#and neither is Nick Fury

[strangeunknownarbiter]

^ me to the next right-wing boomer who judges me for not celebrating Thanksgiving

[bossbtch1]

Against All Odds

The GIF is not mine; credit goes to the respective artist/creator.

Summary : You recently joined the Avengers, and everyone has accepted you except for Bucky. Now, the challenge lies in proving him wrong, but can you succeed changing his mind and earn his trust? Or do you have to do more to earn it? (geez, I’m suck at this)

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x Reader (No mentions of body type or ethnicity other than the reader being female)

TW: SMUT, 18+, strong language, enemies-to-lovers-ish, oral (m receiving), rough sex, dirty talk, unprotected sex, degradation (slut calling), slight choking, orgasm denial

Word Count: Around 10k (I know it's a bit long, I got carried away. Sorry) → smut is like 4k hehe

Author's Note: This is my first attempt at writing a story, and it’s a smut one at that. English isn't my first language, so apologies for any mistakes or bad grammar. I hope you still enjoy the story!

Part 1, Part 2 , Part 3

If you like my story, please go check out my other stories here

These are the aesthetic for part 1 (solely for visual representation of what going to happen on the story, this meant no representation for body type or ethnicity)

You've always been a dependable agent ever since you were young, someone who could handle the toughest missions without letting your emotions get in the way. Nick Fury spotted your potential when you were just a kid, taking you under his wing. It was his belief in you that kept you going, and it all led to the thrilling moment when he thought it was time for you to join the Avengers. After all those years of hard work, it felt like a dream come true.

Then came your first day with the team. You'd just joined, and they wanted to see how good you were in a fight. You almost beat Natasha in a really intense battle, proving to everyone that you totally belonged with the Avengers. Your determination to show your worth never wavered. But there was this one guy, Bucky Barnes, who just couldn't seem to trust you no matter what.

On your first day with the Avengers, the training room buzzed with anticipation as you faced off against Natasha Romanoff, Black Widow. It was a test of your combat skills, a way to see if you had what it took to be part of Earth's mightiest heroes. The desire to become one of them, although it might sound cliché and cringey, burned within you.

The Avengers, including Nick Fury, Captain America, Iron Man, Winter Soldier, Hawkeye and Thor, watched from up above, all curious and eager to see how you'd do. Their faces showed they were rooting for you.

However, as you glanced upward to catch your breath, your eyes locked onto Bucky Barnes. He stood there, solitary and stern, arms crossed over his chest. His intense gaze bore into you, but unlike the other Avengers, his expression was far from encouraging. There was a deep skepticism in his eyes, a doubt that seemed unshakable, and it cast a shadow over your determination to prove yourself to the team.

Natasha, dressed in her familiar black outfit, gave you a serious look that made you stop staring up. When she spoke, you turned your attention to her. "Think you've got this, newbie?" she teased, a touch of amusement in her voice.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. This was your moment to prove yourself, and there was no turning back. The weight of your new Avengers uniform felt both exhilarating and nerve-wracking. "I'm ready, Natasha.", you responded with determination. You weren't going to back down now.

Natasha grinned. "We'll see about that."

The two of you circled each other, and then, without warning, Natasha lunged at you with lightning speed. Her attack was quick and precise, but you were able to block it, thanks to your training. As the two of you sparred, the crowd cheered and shouted their support. It was a battle of wits and willpower, and neither of you was willing to give up.

"You're good," Natasha admitted, her voice dripping with genuine admiration. "But let's see how you handle this." With a fluid motion, she unleashed a series of acrobatic moves, flipping and twisting through the air before landing gracefully behind you.

You spun around to face her, sweat beading on your forehead. "Impressive, but I'm not done yet."

The fight continued, and you pushed yourself to keep up with Natasha's relentless assault. Your training and instincts kicked in, and you began to hold your own. It was a back-and-forth battle, each of you landing hits and dodging the other's attacks.

But Natasha was more experienced than you, and eventually, she managed to overpower you. She had you pinned to the ground, her face inches away from yours. You struggled against her grip, but she held you firmly in place. "Had enough?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Gritting your teeth, you mustered all the determination you had left. "Not a chance," you replied, refusing to admit defeat.

The crowd went wild as Natasha delivered the final blow, knocking you out. She stood there, victorious, a small smile playing on her lips acknowledging your impressive performance. "Good fight," she said, extending a hand to help you up.

You accepted her hand, "Thanks, Natasha. You're incredible."

The room erupted in applause, and everyone from the observation deck descended to congratulate you. Fury, wearing a proud smile, gave you a warm hug. "Well done, Y/N. You're officially part of the team," he declared, his words filled with pride. He whispered, "I'm proud of you, Y/N," and it meant the world to you.

But amid the celebration with your new teammates, there was one person who didn't seem as thrilled. James "Bucky" Barnes, the Winter Soldier, stood in a quiet corner of the room, his expression inscrutable.

You had felt his presence throughout the entire match, his intense gaze sending shivers down your spine. Bucky's gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, then he turned and left the room, leaving you feeling more confused than ever.

Bucky went out of his way to undermine your confidence, pushing you to the brink of quitting time and time again. His words still fresh in your mind. "I don't think you're cut out for this, kid. This isn't a game. It's a matter of life and death. You’re not ready for this."

It hurt. You didn't understand why he was so determined to bring you down. What had you done to make him dislike you so much? Despite Bucky's relentless doubts, you refused to back down. You were determined to earn his respect, just as you had with the rest of the team.

So, every day, you trained harder, pushed yourself further, and proved your worth on every mission. Your hope was that one day, Bucky would finally see you for the capable agent you truly were and put his doubts to rest once and for all.

One day, as you were making your way to the gym, the sound of voices caught your attention. It was Bucky and Steve, engaged in a hushed conversation that seemed to revolve around you. Curiosity piqued, you tried to maintain a discreet distance, keen on hearing what they were saying. You knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but you couldn't help yourself.

"Buck, I think you're being too hard on her. She's a good fighter and she's eager to learn," Steve argued.

Bucky's skepticism remained unshaken. "I'm just trying to watch out for the team. She's a liability, not ready for this kind of responsibility."

Steve being the optimist pushed back gently, his support for you evident in his tone. "I think you're the only one who feels that way."

Bucky's voice grew firmer as he explained his perspective. "She's only here 'cause Nick Fury vouched for her. There are others who deserve this chance more. I could name a couple who'd fit better on this team than her."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, casting doubt on your worthiness. It was difficult to hear that the person you looked up to and wanted to prove yourself to was actually against you, even though Bucky's argument was valid.

You couldn't help but question if your acceptance into the Avengers was indeed solely because of Fury. You had always believed that your spot on the Avengers was earned through your skills and dedication. Bucky's doubts made you second-guess if you had truly earned your place.

"Buck, there's more to it than that," Steve replied, his voice steady. "Just be patient with her."

Unable to endure the conversation any longer, your heart felt heavy as you turned away, doing your best to conceal the hurt that washed over your face. With resolve, you changed your course and headed towards the field track, hoping a run would help clear your mind.

Later, as the sun set on the horizon, you were still out running laps. Your thoughts were racing, and your body was aching, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop.

"You're gonna wear yourself out if you keep pushing like that."

You jumped, startled by the sudden voice. Looking over your shoulder, you saw Bucky standing a few feet away, his arms crossed.

Caught off guard, you tried to put on a brave face. "I'm okay," you lied, attempting to hide the pain that was clearly etched on your face. Stopping abruptly had caused your feet to throb with discomfort.

Bucky, however, wasn't buying your façade. He narrowed his eyes, his concern deepening. "You're not. You're hurt."

In response, you shook your head stubbornly, your pride urging you to push through the pain. "I'll manage," you insisted, even though every step sent a sharp twinge through your feet.

Bucky's gaze remained sharp and unwavering. "You're not fooling anyone with that."

Deep down, you knew he was right. The pain was becoming harder to ignore, and your stubbornness could only take you so far. But in that moment, you weren't quite ready to admit defeat or show weakness, especially not to someone like Bucky.

Bucky took a step closer, his expression resolute. "Come on, we're heading inside," he stated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“I'm okay, I can-." You began to protest, but he interrupted you firmly, "Y/N, enough. This is an order. You're only making my job more difficult by trying to tough it out. Let's go, and I don't want to hear another word from you."

Reluctantly, you fell silent and went along with Bucky, allowing him to guide you back to the facility. As you walked, you couldn't help but mull over his earlier words, "You're making my job harder by trying to tough it out." It left you wondering why he cared or felt responsible for you, especially when you believed he disliked you.

Once inside, Bucky seated you and fetched a glass of water. Taking a sip, you felt a wave of relief as it helped ease some of your fatigue. Then, without uttering a word, Bucky briefly stepped away, returning in less than a minute with bandages and medicine in hand.

Your curiosity got the best of you, and you couldn't resist asking, "What's all that for?" Your eyes were drawn to the medical supplies.

"Take off your shoes and socks," Bucky directed, his tone brooking no dissent.

"I don't think I need..." You began to protest, but a quick glance at Bucky's determined face made it clear that there was no room for discussion.

Letting out a sigh, you gave in and removed your shoes and socks. What you saw shocked you: your feet were in a terrible state, bleeding and covered with painful blisters, a clear result of your overly enthusiastic run.

You heard Bucky mutter a curse under his breath as he knelt down in front of you. "Bucky, seriously, I can handle it," you tried to protest, but he wasn't having any of it.

"Just stay put and let me take care of this." His voice was firm, and he got to work tending to your battered feet. Gently, he placed your feet on his lap, starting to clean the cuts on your soles. You winced slightly as the sting of the alcohol met the open wounds.

While he busied himself tending to your injuries, you found your gaze drifting to him. Bucky was undeniably handsome and hot, you couldn't help but appreciate his appearance. As your eyes met his, he suddenly looked up at you.

"Got something on your mind?" he asked, his expression as enigmatic as ever.

You blinked, realizing that you'd been staring. Heat crept into your cheeks as you stammered, "I, uh, have an issue with my shoes." You finally managed to say, though it wasn't exactly the eloquent response you'd hoped for.

Bucky, his expression unamused, retorted, "Well, that's clear." After he finished bandaging your wounds, he added, "But there's more to it than just your shoes."

"You can't be out here, pushing yourself so hard if you're going to injure yourself. This isn't a game. You must take care of yourself. You can't expect to get the full experience if you're going to hurt yourself." His words were harsh, but they were true.

"I know," you admitted with a sigh, guilt gnawing at you. "I just got caught up and lost track of time. It's not that bad."

Bucky raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Not that bad?" He challenged you. "Then stand up. Let's see how not that bad it really is."

Your cheeks burned. You could already feel the ache in your legs and the throbbing pain in your feet. But you refused to show any weakness. Not now. Not in front of him.

"Fine." With a determined look, you pushed yourself up from the chair, wincing as you put weight on your injured soles. Your feet stung, and your muscles were sore, but you gritted your teeth and pushed through it.

Bucky couldn't help but scoff, clearly frustrated with your stubbornness and tendency to challenge him.  "You want to be part of this team, right?"

You nodded, your determination unwavering despite the discomfort. "Yeah, I do.”

"Then you need to stop being reckless and start acting like an Avenger. We can't afford to have someone on our team who's too stubborn to admit when they're injured. It's only gonna make things worse." he said firmly, taking a step closer to you. "Maybe you could start by, I don't know, following orders and not talking back every chance you get."

The harshness in his words took you by surprise, but they also cut deep. Because you knew he was right.

With that he left the room, leaving you behind to wallow in shame. You knew he was right. But it hurt, especially coming from him.

Weeks later, you received the news that you'd be joining the team on your very first mission. The excitement bubbled up inside you as you geared up for the assignment. But as the mission unfolded, things took a turn for the worse.

You spotted a group of enemies heading for a crowded area and impulsively decided to engage them without waiting for the team's signal or support. Your intentions were to protect the civilians, but your recklessness got the best of you. Your impulsive move led to a chaotic firefight, and in the midst of the chaos, a civilian stumbled into the line of fire, narrowly escaping harm.

Bucky, who had been keeping an eye on you, witnessed the entire sequence of events unfold. His anger and frustration boiled over as he watched you put not only yourself but also innocent bystanders in danger.

Inside the quinjet, as the mission concluded, he couldn't contain his fury any longer. "What the fuck was that, Y/N?!" he erupted, his voice echoing in the confined space.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, feeling an overwhelming sense of shame and regret.

"Sorry isn't good enough!" Bucky snapped, his intense gaze burning into you. You couldn't bear to meet his eyes, and instead, you cast your gaze downward, your hands trembling with the weight of your mistake.

"If you're gonna keep making mistakes like that, then maybe you don't belong on this team. You could've gotten someone killed back there." His words stung, but he was right.

Natasha stepped in to defend you, "Bucky, it was an accident, and it was her first mission. Everyone makes mistake.”

Bucky didn't back down. "Yeah, and accidents can cost lives, Nat. She need to be more careful," he retorted, glaring back at you. "You can't afford to be an idiot like that out there. What the fuck is wrong with you?" He yelled, his anger getting the best of him.

Clint said, "Hey! Enough. She's done enough of a beating already, I know she can do better next time."

"There might not be a next time," Bucky grumbled.

Confusion and worry welled up inside you. 'What do you mean by that?' you wondered silently, unable to find your voice.

Bucky's frustration boiled over as he remarked, "Maybe she should think twice about putting others at risk if she can't handle it."

You turned your gaze away, determined not to let the tears fall. Tony took charge of the situation, his voice steady and reassuring. "Alright, that's enough," Tony declared firmly. "We're all on edge right now after what happened. We all know she can do better, and we'll address it later. For now, let's just concentrate on getting back home."

The rest of the ride was filled with tension, Bucky's glare never leaving you as you tried your best to avoid his gaze.

Wanda noticed your discomfort and moved over to sit next to you. She placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder and asked gently, "How are you holding up?"

You appreciated Wanda's concern and gave her a small, grateful smile. "I'll be okay," you replied softly. "Just need some time to process everything. I guess I'm just a little overwhelmed."

Wanda patted your shoulder again, offering more comfort. "Mistakes are part of learning, especially on your first mission. Remember, the key is to learn from them and get better. Don't let Bucky's words get to you too much."

You let out a weary sigh, realizing the truth in her words. "Yeah, I know.”

The quinjet touched down on the landing pad, and a sense of relief washed over you as you realized you were finally back home. This was it. You were finally home. "We'll talk later, okay?" Wanda asked, giving you a sympathetic smile.

You nodded appreciatively at her and quickly made your way to your room. You wanted nothing more than to lock yourself away and forget the whole thing ever happened. But the guilt and shame were too much to bear.

About a month after the incident, news of another mission started to circulate rapidly around the Avengers' headquarters. The buzz of excitement and anticipation filled the air, and you couldn't help but feel a rush of emotions—both excitement and anxiety. This mission was your chance to redeem yourself after the missteps on your first assignment.

Determined to discuss your readiness for this new mission, you sought out Steve. As you approached his office, you noticed him engrossed in reading some files. You gently knocked on the open door.

"Hi Steve, may I come in?" you asked politely.

Steve looked up from the files and offered you a welcoming smile. He promptly closed the documents and gestured for you to enter. "Of course, come in Y/N." You stepped into his office, and he continued, "How are you doing, by the way?" Steve motioned for you to take a seat, showing genuine concern.

You settled into the chair across from him and fidgeted with your fingers, trying to find the right words. "I'm good, better than what happened last time..." You paused, your voice tinged with regret. "I'm sorry about last time..."

Steve's warm smile remained reassuring. "Hey, Y/N, that's okay. We all make mistakes," he said with a reassuring tone, "Don't beat yourself up too much about it, okay?" His kindness and understanding were a comfort, making you feel grateful for his leadership and support.

"So, what brings you here?" Steve asked with a welcoming smile.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. "I heard there's another mission in 2 days..." After a pause, you continued, "But I haven't received the assignment or briefing for it..."

Steve's friendly expression faltered, and he sighed. "Y/N, about that..." He looked genuinely conflicted. "We already have teams assigned to cover that mission. You don't need to worry about it."

Your heart sank, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment. It was becoming increasingly clear that you were being sidelined. "Is this because of what happened on the last mission?" You finally voiced your concern, your tone a mix of frustration and hurt.

Steve must've noticed the change in your tone. "Y/N, there'll be plenty of missions, and you'll definitely join the next one, okay?"

You took a deep breath and forced a smile, masking the pain that was gnawing at you. "Ah, okay, Steve." You chuckled, though it felt forced. "That's alright, I was just curious.”

Steve smiled weakly, but you could tell he understood your disappointment. "Y/N..."

You got up from the seat, disappointment heavy in your chest. You knew this was likely Bucky's doing. "Thank you, Captain, for the information. Good luck on the mission!" With that, you turned and left the room, trying to hide your frustration and disappointment.

As everyone prepared to leave for the mission, they bid you farewell, their expressions filled with sympathy. You knew they felt sorry for leaving you behind in the tower. Watching them depart filled you with a profound sense of sadness, knowing you couldn't join them.

You returned to your room, aimlessly flipping through the channels on the TV, but nothing captured your interest. Your mind kept wandering back to the missed opportunity, and the guilt and frustration gnawed at you.

After a futile attempt at watching TV, you tried to occupy yourself with a book, but the words on the pages blurred together as your thoughts remained fixated on the mission. With a sigh, you put the book down, realizing you were too distracted to read.

Restlessly, you paced around your room, contemplating various ways to improve your skills and prove that you were a valuable member of the team. Maybe you could spend some time in the training room or review combat strategies. You knew you had to keep pushing yourself to become better.

Eventually, you settled on the idea of practicing your marksmanship in the training room. Grabbing your gear, you headed there with determination in your step, determined to make the most of your time while the team was away on the mission.

Inside the gym, you started with some intense punching and kicking exercises. It felt great to release your anger, sadness, and disappointment through physical exertion. As you pummeled the sandbag, you couldn't help but imagine it as Bucky's face, channeling your frustration and resentment into each punch and kick. You unleashed your emotions on the inanimate object, giving it your all to cope with the overwhelming mix of feelings inside you.

Sweat dripped down your face, mixing with the occasional tear, but you didn't let up. You wiped away the sweat and tears from your face. "What" punch "Do" punch "I" kick "Have" punch "To" kick "Do" punch "To" punch "Prove" punch "To" punch "You" kick "That" kick "I'm" punch "Just" kick "As" kick "Good" kick "As" punch "Them" punch kick punch kick.

Why were you treated this way? What had you done to earn Bucky's disdain? How could you prove your worth to him? Frustration boiled inside you, reaching its peak as you let out a guttural scream, causing the sandbag to plummet from the force of your final blow.

Panting, you collapsed on the gym floor, you were exhausted and emotionally drained, but you felt a strange sense of relief. You clenched and unclenching your fists. You flexed your fingers and winced as the pain shot through them.

You chose to ignore the pain and you slowly got up from the gym floor. You knew you had pushed yourself too hard, but it was the only way you could vent your frustration and anger.

Limping, you made your way towards the bench where you had left your belongings. The room felt heavy with the echo of your pounding. Your trembling hand found the familiar coolness of your water bottle, and you clutched it tightly, taking a long, refreshing gulp. The cool liquid soothed your parched throat.

Just as you were catching your breath, Bucky unexpectedly strolled into the room. His presence surprised you, you hadn't expected anyone else to be there, especially not him.

His gaze, sharp and perceptive, honed in on your movements, "Still trying to prove yourself, huh?" he remarked, his words hanging in the air like a challenge, his tone laced with doubt.

You met his gaze defiantly, refusing to back down even in the face of his skepticism. "I don't need to prove anything to anyone, including you," you replied, your voice steady despite the ache in your body. "I'm just making sure I'm ready for whatever comes our way. Maybe you should worry less about what I'm doing and more about why you're not on the mission with the rest of the team."

Bucky's expression remained inscrutable, his indifference a stark contrast to your determination. He nonchalantly shrugged, an aloof response to your pointed words.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, you couldn't help but roll your eyes, your frustration with him boiling over. "Whatever, Barnes. Keep your doubts to yourself."

You began packing up your belongings, a clear signal that you were ready to depart from his presence. You suspected he was still watching you, his intense gaze never wavering, but you wanted nothing more than to distance yourself from him. It felt like he was deliberately keeping you from the mission, and the resentment simmered within you.

After finishing packing, you headed towards the exit, but Bucky halted you by grabbing your hand. You turned around, irritation clear in your eyes. "What do you want, Barnes?" you snapped, trying to pull your hand away. “What the hell? Let me go!”

Ignoring your protest, he led you back to the training area, placing you in front of him. An uneasy feeling settled in your stomach. Did he intend to spar with you? The uncertainty hung heavily in the air, making the atmosphere tense.

You stood your ground, your nervousness growing with every passing second. "What? Scared?" Bucky teased, a mocking smirk playing on his lips.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, refusing to let his taunts unnerve you. You managed a fake smile and replied, "Of you? No. Why would I be?" Determined not to show any fear.

Bucky's smirk widened as he said, "Well, you should be." He locked eyes with you and asked, "Ready?" The challenge in his tone was clear.

You took another deep breath, squared your shoulders, and met his gaze head-on. "Alright, Bucky. I'm game. What's the plan?" Your voice remained steady, even as your nerves continued to buzz beneath the surface.

Bucky's lips curved into a smirk. He motioned towards the training mats, his movements smooth and practiced. "Just try to land a hit on me."

Without a moment's warning, he lunged at you, his attack swift and precise. You barely managed to block it in time, the impact sending a jolt through your arms.

Taking a moment to catch your breath, you felt a sting to your pride. "Just one hit?" you questioned, a mixture of disbelief and defiance in your voice. Did he genuinely doubt your abilities? Determination flared in your eyes as you prepared to prove him wrong.

He chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Don't get ahead of yourself, doll. Come on, you're starting to bore me." You gritted your teeth and launched into your counterattack.

The atmosphere in the training room grew tense as you continued your attempts to land a hit on Bucky. Each time you launched an attack, he seemed to anticipate your every move, effortlessly blocking your punches and kicks. It was as if he had an innate ability to read your intentions, and it left you feeling frustrated and somewhat helpless.

With each failed attempt, Bucky's smirk grew wider, and he let out a low chuckle. "Come on, Y/N," he taunted, his tone dripping with playful mockery. "You've got to do better than that if you want to stand a chance."

His words stung, and they fueled your determination. You were well aware that Bucky was pushing your buttons, trying to rile you up, but you refused to let it show. You had a point to prove, not only to him but to yourself as well.

You decided to take another shot, launching into a new round of attacks, hoping to catch Bucky off guard. But just like before, he expertly caught your wrist each time, preventing your strikes from connecting. Frustration gnawed at you, and you let out an audible groan each time he effortlessly pinned your arms behind your back and pushed you back.

Bucky didn't hold back with his taunts either. "Is that the best you've got, doll?" he prodded, his gaze locked onto yours. "I've seen other recruits do better. What happened to all those praises they were singing about you?"

Taking a deep breath, you tried to surprise him with a sudden kick, but Bucky saw through your move. He even managed to catch your legs mid-kick, causing you to lose your balance and tumble to the ground.

His voice dripped with mock disappointment as he quipped, "Doll, I expected better than that. That was just plain bad."

You took a deep breath, frustration fueling your determination. This time, you decided to go all out. You lunged at him with full force, no holding back, hoping to land a solid hit. His dodge and blocks were frustratingly precise, but you didn't give in.

Finally, you managed to back him into a wall, and you saw an opening. You went for a powerful kick, but he swiftly caught your leg, pulling it towards him. Before you knew it, you were pinned against the wall, your front pressed firmly against the hard surface.

"Doll, nice try," Bucky said, his tone edged with approval, "but you've still got long ways to go."

You groaned as he pinned you to the wall, frustrated since you couldn't beat him. "Fuck!"

He chuckled lowly, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body, his face mere inches from yours. "Language, sweetheart."

The feeling of his body pressed against yours sent tingles down your spine, and you tried to keep your breathing under control, your cheeks flushing.

Bucky seemed to notice your blush and couldn't resist a teasing remark. He leaned in even closer, his voice dripping with playful mischief. “What's the matter, doll? Is it too hot in here?" he teased, pressing himself closer to you.

Your blush deepened as he teased you, and you turned your head away from him, not able to meet his gaze. "You know what? You're seriously annoying."

Bucky's smile only grew wider, and he didn't let up. "Aw, come on, doll. Getting all worked up because you can't keep up?" he goaded, his warm breath tickling your neck. His face was even closer now, his eyes dark with a look you'd never seen before.

You huffed in exasperation, determined not to let his teasing get the best of you. "I can keep up just fine, thank you very much," you shot back, your competitive spirit coming to the forefront.

Bucky chuckled, the sound low and deep, sending a delightful shiver down your spine. "Well then," he challenged, his tone inviting. "Prove it. Try to break free from my hold."

Your breath caught in your throat at the suggestion, a rush of adrenaline surging through your veins. "Okay," you agreed, your tone confident. You decided to take Bucky's challenge head-on.

With a swift and calculated move, you attempted to break free from his hold, using all the skills you had acquired during your training with the Avengers. Bucky, ever the skilled fighter, didn't make it easy, but you were determined not to give in.

You tried and tried, but you couldn't seem to break free from his strong hold. You were both sweating, the effort causing the air around you to grow thicker and heavier. You could feel his chest pressed against your body, muscles flexing as he maintained the firm grip he had on you.

Finally, after what felt like hours, you were both breathing heavily, neither of you willing to give in. In that moment, with your bodies pressed together and the heat between you almost unbearable, something changed. You felt his hold on you loosen slightly, and you took the opportunity to spin around, pinning him to the wall.

A surprised chuckle escaped his lips, clearly caught off guard by your sudden move. His eyes, filled with desire, locked onto yours, and the tension between you seemed to reach a boiling point.

You couldn't help but smirk as you managed to gain the upper hand, "Huh, I wi-" But before you could finish, he swiftly turned the tables, pinning you back against the wall.

He chuckled, his voice low and husky. "Not quite, doll." He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. "Never let your guard down until you know your opponent is truly defeated," he whispered, his voice low.

You gasped, feeling the cool metal of his arm pressing against your skin. "You were saying?" he murmured, his voice low and husky. He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear.

You bit your lip, feeling the tension between you reach a fever pitch. He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. "Never let your guard down until you know your opponent is truly defeated," he whispered, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

Your frustration bubbled up, and you couldn't help but shake your head in response. "That's not fair!" you protested, your voice tinged with exasperation. "I managed to break free from your hold. Doesn't that count for something?"

He chuckled, "Not it doesn't. You've still got a lot to learn. I could've easily gotten the upper hand on you again. The moment you let your guard down is the moment you lose the fight."

You clenched your jaw and stared into his blue eyes, not backing down from his challenge. "Okay enough with the taunting. I'm not afraid of you, Barnes."

His lips were so close, you could feel his breath against your skin. "You should be, doll," he murmured, his voice low and husky, sending a delicious shiver down your spine.

A moment passed between the two of you, and then, as if a dam had broken, he kissed you hard, it made you surprised, you gasped on his mouth and felt his tongue exploring you.

Your heart was pounding, the excitement building as you kissed him back. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as the heat between you grew.

"God, Y/N," he groaned against your mouth. His metal hand reached for your thighs, lifting you up effortlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist. He pressed you harder against the wall, his hips grinding against yours. You moaned at the friction, feeling your body responding to his touch.

The training room was forgotten as the two of you gave in to your desires, the heat between you driving you both wild. You knew it was a bad idea, but in that moment, you didn't care. All that mattered was the pleasure, the heat, the intensity of it all.

"Bucky..." You panted, feeling his lips and teeth exploring your neck, his tongue licking you, tasting you.

The sound of his name on your lips sent him over the edge, and he couldn't hold back anymore. His hands found their way under your yoga pants, gripping your ass. He bit down on your lip, drawing a small moan from you. You could feel him smile into the kiss.

"Fuck, doll. You like this? Me fucking you against the wall?" he groaned against your mouth.

You nodded, unable to form any coherent words. “Tell me, do you want more?"

"Yes," you breathed, your body trembling with need.

"Tell me," he ordered, his voice husky with desire.

"I want you, Bucky…. please."

"Beg for it," he growled, his hands moving to the front of your yoga pants. He tugged them down, the cold air hitting your wet core, his hand quickly finding its way between your thighs. You arched into his touch, desperate for more.

"Fuck, doll," he muttered, his fingers slipping into your panties, finding your wetness. "So fucking wet for me.” His fingers slid inside you, making you gasp, your hips bucking against him. "Is this what you want, doll?"

"Yes!" you cried out, your hands grasping at his shirt, trying to pull him closer. "Please," you moaned, your hips bucking against his.

He pumped his fingers in and out of you, his thumb rubbing circles around your clit, making you writhe and moan beneath him. "Such a good girl," he murmured, his free hand coming up to grip your breast. He groped you hard, squeezing and massaging you through your sports bra.

"Put your hands up," he commanded, pulling his fingers out of you. You complied, your hands reaching above your head. He pulled up your bra, exposing your breasts to him.

"Such a pretty little thing," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. He took one of your nipples into his mouth, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud. You moaned, your hips bucking against him as he sucked and nibbled on your breasts.

"So responsive," he chuckled, his hand reaching between your legs once again, his fingers dipping into your wetness. "Such a wet little girl. You're dripping for me."

"You like this?" He growled, his fingers rubbing your clit, his thumb sliding up and down your slick folds. He chuckled, the sound sending shivers down your spine, "Tell me were you already wet when we started sparring? Did you want me to pin you against the wall? To fuck you hard?"

You couldn't respond, the pleasure was too much. You were teetering on the edge, ready to fall over at any moment. "Please, Bucky..." you gasped, your hips grinding against his hand, desperately seeking release.

"You're a naughty girl, aren't you? You want me to fuck you, right here, in the training room, where anyone could walk in and see us?"

He was right, you didn't even think of that possibility. You shook your head, "No.. of course not... it's just the heat of the moment... It's just... we're alone right now."

"You sure about that, doll? Cause I'm pretty sure I heard someone walk by a few minutes ago. What if it was Clint? Or worse, what if it was Fury? I bet he would love to see this. His little protégé, getting fucked by the Winter Soldier."

You froze, your eyes wide.

"You know what?" He chuckled, "Let's put on a show for them. Let them watch. Let them see how you beg and scream for me."

“Cat’s got your tongue doll? Where are all the firey comebacks now? Nothing to say?” Your mind was in a state of shock. You tried to think, who was it? But Bucky was stroking you at a relentless pace, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit.  

"You want me to make you cum, doll? To make you scream my name?"

"Yes," you panted, you didn’t care anymore, all you wanted was release. Your body trembling as he drove you closer to the edge.

He reached up, gripping your chin, his eyes locking onto yours. "I've wanted to fuck your attitude out of you ever since you came to the compound, doll,” he said, his voice husky with lust. "Watching you fight, all that fire, all that passion, it makes me so fucking hard. You have no idea how many times I've wanted to take you right here, to show you who's in control."

You couldn't take it anymore, the pleasure building, "I'm so close... Bucky," you moaned. You were so close, and he was taking you to new heights. You couldn't stop yourself, you could feel yourself losing control.

"Yeah I can tell, you're tightening around my fingers. Are you going to be a good girl and cum for me? Beg for it, and maybe I'll let you," he teased, his fingers still pumping in and out of you, faster and faster, sending you over the edge.

"Please, Bucky..." you cried, your hips bucking against his hand.

He pulled his fingers out of you, and you whined in frustration. "What the hell, Barnes?”

"Now, now," he tsked, his fingers trailing down your stomach, and stopping at your hip. "You don't get to come until I say so, doll," he ordered, his voice low and dangerous.

"But, please, I'm so close," you begged, the frustration almost unbearable.

"I know, but you need to learn who's in charge, and it's not you," he said, his fingers tracing circles around your clit, making you moan. "You have to obey my orders, Y/N."

"What the fuck, Barnes!" You screamed at him feeling angry at how he toyed with you. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

He grabbed your hair and pulled it down making you winched in pain, "What did you fucking say to me?" He grabbed it harder when you didn’t answer him.

"Ouch." You winced in pain.

Bucky's eyes darkened and he tightened his grip. “First, you need to watch that mouth of yours." He was breathing heavily, his voice rough and commanding. "Or I'm going to shove my dick in it and put you in your place." he warned, his hand moving to grip your hair, forcing you to look up at him.

You gulped down at his threat. There was no mistaking the promise in his voice, but your pussy clenched at the thought of taking him into your mouth.  

"Second," he continued, his grip loosening slightly. "You need to learn that you don't get to question my orders, doll. You're going to be a good girl and listen."

You stared at him, unable to speak. He was serious.

"Answer me Y/N or I will leave you here, frustrated and wanting more," He threatened.

You could feel the heat pooling in your belly, his dominance and authority turning you on even more.

"Yes please, I'll obey," you said, your voice shaking slightly.

"Good girl, that’s more like it," he murmured, his metal hand coming up to caress your cheek. Bucky leaned closer and kissed your lips, his tongue sliding inside your mouth. He was sucking on your tongue and nibbling on your lips, his teeth digging into the soft flesh of your mouth. He kissed your cheek and moved down to your neck.

"Now, where are we?" He asked, his fingers back on your clit, rubbing in slow, agonizing circles. He was torturing you, teasing you.

He smiled wickedly, his hand moving from your clit and slipping inside you. He pushed two fingers inside your core and began pumping them. He started moving his hand faster and faster, the sound of his fingers sliding in and out filling the air.

You wanted to scream and yell at him, but you were unable to speak, the pleasure and the need for release overwhelming. You were panting and moaning, your eyes closed shut as you were trying not to come.

"Not yet." he growled. He pushed a third fingers inside your core and began pumping them. He started moving his hand faster and faster, the sound of his fingers sliding in and out filling the air.

"Beg," he commanded, his voice firm.

"Please, please, please, Bucky," you whimpered.

"Louder," he ordered.

"Please!" you whimpered, the desire and need taking over. "Please, Bucky, fuck my pussy and let me come," you begged. You felt your inside tightening, you need to come right now.

Bucky leaned closer and kissed you again, his tongue pushing its way into your mouth, exploring every inch. He moaned into your mouth, his fingers still pumping into you, his thumb circling your clit. "No," he said, and your eyes snapped open, meeting his blue ones. He smirked, seeing that you were close. "If you come before I tell you, I will punish you, doll."

Your eyes widened and your whole body shook with fear.

"Do you understand?" He asked, his fingers slowly pumping inside you.

"Yes, yes, I understand."

He chuckled, "You're a needy little slut, aren't you? You'd beg for my cock too, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," you moaned, the word falling from your lips without a second thought. "Please, Bucky, I need to come. I need your cock inside me, fucking me hard and fast," you begged, the words tumbling from your lips.

"That's a good girl," he murmured, his fingers picking up their pace. "You're gonna cum for me now, doll. You're gonna cum all over my fingers, and then, when you've recovered, you're gonna get on your knees and suck my cock. And when I'm ready, I'm gonna fuck you, and I'm gonna make you scream my name."

You moaned loudly as his fingers brought you closer to the edge, his words sending a thrill through you.

"You'd like that wouldn't you, doll? Having my cock buried deep inside you, fucking you senseless?"

"Yes, yes, yes," you panted, the pleasure building. He added another finger and curled them inside you, hitting your g-spot, and you gasped.

"That's it, Y/N," he groaned, his fingers moving faster. "Come for me. Let me hear you."

"I... I'm gonna..." you moaned, the pleasure building in your body. You couldn't hold back any longer, the pleasure overwhelming you,

"Come now!," he ordered his fingers working even faster, and suddenly, you exploded.

"BUCKY!" You screamed, your body shaking violently as waves of pleasure washed over you. Your body was trembling, and your juices were flowing freely down his fingers

"Such a good girl," he praised, his fingers slowing, drawing out the last of your orgasm, licking them clean. “Delicious," he murmured.

You panted, your body still shaking from the intensity of the orgasm. He lowered you to the floor, your legs shaky from the intense pleasure.

Bucky chuckled, seeing the confusion on your face. "Don't worry, doll," he said, leaning down and kissing you. "We're just getting started."

"On your knees," he commanded, his voice husky with desire.

Your knees trembled and you looked up at him. His eyes were dark, his pupils dilated with lust. You could see his cock straining against the fabric of his pants. You did as you were told, dropping to your knees. You looked up at him, your eyes locking onto his.

"Open your mouth," he ordered, and you obeyed. "Suck my cock." His voice firm and authoritative

Your eyes widened and your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you watched him slowly unzip his pants, his thick, hard cock springing free. You stared at him for a moment, taking in the sight of him. The serum must did something to him, as his member was definitely bigger than any man you'd seen before.

"Now," he ordered, his voice low and commanding. "Don't be shy," he coaxed, his eyes dark with lust.

You slowly reached up and grasped his thick shaft in your hand, feeling the hot, smooth skin, marveling at the size of him. You felt a jolt of excitement run through your body as you stroked his length, feeling him twitch in your hand. You could feel yourself growing wet as you continued to stroke his cock, his member growing even harder under your touch.

His fingers tangling in your hair  "Now, put my cock in your pretty mouth, doll," he said, his voice thick with desire.

You lowered your head and opened your mouth, wrapping your lips around the tip of his cock. You licked the tip of his cock, swirling your tongue around it, tasting his salty pre-cum. He groaned, his hips bucking as you took more of his cock into your mouth, bobbing your head up and down.

You hummed around him, the vibration making him moan. His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling at the roots as you worked your mouth up and down his shaft, his cock hitting the back of your throat.

You felt a surge of pleasure run through your body as you sucked his cock, loving the taste and feel of him in your mouth. You could feel his grip tightening on your hair as you continued to suck him, your tongue dancing along his length.

You didn't have any practice beforehand, but you are naturally gifted hearing praises, such as "Mmm, that's it.”, "Just like that.", “Fuck, you are good.” and the way his thighs trembled beside your ears were a tell-tale sign that you were doing great.

"You look so good like this," he moaned, his hand holding onto the back of your head, guiding your mouth over his cock. "I've imagined you sucking me off before."

His words made you moan around him, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body.

"You're taking my cock so well, like you were made for it."

You whimpered around him, his cock hitting the back of your throat once again. The feeling of his cock throbbing in your mouth, the taste of him, and the way he praised you were pushing you closer to the edge.

"God, your mouth feels so fucking good," he moaned, his hips thrusting as he fucked your mouth. "Such a good little slut, aren't you, doll?"

You felt your pussy clench at his words, your arousal growing with every stroke of his cock. You bobbed your head faster, taking him deeper into your mouth, loving the sounds of his moans.

His fingers tugged at your hair, the pain and pleasure mixing together to send another rush of pleasure through your body. You moaned around him, the sound vibrating through his cock, causing him to thrust deeper into your mouth.

You whimpered, your eyes watering as he pounded into your mouth. You could barely breathe, his thick cock stretching your throat as he fucked your mouth. Your pussy throbbed, your arousal coating your thighs as he mouth-fucked you.

"Oh yeah, you love this, don't you?" He groaned. "You love choking on my cock." As he thrust his cock into your mouth, his hands travelled to your breast, squeezing them hard, making you moan.

He groaned as you continued to suck, his grip on your hair tightening, the pain sending another wave of pleasure through your body. He was fucking your mouth ruthless, the wet slurping sounds were the only sound in the room. And the sounds he was making was almost enough to make you cum.

It became harder to breath with each stroke of his cock meeting the back of your throat, tears pricked in the corners of your eyes, the pain and pleasure mixing together.

He looked down at you, the sight of your mouth around his cock was almost enough to make him cum. He pulled out of your mouth with a loud pop, leaving you gasping for breath and tears running down your face.

"Look at you, what a mess you are," he smirked, his eyes raking over your body. "You're such a dirty girl, aren't you?"

You felt your face flush, his words making your pussy ache with need. You whimpered, the need to be filled by his cock becoming unbearable.

"Do you want me to fuck you, doll? Do you want me to fuck you so hard, you can't walk tomorrow?"

You moaned, your body trembling with anticipation. "Yes, please," you begged, your voice hoarse. "Please, fuck me, Bucky." You couldn’t think straight, you had no filter, you were just saying whatever came to mind.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head back. "Say it," he growled, his eyes dark and dangerous.

"Please, Bucky," you said, your voice pleading.

"Try better than that," he said, his voice firm.

"Please fuck me, Sergeant," you whimpered, your voice laced with desperation. "Please fuck me hard and fast until I can't walk. Please use me however you want."

He smiled wickedly. "Your words, not mine. Be careful for what you wish for, doll."

He shoved you onto the floor, his body looming over you. "On the floor. On all fours now," he ordered, his voice stern and commanding.

You scrambled to comply, getting onto your hands and knees. Your heart racing as he positioned himself behind you.

"Spread your legs," he said, and you complied.

He knelt behind you, his hands roaming over your body, caressing your skin. You could feel his hands on your hips, his cock rubbing against your wetness.

"Do you have any idea what I'm going to do to you, Y/N?" He whispered, his voice low and husky.

You stayed quiet waiting for him. "I'm gonna make you scream and beg for me, I'm gonna make you forget everything, except my name."

His words sent a shiver through your body, his tone full of dominance and power.

"And when I'm done with you, you'll never forget me, Y/N. You'll always remember me, remember the way I made you feel."

You could feel his hardness pressing against your entrance, teasing you, tormenting you. His hands running over your ass. "But I'm not gonna go easy on you. You understand?"

"Yes," you moaned, your voice breathy. "I understand."

"Good girl," he said, and with that, he pushed his cock inside of you, filling you completely. You cried out, your body quivering as he stretched you. "Such a tight little cunt," he groaned, his hips snapping against you, his cock buried deep inside of you. "So fucking perfect."

You cried out, the pain and pleasure mixing together.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he grunted, his hands gripping your hips tightly. He started to move, his pace slow and steady, his cock stretching you with each thrust.

"Oh god," you moaned, your voice echoing in the room.

"You like that, Y/N?" As he slammed his cock into you, his voice full of lust.

"Yes," you moaned, the sensation driving you wild.

"That's right, doll, take my cock," he growled, his fingers digging into your hips. "Take all of it." He was rough, his pace fast and unforgiving, his cock filling you to the brim with every thrust. You cried out, the pleasure and pain mingling into a sweet symphony.

You moaned, your body shaking as he fucked you. He was pounding into you, his cock hitting all the right spots. Your body was on fire, your mind lost in a haze of lust and desire. "Who's pussy is this?," He asked.

"It's yours," you gasped, your body trembling.

"Say it again," he commanded, his thrusts growing faster and harder.

"It's yours," you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Fucking right it is," he growled, his voice low and husky.

He was pounding into you, his pace relentless. The room filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, the smell of sex hanging heavy in the air.

He yanked your hair, forcing your head back and you whimpered. He kissed you, his tongue invading your mouth. His teeth dug into your bottom lip, making you moan.

"Who's a dirty little slut?" He demanded, his hips slapping against yours.

"Me," you gasped, the pleasure threatening to overwhelm you. "I'm a dirty little slut, Bucky."

"That's right," he growled, his grip on your hair tightening. "You're my dirty little slut, and I'm gonna fucking ruin you. You’re fucking mine."

Your body trembled, your muscles tensing as his cock slammed into you. You could feel the pleasure building, the pressure mounting inside of you. You were so close, and you needed him to finish you off. "Oh god, I’m so close," you begged, your voice desperate and needy.

"Not yet," he snarled, his grip on your hair tightening. "You'll cum when I say so, and not a moment before."

"Please," you begged, the pleasure becoming almost unbearable. "Please let me cum, Bucky."

"Soon, doll," he promised, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "Very soon." He knew you almost came and he decided to torture you further when his fingers finding your clit and he pressed down hard.

You cried out, the pleasure and pain becoming too much. "Oh god," you whimpered, your body trembling. "Please, I can't take it."

He slammed his cock into you, his balls slapping against your clit. "Yes, you can," he growled. "And you will."

You whimpered, the pressure inside of you reaching a breaking point. "Bucky, please please please," you begged, the pleasure threatening to consume you.

"Now," he commanded, his voice harsh and commanding. "Cum for me, doll."

You cried out, the pleasure exploding throughout your body. Your walls clenched around his cock, your muscles spasming. Your mind went blank, the world around you fading away. Your body was shaking uncontrollably as he fucked you through your orgasm, his hips snapping against you, his cock pounding into you.

You were exhausted, your body drained of energy. He continued to fuck you, his pace slowing slightly.

He slapped your ass, the sting of his hand sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. "Such a good little slut," he growled, his hips slamming against yours. "Taking my cock so well."

"Bucky," you moaned, the pleasure building once again. "Please, I can't take anymore."

"Yes, you can," he said, his voice low and husky. He slapped your ass again, harder this time. "You're going to cum for me again, doll."

"No," you protested weakly, your body trembling with exhaustion.

“Yes," he growled, his thrusts becoming more intense. "You will." His metal hand sliding up your stomach, between your breasts, and around your throat.

Your body arched, pushing your hips further onto his cock. The sound of his ragged breaths mixed with yours as you both raced towards your climaxes. "I'm close, Y/N. So fucking close."

His hands pinched your nipples, sending another shock of pleasure through your body. He sucked on them, the sensation almost too much for you. You whimpered, his lips capturing yours again. Your tongues swirled around each other, tasting, devouring.

His cock slid in and out of you, his pace quickening. His moans and growls echoed around you as his orgasm neared. He was so close. So was you.

"Please, Bucky," you begged, your pussy clenching around his length.

He tightened his grip on your throat and slammed his hips into yours. His free hand slid down to your clit, his thumb rubbing circles over it. His eyes meeting yours. his hips slapping against yours, his cock hitting all the right spots.

"Cum with me, doll. Don't close your eyes. I want to see those pretty eyes as you come apart."

Your entire body shuddered, his command sending you over the edge. Your walls fluttered around his length, milking him of his seed. Your body trembled, your muscles spasming as you rode out the waves of ecstasy. His breath becoming ragged as his own release neared.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hips slapping against you. "Your cunt is so fucking perfect."

"God, yes," you moaned, the pleasure threatening to overwhelm you.

He slammed into you, his pace becoming erratic as he neared his release. "Oh god," he moaned, his hips snapping against yours. "I'm gonna cum."

"Yes, Bucky. Cum inside me," you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper.

Your words were enough to send him over the edge.

He growled, his grip on your hair tightening as he pounded into you, his cock filling you completely. He groaned as he cum, his body shuddering as his release washed over him.

"That's right," he groaned, his body going limp. "Take all of it." You felt him twitch inside of you, his hot release spilling into you.

You slumped forward, your body spent as it slick with sweat and cum.  You could hear Bucky panting behind you, his chest heaving. You rested your forehead against the floor, trying to catch your breath. You had never been fucked so thoroughly in your life. Your muscles were sore and tired, your pussy throbbing.

Bucky was still inside of you, his cock softening. He pulled out, his cum spilling out of you. You could feel his cum leaking from your pussy, dripping down your thighs. "Look at that," he whispered, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Such a pretty sight." He slid a finger between your folds, collecting the sticky mess, then he pushed it back inside you. You let out a small whimper as he slowly pumped it in and out.

Bucky turned you around, your head falling back against the floor. His face hovered above yours, his blue eyes burning with lust. He looked down at you, before he could say anything, you both heard footsteps approaching.

You were panicking as someone could see you in such state, strangely, Bucky seemed unfazed, his expression steady despite the unexpected interruption. Then the next thing made your heart skipped as you heard the doorknob turning. You could only pray the ground to swallow you whole.

Hey everyone, I hope you enjoyed the story! Apologies if the ending didn't meet your expectations, I'm considering a Part 2, but I'd love to hear your thoughts. I'm open to any feedback for improvement. Your input means a lot.

If you want to see more, please show your support by leaving a like. Thank you for taking the time to read!

A/N : Thank you so much for the kind replies and support! I'm really glad you enjoy the story, you have no idea how much that motivate me to continue writing. Please stay tune for part 2! Love youuuu xx

[sp4ceboo]

Warriors: Choi San x Reader

A/N: ohh boyyy after the kpop fanfic drought im back and it's with warriors au choi san

Summary: San and Reader are mages, which means they are made to serve. They are lowborn, destined to obey humans - the nobles and the highborn - with their every breaths. What if they don't want that?

tw: 18+, smut (p in v, fingering, cockwarming sort of), swearing, violence, death, blood, minimally gory at one point, war, child soldiers (14 yo), society is a shit place to be if you're a mage, tons of worldbuilding, assassins, freaking bath sex, hint at sa at one point from some dude we hate, san is kind of a brat tamer, seonghwa cameo but sad, idk if you can tell but i suck at summaries, mention of a harem, mention of slavery

wc: 4.8k

As a child, you watched from afar, waiting for things you could not grasp.

They told you that you were made to serve. They recounted age-old tales, about gods that crafted humans in their divine hands, moulding the mages afterwards to be commanded by their beloved creations. They filled your mind with legends of faithful individuals of your kind who proved their worth with obedience until you wished to be like your forebears.

Back when you were but an infant, you believed it. You knew the two powers that were bestowed upon you by the gods, varying in every mage, were gifts made solely to assist the highborns. In your naivety, you thought the rosy flame cupped in your small, childish palms would be used to warm the nobles in the icy winter, and that you would fulfil your purpose through that, through being of use to them. They had no shame as they informed you you were just a tool forged for following their orders, and you were convinced it was all true - until you met San.

Although you were the one with the ability to summon an inferno, he was always the one with a burning fire in his eyes. Like all mages, he’d been taken from his parents the moment he didn’t need his mother’s milk - he was given as a peace offering from the Hwangso warlord for his control of water: helpful for the upkeep of the crops.

This occurred in the small period of time in which Hwangso, the neighbouring province, was attempting to forge alliances with your province, Neugdae. Soon after, your warlord breached their territory, claiming it as his - you often wondered if the news filtering back from the front lines of a new settlement captured ever affected San.

You met him when he was an eight year old filled with bottled fury too old for his years, and you were a quiet, invisible seven year old. At those tender ages, neither of you had developed your second ability yet, nor had you gotten a taste of the power at your fingertips, but San still held his head high; you remember marvelling at the way he’d make a point of meeting every single noble’s gaze and holding it. He was just a scrawny, sun browned kid back then - nothing like the elegant lethality of the man that he is now.

Every day until you turned fourteen, you toiled beside him. The work was cruel, your supervisors crueller; the sun would beat down on your back as you laboured in the fields, side by side with San as barely a quarter of the way across the settlement, the nobles sheltered beneath their silky parasols, boasting their pale, porcelain skin. Back then, San never spoke of the injustice of it all out loud, but something about the look in his eyes when he saw them swanning past stirred something inside you. He made you realise that you were not the soulless, mindless puppet that you’d been told you were, but a person.

It wasn’t simply the rage inside him that drew you to him, though. It was the way he remained sweet, kind, despite it all, making sure to send licks of cool mist down your neck when your supervisors weren’t looking, nicking extra crumbs of food for you and remaining beside you, a beacon of light that anchored you to sanity even in the dark.

Even when, you at fourteen, him fifteen, were sent out into battle.

There were always skirmishes between neighbouring warlords: a constant push and pull for more land, more resources, more power. They would attack on a whim - mages were expendable, nothing more than canon fodder; behind each squadron was a noble who would hang back behind the lines, commanding, unbothered by the bloodshed because it was the blood of mere tools.

By then, both you and San had developed your second abilities. San’s was the ability to manipulate shadows, turning them into almost solid shapes that could physically hinder attacks by forming daggers or clutching hands, or could temporarily block the world out in a shroud of rolling black fog. Yours was the art of shapeshifting; you let the outline of your body flicker between forms, changing into powerful, deadly creatures whose substance was inhabited by the soul of a wavering teenager.

You’d known that you’d be forced to fight since you were young, but you never could have imagined the brutality of war.

It was there, in the midst of the battlefield, that any lingering innocence was burned from your soul. You learned that San’s water did not just bring life, but could also fill up someone’s lungs until they drowned upon dry ground, that your fire was not just a source of warmth or light, but could also combust a man’s heart within his chest, that the animals you were teaching yourself to shapeshift into could maul and break bones.

Many nights, you would fall asleep, curled against San, your face buried in his side with his arm wrapped around you, the taste of blood still in your mouth from where you’d torn your enemies’ throat out with the vicious canines of a tiger or the needle sharp fangs of a lynx. You would leave the front lines soaked with crimson, the essence of other people in your hair, smeared on your face, caked and drying under your nails.

It terrified you, how easily you could slice their flesh open with your claws. Armour was not wasted on mages, only generals, so just like you, all they wore were roughly woven tunics tied at the waist and trousers - you met no resistance when you killed your own kind, silent apologies on your lips.

Within the squadrons were also humans that had fallen from grace - criminals who still felt entitled enough by their birthright to think they could have a fourteen year old mage’s body; San protected you until you could protect yourself. In the first few weeks, when the punches he threw were too weak to deter them, he would let them beat him, giving you time to escape before returning to you, limping, lip split and nose bloody but the fire in his eyes never faltering.

On those nights, tears of frustration would leak from the corners of your eyes as you cleaned him up. He could so easily stop them if he used his abilities, but by then doing that without being instructed to do so by a highborn would lead to a flogging or a beating - fairytales no longer worked on you at that age, so your commanders and generals utilised fear mongering instead. You remember the hate and helplessness burning inside you when you looked at them: if all the mages rebelled at once, the nobles would have no chance, but everyone was too scared. Using your abilities on humans only led to execution.

You remember Seonghwa: he was a mage a few years older who cared for you and San as if you were his blood. He got too strong - you can’t recall his second ability but his first meant he could push a man over the brink of insanity, until he frothed at the mouth and his brain boiled within his skull. When you first witnessed the depth of his power, you were originally struck by the pain in Seonghwa’s eyes, and then by the fear in your commander’s.

The next day, Seonghwa was gone.

Often, you wonder if he fought back, or if he just let them kill him.

After, you made San promise that he wouldn’t show them if his powers developed further. He made you promise the same, and when you fought beside him, he was a constant reminder to reign yourself in, to survive. You were more careful with your powers from then on.

Some nights, though, when the frost ridden night air cut right through the ragged material of your blanket, you huddled next to San and lit a small fire in your hands. He’d tell you to stop, and you’d point out that he was shivering; he’d reply that he’d rather that than get you caught, and you would ignore him, not missing the way he tucked himself closer to the flame.

You didn’t tell him, but sometimes you would shift into a small animal, like a raccoon, and steal food for him in the dead of night. You didn’t answer when he asked you where you got it from, just shrugging and thrusting the rolls of bread and strips of dried meat into his hands, telling him he should eat.

When you were sixteen, San discovered he could animate his shadows. He could mould them like clay in his hands, breathing purpose into them - they would disintegrate within about a week or so, their outlines fading until they dissolved into nothing. San shaped a little dragon for you, the length of your forearm and the width of one of your thumbs; he came to you with it cupped in his hands, awe limning his face as the two of you watched it wriggle through the air between you and coil itself around your wrist.

You have many memories of those times, but one remains crystal clear, even to this day. A year onwards from San’s dragon, you found yourself hemmed in by enemy forces, your body tired from the fight - victory was so close for your side, and because of it, the Hwangso fought even harder, like cornered animals. If you broke through them, you would have been able to easily end their commander, but they had you, six to one. Hands closed around your throat, choking, and as the consciousness bled from you, you heard San’s cry, smelt the fear in the air as he tore through them to get to you: that in itself would have been insignificant - you had saved each other countless times through the years - but he had disobeyed a direct command.

He’d been told to kill the commander. He’d had a clear shot, and even still, he’d ignored orders, choosing to save you instead.

Both of you were beaten for it, and even as you heard the sound of San’s ribs cracking, he held your eyes, silently telling you that he’d do it over and over again, if only to keep you with him.

You think that was the moment when the two of you truly got a taste for rebellion. It was the point in the long, winding thread of your life that made you realise that whatever they told you, you would disregard it if it were for San. Their words no longer had as much power over you, because you knew your bond with him was infinitely stronger than any fear they attempted to instil within you.

Soon after that incident, your commander retired, and he was replaced by a man who was more of a fool than him. You began to lose land to Hwangso’s troops, far enough that the settlement where you grew up in was ravaged, razed to the ground. Your commander informed you that you’d evacuate the highborns, leaving the child mages and the servants behind because they would only slow you down - that was the moment you decided to stop listening to him.

The last mage rebellion had been decades ago - they were not ready. It was pathetic how easy it was to overthrow them; together with the rest of the troops and the mages from the settlement, you rebuilt the town and fortified it. San treated his soldiers with respect, with loyalty, and they loved him for it, for the way he would march into battle with them instead of cowering at the rear, for the way he could often be seen in the newly restored fields, watering the crops, for the way he recognised them for who they were.

To this day, you’re in awe of it. Never in your whole life have you come close to anything but fear for a leader, and yet you see it clear in their eyes that they love San, and that he loves them. He is everything that the highborns fear - a powerful, confident mage, wreathed in righteous shadows, fiercely intelligent, a master of strategy.

One of his first moves was to ally himself with the Hwangso warlord, the very man who had given him as a gift to your province. Deep in the highborn’s eyes was the presumption that he could break San and make him yield, followed a month later by pure terror when you held a knife to his neck, hissing to never speak of San like that again. The two of you brought his head in a sack to Hwangso and claimed your rule over the province.

That didn’t mean it was easy, though. There were the nights when San would tremble in your arms, baring his fears to you, his doubts - that it was getting too much too fast: that maybe he really was just made to follow orders. You scoffed at that - you’d seen him grow up, watched his shoulders broaden and his figure fill out with muscle, you’d seen the fire in his eyes blazing with passion; you knew he’d always be more than enough.

You’re not sure when the love blossomed between the two of you. Maybe it was always there, first shown as fierce protectiveness, later as searing kisses where no one could see, of fingers laced with yours in the dark of night. He married you shortly after he began to be recognised as an actual warlord, not a rogue mage; it was a quiet ceremony, but the celebrations of your people were far from that - rumours of the Neugdae province’s mage warlord and his wife rippled like wildfire through the regions, stirring fear and hope alike.

Some wonder why San does not take more wives - he has control over the Baem province as well Neugdae and Hwangso now, and any warlord with that much power would take on a harem without blinking. Not San, though - he’s different from them, he is a mage, a lowborn, his bronzed skin a sign to them of his childhood in the fields, and they find he is an enigma, as is his mystery shrouded right hand man.

But not to you - you understand him as if you share a soul.

On the surface, you are his only wife, aloof and coldly beautiful. In the shadows, you are his sword, his hand. There are myths of you, of the fire wielding ghost that robes itself in a black cowl and changes its skin into a man’s worst nightmare; stories of how you will twist your victim’s thoughts around until he finds the tip of a blade poking out of his chest, speared right through his back. It’s how you prefer to operate - they fear the unknown, and you are the unknown.

The fabric of the bag held in your fingers is soaked with blood. Within it is the head of the Yong province’s advisor. He was an awful man who deserved what you gave him - in a locked room at the back of his house, you found several young mages, half starved and chained by wrist and ankle to each other and a hook set in the wall. Bile bites at the back of your throat at the thought: you’re lucky you never experienced the uglier side of mage slavery.

Night is falling, the sun casting long shadows down the road. You always find the darkness comforting - it feels as if San is near. Today he is; you raise your fist and knock thrice on the solid wood of the gates, lifting your hand in recognition of the guards who peek over the turrets.

Slowly, they ease open the doors, and you stride into the courtyard, your boots clicking against the roughly hewn pavings. A squadron of your soldiers are sparring, but they halt their training when you enter, snapping to attention as you stop at the centre of the space, the dying rays of the sun streaming down the steps towards you, the air still as you wait.

He appears, his gilded silhouette glorious at the top of the stairs. His shadow guards spill down the steps towards you as he descends; their bodies contort and bend, the swirling mass of them parting around you, liquid night, jaws snapping, circling you until you’re surrounded.

A smirk pulls at your lips, and you throw the bag at his feet. You do not bow low, simply dipping your chin as he extracts the head from the sack, inspecting it and nodding before returning it to its roughly woven grave and handing it to one of his shadows to take away. Meeting your eyes, his own filled with amusement, the hint of a smile flashes over his face.

‘Welcome home, my love.’

San’s words are soft, voice quiet enough for only you to hear. You suppress the urge to pull down your mask and kiss him, instead letting your fingers brush against his as you walk with him up the steps and into the hanok; his shadows close the door behind you and the moment they do, he hooks an arm around your waist and hugs you tight, his embrace warm and sweet as always.

You laugh. ‘I was only gone four days, Sannie.’

‘Four days too long for me to be separated from my wife,’ he replies, pushing your cowl back so he can kiss your forehead.

Gripping his shoulders, you tug him down so you can peck his lips before sending him out to the courtyard again - you’re the last person expected through the gates tonight, so he should go out and dismiss the mages training in the courtyard so they can go home to their families and lock up. A happy sigh leaves you as you toe off your shoes, walking through your home and stripping off your bloody clothes before submerging yourself in the pool sunken in the floor. San has already filled it with fresh water, and it takes you mere seconds to heat it up with your fire.

Leaning with your head against the wooden ledge of the pool, you let your muscles loosen, half closing your eyes. The silence doesn’t last long, though - there’s a soft, steady noise coming from the screen behind you, almost like… breathing.

‘Show yourself,’ you command into the still air.

A man steps into view - a human, eyes crazed, knife clutched in his fingers. You realise he does not know who you really are; he just assumes you are the mage warlord San’s wife, delicate and helpless, and you let that role engulf you, backing away to the other edge of the pool with your eyes wide, luring him closer.

‘Your man took everything from me,’ he spits, blade pointed at you as he stalks forward. ‘He took my power, my wealth, my squadron of soldiers. And now I will take his wife.’

Surging out of the pool, you dodge the swipe he aims at you, sending fire surging down the knife’s handle so he drops it with a cry and twisting his arm behind his back in the most painful way possible, wrenching him down to his knees with his face an inch above the water.

‘How did you get in?’ You ask coolly.

‘I’ll never tell y - ’

You send tongues of flame licking down his ribs. ‘Answer the question or suffer.’

The door eases open, revealing San. His eyes land on you, water dripping down your body as you pin the man to the floor, then the distorted reflection from the blade of the knife that’s fallen into the pool, and something dangerous flashes inside his gaze. You let him grab your attacker by the front of his shirt, lifting him off his feet as he brings him face to face with him; you see San’s jaw clench, his hands balling into fists.

‘How fucking dare you try to come anywhere near my wife,’ he growls, shadows coalescing behind him.

You can tell he’s about to say something else, but he stops as the man, trembling and fruitlessly clawing at San’s fingers, wets himself. Your husband’s lip curls in disgust, and he drops him at your feet, pressing him down onto his knees and yanking his head up so he is forced to look up at you. Bending down, you breathe in the sheer fear permeating the air, a soft smile on your face.

‘Now, answer the question.’

‘You’re not his wife,’ he whispers, pale.

‘Oh, but I am,’ you sneer. ‘But that’s not the only role I occupy.’

Slowly, his face drains of colour, horror rippling across it as it slowly dawns on him. He recoils in San’s grasp, scrabbling at the floor in a sorry attempt to put distance between you; he has finally realised who you are and he acts like fucking coward, his mouth gaping wide in a silent plea. Unhurried, you fish the knife out from the pool, twirling it around your thumb before gliding it gently over the skin of his throat.

‘I’m getting impatient.’

‘I - I - the guards, they were distracted upon your arrival, I snuck in at the southern perimeter, please don’t - ’

His words dissolve into a weak gurgle when you slice open his throat. Blood gushes from the seams of the wound, dribbling from his lips, and you step back as he tips forward, landing with a wet thump face first on the wooden floor. Glancing up at San, you sigh before getting back in the pool. One of his shadows carries the body away and your husband tugs his clothes off and slides into the water beside you, pulling you into his chest.

‘He did not hurt you, I presume?’

You snort. ‘He tried.’

San’s fingers run thoughtfully up and down your arm. ‘I’ll talk to the guards. I probably shouldn’t have put Jisung on dusk duty while he was recovering from that fever.’

You nod but don’t answer, instead pressing a kiss to his collarbone. He hums, tipping his head back to give you more access as you mouth at his skin, letting your palms wander over his shapely chest, grip his broad shoulders, skim his waist; you trace the many scars all over his body, and he allows you to, his strong hands gripping your hips when you settle in his lap.

He curses low at the feel of your teeth sinking into the spot where his neck meets his shoulder, his hips jerking upwards, and you both groan at the sensation of the underside of his cock grazing your clit. Smirking, you let your tongue lave over the spot where you bit, pressing a kiss to his jaw and pulling back as his hands tighten their grip on your ass.

‘Missed you too, Sannie. Good to know how much you missed me.’

‘So fucking bratty,’ he hisses.

A thrill shoots through you as he stands, the water sluicing in rivulets down the planes of his chest, lifting you and laying you on the edge of the pool, pinning your knees to the wood and spreading you open. The crude way he looks at you is all consuming, his eyes surveying you from where he stands with the water to his mid thigh, watching as your pussy clenches at the sight of him towering over you.

San remains there, just looking at you, and you curve your spine, almost whining in attempt to make him touch you without you asking for it. His lips quirk to the side as you squirm, trying to inch your hips down so you can grind against him, but his fingers tighten on you, refusing you.

‘What is it you require of me, love?’

Finding your attempts unsuccessful, you huff, glaring at him. He loves to do this, make you articulate exactly what you want from him - he likes the flush that heats your cheeks, your body still shy even after all your years with him, he likes the breathy noises you make when he forces you to tell him just what you desire when all you can think of is his dick, he likes it when you can’t  help but beg him.

‘Y - your fingers,’ you mumble. ‘And your cock.’

‘Say that louder for me, sweetheart, I didn’t catch the last bit.’

‘Your fingers and your fucking cock,’ you snap - a sorry endeavour at trying to hide how much you love when he inflicts this upon you.

San raises an eyebrow, not moving to touch you. Waiting.

‘Please,’ you add.

He smiles. ‘There we go. Wasn’t so hard, was it?’

Your mouth opens to retort, but he slips his fingers inside you, and your back bows, a soft moan leaving your lips as he sweeps his thumb over your clit, his other hand palming your breasts, his tongue dragging over your skin. Burying your hands in his hair, you tug, making him groan low and deep as you pull him closer.

Delectably, his fingers curl, and you ache for him. San has ruined you for anyone else, he is branded onto your soul and also your body, fading marks from your last time together still slightly visible on your throat - a necklace of love bites, laying claim to you. He catches your chin as he brings you closer to the edge, tasting your moans on his tongue, grinding his palm against your clit.

You keen, coming hard around him, chest heaving, and he smirks, holding your waist as shudders wrack your legs from the aftershocks. The fire in his eyes burns ever brighter, so hot you feel your stomach go molten - your hands tighten on his shoulders, nails raking over his back, your tongue unable to form anything other than his name.

‘You’re always so willing to behave once your pussy’s full, hm?’

‘No, I,’ you start, but cry out when he pinches your clit in warning, the muscles of your thighs jumping as it lances through you, white hot. ‘Y - yes, yes, I am, please - ’

In one fluid movement, San buries himself inside you, sheathing himself until his hips kiss yours. Catching you wrists in his hand, he pins them above your head, and your back arches as he pulls out, agonisingly slowly, every ridge and vein of his cock dragging on your walls before slamming back in, tearing a cry of his name from your chest. Tugging your legs up from where they were wrapped around his waist, he hooks your knees over his shoulders - the new angle makes you sob, writhing beneath him as his cock head drives into perfection, drives you to euphoria.

Sometimes, San makes love to you, but not tonight: tonight he fucks into you mercilessly, traces of possessiveness lacing his actions as he litters your skin with bites, his hands leaving exquisite bruises on your hips. Pleasure tears through you like an arrow through your heart, white hot and maddening, ravenous.

‘You fit around my cock so well,’ he pants. ‘Like you were made for me, sweetheart.’

Something snaps inside you at his words, and as if he senses it, San presses his thumb down hard on your clit, speeding up his thrusts until the air is punched from your lungs. Stars flash before your eyes, and your mouth falls open, toes curling as you come on his cock, your cunt convulsing around him, thighs twitching; he doesn’t stop, just continues ploughing into you, and you tremble, tears slipping down your cheeks at the relentless pound of his hips into yours.

With a gasp, he pulls out and comes over your stomach, his wide shoulders rising and falling with heaving breaths, and you groan as he eases you back into the warm water, a hand cupping the back of your neck as he tucks your head under his chin, sliding his softening cock into you again. Wrapping your arms around him, you press a kiss to his jaw and rest your hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

‘How do you feel, my love?’

You nuzzle your face into his shoulder. ‘Good. Really fucking good.’

He laughs, and you bask in the sound of his happiness and the comfort of his warm skin against yours. San’s hands run up and down your spine, soothing, and you smile sleepily; you are home, reunited with your other half, the missing part of your soul.

With San, you are complete.

[jiarkives]

wanting was enough

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ summary — wanting was enough. for steve, it was enough.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ character — steve rogers (marvel)

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ content — angst ; steve’s pov to this

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ notes — timeline? we don’t know her 🤪 for the sake of the plot, bucky was found after eg and no one died ,,, also i hope this makes sense because i am like half asleep as i am writing this

~

Steve Rogers had always loved and will always love Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter. For him, no one will ever compare to who she was as a soldier, as a woman, and as the one who held his heart. Or so he thought until he was pulled out of the ice and was thrusted into the world he knew nothing about, until he met you.

You were a rookie agent when Steve was pulled out of the ice and when he woke, Nick Fury assigned you your first mission—to help Captain America get back on his feet and adjust to his new world.

You and Steve didn’t hit it off immediately. In fact, you got off on the wrong foot. With your wits contradicting each other’s, and your smart mouth, you were bound to disagree. You would bicker at every waking hour you spent together, but he would be an absolute angel to everyone else, fueling your irritation further and so you gave the same energy back, maybe even more.

You directed all your anger onto him. At every moment, you were ready to reply with something snarky. You were always short with him, but you were the opposite to everybody else. In your head, you were giving him a dose of his own medicine.

And he let you because in his head, that was better. Your distance was so much better, not because he despised you, but because he saw her in you.

He saw her in the way you moved, the way you handled yourself with confidence and strength, the way you put deserving people in their places. But then as if a bucket of cold water was dumped on him and he realized.

He realized that everything was different, that she was gone. And for the first time, he saw you, and it just became so much worse because you were here, you were real, you were alive. You were someone he could hurt.

Then, not even a year after he was assigned to you, Fury reassigned you another mission, and the both of you were internally grateful. You were grateful to have been given a break from his insufferable ass, and he was grateful to have been distanced from you before his heart positively combusted.

Months passed right before his eyes and before he knew it, it was 2012. Fury sought him out for the Avengers Initiative and once again, he was Captain America.

With the shit that had gone down since he became an Avenger, he was always almost too busy to let his mind wander to you. Then, he found out that Peggy was alive. She was in this world and all of a sudden, he felt he had something to hold on to when the world moved too fast. And with his mind occupied with Peggy, you were almost completely wiped from his mind.

Then Peggy died and his world crumbled around him. He had seen it coming for a while. With Peggy’s age, he knew it was bound to happen sooner than later, but it was still a pain he never imagined.

Almost immediately after her death, the accords happened and faster than he could even blink, he was a fugitive, an enemy of the state. Everything went to shit after Peggy’s death and he felt as if he lost control over his own life.

Then you sought him out and took him in. You weren’t an Avenger, so you weren’t included in the whole mess in Germany, but you were still an agent of SHIELD.

You gave him shelter when he was on the run despite your connection to SHIELD. You were ready to throw everything away for him despite your history.

And during his time on the down low, your feelings started to bloom, seeing him in a new light, seeing him, not as Captain America, but as Steve, the scrawny boy from Brooklyn who wanted to kick bullies’ asses, but always ended up getting his ass kicked. But neither of you acted on your feelings.

Then all of a sudden, he was being whisked away because apparently, a titan from another planet was planning a universal genocide. They fought, but were unsuccessful.

Half of the world was wiped away and the first thing he thought to do after the battle was to seek you out, so he did. But you weren’t there. You weren’t in your own home and the only thing left of you was the pile of sand on your kitchen floor and a mixing bowl next to it.

Despite half of the world’s population being gone, it felt as if the world was moving too fast. Or maybe it was the grief slowing him down. Maybe it was both, but before he even realized, five years had passed and they were all presented a chance at getting half the world back, courtesy of Scott Lang.

With a lot of hiccups and injuries, but thankfully no deaths, they were able to get the world back and the titan was gone. Truly gone.

After the battle, Steve didn’t even wait until he was fully recovered to seek you out, and there you were in your house, coping with the fact that you have just lost five years of your life, despite feeling like you have only been gone for no longer than a minute.

He had barged into your home, looking you over before kissing the life out of you and there, something had bloomed.

At first, he was almost ecstatic at the thought that you were finally in his arms safe, sound, and alive. Then, he was scared. You were alive. You were someone the world could take away from him. You were someone he could hurt, and so he kept you a secret. He didn’t want to risk the world finding out about Captain America’s weakness and ultimately using you against him.

To his relief, you agreed to be his dirty little secret. It was fair, he thought. You got to keep your relationship with him and he got to keep you safe.

But it didn’t ease his fear. Despite the world not knowing about you and him, he was still scared. You were still with him and he could still hurt you, unlike Peggy, darling, dearest, dead Peggy.

And so unknowingly, he was pulling away from you and slowly holding on to the memories of Peggy, the memories of the world he knew before everything went to shit.

He knew damn well it was gone, that it didn’t exist anymore, but if it wasn’t real, if it wasn’t here, if it wasn’t alive, then he couldn’t fuck it up. The world wouldn’t be able to take it away from him because it was gone.

But you noticed, of course you did, and he didn’t expect anything less. You were a smart woman, his smart woman, and he knew you would catch on, but he didn’t expect you to confront him right after that mission. The mission where he found out that Bucky was alive, but he wasn’t his Bucky anymore. He was turned into one of HYDRA’s greatest weapon and he was taken because he was someone to Steve Rogers, he was someone to Captain America.

But he was there, he was real, he was alive, just like you are. And like Bucky, you could be taken away and used against him, and he wouldn’t know what he’d do if that ever happens, so he pushed you away. He told you lies. He held onto the memories of Peggy like a lifeline in hopes of keeping himself sane as he watched the best thing that ever happened to him crumble right before his eyes.

He watched as you left, unknowingly taking his heart with you.

In your head, his heart was buried with Peggy, completely unaware of the fact that you had taken his heart as you left.

[dearheartdont]

WIP (Definitely Not) Wednesday

Thank you for the tag @laiqualaurelote :)

The next time Charles slips is in 2004, outside an electronics shop, whilst trying to convince Edwin they should nick a radio for their office.

“We could listen to the cricket, and they still do serials on Radio 4,” Charles says. 

Edwin makes a considering noise.

There’s a line of televisions in the shop window. One is turned to the news. A new Conservative MP in Slough, the caption on the screen says. The footage shows the new MP shaking hands with the losing candidates. 

The face is familiar. Carmichael. A boy Charles thought was his mate, or whatever passed for it at St Hilarion’s. One of the boys that chased him into a lake that night. The night he died.

Carmichael still has that posh kid’s flush - wind-bitten cheeks from weekends hunting on a country estate back then; probably the after-effects of too many glasses of red wine now.

When Charles knew him, he was well on his way to a Cambridge place, with an invitation to the Bullingdon club and the free reign that membership granted to act the cunt for 3 years to follow. The kind of boy with the connections to land a job in the City or politics. That’s what had happened, obviously. His life completely unaffected by Charles’ death. 

A hand lands on Charles’ shoulder. Edwin’s. “You look … cold,” he says.

“It’s nothing, mate.” Charles feels a trickle of ice down his back, smells stagnant water.

“Are you— ”

“Just leave it,” Charles says, shrugs Edwin’s hand off and turns away from the window. Away from Edwin.

Charles’ hands are pale and shaking. His hair is wet and plastered to his head when he scrubs his fingers through it. He shivers.

Charles walks round the corner and down the side alley next to the shop. He curls into himself behind a line of bins and screws his eyes shut. Lets his breath heave and his teeth chatter, a cold fury spreading through him.

When he opens his eyes he can see Edwin’s neat, polished boots in front of him.

“I will not touch you, but neither will I leave you alone,” Edwin says. He crouches, a flash of distaste crossing his features even though there’s no chance of his coat getting  mucked up by the puddle he settles in.

“You are doing well. Breathing, though not needed, is a way to regulate the emotions of ghosts.”

“I know,” Charles says through clenched teeth.

“Yes, of course you do. I have always found you to be remarkably intuitive.”

Charles tries for a ‘what could be wrong if I’m teasing’ tone of voice. “Are you trying to butter me up? If you want a favour, now’s not really the time, mate.” The words come out wrong: a little sharp, a lot pathetic.

“That is disappointing. I have decided a radio for the office would be quite the thing, and I think you should assist in selecting it.”

“Just give me a minute.”

Silence, until Edwin says, “I was thinking back on the Case of the Vauxhall Vault.”

Edwin’s level voice recounts the story, and it feels like his voice is a line to follow back to safety, to normality. As normal as two dead boys running a detective agency can be.

The chill slowly recedes and settles back into that small knot at the centre of Charles that is always there, but can be ignored most of the time. 

[sjsmith56]

A Better Man, Part 8 - Attachments

Summary: Bucky and Andrea’s date goes well until an unwelcome interruption. When the unthinkable happens a few days later, Bucky takes action.

Length: 5.2 K

Characters: Bucky, Andrea, Steve, Sam, Natasha, Brock Rumlow, Winnifred, Thor, Nick Fury.

Warnings: Feelings of betrayal, anger, angst, description and threats of violence.

Author notes: It was bound to happen.

<<Part 7

Part 8

When Bucky arrived at the apartment his mother was already there but there was no opportunity to ask her about Nick Fury, not with Andrea sitting next to her, already dressed for their date.  He showered, shaved, and changed, coming out to the sight of his mother reading one of the board books to Lily, smiling broadly at the faces the little girl made.  It made him realize how much she already loved Lily and Andrea. 

"There are several frozen bottles of breast milk in the freezer," said Andrea.  "Just thaw one out in lukewarm water, then warm it up in warmer water.  Make sure to shake it before you feed her.  Her diaper will likely need to be changed before you put her in her crib.  I'll keep my phone on vibrate if you have any problems."

"Go, and don't worry about anything," said Winnifred.  "We'll be just fine.  You two have a good time."

Bucky kissed her on the cheek then took Andrea's hand as they went to the elevator.  By the time they got down to the lobby he had almost forgotten about Fury's man watching the building, not even checking the area before they got into the Uber that was picking them up.  When they arrived at the dinner club, Steve and Natasha were waiting outside on the sidewalk for them.  The women hugged each other, then Sam and Maria arrived.  The two women were introduced to Bucky.  Andrea hadn't met Maria before but had heard about her from Natasha.  By the time they got inside and led to their table, they were laughing together as if they had known each other for some time. 

Dinner was fun, as they each ordered something different, but shared tastes of their food with everyone else, comparing their choices.  There was a lot of laughter, some gentle teasing and sharing of funny stories.  When the dinner plates were being cleared, and the server came for their dessert orders, Andrea asked Bucky if they could share something. 

"What do you like?" he asked, a soft smile on his face.

"Anything with chocolate," she said, then she reconsidered.  "Wait, I don't know if Lily will react to it.  Maybe I should stick to something blander, just in case."  He looked blankly at her.  "Whatever I eat can show up in the breast milk.  Too much chocolate can upset a baby's tummy.  Maybe cheesecake would be a better choice, or something with apples."

He looked again at the dessert menu.  "There is an apple crumble with caramel sauce.  How does that sound?"

"Perfect," she smiled, then she looked at the server.  "May I have decaf tea with that?"

When it came and two spoons were put on their place settings, Bucky slid the serving over to her to try first.  Dipping her spoon in to the crumble part, she made sure there was caramel on it, then raised it to her mouth. 

"Oh my God, this is so good!" 

Bucky took a taste and agreed.  They fed each other on occasion, drawing smiles from the others.  It was a perfect way to end the meal.  Natasha leaned over to Steve and whispered in his ear.  He whispered back making her nod.  Neither would share what they said but it was certain they were both happy for their respective friends at how good they seemed together.

The music started and as promised, it was very laid back, lending itself to close dancing.  They all got up to take part, enjoying the mellow atmosphere.  After several songs, Bucky and Andrea sat back down, to refresh themselves.  She checked her phone, making sure that Bucky's mother hadn't called or texted.  Excusing himself to use the men's room, Bucky got up, leaving Andrea on her own as the others continued dancing.  She watched them, then was aware that someone had sat beside her.  Assuming it was Bucky, she was shocked to see Brock Rumlow.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, pulling herself away.

"Free country," he replied.  "What are you doing here?  Shouldn't you be home looking after my daughter?"

"You're not her father."  How did he know I had a girl?  "You can't just show up whenever you please and claim she's your child."

"What are you doing here, Rumlow?" asked Steve, suddenly at the table with Sam.  "You're not welcome here."

"I'm having a conversation with the mother of my child," smirked the man.  "Beat it."

Bucky approached, stepping between Andrea and Rumlow.  "The lady doesn't want anything to do with you," he stated.  "I would suggest you leave."

"Taking my sloppy seconds, huh?" grinned the swarthy man.  He stood up.  "I wasn't good enough for her, so she sets her sights on the golden boy of renovations.  Does she know the truth about you and Barnes Contracting?"

"You need to leave," said Natasha, holding up her badge.  "This is bordering on harassment, and I have no qualms about making an arrest.  You're the one who didn't want anything to do with Andrea or her baby, so get lost, loser."

"NYPD?  Do you know who you're hanging out with?"  Maria flashed her badge and Rumlow stepped back, holding up his hands in surrender.  "Andrea, consider this a notice that I intend to sue for custody of our daughter.  Since you're not working and you're living off the charity of others I'm sure a family court judge will be willing to give her to me.  You all have a good evening."

With another smirk, he left.  Bucky put his arms around Andrea right away, kissing her hair.  She was shaken then she looked at Natasha.

"Can he do that?  Can he get custody of her?"

"Over my dead body," she answered.  "He's just trying to frighten you.  The guy is a major asshole."

"What did he mean about knowing the truth?"  She looked at all of them, noticing they weren't jumping to say they didn't know.  "Bucky?  What did he mean?"

He swallowed nervously, looking at the others.  "We should go home so I can talk to you there."

"No, I want to know what he meant.  Natasha, what was he talking about?"

"Andrea, you really should go with Bucky.  This isn't the place ...."

"Would somebody please tell me what the hell he meant?" 

She sounded like she was on the verge of panicking as her voice caused everyone in the club to stop talking and look at them.  The manager asked them to leave as they were disturbing the other patrons.  Taking her purse and jacket, she headed towards the door and out onto the sidewalk.  Steve murmured he would take care of the bill while the others went out to where Andrea glared at all of them.  With a sigh, Bucky stood in front of her.

"There's something I haven't told you," he said.  "I've wanted to, but everything was going so well, and I really was trying to do the right thing in getting out of it.  Barnes Contracting is an actual general contracting company, and Steve, Sam and I have our legal contractor's licenses, but we haven't only taken on renovations.  Most of our revenue stream until a few weeks ago was providing a service to several other businesses, most of them weren't legitimate.  We held on to stolen goods for them, transporting them to their customers after the heat was off.  When I met you, I knew that it wasn't something I wanted you to be associated with, so we changed to just renovations, legal ones.  No more holding stolen goods."

She pushed him hard enough to make him stumble a little as her lips trembled with anger.  Bucky impassively took it without comment.  She breathed heavily with disbelief at what he just told her. 

"It's true," said Natasha, trying to intervene on Bucky's behalf.  "They aren't like Brock, Andrea.  They never were involved in the things he was."

"You knew and you didn't say anything?  You encouraged me to see him, to become close to him ... to fall in love with him." Natasha looked down, unable to say anything more.  "Now, I don't even have a place to live, because he has torn my house apart."

"You don't have to leave," said Bucky.

"I'm not staying with a crook," she shouted, all of her anger bursting out in the effort, then she placed her shaking hand on her forehead.  "Your mother, she knows?"  He nodded and she groaned in frustration.  "You're horrible people.  All of you.  Now, I might lose my daughter.  I don't have a job and the money that I was living on when I had a house won't support me for longer than a couple of months if I have to find a place to rent."

It was too much for her and she suddenly wavered, then fainted.  Steve caught her, lifting her up in his arms. 

"Where's your car?" he asked.

"We took an Uber," replied Bucky.  "You?"

"We walked," he answered.  "Taxi."

Bucky hailed a cab.  At first, the driver wouldn't take Bucky and Andrea, considering the state she was in, but Natasha showed him her badge and told him it was okay.  For $50 cash, he said he would consider it.  Sam opened his wallet and gave him the money.  During the drive, Andrea came around, but she wouldn't let Bucky touch her. 

"I'm sorry, but there was no easy way to tell you," he said.  "I wanted to.  I really did."

"I don't believe you," she answered. 

"Look, you stay in the apartment.  I'll pack a bag and live at my mother's place.  I'll get your place done as soon as possible so you can move back, at my expense."

"Right," she answered.  "Since I don't have the money to pay you, are you going to send your enforcer to break my kneecaps?"

"No, I don't have an enforcer.  I don't do that.  The only thing I did was hold onto stuff and make deliveries.  That's it."

She looked out the window on the other side of the back seat, not saying a word.  Bucky realized he was chewing on his fingernails and stopped, lacing his fingers together in his lap.  Damn Brock Rumlow for being the asshole he always was.  Damn him for showing up and opening his big mouth.  Damn himself for not being honest with Andrea from the beginning.  She didn't wait for him when the driver pulled up to the apartment building.  As Bucky paid, she got out and hurried to the door, then to the elevator, getting in and not holding the doors for him.  He waited the few minutes it took for the elevator to return to the main floor then got on, hoping that she stayed there.  When he got to his floor, he saw his mother sitting on a tall stool at the kitchen counter.  Her face said it all.

"Where is she?" he asked.

"In her room.  She said you're moving out while you finish her house.  What happened?"

"Brock Rumlow showed up."  His mother sighed and lowered her head, just imagining how that went.  "Said he's going to sue her for custody then he asked her if she knew the truth about me.  I had to tell her.  She wouldn't let it go."

He went to his room, pulling out a large suitcase and throwing his clothes in.  Winnifred stood in the doorway.  Hesitating for a moment, he glanced at her.

"Why would Nick Fury have someone watching my place?"

She breathed out noticeably.  "I asked him to have someone watching Andrea.  I knew that if Pierce found out about Lily, he would come for her.  Family is everything to him and even if Brock Rumlow didn't want her, Pierce would."

He closed his suitcase, then looked at her again.  "Why would Mrs. Parker tell us that the enemy of our enemy is our friend?  What did she mean?"

"Just that Nick Fury has his sights set on Hydra Contracting and Alexander Pierce.  They have been involved in a battle of wits for as long as you've been alive.  You don't have to worry about him coming after you or Barnes Contracting.  He has no interest in the company."

He picked up the suitcase then looked at her again.  "That's not the whole story, is it?"  She said nothing and gave nothing away.  "Need to know.  Alright, but you better start trusting me with something because I'm walking out on the woman I love because she thinks I'm in the same league as Brock Rumlow and I know that I'm nothing like that animal."

Out in the kitchen, he grabbed a pen and a pad of paper, writing on it.  Then he opened his wallet and emptied it of cash, putting it under the pad.  With a look to the hallway where Andrea's bedroom was, he picked up his suitcase again and went to the elevator with his mother, entering it when the doors opened.  A few minutes after they left, Andrea's bedroom door opened, and she came out to verify they were gone.  She saw the note, read it but didn't take the money.  Then she sat in the oversized armchair where she and Bucky made out just a week ago.  Only then did she give in to the overwhelming emotions she was feeling and began to cry.  It was a long time before she stopped, locked down the elevator door, turned off the lights and went to bed.

It didn't take long for word to reach the employees of Barnes Contracting that something had happened to Bucky.  Simply put, he was a bear with just about everyone, even Mrs. Parker.  At the job site, he didn't let up on anything or anyone.  It was draining and made for a very tense workplace.  Steve tried to talk to him whenever he came back to the office, but Bucky wouldn't say anything, other than he was fine.  When Steve told Natasha how badly Bucky was taking it during the week after the incident, she admitted that Andrea had blocked her phone number.

"If she's blocked me, she's probably blocked Bucky as well," she said, sadly.  "I really fucked up."

"We all did," he replied.  "Rumlow obviously had someone following Bucky to find where he lived."

She looked at Steve.  "What do you mean?  Didn't he already know?"

Steve shook his head.  "No, it was kept secret.  Only me, Sam, a couple of our guys, and his mom knew where he lived."  He hesitated.  "Something bad happened to Bucky when he was a kid, and he is very security conscious because of it.  I don't know the details, but he was traumatized by it and has been afraid of blood ever since.  It makes him physically sick."

"How old was he?"

"Six, I think.  I met him after it happened.  It's also why he's not the type to get into fights or arguments.  He just takes it because he doesn't like conflict."

"He didn't even react when Andrea pushed him or got angry about it." 

Steve put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her in closer and kissing her head. 

"It's Dot, all over again, except worse."

He explained about Bucky's previous girlfriend and how much it set him back.  It made Natasha feel even more at fault for what happened as it was obvious Bucky was nothing like Brock Rumlow in mind or temperament.  He and Andrea were perfect for each other in so many ways.  She burrowed into Steve's chest, seeking comfort from this man who was becoming much more than the casual sex partner she had originally envisioned.  She was falling in love with Steve Rogers. 

Friday came around again, and the crew were cleaning up the debris in the brownstone.  Bucky had the blueprints of the new kitchen layout in front of him on a portable table and was pointing out to the electrician the location of the new lighting fixtures over the island placement.  Since Andrea wasn't taking his calls he was using his best judgement to decide where to place them.  He could hear someone's cell phone ring, and irritatedly thought they shouldn't be taking personal calls on the job. 

"Bucky?" He looked up to see Thor, looking at him anxiously.  "Can I talk to you, privately?"

"I don't have time for private conversations," he snapped.  "Just spit it out."

The big man sighed, then reached down into his work boots and pulled out a wallet, opening it in front of Bucky's face so that only he saw it.  It was an FBI ID card, with his badge just below it.

"What is this, some kind of joke?"

"No joke," said Thor.  "Please, we need to go somewhere private."

The expression on the taller man's face was serious, so Bucky excused himself and the two men went to the powder room, closing the door behind them.

"You're FBI?"

Thor nodded.  "I've been undercover with your business for six months."  Bucky frowned, then ran his hand through his hair.  "It's not what you think.  You and Barnes Contracting weren't under investigation, but I can't say more than that as I don't have clearance.  Just know that the enemy of your enemy is your friend."

It was what Mrs. Parker said to them, setting off all sorts of thoughts in Bucky's mind.  Was Mrs. Parker an FBI agent?  She had been with the company for ten years, had hacked into databases, helped them coordinate shipments ... what the hell was going on?  He looked up at Thor again, who swallowed.

"I just got a call from the District Attorney's office.  Rumlow has kidnapped Andrea and Lily Hart.  He shot the man who was watching them when he tried to intervene.  He's in surgery right now."

It was like being punched in the gut and Bucky began to hyperventilate, then he kneeled down and bent his head over to stop feeling so faint.  Shaun was supposed to be watching them as well.  What happened to him?  Thor didn't seem to be worried about Bucky's reaction, as he just waited.  After several long minutes Bucky looked up.

"Where is she?"

"They didn't say but they want your help," he said.  "I'm to bring you to a meeting place to go over where they're likely holding her.  I don't want to blow my cover."  He shrugged.  "I like the guys I'm working with.  They're decent men who made a mistake and you helped them to get back on their feet."

"You lied," said Bucky, raising himself. 

"Only about holding heroin, being an ex-con and the FBI," answered Thor.  "I am a college graduate, and I did work summers in construction.  It's been great doing it again.  Didn't realize how much I missed it."

"So, you want me to keep your secret," said Bucky.  "How do I know this isn't a setup?"

"You don't," admitted the other man.  "I just know that this operation has been running for a long time and that it's finally at a point where several different authorities can take action against Pierce and Hydra.  Andrea was never meant to be part of it.  Her involvement was just one of those things that happen in life when an innocent person walks into something bigger than them.  Unfortunately, her kidnapping is likely to trigger the enforcement stage of the operation and that could put her life in jeopardy.  We need to get her and the baby to safety as soon as possible."

"Alright," said Bucky.  "I'll come with you but if anything happens to her or to Lily, I'll go after Pierce and Rumlow myself.  I won't wait on any law enforcement to do their job."

"Fair enough," said Thor.  "What should we tell the others?"

"You leave that to me," said Bucky.  "Meet me at my car."

They left the powder room and Thor headed out to where Bucky's car was parked.  Several minutes later, Bucky appeared and unlocked the car remotely.  After they were inside, Thor gave him the address and they were on their way.  Minutes later, everyone at the job site came out the front door, led by Clint Barton.  He apologized to the electrician who was being sent home then locked up the brownstone. 

"Scott, go to the hospital and get Shaun," he said.  "Bring him to the warehouse."

The rest of the men from Barnes Construction got back into the company trucks and headed to the warehouse.  Even though the drive wasn't all that long, it seemed to take forever to get there.  Sam was waiting and left the back door unlocked for them as he went back inside.  As Clint led the others inside, he was glad at how they even called in the guys who were on the city payroll but associated with them.  It seemed that everyone was being called in to this.  Steve got on top of the table and looked around at all of them.

"So, Rumlow has taken Andrea and Lily," he said.  "Thor is an undercover FBI agent who claims that the company isn't under investigation.  I knew there was something off about him, but one of us convinced me that he was okay." 

He nodded at Sam, who went through the hallway to the main office.  He returned with Mrs. Parker, who seemed surprised at the assembly.  She turned to leave but Sam blocked her exit.  Resigned, she turned back to them, then saw her nephew, Peter, who looked at her as if she were a traitor, apparently not knowing she was a planted agent.

"The enemy of your enemy is your friend," she said, out loud.  "I'm not your enemy, never was."

"But you're not who you seem to be," said Steve.  "Rumlow kidnapped Andrea and Lily and shot Shaun, as well as an investigator with the DA's office.  Are you working for Pierce?"

"No, never," she said.  "I have much to hate about him.  He's the reason I'm a widow.  He's the reason I agreed to join the company and take over from Mrs. Barnes.  He's the reason why I've done my best to keep you knuckleheads from getting in too deep."

"Well then," said Steve.  "You have five minutes to explain it to us.  Then we're going to war with Hydra."

"Which you'll lose," she answered, "and every bit of good will that has been built up over the years to keep the law off your backs will have been for nothing.  Do you want to all end up in prison again?  Because if you go up against Hydra, that's what will happen.  They have a lot of people in their pocket, police, judges, military ... and you boys, as well intentioned as you are, don't have the one thing they do."  She scanned each of their faces, lingering longest on her nephew.  "You don't have the killer instinct.  None of you do."

"Aunt May, we can't just sit back and do nothing," said Peter, his earnest face reflected in several others.

"I'm not asking you to," she sighed.  "I'm asking you to be smart about it.  Take them down, but don't take them out.  Don't stoop to their level." 

Steve jumped off the table and stood in front of this woman whom he had trusted for ten years. 

"Does Mrs. Barnes know about you?" Mrs. Parker nodded.  "She knows more, doesn't she?"

"Yes, but she'll have to tell you as it's not my place."  She waved her hand around gesturing at the warehouse.  "This has taken years to setup and if you do the wrong thing now, you can undo all that work and Pierce, Rumlow, Sitwell ... all of those predators will get away with it."

"Then what can we do?" he asked.  "What will keep all of us out of prison but keep them occupied?"

She smiled.  "Misdemeanours.  Trespassing, blocking driveways with vehicles, minor vandalism, such as letting the air out of tires, broken windows, blocking doors from the outside, throwing rotten fruit ... you know, just being little shits, really."

He smiled with her.  "We can do that.  I'm sorry for thinking you worked for Pierce."

"Don't be," she said.  "I'm surprised I kept you guys fooled for as long as I did.  You let me tell my superiors that we're going to mount a little campaign of distraction while they work out how to get Andrea and Lily out of there before they go in."

At that moment, Scott came in, with Shaun, who wore a sling protecting the injury on his arm.  Mrs. Parker shook her head at him.  She warned Fury this could happen and repeated it to Ross when she called him after Steve and Sam questioned her.

🙎‍♂️🙎🏻‍♂️🙎🏼‍♂️🙎🏽‍♂️🙎🏾‍♂️

In the car, Bucky was surprised when he pulled up to the warehouse of one of his construction suppliers.  He looked sideways at Thor, who shrugged.

"Couldn't have you using stolen goods for your legitimate jobs," he said.  "They did their best not to incriminate you or anyone at Barnes Contracting.  Took years to setup but it was necessary."

He parked and the two men entered a side door.  Inside, in the middle of pallets of wood was what appeared to be a command post.  Most of the people there were unknown to him, but he recognized Nick Fury, who nodded wordlessly at him.  A short man with greying hair approached Bucky, offering his hand.

"Everett Ross, special agent in charge of this operation.  We don't have time to bring you up to speed on how we set this up, but your mother should be here soon and can explain it to you.  In the meantime, we have several locations identified where Andrea Hart and her baby girl may have been taken.  We understand you know Hydra's locations fairly well."

Glancing at the large screen monitor that displayed several locations, Bucky shook his head at all of them except one. 

"You're sure that it was Rumlow that took her?"

"Yes, our operative phoned it in before he lost consciousness.  Why?"

"If it was Pierce, he would have taken her to his home.  He's all about family and he's often shown in public with his grandchildren and younger nieces and nephews.  It's part of his image that he's this friendly, older family man.  Brock is a different type entirely.  He's nasty and mean.  Doesn't care about either of them but I figure this is aimed at me because he knows that I killed his father."

"Say what?" Everett Ross looked at Fury.  "What's he talking about?"

"You didn't kill Henry Rumlow," said Fury.  "I know that for a fact."

"I pointed the gun at him," said Bucky.  "I was six, although it wasn't until they reported on his body being discovered near the river that I recognized him as the man who was hurting my dad that night.  I remember the hits, and the yelling and the blood after.  I took his dad's life, so he's going to take Andrea's life to hurt me."

"You didn't kill Henry Rumlow," said his mother's voice, as she entered, flanked by Natasha and Maria, who both shrugged at him.  "You brought George's gun out and pointed it at Rumlow, but the safety was on, and he aimed his gun at you, planning to shoot you right there.  There was no way your father was going to let him hurt you.  George fought Rumlow to protect you, then that criminal's own gun went off and he bled out on the kitchen floor."  Her eyes filled up with tears.  "All these years, you thought you killed a man?"

Bucky's lips trembled as he relived that night, then he closed his eyes and sobbed, finally remembering the missing parts that always eluded him.  His mother enclosed him in her arms and rubbed his back.  She murmured into his ears as he wept, then took a tissue out of her purse and dabbed at his tears before looking at the assembled law enforcement task group.

"Henry Rumlow was there looking for diamonds that were supposed to be kept in evidence, but he had been suspected of stealing from the evidence locker, so Nick Fury asked my husband, an old army buddy, to hold them.  Someone must have seen Fury leave our house because Rumlow showed up in the middle of the night with a thug and began working George over to give them up.  He never did.  The other man attacked George, and he was forced to kill him as well.  He and a trusted friend took their bodies to the river, staged it to look like they fought each other, then placed Rumlow's gun back in his hand.  George told Nick what he did right away."

"I told the DA at the time, and he agreed it was self defence, so no charges were laid.  It was felt that charges for moving the bodies would expose the family to action from Pierce, so no charges were laid for that either.  Pierce always had his suspicions, but nothing could be proved."

Ross looked at Fury, then at the others and shrugged.  "I'm guessing the statute of limitations has run out for those charges anyway, and since it was your husband who did it and he's dead, it's a moot point."  He looked at Bucky.  "Now, where do you think Rumlow has your girlfriend?"

"His favourite strip club," said Bucky, taking his phone out.  "I have a guy on my payroll there.  He texted me before I headed out with Thor."  Ross frowned, looking at Thor who shrugged.  The strip club information was enlarged on the monitor.  Bucky realized that the detail on it was something that only an insider could provide.  "There's something else you should know.  I told my guys at the job site and my two partners.  They're headed over there."  Several groans of disbelief erupted before Bucky put up his hand.  "If you want me to call them off, you have to let me go there, on my own."

"Bucky, no," said his mother, placing her hand on his cheek.  "All of this was to free Barnes Contracting from ever having to resort to anything illegal again.  It was what your father wanted, for you and the company to be legitimate.  He was so proud of you for getting your journeyman's papers and working to get your contractor's license.  It's why we let them use the company to act as a front to keep Hydra under surveillance."

"Remember I told you that I would go legit if I had Andrea in my life?"  He searched her face.  "I would go to prison to keep her safe, Ma.  That's how much I love her and Lily.  If I have to kill Brock to do it, she's worth it."

As his mother hugged him, he looked over her shoulder at Natasha and Maria.  Both women nodded their head at him, understanding the depth of his love.  As a heated discussion grew louder behind him, he began to plan how he would get Andrea and Lily, who was his daughter in every way but one, out of the hands of Brock Rumlow.  For the first time he could remember, the thought of spilling blood didn't make him sick.

Part 9>>

Series Masterlist

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[sassenashsworld]

Hancock at Diamond City

(this one is not .... that canonical... I couldn't help...)

The List

John just can’t believe it. He cannot believe that his brother, whose blood and flesh he shares, is capable of such an abomination. But now this bastard is smiling at him with a carnal expression.

It’s too much for him. John can no longer bear the thought of being in the same room as him. Let this bastard have his damned town hall. John prefers to go back down to the ground of the city with the common people.

But as the elevator platform descends to the floor of the cows, all the horror of what is happening spreads out at his sight.

“Motherfuckers! They don’t even give people time!”

The guards of Diamond City, and probably several mercenaries hired for the occasion, are already seizing ghouls’ citizens of Diamond City. The Great Exile demanded by the electors is already beginning.

John wants to vomit.

The young man can’t believe what he’s seeing.

The people he has known for his entire life are being dragged out of their homes like trash, treated like criminals. They’re mostly old, and scared, and lost. Some of them have been here even before John's parents. He played with some of them as a child.

Two guards, holding Mister Carter by the arms, drag him away. He manages to turn around and look at John for a moment, his eyes wide and full of despair.

“Help us, Young McDonough, please!” the poor man exclaims, his voice quivering.

John’s heart clenches, and his eyes suddenly fill with tears at the sight. He struggles to keep his voice steady.

“Hang in there, Mr. Carter,” he says, trying to sound reassuring. “Just hang in there...”

Mister Carter tries to protest and resist, but the security guards drag him away without mercy. Some of the other ghouls in line watch this scene, desperation and terror etched on their faces.

In the chaos of the crowd, John sees a figure among the others. He has always relied on this figure as a beacon in the gloomy night, where his twisted mind can occasionally guide him. He leaps off and charges towards Nick Valentine, who is leaning his back against a wall and watching the guards drag the crowd with disapproving gazes.

Nick sees John running toward him from a distance; the expression on his face is enough to tell what’s going on in his mind. He knows the young McDonough too well; he knows that if he’s here, it’s to seek trouble.

“John,” he says as the man joins him.

“What the hell are you waiting for? Why don’t you do anything?”

The detective simply grabs the cigarette packet from the inside pocket of his coat and nods sadly. He’s giving the young boy a look in the corner.

“What the heck ya mean, exactly?”

John falls silent for a moment, staring at Nick with an almost outraged expression. He knows the detective can’t really change what is happening, but he wants to deny it desperately.

“Come on, Nick,” he stutters, his voice filled with frustration and anger. “There's got to be somethin’ we can do. This is madness!”

“This is nuts,” says the detective, lighting a cigarette. “The worst I’ve ever seen... for ages.” The poor synth shakes his head once more, then hands over his cigarette pack to John. “But there ain't nothin' we can do.”

John feels his anger coalesce into a ball of fury. He violently strikes the package that his friend has offered, causing it to drop on the ground.

“HOW DARE YOU? Those people need someone to stand and protect them!”

Nick remains passive, facing the outburst.

“What do ya want me to do? You think I can just shut down this whole town, huh? These folks don’t want them ghouls hangin’ around. I know it real good... They ain't lookin' for no synth neither. There ain't nothin' I can—

“No! I can’t buy it...” John interrupts, feeling a rage growing in his gut, ready to explode like a bomb. “We gotta do something!”

“We just can’t...” Nick sighed again sadly. “Unless we wanna end up in the same boat. We can't go against what the folks want, ya know? When ya gonna get it?”

“Never!” screams John, completely revolted.

He sees another well-liked and respected citizen.

“Mister Rodriguez!”

“No, John,” the old man stopped him before John said more. “I know what you think. We all think that. However, I have a wife and a son, so please understand.

The words of the old man hit John like a slap in the face. He stares at him, trying to find a hint of hope, a way out of the situation.

“But... but they can’t do this,” the boy stammers, still incredulous, as if he didn’t believe what was happening. “They can’t throw them out of their house like a sack of potatoes. They lived here all their life...”

Nick steps forward and puts his hand on John’s shoulder.

“We can't do nothin'—just nothin' at all. Otherwise, we woulda done it already, trust me.”

Mr. Rodriguez bows his head in shame, turning his back to the long line of ghouls that are escorted outside the city walls.

John stares in disbelief. Every fiber of his being screams at him to fight—to fight with nails and teeth. But there is that look in Nick’s eyes—that resigned look—that kills the last spark of hope in him. Because if even a rightful man as his mentor doesn’t bulge for the ghouls...

No! No, John can’t just look. He suddenly rushes to the nearest guard.

“John! NO!” Nick tries to dissuade him, but the stubborn young man doesn't stop for a moment in his crazy run. He hits the guard with full force, causing him to lose his balance and verbally protest.

“Hey!”

Another guard grabs John by the collar and puts him back on his feet.

“Easy, young McDonough. Don’t embarrass your brother.”

The other guard stands up in turn, glaring at him.

“You should go home. It’ll be over soon, don’t worry.”

John struggles against the guard's grip, trying to get free to lunge at them again.

“Let go of me! I hate you, you scumbag!" he screams, consumed by madness.

Nick runs into the fray and tries to get John to come back to his senses.

“Knock it off, for God's sake! Stop it!”

But John’s eyes are filled with anger. He doesn't hear the detective's words. All he can see are those guards forcing the poor old ghouls out of their homes.

“I hate you, you sons of bitches, damn you!” he continues to yell, trying to break free again.

Nick frees him from the guard's grasp and grabs him by the shoulders.

“You gotta listen to me. Listen up! Look at me, will ya?”

John stops fighting for a moment. He looks at Nick, his mind overwhelmed by anger.

“What?!” He replies, panting and clenching his teeth.

“Take it easy!” the detective begs. “Ya get what I'm sayin'? Take it easy, now. I get about it all, but if ya keep goin' like this...”

John's heart continues to beat fast, but his mind is starting to clear. He sees the guards watching him cautiously. But he doesn’t care. He knows Nick is right, but his anger continues to make his head boil.

“I…” John tries to control his breathing, still caught in a wave of rage. “I can’t...”

Nick nods, understanding.

“I get it... but ya gotta chill out, alright?”

He squeezes his shoulders, trying to ease his friend's anger.

“No, I can’t!” suddenly exclaims John. “I can’t stand still! I can’t accept!”

One of the guards approaches them, his hands clasped around his pistol. Nick notices and pulls John back. Not that he thinks they would dare to hurt the young brother of the mayor, but in this chaos, who knows?

“Easy, John…”

John looks at the guards, his heart pounding and his breath quickening again.

"Easy, my ass!" he exclaims, still fuming. “These guys are forcing people out of their homes! And you tell me to not do anything? They are people; they are!”

Nick tries to put himself in front of John and block his path, but the young man starts to push past him.

“Don’t be a knucklehead. Ya want 'em to shoot ya?”

“I don’t care!” the boy replies, already thinking about hitting the guard nearby again.

Nick knows he can’t stop him. If John wants to act like a madman, it’s just a matter of time before a tragedy occurs.

But all of a sudden, an authoritative voice intervenes.

A voice that John knows well.

“What’s going on here?”

John freezes and looks in the direction of the voice.

Standing a few steps away is his older brother, the Mayor McDonough.

“Brother,” John manages to say, still panting from the anger.

The mayor, however, isn't here to talk with his little brother. He doesn't even look at him. He just looks at the guards and then turns his icy gaze to Nick.

“Good evening, Mister Valentine,” he says in his formal, detached tone, looking at the synth as if he were a particularly unpleasant smell. But Nick doesn’t flinch. He knows the man too well.

“Mayor,” the detective answers in a calm tone. John, on the other hand, looks back and forth between his brother and the synthetic man, sensing that the situation is tensing.

The mayor smiles, revealing his teeth like a wolf about to pounce.

"I imagine you're concerned about the events of the day, given that you're not a full material of Diamond City yourself, right?" he asks, almost mockingly. 

Nick raises an eyebrow. He clearly didn’t expect this kind of jab from the mayor. He looks at him for a few moments before responding.

“You got a point,” he replies, his voice still calm.

The young McDonough watches silently, still seething.

The mayor continues to glare at Nick for a few more moments, as if expecting him to flinch. Seeing that the synth remains stoic and unperturbed, he decides to turn his attention to John.

“And what about you,” he says, looking at his brother with a hint of annoyance in his eyes. "Why are you making such a fuss?"

The younger McDonough grits his teeth but remains silent. He looks at Nick for a moment, and the detective gives him a look that says, "Let me take care of it."

The older man stares at his brother.

“Don’t you have something better to do? Go somewhere else and hang out with the drifters like the loser you are or find some whore to blow off some steam.”

John’s anger begins to rise again, but Nick steps in before he does anything stupid.

“He’s just concerned about the... events, that’s all.”

The mayor looks at the synth, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Of course he is. He has always been so... emotional.” He stares at his young brother for another moment before speaking again. “And what exactly is he so concerned about, pray tell?”

John can’t hold back for long.

“You know damn well what I’m concerned ab—

Nick grabs his arm, stopping him from getting closer to his brother. John looks at him with furious eyes, but the detective shakes his head discreetly.

The mayor looks at John with a sardonic smile, clearly enjoying the situation.

“Yes? Tell me then, little brother. What’s bothering you so much?”

John is shaking with anger, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles are turning white. He wants to punch this bastard so bad that it hurts. But Nick keeps his hand on his shoulder, holding him firmly in place.

The mayor continues to wait for an answer. He's clearly enjoying the sight of his brother struggling to control his anger. Nick, however, notices the guards on the side starting to get restless. They’re starting to worry about the situation.

But John sees red. The mere mockery in his brother’s voice drives him to the edge.

“Damn you,” he growls, trying to rip his arm free from Nick’s grasp. “Damn you, you hypocrite!”

The mayor’s smile widens.

“I'm a hypocrite, am I?” he replies, taking on a falsely hurt tone. “Don’t you think you’re taking it a bit too seriously, little brother? I'm just performing a little civic duty for the good of the city.”

John can no longer contain himself and tries more than ever to shake off Nick's hand, his eyes fixed on the face he now despises.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” he growls. “You don’t care about the city; you only care about yourself! You’re nothing more than a selfish, opportunistic bastard!”

The other man lets out a mocking laugh.

“Opportunistic? I prefer the term prudent.” He steps closer to John, their faces almost touching. “And it seems to me that I'm doing something much more useful and productive than you, brother.”

John feels like he could explode at any moment.

“Doing something useful?” he retorts, his voice filled with rage. “You're kicking innocent people out of their homes, throwing them into the Wastes, and you call it useful? You call it productive?”

John's chest heaves with fury, wanting to bite his brother's face. The mayor continues to smile, seemingly unperturbed by the youth reaction.

"Oh, come on," he says in a theatrical tone. “Ghouls. Innocent. Isn't that a bit of an oxymoron? They're ghouls, brother. They don't deserve any better than living out there, in the wasteland, among their own kind. That's just the way things are.”

John suddenly stops struggling in Nick’s hands, and the synth feels it very, very badly. The boy then raises his voice, his expression so white that it appears to be almost devoid of emotion.

“You’re right about one thing, brother. I’m better with drifters and those who are not like you. Anywhere, away from you and your kind.” He suddenly leaps out of the grip of Nick, who fails to catch him this time. “Never, do you hear me? I will NEVER SET FOOT IN THIS CITY AGAIN!”

The mayor smiles at John, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

“Suit yourself,” he replies, feigning indifference. “And don’t bother coming back, either. This city doesn't need people like you, and we certainly don’t need your... dubious associates.”

Nick throws the man a glance, feeling very well the treat, but stays silent, a grim look on his face.

John doesn’t cast a shadow of a glance over his shoulder as he moves forward with a determined step toward the line of ghouls that continues to be taken out of the city.

The mayor watches him go with a sardonic smile, like a snake ready to strike again.

“Good riddance,” he comments with satisfaction.

Nick, filled with worry, follows John, wishing he could stop him and talk some sense into him.

“John, hold up a sec...”

But John ignores him. His eyes are fixated on the line of ghouls, many of whom are too weakened to walk and are being dragged by the security guards.

There is nothing beyond that point that could change John’s mind.

His time in Diamond City is over.

His life as John McDonough, the younger brother of Guy McDonough, has come to an end.

Never again.

The Great Green Jewel will never again see his face.

[daddyhausen]

｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ 「 KINKTOBER DAY SIXTEEN : DOUBLE VAGINAL PENETRATION 」 ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

「 MASTERLISTS 」 | 「 KINKTOBER MASTERLIST 」

「 COMMISION INFO 」 | 「 LIKE MY WORK? BUY ME A COFFEE — KOFI — DXDDYHXUSEN 」

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「 SUMMARY 」 — both brothers desired you but their competitive streak gets in the way

「 WARNINGS 」 — 18+, [ MINORS DNI ], dvp, dom!reader, handjobs, sharing, praise, vaginal sex, penetrative sex, vaginal creampie, squirting, internal cumshot

「 WORD COUNT 」 — 1.1k

「 PAIRING 」 — fem!reader x the young bucks

「 GENRE 」 — smut

｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

「 TAGLIST 」 — @cosmoholic13 @legit9thlunaticwarrior @thewrestlingbitch @omg-im-such-a-masochist @adamjf @wardlow @alexisquinnlee-bc @sammiejane22 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @omegasluvbot @melissahausen @writtingrose @drummergrl1310 @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @bonehead-playz @cherrytheeredheadmamaclaymore @crowleysqueenofhell @romanreigns-supreme @janetreader @thenerdybaker523 @sunshinevirus @nicoleveno14 @rubyred1980 @igncrxntripley @ripleyswhore @embermdk @thepalaceofmelanie @violetmacher @seeingstarks @kennysbadkitten @darkangelchronicles @ripleyswife @selena-tyler-564 @auburnwrites @biforrollynch

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「 COMMENT IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST 」

their competitive arguing could be heard down the hall

the brothers seemingly frustrated at their loss of their match

and the subsequent loss of their best friend in one kenny omega

nick seemed more level headed of the two surprisingly

while matt’s tempter tantrum raged throughout the arena

the pair storming into the locker room

fury ravaged both their faces

their gaze soften upon meeting yours

it was nothing special in particular in your appearance that made them stop and stare

you were always the calming force behind their fury

a simply smile from you could melt their frozen hearts instantly

matt fell to his knees breathlessly between yours

his head resting upon your thigh as he gazed up apologetically at you

“i’m sorry…” he muttered softly against your thigh

“don’t be sorry” you cooed sweetly, a hand running through the damp strands of matt’s hair

“you boys did so well” nick took a seat beside you, sighing heavily

despite his calm demeanor, he was burning with anger, betrayal

matt’s lips gently peppered kisses to your exposed thigh, inching closer and closer to your covered sex

nick eyed him curiously, the younger brother fuming with jealously

“what are you doing?” nick remarked

“what does it look like, idiot” matt responded with his usual sarcastic quip, fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts

“you lost. you don’t deserve to fuck her” nick placed a protective hand on your thigh

“and what gives you the right to say that huh? last time i checked dumbass, you lost too-“

“well you ate the damn pin!-“

“boys! enough!!” you retorted sternly

“if you keep this up than neither of you get to fuck me”

they cut their act momontarily, offering each other almost apologetic glances

“now…” you started “you boys gotta learn to share”

you pat the seat beside you, offering matt to follow along

he quickly got up, taking his place beside you

slowly you pried his ring gear down, freeing his cock from the elastic restraint, slowly beginning to stroke his size

matt shuddered with a shaky breath instantly writhing against the pleasure of your hand

you began to place chaste kisses to his jawline, adoring the whimpers that left his lips

your free hand reached back, beginning to palm nick through his own gear

the younger brother let out a prolonged groan, the simple touch leaving his mind in a daze

nick’s fingers reached down into your shorts, rubbing small circular strokes against your clit

you whimpered against matt’s lips, quickly breaking the kiss to give the same attention to his brother

nick’s kiss was more feverish, the subtle rage that bubbled underneath only added to his passion.

he retrieved his cock, grabbing your wrist and wrapping your hand around his shaft

both brothers mumbled and moaned with pleasured obscenities

nick’s fingers dancing around your clit

while matt’s gripped the arm rests of the couch, desprate and needy for release

“oh god…” matt groaned, cock feverish and swollen

“you close pretty boy?” you cooed with a small whimper as nick’s finger curled upward inside your cunt

matt nodded, bitting his bottom lip to suppress his moans

his seed spilling over your knuckles in spurts of warm white, his breath labored as you continued to pump his cock

nick removed his fingers from your void, averting your gaze from his brother to himself

you released matt’s cock, the older brother gasping in relief

you did not want to waste anymore time with them

poor nick would have one orgasm less than his brother it may seem

quickly releasing nicks cock as well, sitting on his lap motioning from a still recovering matt to stand behind you

matt postitioned himself in the directions you told him too

standing behind you as nick pried your shorts down your thighs

your pretty cunt glistening under the dim locker room lighting

matt gulped thickly, still breathless from his first orgasm

you lifted up your hips, allowing nick’s cock to snake between your thighs

grazing the tip against your soaked walls before eventually slotting himself in with ease

a soft shudder escaped the younger of the two’s lips as he butied himself fully inside you

“c’mon pretty boy. don’t be shy” you teased matt playfully

grinding yourself back to give him a full view of your already stuffed cunt

egging him on to fill you even more

matt hesitated for a second, grasping his cock st the base, guiding himself towards your dripping void

some resistance on your part but otherwise is was such a heavenly feeling

you cunt gripped both their cocks tightly

both boys groaned with equal amounts of pleasure running through their veins

you began to bounce against both of them, feeling their cocks slot deep into your cunt one after another

“holy shit…” nick mattered, grabbing your hips and slamming them down onto his cock

both brothers began an assault on your cunt, the pleasure was so intense that your mind began to spin, eyes rolling into the back of your head

loud, choked moans spilling from your lips

“god…so tight” matt’s moans left his lips in soft sputters

mind still delirious from his previous and noe second impending orgasm

“you gonna cum on our cock’s angel?”

you nodded feverishly at nicks question, hips slapping back against theirs, taking their cocks fully

matt filled you first, his cock twitching and throbbing deep within your walls

still overstimulated and sensitive as white hot ropes seeped from between your thighs

a mix of moans and profanities left the younger buck’s lips

nick on the edge of orgasm himself

feeling the tightness of your cunt grip his cock

it was inevitable

both bucks were breathless

matt not so than nick

the older of the two having pulled out of you already

now sitting back watching the way his seed dropped out of you

“oh fuck…!” you whined, cunt creaming around nick’s size

spilling around his shaft, feeling so wonderfully stretched out

“fuck angel…you made a mess for us…”

nick’s rebuttal was cut of by a soft groan

his cock throbbing deep in your walls

cum painting your insides white with his warmth

“shit-“ he thre his head back in pleasure, just reveling in the feeling

the three of you basking in a comfortable post sex silence

nicks cock still buried deep within you

you glacéd up at nick momentarily, the blues of his eyes glazed over with adoration

still so fucked out

matt on the other hand was eager to touch you again

impatient it seems as his hands were already at your waist, cock pulsing against your ass

“you boys get yourselves cleaned up, we’ll go another round at the hotel”

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[frozenjokes]

typical convex kill and eat each other fic

ao3 link

LOOP 8

It was Scar’s claws that hit the cool floor this time, adrenaline and rage carrying him lunging forward to the left door. He tore through the hall, caution falling to the wayside in his fury, but luckily there was no fire, no anvils. He skipped the tripwires, and either got lucky avoiding pressure plates, or stepped too light, too fast. When he burst into the storage room, Cub was nowhere to be seen. What a surprise.

“Where is he.” Scar hissed to where Cleo was still laying in bed. Is that where she and Cub started out when the loop reset? Lucky, weren’t they.

Cleo turned their head to face him, slow, unhurried, and infuriating. “Only two ways to go, and you came through one of the doors.”

Right. Well. Scar probably could have figured that out himself. He turned around, but Cleo wasn’t done.

“Wait a minute, Cub asked me to tell you something- he didn’t think he’d get the chance, you’re a very shoot first ask questions later kinda guy.” Scar growled impatiently, but Cleo waved him off, “I have no skin in this game. He just doesn’t want to be killed instantly. He gave me a dumb script, but I’m doing him a favor by not saying it. Cub is so lame.”

“So what if I kill him instantly or not?”

Cleo sighed harshly, “Who knows. He likes to run. I don’t care what you do, but if you wanted to finish me while the two of you goof around, that would be appreciated.”

“He won’t be happy once I’m through with him.”

“I believe you. I also don’t care. If you aren’t going to shoot me, I guess I’ll enjoy my nap. Goodbye.” Cleo made a spectacle of yawning, closing their eyes, and turning away. Scar huffed, but did as she wished, twice to make sure. It felt odd, shooting someone as an act of mercy or- whether or not this was mercy could be debated, Scar didn’t think this would take more than ten minutes, but regardless, it was time to move on. Scar huffed, taking off his helmet. It would only get in the way.

He was more careful entering the hallway to the control room, but making it though, Cub was still nowhere to be seen. Was he hiding? Scar doubted it, Cub was a big guy, and neither he nor Cleo seemed to be very flexible. A human trait, maybe, but regardless, there didn’t seem like there were many places to hide. Cleo said Cub liked to run, hadn’t she? Fine. Let him.

Scar entered the third and final hall, only for Cub to be at the other end.

“Hello, Scar. I’m not dead yet, so I’m going to go ahead and assume you and Cleo talked?”

“Cleo has nothing to do with the state of your sorry life.” Scar started forward, slow, methodical, and Cub did not move.

“Will it hurt?” he asked, not sounding particularly concerned with the question, and continuing on before Scar could answer, “Honestly, I can not believe that whole thing with the snare worked. I mean, I was confident I could get you to chase me, get you angry enough not to pay attention to what was in front of your face, but I did get lucky. It was a pretty narrow window for you to get your head stuck. I was worried the wire wouldn’t be strong enough either- I mean, you did break it. Just too little too late.”

Scar did not humor him. If Cub wanted to keep talking, let him talk. Scar could probably leap a third of the length of the hall if he really pushed himself, and once Cub was in his claws, there would be no more speaking.

“Would you like to know what I’m going to do to you Scar?”

Scar did not answer.

“I’ve got this little statuette that I nicked from the control room, and there’s a panel a couple feet from my door that triggers a machine gun to fire from your end to mine. I’ll probably get out safe, but you probably won’t. If you do, I’m pretty sure I can get you with something in the next hall. I don’t know, I haven’t been there yet. It’s more likely I kill both of us by accident though.”

Scar narrowed his eyes. He was not far enough through the hall to be able to run safely to the other end, or even jump. “Go ahead and throw it then.

Cub considered him thoughtfully, “I guess I probably should, shouldn’t I?” Cub took the statuette from his pocket, spun it once in his hand, then tossed it. Just as quickly, Scar’s gun was drawn, the collision from his bullet splitting the thing in two, both halves bouncing in opposite directions and cracking apart on the floor, while the bullet clattered back towards Scar. He sheathed his gun. Across the hall he now had two safe spaces, possibly three if the bullet impact to the floor had enough force to trigger a pressure plate, but Scar wasn’t certain. Just as he was preparing to leap, ready to clear the room in two bounds, Cub spoke.

“It’s a good thing I took two.”

Scar jumped at the same time Cub threw his second statuette, his first instinct to catch it, keep it from hitting the floor, but the sudden change shifted his trajectory. Splaying his body, he had enough reach to snatch the item from the air, but with only one forepaw, he landed awkwardly, his back half nearly flipping over the front until his midhand shot forward to steady himself, hitting the exact spot the statuette had meant to land. Scar heard something click behind him. He lunged, adrenaline coursing through his powerful hind legs and driving him toward the exit where Cub was now escaping. He heard the gunshots, but felt nothing but Cub’s pant leg in his grip, both of their momentums throwing them through the doorway and rolling across the floor until the steel door slammed shut, and nothing else could be heard.

Scar pulled himself up over Cub with a triumphant snarl, heat roaring through his veins at the sight of Cub smattered in blood, quite a lot of blood, had Cub been so slow that he’d been shot multiple times?

Scar wound back an arm to tear through his assailant, and found himself unable. Something was wrong. He tasted blood. He saw blood, but spilling from his own chest. He looked at Cub. Cub stared back. Scar could not read him, nor did he expect Cub’s hands to find the leaking wounds in his side, dig his fingers in, and tear Scar off of him. Scar’s scream was strangled, almost gurgled, he hardly recognized he was the one making it until he was writhing on the cool ground.

He did not recognize that Cub had found one of the guns at his hip. “See you soon.”

LOOP 9

Scar did not catch himself before hitting the ground, but he was no less furious. He kept his head enough to be cautious, but maybe it should not have been a surprise that Cub was not in his bed. Cleo was already dead. Huh.

Cub was not in the control room, nor Scar’s room, nor any of the hallways- was he just running in circles? What was the point? What was Cub going to do if Scar turned around, or waited in the same place? Well- Scar was thinking about it, but if he was going to wait, he would much rather do it in the safe room. Scar maneuvered through the hall, more confident now that he’d been here before, and pushed through the door.

Cub was not here. Cub wasn’t, but something else was.

A.. it almost didn’t feel accurate to describe the thing as a robot, a steel pole coming up from a plate with four wheels, the head of some kind of animal stuck to the top, mechanical and wholly fake looking. It looked a little like a cat, but with a longer snout and floppy ears, and it turned to face Scar when he entered the room. Sunglasses were perched on the snout as if the hidden eyes would disguise the lack of personhood behind them. Adding to the absurdity, a paper crown was taped to the top of its head.

“Halt, heathen!” The mechanical mouth fell open; did the humans really not have enough budget left to make a functioning robot? “You are in the presence of your king! Ren the king, master of puzzles and ruler of hints, fixer of bloated economies, and beloved across all the lands. Kneel below your king or face the consequences!” The robot chugged into gear, scooting forward toward Scar. It was so unstable, Scar was certain it would fall over when it stopped in front of him. Indeed, it wobbled, but did not fall.

“Heathen! Kneel at the feet of your king! Pledge your allegiance or be hailed a traitor to the crown!”

Scar blinked, staring. He walked away. The robot chugged after him.

“Traitor! Traitor! Blasphemous traitor to the tiny crown of the dog! Suffer the consequences, fool! Suffer!” The robot continued to berate him, but between the general jank and the stuffy mic quality, Scar had written it off as some kind of practical joke, at least until he heard the click of an ignition, and out of the corner of his eye, a spark.

Scar had no time to react before he was engulfed in flame. Maybe he could have been okay with his helmet on, but a face full of fire did not serve his eyes and nose well, his dry fur catching as he screeched, unable to do much but stumble back and shield his already burning face. All he knew was heat and fire as he grappled for a gun, but even shooting blindly, the onslaught continued mercilessly.

“Traitor! Traitor! How dare you heathen, attack your king!”

Scar was knocked off his feet by two gunshots slamming through his chest, rolling instinctively into a protective ball, as small as he could make himself. The fire had ceased after the gunshots, but you could have tricked Scar, the whole of him burned and blistered. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t breathe.

Vaguely, Scar was aware of another presence entering the room. He heard footsteps, but knew little else.

“My liege,” came Cub’s gruff voice, and the robot must have turned, Scar heard the chugging whirs of the janky machine.

“Good citizen! Have you need for your hint?”

“No, not yet. Your generosity is boundless, king.”

“Right you are!” the robot stopped whirring, apparently pleased. Cub began to move again, and Scar curled up tighter against his approach.

“Meet the king, have you? Yeah, he’s a bit of a p-a-i-n in the a-s-s, but he can’t spell, so you’re good as long as you’re careful. Ren is our hint system; we get one a week, but because he’s a-n-n-o-y-i-n-g, we don’t turn him on unless we really have to. If you don’t roleplay with him he gets upset, but I guess you wouldn’t have known that. Anyway, I think I’ll count this as a win for me. 3-0, oof, it’s not looking good for you. Unless we count the other times you killed me.. let’s see here.. one and two were pretty clean. You got me again in the hallway, that’s three. You did shoot me through the door that one time, but it wasn’t fatal, so Cleo finished me. Other than that.. nope, we’re even! 3-3, yeah, that’s a little better. Here, I’m not trying to drag things out.”

Cub pulled at something on Scar’s belt and said nothing more.

LOOP 10

Scar was hot. Everything was too warm, too everywhere, and he spent some time laying face down on the cool floor, desperate to be consumed by it. Suffering from the last life did not carry over to the next, at least that’s what Scar thought was the case, but maybe this was in his head, his brain reacting late to his body’s trauma. He could see, but he didn’t think he’d be able to. His eyes still burned.

He didn’t want to be set on fire anymore. Suddenly he felt utterly apathetic. He didn’t want to be here anymore. He didn’t want to move.

So he didn’t.

…

Cub never arrived. That was odd. Maybe he’d decided to wait? Maybe he guessed Scar might wait, might jump out at him, and had hidden himself away somewhere else. How would he know, though? Were there cameras? If there were cameras anywhere, Scar assumed they’d be in the control room. Slowly, he got to his feet, curiosity drawing him toward the right door. When he pulled it open, he was not expecting to see Cub curled up on the ground.

“Ah- Hey there.. I’m just. Just resting.”

Scar narrowed his eyes, suspicious until he saw a small trail of blood from the other side of the hall to the middle, where Cub had apparently decided to take his nap. It was difficult to see exactly, but two bolts were sticking out of his back.

“It’s a nasty one. In the control room,” Cub breathed shakily when Scar didn’t speak, “Suit of armor. With a crossbow. I was just trying to figure out what would set it off, you know? It uh- I figured it out. Course I stayed out of line of fire but uh- there were two. Two crossbows. I’m very. Dizzy. Might have been poisoned, haha. It happens..”

Scar frowned. “Guess that makes 3-4, huh?”

Cub jolted, eyes focusing where they’d started to dull. “What- no. No, absolutely not. You did not set that trap. You didn’t shoot me with that crossbow. You had nothing to do with this.”

“If I shoot you right now, I’d say I do.”

“But- no! You wouldn’t have got me if I hadn’t been poisoned. I’m already dead. Finishing me off hardly counts as a point toward you.” Scar laughed, he couldn’t help himself. Is this really what Cub cared about? He was upset, he was actually upset about this! Crazy!

“You didn’t set me on fire. That robot is what killed me last time, not you.” Scar smirked as Cub gaped, showing more emotion now than Scar had ever seen over the entire duration of his stay.

“I set that up! I knew you wouldn’t know what to do!” Cub was mad, he was so mad! Scar couldn’t have been happier.

“Sure, but you only finished me off.” Scar shrugged, “I was already dead.”

“I set you up!” Cub seethed, goodness gracious this was incredible. Scar wondered if Cub had even considered the fact that Scar was messing with him. Probably not, since even as Cub was trying to sit up, his arms were shaking horribly and his whole body swayed to the beat of his dizziness. “I set you up,” he hissed, but the sound was more breathy than anything, “You had nothing to do with my- with- with the crossbows.”

“But if I shot you right now, then I would!”

“No! No!”

“Tsk tsk, I don’t think that’s true Cubby, I don’t think that’s true. If you want your point for the robot kill, then I get a point for this.” Scar laughed, leaning against the wall while he shook his head. Something clicked. Both his wall and the wall across from him smashed into each other, leaving him crumpled on the floor like a squashed bug.

“You- You stupid motherfucker!” Cub might have laughed, he might have continued on, but either way, Scar wouldn’t have remembered.

LOOP 11

Waking up was a disorienting feeling to say the least. His first thought wasn’t exactly coherent, but certainly one of surprise, and his second thought fell more along the lines of ouch after hitting the floor.

Scar really didn’t know how he died. Had Cub done it somehow? Cub couldn’t even sit up straight, surely not. Well.. as disconcerting as that was, Scar was quite a bit more motivated to find him now.

He went to the safe room, as was his preference now. It didn’t matter if he wanted to backtrack or wait to catch Cub off guard, there was value in a place like that, where nothing else would get in his way. Honestly, if Scar was going to do as he wished with that bastard, the room with no traps was likely the only place he’d get that chance. Cub was too willing to play with his life in order to take Scar’s, he had too much experience navigating the halls.

Scar couldn’t say he was expecting to see Cub in the safe room, still in bed, almost cozy looking. Scar growled, looking for the robot, but didn’t see it. Cub followed his gaze around the room.

“Ren’s not on. He’s over there, tucked in the corner. Any other concerns?” Scar frowned, glancing at Cleo.

She was dead. Well. He couldn’t say he was surprised.

“Yeah,” Cub mumbled, not without amusement, “No interest in us, which is fair, fair. It is nice to wake up and know time has passed without you. Maybe a bit more disruptive to wake up this many times, but they don’t know what has gone on without them. We each get a gun, so the first thing I do is end it quickly. They don’t even open their eyes.”

Scar didn’t see a gun, but that didn’t mean Cub didn’t have it. Something told him Cub wouldn’t use it on Scar anyway. Slowly, he began to stalk forward.

“Yeah, this is a bit of a freebie for you. Go on, relax. Take that suit off if you like, get comfortable. It just occurred to me you might not understand the rules, right? Well, there are no rules really, not besides my own self imposed ones, but I don’t expect you to follow those. This is about intention, Scar. Points.”

Scar narrowed his eyes. It would be more satisfying to rip Cub apart without the gloves. He’d mentioned being eaten alive before, hadn’t he? Scar couldn’t do that with a helmet on. Scar began the process of removing his suit. He was in no hurry. Cub had nowhere to run.

“I think you were confused last time. To me, the final blow isn’t what necessitates a kill, not exactly. It can, sure, but when I kill you after you’ve been caught in a trap, it’s not because I’m claiming a point. Unless I’m working with a more intricate trap, which I don’t have the time to set up with you chasing me, I’m not trying to prolong your suffering. I could wait for you to bleed out or succumb to your burns, but I take no joy from that.”

“So if I killed you last time, I would have gotten a point.” Scar turned away so Cub wouldn’t see his smirk.

“I- No. That is the opposite of what I am saying.”

“But I would have shot you, killing you.”

“I was already dying from an unrelated trap. One you had nothing to do with. If you had intended for me to get shot by a poisoned crossbow bolt, then sure, you would get a point, but you didn’t, you weren’t even around when I got shot. There’s no way you would have made it there before me, and even then, you couldn’t have done anything. I killed myself last time. Just like you killed yourself with the trap in the wall.”

“Oh, is that what happened?”

“You hit a trigger and the walls crushed you between them, yes. If I had shot your twitching body, would you consider that my point?”

Scar shook his head, like this was a preposterous notion. “Of course not. I killed myself by activating the trap. I don’t even remember it.”

“Exactly! Then you understand!”

“Well, but it’s different if I shot you before I accidentally killed myself. I would have gotten a point then.”

Cub sat up so jerkily in bed that the sheets flew off him. “Wh- No! Why? Tell me why. How in the world is that different?”

“I mean, sure, you were pretty close to dead, but you weren’t really dead. If I had shot you then, I would have killed you. Therefore, my point. Honestly, we may as well consider this 3-4. In a couple minutes it’ll be 3-5, wow, I’ll be crushing you then.”

Cub balled fists into his hair, distress real and utterly delicious. “That’s- No, no, we are not ‘just considering it 3-4,’ you didn’t even shoot me! You leaned against the wall like a fucking idiot and got crushed! Even if you shot me it wouldn’t- no!”

By now, Scar had long since stripped himself of his space suit, doing everything in his power to keep from laughing in Cub’s face. “Shhh, no more talking now.” Scar did not actually expect Cub to quiet, but when he turned wearing his crooked smirk, Cub was silent, staring, looking like he had zero intention of continuing on. Good.

Scar growled lowly as he approached Cub, who seemed to have zero intention of trying to get away. A little disappointing maybe, but this would be nice to do on the cushioned surface. Just because Scar was murdering someone, didn’t mean he had to do it on the hard ground.

“Are you comfortable, Cub?” Scar snickered as he crawled onto the bed, “Maybe this isn’t a terrible place to be, not now. How will you feel when I take you apart?”

“You- What?” Cub drew into himself slightly, and Scar pounced on him with a snarl, taking hold of his arms and legs and trapping Cub beneath him. How unfortunate it was for humans to have so few limbs. For them, at least. For Scar, he found this to be very satisfying. Cub took a sharp breath when Scar let his claws dig into Cub’s wrists and thighs.

“Will you scream for me? You seem the more stoic type, I’m afraid I’ll have to work for it.”

“I mean- I- I’ll do whatever you like.”

That confused Scar a little- he faltered slightly, he wasn’t- that was an odd thing to say, surely, but maybe something had bugged with the translation. These things were never perfect. Scar huffed out of a lack of anything else to say, drawing his claws down Cub’s arm to his heart, pressing to feel its erratic beat. He was certainly afraid, whimpering quietly. Scar took a lot more pleasure out of basking in the anticipatory terror than he did typically, and maybe that was because he had been forced to fight for this, he earned it. Cub wouldn’t look at him, and maybe he couldn’t, not beyond a passing glance. Scar reveled in it. He didn’t see humans terribly often, and when he did, he rarely took the time to appreciate their terror. Not many peoples had such unprotected skin, so splotchy and red.

Scar tore through the collar of Cub’s shirt, ripping the fabric for better access. As satisfying as it would be to tear through Cub’s throat, Scar preferred he live a bit longer than that. Cub pushed at Scar’s arm with his own, but Scar adjusted to hold him still with his midarm, wasting no more time before bending over and tearing through Cub’s pectoral with his teeth. All food at home was food to be savored. You were lucky to eat, lucky to live, and even as a kid when Scar had priority in rations, he was still so skinny, even more so than he was now. Everyone was skinny back home. Their soil had gone to waste, crop yields too few to feed their livestock, so their animals were skinny too, just as sick as the people who salivated over their still breathing bodies.

It was silly, almost unfair, the position of his world. Technology to rival the most advanced worlds, abundances of resources that would make galaxies beyond his sick with jealousy. His people had the means to do such great things, and they had, for thousands and thousands of years they had, but..

They couldn’t eat. There was simply not enough food on their planet to feed them all. They had to look elsewhere, to the sky.

Scar wondered often about leaving. Taking the whole population, finding somewhere new, somewhere there might be hope for the next generations of his people. He didn’t know why they didn’t. Was it stubbornness? Was it even possible? Maybe he was too stupid to understand it. He used to be told that often, he was too stupid to understand most things. It was probably true.

They’d thought he was going to die. His peers, his teachers, his parents. He was always so sickly, prone to injury, he spent so much of his life in a wheelchair or on crutches. They were waiting for him to die because he was a waste of food, but only the kids were brave enough to say it to his face. Our parents are starving, their narrowed eyes would say when out loud they would tell him he wasn’t worth it. Scar knew it, because his parents were starving too. He knew they were scared, because the people they looked up to were so skinny, everyone was so, so skinny, and the sick kid was taking the meals that would save their parents.

Scar was afraid, every day he was afraid that they were going to eat him. That they would not wait for him to die to cannibalize him, because they were so hungry, and his sick, stupid, useless existence was killing the people they loved.

So he enlisted. He wouldn’t take no for an answer, he wouldn’t accept his sickness or his age as an excuse to send him away, he was going to fight, he was going to be useful, and if he would die, then he would die something, and when he was consumed, there would be no malice. Scar did not worry about it anymore. He had more than proven himself, even if he would not be missed. He’d fed them, mothers, brothers, daughters, and he’d done a good job of it, and they would love him when it was finally his turn.

So he enjoyed it. He made sure to enjoy it, Cub, because while Scar was here, stuck for up to three years, he would be eating well, and they would not.

It was not about Cub, not anymore. When Cub stilled, Scar did not notice. For the first time, he ate his fill.

It was weird, afterwards. It was quiet. Very, very quiet. Scar didn’t.. he didn’t really know what to do. He was full, a different kind of pain, new and more uncomfortable than he’d bargained for. He wasn’t sure if he could do anything besides fall asleep. He was really tired actually, maybe that had something to do with the loop. He did spend a lot of time sleeping, usually. Scar didn’t love the quiet, he was used to the bustling of others as he dozed, but he didn’t think he’d be able to stay awake if he tried.

He curled up, right on the end of the bed. He would not be awake for much longer.

…

It was still quiet when Scar woke up. Lacking. He disliked it heavily, and without the shield of his anger, he felt more unsafe than he had since he’d first arrived. He didn’t want to leave this room. He supposed he didn’t have to. Still, he wished Cleo was here.

He felt dirty. That was the blood, decidedly. He.. wasn’t sure how he would wash his clothes here. Well. It wasn’t like it was cold or anything, and he had nothing to hide. He stripped, then decided he’d actually quite like to have the bed for himself, to he stripped it as well, not that the blood hadn’t soaked through the sheets, but whatever. Better than nothing. Actually! Scar flipped the mattress over, utterly pleased with his own brilliant ingenuity. Wait a minute-

Scar poked his head over to Cleo’s bed, also bloody but far less so, and stole the blankets from it, snickering as he went. Perfect. Purrrfect.

Then he spent a couple hours really cleaning himself up. He was a bit of a mess in the first place, and he supposed he would always start that way after each loop, but ah well. That didn’t mean he had to sit in discomfort now. After that, he went to sleep. He woke up to the familiar feeling of hunger, and while Cub’s corpse was far less appetizing than it was fresh, well, Scar was not about to waste it. He’d eaten far worse without getting sick. If he got sick, he’d stop. He made less of a mess of himself this time (the floor was a different matter) so he did not spend nearly as much time grooming, and afterwards went right back to sleep.

When he woke up, he was bored. Hm. What did Cub and Cleo do when they were bored? Well, Cub plotted murders, Scar knew that. What about Cleo? He’d seen them drawing once, he thought. Cub and Cleo talked as well, he’d seen them doing that before.

What did they do when everyone else was dead?

They didn’t.. did they..?

Surely not.

Who was Scar kidding, they absolutely killed themselves. They didn’t value their lives at all, not when they came right back. And that- well, it made a little sense he supposed, but he didn’t feel good about it. The thought disturbed him deeply, killing himself. That felt like crossing a threshold you didn’t just come back from, and Scar- well, everyone thought about ending it every once and awhile, but this was far too real. No, he didn’t think he could do that.

He went back to sleep. When he woke up, he was hungry, so he continued eating Cub, groomed himself, and was a little more bored than he was tired, but slept anyway. Scar was sufficiently restless when he woke up.

He would take a walk. He would take a little walk until he ended up back here. That would be fine. Stupidly, Scar found himself afraid to venture through the hallways. Apparently with no one else around, he lost his nerve. But he went, regardless.

He did not die. He didn’t even trigger any traps. He was still restless.

Scar went again, faster. He made multiple loops, challenging himself to beat his time, treating this like a training exercise. He remembered Cleo mentioned a stopwatch of some sort, and tore through the drawers of the control room looking for it. At the back of his mind, he prayed his carelessness would end him. It did not. He found the stopwatch.

That was fun for a while. He timed himself, he was fast, he got to know the route very well. He could cross one of the hallways in five long bounds, was an expert of ripping the doors open and pouncing inside, knew every route by heart, and still pushed himself further. He did this for days, not that he had the wherewithal to keep track. He couldn’t read human clocks, and didn’t try very hard in the first place. He wouldn’t have known what to look for in the first place. The numbers meant nothing to him. Regardless, time certainly passed. He began to eat Cleo as well, with some hesitance. Shame would not allow him to waste the meal.

He got lonely. With a jolt, he remembered he was allowed to call home. The realization was followed by the paralyzing fear he’d have to speak to Grian. It was days more before his loneliness overtook his fear. When he got to the control room though, his papers were gone. Of course they’d be gone, they’d probably disappeared when the loop reset, but they had the instructions he needed to call home, and the language barrier kept him from just figuring it out, though, maybe the language barrier didn’t even matter. He was probably too dumb to figure out the interface on one of his own ships. Mumbo stuck with him for a reason. Scar was only good for one thing.

He started pressing buttons. In all honesty, he was certain this would kill him, but he never managed to do anything. Some buttons pulled up completely different screens, showed different images, different information, but none of it meant anything to him. He didn’t realize how desperate he was to talk to someone until nothing worked. Until every press of every button led him to the same unintelligible nonsense. Until it became clear that he was entirely stripped of the option for any companionship at all.

Frustration tugged sobs from his chest. It was so quiet here. He wanted to go home.

He slept for a long time. He was starting to feel sick, and he didn’t know if it was the meat, the sadness, or his poor immune system rearing its ugly head. He did hear that sometimes when two different peoples are together for too long, they can get each other quite sick. Exchanging of foreign germs, or whatever. Maybe that was happening here.

Scar did end up getting quite sick. He stopped eating Cleo, and perhaps a little late, dragged her body and the remains of Cub to his starting room, leaving them there. For the rest of the week he was a zombie. It was a shame food and water was so accessible, or he might’ve died. When he dreamed, it was only his mother. She would lean over his beside, furiously grooming his forehead, and Scar would lean into her touch, into the fleeting feeling, too phantom to be real. He fell out of bed once or twice chasing her. Often, he’d just lay on the floor. It was cool, and he was burning with fever.

He was bored. He was so bored. Bored and sick, bored and hungry, bored and lonely, always bored. He wondered about the puzzle, but had no idea how to start it. If there were instructions, they were in the human language. He grew frustrated he had survived so long. He was tired of racing himself through the halls, beating his own time. He didn’t want to do it anymore. He wanted something more exciting, something deadlier.

First, it was discovering what everything did. The walls were less predictable so Scar didn’t touch them, but it was easy enough to activate the pressure plates from afar, and with a long enough tube, the tripwires went easily as well. He found usually the tripwire traps opened a slot in the floor, death pits, water, spikes, the like. The pressure plates typically activated traps in the walls, gunfire, normal fire, arrows and crossbow bolts. There were also various sensors, but if a sensor was invisible it usually gave you more time to get out of the way, for example, something heavy falling from the ceiling after a short beep, to eventually be pulled back up again. Some traps only triggered once, but most of them activated multiple times. Scar actually broke a pit trap by opening it several times in quick succession; it never closed back up, so he was left with quite the precarious jump. Fine by him.

From this came his new challenges. Get through a room while activating a trap. Activate a pressure plate, a tripwire, or both. He ran the same hallway so many times that one of the guns ran out of ammo. The empty clicks were terrifying at first, something new was happening, something unplanned, but his hesitation had not killed him then.

Still, the gun running out of ammunition was terrifying in itself. This place was not infinite. Things broke. Traps did not last forever. What would he do when every resource was expended? The terror of it kept him wide awake. Loneliness was a beast, but one he’d tackled his entire life. Boredom.. That was a monster he didn’t know how to fight.

To his great fortune, he never found out.

It was an accident, truly and wholly. There were all sorts of debris on the hallway floors from traps triggered over and over, messes Scar never bothered to clean up. He’d thought about it, but why ruin the extra hazard?

Something long and sharp had dug directly into the ball of his foot, an item that would likely pierce through his boots if he’d been wearing them, and he’d tripped, catching on a tripwire that sent him plunging into a vat of dark water. He did not drown, though he did not know entirely what happened either. It was painful, but surprise and adrenaline quelled the worst of it beyond whatever stuck his foot, which he did remember.

Something was biting him. Somethings. There were ‘somethings’ in the water. These thoughts would not follow him into the next loop.

LOOP 12

Cleo did not sit up, not bothering to do so until whatever Cub and Scar were engaged in was finished. Once again, she heard Cub shoot up in bed, but beyond that there was no more shuffling, an oddity when he was usually out of here in seconds.

“Cleo. I have no idea what just happened.”

Cleo perked up, looking over to where Cub’s bed was parallel from hers, “Oh? Did he get you?”

“Well, yes, but only because I let him. He was misunderstanding the rules, I had to set him straight.”

“Yeah, I bet you did.. Sarcasm, by the way.” Cleo snickered at Cub’s delayed affronted reaction. He shook his head, dismissing her.

“I was being nice. He couldn’t hold a candle to me after I killed him three times, so I let him count the times from before the game, right? I was being nice. He got confused, so I was being nice when I threw him a bone, but I think he’s being obtuse on purpose. Regardless. He was going to take his freebie, and that’s fine, I don’t care. Let him do what he wants, whatever. But then he started being weird about it.”

“Weird how.”

“Like. Sensual.”

“Sensual? You misunderstood. He was pissed.”

“I know he was pissed! I have given him quite a few reasons to be but I- I don’t know! I was teasing him a little bit- not even, I just wanted to talk to him long enough to get my point across. I told him to relax, take that bulky spacesuit off, right? I think he did. I think he very much did.”

“Unless he stripped and said ‘Hello Cub I would very much like to fuck you now,’ I am refusing to believe this is true.”

“Listen to me!”

“I’m listening, I’m listening.”

“He crawled on my bed like he was horny about it-“ Cub started, and Cleo couldn’t help but interrupt him with a harsh cackle, but Cub persisted, “I swear he did! I swear it, you weren’t there, you can’t judge me! You did not see the way he was looking at me. He told me he was going to take me apart, Cleo. He was holding me by my damn wrists and thighs! He tore my fucking shirt open.”

“I feel like you can’t apply human euphemisms to aliens, Cub.”

“He was horny about it.”

“Are you sure you weren’t just horny about it?”

Cub turned away staunchly, “I can neither confirm or deny being horny about it. This is irrelevant actually.”

“Right.”

“He told me he wanted me to be vocal!”

Cleo scoffed, “Did he really say that?”

“Yes!” Before Cub could defend himself further, the churn of the heavy door snapped both his and Cleo’s attention to Scar, head low and ears slightly drooped, though Cleo didn’t wait for him to attack Cub before shooting him several times through the chest and abdomen. Scar gaped from his place on the floor where the impacts had driven him, perhaps looking for an answer. Cleo shrugged.

“Girl talk. You’re not invited.”

“What constitutes a girl?” Cub asked, similarly unphased.

“Not Scar.”

“Wow. There’s a lot of girls out there,” Cub mumbled, which Cleo ignored until Scar’s head drooped, lifeless.

“Tell me what happened from the beginning.”

“I thought you didn’t believe me,” Cub huffed, but Cleo knew just as well as he did that he was dying to share in great detail. New gossip is a hot commodity when you’re the only two people around.

“I don’t,” they answered simply. “Tell me everything.”

[clueliss]

imagine you're stopping in at S.H.I.E.L.D. to drop off some paperwork, not expecting all of the avengers to be strategizing in the middle of the room. Tony keeps talking and flailing his arms about, both Thor and Bruce look up from the massive blueprints of the city to give you a smile. you take a couple more steps in to see Natasha sitting with her feet on the table, looking disinterested as ever while twirling her knife. you look to your left to see Clint bringing a drink to Nat and you smile at his generosity. your eyes then land on Steve, who's back and shoulders are looking strong as always. your heartbeat accelerates at a rate you weren't sure was possible until he turns around and it stops. He looks from your face to your chest, where you're clutching all your papers.

"Is that what I think it is?" Tony cuts himself off by following Steve's line of sight.

"Yes, Tony. if you would've stopped rambling sooner, i'd be gone by now." you shoot him a smirk and he rolls his eyes. he beckons you over and then pats the table for you to place the papers. as you walk closer, you realize Steve hasn't taken his eyes off of you. step by step you hold his eye contact, neither of you daring to break it. you reach the table and slightly lean forward, releasing the stack of papers. his eyes go from the papers to your chest and you raise your eyebrows at his brazenness. as soon as he catches your gaze his face tinges pink.

"Mister America will you please stop staring at my assistants breasts? I'd expect this from Tony, but i'll be honest, i'm kind of fucking surprised." Nick fury laughs as he enters the room.

"Sorry, sir. Can't say it won't happen again." Steve finishes with a salute, throwing a wink your way. you roll your eyes and turn toward Nick.

"Mr. Fury am I dismissed?" He smiles at you and nods once, giving you the excuse to leave the attention. You walk further down the halls, then you reach the containment chambers and gain the attention of one more.

"Ah. The most beautiful thing i've seen since i got here."

Loki.

[nabataprophet]

The uncertainty is infinitely worse.

It had gnawed at them ever since they escaped the Goddess' maw, only to hurtle headlong into the flames, only to be faced with even more uncertainty than what they had left behind in the name of trying to protect it; Garreg Mach burned, and Garreg Mach fell, and they still don't know who lies under its rubble and who else lies dead in the mountains' bowels.

Here, in this stuffy, dank shelter, Sophia doesn't number among them.

And neither does Chad. They shout her name as soon as they catch sight of that curtain of lavender, stumbling towards her, haggard and worn and exhausted, awash with relief and drowned in icy guilt for leaving everyone behind.

Maybe it wasn't their fault. They couldn't have possibly known. Their body wouldn't have made a difference on either front. But it still is eating them alive, because these things always have. A hand alights on her forearm, shifting up to examine her as they've done before.

This, all of this, is more than just a bloody handprint, and in that moment, they fucking left her. What does it matter they had everyone's best interests at heart? All their fury and fire for nothing.

"You're—" they begin, then fumble. "I'm sorry, I—" Their hands seize, freezing to not accidentally wring her along with them. Did they leave her with just as much uncertainty? The thought cuts to the bone. They don't know what to say.

"I'm s-sorry," they repeat, suddenly a shaking mantra. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Sophia had always secretly feared that one day she would fail to foresee something truly terrible would happen. In Arcadia, it had always been stressed to her that whatever she saw did not matter terribly, because this is Paradise, hidden behind a magic veil. Who would attack Paradise, when they couldn't even be sure it existed?

Until they had.

If her power had been stronger, she could have seen it coming. She could have seen it coming and then—

—then... what? What could she have done that would have changed things in any meaning way? Rushed out by herself just to get captured or die in vain out in the desert? Isn't knowing and still being unable to do anything just a different kind of helplessness?

What happened last night is the same. Even if she had known, the outcome would still be the same. They would all still be in this shelter, battered and bruised.

The sound of her name being shouted is all the warning Sophia gets before the last face she had been looking for appears. She knows they're coming this time, so she does not jump even when Chad grabs her wrist. She lets them examine her for injuries without complaint, passively allowing them to look over scrapes and nicks that are long healed over. The only blood there is her own, a dried remnant of the magic that had torn at her skin out on the field.

There is no bloody hand print on her wrist today.

This does not seem to soothe Chad any. If anything, it seems to make them feel worse and they apologize to her on loop for reasons she's not entirely sure of. Everyone else had just said or implied that they were happy to see she made it out okay and left it at that. What could they possibly have to apologize for?

You see, Sophia has another secret fear.

It is a simple irrefutable truth of her life that she will outlive all of her human friends. She accepted this truth a long time ago, back when she had only been a little bit taller than Fae. Who (what) she is necessitates a certain degree of detachment from others, a hardening of the shell around her heart to protect against the lifelong heartbreak she is destined for.

She knows this, but she is still afraid that her friends will leave this world long before they should. She is afraid that her friends will die young and that there will be nothing she can do about it. She is afraid that her friends will die and be frozen in her memories in their youth, never getting to reach adulthood. Even she will be an adult some day in the far distant future, but the same isn't true of her friends that die young.

But Chad is alive and that's all she can ask for.

Reaching for their hand, Sophia interlaces her fingers with Chad's. Her fingertips are still a little cold from casting Apocalypse multiple times in a row, but her touch is gentle. She squeezes gently.

"...It's okay."

I'm okay.

[alphaflyer]

Last Line Meme

@inkvoices tagged me in a meme to post the last lines of the last ten things I've posted. Like her, I've done the first lines meme before, which disclosed that I really like starting with bits of dialogue. This should be interesting, I thought! And then I discovered that my last lines are virtually meaningless, unless you've read the story that precedes them... So instead of using the "last ten" stories, I thought I'd take my "ten most read" stories, which means there is a bit more of a chance that people have actually read them...

Also, I added a couple of lines as necessary, to give a wee bit of context - because it's never just about the very last line, is it, but the ending?

If I'm to take anything away from the experiment, it seems that my endings (except in #3, which is a collection of mini-fics) tend to circle back to the title, trying to make it make sense. What do you think?

Second Mouse:

“My next target.”   

Bond looks at the picture, and back at Clint.  A small smile curls his lips, gradually develops into a chuckle and finally into a full-fledged guffaw.  He raises his glass in a toast, for good luck, or whatever.

“Second mouse.”

2. The Skies Over Manhattan

“Looks like that storm’s here,” Clint says. 

Coulson lifts his eyes to the grey and heavy Manhattan sky, to that spot above Stark Tower, from which not so very long ago an alien army poured forth in the name of the God of Lies. 

“Could be worse,” he shrugs dismissively, even as the drops start to splatter on the formica table top. 

Clint follows his former handler’s gaze, squinting a little to keep the water out of his eyes. 

“Yep,” he says, “it sure could.”  

He breaks into a small, slow grin.  

“Could be snowing.”

3. Moments

"Anything in particular you’d like to practice?"

"Catch and release? 😎"

"I’ll repurpose my observation equipment.…"

4. In the Service: Three Times Hawkeye Questions His Orders (And One Time He Doesn't)

Clint closes his eyes and takes a sip of his coffee.  It’s black and strong, the way he likes it.  For a moment he considers whether he should add some milk, what with the shawarma churning in his gut, but ultimately decides against it. 

It’s good to have the choice, though.

5. Locust Wind

Eve returns to her desk, where Bond’s mission report is waiting under a box of Dead Sea salts. ... [He] must have written the thing on the plane; he usually never provides more than bullets. This one’s positively ponderous though, full of ruminations about Jordan and … biblical plagues?  Seriously? 

And so it comes to pass, as she flips through the barely legible notes, that Eve finds herself wondering whether there had been sightings of locusts in Lemuria before it sank.

6. Silver Bells

Somewhere, Natasha thinks that she can hear the sound of a bell tinkling, and she almost laughs out loud at the sheer audacity of the thing.  It’s purely a figment of her imagination, of course.  

But all things considered, that in itself counts as a win.

7. Highway of Diamonds

But more often than not, they just sit in silence, side by side, watching the sun setting over the sea and the falling dark.  The night before she leaves there’s a chill in the air; he puts an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close when she starts to shiver, and she allows herself to fall back against his warmth. 

Neither of them comments on the endless ribbon of stars that blazes in a velvet-black sky. 

8. Going to Ground

But there are two new truths in their own private canon:  One, they will never use the names “Mr. and Mrs. Smith” for cover again; and Two, they will both remember Long Island pretty much exactly the same.

9. Safe House

When she goes to check, Maria finds that he has stripped his bed for the next person Nick Fury or Rogers will send her way. That she will have another guest in her spare room soon is not in doubt.

She pops a capsule into the coffee maker, inhaling the rich, nutty scent, and allows herself a small smile. The network is growing, getting stronger.

10. Five Times SHIELD Tries to Recruit Clint Barton (And One Time He Said Yes)

“All the scum you care to kill.” 

She drains her glass and stalks out of the bar to the sound of his laughter.

Tagging @cassiesinsanity, @poppypickle, @quidnunc-life and anyone else who'd like to play!

[themculibrary]

Natasha Romanoff Pairings Masterlist

advantage (ao3) - FauxGateaux loki/natasha, clint/maria G, 10k

Summary: Set near the end of Avengers Assemble. After Loki has been scraped up off the floor of Stark Tower, the Avengers keep him in Nick Fury’s glass cage on the helicarrier while awaiting for transportation to Asgardian justice. During his overnight stay, he is monitored and interrogated by Natasha Romanov. How much does Loki share with the her, and what impact will this have on their futures?

all for you (ao3) - Anonymous bucky/natasha E, 16k

Summary: Bucky really, really likes the idea of his belly being big and getting even bigger. He also really likes the idea of being pregnant as well as being stuffed full of come, on his way to being pregnant after being bred. His dom, Natasha, can’t actually do either of those things to him though. Which would be too bad… had they not found a creative way around it involving showers, shower hoses, and a hell of a lot of dirty talk.

although it’s so romantic on the borderline tonight (ao3) - paperclipbitch bruce/natasha T, 6k

Summary: Post-movie. “You shouldn’t google yourself,” Natasha tells Bruce.

beauty and the beast (ao3) - Panda365 bruce/natasha, pepper/tony T, 47k

Summary: A few weeks after the battle of NY, the original 6 are adjusting to life at Avengers tower.

Through various missions and time off the clock, the team must put aside their differences to save others and each other from their own demons.

(This is a Bruce/Natasha centered story full of angst, comedy, and friendship. Be warned of potentially triggering topics of suicide, anxiety, and depression.)

butterflies & hurricanes (ao3) - Cristinuke clint/natasha E, 49k

Summary: He hasn’t been the same since New York. In fact, she’s never seen him like this, never this low. Or, the story of how Natasha became the outlet Clint needed.

co-captains (ao3) - orphan_account peggy/natasha T, 4k

Summary: This is starting to move beyond normal co-captain behavior.

common ground (ao3) - Writegirl natasha/nick T, 4k

Summary: Natalia Romanova was many things: a killer by thirteen, a Black Widow at fifteen, on the run from the Red Room by sixteen and captured by SHIELD at seventeen.

“You have a simple choice in front of you. Either you want to live, in which case you give us your total cooperation. Or you want to die, in which case the kill order will be carried out within the next ten minutes.” The agent stood and went to the door. “You have five minutes to make a decision.”

darkness will be rewritten (ao3) - princessironspider natasha/tony N/R, 109k

Summary: Peter is Tony’s biological child.

Natasha Romanoff has been married to Tony Stark secretly for years.

What would the movies be like if this were the case?

family means no one gets left behind (ao3) - writewithurheart maria/steve/natasha M, 19k

Summary: *CONTAINS BLACK WIDOW MOVIE SPOILERS*

A re-imagining of the movie where it actually interacts with the rest of the MCU instead of doing backflips to go around it…

golden locks, silver arms (ao3) - Caspinn, kalkoenvsneoklak bucky/natasha, howard/maria, pepper/tony, clint/bobbi, peggy/daniel M, 52k

Summary: Before she was known as Natasha Romanoff, Black Widow and member of the Avengers, Natalia Alianovna Romanova was an assassin. Trained to kill at a very young age, Natalia is considered the best asset at the Red Room. Getting the chance to train under the Winter Soldier must be one of the best opportunities for her. And indeed, both their lives change because of it. Though, if it’s for the better? That’s up to debate.

i’m so tired (of being afraid) (ao3) - himynameisv natasha/matt T, 35k

Summary: Steve glances at her with what she can only describe as a small, fond smirk. “You’re not alone in this,” he murmurs.

She breathes in, gathers up the courage to grasp him on the shoulder. “Neither are you,” she says.

They stand there, mourning together in the silence, because that’s how the two of them have always been.

(Or: Natasha Romanoff had three families. She’s going to get them back and/or die trying.)

i’m staying at my parents’ house and the road not taken looks real good now (ao3) - hannaenomia maria/natasha N/R, 22k

Summary: Natasha takes The Avengers to her family’s farm to recover after their first run-in with the Scarlet Witch and promptly flirts with Maria Hill in front of everyone, whether she admits it or not. (Black Widow comes before Age of Ultron in this storyline)

in your hand (ao3) - SpideySense777 natasha/tony M, 32k

Summary: Major Spoilers for Black Widow if you haven’t seen it.

Tony and Natasha overcoming her betrayal after Civil War and finding peace in the fact they are screwed up people.

las vegas (ao3) - elcapitan_rogers steve/natasha E, 219k

Summary: Steve was freaking out over his own wedding and the gang decided to take him to Las Vegas to unwind him.

my unshaped form (ao3) - atrata bruce/natasha E, 26k

Summary: Of all the people they could have sent, they send Bruce Banner. In his defense, he seems to realize he has no chance of finding her.

no grave can hold my body down (ao3) - Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye), tobemadeofglass loki/natasha E, 27k

Summary: When Natasha, head waitress and barista extraordinare, gets a visit from a new client at SHIELD Cafe, the last thing on her mind is that he’s anything different. Certainly, he’s paler than she is, and hardly eats anything when he comes in, but that doesn’t mean he’s something other than human. Does it?

peggynat (ao3) - slayyybestie peggy/natasha N/R, 3k

Summary: tumblr requests for peggynat fic

the one with natasha and wanda’s agreement (ao3) - kenscarquin wanda/natasha E, 45k

Summary: “What kind of agreement,” she’s whispering her words now, Natasha’s mouth just inches from her own.

“Sex. Friends with benefits. No strings attached. That kind of thing,” Wanda’s knees weaken as Natasha speaks, the words sounding so out of place but at the same time, so fitting coming out of the red head’s mouth. “Are you interested?”

til the clocks run down (ao3) - andibeth82 clint/laura/barton M, 257k

Summary: "I think I do love her.”

The words don’t shock her – not really, not when she lets herself think about it. She does believe that Clint hadn’t been sure about how deep his feelings for Natasha went the first time he admitted his attraction to her. But Laura would have been a fool to believe there wasn’t something more developing, especially after being around them in the few times they’d visited together since Clint’s confession. It had been easy to tell how their partnership was becoming comfortable, a relationship as worn and cozy as the one Laura’s built for herself with the man she’s loved for almost eight years.

[the beginning, the middle, and the journey home]

undercover in our overcoats (ao3) - Dayadhvam peggy/natasha T, 5k

Summary: Prague, 1968. Neither Agent Carter nor the Black Widow would have called it anything like love.

[philosopherking1887]

Something that's bothering me about all the Barbie movie memes I've been seeing going around: the ones that say "This Ken is __." That's not how they work. You can give a Barbie a distinctive attribute: "This Barbie is the boss," "This Barbie is a nerd," whatever. For Kens, all you can say is "He's just Ken." "He's another Ken." "This is also Ken." The whole point is that that's all they are. They're just "(a) Ken."

The way to do a proper tribute to the Barbie posters is to stop trying to say something specific about male characters and actors, or do it in a way that fits into the "He's just Ken" template. Use it to lean into the irony, given that most popular media focuses on the traits and skills of the male characters, and tends to make female characters generically hot. You can also use the "There's only one Allan" for humorous effect.

I don't do complicated edits, but here's how I'd do it for a few of my fandoms:

Star Trek: The Original Series

Uhura: This Barbie speaks thirty-seven languages.

Chapel: This Barbie is a nurse.

Rand: This Barbie keeps the ship running.

Kirk: He's just Ken.

McCoy: He's another Ken.

Chekov: He's Ken too.

Sulu (the bare-chested fencing pic, obviously): You guessed it. He's a Ken.

Spock: They also make a half-Vulcan Ken. [An example of how you can mix it up a little while still staying within the template]

Scotty: There's only one Scotty.

Star Trek: Deep Space Nine

Kira: This Barbie is an ex-terrorist.

Jadzia: This Barbie is actually seven Barbies and a worm.

Ezri: We haven't met this Barbie yet. [or something like that]

Leeta: This Barbie is a union organizer.

Keiko: This Barbie is a botany researcher.

Kasidy: This Barbie is a smuggler.

Winn: This Barbie is the pope.

O'Brien: He's just Ken.

Bashir: He's another Ken.

Worf: He's Ken too.

Garak: Plain, simple Ken. [Staying with the "just Ken" theme, but in a referential way]

Quark: Latinum Magic Ken [Get it? Like Earring Magic Ken?]

Sisko: Please call me Dad. [Like the Will Ferrell poster that says "Please call me mother"]

Odo: Neither Barbie nor Ken, but a secret third thing. [Going off script a little, but riffing on the gender theme]

The Avengers (2012 & 2015) [this is hard because there are so few female characters, but that's what makes it a fun challenge!]

Natasha: This Barbie is a trained assassin.

Wanda: This Barbie can control minds.

Pepper Potts: This Barbie is a CEO.

Maria Hill: This Barbie is the boss.

Tony: He's just Ken.

Clint: He's another Ken.

Thor: He's Ken too.

Sam Wilson: Ken again!

Hulk (not Bruce, that's what makes it funny): You guessed it. He's a Ken.

Steve: Vintage 1945 Ken [Yes, I know Ken didn't exist til 1961]

Loki: There are no Kens like me. [There's the Allan variation]

Nick Fury: Please call me Mother.

Agent Coulson: He's a suit. OR

Iron Man: He's a suit.

[httpscomexe]

Muzzle

Summary: You can’t lock up a Stark.

(Find what I'm currently writing by checking my pinned post)

Parings: Bucky x Reader (Some Winter Soldier POV)

Warnings: Stalking, kind of kidnapping, mentions of past violence, individual warnings per chapter.) It will start becoming 18+ next chapter.

Tags: @scott-loki-barnes @cjand10

Word Count: 2898 (Find all chapters here) Chapter 4

The Winter Soldier's POV

5AM, she’s awake, the sound of her alarm bringing her out of her head. She stretches for about 5 minutes before ultimately deciding she’s not getting up yet.

5:30AM, she wakes up again, but this time to the sound of a bunch of students outside her door. She stretches for about 5 minutes, and by that time the hallways are more relaxed, so she slowly gets out of bed, then goes into the bathroom to shower, brush her teeth, and do her hair. Along with anything else she might do.

By 6AM she’s out of the bathroom, and she goes to her little kitchen area to make herself something to eat. Every Monday it was a sandwich, but other days it was anything she could find from instant noodles to leftover lasagna.

6:15, she’s getting dressed for class.

6:30 she’s swinging her bag over her shoulders and she’s out of her dorm. And that’s when I make my move and climb through the window.

I leave the tree that’s right next to her window, all I have to do is reach over and lift it up since she thinks it’s useless to lock considering she’s on the third floor, so chances are, no one would be able to break in. Except me.

She’s different. There’s something about her that neither me or the Winter Soldier can understand. I know I had clear instructions to kill anyone on sight, and the plan at three in the morning was to shoot her then give myself stitches, but as soon as her eyes locked onto mine, I knew I wouldn’t be able to hurt her.

I’ve gone through her drawers, and learnt just about everything about her. Her name is Y/N, but none of her papers had her last name on it, and her ID was always with her so I never got to learn her last name, but soon I’d learn it from her personally. I just didn’t understand why her last name was so hard to find.

I haven’t been caught yet by her, I know her schedule like the back of my hand. She leaves her dorm at 6:30AM for her first class, then she comes back at 5PM every day, when her social battery finally runs out, but I’m normally out of the dorm room by 4:30.

Today though, she hadn’t come back like usual. I waited, and waited, and waited. I hadn’t been able to watch her yesterday, I had something that needed to be attended to. So when she hadn’t been in the bed this morning I was already confused. I wanted to assume that maybe she had gone to a party, gotten drunk, and stumbled into some boys bed, but she wasn’t like that. So I checked the camera I hooked up in her room, only to discover she had left with a few familiar faces, including Nick Fury. Now I don’t want to be considered a threat to the Avengers or to S.H.I.E.L.D, but if they lay a single hand on her, I won’t hesitate to blow out even Steve Rogers brain. She. Is. Mine…

Your POV

“Well, Ms. Jasper.” Agent Ross says. “Now we definitely know you’re hiding something.”

“Pretty sure my record is clean.”

“Oh yea it is. But maybe don’t use the name your father told you to use as an alias.” He tells you, sliding the tablet they had been using to look up your name over to you. On the screen was a clear image of your information, you had hacked into government systems when you were around the age of 10, and you had added your fake name to the systems in order to live your fake life. “I asked Stark to look it up, he swore he recognized the name, and your middle name gave it away. I mean come on. ‘Jasper Anthony Stark?’ Your father gave you that middle name for the sake of his own ego, no one else would do that.” He crosses his arms. “So Stark will be down here in a few minutes to talk to you, Y/N.” He finishes, then collects his belongings and leaves the room. Leaving you alone with Ned.

“You’re the smartest and also the absolutely stupidest person I know Y/N.” Ned whispers, hoping the A in the AV system wouldn’t pick up on him, which you were sure it would.

“Well just because I’m smart doesn’t mean I make good decisions. I mean look at me.” You uncross your arms and hold them out to make a point. “I’m not exactly a normal teenager.” You tell him, then lower your tone to a volume you know their system won’t pick up on. “I literally kill and torture people for a living!”

“Stark is on his way now.” A voice says over the speaker in the corner.

“Do you still have that bracelet I gave you?” You ask Ned, referring to the friendship bracelet that read ‘BFF’ on his wrist.

“Yea, why?”

“Hey, Ned.”

“Hey Mr. Stark.” Ned's voice raises by about 20 octaves as soon as Tony Stark enters the room. Then instead of doing something normal like I don’t know sitting on the chair, he awkwardly sits on the table, one leg on, one leg off.

“Now I was told that someone in this room is of high importance.” He says, staring directly at you. “I’m assuming it isn’t Ned, he’s just spider man's friend.” Ned voices a sound of disappointment, causing you to look over at him then you stare at the floor, not able to look your dad in the eyes any longer.

“Well I uh, have some really important work I need to do. So I think your guys should totally give me a ride back to my dorm.”

“Or you can actually look and speak to me like I’m your dad.”

“Except you're not.” You spit out, your voice laced with hatred. “You’ve done nothing but cause me pain ever since I’ve left you and you haven’t even made the slightest effort in the past eight years to try and find me.”

“Haven’t made an effort? I have been sending fucking search teams to France for fucks sake Y/N. It’s not my fault you’re good at hiding.”

“I’ve never left Manhattan.” You say plainly. “Unless it’s for work, but I’m in school right now so I don’t have work.”

“Where are you working?”

“None of your business, I’m 18 and a freshman in college.”

“You’re my daughter.”

“You sure as hell don’t act like I am.”

“How the hell did you manage to survive eight years on your own?”

“Someone took me in.”

“A piece of shit may I add.” Ned says suddenly, breaking the back and fourth between you and Stark.

“Oh yea how so?” Stark asks Ned.

“Well-” Your hand quickly covers his mouth, preventing him or at least making sure he couldn’t say whatever he was about to say.

Yea, you told Ned a majority of the abusive, and traumatizing things that happened to you while you were being cared for by a man named Ezekiel, or you at least had a roof over your head and were fed. Most days.

“So I would assume he wasn’t a good caretaker?”

“He’s my dad, that's all you need to know.”

“Pretty sure that’s my title.”

“Not after you abandoned me.”

“Abandoned you?”

“Uh huh.”

“Mr. Stark. Ms. Potts is calling, would you like me to answer or are you busy?” A new voice came over the speakers, it sounded like Jarvis.

“Yes you can answer, I’m done in here, and give strict instructions to everyone in the building to not let this girl out, Ned you can leave whenever, preferably now.” Stark says quickly before standing up. “Hey, hun, what’s up?” You hear him say, assumingly speaking to Virginia, and you turn your head as Ned speaks again.

“Family reunion, yay.”

About a week passed. You weren’t allowed to leave the tower, but you were given a small room to call yours. It had a bed, and a TV hanging on the wall across from it. It also had an amazing view from the city since one of the entire walls was a window, luckily, Stark is a tech geek so the windows can dim if you need some darkness. There was also a small bathroom and a walk-in closet, with all the little necessities you would need and a bunch of clothes.

You weren’t allowed to go to school, but Stark found a way for you to do everything online, which you hated.

You hated not being able to see your friends. You hated not being able to blast your music in your ears in class, or staying up until three in the morning missing your pink little toy. After doing nothing but complaining, they tried endlessly to offer you things like tablets and other expensive items to get you to shut up.

You settled with a pet fish. A cute little betta fish, she was white but she looked chrome when she swam around in her tank, a big one, which was another thing you had asked for. You named her Penelope, and she was the only thing keeping you sane.

“How’s the fish?”

“Her name is Penelope.” You told Sam Wilson as he just walks into your room, no knocking or anything. You don’t bother looking up from your tablet that you were drawing on as he enters.

“Well how is she?”

“Fine.”

“How are you?”

“Fine.”

“Do you need anything?”

“Fine.”

“Are you gonna actually say anything other than fine?”

“Fine.”

“Okay.” He sighs heavily and walks in front of Penelope's tank. “You know, part of the deal on you having this fish was you cooperate with us.”

“There’s nothing to cooperate on, you all know I’m his daughter, you just won’t let me go.”

“We won’t let you go cause you’re the only civilian we know that’s been in contact with Barnes and the only Civilian he seems to listen to.”

“Just a coincidence.”

“It can’t be a coincidence, Y/N.” He tells you, stepping close to your bed where you were sitting so you power off your tablet and look at him. “I don’t think you understand what it means when we tell you he can’t control his emotions when he’s being fucking brainwashed.” He gets closer, until he can whisper and you’ll still hear him. “So you better start talking little girl.” His tone threatens. “This man is a menace and a threat to society. Where. Is. He.”

“I. Don’t. Know.” You tell him, getting in his face to match his anger, you couldn’t voice how genuinely annoyed you’ve been over the past week, with the constant same questions you’re almost forced to make up a lie and tell them you’ve been hiding Barnes up your ass.

“You have a lot of fucking nerve, and I’d like to know where the hell you got it from.” He spits in your face as he speaks and it makes you wanna do nothing more than kick his future generation while you still have the chance.

“You learn to defend yourself when you’re in the streets while everyone else your age is singing the ABC’s.”

“Yea well I guess only good kids learn their ABC’s.” Sam tell you almost under his breath, then he taps Penelope’s fish tank two or three times before leaving your room, closing the door behind him, then you quickly get back into your tablet.

You close the drawing you had started and you go back into the coding for the towers security system that you had gotten into fairly easy. This way you could see everything, from the position of every security guard and Avenger, to every code that every camera was given, and you finally planned your way out, which would finally happen tonight so you could get back to your normal life.

“Where is she? How could she had possibly gotten out? I had every guard, every Agent, and every fucking Camera focused on her room.” Tony Stark's voice could be heard from across the lobby of the tower as he walks next to Steve Rogers and Happy Hogan.

“Well sir, it says here that she had hacked into the system, matter of fact she’s been doing it for a few days now.” Happy says through closed teeth, slightly annoyed after being pulled out of a very important meeting with quite literally the vice president. “And here it says…” He uses his index finger to gently push his glasses back down on his nose, and he looks down at the paper receipts. He decided it would be best to print out everything since apparently ‘paper cannot be hacked,’ even though what's on the papers is what was on the computers. “She basically got in, figured out the routes of every guard, figured out everyone's schedule, and then found out she had exactly one minute, thirty seven seconds, and six hundred and eight milliseconds of a window at exactly eleven thirteen at night.”

“She’s really fucking fast if she’s able to make it down from the thirteenth floor to the first floor in less than two minutes, while avoiding every bit of security I have.”

“Well like I said, she found a window, and it was exactly one minute and-”

“Thirty seven seconds, I know.” He groans. “I just can’t believe I have a ‘window’ in my security. Rogers?”

“Yes, Stark?” Rogers slows the three of them down to stop at the snack counter, grabbing a red, white, and blue donut which he takes a huge bite of.

“How would you suggest we fill this supposed ‘gap’ in our security?”

“Well you could hire two more men, and then set different shifts for everyone.”

“Two men? Why two?”

“Well, for every shift change there’s always two men.”

“Always two men huh? Well go ahead and tell one of the pairs that they’re gonna be alone, I don’t feel like hiring anyone.” Stark tells Rogers, but Steve just gives Happy a look and a nod, obviously not going to listen to Stark as they watch him approach the snack counter and ask them for his favourite donut.

“Do you have any more donuts with red, white, and blue sprinkles?”

“Ugh, finally.” You stretch and undo your hair as you finally get back to your dorm room after a whole week. You feel for the counter in the dark, then use your muscle memory to just make your way back to your bed, the one you so genuinely missed. “GAH! What the fuck!” You scream as you plop down onto the bed and quickly fall off as you land on something hard, then you quickly reach over to turn on the bedside lamp. “No.” You say quickly as the familiar blue eyes meet yours. “You need to get out, I want nothing to do with you.” Stressed, you run your hands through your hair before reaching for the man and trying to pull him out of your bed.

“Hey come on, calm down.” You freeze.

“Did you just say a full sentence without it sounding like it was scripted.” You stayed frozen, your fists were clutching both the centre of his chest and his bicep.

“Yea I’m a bit more normal when I’m not being brainwashed.” He tells you, and you gently let go of him.

“Wait, how many times have you slept in my bed without me being here?”

“Only this week.”

“And with me being here.”

“Only after you’ve had a long day.”

“That’s not nice to know.” You admit, still staring down at him before he finally sits up.

He wasn’t wearing his muzzle and he wasn’t dressed in a thick tactical vest like the two times you’d last seen him. Instead he was wearing a red henley, a dark T-shirt underneath, some jeans, and a heavy green jacket. You also noticed the filled black bag sitting on the floor next to the bed. “I kinda still need you to leave.”

“I don’t wanna.”

“Yea well sucks, I need you too.”

“Baby why are you shaking?”

“Shaking? I’m not- baby- shaking? Wait baby what?” Your brain absolutely fails, then he stands up, easily towering over you as he stares down into your eyes.

“Who’s the one that sounds weird when they talk now?” He asks you, and you want to back talk with a thousand sarcastic remarks, but the second your lips part, your voice is caught in your throat as the side of his index finger rests under your chin. “Now where have you been?”

“I-” You stutter. “The Avengers think I’m in control of you.”

“They think you are? You mean they know you are?”

“What? But I’m not.”

“No I’m not… what’re you talking about?” You ask, and he leans down, resting his forehead on yours.

“Doll, from the moment I walked into your dorm the first day I saw you, I have not been able to get you off my mind. I was the Winter Soldier when I walked into your room the first time, I wasn’t James.” His hands gently cup your face.

“You are in control of my every thought and my every move.”

[sjsmith56]

Away Mission - Part 1

Summary: Bucky deliberately ends his relationship with the Avengers and his girlfriend in order to undertake a secret undercover mission for Nick Fury.

Length: 2.9 K

Characters: Bucky Barnes, named OFC (not described), Nick Fury, Alphonso Mackenzie, Shuri

Warnings: Bucky deliberately being an asshole for a reason, angst, breakups.

💔 🙋🏻‍♂️

Part 1

Sloan

It was like a scene from a movie, a heartbreaking scene. The main female character, me, Sloan Hunter, respected writer, and once voted most likely to win a journalism award, finally realizes that she can no longer stay with the main male character, the man she loves. In this real-life scenario that wasn’t a movie, that part was played by one James Buchanan Barnes, former Howling Commando, former Winter Soldier, and now former Avenger, and former love of my life. My bags were packed, a friend was on her way to pick me up, and I was waiting for Bucky to say something, anything, to convince me to stay. Instead, he sat sprawled on the chair, his legs splayed out and wearing that look on his face that he often had that was a cross between a smirk and a scowl.

“I don’t know what you expect me to say, Sloan,” he said, his voice sounding like anything other than a man who once said he loved me. “I can’t change who I am. You knew my issues when we first got together, and I still have them.”

“If it was just your issues, I could stay,” I replied. “But it’s not, Bucky, and you know it. You’ve changed in the last few months. You’ve pulled away from me, isolated yourself from everyone who cares for you, and quite frankly I don’t even recognize you anymore. You won’t even talk about it with anyone.”

“Nothin’ to talk about,” he stated. “I quit the Avengers and there’s nothing more to be said.”

“Quit? Is that what you’re calling it?” I shook my head. “If you call deliberately wrecking your relationship with your best friend, then acting like an asshole to people who used to trust you to have their back, quitting, then you’re worse off than I thought. You were fired.”

He shrugged. “Not my circus anymore.” He stood up, poured himself a double scotch and lit a cigarette, even that act showing his disregard for me as I hated the smell. “I just got tired of trying to make people think I was worth their trust. There’s a lot of money to be made as a mercenary and I’m ready to start making money with my unique skill set. They don’t call them soldiers of fortune for nothing.”

My phone’s text alert went off and I checked it to learn my friend was downstairs. With nothing more to be said, I maneuvered my suitcases through the door and took the elevator down to the lobby. My girlfriend helped me load the suitcases in the trunk and I got in. I tried not to cry as she pulled the car away, but I was bawling like a baby by the next stop sign. Bucky didn’t even say goodbye when I left.

I was staying with her for a while but after that I didn’t know what I was going to do. Part of the reason I lived with Bucky was to allow me the opportunity to write my novel, without having to worry about a job, paying bills, and dealing with the little things of life. When Bucky asked me to move in with him, he swore that his Avengers pay would cover everything for both of us. Now we were both discarded like neither were of any consequence. I wasn’t just heartbroken; I was disappointed that the man I loved and admired had turned into someone I didn’t know any more.

Bucky

It was quiet in the apartment after she left and as empty as I felt inside. I took my phone out of my pocket and sent the confirmation text to Fury. Ready for pickup. He texted back within seconds. The crew is coming up to clear out the apartment. Everything will be put into storage. Take nothing with you, including your cellphone. I turned it off and waited for the knock on the door. When it came, I opened the door, receiving the security code from the man waiting there. Handing him my keys I left him and his crew to clear out my apartment. I went down to the lobby then out to the street and directly into the large black SUV waiting at the curb. Fury was in the back seat.

“We’ll keep Sloan under surveillance,” he said. “I already have a job opportunity set up for her with an operative in place there to keep her safe, and another in her friend’s apartment building. The friend’s apartment has been wired and when she moves into her own place it will be wired as well. If they come for her, we’ll have a team there within 30 seconds.”

“You better keep your end of the bargain,” I replied. “She’s the best thing that ever happened to me and doing this to her has been painful for both of us. Not to mention lying to my friends and colleagues. They may never trust me again if this doesn’t work.”

“It will work,” said the former director of SHIELD. “There’s no one else I can trust to do this; no one else who can convince people that he’s turned. Those videos from Madripoor proved that. As soon as they hit the internet, people said they knew it was all an act, that you faked being sorry for what the Soldier did.”

I didn’t react visibly but inside I was seething. Zemo really set me up for this with his suggestion that I pretend I was still the Winter Soldier when we were investigating the Flag Smashers. It was bad enough that the Wakandans were almost apoplectic over that charade. They were going to have a coronary over this scheme.

“Shuri knows the argument we had in public was a set-up, doesn’t she? It seemed awfully real from my perspective.”

“Yes, Shuri and King M’Baku are the only ones who know the truth. No one else does, well, except for my driver.”

He nodded towards the man behind the wheel, Alphonso Mackenzie, the current head of SHIELD, or what it evolved into after it was resurrected two years after I stopped being the Soldier, two years after Natasha Romanoff released all of SHIELD’s dirty laundry on the internet, including the fact it had been completely infiltrated by my former captors, HYDRA.

By the time we arrived at the safe house, I was almost second guessing my decision to take part in this mission. But I owed it to Shuri, and to her late brother, T’Challa to integrate myself with the team of mercenaries that were being assembled to break the Wakandan defences, setting up an attempt at a coup. The team was hired by a private security firm that was supposedly financed by a consortium of industrialists who wanted control of the vibranium in the country. When Fury first contacted me several months ago, alerting me to this attempt at violating Wakandan sovereignty, I was initially reluctant to be involved, not because I didn’t want to protect the country. I had worked hard to get past all that I had done as the Winter Soldier. The thought of giving all that up to successfully infiltrate this mercenary force did not appeal to me. Then Fury reminded me that he did much the same, when he authorized Natasha to reveal everything about SHIELD in order to cleanse it completely of the taint it had by HYDRA’s infestation of the organization he was associated with. We needed to find out who made up that consortium.

“By showing your willingness to do what is necessary to save Wakanda you will prove beyond all doubt and for all time that you are an honourable man,” he argued.

To make it believable that I was willing to turn my back on the Avengers and my life with Sloan, the plan was conceived for me to become increasingly jaded and cynical at remaining with that organization, apparently not a hard thing for me to accomplish. I picked fights with my colleagues, insulted them and their abilities, showed up late, left early, and made it known I was done being a good guy for the measly pay we received in comparison to those on the private payrolls of the corporations that seemed to operate with impunity. There was talk of rescinding my pardon but some of those same corporations had deep pockets and successfully convinced the politicians in those pockets to squash any talk of that. When they came looking for me, a former marine sergeant showed up at a coffee shop where I was, leaving a card with a phone number on it. I called, and the person on the other end of the line offered me a hefty pay check to lead one or more of their “private security teams” employed to look after the interests of a certain conglomerate as part of their international operations. I was in, or I would be once I underwent some enhancements at the SHIELD safe house before my rendezvous with my new employer.

We pulled into the driveway of a ramshackle garage that was part of a rundown house in one of the worst parts of New York City. The door to the garage opened automatically for us and closed behind the vehicle once we were inside. I went to get out, but Fury shook his head.

“Stay inside,” he said, as Mack sent a text from his phone. The garage was actually the top level of an elevator, and the platform we were on slowly moved down through several levels before opening onto a place that rivalled anything I had ever seen in a James Bond movie. When it stopped, Mack drove towards another door; this one slid open and closed behind us. Only then was I allowed to step out of the vehicle, with Fury and Mackenzie joining me. We entered a single door, walked down a long hallway and came to a lab, that equaled those I had seen in Wakanda.

“Sergeant Barnes,” said a familiar voice and I soon saw the smiling face of Shuri. “Welcome to the Wakandan Outreach Centre, or rather our secret lair version. I am going to make some adjustments to your arm and shoulder unit that will allow us to monitor you. There are also some rather innocuous devices that you can use to provide audio and video that will be monitored by one of us at all times.” I smiled weakly at her, as the last time I saw her she threatened to kill me. “We were very convincing to the general public at our last meeting, weren’t we?”

With that greeting and acknowledgement of what we both had to do to provide a convincing story, I was asked to remove my shirt and she disconnected my arm, putting it off to the side while she opened a panel on the back of my shoulder unit. As she worked, she described what she was doing.

“I am taking out a component and replacing it with an almost identical component that has been updated with a secure GPS tracker. It is a component that was manufactured at the same time as your arm and shoulder. The GPS tracker has been camouflaged to appear as a linking component for your arm. If they scan you it will show up as a communications nodule connecting your arm’s function to that of the shoulder unit. It will appear to be configured to work only to keep the two units communicating. I’ll install a similar nodule in the arm.”

“They won’t be able to tell that it’s giving my location?”

“No, it’s one of my inventions that I haven’t patented yet and there is nothing like it in the world,” she replied, as she finished inserting the component and replacing the panel on my shoulder. “It is set at a frequency that shouldn’t be detectable to any sort of sensor except for what I have here.”

She used another device to make it look like the component was soldered in place years ago when it was originally installed. Then she came around to my front, looking kindly at me. Gently, she ran her fingertips over the seam of the chest portion of the shoulder unit. Another access panel opened, and she inserted a slender tool into it coming out with a computer chip.

“This computer chip is a backup chip that reboots your arm in the event of a power surge,” she said, showing me the old chip. “You can see there was some damage to it after the battle you and Sam Wilson had with John Walker, when he still claimed the shield.”

“Did you have eyes on us then?”

She smiled mysteriously. “There are always eyes to hack into,” she said. “Sam’s Red Wing units had a record of the event and we saw the effect the power surge had on you. I’ll put an upgraded chip in that will withstand any surge. It will also have a unique feature that will allow for separate tracking. It’s been made to appear to have been manufactured shortly after that time, and I have created a record of you coming to one of our more visible Outreach Centres for the upgrade shortly after that incident just so that the timeline is consistent.”

She inserted the new chip and closed the access panel. While she worked on the arm, testing its functions and running updates on the systems that she changed the date of, Mack brought out a go bag of tactical gear and weapons for me.

“The tactical suit that you wore during the Flag Smashers has been duplicated,” he said. “The new version, which looks exactly the same visually has been outfitted with sensors that will record your surroundings in both audio and visual format. It will store everything you record and upload its data every time it is near a wifi source. When you are not in or near a wifi signal, or if they have implemented a dampening field it will appear to be a regular part of the uniform, just like something commonly used in military tactical uniforms. It is possible they may insist you wear their gear as part of their mercenary force. If they do, then the same sensors have been inserted into portions of your weapons. Of course, if you’re using the weapons, it will affect the quality of the recordings, but something is better than nothing.”

Shuri finished updating my arm and came over with it to re-insert it into the socket. After it clicked into place, I recalibrated it by swinging it backwards in an arc. Mack came with another bag of clothing for me, casual wear. That and the go bag with my suit and weapons were all I was taking with me.

“If you ever feel that you are in danger or when you have compiled all the evidence and require extraction, all you have to do is say “Reclaim my past,” said Fury. “The recording device will pick it up and we will institute a search and rescue of you immediately upon receipt. Since there is a possibility that your recording doesn’t upload right away you are authorized to use deadly force to protect yourself until extraction. I know you vowed not to kill again but I hope you see the need to stay alive.”

I nodded. It wasn’t something I wanted to do, no matter what, but if I had to kill someone to get away from danger then I would do so. With my arm back in place, I pulled my shirt on and grabbed the two bags. Shuri placed her hand on my forearm, squeezing it before quickly patting my cheek, as a goodbye and good luck. We returned to the vehicle and went back up the elevator to the street. After confirming we weren’t being followed, they dropped me off on a street corner and I walked a couple of blocks before hailing a cab. The driver dropped me off at the rendezvous point that had been agreed upon and I waited.

Two hours later a white panel van pulled up and the passenger window was rolled down. A man pointed a gun at me.

“Get in the back,” he said, as the side panel slid open.

I did as I was told and stepped inside. As the door slid shut a black bag was put over my head and my bags taken from me.

“Sit down, shut up, and relax,” said another voice. “We’ll drive for a while to make sure you weren’t followed then we’ll take you to our transport.”

“You know I could kill all of you without breaking a sweat,” I said.

“We know,” replied the voice. “But you won’t. If you care about her, you’ll do as you’re told.”

With that threat I knew that they already had an upper hand. The “her” was Sloan and they probably knew where she was. If they knew that then it meant they at least had eyes on her and possibly had their own operative near her. So, I said nothing, and settled back against the side of the van, waiting for the next part of this operation to unfold.

Part 2

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