far too slow for the city’s standards.

You see it all from the observation deck of the High Line, accompanied by Bucky and a dozen other people enjoying the first weekend of warmth. You climb the stairs away from the crowd and find a bench beside a small tree.

Bucky opens the box he’s been carrying for a while, revealing two unique and delicious doughnuts that you couldn’t wait to try.

“What’s the square one again?” you asked, licking your lips in anticipation.

“Blackberry jam, and the other is rose I think?” his voice raises with uncertainty. “It looks like a rose at least.”

That it did. The dough was shaped to look like a rose in bloom, with a pink glaze over it. Both were tempting you and the decision was tough but you chose to try the jam filled doughnut first. Hands made sticky by the glaze, you tried your best to pull it apart evenly for Bucky to have an equal share.

Your head nodded in approval as you tasted the sweetness of the jam, mixed perfectly with the airy dough. “This is good,” you said, with your hand hovering over your mouth as you continued to chew through your words.

Bucky brushed his fingers down the corners of his mouth, wiping them on a napkin afterwards and you laughed to yourself. When you were ready Bucky presented the rose shaped doughnut to you as if he was handing over a bouquet.

“How sweet,” you feigned sweetness, bringing your hands together in your best impression of a Disney princess pose.

He let you rip off the first piece of the doughnut, finding it had come apart in a small crescent which was fine, you weren’t sure you could eat much more than that.

Bucky cleared his throat as the glaze melted against his fingers. “So, uh, I have something to ask you.” His nerves stilled momentarily as you hummed in response, sucking the glaze off your fingers.

“Will you be my date to my cousin’s wedding?”

You weren’t sure what he was going to ask but this was definitely not what you imagined. It surprised you especially considering the long list of available women he had to choose from and you couldn’t help but ask him that.

“Them? No. They’re not good enough to bring to a wedding,” he replied.

“Bucky that’s horrible!” you playfully scoffed.

His head dropped down, cringing at his words. “I didn’t mean it like that! I don’t really know any of ‘em that well, and it would be nice to have a friend with me and just have fun.”

Thoughts were running through your head faster than you could process them. Being asked to be Bucky’s date seemed like a dream come true. Yes, despite losing hope in dating after what you went through with Billy it didn’t stop the crush you had on Bucky from growing. But your mind stopped your heart from indulging in its fantasy, reminding you that Bucky legitimately had a long list of women to choose from and you were one of many.

His reasons for asking you made sense, you were very close and sometimes you questioned Bucky’s intentions. He’s never made you feel uncomfortable, it’s the opposite. You’re always comfortable with Bucky, no matter what you do. It feels like what a relationship should be except without the intimacy.

That was the scariest part of it all. Part of you wanted to take a risk and see if there could be something more to what you had but what if it makes you just another girl on his list. A convenient person to sleep with along with the others.

“Please, I already RSVP’d for two,” he begged, staring at you with big eyes as his plush bottom lip protruded out comically far.

The tug of war between your brain and heart wins in favor of the latter as you agreed to go with him, convincing yourself that it’s just a date to a wedding with a friend and nothing more.

PART 16

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes series

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star-spangledstud · 4 years ago

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MIND GAMES - TWO

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve suggests dinner with the team. You find out you hate lying.

Warnings: angst, mentions of violence, anxiety

Note: Wanna be tagged in future chapters? Shoot me a message :)

SERIES MASTERLIST.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER.

A hail of half-empty wine glasses, trail mix and playing cards fly around the room when the coffee table they were stood on is flipped upside down. Your back hits the carpet with a dull thud, followed soon after by the back of your head. You wince loudly, hand reaching immediately for the base of your skull to relieve the throbbing pain that will no doubt leave you with a menacing headache for days to come.

The men in black, whose faces are nothing but a swirl of flesh tones in your peripheral, grab you by each ankle while you try to recover from your fall. They shout in a foreign language as glass shatters somewhere in one of the other rooms. Then, the sound of open gunfire and the scent of smoke and gunpowder pervade the air. You’re screaming, kicking your feet and flailing your arms wildly while they drag you along the floor, but the sound of your voice is drowned out by the shouting and the guns.

Glass and trailmix accumulate in your hair when they drag you across the room, and small pieces cut the back of your arms and legs. You’re crying, you can tell because your cheeks are warm and wet, and the tears flowing from your eyes mix with the blood of your dead family as they run down the length of your face.

The good thing is you know you’re having a bad dream, but the problem is that you’ve seen this scene unfold so many times that you’re not sure whether the memory of what happened is real or not.

You’ve seen the scene play out well over one hundred times in your sleep. Red liquid flies through the air in slow motion, your assailants shove their weapons in your face, you try to run away but feel nailed to the ground. You’ve experienced it so many times, and have attempted to change what happens in so many instances. Still, whatever you do, the ending is always the same.

The faces of the men responsible for the murder of your family are blurry, not because you hit your head so hard you can’t see straight, but because you don’t remember what they look like. Their features are warped beyond recognition, and no matter how hard you try to focus on the words spilling from their mouths, you can’t identify any of what they’re saying. It almost sounds like you’re underwater.

In the dream, you try to remember where you are, but your immediate surroundings change every time. Sometimes the coffee table is glass, sometimes it’s wood. The wallpaper shows a different pattern each time you look at it, and the dead bodies scattered all around the room have the same undefined features as your assailants. The only thing that remains the same is the feeling of absolute hopelessness and terror as they drag you away to an unmarked aeroplane that takes you somewhere in Eastern Europe.

Poland, maybe. You can’t remember, even though you came to spend the next seven years of your life there.

Nearly every one of these dreams is the same. It’s just you, watching scenes of your life unfold through a thick curtain of smoke that hides the most distinct, essential details. A large, gaping black hole has been punched through the part of your brain responsible for the production of memories. No matter how hard you try to fill in the blank spaces, it proves to be absolutely impossible.

Whatever HYDRA did to erase your memories, it worked.

It’s hard to think straight when you wake up in the middle of the night, images of the dream you just had still playing before your eyes. You hoped that getting further away from the people that created those dreadful memories would allow the pictures to go away. Yet, as you sit up straight in bed, chest heaving up and down in rapid motions, you know they followed you even here, like a thundercloud continuously looming over you.

As your first week in the compound comes to a close, you find yourself slowly getting settled into your new home. With Steve practically following you around every chance he gets, the two of you take the time exploring the entire building from top to bottom. He shows you the library, the garage, the gym and the lab, and promises to take you to the theatre the next time the team hosts a movie night.

You don’t tell him you haven’t seen a single movie in years, but the words are on the tip of your tongue while he rattles on about 21st century flicks he was forced to watch and ended up really loving.

When the two of you walk along the corridors of the compound, it’s mostly him who talks while you do the listening. You don’t mind it. It gives you time to think. While he speaks, you find yourself trying to dissect the inside of his mind. Still, no matter how hard you listen, all that comes up is silence. It’s odd not to be distracted by a second voice in your head. You’re not used to the simplicity of not having to focus on what’s coming from the other person’s mouth instead of what’s coming from their thoughts.

Each day that passes, Steve introduces you to a new member of the team. The first person you come across is Sam Wilson, who you find running on the treadmill two days after your arrival. He immediately takes a liking to you, and you end up chatting for nearly an hour straight. His thoughts are almost deafening, but his sense of humour makes up for his internal volume.

By the time Saturday rolls around, you find yourself able to chat comfortably with everyone you’ve met so far. Even Tony Stark, who appears at first to be quite wary of your presence despite giving you a place to stay, engages in conversation with you over a cup of black coffee. It’s relatively easy to befriend people when you can see straight through them, especially when they aren’t aware of your abilities.

Still, it’s odd how easily all of them have accepted you into their little bubble.

“Are you okay?”

Unease blooms in the pit of your stomach when you realize you’ve been quiet for nearly fifteen minutes, and your palms instantly begin to sweat.

“Yeah,” you quickly conjure up a smile, “just thinking.”

“About what? If you don’t mind me asking,” Steve asks softly.

“I don’t know,” you tell him truthfully, “I feel like this is all very weird.”

Sam raises a brow, “What do you mean?”

“You guys don’t even really know me,” you remind him, “and you’re giving me shelter. I’m just having trouble wrapping my head around all of this.”

“We’ve read your file,” Steve bites his lower lip, “letting you in was a collective decision, made by all of us.”

Sam nods in agreement, arms crossed tight over his chest.

Wondering what exactly is written in this so-called file, you chuckle dryly, “no offence guys, but I think that file might be missing a few important details.”

Steve blushes, “a lot of it was blacked out. Look, maybe we should all come together tonight, have dinner or something. You can tell us more about yourself if you want.”

“Yeah,” Sam exclaims, “good idea, cap.”

Your heart picks up, pushing your pulse while you slowly nod your head, “sure.”

“Great,” Steve steps towards his own room and places his palm on the fingerprint scanner, “we’ll let everybody know.”

Sam turns around and heads for his own room. You quickly disappear into the safety of your bedroom and slam the door shut a little too hard in the process.

“Crap,” you mutter to yourself, “fuck!”

You are not looking forward to this.

“What do you mean, you’ve never heard of Asgard?!”

Thor’s voice booms over the sound of clinking cutlery and laughter. You slowly lift your shoulders before taking a large sip of water, allowing the cold beverage to relieve the tension in the back of your throat.

It’s hard to keep all the buzzing internal monologues in the back of your mind, and it takes a moment for you to center yourself before you can answer Thor’s burning question.

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly, “I just never had a chance to read up on Norse mythology. Please forgive me. I’m sure it’s a beautiful place.”

It is beautiful, Thor pouts, I miss it.

“I’m sure you miss it very much,” you add quickly, to which he smiles sadly.

“Don’t listen to him,” Tony smirks, “he has a big ego and a tiny brain.”

You nearly choke on your water when he winks in your direction. You roll your shoulders to rid yourself of the tension building in your muscles and prepare yourself for the direction the conversation is headed next.

“So, Y/N,” Tony continues, “how do you know Fury?”

Of course you knew he was going to ask this. He’s been thinking about it for the last fifteen minutes. Still, heat rises to your cheeks when you place your glass down, and you push a few stray strands of hair from your face and tuck them behind your ear. Your heart is pounding now, but in a room full of enhanced people, including some of the world’s best spies, you know better than to allow yourself to freak out.

Steve, who’s seated right next to you, shifts in his seat. The action, albeit hardly noticeable, startles you anyway, and your eyes fly in his direction out of reflex. You think he looks nice, dressed in a cream colored sweater with his hair swooped to one side, and in a fit of insanity, you’re tempted to compliment him and ignore Tony all together.

“I don’t actually,” you say slowly, “My mom did, before she passed away. They knew each other before SHIELD was even a thing, when they were still young.”

“So how’d you get his number?” Clint questions.

“My mom gave it to me be before she died, told me to call it if I ever needed help.”

“What’d you need help for?” he continues.

“Clint, that’s enough-” Steve says before you can answer.

“No, it’s okay,” you gently touch his arm, “my family got caught up with the wrong people a long time ago. Since the death of my mother tensions have only gotten worse. Fury offered me a place to stay while I wait for things to settle down.”

“What kind of people?” Natasha asks while she lays her fork down.

“I think Fury can tell you more about that than I can,” you take a bite of your potatoes, “my mom did her best to shelter me.”

Your gaze flies back and forth between Natasha and Steve, and you begin to pray that she out of everyone at this table believes your story. You’re hyper aware of every move you make, and the tension in the air is almost too much for you to bear.

The crease between Steve’s brows and his hunched shoulders make you more uncomfortable. You read the room to make sure they believe you, before picking up your glass and taking another sip of water. Slowly, the conversation dies down, and you’re left with shallow breathing and red cheeks by the time Tony and Sam begin a discussion about a video game they were playing last night.

“Are you okay?”

Steve’s voice is soft in your ear. The unmistakable hint of concern is evident in its tone when it breaks through your thoughts, and you quickly nod as to not alarm him any further.

When you walk back to your room later that evening, you can’t ignore the painful twist in your stomach. Your hands are tightened into fists by the time you enter your dorm, and the need to swallow away the lump in your throat is nearly overbearing. You could never tell them you used to work for HYDRA, not in a million years. They would cast you out immediately, send your ass to the curb or lock you away in a federal prison for the rest of your life before they’d let you get away with it.

You didn’t think lying to people you hardly know could hurt this much.

NEXT CHAPTER.

Taglist:

@foxyjwls007 @littlegasps @hurricane-abigail @idk123906

#Steve Rogers #marvel masterlist #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x oc #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #captain america #captain america fic #captain america imagine #captain america imagines #cap #Marvel writing #marvel fic #marvel #chris evans imagine #chris evans x reader #chris evans #jammywrites

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all1e23 · 5 years ago

Text

Swallow [Pt. 7]

Chapter: Convictions and Lies

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Summary: It’s becoming increasingly clear that Bucky will have to choose between his brothers and his girl. Y/n learns a secret.

Warnings: Adulty themes. Yes, I’m a grown-up, and I said adulty themes. Heavy Angst (I know. What else is new with series, right?) Sweet Bucky because I still standby that as a warning.

A/N: I’m sorry it’s been so long between updates, but tbh this fic takes a lot out of me when I write it – it’s emotionally exhausting to write. Send me love because I’m needy. No beta Read at your own risk. ;-)

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam though! Thanks!*

You’ve been falling; falling fast and hard, tumbling down into the dark -- the same darkened, treacherous place your head told your heart you would never visit again.

At least that’s what you have been telling yourself the last few years-- an attempt to soothe the ache of losing the other half of your heart. It turned out the dark wasn’t so scary and hidden within the shadows was the promise of something brighter. If you could give enough of your heart and place your trust in the one person, who knew where the light is hidden.

The only source of light your soul has ever needed never failed to be found within James Barnes's heart. No matter the fearsome winds and dark clouds that roll in threatening to steal his warmth, the darkness never comes, and this time would be no different.

Seven days you’ve spent, and the clouds that lingered nearby have yet to change directions even with the powerful winds approaching.

A week of sweet kisses, soft whispers, and delicate touches pointed you towards those dark hidden shadows -- sunlight pierced holes through those dark clouds that loomed just off the coast, and you’ve never felt more at home. As you lay in Bucky’s bed, watching him sleep, your heart was right there to remind you of the promises you made to yourself and how you’ve broken every one from the moment you came home. There wasn’t a part of you that could be moved to care, heart included. The only place you have ever felt at peace was when you were by Bucky’s side. He was the only home your wandering soul knew, and no one could change that.

And while nothing, absolutely nothing, sounded better than spending the day sheltered in Bucky’s arms and basking in the glow radiating from his heart and yours, you needed coffee.

Your bright morning would quickly take a wrong turn onto a dimly lit backroad if you did not find some type of caffeine and fast. Begrudgingly, you tore yourself from his side and grabbed some of the clothes you had stashed around Bucky's room. The real trick was going to be making it downstairs without anyone seeing. Not that you were in any way ashamed or embarrassed by where you spent the last several nights -- scared was a more accurate assessment of your feelings.

Scared to let go and fearful of what would come when you do. Adding people's opinions to that fear would only create a fire you were not prepared to handle.

For now, this was only you and him.

You quietly slipped down the stairs to avoid attention, but the amount of noise you made wouldn’t have made a difference. All eyes were on you the moment you landed at the bottom step. You groaned internally but managed to keep your face blank as you crossed the room towards the only friendly face in the room.

You sat down on the table next to Peggy and asked with a smile, “No one noticed me, right?”

Peggy smirked and handed you what you assumed was her cup of coffee. “Of course not.” She assured you. “No one noticed that you came down at seven-thirty in the morning and had a pair of lace panties stuck to your jeans.”

She winked and pulled the blush-colored lace from your thigh. “Shall I wash it for you?”

You snatched it from her hand and shoved it into your pocket. “Let’s never speak of this again, and thank you for the coffee.”

“You’re welcome,” Peggy added as she stood intent on grabbing herself another cup from the kitchen.

“It looks good on you, darling,” Peggy mentioned, turning back to find your head tilted to the side and confusion written all over your face. You didn’t have anything special on, just jeans and an old Guns N’ Roses t-shirt Bucky had bought you years ago. She playfully rolled her eyes nodding to towards the bird on your wrist -- the one now bared for all to see.

“Settling back into your life. Being home.” She clarified.

The sound of footsteps making their way downstairs had her grinning, and she promptly made her way to the kitchen. No need to add another pair of eyes to this already delicate situation.

The room full of nosy boys were enough.

Bucky descended the stairs a moment later, only adding to the awkward tension in the air. His was hair tousled from sleep still, his leather unzipped and open to show off the thin white v-neck he was wearing under it. In the middle of his chest sat a small ring hanging from a silver chain. You would know that ring against a thousand others. You doubted anyone would recognize the chain let alone the ring, maybe Steve.

You didn’t know what Steve was paying attention to back then or now, for that matter. By the look of things, no one was the same person they were five years ago -- Bucky more so than the rest.

The leather he was sporting wasn’t new, but the smile on his face certainly was.

Since the night you snuck in, tensions within the clubhouse have shifted, and the focus was no longer on who was breaking whose heart. It made the days a little sweeter and the nights a little longer, not just for the two of you. Bucky’s been smiling on the regular, talking openly and even laughed when Peter made a joke. Sam had been there to ease the kid into a chair when he went pale and queasy.

Naturally, they all wanted to ask what had their vice president so cheery, but no one dared to tease him. There was never a discussion between you, but it had seemed you both agreed not to talk about what was happening. Though you were sure everyone knew you were the reason, it was hard to miss the sun shining through to break up a rain cloud.

Still, avoiding the topic was probably for the best. Clint hadn’t been to the clubhouse since his chat with Steve and hadn’t spoken to you in three days, six hours and twenty-six minutes (Not that you were counting or anything). He couldn't -- wouldn’t accept your decision, and you didn’t know how to repair the rift it caused between you. The last words he uttered to you was a promise that has been replaying in your head ever since. He swore to you that taking Bucky back was a mistake, and if you went down this path, he didn’t know if he would be able to fix things this time.

You had to trust that in time, Clint would understand. He’s never been able to stay mad at you for long.

Bucky continued by every member that sat, scattered throughout the clubhouse missing countless opportunities to sit near someone else. He could have found a place near Peter or Tony and avoided the one thing the club considered to be a chink in Bucky’s armor -- his defect.

As weak as you made him, you have never been his weakness regardless of what anyone else thinks.

He swung his leg over the chair in front of you, his eyes glued to yours as he lowered himself onto the harsh wooden seat. He smirked and tilted his head to the side, watching as your eyes frantically searched to see who around you were paying attention.

Everyone was watching with interest. Typical.

You looked back at Bucky to find him grinning, eyes shimmering in delight and you knew he did this on purpose. He was never one to shy away from touching you in public. You knew what it looked like from the outside -- a possessive claim, but the truth was the poor boy has never been able to keep his hands off you.

He wanted this, and it was okay to admit you did too.

“Hi, pretty girl.”

You beamed, and your eyes lit up.

“Hey, Buck.”

“So,” Bucky whispered as his hands landed on the tops of your thighs and casually moved up and down the soft material of your jeans. Getting the hint, you set your coffee down and draped your arms over his shoulders. He stopped at the top of your thighs and gave a gentle squeeze as he spoke again softer this time but still confident. “I was thinkin’ you could bring some of your things over from Clint’s.”

“Buck.” You scold, gently and slightly amused. You should have expected it really. Bucky didn’t know what slow meant when it came to you.

“Remember we are taking things slow so we can figure out how to be with each other again and you are not going to punch someone for talking to me.” You reminded, and he grinned.

“Baby...” Bucky’s voice trailed off as his hands tightened on your thighs and he carefully pulled you off the table where you fell into his waiting lap. A soft squeak fell from your lips, and he quickly swallowed it with a chaste kiss.

It only lasted a second, but it had your head spinning.

“I’ve had you spread out in my bed the last six nights in a row,” He said, raspy and quiet, his lips so close they brushed against yours as he spoke, “You haven’t been home since and I know you got things stashed in around. What’s the difference if you have some clothes in my closet?"

Everything he was saying was right, and in some part of your brain, it made sense but, what happened when you let go? Your heart wasn't ready to find out.

“If you think I’m living in this filthy ass clubhouse you aren’t very smart.” You sassed, covering fear with a sassy quip worked for your brother it could work for you. Too bad the man you were trying fool knows every inch of your skin and every beat of your heart. Bucky could see right through you.

“Okay, let’s get a house,” Bucky conceded, pulling back just enough to clear the haze your lips filled his head with. “I can go anywhere as long as you’re there with me, baby doll. There isn’t much I need to get by. Just one important thing.”

You ignored the thudding that was sounded from your chest and wrapped your fingers around the chain slowly twirling the glimmering silver around your hand. You gave it a gentle tug until your noses were nearly bumping and inquired. “You take things that aren’t yours now? Should I add thief to your resume?”

“Outlaws don’t have resumes darlin’.” He grinned.

A large hand splayed on your lower back pushed you further into his lap, and bucky quickly cleared up why it’s still hanging from his neck. “The woman I love left it behind. I’ve just been keeping it safe until she’s ready to carry the weight of it again.”

Oh.

“What if she can’t carry the weight of it?” You whispered, tightening your hold on the chain to the point it was beginning to tear at your skin. “What if the club and everything this ring stands for can’t coexist?”

Bucky bumped his nose against yours, and his eyes flicked up from the chain between you to meet your eyes. He felt stupid for not seeing that coming, but the answer was so simple he thought you would have figured it out by now. Bucky’s had five years to live with the consequences of not choosing you, and it’s not a pain he’s willing to shoulder again.

“I can live without a lot of things, but you are not one of them,” Bucky said gently and with firm conviction. “I learned that the hard way and, I can promise you, it’s the only thing I know for certain. There is nothing that could keep me from choosing you, and if I have to, I’ll burn it all down for you.”

Burn it all down, for you.

Nearly six years it’s been, and those words were like a sweet prayer you never thought you would hear. You knew the look Bucky was wearing, the determination and sincerity in eyes gave life to his words in a way that left you aching to believe him.

Deep down, you both knew it wouldn’t be that easy though, regardless of who was burning, you both would get caught in the flames.

Steve cleared his throat, dousing the kindling between you in cold water, smothering your bright morning in a toxic cloud of smoke and ash. Just like always, the perfect reminder that the club would always be there to steal him with such ease, it left you feeling silly and naive for having ever having hope.

Bucky peered over your shoulder at Steve and pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “I’ll be done in an hour. Hang around, please?” Your arms tightened around his waist, and he sighed. “We can go to lunch when I’m done and talk. I’m not going to hide anything from you, but I gotta go in there baby doll.”

Your arms slowly fell from his side, and you did your best to shimmy out of his lap without falling -- your trembling legs were no help. Bucky rose to his feet and zipped his leather concealing his heart and your ring, not that there was much of a difference between the two. A light kiss was placed to your temple, and heavy boots echoed through the barroom ending with the rattling slam of the wooden doors that separated you.

--------

The dread that came with being behind these doors made Bucky sick. The heaviness of the gavel never left his hand even after he passed it on to Steve, and now that you were back in his arms, it only made him yearn to be free of it all. Every bullshit meeting, every idiotic rule, and every painful decision that pushed him further away from the man he wanted to be -- the man he was when he was with you.

The club would be alright without him when the time came, or it would come crashing down. Bucky wanted to care, but he didn’t. He only needed to get the club through this bullshit with Red Skulls, and he was gone, whether Steve let him go or not.

Several grumbled voices rang throughout the room as Steve’s gavel came down. Bucky was uneasy, and the meeting hadn’t begun, you didn’t want him sitting at the table, and he honestly didn’t want to be there. None of this shit has mattered for years, and it didn’t hold a candle next to you. He’d much rather be tangled up in you with his head buried between your thighs drawing out those sweet whimpers that drive him crazy than listening to their next mistake.

“Where is Barton, and how come his sister is walking around like she owns the damn place?” An annoyed voice griped from the back of the room, Bucky wasn’t sure who said it, but they were about to regret ever opening their damn mouth. He sat up, and Sam’s hand was on his chest shoving him back into his seat before anyone could take notice -- Steve noticed of course.

Punk never does miss anything.

“Clint is dealing with some family shit that isn’t anyone’s business and as for Y/n,” Steve glanced at Bucky, waiting for the okay before continuing. “She’s your VP’s old lady, so watch your damn mouth and show her the same respect you give Peggy.”

Everyone's head jerked over to Bucky who didn’t say a word, just gave a slight nod to the room and turned to face Steve. He wasn’t talking about you or whatever was happening between the two of you in this room. Ever again. His relationship was not club business any longer.

“Right,” Steve said, club president demeanor in place. “Now that all of that is out in the open, can we focus on club business? Red Skulls are dipping their hands into things I can’t let slide -- selling guns to kids and trading their girls for weapons and information on their enemies. Primarily us and our families. This has been a long time coming. They have threatened everyone sitting at this table, and it’s time we take them down before they hurt anyone else.”

“Agreed?” Steve looked around at a room of nodding heads -- everyone but Bucky. Didn’t matter anyway, when Steve called for a vote it was simple numbers, and Bucky was the odd man out.

“On to our bigger issue,” Bucky frowned and finally looked over at Steve.

Bigger issues? What the hell is more significant than taking down another club?

“We’ve got a rat within our ranks, or that's the way it looks at least."

--------

The girls were great, and you loved Peggy, truly did, but you couldn't sit idly by in the clubhouse while they voted on your life and Buckys. Yeah, you didn’t know what the vote was, but there was always a vote. It may not be directly tied to you, but every choice they made in that room affected every aspect of your lives.

Peggy was wrapped up talking to Pepper; you took your chance and snuck out the backdoor to get some air. You briefly thought about waiting on Bucky’s bike, so he knew where you were but decided against it. It would just make it easier for the girls to find you and, you needed a break. So, you snuck off to hide in your jeep.

Bucky would find you. He always finds you.

"Hey, pretty girl."

That wasn’t Bucky.

Your entire body stiffened at the sound of another man's voice saying those words to you. That was Bucky's and Bucky's alone. It felt dirty coming from someone else, and you really didn’t like the way Eddie Brock said it.

"Eddie. How are you?" You greeted and let him ramble on about while you subtly kept your eyes on the clubhouse. Eddie knew what he was doing. No one just showed up there without an invitation and certainly not someone who was kicked out by the club’s vice president.

"Y/n?" You blinked and refocused on Eddie.

"You okay?" He asked with such concern you almost believed he cared.

"Oh, yeah. I'm sorry." You cleared your throat and gestured back to the clubhouse. "I'm just waiting for my boyfriend. You know the one. He broke your nose and kicked you out?”

Eddie placed his hand on Jeep, caging you between his arms, and you suppressed a shiver that was threatening to reveal your fear. You wouldn’t give him the pleasure. Eddie bent forward and whispered in your ear, "You shouldn't get involved with this club, Y/n. You don't know what they are capable of. Especially your boyfriend."

You huffed a humorless laugh and shook your head. He’s got a lot of nerve, you’d give him that. Here he was telling you what your Bucky was like? He couldn't imagine the things you knew, and he had no idea what your boyfriend was capable of, but he was about to find out precisely what your boyfriend was like.

Eddie was walking a trembling tightrope that was about to snap under him.

"I know exactly what he is and if I were you, I wouldn’t be here when those doors open, or Bucky will be the least of your problems.”

Try fifteen angry bikers. That was never a pleasant sight.

"Lemme take a guess why you're out here all alone, waiting for him to put you first? He had to rush off because Steve summoned him. Trouble with the club and left you here, alone, to handle business? You deserve better than this life.” Eddie slipped a small white card in your hand and stepped back from you.

"Do you really know him, Y/n? Think about it and give me a call when you’re ready to talk.”

You watched Eddie slink off fiddling with the piece of paper in your trembling hands waiting until he was out of sight to look at whatever he handed you. You unfolded the paper he gave you and tour stomach sank when you read it. Eddie Brock was a detective.

Eddie was never trying to patch in -- he had no interest in joining the club, his only interest was bringing it down, and from the looks of things, he was going to use you to do it.

Previous // Next

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #biker!bucky x reader #biker!bucky #biker!au #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #MC!Bucky #MC!AU #alternate universe

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starstruckmyths · 4 years ago

Note

Please tell me a few sentences story from the shrunkyclunks alignment chart right column top to bottom you are talking about

Nonny is referring to This Post for all those wondering!

Also, I feel touched your read my tags, remembered, and then came here to leave me an ask💕

You have Modern Rebel Bucky for all of them, and then Cap Steve Purist, Cap Steve Neutral, and Cap Steve Rebel. I’m going by the picture of the art, they’re just too good not to use.

I hope you’ll ~enjoy~

Steve Purist + Bucky rebel

Bucky can bench press Steve.

To the wonder of most, he does it with apparent ease. Whether he is lifting Steve from the waist, pulling him up by the arm, or straight up pick Steve up from the ground, horizontally, and lay him on his shoulders to do squads, looking completely serious while Clint gapes in the background.

It’s not a secret that Steve loves it.

There is something about being picked up so easily that has his frown turn upside down in a moment’s notice. Perhaps it’s an old memory resurfacing (or more than one) together with a feeling of familiarity he doesn’t want to lose. Perhaps it’s sharing his unusual capabilities. Perhaps it’s the theme-park joy he gets from being lifted up and down and up and down and up and down and-- you get the point.

There’s nothing more he loves than being hoisted up into the air and being carried or used as a weight for Bucky to train with, simply because he loves being so close together.

Though all of that is nice and well, Steve knows it’s very likely just the feeling of not being seen as the strongest again, the one everyone expects can do everything. It’s knowing someone on his team is strong enough to bench press Captain America, to work him to the ground and beat him in training sessions.

He goes around in his suit, fighting evil, being an example, but every second he is aware there’s someone in the Tower who could do just as much as he can, who can match him in nearly all he does, but doesn’t ever put him down because of that. And that’s nice.

He can be Captain America, and trust someone to have his back.

He can be Captain America, and know someone will take care of him when he needs it.

Steve Neutral (retired) + Bucky Rebel

It’s cute to see Bucky try.

After years of fighting and many battles, some on Earth and even some in space, there’s not a lot that impresses Steve anymore. He’s retired, really, kicking back and watching the sunset. Of course when his team really needs him he steps in, but lately he’s been enjoying the little things of life, and making time and space for himself.

Bucky tries, though.

He will come and challenge Steve to spar, which seems to always end up with Steve pinning Bucky down on his back, while the latter smirks at him in a way he can’t really explain - or perhaps he just tries not to think about it too much. It’s a real charming smirk, though, and it never fails to make Steve huff and make it clear he won.

Sometimes Bucky tries his actual best, but he still can’t quite seem to get into Steve’s weak-spots, and it either ends in a tie or Bucky on the floor.

“Fight me!” Bucky proclaims, and then he jumps and paw his hands at Steve’s chest and face like an enthusiastic puppy happy its owner is back home. Only he’s a six feet fall puppy who can do martial arts and has the super soldier serum.

Eh, same thing.

Steve Rebel + Bucky Rebel

It’s not the first time he’s been caught dangling down Bucky’s shoulder, and he highly doubts it’s the last.

So maybe there was a cheer-leading introduction going on, and maybe Steve dressed himself up in a baby blue skirt with a matching sport’s top to go and join have a look, but did they seriously expect not to start throwing hands the moment some assholes started bothering people?

He could handle the comments thrown at him, a guy wearing a skirt and all, but when it was the girls being hooted and hollered at, he decided to put his dance skills to a different use. They complimented him for his high kicks, and his lean form, and said with some training, he could be an amazing dancer.

Unfortunately, Bucky did not share their opinion.

And so he’s dangling, quite glad he had made the decision to wear a set of spots shorts beneath the skirt in case he needed to do a cartwheel or the fabric would fly up, so people weren’t immediately exposed to his manhood, mainly because he can feel the skirt is too short to completely cover him in this position.

Regardless of all that, it’s honestly not the worst position he’s been in, though Bucky’s metal arm does push into his stomach, and the metal pricks his tummy.

Oh right, Bucky isn’t wearing a shirt.

Steve doesn’t know where he was before this, or what he was doing, but it’s intriguing. Bucky’s constantly shifting and tensing back muscles are intriguing. Steve traces it with his hand as good as he can in this position. Bucky’s ass is also right there, looking very good in these tight jeans that looked new, but he knows if he tries anything Bucky will retaliate - probably twice as hard too.

“I was just putting my powers to good use,” Steve huffs, crossing his arms but not succeeding.

“Punk,” Bucky answers, not sounding all that mad.

“I think of myself more as a rebel, actually.” Steve tries to crane his head to look at his friend, but there’s not much to see. “You should pass that title to me. I’m clearly more of a rebel than you.”

“No, you’re a punk,” Bucky says, “I’m the rebel.”

“Natasha says it’s my turn to be the rebel.”

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fyeahwildfire · 5 years ago

Text

Sacrifice (Alternate Thanos x reader)

Warnings: Angst, Infinity War spoilers, smut

One year and six months later…

Sam had called you asking for assistance. They had located Vision’s whereabouts and needed your help in case anyone had gotten hurt. You contemplated on going as you knew Bucky and Nat were going to be there. You had spent most of your time with Clint and his family. They helped you deal with the breakup, but not so much with your miscarriage. To lose a child was tragic and horrible. You had lost all hope when the doctor told you would never be able to have a child.

Despite all the pain and suffering you were going through, you couldn’t be selfish. Not when you foresaw Thanos arriving to wipe out half of the universe. So that’s why you were in Wakanda preparing to fight the incoming army. You had nothing else to lose anyway.

You saw the Avengers jet land and out came Steve, Bucky, Nat, Bruce, Rhodey, Sam, Vision, and Wanda. You clear your throat and square your shoulders. You calm your senses as you slip effortlessly into an emotionless façade and stride over to the group with a dangerous and deadly confidence.

You ignore the startle gasps coming from Bucky and Natasha. You avoid the intensity of his gaze. You can’t bring yourself to look into his blue eyes or into Nat’s. So you focus on Steve and T’challa.

“Y/N!” Steve looks over to Sam, who explains he called you because they needed your help.

Seeing the tension amongst the group, T’challa stands by your side. “Y/n was waiting patiently outside the borders of Wakanda. I had Okoye bring her. She says she foresaw the battle coming ahead.”

“Is that true?” Steve hoped for good news.

“Yes. I saw 14 million, six hundred and five possibilities play out.” You cross your arms.

“And how many of those scenarios…”

You interrupted Steve knowing what he was going to say. “One.”

Your eyes sweep amongst the Avengers, each of them carry the look of fear, horror, and sadness. You ignore Bucky with everything you have. If it weren’t for him and his affair, maybe, just maybe your child would have been born.

“How can we be sure? There has to be more than one.” Bucky walks over standing beside Steve. He wants you to look at him. He wants to apologize. He wants another chance with you. He had been so blind and so in love with the idea of Natasha and the history they shared, he ruined a perfect relationship with you.

“There isn’t, Sergeant Barnes.” You reply tonelessly.

He opens his mouth to speak, but Steve looks at him and shakes his head to not start an argument. Especially now. You look off to the distant, like you could see something across the field.

“Y/N.” T’challa places his hand on your shoulder.

“There already here.” You grab your bow and follow T’challa.

“Evacuate the city. Engage all defenses and get this man a shield!” T’challa points to Steve.

You had seen Steve desperately face off against Thanos. You draw an arrow from your quiver and aim. You watch as the arrow cuts the side of his face. Both of yours and Steve’s attacks had allowed Wanda to tearfully destroy Vision’s mind stone.

However, you all found yourselves hopelessly outmatched by Thanos and his dominion. Steve had been taken out by Thanos, who used the Power Stone to send in a concussive strike to blow him away.

Being the only one left standing you desperately fight back to buy everyone some time. You use your customized arrows to hit every single enemy within your sight.

You notice Steve grabbing the infinite gauntlet, it not only had surprised you but Thanos as well. Steve was again defeated by Thanos who incapacitated him with a single punch.

You shot arrow after arrow at Thanos, not making a dent. He’s impressed that you’re the only one left standing. Compared to him you were much smaller, more delicate. Yet there you stood, unfazed as you kept shooting at him. He approached you with a smile on his face.

“Why do you continue to fight, little warrior?” Thanos ripped your bow from your hands and tossed it away.

You use your assassin skills to punch and kick him, but like Thor and Hulk, he was too strong to feel any of your attacks. He grabs your arm and leans forward looking into your eyes. “I’ve seen you before…in my dreams.”

“We are connected.” You confessed, you knew long ago that you’re visions were tied to Thanos, seeing as you only had visions about him. You had refrained from telling anyone seeing as it was your burden to carry.

You look into his eyes and saw hope, curiosity, and lust. You could feel tears prickling but you tried your best to stop them from falling. However, you couldn’t stop the traitorous tears from running down your cheeks.

Thanos has never believed in love. He only cared about bringing balance. Until, he met you. You stirred something within him. Something he had locked away long ago.

He released your arm and extended his hand towards your cheek. He wipes the tears away. You look into his eyes, they were soft, showing concern and sadness towards you. You had seen other versions of your fate, you were his savior…his light. The other version’s, you had seen you own demise.

Thanos breaks contact with you and pulls you behind him. Protecting you from Thor’s axe. Despite Thor’s attempt, Thanos still achieved his goal of killing off half the universe.

Thanos looked to you and extended his hand out to you, hoping you would escape with him. So you could begin your lives as partners. You a mere human, was now one of the most precious treasures, a gift from the universe. He wanted to take you away from Earth and the dangers that lied within it. He wanted to protect you. He wanted his dreams to come true.

But you, you don’t move. You stand there contemplating whether you should take his offer or not. But then, you think back to all the pain and suffering you had endured. Bucky cheating on you with Natasha and the loss of your unborn child. You truly had nothing left to lose, maybe Clint. But he had a family and Tony had Pepper. They could move on. You would be alone.

“Come with me, beloved.” His eyes hold sorrow as he inches closer to you. With the short amount of time, you had become much more to him. You were his heart. You could be his home.

In the end, you made your choice to leave with the Mad Titan. You took his hand and let him wrap his arms around you. You make the mistake in looking back. You see the disappointed looks coming from Thor and Steve.

“I’m sorry.” Is the last thing you say to either of them before Thanos retreats with you in his arms. You miss Bucky calling out for you and disintegrating before Steve’s eyes.

Three years later…

You were out collecting fruits and vegetables to take back to your beloved. It’s been three years since you left Earth with Thanos. Three years you did not regret your choice. However, you do feel immense grief for all those that lost their loved ones. Which is why you were out picking crops, an excuse to use the stones and reverse the actions of the Decimation.

You had a vision of Thanos death by the hands of Thor and you couldn’t allow that to happen. Thanos had become too important. He weaved his way into your life and gave you hope and love. Things that you thought you would never have again. So in order to protect him and give back to the universe, you had to undo his actions.

With all six of the stones wrapped around you, five on your collar bone and the mind stone on your forehead. You feel the power course through you. You’ve never felt anything like this before and it felt good. You snap your fingers and hear the loud boom go off, no doubt Thanos would hear.

You smile to yourself knowing this is what was best for everyone. Plus you threw in two surprises for Thor, he had lost a lot and you knew you could not endure all that he had. Which is why you gave Loki and Heimdall back. In hopes to keep him away. You pick up the crate filled with crops and make your way back to Thanos.

Upon entering your home, you set the crate down on the table and look around in search of your beloved. He steps through the doorway and sees you. He sighs with relief, until he notices the infinity stones on you.

“What have you done, beloved?”

“I’ve restore half the universe.” You take his big purple hand in yours. “This is the best choice for both of us. I can’t… see you die.”

“You’ve foreseen my death.” He caress your cheek with his finger.

“Yes. Which is why I made the decision to restore things as they once were. I can’t lose you. I-I love…”

“Yes.” He beams.

“I love you and I can’t lose you…” Suddenly his lips are on yours.

He picks you up and holds you firmly against his chest. You wrap your arms around him, while he walks over to your shared bed and places you gently on it. He towers over you.

“You have no idea what you do to me, beloved?”

“Actually I do have an idea,” you stare at his hard rock cock wanting to be free of his pants. You bite your lip seductively. This isn’t the first time you’ve had sex and it won’t be the last.

Thanos smiles at you, “Ever observant. Come take off those stones and let me…”

“Uh, about that I can’t.”

“Why is that?”

You try to pull off one of stones but it’s stuck, it’s like the stones don’t want to part from you. “See.”

“Allow me?” Thanos reaches over to pull off the power stone, but even he can’t pry them off of you. “Interesting?”

“How about we forget about the stones right now and we can go back to making passionate love.” You rip off your shirt and bra and throw them across the room.

“Needy aren’t we.”

You cup your breast and begin to play with them. You can see the lust in his eyes, “Well, are you gonna stand there and watch or are you gonna fuck me.”

Your hands slowly make their way down to unbuckle your pants. Thanos removes your pants and throws them into the corner. He kneels down and as he did so, in one swift motion, he tore your panties from you. He grabbed your thighs and spread them. You could already feel yourself getting wet.

He lunges forward and you cry out and flinch as his mouth roughly latches onto your pussy. His tongue was everywhere. In your folds and on your clit. Every sensitive spot he licked caused you to moan.

You grabbed the sheets as your thigh muscles start to tighten. You start to buck against his mouth. Thanos holds you down and continues to feast on your pussy. He starts to suck on your clit, your thighs tremble and your stomach tightens.

You arch your back and continue to moan louder and louder until you come. You scream his name as Thanos licks and slurps, not wanting to waste a single drop of your come.

Thanos climbs up and the bed sinks upon his massive weight. He’s going to have to repair it again after he’s done with you.

“I want you.” You try to regain your breath.

“Patience, beloved.” He slid his finger and filled you up easily. His finger was about the size of a normal man’s cock.

Your stomach muscles contract as he starts pumping in and out of you. You head falls back as you moan loudly. Thanos continues to pump, his finger makes a squelching sound. You grab your breast and play with them.

“Harder.”

Thanos pumps you harder and faster, it doesn’t take long for a second orgasm to hit. Thanos removes his finger from your pussy. He brings it to his mouth, he sucks and licks off the juices on them.

He kisses your breasts and your neck before he aligns his cock with your warm soaked pussy. He gently pushed his tip inside of you. He inches his head in further and you gasp as you could see a bulge growing in your stomach.

“Are you alright, beloved?”

“Fuck me, please.”

He pushed his head all the way in. You moan and cry out as you tighten your grip on the sheets. He pulled back and thrust forward. His pace was slow and steady at first, to allow you to adjust to him.

You look up to him and see the concern in his eyes, but you can also see he wants to fuck you senseless. “Beloved, this isn’t our first time. Do not hold back. Fuck me hard. Fuck me fast.”

“If that is what you wish…”

“Yes, please. Just fuck me already.”

Thanos pounds into you relentlessly. You scream as he continued to hit your g-spot. Again and again.

“Mine. All mine.” Thanos thrusted again into your pussy. He was claiming you. Marking you. No other man would try to take you away from him. No other man could compare to him. No other man could give you pleasure like he did. You belong with him and he belong with you.

#bucky x reader #bucky x natasha #thanos x reader #infinity war #thanos x reader smut

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tonysrhodeys · 5 years ago

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all i wanna do is to fall in deep

basically fluff and bad humour! steve uses tony’s special mug and tries to seduce him through shirtlessness and tony is obviously thirsty for some of that. i apologise in advance! :)

Pepper was the person who gave him the “I Am Iron Man”. It was custom made and appeared on his workstation the day after the press conference.

She slammed it on the table which woke Tony up. She smirked at him before leaving. The tapping of her heels helped wake him up. He grinned as he saw it.

It quickly became his special mug and he treasured it. Even DUM-E knew that that was the mug to bring to him whenever he wanted coffee. Rhodey and Pepper said that they regretted ever giving it to him since it stroked his ego even more and it was only a matter of time before his head no longer fit in his helmet.

When the Avengers moved into the tower, Tony made it clear that his mug was off-limits. It was respected at first since they were tentative around each other. The team was new and had won one major battle after splits within the team. They respected each other’s boundaries and it was peaceful, albeit dull and safe.

Then they were called in more (which meant they complained more about Nick’s complete disregard for their rest). They began to bond more (by order of their Captain) and the team seemed to click. That’s when movie and game nights started. They started to lean on each other more. For a group of people with ingrained trust issues, they forgot about that really quickly. It turned out being with people who shared similar life experiences really did solidify relationships. In fact, it made them into some sort of family.

That did not change how territorial Tony was with his mug.

After the Pepper break-up, he seemed to retreat into his shell once more. He hid in his workshop all day to try and distract himself from the pain. The team thought they would be doing him a favour by getting rid of the mug, but his explosive reaction induced a sliver of fear in them that they had never felt before.

He was a sobbing, remorseful mess afterward. There was nothing to be forgiven. He explained that even though their relationship ended, his history with her would always remain. It didn’t change the fact that she was one of the first people to support him on his heroic journey (even though her feelings toward that did change), and he was still Iron Man.

He had owned that mug for years (it was beginning to fade, but he would just have JARVIS mend it) and nobody else had used it (except for Clint, but that was a mistake he would never make again. Note: do not play pranks on Mr. Tony Stark involving that mug).

Then one day he and Clint were playing Mario Kart in the living room. Tony was decimating Clint, but it was no surprise. During a break, Tony went to have a glass of water (it shocked Steve, but yes Tony actually drink normal, still water) when Steve walked in. He and Natasha had just gotten back from a mission and his exhaustion was evident in his features. He rubbed his eyes and murmured morning pleasantries and grabbed a mug from the cupboard.

Tony’s mug.

Tony stood there frozen in his spot as Steve poured the already brewed coffee into the mug and walked away, his loud yawn echoing in the hallway.

“Holy shit! You let him use your mug!” Clint exclaimed, jumping off from the floor. IN a quick movement he was perched on the counter staring gleefully at Tony.

“Shut up Barton.” Tony grunted, finally snapping out of his trance.

“Shut up? You blocked the WIFI on everything that I owned for a week. I couldn’t even use the internet on the TV. The only thing I had were my aids, but cutting those off would be fucking criminal. Now, you let Steve use it without even a warning. Oh, honey, you are soft for him!” Clint spun around on the counter (knocking a few fruits, the bastard).

“I can still cut those aids off,” Tony says and he leaves the room quickly before Clint can see the blush on his face.

Because yes, Tony liked Steve. How could he not? Steve was drop-dead gorgeous. Blond, blue eyes and a huge expanse of muscles that Tony wanted to run his fingers across. He was strong in a knight in shining armour kind of way, and honestly Tony would reduce himself to a damsel in distress if it meant being held in his comfortable looking arms of his. But he was more than just brawn.

Steve was one of the smartest people Tony had ever met, and he didn’t say that lightly. He was seventy years behind but was committed to learning as much as he could. Tony had spotted Steve staying up late, his head hung over a book, his eyes getting heavier. Steve was also caring. He was shredded, but he had a soft, deep heart that he seemed to wear on his sleeve when it came to the team. He forced them to bond and to go on retreats together which they inevitably enjoyed. He kept them healthy physically and mentally and pushed them to their limits, but was the first person to call it quits when he could see that their struggle was becoming too much to bear.

On top of all of that, he especially looked after Tony. Maybe it was to make up for their fight on the helicarrier, maybe he truly pitied Tony or maybe (and Tony always hated to go here, it was dangerous) he genuinely liked and cared for him. It scared the hell out of Tony. Steve would come down and regularly bring him meals and water, but when it began to look like a bender, Steve dragged him upstairs to sleep and to socialise. It was torturous and Tony loved it. Steve also spent a few hours of his day (sometimes most of it) in the workshop with Tony. He would sit on a couch, close enough to feel his presence but far away enough to not be an obstruction and sketch. It was what made Tony fall in love with him.

The worst part was that Tony knew he could never have him. Steve was too good for him. He wanted to maintain a friendship. So if that meant letting his crush use his mug once, so be it.

Steve had no idea what he was doing.

Put him in a fight and he would become the embodiment of courage and confidence. He could assign duties in a battle with ease even with his constant self-doubt. It was exhausting to lead a team because he was endlessly worrying about them and making the wrong decisions which could end up with them being hurt in the end. But at the same time, he still gave his orders with conviction. It was a skill that seemed to only benefit him in the field.

Put him in the same tower as Tony Stark and he becomes a fumbling, bumbling mess. He didn’t what it was about Tony, but he seemed to bring out the best and worst in him and it was fascinating, thrilling even. Tony was an enigma but Steve was willing to spend the rest of his life trying to figure him out.

Tony spent his entire life trying to prove that nothing could hurt him, but that left him vulnerable. It was a crack in his armour that he had persistently tried to glue back together. Steve hated that side of him (okay, hate is a strong word that he would never associate with Tony, but he’s trying to make a point). It was all false bravado and smiles. It always scared Steve how well he played that act.

It was the façade that made it so difficult for Steve to get a read on Tony. It seemed no matter how much he thought he knew about Tony, there was also something new to learn. He did love that about him (and he would be lying if he said he was not willing to spend the rest of his life unlocking parts of him) but it also made it impossible for Steve to make the right move. If he came on too strong, then Tony would surely be scared away. If he didn’t come on strongly enough, then his advances would fly right over Tony’s head.

Of course, there was also the whole figuring out if Tony even liked him back thing. But he tried not to think about that too much.

Steve didn’t know why he went to Natasha. Although, Steve supposes she came to him. Apparently she was considering gouging her eyes out because seeing him so hopelessly pining physically tortured her. But Natasha’s plan took him out of his comfort zone, but she insisted that it would entice him (more than entice him if he was lucky).

Which is why Steve had been hiding for the last two hours in only a pair of briefs.

He was pressed against a wall in a corner that gave him a good view of the elevator, but also hid him from Tony’s view. He was in briefs because it accentuated his package. Natasha took pictures of him (more when he blushed), so her plan better work or else the eternal humiliation and blackmail would be for nothing.

The elevator finally dinged and Steve pressed further into the corner. Tony slowly made his way to the kitchen, his exhaustion evident in the slow drag of his steps. Steve took a deep breath and mussed up his hair a bit. He prayed this would work.

Tony tipped back a glass of water when he noticed Steve strolling into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes with a soft yawn. Tony blanched and his mouth instantly when dry. Standing before him was a man who looked like he had been carved out of marble. Tony could see almost every inch of his tantalising body. The little that was covered was done so in a pair of tight, Iron Man briefs.

Yes, Tony’s armoured face was on Steve Roger’s ass…and dick.

This was not fair. Steve was torturing him. Tony was practically drooling as he continued to drink in the muscular expanse of his chest. He glanced briefly at the Iron Man faces, but he knew if he stared any longer he would jump Steve’s bones right there. At this point, Tony didn’t know if he wanted to wrap his thighs around Steve, or rather feel Steve’s thigh’s wrapped around him. It was a dilemma.

“Hey Tony,” Steve says with a soft, dazed smile. He reached up (showing off his arms which looked fantastic obviously) and grabbed the mug. The Iron Man mug.

Once again, Tony did not feel an ounce of anger. He felt possessive, but his jealousy was directed towards the mug for being able to held in Steve’s hand like that. He filled the mug up with water and drank, leaning his head back leaving his Adam’s apple ripe for viewing. And now Tony was thinking about licking that.

Yes, Tony was falling down a rabbit hole. It did not help that he had not slept in thirty-two hours.

As much as he wanted Steve, and boy did he want him, Tony pushed all of that away. He rushed past Steve and only managed to squeak a Goodnight on his way.

He had a cold shower in his future. Multiple cold showers.

A week passed and nothing happened. Steve kept using the mug and there was the occasional ogling of a shirtless chest, but Tony had managed to keep his reactions in check. Other than Clint, nobody mentioned it. Natasha would raise her eyebrows in a way that told you that she knew exactly what was going on and she was just waiting for you to tell her..

Rhodey was not that kind. He was an inquisitive little shit, always had been. As soon as he arrived he noticed Steve drinking from the infamous mug on the couch next to Tony. They were a friendly distance apart, but Rhodey knew his best friend well enough to notice the slight shuffling of his feet and furtive glances to the other man. Rhodey could barely contain his laughter. It was like seeing him as a giddy teenager all over again.

Tony’s crush (which Tony continued to deny) thrust them back into their MIT days. Rhodey didn’t even use his bedroom which was opposite Tony’s, he made himself comfortable in Tony’s. He also made sure that they stayed up all night talking about Steve and what it was about him that made him so in love (Tony was not in love, he was just thoroughly infatuated). Tony was tired enough at that time that he let the fact that Steve’s smile was the very image that helped him sleep at night (Tony is pretty sure that everybody heard the way Rhodey giggled).

Their sleepovers made Tony realise how much he missed his best friend and how much he missed having somebody like that to talk to. There was something about the way that Rhodey just knew how to react to everything that made Tony so comfortable around him. Rhodey never stopped laughing as he recounted the early-morning-kitchen fiasco, but Tony couldn’t sense any judgement. If there was anything, it was pure joy. Rhodey left too soon for Tony’s liking, but not without an affectionate kiss on the cheek and a not so discrete inappropriate whisper to snatch that hot piece of ass while he still could.

Tony was pretty sure that Steve heard, if the pink tinting his cheeks and neck were anything to go by. Tony wondered how far down that blush traveled, but he really didn’t want to dwell on that thought.

Tony was caught completely off guard during their next encounter. Steve and Tony were supposed to go and see Frozen 2 together and Tony wanted to see if he would be willing to grab lunch before, but Natasha said that Steve had gone out. Tony decided to go down to the workshop and work on the new suit he was working on for Steve (the one he had now really was an atrocity. Somebody with his body needed something worthy of it). He made himself a cup of coffee in the mug he hardly ever got to use these days and started thinking of safety features for the suit.

He was rummaging through his drawer for a pen and paper when he hears some metal creaking and then dropping. He is about to call JARVIS when he sees the source of the noise.

Steve fucking Rogers.

He stands up and grins at Tony innocently. He is a white tank top, but he may as well be shirtless with the sweat on his shirt and glistening on his arms which only made the shirt appear tighter which Tony didn’t think he was possible. He wiped his slightly grimy face with a cloth and tucked it into his back pocket. There was still grease on his hands and arms, but he didn’t seem to care. Tony couldn’t stop caring. Seeing Steve like this was a completely new territory that he didn’t think he could handle. Steve may be the hottest mechanic he has ever seen. Tony just wanted to feel him. He wanted to know how it felt to have that hard body pressed tightly against his, taking complete control.

“Just fixing my bike, hope you don’t mind me in your space,” Steve says walking closer to Tony. Tony barely manages to croak out his answer, which was probably best because if he could speak coherently, he would probably start begging Steve to take him on the workshop table.

Steve gently takes the mug from Tony’s hands and takes a long sip. He stares right into Tony’s eyes as he sinfully licks his lips. His smirk is barely concealed as he returns the mug and tilts his head slightly.

“Delicious.”

Steve was asking for it. He was bloody asking for it. That’s what Tony decided anyway.

He slammed the mug on the table (which spilt coffee all over that DUM-E would inevitably have to clean) and grabbed at Steve. He latched onto Steve’s sweaty shirt and placed a hot, searing kiss on Steve’s lips. Steve groaned and settled his hands on Tony’s hips gently but firmly. The kiss was passionate, hot and heavy. A culmination of all the pent-up tension which had been bubbling for months. Tony could barely contain his moans as Steve licked into his mouth. His hands were travelling everywhere, he wanted to burn the outline of every inch of his body in his mind.

Steve broke apart first and Tony may or may not have whined. Steve didn’t move far, their noses were still brushing and their breaths were mingling in the air between them as they panted. Steve stroked Tony’s face with feather-light touches and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“I have been waiting for so long for this,” He whispers.

“It was all a plan?” Tony shouts incredulously, the pieces finally fitting into place. Steve blushed, but nodded.

“Nat helped. I was at a loss. I just really really wanted you. All of you, by the way. I know you think you’re going to mess this up or something, but you won’t. I won’t let you. I just want you.” Steve’s voice was soft but full of promise. Honestly, now that Tony had finally gotten to taste him, he didn’t think he physically capable of stopping. He wanted to taste, feel and have everything. Steve was utterly irresistible and addictive (which was so unfair to Tony. He didn’t stand a chance!).

“If you want me so much, then what the hell are you waiting for?”

It was a promise on its own, slightly shielded by humour but Steve understood it.

It was all he needed to reclaim Tony’s lips and drink in the wonderful sound that he made. It was easily his new favourite sound, and he was determined to hear it the whole night. Maybe even the rest of his life.

#stevetony #stony fic #mine #flirting #oblivious!tony #shirtless!steve #fluff #bad attempts at humour #thirsty!tony #lexywrites

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justreadingfics · 6 years ago

Text

Looking For a Heartbeat (9/?)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Series Summary: You and Bucky used to be in a relationship. Feelings were hurt, you left. It’s been two years and you’re back. You both will handle the reunion well, won’t you?

Chapter Summary: You find some help.

Word Count: ~2.8K

Warnings for this chapter: mild angst, mention to mental health issues, poorly written therapy sessions.

A/N: @nedthegay was the beta again and helped so much! Thanks babe! Please, let me know what you all think. Links are ruining posts, so you can find the the masterlist link on my description.

Bucky takes a good look around his bedroom. This place brings back so many memories for him, most of them good if he’s going to be honest with himself. He has to give Steve that, joining the Avengers and coming to live in the Tower was the best decision he has ever made. Here he found a purpose in life, a way to somehow redeem himself by trying and doing some good. He found friends, set his relationship with Stark onto a better path, the same with Nat…

He met you.

And he also met Anna.

Not willing to give the doubts threatening to bubble in his head a moment's thought, he resumes packing up his bag. He has to do it. It’s the right decision. For all of you. Nothing else matters, not even the tug in his heart whenever he thinks of the look on your face when he told you he didn’t want to love you anymore…

A soft knock on the front door catches his attention, “Come in.” he says, grabbing a handful of socks from the drawer.

“Hey, there.”

“Hi,” Bucky smiles back at Anna when she walks into the room sporting a wide grin on her face. He loves seeing her that happy.

“Wanted to see if you needed any help?” Anna places her hand on the small of his back, “Is that all?” She asks, surprised, looking at the opened bag slouched on his bed.

“Pretty much.” He drops the socks inside the piece of luggage, before zipping it up, “I have everything else in the new place.” He sits on the end of the bed.

Anna follows him shortly, positioning herself by his side. She takes his hand into hers and enlaces their fingers together, “Good. I can’t wait to finally see your new apartment.”

He smiles tightly at her before adding, “Oh,I’ve talked to Steve already, he agreed on the time off.”

She chuckles and bumps her shoulder into his, “I have yet to see Steve denying you anything.”

He laughs quietly and gives her a wink.

“How did it go?” She asks in a more serious tone.

Bucky sighs, looking down at their joined hands. She doesn’t need to specify what she is asking about.

“Mostly well, I guess.” He shrugs, “There was a lot of honesty from both ends, at least.”

“I’m glad.” She uses her fingers to tilt his chin up and turn his face to hers again. A line forms between her eyebrows when their eyes meet, “Are you ok?”

“We kissed.” Bucky ignores her question in favor to let the information out of his chest.

“Oh…” Her smiles drops and she lets her hand fall on her lap.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, hating the momentary flicker of sadness in her expression.

“No,” Anna shakes her head, “It’s ok. It’s not like I wasn’t expecting it to happen.” Her lips press together, “I’m glad you told me, though.” She squeezes his hand.

“She said something that stuck in my head.”

“And what was that?”

“She said I will break your heart.” His voice comes out strained as he gives her a pleading look, “Will I, Anna? Will I break your heart?”

Bucky watches as she gets up and moves to sit on his lap, letting her legs fall to the side. He sure hopes he’s been able to conceal how his muscles went abruptly rigid. This kind of affection still seems odd coming from Anna. Or from any other woman who isn’t you, he suspects. But he knows time would change his feelings. It has to.

If she notices anything, she doesn’t let it show.

“We talked about this last night. I’m getting into this knowing exactly how you feel.” She wraps an arm around his neck, “You’re not making a fool of me, Buck. All I know is I love you so much and for so long…” She gently caresses his cheek, “I’m willing to try. There’s no deal breaker for me when it comes to you, remember that. Besides, I know you so well… You would never purposely hurt me.”

“Never…” He promptly answers, holding her waist in a tight grasp.

It doesn’t feel so odd anymore when she smiles and leans in, placing her lips on his.

~~~

The first 36 hours after your last talk with Bucky were spent inside your room, behind a locked door. While you stared at the diamond he had left with you, every single word that had been said replaying in your mind.

When you came back, you understood you wanted nothing else but to love him, to give yourself wholly to him, you also knew, no matter how heartbreaking it would be, the chances of him not wanting you back were high. That Bucky might’ve moved on from you in the two years you spent apart.

But nothing had prepared you for hearing his confession of love then hearing him say he didn’t want it anymore, that he didn’t want to love you because your love was a bad thing. But of course it made sense. You’re the one who turned that love into a bad thing. This was all on you.

From inside the fort of blankets on your bed, you heard the callings, the pleas for you to come out alternating from Steve, Nat, Wanda…

It turns out that recognizing you need help is easier than actually going to find it.

You expected Steve or Nat, but to your surprise it was Wanda who knocked the door down. She dragged you into the shower, combed your hair, filled your stomach up with some soup…. You could see a lot of Clint into her behavior and it inspired a glimpse of warmth in your damaged heart. She was the one who found the list of therapists inside the pocket of your jeans and scheduled the first appointment.

It wasn’t easy to get to where you stand now: sticking to one psychiatrist, attending sessions regularly, talking about stuff you didn’t talk about with anyone else, taking the meds… You went through three or four professionals in a period of less than two weeks and some yelling from your friends before you stuck to Heloise Baker.

She’s the psychiatrist you’ve been seeing for the past two months, since the last time you saw Bucky. A middle aged woman, something around 5’2, with long hair that she always keeps styled in a tight bun, whose solemnity contrasts her blue highlights and loose fitted t-shirts, jeans, colored crocs and the mouth full of sass she sports on a daily basis.

You suspect that what made her different is the fact that she never puts up with your shit. While the first few therapists tried to sugar coat your flaws and tell you sweet words of encouragement, Heloise always said something that helped you understand what could be behind the facts, the actions, the words, what you had the power to change and what you couldn’t, helping you find a way to learn to live with the things you absolutely had no power over. In short, she was incredibly blunt.

“So, tell me what’s new,” she asks from the chair in front of you, adjusting her bifocals around her nose.

“You’re aware our last session was three days ago, right? What could possibly be new?” You snap, surprising even yourself by the raspy tone.

“Ooo, alright, cranky pants.” Her eyes round as she releases an exaggerated puff and writes something on her little notebook, “The bad mood is still a thing, noted. Ok, tell me about the meds. You’ve been taking them for… let me check…” The flipping sound fills the room as she turns the pages in a swift pace, “…a month now, how are they making you feel? Any headaches, sleepiness, dizziness?” She tilts her head to the side, looking back at you.

“Ahm, all of that, actually. But they’re helping with the anxiety,” you answer, matter-of-factly.

“Let’s give it another week then, if the symptoms continue, we’ll talk about trying another prescription. But I think it’s important you stick with them, at least for now. How are you feeling today? And if you say just ‘fine.’ I will kick your ass out of my office.”

You lift an eyebrow at her, which she mimics, challenging you, “I don’t know. Bored?” You shrug exasperatedly, “There’s not much to do around here when you’re not working.”

“Oh, really? There’s not much to do in the most entertaining Tower of the World? Have you met Tony Stark, dear?”

You roll your eyes and let out a snort, crossing your arms in front of you. A few moments of silence goes by before you speak again, “It’s just… I miss him,” You sigh, lifting your eyes from your lap to see Heloise’s full attention on you, “There’s not a moment I’m not thinking about him. It’s funny.” A breathy laugh slips through your nose as you shake your head, “I’ve spent two years away from him, and now two months without seeing, hearing from him seems like it’s … I mean…too much.”

Heloise makes a humming sound before speaking, “When you left, it was your choice. Good or bad, it was your choice. You wanted to run away from him. You came back hoping for the exact opposite. You wanted to be with him and couldn’t. Maybe that is the reason why it’s harder this time.”

You unfold your arms and pick at your nails over your lap, keeping your eyes low, “Yes, it was my choice. Everything else is just consequences of the choices I made. The fact I keep picturing him with another woman, holding her, kissing her, making lov-” you trail off, biting your cheek, “is nothing but my choice…” you add with a whisper and look up at her.

“I remember something you told me you said to him the last time you two talked.” Heloise squints her eyes and places her pen on her lips, as she’s going through her memory to find the words, “You said something like your grandfather had done the best he could with what he had to raise you. Can’t you see the similarity here?” She points her pen at you, “What you did two years ago was the best you could with the resources you had. Was it shitty? Yes, it was. Did it make you suffer more? Yes, it did. But it was the best you could do and there’s nothing you can do now to change it, besides learning from it.”

You let the words sink in. Although they don’t do much to ease down the guilt inside you, they make a bit of sense. You did what you understood it was more appropriated at the time. Just like Bucky is doing now…

“How long has it been since you went out with your friends?” Heloise asks, taking you out from your thoughts.

“Ahm,” you bite on your lip, thinking, “I went out for an ice cream with Sam, like, two weeks ago?”

“Ice cream?” She grimaces, “You have an assignment, I want you out with a couple of friends tonight.” She shushes you when you open your mouth to say something back, “Have a drink or two. Real drinks, not some frozen bullshit. Even if it’s for 15 minutes, just do it. For now it’s only an annoying assignment, soon it won’t feel like it anymore and then, when you least expect, you’ll realize life goes on. Loving him still or not, you’ll keep living.”

You take in a deep sigh, not sure if the fact that you’ll keep living is good news at this point or not. But you’re in therapy after all, trying to get better. You should follow your therapist’s orders.

“Alright, deal.” You tap your hands on your thighs and get up. Another best thing about Heloise’s method is that she lets you on charge of when to finish the session. At least for now, “How much are you getting paid for this shit?” You narrow your eyes at her, with your hand on the doorknob, ready to leave.

“Probably a lot less than I deserve.” She mumbles under her breath, focusing on what she’s writing in her annoying little notebook.

You let out a chuckle before leaving the office.

~~~

A movie night at the Tower’s private cinema room. That’s the best you manage for Heloise’s assignment. She would kick your ass in your next session, but dressing up to go out is still unthinkable to you. She said it herself, it’s the most entertaining place in the world, so why go out?

At least there’ll be Wanda’s buttery popcorn and the ridiculously expensive bottles of sparkling wine Tony is adamant to have up for grabs. Your favorite combo for movies. You feel a tiny curl lifting your lips up at the delicious thought of the treat as you walk into the kitchen, where you see Wanda and Nat. The two avengers you managed to gather for the little rendezvous.

“Hey, everything set?” You ask, leaning your elbows on the balcony as you see Wanda busy with the popcorn making and Nat gathering bottles and glasses, the delicious smell of movies filling up your nostrils. .

“Almost,” Wanda answers with her back to you. Concentrated on the kernels popping on the stovetop.

“Have you decided a movie, yet?” Nat asks, separating three glasses and placing a bottle over the balcony.

“Ahm, no, we can decide it together there,” You smile before you frown, “Where’s everybody, by the way?”

“Vision is on a mission,” Wanda speaks, tilting her head back to look at you, “Tony is locked up somewhere in his penthouse with Pepper. Steve and Sam went out with Bucky and An-”She trails off.

The information hits your chest and there’s an awkward silence among you three, before Wanda speaks again.

“I’m sorry,” Her face scrunches up apologetically.

You don’t know what’s worse. The hurtful sting in your heart, or the pity written all over your friends faces.

After you shake your head and hand dismissively, you clear your throat, grabbing the bottle Nat has placed on the balcony, opening it swiftly. “So, they’re Bucky and Anna, now?” You speak more to yourself than to the girls, not looking directly at them, “Are they… a-are they living together?” you stammer while you pour some of the wine into the three glasses.

“Not that we’re aware of…” Nat shrugs and tightens her lips.

“Ok,” Wanda says a little too excitedly and turns around holding a huge bowl with popcorn, “Now, the final touch, Y/N’s absolute favorite: the butter!” After she places the deliciously smelling popcorn in front of you, she grabs the smaller bowl with melted butter and start pouring it down to blend it in.

“Oh, my God.” You shriek as your hand flies to cover your mouth, helping you hold back the rush of sickness threatening to run up your throat at the sight of the greasy yellow liquid.

You hate the frustration and confusion etching on Wanda’s face as she hurriedly backs away holding both bowls in her hands.

“Are you ok?” Nat narrows her eyes at you.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m so sorry Wands.” You remove your hand from your mouth to speak in a soft tone with Wanda, hating that you might’ve somehow offended her, “It’s just these fucking meds I’ve been taking… They help but they’re also a huge pain in my ass, I’ve been having constant nausea, sometimes I could sleep the whole day, my appetite is a mess… And today I realized they’re messing up with my menstrual cycle, as well.” You huff, missing the way Nat and Wanda exchanged widened eyes looks.

Feeling a little hush of nausea coming through again, you grimace and place a hand on your throat before you glance at the sparkles from the wine. Hoping them would help with your unsettled stomach you grab a glass and turn it down the liquid into your mouth.

“Spit it out!” Wanda and Nat shout, in unison.

As a good agent and avenger, it’s instinctive to immediately obey when someone tells you to not drink something, and you do what your friends say before asking, making a mess on the balcony “What? Why?” You use the back of your hand to clean the corner of your mouth.

The answer that comes next, once again in unison, makes it impossible for you to keep holding back the puke inside you.

“Because you’re pregnant.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes series #bucky fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky angst #looking for a heartbeat

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mymarvelbunch · 5 years ago

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Be Your Own Hero - Steve Rogers x Reader (epilogue)

Masterlist

Summary: You’ve lost all your family and most friends in The Decimation. Refusing to believe their deaths are permanent, you dedicate years to find a way to reverse it. Upon finding something that might help, you search for the Avengers’ help. It’s Steve Rogers x Reader, but in reality it’s mostly Badass!Reader. Also, Non-American!Reader.

Warnings: none!

Note: Y/Co = your country. Y/Ci = your city; Y/N/L = your native language.

Previously: When you stopped talking to take a breath, he asked, “May I kiss you? You didn’t gave me the opportunity to kiss you back in Morag, and I really, really want to show you how mad you were to think I’d leave you for Peggy.” Unable to answer that with words, you nodded. His lips reached yours, and everything else faded away.

Epilogue

Two years later

Sam Wilson was a great Captain America. Not only he was good at his job, the fact that the mantle that once belonged to Steve was now in a black man’s shoulders gave everyone hope for a better future.

“You must be really proud of him”, you said over coffee.

He smiled and nodded. Despite having moved to Y/Ci, Steve and you weren’t living together. He rented his own apartment near yours. You still saw each other everyday, though. You kept teaching him to speak Y/N/L [A/N: ignore this if you speak English], and all about your country’s culture and habits.

You were welcomed back as a hero. Later, you found videos where Steve told the international press that, without you, they would have never been able to reverse the Decimation. There weren’t many details, since no one wanted to make public the fact that they discovered time travel, but enough to make it clear your role was essential in bringing everyone back.

You received many invitations to join psychiatric residency in many big cities. Invitations. No one had ever heard of such a thing before. In the end, you stayed in your home city; its residency program was one of the best in the country anyway, and you missed your family too much to leave them behind.

Steve, on his part, thrived as an artist. His history as former hero gave him celebrity-like status, which helped him greatly. Of course, Steve being Steve, he helped promoting other artists of all kinds, from drawing/painting to writing, acting, dancing... everyone loved him. Who wouldn’t?

Moments like these reminded you how lucky you were. Everyone loved Steve, but he chose you. Out of millions, he chose to love you and be with you. Sometimes it was still hard to believe that.

But he always did his best to remind that no, this wasn’t a dream, and yes, you were worth his love and affection, and you loved him for it. You talked about the subject a few times after the day you confessed to each other. He knew you had trouble adjusting to your hero status, and given you kind of retired with him, this situation was unlikely to change. You still saw yourself as an ordinary woman who did what she had to do, and there were days you forgot how much effort you made to get there - the years you gave up to achieve your goal, the lack of self-care - so Steve would often remind you of them.

Your family and friends also played a part in that. Whenever you felt down (usually because of something regarding your job) and thinking you weren’t capable, they’d remind you of what you’ve done two years ago. Being a doctor couldn’t possibly be harder than that, right?

Right. You just had to remind yourself of that sometimes. It was easy to fall into a routine and forget the path you took to get there.

Steve suddenly spoke up, interrupting your train of thought. “Hey, Tony invited us to Morgan’s birthday next Saturday. Are you busy in any way?”

You frowned, trying to remember any commitment. “No, I’m free”, you finally answered. “But he should have invited us sooner. I’m not sure we’ll be able to find plane tickets to New York in such short notice.”

He smiled. “Oh, that won’t be a problem”, he said. “He convinced Strange to teleport us if needed.”

Your eyebrows arched at that. “Well, if that’s the case, you can tell him we’ll need it.”

Steve’s smile widened in an odd way. “Great. I’ll tell him.” He stood up and went to get his phone at his room. You took the time to get yours and message your mother friends. What to get for a 5-year-old rich girl?

For some reason, you had expected the passage through Strange’s sling ring to bring you some nausea or dizziness, but you felt nothing as you crossed the minimally small path between Steve’s apartment and Stark’s home.

It was themed birthday party, but you couldn’t recognize which cartoon it was. Pepper told you, but since you had never heard of it before (it was possible it didn’t even air in Y/Co), you forgot it pretty fast.

Everyone was there, even the Guardians of the Galaxy. Apparently, Tony and Nebula had bonded in the three years of the Decimation, to the point Morgan called the blue alien ‘Aunt Neb’. Thor, Loki, Valkyrie and Sif were also there, and Thor/Sif and Loki/Valkyrie seemed to be the couples. “Wasn’t Valkyrie lesbian?”, you whispered to Steve.

“I don’t think Asgardians view sexuality the way we do”, he whispered back. Fair enough, you thought, and proceeded to greet Clint, who brought his entire family to the party. There were many kids, presumably from Morgan’s school. Parker seemed to like to play with them, while the girl who looked like his girlfriend stayed far from the children.

Carol had showed up with a woman and a teenage girl. She introduced the woman, Maria Rambeau, as her girlfriend, and the girl as her goddaughter. Apparently she had been staying more on Earth than outside it, even though she still had missions on space every and then.

Bucky, Natasha and Sam seemed to be a trio, now that Clint and Steve were retired. Tony settled down as well, leaving the ‘superheroing’ to his friend Rhodes and to Parker. He still spent quite some time on his workshop, though, and his works included a new Vision. Wanda was happier with that than she probably should, but who were you to judge?

King T’Challa (and his wife, Queen Nakia), Princess Shuri and General Okoye (along with her husband you had never heard of until today) had come as well. Wakanda had gotten a lot of spotlight over the years, since they revealed to be the most technologically advanced nation in the world. T’Challa’s decision to share of their knowledge to the world was source of many polemics, because everyone had an opinion on how much he should share. He seemed to be handling everything gracefully, though.

Overall, the party was great. You caught up a lot with the friend you hadn’t seen in a year, and had fun. There were many times you forgot that you were among heroes, and that you were considered one.

Near sunset, most of Morgan’s classmates had gone home, and most guests were Avengers. You were talking with Loki about Asgardian medicine (of which he had a great knowledge than you expected a royal to have) when Steve called you. “I wanted to show you something”, he said.

You excused yourself and followed Steve to the riverside (the Starks lived near a river, how cool was that?). “It’s beautiful at sunset”, you said truthfully. “Is that what you wanted to show me?”

“Not really”, he replied, “though it’s a nice bonus. Actually, it’s a gift. Mind if you close your eyes?”

You shook your heard and did as told. When he told you to open them, you were greeted by the sight of Steve on one knee, holding a small velvet box.

Oh. My. God.

“Y/N, you should know by now how much I love you”, he began. You found yourself suddenly unable to breathe. “You are, without a doubt, the best that has happened to me after I came back from the ice. You came into my life in one of the craziest ways possible, and wormed into my hear without even noticing. You are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met, and you deserve all happiness and love in this world. And all I want to do is to give you exactly that. I want you to be the first thing I see in the morning and your voice to be last sound I hear before falling asleep. I want to show you every day how special you are. Please, allow me to love you for the rest of our lives, the way you’ve always dreamed of. Y/N Y/L/N, will you marry me?”

Your legs were shaking. Actually, your entire body was shaking, and you found you couldn’t speak. Was this truly happening?

Slowly so you wouldn’t fall flat on the grass, you crouched down and grabbed his face. You felt tears in your eyes as you finally managed to whisper, “Yes.”

His smile was so bright it nearly blinded you. He carefully opened the box and slipped the silvery ring on your finger. You barely had time to admire it before he grabbed you by the wait, stood up and lifted you, kissing you right after. You smiled into the kiss, remembering an early interview when you went back to Y/Co.

“If you could go back in time, would you have changed anything about the past three years?”

You had wanted to giggle at that - you were able to go back in time if you wanted to. But you restrained yourself.

“I don’t see anything worth changing, ma’am”, you replied instead. “Our mission was successful in every possible way.”

You had brought your family and friends back. You were about to make your dream of becoming a psychiatric come true, you had great heroes as true friends. And now you were about to marry the love of your life, Steve Rogers.

Yes, your mission was successful in every possible way, indeed.

------------------------------------

Aaaand it’s a wrap! Thank you for everyone who liked, reblogged and followed this story. This AU was a concept I had thought of for some time, and it seemed perfect for an imagine - a genre I’ve wanted to try for a long time. Feedback is always welcome.

If any of you wants to see more of this AU, you can ask for drabble suggestions! I’m always open to new ideas.

Taglist: @autobotgirl15-blog @starstrucknature @cheeseburgersstuff @aamzter2013

#steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #marvel imagine #marvel #Steve Rogers #morgan stark #avengers: endgame

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jeaniegreysummers · 4 years ago

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saint honesty || scott & jean

summary: jean goes to scott’s grave and makes a deal with the phoenix. scott is resurrected, but the fire never brings you back quite the same. they reconnect, and agree to keep how he returned to themselves, at least for now.

when: valentine’s day, 19 days after the murder of scott summers

trigger warnings: grief, death, murder mention, violence

featuring: scott summers

JEAN: She woke up that morning with a weight on her chest. Winter sunlight split by shadows shone across the bedsheet, and she knew that for what wasn’t the first time, she must’ve fallen asleep in Scott’s bed. Sometimes she came in to talk to him and found herself drifting off against his shoulder. Other times, she went to search for the clothes she’d left or a book he recommended for her to read, and ended up lying there wondering what it would be like if they both went back to the Institute, if they accepted the fact that there was only one room there with both their names on it, if they stopped kidding themselves that they could ever go back to being friends and nothing else.

A smile gently curved onto her face as Jean reached down to thread her fingers through Scott’s hair. If he found her here, he didn’t typically leave, not after the third night she woke up screaming and the house was shaking, not after the third night when she broke and admitted that she still needed someone there, and the best someone was, and always had been, Scott.

Her hand stilled, and she realised it wasn’t Scott’s head resting on her stomach, and his arms weren’t around her waist. Instead it was a small gray tabby, and as Jean let out a sigh, Streaky stretched out his legs, hitting her lightly before he made his way off the bed towards the kitchen to grab food.

A long time — or at least, what felt like a long time as she lay staring at the ceiling, the chip of the paint in the corner where Clint patched up Scott’s last visor mishap — passed, and all Jean could think of was how spectacularly everything began to spiral out of control. . Every time there was a shift of floorboards, every time she heard a knock on the door, every time she felt an unfamiliar aura make its way into her apartment building, she thought the Enforcers were coming for her. It was only a matter of time, after all. Telekinesis left no signs, no forensic evidence. With Charles’ help, her bases were covered, even if she knew the other man wasn’t particularly comfortable with it.

She was a lot more uncomfortable than she had been in the Raft, too.

She pushed herself up, hugging her knees to her chest. When Scott went down, when he was killed, it was so easy to lash out, to make people hurt. She felt Logan tear through that Enforcer’s skin and she didn’t regret the pain that pulled through her, bringing her back to another battlefield when she was the one who left, the one who died in Scott’s arms instead of the other way around. Now, it wasn’t easy. All she could think of was the fear running through that man’s head, the family he thought of in his last moments.

Jean didn’t even leave bodies for the families to bury. She didn’t even hesitate. She didn’t hand herself in, didn’t fight back against Erik when he said they should leave. What kind of person was she?

Not one that deserved Scott Summers. Maybe that’s why the universe took her from him.

The media was condemning her kind. Her parents knew she was back, and they still refused to look at her as she was. They would’ve brought her back, if she could pretend to be something else, to be normal. They would take her back if she went to Metro General, begged her supervisor to forgive her for speaking out against her recommendations, and played the part of perfect daughter turned doctor, with no X-gene to speak of. Charles was breaking, Erik was burning, Rogue had been noticeably different since things went sideways — and Scott was dead. . Coming back to that fact was inevitable. Every thought began and ended with him. She knew that since she was fifteen years old, had never really been shy about it, so it wasn’t a surprise. For the rest of her life, she would be thinking about Scott. She would be wearing the ring he chose for her, bundling herself into one of his sweaters, staying in his bed instead of her own until the smell faded and she was left wondering whether she remembered what it was like after all.

He was dead. But did he have to be?

She shifted again, hearing Streaky let out a meow in the kitchen, impatiently eager for breakfast. Layla said Scott was her husband. There was every chance that the younger woman was being a pain in the ass (as she’d proven) but she did, admittedly, know something of the future. Was an engagement enough to satisfy that?

Jean hadn’t even said yes, so she doubted it.

Erik’s mind came alive when she touched him on the Raft. Her hand was on his shoulder, and suddenly there was fire pushing his abilities forward, bringing metal up from the hull, allowing them to do whatever they wanted with ease that most people couldn’t even dream of. Rogue burned, and shone so brightly that Jean couldn’t look at her, simmered with a heat that knocked the breath out of Jean’s lungs and took her life before giving it back. . The Phoenix was here. Jean couldn’t escape it now any more than she could every other time she tried. It brought her back. It always brought her back — but there was someone else it saved once before.

Scott Summers.

Jean pushed herself out of bed, grabbing another of Scott’s sweaters and pulling it on over her head as she went to satisfy Streaky. A quick text to Kara, informing her that Jean would be out when she came around to pick up their cat and to just use the key stuck to the top of the doorframe, and she made her way out into the bitter cold, walking with more determination and focus than she had since she died with blood blooming through her uniform, filling her with cold she hadn’t felt since the space shuttle.

The Phoenix kept her warm, always. It came back around no matter what she did. She’d already destroyed so many lives, already made her own choices and given a piece of this power to someone she loved almost entirely because they shared that same bitter vengeance, that same all consuming anger. There were no missing moments, this time around. Jean Grey made those decisions. The Phoenix wasn’t the bad guy.

She was there within nine minutes. She’d timed it, over the past few days, coming here every morning to stare at the words that were burned into the back of her retinas now. Scott Summers. 1987 - 2020. He fought for us.

Jean took a sharp breath, pushing her hair back as the wind rustled gently through the graveyard. This place felt so solemn, uninspiring, empty — a far cry from the life she wanted to breathe back into it. Into him. . She was making a terrible decision. She was inviting a cosmic entity into her life. She was begging with it. She’d already given part of it away, already allowed Erik to be burned at the same time, to be consumed. God knew if he would even manage to survive it, and then she would’ve killed her father. Jean alone would be responsible.

But she couldn’t find herself to care, not while she looked at that name, not while she reached out to find his mind with her own and came back with nothing. She was making a terrible decision, but it was the only choice she could live with.

“I-” Her voice came out loud despite the relatively low volume. Silence had a way of magnifying even the smallest movements. She chewed at the corner of her lip before settling down on the fresh dirt before the stone, mud staining her knees as it had when she skidded to hold him, last breath already lost to the wind.

She felt stupid. She was glad no one else was there to witness what she was attempting. A part of her, a small part, hoped it wouldn’t work — that she would open her eyes and she would be in the White Hot Room and then at least she could have a version of him, instead of being trapped somewhere with nothing.

“I know you’re there,” she tried, stronger this time, no quieter. “I know I don’t need to talk for you to hear me, but I want to. I want to say this. I want you to know I mean it.”

Nothing happened. No flames flickered, no warmth rose in her. Jean wasn’t sure what she expected. She’d been pushing it back for so long, she wasn’t surprised if it told her this was something it wouldn’t do.

She had to keep trying. . “You know what he meant to me,” Jean said, swallowing thickly. “What he means to me. That’s why you brought him to the Room, isn’t it? It’s why you … it’s why you let me see him, one last time. You knew I loved him, so you gave him life, again. You did that for me. And I … I never told you that I appreciated it.”

It was a cosmic entity. It wasn’t a scorned friend — but sometimes it felt like that. Jean could never hope to put her relationship with the bird into words, not if someone else was around. Not if it wasn’t just her and it.

“I didn’t understand what you were trying to do. I still don’t, not really. I don’t understand why you want me, why you’ve ever wanted me — but I’m guessing it’s something to do with why he gave me this ring. I’m guessing you two have more in common than you think you…” Jean stopped, letting out a groan as she tipped her head back. “This is ridiculous,” she said. “You’re in my head. You know everything I’m thinking. You always have. The things you made me do, the things you … the things you made me want to do, disgust me. You terrify me. You terrify everyone.”

Now here it came, the moment of truth, the second when Jean discovered whether she was truly different from everyone else the Phoenix had inhabited and torn apart or if she was just the latest in a long line to think she was special and be proven sadly wrong.

“But I don’t care about any of that, anymore. You can … you want me, right? I can feel that. You keep coming back, even when I push you away. And if you want me, you can have me. You can have anything you want, anything you need. Whatever great, cosmic fate you have planned for me, whatever purpose you have designs on, whatever worlds you need to conquer or cosmos you want to cross, I’ll be there. I’ll do it.” . The Phoenix was fire. It was life incarnate, but that life came from the ashes of people and creatures it deemed lesser than. It was cosmic, larger than anything Jean could imagine, a deity like they described in books of old that set bushes aflame and came down with short, cryptic messages that raised entire cultures and countries in its honor.

Messing with a power like that was dealing with the devil, but the worst had already happened. There was no coming back from that.

“Bring him back,” Jean whispered. “Let me bring him back, and I won’t fight anymore. I won’t push you away. I won’t be afraid. I’ll trust you to keep me safe — to keep us both safe. I’ll be with you. We’ll be together, just like you always wanted.”

Something shifted. It was imperceptible. The wind didn’t pick up, or stop. The leaves didn’t settle on the path. Jean’s hands didn’t burn with repressed fire. They didn’t glow as she curled her fingers into a fist against the name. Warmth didn’t creep up the back of her neck as she closed her eyes, breathing in the sharp air, feeling it curl in her lungs.

Nothing changed, but she knew it had listened. She knew she’d see him when she opened her eyes.

Jean lived for one more moment in darkness, one more moment in pain, and then she looked up.

SCOTT: There was a park. There was a grassy knoll, there were children playing, there was a sunny sky and there were birds in the sky. There was gunfire and screaming, there was blood and gunpowder. There was rage burning in his gut, hotter than anything he’d ever felt. There was a swelling in his chest. He couldn’t decide if it was love or a simple side effect of the blood filling his chest cavity, but it hurt.

(The pain did not help him decide which was the cause. Love hurt, too. Love always hurt. Wanting it anyway was how you knew it was love.)

There was a desperation building in his chest, growing with each beat of his doomed heart, because he had known. From the moment that bullet tore through him, he had known. He remembered begging, remembered Logan, please, remembered the relief that came with looking up into his best friend’s eyes and realizing that Logan would do what he was asking. It had been a terrible thing to ask. He had known that. He’d known it the instant the words passed his lip, but he hadn’t taken them back. He couldn’t. He loved Logan, but there was someone else. There was always someone else.

His life began the day he met her. There had been a Scott Summers before that, but he was --- less. He was lost. He lived in a world he did not understand, a world he could not understand. It was a world on fire, a world bathed in so much red that there was no room for anything else. No other colors, no other hues. It was red, it was all red, it was always red, but only for him. Only for Scott. To everyone else, the world was vibrant. It was bathed in cool blues and warm yellows, it was a rainbow of contradictions. Scott wondered if that made things easier or harder, wondered if all those colors made you feel warm and loved or if he was better off with his red. . (He’d never liked red much. That was the funny thing. As a child, before that plane crash and the hell that followed, his favorite color was blue. He was wearing a blue shirt, the day the plane went down. He still remembered that. It was his favorite. It wasn’t destroyed in the crash, but he never did get the smell of smoke out of it. He still smelled smoke sometimes, even now. Maybe it was never the fabric of that blue shirt that stank of it --- maybe it was only him.)

Jean was the first person he’d ever met who understood the world Scott lived in. He remembered the first time he met her, remembered the way she strolled over and sat beside him on that park bench. He remembered the way his heart stuttered in his chest, remembered wondering years after the fact if his body had known, somehow, that she was important. The universe had. The universe had always known. When she sat beside him, there’d been a gust of wind, like the sky his father had always yearned for was now breathing a sigh of relief on Scott’s behalf that she was there, that he had found her.

The universe, in that moment, had adjusted in that moment. That was what Scott would say years after the fact, when Hank asked him how he felt the first time he saw her. The universe adjusted forever to her slight presence. That was what he’d said. He wasn’t wrong --- he knew he wasn’t.

In that way, in the way that mattered, Jean Grey had been present at the very beginning of Scott Summers’s life. She had been there for the creation of the universe --- she was the creation of the universe. She watched him come into the world, protesting and screaming and stubborn because it was all he had known how to do, all he had ever known how to do. She taught him how to do more. How to be more. If Scott Summers was a good man, it was because Jean Grey had made him one. She was there for his beginning.

She was there for his end, too. . Death was a funny thing. It didn’t happen all at once. It took several minutes for a body to shut down entirely, and it happened in stages. You stopped breathing. Your heart stopped pumping blood. Black spots danced across your vision until they overtook it entirely, until you could no longer see. At some point, the pain left you. Everything went numb, and you were floating in a sea of black, a world of nothing. You were aware and not aware, you were alive and not alive. You were burned, you were about to burn, you were still on fire. You were everything and you were nothing all at once.

The last thing Scott Summers was alive for was Logan Howlett’s words echoing through his mind. I love you, Slim, playing on a loop, over and over and over again as his best friend did him one final favor, as he demonstrated just how much he loved him. And then Scott was dead, and he wasn’t. His neurons were still firing, even if not at a rate that signified any hope of coming back. His heart stopped pumping blood, his lungs stopped filling with air, black spots danced across his vision until they overtook it entirely, until he could no longer see. The pain left him, and he was numb. He was floating in a sea of black, existing in a world of nothing. Some things came through, but not all of them.

But she did. She always did.

Scott couldn’t feel her hands cradling his head, but he’d known that they were. He’d known that her fingers were digging into his arms, he’d known that she screamed at anyone who came close. He’d known that she’d loved him. He’d always known that. . Her words came through like a ghost, and if Scott hadn’t been burned, about to burn, still on fire, he might have laughed at that. Here he was, dying in her arms, and she was still a ghost to him. She was always a ghost to him, always haunting him. Scott had been chasing a ghost since he was fifteen, been watching her slip like vapor through his fingers since that day on the park bench when the universe readjusted to account for her place in it. He was dying, he was dead, and Jean Grey was still a ghost, still his ghost. He had always been haunted.

Scott had listened to her promises as the world faded away, had longed more than anything to listen to her, to open his eyes, to keep his damn promise. He’d promised her. He’d stood across from her in that White Hot Room, and he’d sworn he’d never die on her. It had been a foolish thing to do, a selfish thing to say. No one could make that promise, not even a man accustomed to chasing ghosts.

There hadn’t been enough of him left to form thoughts of comfort to project to her then. There hadn’t been anything left but ash, and he remembered an ache that cut through the numbness, the kind of pain that had nothing to do with the bullet in his chest or the claws in his side. He’d wanted to comfort her, and he was too late. He was always too late.

There was a park. There was a man with claws and tears in his eyes, a voice that he knew better than he knew his own telling him he loved him and doing him a favor Scott had been selfish to ask for. There was a grassy knoll, there were children playing. There was pain and there was love. There was screaming. Some of it might have been his. . And there was a girl with red hair and green eyes. She was his entire world, his universe in a petite frame. He had loved her more than he had ever loved anything or anyone. He had loved her so much more than he had ever loved himself. She was everything, everything. She said his name like it meant something, and when it was on her lips, Scott had believed her.

There was a park, and there was a girl with red hair. She sat beside him on the bench and his life began. Her voice was in his head, and she told him he could be more. Scott had believed that, too. She told him he could be good. She laid the groundwork for a redemption he had not known he needed. She had loved him. Scott had known this.

There was a park, and there was gunfire. There was blood on her shirt, and the world ended with a quiet sigh and an echoing thought. I loved him. Should’ve listened. There was a freshly dug grave and her name carved in granite. She was a ghost. She was always a ghost. Scott knew he would never love anyone the way he had loved her. He’d been right.

There was a park, and there was a girl with his head cradled in her lap. There was blood on her shirt. It wasn’t hers. She was whispering all the promises he’d made and broken, and Scott had ached for her. He had longed for her, wanted nothing more than to give her everything he had promised and failed to provide. He’d loved her. She had known this.

There was a park, and there was a girl.

And then there was nothing.

(Dying, Scott had heard once, was easy. Whoever had said it had never died before. It hurt, even when it didn’t. Even when you were numb, it hurt. Dying was only easy when it was over. Everything was easy when it was over.) . One of the kids asked him, once, what happened when you died. It was after a hard fight, and not all of them had made it out because that was how it went. Scott did everything he could do to protect his people, his children, but he could never quite manage it. In the end, they died. They knew it was inevitable. Some of them were afraid of it. Some of them weren’t. They were all curious.

This girl, with her fiery green eyes and bright red hair, had been a ghost of someone who knew the answer to the question she was asking. Scott remembered wishing Jean was there to answer the question instead, because she’d always been so much better with the children than he was. Scott never knew how to let them be children. He looked at them and, more often than not, they were soldiers. He was in a classroom writing on a blackboard and he was in a graveyard looking out among the tombs. For mutants, there was no difference between the two.

What happens to you, this girl had asked, hoarse and desperate, after you die?

And Scott had been a few months fresh from the grave then, still regaining his bearings, but he’d shaken his head all the same. I don’t know, he’d said. It was the most honest he had ever been.

His death, before, had not been his own. He was sick and he was dying and then he was somewhere else. He was in a room of white and it was warm and he was not alone. He remembered wondering if it was what Heaven felt like. He remembered thinking he was a lucky man. He remembered a ghost who no longer disappeared like vapor the moment he went to cup her cheek.

He remembered that this room was not for him. . It was the bird that had gathered his soul into the White Hot Room before, the bird that took him to be with Jean, but the bird wasn’t here now. The Phoenix had no interest in storing Scott’s soul away when Jean was not there to greet it and, truthfully, he found himself grateful for that. The White Hot Room was Heaven only because Jean was in it. Without her, it would have been Hell.

(Without her, most anywhere felt like Hell.)

And so, there was darkness. There was a sea of nothing, an ocean of numbness. There was aware-and-not-aware, there was conscious-and-not. It wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t torturous. He wasn’t happy, but had he ever been?

There was a park, and then there was nothing. There was nothing for a long time.

And then, there was air in his lungs.

Scott Summers didn’t come back with a gasp of breath. The universe did not readjust to his presence. It never had. Scott Summers returned to the world just as he had left it --- with a quiet intake of breath and a grassy knoll beneath his feet.

His eyes were closed, and he didn’t open them. His face was bare, absent of the lenses that would keep the bomb in his head from going off. He didn’t open his eyes, but he didn’t need to. He felt her. The wind ruffled his hair, and the skies drew a sigh of relief.

And then, the noise broke through. Everything at once, washing over him with a vengeance. Rogue was in the mansion, looking in the pantry and thinking about what they would do with all those cans of soup now. Hank was in his lab, locked away and wondering if Scott might have known the answer to this equation, as if Scott had ever known any answer Hank didn’t. Dani was in her room. She had not come out, and she did not plan on it. . Scott knew all of this, could hear it in his head as clearly as his own thoughts, and he should not have been able to. He felt hot, like he was running a fever, but there was no weakness to it. He felt like he could do anything. He felt a rush of adrenaline like nothing he had ever experienced. His thoughts were scattered into a million pieces, and none of them made sense.

He had died before. He had come back before. It didn’t feel like this. He suspected he knew what did.

“Jean,” he whispered, her name like a prayer on his lips, “what did you do?”

JEAN: They met in a park.

The irony was lost on her for the first few days after he left (after he died. Left implied he had a choice. If Scott Summers had a choice, it wouldn’t involve walking away from her. If Jean was certain of anything, she was certain of that), the fact that their story began and ended surrounded by trees anchoring into the earth, great foreboding structures that had been there long before they had and would remain long after.

She was fourteen years old, the first time she saw him. She was fourteen years old and wearing a dress that used to belong to Sara, the nicest thing she owned, and she was hearing her sister’s voice in her head as she walked up to the kid sitting on the park bench. People like you, Jeannie. Just show you’re listening, and they’ll like you even more. Sara always knew exactly what Jean needed to hear, just the right way to tell her to talk less and listen more without encouraging the defensive side of her to rise up in her chest. She was wearing her big sister’s dress, and she had the mission in the back of her mind constantly repeating, and she was trying to stand up tall like her mother always told her to, and then she sat down on a park bench with a kid in red glasses and scuffed sneakers, holes on the ends of his shirtsleeves, and she realised none of that mattered. . Scott didn’t want her to be the best parts of other people, those parts that Charles always maintained she could bring out with her abilities. Scott didn’t want her to be anyone other than who she was, and she loved him for that, right from the very first day. She thought about saying it, so many times. She thought about screaming it even more, when Scott was in the Danger Room and he worked his way through a simulation, exhilarated from the team effort, and there was a bright grin on his face and Jean felt as if she was fit to bursting. She thought about yelling it across the quad when she left for medical school, and wished she had instead of just waving and blowing him a kiss that he caught and held to his chest as the car drove away.

She thought about it a week in when, without planning or intending it, they both appeared in the Institute’s kitchen at ten past one in the morning, rifling through the cupboards for something to eat. Scott, ever the strategist, managed to procure some chocolate sprinkles, while Jean set about finding ice cream. They crumbled up gingerbread biscuits, and they ate out of the same tub with two spoons. Jean found herself wondering whether it would taste better on lips that finally, finally curved upwards as she made a joke about how they were definitely getting kicked out for insubordination if anyone ever found out, so they better keep it to themselves.

They kept a lot of things to themselves, over the years. There was no one who knew Jean better than the man under her fingertips now, the person in the coffin six foot under whose energy and presence was always undeniable in a room, electric in a way that you didn’t need to be Magneto to feel. . When she was ten years old, they moved to another house in Annandale-on-Hudson, a bigger place to reflect her father’s improved salary. Jean didn’t notice much of a difference since she was never expected to share a room anyway, but there was one significant change. There was a swimming pool in the backyard, just a metre from the decking, and every June her father would remove the cover like he was unveiling a magic show, a flick of his wrist and a bright grin on his face, ever the showman.

Ta-da! he would say, and immediately he would be bowled over by his children, already decked out in swimsuits and goggles and cheap sunglasses that came as gifts with magazines. Liam and Roger were the worst for pushing, but they never pushed Jean — she was the smallest and the youngest, and their father would tear the world apart if something happened to her.

Jean had a habit for attracting that specific kind of father figures.

Julia, though, she didn’t share the boys’ fear, or Sara’s care for her sister. She decided to take revenge for Jean getting first dibs on the basketball hoop on Christmas Day six months before, and when the time was right, when Jean was running towards the pool with an inflatable beach ball to throw to her brother, Julia tripped her up and Jean was falling face first into the water. . She knew how to swim. At least, she knew the technicalities of it, but she’d never done it without armbands, never attempted it without her father holding onto her waist or her mother’s gentle encouragements. Jean didn’t know how to float on her own, and so everything started to fade away. She could hear screaming, and music playing, and she could see the sun through the water, but everything was so dull. Nothing was alive. Nothing was bright. It was peaceful, she found, and then there was a splash, and she was back on the deck and choking, and Julia was crying so hard snot was coming out of her nose in bubbles, and her father didn’t look her sister in the eye for a week.

It felt like that day every day since Scott died. Jean tried to explain that, on the phone. Her mother said this might be for the best and Jean felt bile rising in her throat as she said no, no it could never be, she felt like she was drowning and gasping for air, she felt like Julia was pushing her under. Elaine either wasn’t listening or didn’t appreciate Jean saying her sibling’s name, because she went quiet, then, and just repeated what she’d said before.

Jean hung up mid sentence. She was floating — no, she was drowning — and again, everyone was screaming on the shore. They were jumping in to save her. They were pulling her from the waves, but all she could do was feel like Julia, with her bright red face and her burning guilt and her father’s resentment.

If you were drowning, you had a number of choices. . You could let yourself sink. Jean tried that. The Phoenix brought her back anyway. This was not an option.

You could try to get to the surface, flailing and kicking. This would most likely result in you being pulled even further under. Jean tried that, in the Raft. She allowed them to clamp that collar around her neck, hoped that the draining of her powers would help her to feel something other than overwhelming rage or coldness. It didn’t, and it dragged Erik down too, and Charles. It hurt the people she loved. It proved her selfish. It caused those agents to die. This was not an option.

Finally, you could allow yourself to float. You enabled instinct to take over, and science, and all of those wonderful, inevitable things to bring you up to the surface until your back was barely cresting the water and you could breathe, and you could see the sun, and you could breathe.

And you could see the sun.

That was the only option.

The Phoenix was inevitable. It was coming for her whether she wanted it to or not. She’d tried fighting. She’d tried dying. She’d tried being its friend, its companion. She’d tried everything. Using its powers to bring back the man she loved seemed like the only conceivable option. . She missed seeing the sun, revolving around him, her body pulled to his whether he was on the other side of the room or pressed beside her on the couch or on another continent fighting forces they both knew all too much about. She opened her eyes, and the certainty she felt (the first glimmer of it since he died, the first moment she realised exactly what she needed to do and what she’d done right) was rewarded.

It was done. It was inevitable. There was no going back.

She was looking at the sun.

Jean scrambled to her feet, using the stone in her haste to stop her feet from skidding in the wet mud. She’d been just like this as she ran towards him, slipping and desperately clawing to get there on time and failing. She wasn’t going to let him slip through her fingers again, not this time.

It almost seemed like he might, and then he opened his mouth. His voice was just the same, his eyes were squeezed closed, his hands were reaching slowly towards her. He could feel her presence. He knew it was her. He said her name.

She crashed into him, her arms wrapping tightly around his waist, fingers digging into his back. A reply was impossible, her lips opening only to let a cry escape them, of relief and disbelief and exhaustion all crashing over her like waves on the beach they never got to. She grasped onto him, hands running down his back and feeling lines she knew like those on her palm, and then she pulled back, eyes immediately going to his chest.

No hole. No blood. No death.

No death. . Her attention then finally went, with a catch of the breath in her throat, to his face. The last time she saw it like this, clear and with no red obscuring her view, they were in the White Hot Room. They were dead. But that didn’t last, would never last. Her name lingered in the air even moments after he said it, and she brought her hand to the side of his face, thumb catching on his bottom lip.

“You promised me,” she whispered, and against everything she imagined would happen in this moment she found a breathless laugh escaping her chest, hurting her stomach with the unfamiliarity of it. “And I promised you. We come back to each other. I brought you back to me.”

It brought him back. She could feel the warmth off his skin even more than normal, the energy barely repressed in his head, and she wanted to whisper a thank you to whatever was residing inside them both, now. She wanted to be terrified. She wanted to know how to feel, and make it only one word, so she could try to fix it.

But all she could think of was him.

“Scott.” His name was lighter, now, was said with the kind of bright adoration she would’ve given to him at seventeen years old when she was trying to make him see, or at twenty-three when he learned how to juggle just because he thought it might impress her (and it did), or thirty-one when he reassured her that she really wasn’t old, that thirty was the new fifteen, that he would bring her down to a park and recreate their first meeting if that proved it to her … . Jean’s focus shifted from his breath against her thumb and the beautiful rise and fall of his chest, eyes moving up to his. Her heart was thudding behind her ribcage, and she felt as if she was mere moments from flying for the first time, standing on the edge of the Blackbird ready to careen off into danger. “Scott,” Jean breathed, “baby, I … open your eyes.” Her other hand went up to curve against his jaw, then moved to curl into the hair at the nape of his neck. “I want to see you. All of you. It’s okay. Open your eyes.”

SCOTT: There were moments in your life that you knew you would never forget. It was one of the first things his father taught him, one of the only things Christopher saw fit to drill into his sons’ heads in between trips and test flights and anything that got him out of the house and away from the family he pretended weren’t a burden on him. He’d called them defining moments, moments that you knew were going to stay in your memory until the day you died.

Some of them, he’d said, were good. They were things like the first time you ever flew a plane, things like the day you landed perfectly in the middle of a storm as if the winds and the rain were nothing, things like every single time you made the sky yours. (He did not, Scott realized later, use the birth of either of his sons as an example of a good moment. Scott would spend the rest of his life wondering if that made them bad ones instead.)

Other moments, inevitably, were bad. They were the day the doctors told you the mass in your uncle’s head was going to kill him, the day your CO told you they were discharging you effective immediately, the day they threatened to take away your pilot’s license because you took things into your own hands when you should have stopped and listened.

(Scott wondered if the day that plane went down would have been a good moment or a bad one to his father, had he lived through the experience. It was terrifying and traumatic, but Christopher Summers had always been happy any time he was in the sky. And how, Scott wondered, could you be closer to the sky than he had on that day?)

These were the moments, his father had said, that you would remember until the day you died.

And he’d been wrong. . Scott had died twice now, felt the life drain from him slowly with the fever that left him both burning and shivering and felt it exit quickly with a bullet in his chest and adamantium claws in his side. Neither way was preferable to the other. He had died twice now, both times painful and terrifying and alone despite his head pillowed in the lap of someone he loved, and those defining moments remained just as clear in his mind as they had the day they happened.

Death didn’t steal the memory of the first time Jean kissed him, sitting on his bed after the space mission that brought the Phoenix into their lives. Death didn’t make him forget the dress she wore when she sat next to him on that park bench, couldn’t force him to lose the way her smile made him feel like he could walk on air.

It didn’t separate him from the bad moments, either. Dying couldn’t change the fact that he’d been helpless to save her on that space mission to begin with. It couldn’t let him leave behind the pit in his stomach that he’d experienced when that blood pooled across her shirt on the battlefield, couldn’t allow him to discard the memory of claws in her side or the way he’d been unable to make Logan stay when all was said and done.

His father always said that those moments would be with you until the day you died, but they were stronger than that. Those moments were Scott. Those moments made him who he was.

She made him who he was. . Should he really be surprised, then, that she’d brought him back? Scott would have done the same for her. If he’d had the power, if the Phoenix had chosen him instead of her, he would have resurrected her in a heartbeat. There would have been no hesitation, no thought. This moment, Scott thought, was a defining one. He just wasn’t sure whose moment it was.

She crashed against him all at once, and Scott should have been angry. He should have been furious, should have been seeing red. Scott Summers died for his people, became a martyr in a park full of children playing and bullets flying, and part of him had wanted that. Part of him had always thought that that, more than anything, was how he could help mutantkind. The best thing Scott could do for his people, he’d thought, was die for them. That was where he could be useful.

But Jean was his people, too. And Jean needed him.

There was no anger --- not towards her. If he were a better man, perhaps, he might have found some. He might have considered the consequences of this, might have wondered what the Phoenix would want in return for such a favor, what the government would do now that a man they’d murdered as a show of force was no longer in the ground. Scott was a strategist, and he should have thought of those things. He should have hated it. But Jean was in his arms, and her hair smelled of the same shampoo it always had. She was warm, and he felt her heart beating against his chest, and there was no part of him that felt anything towards her but love.

He loved her. Death could not take that, either. . “I’m sorry,” he said, choking on the words. “I broke my promise. I didn’t --- I never meant to do that.” Maybe some part of him had always wanted to die for their people… but not like this. Not with Jean close enough to catch his body before it went cold, not with her mind in his for the first time in years, not with the ring he’d been clinging to for years in her hand instead of his pocket, not with Logan’s claws in his side. “You brought me back to you,” he repeated, and there was still no anger. He should have been angry. He should have been so angry.

He knew, of course, what this meant. He could feel it in his chest, the same way she’d described it all those years ago. It fills you up, Jean had told him once. Makes you more you. Scott remembered thinking he’d hate something like that. He’d never thought of himself as good, never considered himself much of a hero. To be more himself, to have every emotion he couldn’t comprehend made larger… It had sounded like a nightmare. But that was what was happening within him now. He could feel it, like a fire settling in his soul. And he didn’t hate it. He felt… numb.

(Maybe, he thought, he was still dead after all. Maybe this was what death was --- standing across from the person you loved with your eyes closed, and not feeling any of the things you were meant to feel.)

She said his name, and the world started spinning again. He hadn’t realized it had stopped. His breath caught in his throat at her request, because Scott would have done anything for her. He would have torn the world to pieces if she’d asked, but this… . When was the last time he’d opened his eyes without something obstructing them? He wasn’t sure if his time in the White Hot Room counted, wasn’t sure if seeing a world that existed only for the two of them meant quite as much as seeing the one his father had walked in, the one his mother had shut out with her bedroom curtains, the one he’d died in. (Twice now. He’d died twice.) If he opened his eyes now, what would happen? Scott hadn’t used his powers without the assistance of the ruby quartz lenses since they first manifested, and they were stronger now than they had been then. And he didn’t know where he was now. He didn’t know where they had buried him, what he might tear to pieces if he dared to look at it.

Swallowing thickly, Scott shook his head. “I --- I don’t want to hurt anyone, Jeanie. I don’t want to hurt you.”

JEAN: She’d been through so much, most of it self inflicted, to get to this point. Jean never saw how Scott grieved, not with her own eyes, but she felt it. She saw it in memories of her fellow X-Men, broadcast like movies at an open air cinema every time they looked at her. Jean Grey was no longer her name, not when the Phoenix brought her back to life. Jean Grey was a synonym for violence, and chaos and betrayal. Jean Grey was a phrase people said in hushed whispers, like they were afraid if they said it three times in front of a mirror she would appear and the flames would engulf them. It was said with fear, and anger for their leader, and sympathy and pity and regret. It was said with an edge of bitter longing and endless jealousy dripping from Emma’s lips, the same thing Jean gave back to her in abundance. (The White Queen had always been one of few who saw Jean for what she truly was, who knew what Jean Grey meant before the rest of the Institute caught on.)

Jean Grey wasn’t her name, not anymore. It meant something else, something smaller and insignificant, and larger and all encompassing at the same time.

For a moment, as she sat on the edge of the thin bench in her cell on the Raft, she wondered if that was why she wanted to become Jean Summers so desperately. Jean Summers sounded like a different person. She sounded like a better person. She sounded like the kind of person Jean should’ve become, if the world hadn’t torn her from it almost more times than she could count on one hand. . That moment passed, and Jean realised the truth. She didn’t want to be a Summers to run from the name that was tarnished, now, from being brandished over a gravestone time and time again (she wondered if Hank kept the granite in his lab, stored away nearly under the school, or if every time she was buried and rose again he consciously made the decision to kid himself into thinking it would never happen again. Hank McCoy was a logical man, but the Phoenix … it burned through all lies, all deceptions, including the shadow that suggested the world could be explained in a series of noughts and ones).

She wanted to be a Summers to be with him. With Scott. The only man she’d ever loved, the only person she would ever love with this white hot flame inside her. She loved him before the space shuttle, before the bird, and after. She loved him when he was pushing her away and when he was pulling her closer. She loved him when he was angry, or sad, or scrambling for answers, desperate for their next step to become clear. She loved him whether he was dead, alive, or in between, standing in front of her in the White Hot Room, nowhere near as solid as he was now but still comforting in his familiarity.

She wanted to be his wife. She wanted it more than she could put into words, more than the ring around her finger could ever show. They said until death do us part, but they had defeated even that vow — they kept their promises to each other, so Jean knew they would need to change those words if they ever managed to get to the top of the aisle.

In sickness and in health. For richer, for poorer. To love and to cherish, until death itself is conquered. . “No,” Jean said, hurriedly, shaking her head as she ran her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, throat thick with a lump that formed the second he started to speak. “You didn’t. You didn’t. You’re here with me. You didn’t break your promise.” You never will. The thought was broadcast loud and clear into his mind, a mind that Jean soon found had changed.

What did she expect? That someone could go six foot under, that they could feel blood rising in their throat and a bullet lodged between their ribs and not change? That she could bring Scott back and he would continue on as he had always been, the way he was so familiar after the White Hot Room?

She wasn’t the same person she was before any of her deaths. She was hardened, stronger in a lot of ways, weaker in others. She told Emma she wasn’t helpless, but since Scott was killed she felt it. This great, cosmic power, this Omega level telepathy, the strength of her telekinesis — none of it mattered, not if it meant she was scrambling through mud to get to Scott before he died, getting there just a minute too late.

But she hadn’t. He heard her final words. She could see them, on the outer edges of his mind. He heard her bitter declaration, heard her desperation, her screaming and her pain. Jean remembered telling her patients that death could have dignity. It was as much a part of life as birth, as necessary as breathing for however long you could. When someone slipped away, she recommended, you should let them. Screaming would do nothing. Let them go peacefully. Break into shards when they were gone.

Jean didn’t follow her own advice. She couldn’t. She needed to reassure Scott, needed to make it good for him, needed to make it feel like he was just falling asleep. He knew she wasn’t capable of that, that’s why he asked Logan to end it before she came. He might not have realised that was his reason, but Jean knew it had to be. . “I brought you back,” Jean repeated, and for a moment, just a fleeting second, for the first time since she could remember, she looked at Scott Summers and couldn’t read his face or his mind.

She had no idea what he was thinking. It didn’t terrify her like it should. Nothing did, anymore.

She thought of all she had to tell him, of the Raft and Erik, of the Phoenix splintering on the field, of the power burning in Rogue’s hands that they both decided not to speak about, ignoring the weight of tension that made the air in the room so thick Jean could scarcely breathe. She thought of the younger woman on the other side of the door, how familiar eyes widened when she looked down at Jean’s orange sweater and Jean felt the Summers coming off her in waves.

Rachel. Her name was Rachel. Jean always liked that name.

“No one else is here,” she whispered, and now, he came back to her. He came back to her just as he first appeared, just as he was on that park bench and a thousand years after it — scared of what he was capable of, thinking of others, blaming himself for the power that lived within him.

She always thought it was beautiful when the red reflected off her cheek, when the Danger Room was bathed in its glow like neon lights at a dance club. Red was her favorite color long before she met him, and then it made sense.

“It’s just you and me.” It had always been just them, even surrounded by people, even surrounded by those they considered family. There was even more bonding them now — and just as it happened with Erik, the power didn’t fade as quickly as Jean thought it would. It settled in Scott’s mind, made itself at home there. . She couldn’t blame it. His mind was always the most spectacular place to be.

Jean reached up, pressing a kiss to the middle of Scott’s eyebrows, her thumb going afterwards to rub at the line of frustration that remained. “You could never hurt me,” she said. “Please. Trust me. I can hold it.” Her hand dropped down, fingers brushing against his. “I want to see you.”

She leaned in, nudging her cheek against his so he would help close the distance, before she rested her forehead against his. Her voice was wet when she spoke next, though her eyes were clear as sky — there was no pain here, not when she could feel him, all of him, right in front of her. “You’re always the only thing I want to see.”

SCOTT: When a person died, they became something more than what they were. They stopped being a person with flaws and complex emotions, and they became an idea instead. Scott had seen it happen, felt it happen. His father was a flawed man. He abandoned his family over and over again, left them flailing and uncertain and watching the door wondering if this would be the time he chose not to walk back through it. Even as a child, Scott had known that Christopher Summers was a man of many flaws, a man more complex than a seven year old could puzzle out.

His mother, too, had been a whole person before her death. Scott was old enough now to understand that the way Katherine locked herself in her room with the curtains drawn for days at a time spoke of the same darkness that existed within his mind, the same quiet storm that had been raging in his soul for as long as he could remember. There were words for it, he knew. There were diagnoses that could be made, explanations that might have made him feel less alone, but Scott had never ventured to have them said aloud. Some might have said it was because he preferred clinging to that lonely feeling. He wasn’t entirely sure that assessment was incorrect.

Neither of his parents was perfect, but the crash had changed that. When they died, he’d built them up in his head. He’d forgotten all those nights of staring at the door and wondering whether or not his father was coming home, forgotten the hunger pains that came when his mother was too tired to cook despite having spent the entire day in bed, forgotten the way he was the one who walked Alex to the bus stop every morning and made sure his lunch was packed and helped him do his homework. None of those things existed when he woke up and realized his parents were gone. They weren’t real people anymore, weren’t whole. They became fragmented, existed only as the good parts of what they’d been. They were sainted by the tragedy of their deaths. . Jean had been, too. She had always been a good person, but she hadn’t been perfect and when she was alive, Scott had known that. It changed with her death. He built her up the same way he built up his parents, made her into something she’d never been --- a saint. And it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to hold someone to standards you’d made for them while they were in the ground, wasn’t fair to take away their personhood in order to help yourself cope with their loss. Jean was whole. She was a person, even when she was gone.

Scott supposed the same was true about him.

He was a person. He was made up of bad things that tended to outweigh the good, a patchwork quilt of issues and flaws that few people could stand to look at for more than a few minutes at a time. He was a destructive force of uncontrollable abilities, a nuclear explosion that was bound to go off sooner or later, and he was whole. Just like Jean, just like his parents. He was a messy, complete thing until he was gone. . He remembered the last time he’d died, remembered coming back and reading those words written in the book someone had placed at the front of the room at his funeral. He remembered skimming the pages with his heart a stone sinking to the bottom of his stomach, remembered understanding that none of it --- none of it was true. Scott Summers was not flawless. He was not selfless or incapable of anger or pride, was not always right, but those things disappeared within the pages of that book. The things that made him whole, the things that made him complete, they were washed away by the fever that burned him into nothing. And he’d gotten them back, he’d come back and reminded everyone that Scott Summers was stiff and overly formal and awkward and uncertain and arrogant and angry, but it didn’t stop it from happening again. He knew that.

Ghosts didn’t get to be whole. They didn’t get to hold on to the pieces of themselves that made them who they were, didn’t get to go back to who they’d been. They were transparent, they were intangible, they were perfect. Death was the only way to achieve perfection.

The first time he’d come back, he’d been terrified that everyone would be disappointed when they remembered just how flawed he was. That fear was here, too. He was alive, but he wasn’t yet whole again. Not until he let them all down. Not until he reminded them all who he was.

Not until he opened his eyes.

He felt, suddenly, like a child in a darkened room with their head hidden beneath blankets. The monsters can’t hurt you if you can’t see them. That was a child’s logic. You can’t hurt other people if you don’t look at them. That was Scott’s. . “Jean, I…” He trailed off, taking a breath and shaking his head. “I promised I’d never die on you. I promised you’d never have to live without me, I promised I’d be safe.” She was right --- he was here with her. But he’d still broken that promise. He’d still thrown himself in front of a bullet, still begged Logan to end it so she couldn’t see. As if dying before she got there would make it hurt her less, as if a broken promise was less broken if the person didn’t see you go back on your word. Scott promised her, in that White Hot Room, that she would never know a world without him in it. He swore to her that she would never have to breathe air that his lungs couldn’t grasp. It was a lie. He’d lied to her.

How long had it been? Scott realized suddenly that he had no idea. Had he been dead for hours or for years? Had his body rotted into bones beneath the dirt where he stood, or had it remained in one piece just waiting for him to reappear within it? How much of her life had she lived without him now? How much of the war he’d died fighting was left to win or lose?

He didn’t mean to reach out, didn’t mean to let his mind go to the mansion and the people inside it, but this new fire within him was difficult to control. It roamed the halls he’d grown up within, it poked its head through doorways, it looked for answers, and Scott felt a little sick. It was an intrusion, wasn’t it? It was Nathanial Essex prying his mind open and making him remember only what it was convenient for him to know, it was Jack Winters using telepathy to keep him docile. Scott pulled back so quickly it might have hurt if this fire was a tangible thing, might have left bruises where it snapped back into his mind with more force than he’d ever thought possible. . “I’m different,” he observed, curiosity coloring his tone. “I feel different. Did it --- Did you do that on purpose?” If his tone had been different, it might have sounded like an accusation. It might have sounded like a man demanding answers, a man angry to have had pieces of himself stripped away without his permission. But Scott’s tone was too flat for that, the only thing lilting it that subtle curiosity. He was different now. He knew why, and so did she. What he didn’t know was whether it had been intentional, whether she’d meant for it to happen. He didn’t think the answer would change anything. He didn’t think it was a thing that could be changed.

He knew before she told him that they were alone, could feel the empty air around them with the same certainty with which he felt her. And there was a burst of relief that came with it, a hint of comfort. Scott loved his family, would have died for them, had died for them. There was nothing in this world he wanted to protect more, but right now… Right now, there was only one person capable of viewing him as something whole. There was only one person not still entwined with the ghost of him.

She kissed his forehead, and his brow unfurrowed slightly with the gesture. She was speaking, she was saying please, and when had Scott ever been able to deny her? When had he ever hesitated to give her what she needed, what she wanted? He trusted her more than anything, far more than he had ever trusted himself. The nuclear weapon pounding in his head was not something he could trust himself to control… but he trusted her. Scott sighed, breath trembling in the exhale, and nodded.

“Okay,” he agreed. “Okay.” And then, slow and unsteady, Scott Summers opened his eyes.

JEAN: They weren’t kids anymore. Jean knew that, felt it in every fibre of her bones, in every beat of her heart. When she looked over at Scott mid battle, it wasn’t a simulation. It wasn’t the hundredth time running through Danger Room scenarios, it wasn’t Jean throwing discs for him to fry mid air on the lawn outside the Institute, it wasn’t them pressed up against each other on the couch reading through tactical strategies and trying to pinpoint which of them would work for their team, putting both of their unique perspectives together to bring them to the final conclusion.

They weren’t kids anymore, but sometimes she forgot. Sometimes she was dancing in the kitchen in the morning making waffles, and she felt him behind her, and she turned around just in time to catch the flush of color that spread up from his neck to his face, disappearing under those red shades, as if he was still embarrassed to be caught in the act. Sometimes she dragged him along to games nights and passed a bottle of wine between them, hoping desperately to brush her fingers against his for even the briefest of moments, and she allowed herself to laugh as they tried at charades and for just a night almost forgot that six months before she’d been dead, and he’d been alone.

They weren’t kids anymore. They never would be again. Most people would think that pushed them further apart, made them go to others, to search for something else in other places, but instead they just grew together. Scott Summers was tied up in Jean Grey, for better or for worse, wrapped around her little finger and her heart and her ribcage, meaning every beat of her heart just reminded her how he wasn’t here, anymore. . But now he was. The Phoenix always said it would bring her the world, and now it had finally delivered. The pain it caused, the devastation of Logan putting his claws through her side, or the look on Rogue’s face as Jean was thrown back on that battlefield, all of that was forgotten, if not forgiven. (It could never be forgiven, not even with Scott standing in front of her.)

At sixteen years old, a year into the X-Men, Jean realised something. She was looking at battles as a whole, taking in the bigger picture like she had to when someone’s mind presented itself to her. She was considering it holistically, finding herself overwhelmed within an instant. Then she watched Scott. He seemed to be on top of everything at once, but as she pulled it apart, as she kept watching, as she kept falling in love with him, she noticed that wasn’t the case.

Scott took it one plan at a time, one step at a time, one breath at a time if things were going particularly sideways. She could do that too. She could do that now. Everything else faded away, the Raft and Erik and Charles and the fact that she was letting down every friend she ever had because she was selfishly focused on the fact that she was empty, the fact that there was no light at the end of the tunnel that she could see aside from flames.

“You are safe,” she said, and if she wasn’t standing in front of Scott she might’ve lied to herself and said it wasn’t desperation making her voice go thready, stopping her from taking shaking hands away from his face and his hair. “You are safe. You’re here. I’m never going to let anyone hurt you again, okay? No one is ever touching you.” . He died choking on his own blood. He died with her name as one of the final thoughts that moved through their newly reinstated bond. He died as the man she loved but took for granted, without even meaning to. Jean tried to protect him with distance, in the past. Now, she knew the only way to keep him safe was to be right beside him, to hold onto him with everything she had.

If he would have her.

“Different,” Jean repeated, swallowing thickly. She searched his face, well accustomed to reading it with his eyes an absent part of the equation. He was so beautiful. He’d always been so beautiful. A vision in red glasses, that’s what she’d said to Sara with a sigh, throwing her legs over the side of the couch as her older sister rolled her eyes fondly, knowing what that meant. “Different how?”

She knew what he meant. She knew what it felt like, to have the flames move through, to have them burning through every lie, every truth, every moment of self deception. The Phoenix revealed all you were trying to hide within yourself, all the things you hated and all the things you loved.

For Jean, it only made her feelings stronger, her emotions wilder. Erik … Erik changed in another way. His anger became cold. His thoughts were unreadable.

Scott’s mind was still loud and clear. It was travelling, moving through the city, taking in the people he thought of first, reading them — but it was him. Undeniably so. Jean knew every inch of him, every corner. . “No,” she admitted, finally, licking out over her lips. She pulled at her lower one with her teeth until she could taste metal in her mouth, and she stopped worrying at it. “I didn’t … I didn’t plan-” Jean took a breath, trying to steady herself. For a brief, stupid second, she felt fourteen again, so desperate to prove herself to the untouchable Scott Summers that she would lie about her capabilities just to be chosen for a mission he was on. “I knew it was a possibility,” she finished. “The same thing happened to Erik. It’s … it’s a long story.”

A long story that she was going to have to tell, at some point. Scott told her what she missed, when she was gone. He allowed her to look through the months, years, of his pain and grief, allowed her to take whatever she needed to.

Jean would do anything Scott needed. She would make a deal with death to bring him back to life. She would burn the world to the ground. She would fight and kill the people who touched a hair on his head. She would do anything, whether he asked her to or not.

(That wasn't Phoenix's darkness. Those shadows were entirely Jean’s own.)

The words, the question, almost slipped past her lips. How you feel about me … has that changed? She didn’t bring Scott back to finish what they started. She knew no one came back the same. She knew she pulled back, knew she wanted space even if it wasn’t what she needed. But she was selfish, and looking at him now she had to know, had to quantify, whether the changes that were tearing through him altered the one thing she’d always held as complete and utter truth. . And then he opened his eyes, and she didn’t need to question that anymore. She resented the fact that she had, even for a second.

There was a flash of red, and Jean felt the air knocked from her lungs, the burning turning to electricity on her skin. It wasn’t just where he was looking, either — it spread from her own face down to her arms, travelling all the way down to the ground where it settled in with the earth and mud he’d come from.

It was like levitating for the first time. Like breaking down walls on the Raft, feeling the way the metal crumpled with a brief flick of her wrist. It was falling through air, plummeting towards the earth, and then the split second when Warren would catch her around the wrist and she would feel the flip in her stomach as she was pulled up, soaring through, weightless.

It was walking into a room and knowing every thought that ran through someone’s head. It was Scott leaning in, kissing her again that first night in his room, loving her even when death stared them in the face and other people would be too terrified to reach out, to touch.

Scott was never scared, not really. Not in the way Jean was, terrified to walk through the door, terrified to fail, terrified of death. Finally, Jean understood why. . She also understood why he wanted to be burned by her. Standing in the middle of Scott Summers’ flames, feeling the power wash through her before it faded, she got it.

With the bird, nothing could touch her. Nothing even came close. Scott opened his eyes, and the trees around them blew back with the force, and he was radiating, and she was burning.

But she didn’t move. It protected her, like it always did. Like it always would.

“You could never hurt me.” There were tears running down her cheeks, split by the smile growing wider on her face. She looked over him, taking in the sight she’d seen only once in the White Hot Room, that moment when they promised each other forever and then some because there was no beginning, no end, nothing but each other.

Jean thought they could only have that in death. She’d been wrong. They could have that right here, right now. No one could touch them.

She could see Scott, and that was all that mattered.

“You have the most beautiful eyes,” Jean whispered, a laugh of disbelief following her words. A realisation came, then, and her hand stilled on his jaw. “Rachel has mine, but … they’re warmer. Just like yours.”

SCOTT: When you were a kid, you were supposed to feel invincible. You were meant to think yourself immortal. That was what Scott had always heard, what people said, but he’d never found it to be true. Even before his father’s plane fell to pieces around him and the parachute that should have carried him safely to the ground burned above his head, even when he was seven years old, Scott had never felt invincible. He’d never felt invulnerable, never felt light.

Other people felt it, he knew. He’d seen Alex run around in the yard terrifyingly fearless, seen him fling himself into leaf piles and snowdrifts as if no one had ever told him that he didn’t have wings strapped to his back, as if he didn’t remember what it felt like to fall from far above the earth with only a burning parachute strapped to his back that wasn’t slowing the fall enough. (And maybe he didn’t --- Scott had never asked how much of the crash his brother remembered. He’d never wanted to know.)

He’d seen it in more than just Alex, of course. The first time he met Bobby, he remembered feeling as if he’d been punched in the chest because the boy with the bright blue eyes and the myriad of jokes had that same terrifying fearlessness as his brother had. Hank was more reserved, more like Scott, but even he had let himself have fun from time to time. Warren had flown as if he never learned how to put his feet to the ground, as if he didn’t need the earth as long as he had the skies. (Scott remembered a burning sort of jealousy at that --- Warren, he’d thought, would have understood Christopher Summers far better than Scott ever had. Maybe if Warren was his son instead of Scott, Christopher wouldn’t have felt the need to chase the skies until it killed him.) . And Jean, Jean had had so much of that reckless abandon within her that the first time he saw her fling herself at one of those simulations in the Danger Room, his hands didn’t stop trembling for hours. They hadn’t been friends then --- Scott hadn’t been friends with any of them then, had been so desperate to make sure they needed him around as a leader that there hadn’t been room left to try to make them like him --- but the idea of her falling, of her acting just as recklessly and beautiful in a battle where the stakes were higher had terrified him.

He’d never felt invincible, never felt invulnerable, never felt light. There were days when his chest ached for reasons he couldn’t understand, mornings when his limbs were filled with lead and he couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed, afternoons when he understood his mother’s locked bedroom door than he’d ever admit. It was not the only part of his mother that he understood intimately, wasn’t the only thing he had inherited from her. Katherine Summers, when finally faced with certain death, had had a chance to avoid it. There was a parachute on that plane, there was a way out, there was a lifeline, and she’d passed it on to him. She’d strapped that parachute to his back, she’d gripped his shoulders so tightly it hurt, she’d shoved Alex into his arms. She’d told him she loved him, and then she’d proven it by dying for him. And Scott understood that. He understood what she’d felt, in that moment. He understood why she’d done what she had.

When Scott acted with recklessness, it wasn’t because he thought he was invincible --- it was because he knew he wasn’t. It was because, given the choice, Scott knew it was better that he get hurt than someone else. He knew the world could spin on without him far easier than it could without Jean Grey. . If their lives were a game of chess, Jean was the Queen. She was the most powerful piece on the board, the one whose survival changed the outcome of the game. On a battlefield, her presence was what made all the difference in the world. She was the difference between winning and losing, the thing that stood between them and dying. She’d saved them all on that space shuttle, saved them on that battlefield, saved them when she asked Logan to do what he did. She’d saved Scott so many times he’d lost count, saved him over and over again every single day.

Scott wasn’t like that. He was the pawn, the soldier, the martyr. If he died, the world spun on. The battle was still won. His people still lived, lived better perhaps, because a sacrifice had been made. You could sacrifice him at the beginning of the game, he could fall minutes into a battle, and it still wasn’t lost. There was still just as much a chance of victory as there had been at the start, if not more. He didn’t save people. He didn’t keep her from burning on that space shuttle, didn’t stop her from bleeding out at that battlefield, and he hadn’t asked Logan to do what he did to save anyone but himself. Jean was a hero, and Scott ---

Scott was something else. He wasn’t sure what.

And he certainly didn’t know what he was now. . He was safe. She told him he was safe, and Scott wanted to believe that. He really did. But… Had it ever been true? He wasn’t safe on that plane, with a man who claimed to be the most talented pilot of his generation behind the controls. He wasn’t safe with his mother’s hands gripping his shoulders, with those three words echoing in his ears. He wasn’t safe with that parachute on his back, and he certainly wasn’t safe in any of the years that followed. Safety was stripped from him when Nathanial Essex strapped him down to machines and picked him apart with his words, his telepathy, his medical instruments. Safety was kicked out of him when Jack Winters found that beating him was just as effective in gaining his compliance as entering his mind and with a fraction of the work. Safety died in a space shuttle, on a battlefield, in the yard of the only house that had ever felt like home with Logan’s claws in its side.

But Jean said he was safe, and she had never lied to him. Jean said he was safe, and she had pulled him from his grave to prove it. There was air in his lungs, his heart was pumping blood into his veins instead of his chest cavity, and he didn’t hurt. Wasn’t that what safety was?

He nodded when she spoke, and the word seemed to bounce around in his head, seemed carved into the skies above their heads, seemed to be echoed in whispers with every rustling of the wind through the trees. Different, different, different. Maybe that was all he was now --- different. He considered her question, taking a deep breath and tasting the world on his tongue. Did it taste different because he’d died, or because of how he’d been brought back? Had the world been this crisp before that bullet tore through him, or was it simply sharper now? . “I feel…” He trailed off, uncertain. Scott had never known how to describe what he felt, was never good at deciphering the thoughts in his head. Death didn’t change that. He was different, but he was the same. He was still Scott, even if he wasn’t sure he was just Scott any longer. “Everything,” he settled on at last. “I feel everything.”

He wondered if she’d felt it too, if this was what she’d meant all those years ago when she’d said the Phoenix only made you more of yourself than you’d been before. Was feeling every beat of his heart like an earthquake a part of that? Was hearing every thought in the streets beyond the trees what was meant to happen here?

(Had he come back just as broken as he’d been before? Was the only thing really different about him the placement of the cracks?)

She said it wasn’t on purpose, and Scott couldn’t decide if that made it better or worse. She hadn’t planned to bring him back with this, hadn’t known he would be more in the same way that she was more, but she had known it was a possibility. She had known that it was an option. Should he be angry that it hadn’t deterred her? Should he be grateful?

And why couldn’t he feel either?

“Erik?” The name was a quiet rumble, an uncertain huff. “Did he… Did you have to bring him back, too?” What had happened after that bullet tore through him? What became of his family after Logan sunk his claws into Scott’s side? Where was Logan? Was he safe? Did everyone else walk away from that battlefield? Where was Rogue? Where were Bobby, and Warren, and Kurt and Kitty and Shatterstar and Charles?

(He should have asked that already. Why hadn’t he asked?)

There was something inside of him, and he felt everything and nothing at the same time. Would that change the more he got used to it? Would he stop feeling strange and go back to feeling normal the more time he spent on this side of the grave? And did he want to go back to feeling as he had before? . Slowly, light cracked through his eyelids. There was a brief flash, a moment when he felt his optic blasts rising up and he knew the world was was going to end and he was going to be the reason. He saw red, would make the world red in return… but then the heat died down. The colors of the world flooded him all at once. He saw the grass --- it was green. The sky was a deep, rich blue that he’d forgotten, and in that heartbeat he understood with perfect clarity why his father had loved it so thoroughly. There was brown bark on the trees, the granite stone bearing his name was gray. (‘He fought for us,’ it said. Scott wondered who had picked that out. He wondered if his throat was supposed to ache like it was. He wondered if anything he felt was right.)

And Jean --- he saw Jean. She looked happy and sad at the same time, a familiar glow reflected in her eyes. It was red. Her hair was red, her shirt. (One of his sweaters, wasn’t it?) The rest of the world was bathed in a rainbow of unfamiliarity… but Jean was the same. She was red, just like everything was meant to be, and Scott had been wrong before. He’d thought his favorite color was blue, like the shirt he’d been wearing the last day he ever got to be a child, and he was wrong.

Blue was the color of his sky, the reflection of the thing his father had always loved more than him, a lovely image of a life he never would have had. It was nice --- for a moment. For a flash, it was peaceful. It was almost home, but it wasn’t.

Red was the color of her hair. It was the color of her eyes when she held back the storm for him, the color of the shirt she’d stolen from his drawer, the color of the fire that burned in her soul. It was the only color he would ever see without risking the world’s end, and Scott realized very suddenly that he was okay with that. Jean was red, and she was home. There was no almost about that. . She smiled, and that numbness washed away. He didn’t feel nothing anymore --- he felt it all. Her grief, her rage, her love for him, he felt it all. It was beautiful, it was red, and he was home. He was home.

He huffed out a quiet, uncertain laugh and nodded. “You’re the only one who’s seen them,” he said quietly. Only Jean and Alex, though the latter hadn’t seen them since he was a child. She continued, and Scott felt his brow furrow, felt a cold sense of understanding creep over him. Rachel. The name was unfamiliar --- but he got the feeling that it shouldn’t be. Rachel, she’d said, had Jean’s eyes and Scott’s warmth. Pieces of both of them. “Jean…” His voice was cautious, uncertain. “How long was I…?”

JEAN: Safety was never a resource that was in short supply, growing up. Her father was preoccupied with his work more often than not, but on weekends when he finished his lesson plans and his students stopped emailing and phoning with their harried queries, he would bring Jean into his office, sit her on his lap, and let her type away on his computer, pretending as if she was writing a textbook on Soviet Union era military uniforms just like she’d seen John do her entire life. Her brothers would run in, fighting each other with swords made of foam and balloons, plastic weaponry banned after the great incident of Christmas 2005. Once her father became tired of the intrusions, he would push Jean off and tell her to go to her mother, who would be predictably in the kitchen, rubbing her hands on her apron and watching attentively over Sara and Julia in the back garden, lounging around the pool.

It wasn’t until Annie died that Jean realised there was nothing her parents could do to stop the world taking that security from her. Her entire life up until that point, she felt invincible, untouchable. If she fell in the playground, her teacher was immediately there to patch her up. If she failed a test, her mother provided cocoa to cheer her, lit the fire because she knew Jean liked watching how it flickered amongst the coal. When she started to realise that she might be different, that there was something in her that needed a name put to it and started with looking at girls as well as boys, Sara was on her bed, bringing Jean’s head onto her lap, running her fingers through her sister’s hair and talking about everything but the issue at hand until the word stopped being so terrifying and started being safe too, just like everything else. . But when Annie died — when she went running out after the frisbee Jean threw into the road, never once stopping to consider the consequences because as far as she knew, they didn’t exist — Jean’s mother ran out in that apron. She dropped the dish she was holding, and it smashed onto the drive. She called for Jean’s father, and her voice wasn’t like normal. It was a scream, something Jean never heard before. John and Elaine rushed forward, Annie’s parents heard the commotion and appeared at their front door, and all the adults crowding around her friend didn’t bring her back.

They tried to lie to her, after that. John and Elaine sat with Jean in the living room and told her that Annie felt no pain, that she was in a good place, that it was part of life to die as well as run and play. Jean listened to them say it, and she kept their dishonesty deep inside her chest, because she knew.

She’d heard Annie’s thoughts. She knew what it felt like, at ten years old, to bleed out in the middle of the road. She knew how the bruises on her ribs ached. She knew the darkness that she was fading into, knew that Annie was terrified the entire time.

Jean knew everything Annie ever thought. In those split seconds before her friend vanished completely, Jean saw her life flash before her eyes. She took all those memories, all those feelings. She didn’t know now if she was entirely Jean Grey, or if she had simply absorbed pieces of other people on her way through, taken the bits that seemed the best. . Because Jean, despite Scott’s opinion, wasn’t the best. She wasn’t even close. Yet again, she threw the frisbee onto the road. She gave the Phoenix to Erik. She stood back as her parents lied. She allowed the Accords to continue, even knowing she had the power to bring it down. She stole from the people she loved. She didn’t stand up to lead the X-Men, didn’t go back to Cerebro like she was supposed to, didn’t tell everyone to keep fighting, that the war was far from won.

She told Lorna to stand down. She begged the younger girl to leave, to stop herself from turning into just another Jean Grey.

X-Men weren’t supposed to give up. They weren’t supposed to die, either. Terry didn’t believe that Scott was gone forever, and now, here he was in front of Jean. Layla said they’d be married, and they might. They might, now.

They could do anything they wanted.

I feel everything. Jean felt the words settle deep in her chest, clench at her heart just as they did when those messages came through her phone from Erik. She tried to reach him, now, tried to span out and touch the edge of his thoughts, but he was consciously absent. “Feel everything with me,” she whispered, and it probably didn’t make sense, he’d been gone, he’d been dead, he didn’t know what happened — but she needed to say it. “We’re together, Scott. I’m not going anywhere, ever.” . She wanted to ask where he went, but she had the feeling she already knew. She wanted to ask if he saw Annie or Sara, but those were Jean’s ghosts, not Scott’s — though the latter mixed for both of them, their traumas inexplicably intertwined.

That’s what happened when you loved someone, Jean knew. You took their best and their worst. It never felt too bad to her when it was Scott.

“No,” she said, shaking her head to reaffirm it. This should’ve been the first thing she told him, but she knew there was no manual to this kind of thing, this sort of conversation. “No, Erik … Everyone is-” Fine? They weren’t, far from it. This time, Jean didn’t need to rely on memories or notes of condolences in a sympathy book. She saw it first hand, felt it. There was no going back to the invincibility she felt before. She might be untouchable, but the people she loved weren’t.

At least, they weren’t before. She was changing that, now. The Phoenix reinforced Illyana’s weapon. It changed Rogue, in ways that Jean didn’t dare to think about. It went into Erik, and now Scott. She was protecting the people she loved the most. She wondered if Rachel would see it that way.

“Everyone is alive,” she finished. “They’ll be waiting for you. They missed you.” Even at those words, though, Jean made no movement to leave the grassy knoll they were standing upon, the empty grave she hadn’t looked back towards but Scott had. She wanted to look at him, wanted to feel him, wanted to savour his presence just for a moment longer. “I got in some trouble,” she said, deciding to save the rest of the story for when they were safe, when they were home, wherever that might be. “Erik helped me. A … a piece of the bird went to him, I think. I don’t know if it’s permanent, or-” . She didn’t know a lot of things. She wasn’t Scott. She wasn’t the tactician, didn’t go through plans meticulously and have back ups for the consequences sure to come from her more reckless encounters. She was just a woman that worked on passion, heart and gut instinct, and all of those had been ripped from her the second that bullet entered his lung.

Jean almost wondered if that woman would ever come back to her, but Scott opened his eyes, and he looked at her, and she saw that love reflected back — that endless, unconditional, all encompassing kind of love that she never needed to doubt and never would — and she realised there was a piece of her left anyway.

For him.

“Good,” Jean said, with a huff of a laugh. It wasn’t nearly as light as she wanted it to be, far wetter than she intended, but he didn’t seem to mind. “No one deserves to.” Neither did she, but that went without saying, and wasn’t something Scott would appreciate hearing, she knew. They were both good at defending each other, not so much themselves.

Confusion creased his brow, and Jean wiped the tears from her face with the heel of her hand. “Weeks,” she whispered, “but I missed you.” Did she have to justify it? Inevitably she would, considering the deal she made to find him here, but never to Scott. He knew her before she knew himself. “She’s ours,” she explained. “She’s ours, but she’s not from here. She’s from another world — a darker one.” Jean hadn’t believed that, back when she didn’t have him. What world could possibly be worse than the one where Scott Summers bled out needlessly in a park? . She curled her fingers in his hair once more, leaning her forehead against his and sucking in a breath before she stepped back (not enough to let go, of course. Her fingers reached to entwine with his, not eager to leave his touch for even a second). “They’re looking for me,” she said. “They’re looking for all of us. We … we should get somewhere less open.”

SCOTT: The world was a dark place. It was a dark place when you were a child and you couldn’t figure out whether or not your parents loved you or not, it was a dark place when your mother gave you the answer just before going up in flames, it was a dark place when you were all alone in an orphanage with a man who saw you as an experiment to pick apart instead of a child to hold close. The world was dark when you were a mutant teenager with uncontrollable bombs tucked away behind each eye, and it was dark when you were a little boy whose mother's skin was the wrong shade and whose eyes were the wrong shape. The world was dark whether you wore red sunglasses that colored everything the wrong way or not, whether you were a man or a boy, whether you were mutant or human. The world was a dark place, and it was only getting darker.

Years ago, Scott thought, he might have felt more shock when that bullet tore through him on the battlefield. He’d never been able to convince himself that he’d die of old age, but he’d never quite entertained the possibility that a government agent would shoot him down in a park full of children for no reason beyond speaking in a tone that was just a little too harsh. The government had never quite been trustworthy when your DNA looked like Scott’s did, but it had never been this bad, either. Years ago, the events that transpired in Central Park would have been an unknowable tragedy. The world would have been soaked in shock, and justice would have been served.

But things were getting darker. . When that bullet tore through his chest, when he tasted blood in the back of his throat and realized he was dying, Scott had felt a lot of things. He felt grief, he felt anger, he felt rage and sadness. He supposed he’d gone through his own split-second grieving process the moment that realization hit him, five cliche stages stacked up into a single heartbeat. He’d felt a myriad of emotions --- but surprise hadn’t been among them. There was no part of him that couldn’t believe the events that transpired, no piece of him that could claim he hadn’t seen it coming. The moment the announcement came out about the Accords deepening, a battle like that one in Central Park had gone from impossible to inevitable. Things would always come to a head eventually, and on that grassy knoll, that was exactly what they’d done. It was the exclamation mark at the end of a sentence that had been written with the same ink used to sign the Accords. It was always going to happen.

Scott wondered if this moment was just as inevitable. If his death was the unavoidable consequence of what the Accords had become, what did it say of this one? Was this their fate, he wondered, his and Jean’s? Were they really built for an endless cycle of death and rebirth, the Phoenix pushing them along every step of the way? She loved him too much to let him die, and he loved her too much to resent that. It was this fire burning within him that brought him back, but it was her love that breathed that fiery life into him. Meeting her was the first moment of his life that mattered, the first moment he really felt like someone. It made sense then, he supposed, that she’d be there when he was born again. It all made sense. . In a lot of ways, it was the only thing that did. Scott couldn’t comprehend the things swirling around inside of him now, couldn’t wrap his head around the fire that relit whatever life was inside him, but he understood Jean. He understood why she’d come out here, understood why she’d positioned herself over his grave until he was standing on top of it instead of buried within it. He would have done the same for her, if he could have. If the Phoenix had chosen him on that shuttle, Scott wouldn’t have hesitated to bring her back after she fell on that battlefield. Her doing this… It made sense, even if a part of him wished it didn’t.

Feel everything with me. Wasn’t that all he’d ever wanted? Wasn’t that what he’d been chasing since he was a kid on that park bench, listening to her tell him that he mattered? Scott swallowed, throat feeling hot, and he nodded his head. “Me either,” he promised, as if it was one he could keep. As if they weren’t standing over his grave now, as if his own name wasn’t carved into granite behind them. “I’m --- I don’t want to leave you, Jeanie, not ever again.” And he didn’t have to, did he? This thing burning inside him, this everything that made him different in ways he didn’t yet understand, it was life itself. What could possibly take him from her when he had that? What obstacle could possibly hope to stand between them?

There were questions she wanted to ask. He could feel them, as if they were tangible things hanging in the air. He didn’t know precisely what they were, but… He could guess. There were, after all, questions that were obvious when someone was recently back from the dead. Did she know that the Phoenix hadn’t taken him to their White Hot Room when she wasn’t in it? Did she know he’d gone to neither Heaven nor Hell?

Did she know that, without her, all Scott could ever hope to do was float endlessly and miserably on a numb, empty sea of black nothingness? . He didn’t know how to tell her, didn’t know how to describe nothing. There were no words you could string together to describe a thing that did not exist, no way to explain something that wasn’t. You could try, he supposed. You could use words like empty, or dark, but they weren’t quite right. For a thing to be empty, there had to be a space with some possibility of being filled. For a place to be dark, the concept of light had to exist to contrast it. Scott had had neither of those. Even nothing, as a concept, could only be applicable if the word something was at its heels.

She didn’t voice the questions aloud, and the relief nearly knocked the air from his lungs. And there were two sides to that relief, two reasons for it, because everyone was alive. Scott had died for his people, and his people had lived for him. Jean walked away from that battle, Rogue was okay, Logan was alive. The world had been right, even when Scott wasn’t around to see it. He nodded, breathing a quiet sigh of relief. But then he paused a moment, took a beat to consider their situation. “What are we gonna tell them, Jean?” How did they explain how he’d been dead and then not, how they’d carved his name in granite only to find him standing in their living room some time later. It wouldn’t be the first time, of course, wouldn’t be a unique occurance, but it still needed an explanation. It still needed to be put to words, and Scott didn’t know how to do that. . And there were other things to consider, too. Jean got into some trouble, the kind of trouble that Erik had needed to get her out of, and Scott knew that wasn’t good. His eyes flickered to hers, studying her without that tint of red lenses standing between them, and he was quiet a moment. “Are you okay?” It was a stupid question. He’d been dead, been buried in the ground beneath her feet. How could she have been okay? He wasn’t, when it was him. He nodded at the explanation, eyes still searching hers. “What about me? Is this… Is it permanent?” He wasn’t sure if he was asking about the fire burning in his chest or the fact that he was drawing breath through it, wasn’t sure if he was inquiring about the Phoenix or his life. Both, maybe. Would he have this piece of the bird within him indefinitely? If it left, would he still be alive?

(And what answer, for both questions, was he hoping for?)

She made a joke and, in spite of everything, Scott smiled. He didn’t know what would happen next but, for the moment, he was alive. He was drawing air through his lungs, his heart was beating, and Jean was telling jokes. It was better, he thought, than it had been a few moments before. Whether it lasted or not was irrelevant. “Not sure I agree with that,” he admitted, “but I guess it’s been a while since I’ve seen them, too.” He didn’t even remember what color they were. Brown, maybe, like his mother’s. (He hoped they were like his mother’s.) . The answer to his question wasn’t as bad as he’d feared, wasn’t years or decades or centuries. Weeks wasn’t bad, all things considered. Weeks was pretty good. (So why did he still feel grief burning in his veins?) “She’s ours?” There was a quiet disbelief to the words, a gasp of surprise. “From…” It was a lot to take in. A daughter, a girl named Rachel with Jean’s eyes and his fire, a girl from a world that had been darker than this one had managed to become. Scott wondered if they were headed in that direction now, if her world was this one with a different name. “How old is she? Is she… okay?” Had he been a good father, in that other world? Had he been enough?

Jean’s hand was in his, and Scott still had questions. Why were they looking for her? Was it because of him, because of what he’d done in that park, or had something else happened? Would they be after him too now? (That one was easier to answer --- he knew that they would.) But there was time for those questions later, time to discuss when they weren’t out in the open where anyone could see them. He hesitated a moment, looking into her eyes again. “Do you, uh… Did you bring my glasses?”

JEAN: She’d always been a big picture thinker, always been someone who couldn’t step forward and focus on one specific detail no matter how hard she tried. Jean was either overwhelmed by the situation in front of her, or she was juggling a hundred and one plates in the air at the same time. She told Erik he needed to bring it back, needed to tone it down and funnel every thought and experience through a true north, and while it might seem as if Jean was preaching from a high place that she didn’t occupy herself, she’d never been an island. Jean Grey was a unique person, she had her life and her motivations and her experiences, but she also recognised that the whole was far, far greater than the sum of its parts.

Scott was her other half, her true north, the one that everything came back to one way or another, a magnetic forcefield like she’d felt in Erik’s mind condensed into the man standing in front of her now. Nothing made sense unless she could talk it through, and she could only talk, really talk, with the man standing in front of her — the man who could be screaming at her right now, could be demanding answers as to why he was back in the land of the living, why she dragged him from the Earth and put the fire in him that she’d been trying to run from her entire life and never quite managed to hide from.

She thought she was alone, all those months. She thought she felt the cold. As it turned out, she doubted the firebird ever left. Jean never imagined being grateful for that fact, but stranger things happened.

He could be mad at her. He could be turning away. He could be blinking and letting another blast come forward, could be testing to see just how much force the Phoenix could really stand up against at this short of a range, but he wasn’t. He was looking at her, and she was seeing that warmth reflected in his eyes that she’d seen, but not felt, in the White Hot Room. . This wasn’t the kind of fire the Phoenix could bring. This was a kind that was uniquely Scott Summers, there long before that space mission, long before the radiation cloud, long before Jean died and left him alone like he’d left her.

But they weren’t doing that again. “You better not,” she whispered, but there was no humor to it. There was no disbelief, either. Scott died only a matter of weeks ago. The dirt was still fresh on his grave. So many had been turned to ash and dust in his memory, and now he was back — did that make Jean’s destruction of them even more devastating than it already was? Would she feel those killings even deeper in her bones when the relief of Scott returning faded?

He died only a few weeks ago, but nothing told Jean to doubt his words now. If Scott Summers promised her something, he would follow through. He hadn’t left, not really. She just needed to pull her weight, too. “I’ve never wanted anyone but you.” She never needed anyone like this. For so long, Jean was the glue holding the original team together. She was the teacher, guiding the younger X-Men to a life they were destined to lead. She was a doctor, patching up mutants that came through the doors of the emergency room or appeared on her doorstep. She was a fixer, but Scott fixed her, and she didn’t know what to do without him.

Time, so they said, healed all wounds, but the gaping one Scott left deep within her chest wasn’t one that Jean ever wanted to disappear. She never wanted to take a breath while he was gone without feeling the ache of it, never wanted to forget that he’d been there, not for even a second. . This was the only option she could live with. Telling the others, though, pretty much ensured that the very valid concerns would be brought up, that her friends and family would look at her like the girl they should’ve kept a tighter leash on. “I …” Jean didn’t think that far ahead. She wanted to say that Scott was the tactician, that she was focused on getting him up from six foot under, but it didn’t feel like an entirely foolproof argument. “Not the truth.”

The second the words were out of her mouth, they settled in the bottom of her gut. They didn’t sit well, never would. The idea of lying to the people Jean loved the most was a sickening one, but with everything falling down around them, with the world out for their blood, she didn’t think bringing up the fact she welcomed a devastating, potentially maleficent, cosmic entity into her life, gave a chunk of it to Magneto unintentionally, and then used it to bring her boyfriend back into the fold.

They had enough to worry about. Jean was a fixer. She created solutions, not problems.

“It won’t exactly come as a surprise,” she said. “You … you came back, before.” The specifics of how that happened still weren’t exactly clear, though Jean knew now it was likely the Phoenix’s interventions. Whether that was to help Jean or hurt her, she wasn’t entirely sure. “We’re X-Men. Terry didn’t even believe you would stay gone this long.”

Jean hated her for that. She thought about ripping her apart, atom by atom, but she didn’t. She didn’t, because Terry’s words got this idea ticking around in her head, rattling around until Jean had no option but to try it.

She hadn’t planned what to do after. . Scott asked whether she was okay, and Jean wanted to laugh. She wanted to because it was typical Scott, because the question and the look on his face reminded her so intensely of when he took a nose dive off a dinosaur in the Danger Room just to prove he would look out for her no matter whether it was real life or a simulation. She couldn’t quite manage it, though, and so she settled for meeting his eyes again, feeling the wave of power wash over her, a soft smile hanging on her lips.

“I am now,” she said, and it was the truth. She could lie to herself, she could lie to the world, she could even try to lie to the Phoenix though she knew it would never work, but she couldn’t lie to him. At his next question, Jean bit down on the corner of her lip, the smile fading. “I don’t … you’re back. I made a deal for your life. It won’t go back on it.” The power surge was something that Jean never mentioned, something she never thought about (though had she? In her subconscious mind, did she ask the Phoenix to help Scott let loose, to give him the power to do what was necessary? It was likely).

Red was always Jean’s favorite color. She only recognised it as such, though, after the park bench — when she sat beside another kid who jumped up when she said his name, and they were screaming at each other in words and in their mind, and she was weird, but he still sat down. He still wanted to be her friend, still trusted in her when months later they were on the same team, going out to face the big bad world with only each other and their friends at their sides. Now, though, as she looked into Scott’s eyes, she realised she’d been seriously underestimating brown, so dark it was almost black. . “They’re good,” she said, voice thick and feeling as if she was going to start shaking at any moment, adrenaline and relief and regret building up under her skin. “Nice. You look … really good.” Definitely not dead, which was a step up. (Maybe Remy was onto something when he looked at her with a raised eyebrow. Maybe Jean was losing it. It stood to reason Scott would be the one to bring that realisation to the surface.)

She nodded, index finger hooking around his thumb, then moving to trace the outline of his hand. “Ours,” she repeated. “Mid to late twenties, I guess? We didn’t really … there’s a lot we didn’t get to talk about. I wasn’t myself.” Jean wasn’t the kind of person she would like to rely on when she came to another universe. “She had memories of you,” she continued. “Good ones. Not so many of me.” It didn’t take a genius to work out why that was. Death clung to Jean as much as life did, whereas Scott always seemed more steadfast.

Seeming was a dangerous thing.

“Kitty knows her,” Jean said, and all of the younger woman’s pushes to bring kids into the picture made sense with how she’d been acting since she reappeared. “You … I can bring you to her, if you want. Soon.” As soon as Jean managed to take her eyes off him, as soon as she was sure he was really there and not just a figment of her imagination — but he was so solid under her touch, his breath against her cheek, that she couldn’t help but release the tension from her shoulders. . Her head dropped onto his shoulder, and Jean rested there, swaying slightly, for a long moment before she realised Scott spoke again. She looked up, blinking a few times fast. “I brought you back from the dead,” she said, the words filling her with hope and light disbelief. “I’m so sorry I didn’t think to pack a pair of shades.” Jean hesitated, thinking for a moment, then reached up to loosen the knot of Scott’s tie. “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” she muttered as she worked, “but I never want to see you in a suit like this again, Scott Summers.”

The tie slid between her fingers, and she moved to put it over Scott’s eyes, tying it gently around the back of his head. Her hand trailed down his cheek one more time before she let her arms fall to her side, reaching for him. “We’ve got some at home,” she said, knocking her shoulder gently against his. “I won’t lead you wrong.”

SCOTT: The world had been burning for most of his life now, bathed in a red that only Scott could ever see. That fire had followed him --- from the wreckage of his father’s plane to the tortures of Essex’s ‘orphanage’ to the underground sewers where Winters let him squat. There was a time, after that park bench, when he’d thought he’d left it behind, but he never had. Not really. It found him in the space shuttle when the world went dark for a heartbeat, on the battlefield where blood blossomed across her stomach, in front of the mansion where Logan’s claws dug into her side. That fire ate away at him over and over again, until it was Scott bleeding out on some dusty battlefield, until it was his flesh being pierced by Logan’s claws in a gracious act of mercy.

It wasn’t the kind of fire that could be doused, wasn’t something you ever got away from. Even death couldn’t free him from it. The fire was still there, still burning, but it felt different now. Before, the fire burned up the world around him, but now… Now, it was burning inside of him.

He didn’t think he wanted it to stop.

It was the fire, after all, that brought her back to him. On that space shuttle, in the White Hot Room, on the lawn of the mansion where she appeared after months of being gone. It was the fire that brought him back to her, too, the fire that allowed him to finally, finally keep his promise. He smiled at her whispered words, the joke that wasn’t a joke, the ones that should have been hissed with disbelief because he already had. He’d died on her, let that bullet rip through him, begged Logan to end it before she could see as if he could hide his broken promise by kicking the remnants under the table. He’d already broken his promise to her… but he was back now. He was alive again. He came back to her, just as she’d come back to him over and over again. . (Maybe, at the end of the day, that was what love really was --- two people who always came back together, even when the world wanted them apart.)

She spoke again, and Scott let out a quiet breath. “You have me,” he whispered. “You’ve always had me.” Even when she didn’t. Even when she was gone and he was clinging to anyone who’d have him, even when her death carved holes in him and sent him into other people’s arms, other people’s beds. Scott Summers had always belonged solely and completely to Jean Grey. Emma had known that, had deserved better than that. So had Colleen. Everyone had always paled in comparison, always been a temporary fix. He’d always wondered what sort of man that made him. Right now, with her hand cupping his face, he couldn’t quite bring himself to care.

There were other things, of course, that he should care about. Jean didn’t know what to tell their friends, how to explain how man dead weeks before was alive again now with no reason behind it. Scott didn’t know, either. He went into every situation with a thousand different plans, but this one? How did you prepare for the aftermath of your own death? How did you come up with contingency plans for how to keep drawing breath after your lungs filled with blood and your heart stopped beating? “We’ll be vague,” he decided. “We’ll hope they don’t ask too many questions. We’ll --- We’ll try not to lie to them.” They’d have to lie a little, inevitably. They’d have to pretend to a certain extent. Everyone would worry otherwise, and that was the last thing either of them wanted. . He doubted Jean had wanted this, either. Scott brought back with the same fire that had burned her out before, the same flames threatening to swallow him whole. This probably wasn’t how she’d meant to bring him back, but what could be done? No one got to die and come back without consequence. No one got to cheat death without giving something up. He nodded, trusting that the process, at least, was solid. He was here, he was alive, he was breathing. He didn’t know how he felt about it, but he knew it was true.

And besides, they had other things to attend to in the meantime. They had Rachel, this girl who was theirs and not theirs, this woman who was only a few years behind them in age and yet had their blood running through her veins and their lessons in her head. Or… Scott’s lessons. Death, it seemed, came for Jean no matter what universe she was in. He felt a little nauseous at the thought. “We’ll get to know her together,” he promised quietly. “If she’s… If she wants to.”

But not now. Now, he had a world to catch up on. He had things to consider, things to do. Enforcers shot him dead for trying to help children. Scott doubted they’d gotten any kinder since his death, doubted his people were any safer now than they had been in Central Park with bullets flying. Something needed to be done, and Scott was going to do it. He cracked a faint smile when Jean spoke, closing his eyes as she untied his tie and positioned it over his eyes. “Only sweatpants from now on,” he promised, reaching out to take her hand. Her shoulder knocked his, and his smile widened slightly as she spoke. “You never have.”

#char: scott summers #texts

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