#asset!reader

[samodivaa]

smut - ⁂ ︳angst - ☢ ︳fluff - ☀

✭Asset!Reader x Winter Soldier/Bucky

Cigarettes & Mirrors ⁂ . ☢

The mission goes wrong, leaving you both bloody and bruised. It floods empathy and compulsion to aid each other, but what else?

Voodoo Doll ⁂ . ☢

You have the ability and power to wield the Asset―a puppet on an invisible string without Hydra suspecting anything for years―your plan is to flood the earth with their blood.

Thrill me, Fulfill me ⁂ . ☀

You agreed to help for one mission—now you are both lustful and carnal, affected by sex pollen—you are flint, he is tinder.

Words don’t trigger him, emotions do ⁂ . ☢ . ☀

Anger, resentment and especially, jealousy—those emotions were all he knew while you both spent decades at Hydra.

My snowflake ⁂

You just returned from a mission—you provoke him, but the tension flicks from anger to fevered desire.

✭Reader x Winter Soldier

Training Techniques ☢ . ⁂

He is not allowed to move an inch—he can only watch you pleasure yourself—but why is there a ring on your finger?

Soul-debasing Interrogation ⁂

Both his mentality and body can withstand anything—to err is...human—you are the human in this situation.

Winter Soldier x Nurse!Reader ⁂ . ☢

Regular sex health checks are important

✭Series

Deny the truth,set my world on fire ☢ . ⁂

He knew that she was having an affair...she denies, but the love marks on her body are still there. She can't tell him the truth, it will break him - the Winter Soldier is indeed inside of him, fucking her at night and Bucky doesn't remember. (Complete)

[cruxxio]

How The Slytherin Boys Hold Your Hand

(don't ask why theo's ring is in a different finger and how many rings in mattheo's finger during yk)

[charliemwrites]

Greater Bad - Part 5!

This is the final chapter of this series. I had so much fun working on it, making myself write a character that was genuinely just really mean most of the time and not chickening out by softening him (mostly).

Again, a gigantic, smooch-filled thank you to ceilidho for letting me write this based off her drabble/concept.

(The concept comes from @ceilidho’s concept/drabble of “military asset Soap” and heavily inspired also by @391780’s Nikto version. Please go check out theirs because they’re brilliantly written.)

Content: Dub-Con/Non-Con Elements, Unreliable Narrator, Semi-Safe/Not-Sane/Dub-Con Intimacy

You still smell the same.

Clean water, soap and skin. It saturates the back of his tongue when he inhales deep. The sharp, cloying scent of printer ink has been replaced by the buttery aroma of bread and sugar. It’s better. His mouth waters, canines too big and sharp in his mouth, jawing aching to bite down until he’s teething on bone. Scrape his imprint into marrow.

Some shrink mentioned it in those first sessions, before Laswell and Price realized their precious Johnny wasn’t lost in the hole in his temple.

The human olfactory sense is strongly associated with our memory. What smells like home to you, Soap?

The jagged puzzle of his mind didn’t have a piece for home. But it had one for his – you – and that’s just as good.

The humidity in the shower leaves him drowning in the scent of you, lungs heaving. If they’d waterboarded him with your perfume, he wouldn’t have struggled at all.

“Easy, easy,” your voice derails him.

Velvet and smooth, purring in the bottom of your throat. It bounces off the walls and cracks across his skull, a concussive force, disorients him. He grips tighter to keep his balance, swaying into you. You’re all slick and soft, caught between his body and the wall, nothing but naked skin and those big eyes that drive him more mad.

His face is still buried in the vulnerable curve of your neck; you taste just as good as you smell. You jump when he nips, a high noise caught on your clumsy tongue. He growls, wants to hear it. Wants to be overwhelmed by you until all his senses are blown out.

“I’m not saying no,” you soothe, hands skittering down his biceps.

Of course you’re not, not his girl. It’s not a matter of yes or no, not for the two of you. The moon doesn’t agree to orbit the Earth, the sun doesn’t choose to shine. You’re the gravity keeping his feet on the ground.

“Slow down a bit,” you murmur, “We’re not in a rush, are we?”

Just hearing you say “we” sends his heart thundering double-time and euphoria flooding his poisoned veins. “We” - you and him. You squeak as he thrusts hard against your lower stomach, where you’re pillowy and perfect from a life of plenty.

He doesn’t even process what you’ve said for a few moments, too busy nibbling “we” into your shoulder. Only when you thread shaky fingers into his hair – too excited to keep them steady, sweet thing – does his head surface over the swelling waves of desire to hear you properly.

“Missed you,” he explains, raking fingers over your thigh in hopes it’ll bruise. Your mouth parts on a gasp, inviting him in. He ravages your mouth, teeth snagging your plush lips. Needs to leave his mark everywhere for always. Don’t you get that? How could you ask him to slow down when your skin is still pristine, your cunt all tight and unspoiled – a fucking tragedy that.

“Ye missed me too, aye?” he asks. Of course you did, of course. Made this pretty little cottage for the two of you, filled it with so many things that he could never forget where he is again.

“I ken ye did.” He does you the favor of answering, since you’re too busy with his fingers in your mouth. You’ve gotten better with your priorities since that first reunion, laving your tongue over and between his digits rather than waste it on idle chatter. “Can go slow once I show yer mine. Been too fuckin’ long they kept us apart, little bird.”

Your fingers curl around his wrist. Must be satisfied with how wet they are, then. He presses down on your tongue one last time before pulling away.

“B-but you took care of them… we don’t need to—ah!”

He smirks as your entire body jolts. You’re already starting to warm up, but your saliva makes the slide between your delicate folds even easier. You’re just as silky as last time, clit shy at the top of your slit. He coos in your ear, gets you flushing and hot from filthy promises.

“Ye wan’ this just as much as I do,” he growls. Poor thing, he knows you like your little games and he’s being impatient. But it’s been too long and you’re playing with fire. “I ken ye do. Tell me ye do.”

You stutter in shock – if he still felt guilt, he’d feel bad for doubting you – and stumble over your words. He stills his hand to help you, bracing his arm over your head. The stretch of his body seems to distract you, mouth parted but frustratingly quiet as your round eyes roam scars and muscle.

He clicks his tongue and pinches your clit to catch your attention. You yelp, little nails sinking into his chest. He rumbles. It feels good, but he’s on a mission.

“Tell me,” he repeats when you blink up at him. “Tell me.”

“I-I just want to be able to go again,” you babble. “If I’m too sore…”

He chuckles. Is that all? “That won’ stop me, love. We’ll go plenty.”

You whine as he draws tight circles over your clit, coaxing it hard and swollen.

“I d-don’ wanna be t-too… sore! Christ!”

He huffs, caught between amusement and exasperation. Voice of reason you are, he knows you’ve got a point. Big as he is, and he knows he’ll lose any sense of restraint once he’s inside.

“I’ll make it good, bonnie,” he promises, biting kisses along your trembling jaw. “You’ll cum crying if tha’s what it takes.”

With that matter settled, he drops his head to your pretty tits. Water has beaded all over them and he jealously licks paths between each drop, flattening his tongue over your hard nipples. You moan and squeal as he sucks and nips, teasing them sensitive and achy. One of your hands tangles in his hair and tugs. Tingles race down his spine, scattering any sweet thoughts of going slow or gentle or with restraint.

You’re babbling at him but nothing could be more important than the rosettes he’s biting into your breasts. And you must agree because you’re getting so wet, leaking all over his rough palm, bucking your hips. He tilts the heel of his hand for you to grind against while he prods at your slick little hole.

You really have been good, somehow even tighter than he remembers. Of course, you were; he never doubted you. No wonder you were so insistent on prepping. He’d split you in half as you are now – fuck but that’s tempting.

“S-Soap – John. Please don’t… stop.”

“I won’ stop, birdie,” he soothes. Nothing could make him stop now.

Two is probably too much for you, but he loves the punched out little noise you make when he forces them in. The way your entrance clings and squeezes around his knuckles. How your spine goes tight and stiff, tilting your head back so that he has access to your singing throat. Pretty face all scrunched up as you struggle to adjust, stinging too much to even squirm. A flighty little bird right in the palm of his hand.

You’re so hot and wet inside. Feel fucking heavenly. Coating him in arousal, in need. His cock is aching to replace his fingers, feel you strangling him down to the base. Grinding against your thigh isn’t tiding him over anymore.

“Yer hand,” he grits out, “on my cock. Now.”

You shudder and circle the head, fingers tentative. Little tease.

He thrusts his fingers into you hard in retaliation, hips driving into the loose tunnel you’ve made. You must know what you’re doing, goading him on like this, plucking at his fraying patience.

“More,” he snarls, “or I’m going to use you like a fleshlight.” (Sooner than he was planning, anyway.)

You whimper and close your hand tighter, rubbing your thumb just under the head. Relief makes him generous, scissoring those two fingers inside you, easing you open. Lets you grind your clit on the meat of his thumb.

He crooks his fingers and finds a spot that has you mewling all sweet and precious. Does it over and over just to get your hand squeezing rhythmically around his shaft, precum dribbling over the back of your knuckles.

Christ, it’s been so long that he thinks he could blow just from this. Your voice in his ear, drooling pussy wrapped around his fingers, grinding into the open circle of your hand. But he needs to be inside you when he cums, he has to.

You don’t even seem to notice the third finger until it’s halfway inside, prying you open. Your legs buckle, knees shaking. He catches you with an arm around your waist, but it squishes you against his chest, the arm you’ve been stroking him with nearly immobilized. He can only stand the lack of stimulation for a few moments, occupying himself with his tongue down your throat.

“Enough,” he rasps, kicking the shower off.

Dazed, you blink at him in confusion, half-lidded and guileless, panting. He wants to fucking ruin you.

You yelp as he scoops you up, fingers still slippery where they grip your thigh. He croons as you cling, asking in a high, nervous voice where he’s going.

“Poor thing, dick’s not even in yet ‘n yer all addled.”

The dripping head of his cock grinds against your sopping slit as he carries you back to the bedroom. He remembers how much you liked it before – and you still do, your blunt little teeth buried in your bottom lip as you whimper.

It’s still dark, the crescent moon no use to your weak eyes. Like hell you won’t look at him when he finally claims you proper.

He slaps at the wall switch, a tiny lamp flicking to life across the room. You’re bathed in soft golden light, deep shadows swimming where it doesn’t reach. You and him, gold and black, light and dark.

He eagerly lays you out on the blanket, drinking in the marks decorating your upper body. You even have teeth prints on your arm that he doesn’t remember putting there – fetching, though.

You wiggle further up the mattress, and he follows, flashing a grin as he plants his hands on either side of you. The size difference is stark like this, the breadth of him subsuming you. Safe, tucked away, all his. Your breathing is loud as he bullies his way between your plush thighs again. You have to spread them so wide just to accommodate.

“Lemme see,” he says, voice barely leaving his chest. “Lemme see her. It’s been so long, baby.”

He can already tell you’re about to start up the fussing again – so shy, his little bird, but he’ll get you singing nice and loud now. No more of this demure chirping facade. You both know what you really are.

You squeal as he forces your thighs up, far enough apart that you babble that you don’t bend that way. Of course you do, though, you’ve just done it. Not that he really hears you by that point.

No, all his attention is on that gleaming, puffy pussy. So fucking pretty. Sticky and throbbing, your hole hardly showing the stretch of three fingers. Dripping as he watches, a dewy glob of arousal sliding down the seam of your cunt, towards your ass.

Just the slightest shift and his cock is nestled between your folds, the glans chafing against your hot clit. He measures the depth of it against your abdomen, head cloudy on the nervous whine that eeks from your throat.

Even with prep, he might break you anyway.

He hopes he does. Break you around him, shape you to him so that no one else will fit – not that anyone else will ever get the chance.

It’s not a conscious thought that gathers saliva on his tongue, purses his lips. You jump when he spits, rubbing the head of his cock through your combined fluids. Your cunt looks good in white. Like a bride.

You’re too needy, wiggling with nervous anticipation. He has to hold you down while he sinks into you – poor thing too blissed out to control yourself. One hand around your wrists above your head, the other pinning your hips at an angle to drive in as easily as possible.

One snap of his hips, and he’s buried to the hilt. You cry out, shuddering and dry sobbing. His vision goes spotty with the pleasure of it, your little pussy squeezing. You’re so…

“Fucking perfect.”

He shushes you, unable to bend to kiss you without making the stretch worse. Settles for rubbing circles into your hip, twisting to lace your fingers together. Now that he’s finally, finally where he belongs, it doesn’t seem such a monumental task to muster some patience.

“B-big,” you whimper. “You’re t-too big. I d-don’t – I can’t…!”

“You already are,” he coos, “little girl taking this fat cock, I’m so proud. My girl is so brave, my little bird. Bonnie lass.”

He’s rambling now, a dirty stream of consciousness. But that primal urge to fuck you open and loose and stupid is already clawing at him again. The tight clutch of your cunt calls for him to break you in, mark you up on the inside. Claim you as his irrevocably.

You feel him drawing back, eyes flying open wide. Writhing, half-formed protests on your tongue - that you’re not ready, that he’s too big, that it still hurts.

As if that’s any reason to stop, when anything needs to sting a bit to leave a lasting mark.

“Only way to make it hurt less,” he reminds, burying inside again. This time he rolls his hips, grinding the head of his cock along your satiny walls, against the hard barrier of your cervix.

Whatever you’re about to say is swept off in a wave of moans, washing over your wet tongue and down the back of your too-empty throat. Every time you try to gather them, he fucks back into you, hard enough to bounce you up the bed before he tugs you right back down.

Eventually you give up on doing anything but keening for him, massaging his cock from root to tip in those twitching walls. You loop your legs around his waist, ankles locked at the small of his back, knees squeezing against his ribs.

“Tha’s it, love,” he slurs, “jus’ take it.”

He lets your wrists go to clutch at both of your hips, angling them as he straightens his back. On the next thrust you scream, curse, throw your hands up to brace against the headboard. Smart girl.

His restraint unravels with each thrust until he’s pounding into you, slamming the bedframe into the wall. Your eyes are rolling into the back of your skull, jaw loose, spilling pathetic, weepy “ah, ah, ah” noises in time with his hips. He’s not going to last long at all. Not when you feel so goddamn good, finally claimed.

He presses his thumb against your clit and grins wickedly as you thrash. Tears leak from your unfocused eyes. You babble incoherently as he rubs a little rougher than he should, but your walls are sucking and clutching at every centimeter of him, so he doesn’t stop.

Even when you seize up, back bent into a sharp arch, clamping down so tight that he goes lightheaded.

“Soap! John… John it’s too much,” you sob. “John – Johnny!”

His orgasm blindsides him, makes him fuck you so hard that something in the bed cracks. In the haze, he flattens you to the mattress while bucking into you, not taking any chance of coming unseated. You whine in his ear but go limp, resigned to his cock spurting at the entrance to your womb – as deep as he can get – your cunt milking him for every drop.

He comes back to himself when you tap weakly at his hip, uncoordinated.

“Hm?” he asks, a little miffed that you’re disturbing his afterglow already.

“Hard to breathe,” you squeak.

He huffs. Alright, suppose he can understand that. Besides, he wants to see you.

And what a sight you make, splayed out and shaky on pleasure. Sweat at your hairline, lips swollen and bitten. He can still feel your pulse against his cock.

He sits himself up, eyes trailing down to the place where you’re joined. His cum is already seeping out a bit at a time, a thin creamy ring around his still half-hard cock. You keen a bit when it twitches.

“Pretty girl,” he coos.

You groan softly, flopping an arm over your glassy eyes as he pulls out – slow because he’s reluctant to leave.

But the sight of your slick diluting the milky white of his cum is too much to resist. You jolt at the first swipe of his tongue, react much faster than he’s expecting. Flip onto your front and try to scramble away. He growls at his stolen prize and pounces.

Under normal circumstances, you’re no match for him. Trembling and spent like this, you don’t stand a chance.

He grabs your calf and yanks you back, chuckling at the helpless stretch of your arms. You try to plead your case, but he’s hearing none of it. Plants his hand against your back as he shuffles onto his stomach, your thighs over his shoulders, knees digging into muscle. He tilts your hips with his other hand, thumb fitted in the crease of your pelvis, and brings you to his mouth.

Your struggling has made more spend leak out, and he laps it all up hungrily, tongue flat and ravenous. Sweeping from clit to hole to gather any stray droplets, even skimming over the tight furl of your ass. He licks into your loosened hole, high on pride at the difference he can feel his cock has made.

“’S too much,” you wail, “J-Johnny, please. I-I can’t, it’s…”

In retaliation, he slurps loudly at the fresh arousal blooming across his tongue. You hiccup, try one last time to wriggle away. He can’t have that.

You shriek as he fucks two fingers into you, voice thick with a fresh wave of tears. But you stop trying to escape. He doesn’t show mercy now that you’re behaving, coaxing more out, licking around his own knuckles. When he sucks at your overstimulated clit, you jerk and whine.

“I’m – I’m gonna… feels… w-wait, wait!”

It’s too late. He’s already laved his tongue over your trapped clit, crooked his fingers. You cum again with a shout, wetness splashing across his mouth, chin, down his neck. He groans, deep and rough in his chest. Doesn’t even give you a moment to recover before he pulls away, licking his lips.

“Do tha’ again on my cock.”

You’ve learned better now though – you lay there like a good girl as he stuffs you full again. Even better, you keep rewarding him with your soft cries of pleasure.

You really are made for him.

--

He likes the couch you picked. Not very big, but cushy. Besides, the two of you don’t need a lot of room anyway. Not when his lap makes a perfectly good seat for you.

You’ve been quiet all morning – probably still waking up from the coma he fucked you into. Eating babka from his fingers, licking them clean between bites. Docile and sweet, melting against his chest with your face tucked against his collarbone.

“Sore?” he asks.

“Mhmm.”

Your sweet little voice is all hoarse and soft. He’d coo if he didn’t think he’d be pushing his luck with skin so close to your teeth.

“Maybe I’ll massage you later,” he offers, smirking at the grumpy little “hmph” he gets in response.

He encourages you to sip a bit of water before your voice emerges again.

“What happens now?”

He doesn’t pretend to misunderstand the question.

“Now I get the life I’m owed,” he answers. All that fighting, suffering, bleeding, dying – and for what? A hole in his skull and his own goddamn people thinking he’s a monster. Even you, at first. You’ve learned, though. He’s sure of it. The rest can swallow bullets for all he cares.

“What if they come back?” you ask.

He hums. “Might contract with someone. Not opposed to killin’ on principle – just sick of doin’ it to someone else’s tune, aye?”

“Wh-what… what about…”

What about you. Poor thing, afraid Laswell and her ilk will snatch you up and dangle you in front of him again. Or worse – some other sod drooling for a slice of heaven in the pits of hell.

He doesn’t loosen his grip even when you shift a bit – needs to feel you in his hands.

“Got a plan for that, don’ you fret, little bird,” he soothes. “Still got one friend, I think. Jus’ gotta find ‘im.”

You exhale slowly, accept another piece of babka. “We’re stayin’ here, though?” you mumble around the mouthful.

He chuckles. Sweet little thing.

“Worked so hard on the place, might as well. Don’ care so long as I’ve got my bird, aye?”

“Mm.”

“How ‘bout a kitty, eh? Get ya somethin’ to keep ye company when I’m away.”

You swallow audibly. “I wan’ a dog. Big one.”

He chuckles. “’Course ye do. Aye, love, a big fuck-off dog to keep ya safe.”

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[pedrospookie]

I like you.

summary: Jackson!Joel Miller x Eldest Daughter Reader, Just an afternoon in Jackson, Wyoming with Joel Miller.

a/n: This is (kinda) the first Eldest Daughter Reader fic among a sea of others that I am currently working on. This one is for the Eldest Daughters™️ who were left to be their own company for a long time. I mentioned in a post a few days ago that some of these stories are a little self-indulgent, and this one most definitely is. I was always a kid who was left to play by themselves and who was often treated as a second choice or plan B. This is also stemmed from hearing “i love you, but i don’t like you” growing up, especially during my teenage years. I know that we need to do the work to heal, grow and love ourselves, but we can also allow ourselves to have experiences that help us heal or at least believe/find the trust that we deserve it (because we do!). Anyway, here’s a little bit of Fix it Joel 👷‍♂️ for the Eldest Daughter. I hope you like it!

warnings: mild swearing, hints at infidelity (not Joel), the reader having some (what i feel are) ugly guilty feelings, light smoochin. Fluff.

wc: 2.3k words

It was a quiet day in Jackson, the streets filled with the chirping of birds and a lazy breeze, cartoon-like clouds drifting through the vast sky of the flat lands as people blissfully went about their day. After a tediously bitter winter, the kind that nipped at your fingers and left a lingering chill for anyone who dared to venture into the tundra, the burning sun and fragrant blossoms thawed the people of Jackson, casting a much needed warmth and sense of serenity over the sleepy town of survivors.

Today’s patrol went without a hitch— the regular route was relatively trouble free; a few fallen branches blocking the trail and the odd foot caught in the mud posed mild inconvenience, but it was nothing compared to your life before Jackson. The river that flowed along the outskirts of the town had finally melted it’s final peaks of ice, and the meadow just past the gates to Jackson was starting to become lush with tall grass, wild flowers scattered across the soft bed like confetti. It had been weeks since an infected was spotted. The murmuring speculation across town led to a single theory; that the virus could not survive the harsh winter, allowing a decline in infected. Regardless if it is fact or fiction, you’ll take it. Especially if it meant getting home early.

While the winter may have been frosty and daunting, your heart remained warm through the tough season. A certain someone had slowly found their way into your heart, providing emotional shelter from the storm. One cozy, snowy night at The Tipsy Bison, bonding over a shared love of Fleetwood Mac and Johnny Cash, led to another cozy night sipping whiskey, and then another, and then another.

Joel’s companionship gradually seeped into your life. It was an adjustment, having lived the life of a lone wolf, even before the world ended, yet Joel filled the quiet, yearning space that sat in your chest. A space that had you had become so well acquainted with from a small age, that it felt odd to have it overflowing. From the minuscule gestures of affection, sweet words of praise, or the moments spent together in silence reading, Joel was unknowingly and steadily mending a piece of you.

The gates of Jackson groaned an achy greeting as they opened, welcoming you back into the arms of the protected city after your quiet day on the outside. The trotting footsteps crunched under the gravel roads, slowing as you approached the barn, the horses anticipating their stalls. Leaning up against the wooden frame was a familiar salt and peppered man, his broad chest and strong biceps tugging at the seems of his white shirt as his arms sat crossed on his chest.

“Welcome back, darlin’.” Joel’s thick, weathered hand reaches for yours as you dismount from your horse, waiting patiently for you to find your footing along the hay floor. Once you were firmly planted back on earth, Joel’s gentle touch brought you into him as he pressed a tender, yet eager, kiss to your lips.

“What are you doing here?” You smile against his plush lips, breaking the embrace to welcome his pleasant surprise. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“I was doing some work at the barn.” Joel points behind him at the old structure before curling his fingers into your pockets and tugging you closer, his voice lowering an octave. “Y’know, the usual mending of hinges and fences and whatnot.” He presses another chaste kiss to your lips. “Thought I’d stick around for ya t’see if you were free t’night?”

“You’re just in luck,” you say with a gentle poke to Joel’s firm chest, “my schedule is clear.”

“Mmm, thought I could cook you up somethin’ nice for dinner,” his musky voice hums, a taunting edge to his voice. “Maybe split that bottle o’ pi-not that I found last week.”

“Oh, now you’re just talking dirty to me, Mr. Miller.” You feign innocence, batting your thick lashes as your gaze leisurely meets his deep, chocolaty eyes. His pupils wide and hungry, taking you all in.

“Just you wait ‘n see how filthy this mouth can be, lil miss.” Joel muses, a faint darkness rounding out his husky tone. If this was any indication of the evening Joel had planned, you were all in.

Hand in hand, the two of you made your way towards the town centre, discussing the difference between a flathead and Philip’s head, how you spotted a fox fishing along the ravine, and the latest town gossip, specifically why Nick got dragged out of The Tipsy Bison last night.

“You’re fuckin’ kidding’ me.” Joel gasps, bewildered at the juicy slice of small town gossip you’ve shared with him. “After everythin’ Melissa did for him when he got shot by those raiders?”

“I know, I know. I would have killed you.” You mutter back with a laugh, a sliver of truth in your words that is not missed by Joel.

“Rightfully so.” He agrees with a squeeze to your hand, eyebrows knitted together in disbelief of the story he’s just heard. “These fuckin’ knuckleheads don’t know a good thing if it hit ‘em square in the face.”

Your attention shifts to The Tipsy Bison, very location in which Nick had been tossed out of less than 24 hours ago, as a familiar twang calls out to you and Joel.

Tommy stood just past the swinging doors of the bar, hand reached out towards the sky offering a wave.

“Joel! The boys ‘n I are having a drink later. You should join us!” He beams, motioning Joel inside as he tosses a dish towel over his shoulder.

“Nah, s’alright Tommy. I have plans tonight.” Joel says with a wave, “Thank you though!”

“You sure? Jimmy’s back from Louisville,” Tommy’s sweet, boyish demeanour is replaced with a cheeky grin, “supposed to be bringing some good shit with him.”

“It’s okay, Joel.” You mention softly, giving Joel a gentle shrug. It was amazing that the Miller’s managed to have friends in other cities among this hellscape. While it was exciting to have been met with Joel at the barn, you felt a weird sense of guilt for holding him back with your plans. Sure, it would be disappointing if he were to rain check your evening together, but you also could understand if he wanted to spend his evening with a friend who had made the several day trek to Jackson.

Joel couldn’t quite read the look on your face, confused slightly by your words and watching the gears turning in your head. He tried to pay no mind to it, looking back at his brother.

“We have plans tonight! But tell Jimmy he still owes me a pint!” Joel’s raspy voice laughs in response. He then shifts his attention back to you; his deep, oaky eyes looking at you with a twinkle. He gives your hand another light squeeze before slowly leading you back on your path home.

The two of you continue your walk back to Joel’s house, waving politely to neighbours as you pass by the once white picket fences and attempts at flower beds that lined their front yards. Joel could sense there was something on your mind, noticing how you had suddenly fallen quiet after running into Tommy. He kept replaying what he thought was a harmless interaction over and over in his mind, eyebrows furrowing as he dissected each frame as it passed through his brain.

“Are you sure you don’t want to pop over and see your friend?” Your meek voice breaks his train of thought, immediately drawing himself to you.

“Of course I’m sure, sweetheart.” Joel smiles softly, immediately feeling relief wash over him at the simple question. “I got plans with you!” He nudges you gently with his shoulder as your pace starts to slow.

“I know,” you say, coming to a stop by the steps to Joel’s house. “But your buddy is in town, which the fact that you have a friend in these circumstances alone is a miracle, and you haven’t seen him in a while.” You sigh, pulling your hand from Joel’s to brush a fallen strand of hair behind your ear. “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to see him…” Your voice trails out softly, catching Joel by surprise.

“Darlin’, I gave you my word.” Joel reaches back for your hand, his thumb tracing reassuring circles across the soft skin of your palm, sharing a pleading look with you. “Plus, I like hanging out with you.” His gaze softens, lifting your hand up for a kiss before slowly helping you up the steps to his house, his grip keeping you steady as you make your way up the ancient stairs.

“Those boys are nothin’ but trouble and I reckon they’d give me a headache in more ways than one. I’d always rather spend time with you.” He reassures with a wink, reaching into his pocket for his house key.

“You like hanging out with me?” A sneaking blush comes to your cheeks, the realization freezing your feet to their spot on Joel’s porch. Why did this come as such a surprise to you?

Joel thought he had been very clear that he very much enjoys spending time with you— he saw you nearly every day. He would beg for an extra five minutes in bed together, and insist on walking you home from the stables or The Tipsy Bison. There had been several occasions where Joel managed to bribe someone to switch patrol shifts with him just so he could spend his day on horseback with you. Joel loved your company— your thoughts, your ideas, your dreams, no matter how tame or wild. He could listen to you speak for hours and never grow tired. Joel had never found someone so easy to be around, someone who he could be his whole self around. Why would he not like spending time with you?

Joel looked at you in a way that was difficult to decipher. Flashes of worry, confusion and disappointment passed over his greying face, the lines around his eyes deepening as each emotion crashed over him at lightning speed as his eyes searched yours, looking for clues as to as he how you may be feeling. Maybe he did say the wrong thing earlier?

“‘Course I do, baby.” His warm, thick hands finding themselves along the contours of your face, locking your gaze with his. “I love hanging out with you.” Joel says with an assuring yet short lived smile, his expression changing to one of concern. “Darlin’, where is this comin’ from? Did I do somethin— Did I say the wrong thing?”

“No, no, honey.” You murmur gently, a small smile of your own creeping up your cheeks to ease Joel’s worry. “I just don’t want you to miss out on being with your buddies because you’re stuck with little old me.” You brush off with a laugh, attempting to look away from Joel, but his stubborn touch wouldn’t let you, coaxing you to embrace this moment of vulnerability with him.

You knew these roots had been insidiously planted decades ago, stemming from childhood, fertilized by chronic disappointment. It was something you were forced to endure for years before accepting it as your reality. It was easier to accept that you are just a convenient second option, rather than getting your hopes up to ultimately find yourself disappointed again. You didn’t mean to be this way, it ate you up inside that Joel felt that he was responsible for this fear trying to mangle it’s way out of you. He had never given you a reason to question his priorities, and as scary as it may be, you had to trust him. Trust that his priorities haven’t changed. He gave you his word.

“If I wanted to be with those idiots, I would’ve told ya ‘n worked somethin’ out.” Joel says gently yet firmly, tracing his thumb lightly across your cheek, drinking you in. A smile slowly spreads across his face as his eyes take in your features. “And guess what?” He whispers, breaking the silence, “I don’t. I want to be with you, spendin’ time with you, drinkin a bottle of pi-not and getting my ass handed to me at scrabble with you.” Joel looks shoots you a cheeky wink. “Now, I know bein’ round an old guy like myself may be a bummer, but you’re stuck with me, missy.” He clears his throat as his hands fall from your face, slowly sneaking their way into the back pockets of your jeans. “Not only do I love you, I like you a whole damn lot too. You’re stuck, whether you like it or not.” Joel shrugs playfully, his eyes softening from his playful smirk to something deep and sincere.

His words bring a faint blush to your cheeks and a growing warmth in your chest. He does so much to show up for you, but hearing those words brought you a peace that you didn’t realize you needed. Not only did Joel love you, he liked you. Quirks, baggage, humour and all. He embraced you for who you were and loved every molecule that makes you you.

“I love you, Joel.” You say softly, fighting the growing lump in your throat as you digest the kind words that he had just shared with you. “I like you too.” You add with a smirk, wiping the pooling tear from your eye.

“Good.” He says with a fondness, firmly pressing his hands against your backside to bring you closer to him. His lips meet yours in a soft, yet passionate kiss. Joel’s hungry mouth deepening the embrace as he searched for more, his tongue slipping into your mouth as his grip on your ass tightened. Your hands found their way into his salt and pepper hair, eager to let them get lost among his soft curls. Joel broke the kiss with a sigh, the desire in his eyes fighting with his sudden withdrawal from you. He slowly pulled one of his hands free from your back pocket, reaching back into his own to grab his key.

Joel slowly unlocks the door, lazily kicking the wooden structure open as he turns back to you, delicately pushing you forward with the one hand still in your back pocket.

“Now, let’s say we crack open that bottle?”

tag list: @evolnoomym @mrsmando @picketniffler @itsokbbygrl @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @slimybeth69 @marilovespedro

(I’m sorry if i’ve tagged you and you didn’t want to be! Just let me know and I’ll remove it 💕)

[mintjeru]

hop'n step'n may i have this dance / this is the world's end. shall we do the "one-two"?

open for better quality | no reposts

[imtryingbuck]

She’s gone

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: The team lose their friend (I’m bad at summaries sorry)

Word count: 1,695

Warnings: Angst. Sad times. Swearing. Reader threatens to bite people. Children get thrown (fun) Death

Translation: мисс мисс плохой парень - miss, miss bad guy./ ты хочешь летать? - do you want to fly? (if translations are wrong please let me know, thank you)

Masterlist   Series Masterlist

6 years ago.

Fury and Maria walked into the briefing room where everyone was waiting “I’m just going to get straight to the point, an organisation going by the name of The Reapers have threatened to blow up a hospital in Russia- yes Y/n?”

“Why?”

“I was just getting to that part”

“Okay you can proceed”

“Why thank you. Now as I was saying, they want their leader to be treated for- yes Y/n?”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“You know Birdie if you stop interrupting me you might find out” Smiling sarcastically towards her.

“That’s true, continue Mr Furry” Everyone chuckles at her nickname for him.

“Their leader has a heart defect, a British heart surgeon who is the best of the best is in Russia to help out - Y/n put your hand down - they want him to be treated, they’ve been flagged up by the FBI as a terrorist organisation so obviously they’re not getting any help. Now they’re threatening to blow said hospital up, now Y/n you can ask your question”

“Why don’t they just do it and just fuck up - language I know - by putting in a teeny tiny little bomb inside of his chest, wait until he leaves and then… BAM, he dead.” She slams her hand on to the table “Ow that hurt. But anyway why don’t they just do that instead of letting hundreds of innocent people die?”

“She’s got a point” Tony agrees.

“Thanks dad” Receiving a salute as a response.

“Where will we get this teeny tiny little bomb from?” Fury asks with his arms crossed.

“Me”. Saying it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world “I’ve been working on it for awhile now and it’s great, my little baby is perfect if I do say so myself” She speaks with pride lacing her voice.

“It won’t work, the FBI wants them alive so they can be questioned”

“But why? And also why are we being involved if we can’t kill them?”

“I don’t know, it makes no sense to me either and the reason why you’re being involved is to be there when they do something-“

“Oh fantastic. So we just have to wait for them to do something bad and then we can kill them”

“The girl might have a point” A voice comes from the doorway.

“Ew I’m a woman”

“Sorry, the woman might have a point”

“And who are you?” Steve asks.

“I’m Special Agent Lloyd Johansson with the FBI Counter Terrorist Unit. As I was saying this gir-woman might be on to something. Okay let’s say we have a bomb placed in him how close by does he have to be in order for it to go off?”

“I can set it off from the comfort of my bed”

“If I give the go ahead on this Fury I want her to be a member of my Unit”

Everyone was ready to protest at Agent Lloyds comment but Y/n jumped in first

“Over my dead body! No. No fucking way will I work for the FBI. Nope. No. Fury I won’t do it! I’ll eat his face off if I have to!”

The whole room fell silent at her last words.

“Okay maybe I won’t eat his face, Jesus people it was a joke! But no Larry I won’t join your unit”

“Lloyd, my names Lloyd”

“Sorry Lawrence. But no means no, thanks for playing though” 

Lloyd speaks directly to Fury “I like this one! Okay you’ve got the go ahead to plant this bomb but I will be joining you guys”

“Suit up we leave in 20 minutes” Fury says as he leaves the room.

On the quinjet 15 minutes later Fury’s telling everyone their part. Y/n was sat down and was getting her headphones out when Lloyd sits down next to her.

“Hey”

“Hi?”

“What’s your name again?”

“Natwanda”

“No it’s not” He chuckles.

“Why ask me when you already know the answer?”

“Why does Fury call you Birdie?” Lloyd asks changing the subject.

“Because I have a bird tattoo”

“Why a bird?”

“It’s free. Just like me”

“Cool so are you datin-“

“Yeah, see the guy with the metal arm who’s giving you dirty looks. Him. And he’ll break you like a pretzel”. She gets up and moves closer to Bucky.

“Like a pretzel?” Bucky chuckles.

“Yep, hey you wanna listen to some music with me?” Already handing him one of the buds.

“It’s not going to be Black Sabbath again will it?”

“Bee Gees?”

“That’s fine”

“Don’t wanna hurt your precious old man ears now do we?”

“What was that?”

“Nothing”

Touching down near the hospital, the team moved into place.

“Buck something’s not right about this…”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, something’s off”

And just as she said that all that was heard was gunshots and screams.

“Everyone move in!”

Gunfire and chaos erupted from all around as Y/n approached alongside with Bucky who was followed closely by Steve and Nat.

“Get down” Steve orders a split second before he throws his shield. “Y/n go left, Bucky go right, Nat you stick with me”

“Ay Ay Captain” Y/n salutes as she takes the left corridor.

There was way more of The Reapers than they had originally thought. As her gun gets jammed she throws it to the ground and releases her claws, trying to push The Reapers back and help getting people out as much as she could.

She had just cleared the 7th or 8th room when she heard Thor’s deep voice from the other end, as she turned to face him a huge explosion hit from her end of the corridor.

She could hear Bucky’s and Thor’s screams coming from her comms though she was to disoriented from the blast she managed to mumble out “I’m okay. I’m okay Buck I promise”.

Hearing her voice come through his comms and hearing her repeat she’s okay calmed him down. He was busy helping doctors move patient after patient out of harms way when the whole building shook. His heart jumped to his throat as he realised the explosion came from her end of the hospital.

Slowly the gunfire ceased, they all met up at the checkpoint they had agreed to. As soon as Bucky sees her he pulls her to him for a hug, checking over for injuries straight after.

“We still have kids on this side of the building we need to get out” Nat says.

“We’ll get them don’t worry. Y/n are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Someone best have a donut ready for me soon or I’m gonna start biting people”

“You and your donuts kid. C’mon let’s get to work” Tony chuckles.

A little girl no older than 8 grabbed Y/n’s attention by pulling on her arm “мисс, мисс плохой парень” pointing over to a man who had a gun pointed at Thor.

“ты хочешь летать?” She asked the little girl who just smiled and nodded, “Bucky! Catch” just as he turns around, he sees a little girl being thrown towards him.

Running towards Thor a gun is shot. Then another.

“Y/n? Y/n are you hit?” Thor panics.

“Yeah but I’ll live, he won’t though”.

“You…you took a bullet for me? What were you thinking?”

“Of course I did, and I’ll happily do it again. And Thor my love, you should know me well enough by now, I don’t think, haven’t got a brain inside my skull” Chuckling as she walks off.

“Lady Y/n you need to ge-“

“Thor I’m fine, I promise”

Going back to where she was originally at before she continued to help passing the kids in to Bucky’s waiting arms. All that was left on that side of the building was Y/n, Thor and 5 more children.

“Thor jump down next to Buck, and I’ll throw these kids at you two”

“What’s with you and throwing kids?” Bucky asked.

“It’s fun, no honestly it is and they love it. Well that little girl did anyway, come on Thor I haven’t got all day”

Thor listens to her, jumping down to stand by Bucky they both wait for these poor little children to be thrown at them. Just as she has the second to last one, a boy who looked up at her with wide brown eyes, she smiled and whispered “It’s okay”.

Holding the little boy in her arms she heard the sound of the building shifting “That’s not good” she whispered mainly to herself. “Thor! Catch!”. As soon as the child is free from her fingers the building starts to collapse.

“Y/n get out of there!” Screamed Steve.

But she couldn’t. There was another child, and there was no way on earth she would have left it behind. So she scrambled to get her, pulling the crying and terrified child into her arms she shouts over the deafening noise of bricks falling “Bucky!” As quickly as he could he hands the child over to an agent, just as they all hear one final gunshot.

Turning towards Y/n he sees her standing there with wide eyes, her mouth open and closes as she gasped for air. His blue eyes already filling with tears trail downwards until they land on the crimson circular splatter on her chest.

No one could move. Everyone was frozen.

The building came tumbling down.

“No! No! Y/n! Y/n! Baby answer me!” Bucky screamed “No no no no no” He kept repeating.

Thor gripped onto the super soldier as they both fell to their knees, holding his friend tightly in his arms as the soldier lets out gut-wrenching sobs that tore through his chest, screams echoing the now quiet street.

Fury drops to his knees, his trembling hands cover his head. Trying his hardest to make himself smaller.

The Avengers fall to their knees one by one with tears streaming down their cheeks. Their bodies each shook with an onslaught of sobs and tears.

Each agent of SHIELD followed suit.

Lloyd walks off and once he’s around the corner he raised both hands and says “Hail Hydra” before falling to the ground, foam pouring from his mouth.

Next>

~ banner credit goes to @sweetpeapod ~

[sootrootdoot]

helloioooooo!?!?

[vert-horizon]

Thinking about Toji x Reader... Age difference... You're rich, family money, old money. He's a mechanic that drinks almost every night at the same bar--and he's never seen you there before. You're sitting on a stool with a peeling cushion, making small talk with the bartender when he walks in. He does his best not to look at you--he knows better, he doesn't want any more messy giggly college girls hanging off him. He's got a middle schooler to worry about every other week and a trailer that isn't in any state to see someone with jewelry as shiny as yours. Color him surprised when the bartender slides him a whiskey, top shelf with a single ice cube. The bartender points at you, and you wave. wink. He licks his lips. Huh. When he's protesting later, your hand teasing the button of his jeans, nails scraping the thick muscle of his sides as you suck on his neck, you laugh. You can get a hotel, don't worry. And you can schedule an uber to bring him back to his truck in the morning. You just wanna sit on it, it's big isn't it? Doesn't he want you? And... well. He's not gonna say no to that.

[samodivaa]

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Civilian Asset Teaser

Hey, all, if you're curious what's going on and what you can do, check out this post. (Frankly a little will go a long way both for the charities and the fic. I'm a sucker, so, like one or two asks with proof of donation probably = the rest of CA - which is insanely long, fyi, brace yourselves)

This is the lead-up to the first smut scene. I will give no other context. 😜

Your hands shake, rattling the key against the lock.

Flickering fluorescents catch on the metal, in the wet red stain spattered between your fingers, and your skin goes numb. There’s glitter caught in the blood, and the thumping isn’t just your heart, it’s –

“How’s it coming?”

Soap’s voice jars you from the memory, and even though you can still smell the piss and vomit from the alleyway, the key finally catches, slides home, and turns. You twist the knob, but your escort shoulders you aside, switching from rearguard to scout. He pulls you in behind him with clinical efficiency and murmurs, “Wait here,” as he angles you behind the half-open door.

You watch from the nook as he moves between the apartment’s few rooms, drifting in and out of the main hall like smoke, keeping his gun at the ready. As he works, you breathe. And wonder.

How the fuck are you going to pull through all this again?

Cuts slice over your bruises, and you haven’t found your balance since the car screeched and rolled. The impact still shivers through your nerves, vibrating in your hands, in your heart. Each new pain pushes out. You’re an egg waiting to crack, and you’ve had twice the tumbles that broke Humpty Dumpty.

When Soap comes back, he closes the door and turns all five deadbolts. No one will be creeping in. They’ll need a battering ram. At this point, you aren’t sure if you’d prefer the warning to a clean sniper bolt through the brain.

You aren’t well, and you’re covered in blood again.

Soap sets aside his gun. Peels off his gloves. He’s moving almost too fast to track, but then he steps in close, attention turned on you. Without meaning to, he’s crowded you into the corner by the door, set on his mission. His eyes glint with it – colder than bloodlust, but entirely overpowering.

“Are ye hurt? Let me see.” His hands don’t shake. Not like yours. They work with the same force and precision he brings to his guns. But it’s focused on the wrong place, and his determined effort to peel away any layer between him and a potential wound undermines his professionalism. “Let me see.”

“I’m fine.”

Your hand betrays you, vibrating over his as it rucks up your shirt to make sure the stain over your belly isn’t coming from a gut wound. A deep breath pushes your flesh into his searching palm, the warmest thing you’ve felt since Gaz made you a cup of tea in the first safehouse.

He stops. His hand rests where you caught it. Soaking in signs of life. And you realize how heavy his breathing has turned, how frantically his eyes sweep over you.

And he’s standing so close.

“I’m fine,” you whisper.

His free hand hits the wall, caging you, and he dives into a kiss.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Ugh where do I even begin? Your writing is just… *sounds of heavenly choir.* I was especially pleasantly surprised by the nun fic. I will admit I hesitated to read it for a while as a Catholic (yes idk why I’m on this corner of the internet either) stories that use this premise tend to be blasphemous given the… well premise. But I was blown away with the care and grace the story was handled and the way the mcs relationship with her religion was portrayed. It felt so authentic and so pure and i forgot I was supposed to be reading a raunchy fanfic. I could go on forever about the themes and prose and EVERYTHING but I’m not sure I even have the words to describe the pleasure reading your work brings. Please never stop writing!

Anywho, I was playing this other game, it’s a cute lil dress up and cyoa sim that follows a researcher shipwrecked on a mysterious island with a tribe of cannibals (?) that worship a fire goddess. It’s interesting on it’s own but it also reminded me of some of your writings characterization of König especially after reading your Minotaur fic.

Like I can totally see König foraging for food and professing his undying admiration for a woman who just washed up on the beach. The main LI just screamed Roman and now Minotaur König to me so if you ever decide to write about deserted island König x archeologist Mc who just wants to make sketches of this cool cave art from an ancient civilization she’s researching then go home, I’ll be first in line to read it.

The game is called “wild love” and here’s the link in case you were curious.

Hope you’re safe and warm and generally having a good time <3

Oh my god the pictures from the game 😭😭😭 Wild man König strikes again!!! “You fascinate me, filling me with strength” clearly translates to -> “Woman, you make me hard” in König language

And I’m so glad to hear you liked my Christian Woman fic 🥺 For me, a dash of realism is usually more intriguing than wild fantasies (not that there's anything wrong with those!!) + I love to write some good old romance so it makes me really happy to hear there's folks who enjoy reading such things ^^ Thank you for the lovely message! 🩷✨️

[strange-little-spy]

Chapter Thirteen – New York City, Unknown time

Ghost art at the bottom!

Chapter warnings: Angst ~ angst ~ aNgSTTTTT

Word count: 2039 words

Ghost felt herself panting harder as she screeched to halt before running smack into a small child who was trying to see something. Her appearance must have frightened them based on their expression and high-pitched scream before they bolted through the crowd.

“I have to get higher-..” She thought, looking around and pushing through the crowd, nearly knocking a few over with her unnatural strength. She finally found a secluded alley, the trash cans providing a shelter of sorts. She slumped to the ground, leaning against the bricks and trying to calm herself. Where was she? Why had she gone from woods to the city? Why were they all speaking English? What were they all doing there?

She heard herself crying, her moist tears trickling between her mask and cheek, her tongue darting to wet her chapped lips.

She made a decision and reached under her hair, fingers trying and failing to undo the latch keeping her muzzle on. She grunted, trying again. Maybe she could cut the leather? Yeah, the knife—

She reached down and pulled her long knife from it’s sheath, working the razor sharp blade under the leather, ignoring the pain from her neck as she slowly cut away the leather.

She cried out in relief and pain as the spot on her nose where the hard plastic bit down was suddenly free, she could breathe again finally.

What happened…?? This had never happened before, at least not on a mission. She knew it did happen before, but it just wouldn’t come to her. Her mind was reeling. Her throat raw as she cried.

Why was she crying? She’d never cried after a mission. She’d done her work, she didn’t care. Was she afraid? Was HYDRA coming to find her and punish her for running away? What was going to happen?

Maybe it was the scent of the animal or the wet nose on her hand that woke her, but she saw a dog with a shaggy coat of grey hair sniffing at her. She jerked back, startled. Pierce owned a dog, and if she dared touch it, she would be beat.

The dog yipped and barked once, not at her, but for her.

“Go ‘way.” She rumbled, her throat dry and her lips even more chapped. “Leave me alone.”

“Tramp!” A man’s voice called, making Ghost jump to her feet, her fingers tightening around the knife. “Where youse, dog?”

The speaker came into view, an old hobo by his clothes, a bottle of something in his hands.

The dog ran to the man, sniffing and wagging it’s tail. Ghost didn’t relax but watched the man stare at her, his bleary eyes studying her uniform and stance.

“Get outa here, wench! This is my turf!” He waved at her, swinging the bottle at her. It was empty apparently, but she took it as a threat.

Pouncing on him, he was silenced quickly with a slit throat along with the dog. She couldn’t risk being followed.

She looked around, making sure there were no witnesses before dragging the body behind a trash can and leaving the alley, her hair hiding her face as she ducked through the people on the side-walk, not really having a destination, but she had to find a more permanent hiding place. An abandoned building, a shack, anything. And she needed to hide herself, a long coat, a shirt, something to cover her uniform.

One thing was for certain. She was on her own.

The night came and Ghost finally found a place where she could hunker down before the cold really came. It was still winter from the cold in the air and the clouds high above the buildings that stretched high into the sky. She was fascinated, utterly amazed that these people could get steel to get that high.

She had locked the door of the room she had found in a building with a whole lot more rooms, but this one was empty and hadn’t been used in a long time based on the layer of dust dropped over everything. Of which she didn’t even care about as she collapsed onto the filthy matress, sending a cloud of said dust outward. She coughed as she inhaled some of it, followed by a sneeze. Her throat was still sore, and the sneeze didn’t help her situation.

“Bless you!” Someone yelled from the other side of the door, their voice laced with humor.

Ghost stared at the door, puzzled by the words the person shouted. Was it an order to be quiet? To get out of the room?

They didn’t continue, to which Ghost sunk back onto the matress, a shockwave of exhaustion surged over her, a moan escaping her. To her own surprise, she fell asleep.

“Adds?” His voice called sleepily, his small hands worming their way up and down her back as she felt herself jerked awake from a rather pleasant afternoon nap. “You okay, doll?”

“Yeah,” She said, brushing her hair from her face and giving him a tired smile. He chuckled and smiled back. “Just napping.”

“Long night?”

“You could say that.” She shrugged, adjusting herself so he could sit next to her, his airy scent wafting upward. “How about yourself? What did I miss?”

“Oh, nothing that important.” His lips tickled against her ear as he nuzzled close to her. “It can wait.”

“Okay.” She smiled, turning her head to him and letting him kiss her, she gnawed on his lower lip, taking in all of him.

“I’ve missed you.” He pouted, his mouth traveling down her neck.

“I know, darling.” She whispered, feeling his teeth nibble at her throat. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t leave. I wish I could…”

“Don’t go.” His hands gripped her wrists. “Please don’t leave me again.”

“I wish I didn’t have to,” She felt herself starting to cry again. “I really do.”

“Will you come back?”

“I’ll try.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

She gasped as the air refused to come, sitting up she heard herself cry out. She was hurting, she wanted things to go back to the way they were. Why did she have to be an animal!? Why her?!

“Please…” She begged to no one in particular. “Just send me something. Something to help. Anything.”

Her tears flowed freely now as she forced herself to strip of her weapons. She had no idea how long she was asleep, but the imprints of the mattress on her hands and arms told her it was probably a few hours.

She wandered around the empty apartment, curiously taking in all the things she didn’t recognize. When she caught sight of herself in the bathroom, she yelped and nearly took a punch before she realized it was just a reflection. It took her a moment to calm her breathing, her shoulder painfully bumping against the wood door frame.

As she looked at herself in the mirror again, she barely could know herself. She was unearthly pale, almost sickly. Her cheeks were sunken and bruised from countless slaps of discipline, her eyes—her formerly bright and kind blue eyes were now cold and empty. She was not human anymore.

A soft knock at the door made her jump and reach for her pistol, but it wasn’t there. It was in the big room. But she was there now, pulling it out of the holster and holding it at the ready.

Another knock. “Hey, anyone in there?”

She didn’t say anything but waited.

“I heard yelling, is everything alright?”

No, nothing was ‘alright’. She was a result of a sick experiment, nothing would ever be alright again.

“Unlock the door.” The other person, a man by their voice, requested firmly. She took their tone as an order and quickly complied, holding her gun at her side.

The door opened and a young man poked his head in, planting a foot in the way too so she couldn’t shut the door on him. “Hey, you alright?”

She jumped back, startled. “S-Soldat!!” 

Her partner had just walked through the door, or at least he looked like the Soldier. But—how come he looked so different??

“Hey, whoa, I won’t hurt you—“ He held out his hands, showing them to her. “You’d better put that gun away, honey.”

He was—there was no way he was here—Just, then, how--?!

“Hello?” He waved a hand in her face, his brows scrunched together. “You okay??”

“Soldier…” She pointed to him and then to his hand. It wasn’t metal.

“Holy cow, you’re hurt--!” He observed, spotting her burn. “What happened??”

“Branded..” She replied hoarsely. “You ha-have one..”

“No, kid, I don’t.” He shook his head, his hair was much shorter and made her glare harder. There was no way this was a dream—

Somehow to her own surprise, Soldat had gotten her into another apartment, this one much more lived in and furnished. A younger man, this one with blond hair which faded to deep brown as it traveled down to his ears, approached. His expression concerned.

“Whoa- Bucky, what happened??”

“I think she’s running from someone. Found her in the unrented apartment downstairs when I heard shouting. She had a gun too.” Soldat pulled out the pistol Ghost had wielded. She tried to reach for the weapon but he pulled it back.

“I think you’d better leave that alone for now, but I’ll just put it here, okay?” He set it on the top of a bookshelf, keeping the muzzle pointed toward the wall. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself, kid.”

She gazed longingly at her weapon, her protection—but Soldat was here, he protected her. She nodded silently, her arms hugging her middle.

“I’ll get her some clean clothes,” the smaller man said, speed-walking into another room.

“C’mer,” Soldat guided her to the couch, gesturing her to sit down and relax. She looked at him, confused. Asset sat on the floor. He knew that better than anyone.

“Asset sits on floor.” She muttered, watching his eyes loose their sparkle. He didn’t understand, that was protocol. It was rules.

“You can sit there, I don’t mind.” He half shrugged as the other man re-appeared with a bundle of clothes. “Oh, here, you should get out of that uniform.” He tugged on the black leather of her uniform, now opening another door for her. “Maybe take a shower?”

She titled her head, her mane of hair tumbling over her shoulders.

“Go on now,” He motioned to the doorway kindly, a ghost of a smile on his lips. She glanced between Soldat and the other man before taking the fresh clothes and strolling into the other room, looking around in the strange area. There was a stall where the spout poked out and two knobs for water. Two? Cold and Cold?

No, the other one was red. Red meant danger right?

She’d better not turn it. She quickly peeled the filthy uniform from herself, feeling that wave of relief flood over her as she stood stripped on the tile, taking a free breath now that the harness wasn’t hindering her lungs. She felt a shiver run up her spine as she stepped into the stall, hurrying to finish. It wasn’t as if she thought Soldat wanted his turn as soon as possible, but it had been engrained into her that showers were a reward and they were not to be squandered. You got in, you got out.

The water was ice cold as it came out of the spout, unlike the pipe HYDRA had used. She felt her muscles tense but numb finally as she let it wash over her tired body. Her hair was greasy and crusty but it relaxed as the water washed out all the grime, sweat and blood that had dried in her cinnamon colored mane. She didn’t open her eyes the entire shower, feeling her starved and abused body like a blind man would read the braille dots. She felt her chest heave again as her warm tears contrasted to the cold water splattering on her face. She felt miserable. She didn’t care if she was safe, she was alone and shattered. A shell of the person she once was, whoever the hell that was.

End notes: Okay, so why doesn’t Bucky recognize her? Well, if you changed your skin tone, clothing, physique and hair, you’d be pretty hard to recognize too

Ghost's uniform, on left with mask, on right, without.

thank you for reading 🥰✌️

Dividers by @strangergraphics

prompt by @the-superoriginal

written by yours truly, all relation to actual people are purely coincidental

tag list: @oh-to-be-a-murderer - @fictionalmenjusthitdifferent - @itzzkaylaaa - @crazyinlovewithmarvel - @natt-romanoff - @ohyeah-itssamwilson - @proud-owner-0f-americas-ass - @thebestmerc-1 - @daniel-barnes-the-ghost -

if you would like to be tagged in the upcoming chapters, please send me an ask and I will make sure to tag you!

[charliemwrites]

Government Asset Soap! This is half of the last part (the smut got too long and I wanted to post this dammit).

Original concept comes from @ceilidho’s military asset Soap. Further inspiration came from @391780’s Nikto version “The Summons”. Both are very good and you should definitely check out!!

Content: Post-trauma coping, Non-Con Touching and Kissing, Violence (mentioned), Unstable Soap

It’s probably a fire hazard, the candles. They’re sprinkled across your little cabin like fireflies, feeble but steady heartbeats of a home you’re failing to build. Too many of them, likely. Two, sometimes three, per room. Tiny tealights, smokeless soy, scented pine. It would be easier, safer, to just turn on the lamps you foolishly invested in.

You can’t bear anything brighter than golden halogen anymore, though. The glare drags you back to a tiny cell bisected by cruel metal, holding back an even crueler fate. No, you’d much rather wade through pools of shadow and firelight, fire code be damned.

It’s a small cabin, but you’ve already cluttered it up with furniture and rugs, a theme for each room. Yellow and blue for the kitchen. Purple and cream for the den. Green and brown for your bedroom. Nooks to hide in, spaces to squeeze into, big shapes to huddle behind. You’ll never be caught out in a cold, barren room ever again.

Your days are long regardless of the time of year. Get groceries in town every day, making a point to be friendly and seen so that someone might notice if you suddenly stop coming. Clean incessantly, so many surfaces to dust. Pick hobbies like daisies. Knitting and crocheting, different paint styles, felting. You’re contemplating carpentry, would like to build shelves for all the books stacked up in the den. Keep a dream journal by your bed that you neglect for weeks at a time.

You draw out the nights until you can count the hours until dawn on one hand. Stay up baking, making homemade ink, learning new ways to style your hair, anything, anything, anything—

It’s not the sleeping – or at least that’s not the worst of it. It’s the waking.

Laswell suggested a cat.

You told her to stop suggesting pussy to unstable people.

But it’s still not a bad idea. Another living thing to keep you accountable; the plants are pretty and time-consuming, but not good company.

You talk yourself out of it every time, knowing the worst-case scenario. It’s not catastrophizing if it actually happens, and you can feel an invisible time weighing on your shoulders like another gravity. Tick, tick, tick. Heavier, heavier, heavier. It’s hard to breathe beneath the wait.

The military doesn’t do apologies. It does platitudes at best. Well wishes and good intentions are painted in brushstrokes of blood. Victory flags are planted on bodies, living or otherwise. Laswell apologized. She swore that if there had been another way – any other way…

She didn’t promise to leave you alone. Didn’t assure you that you’d never see her or her goons again.

If you thought it would do any good, you’d tip one of the candles over and set it all aflame. Rebirth through fire. But you never did figure yourself for a phoenix. And besides, a phoenix is still itself, even when the ash falls away.

So, you spool out your time like picking at tapestry threads, one thin string at time.

Tonight, it’s bread. Cinnamon chocolate babka, to be specific. You were craving something sweet. Are debating the merits of some sort of cream cheese icing while you shower off the long, ever-busy day.

Have decided on an optimistic why not as you slip out to begin your overly complicated self-care routine. Moisturizers, hair oils, lotion. An unexpected benefit of overloading yourself, you suppose. Even when you first got out of the military, you didn’t take such good care of yourself. You have a jogging route now. You’re handling your trauma every possible way except therapy. (And sleeping.) Better than nothing, you figure.

The candles have gone out in your bedroom. You click your tongue in annoyance, trying to remember where you left the matches this time. Bedside table?

You pad across the soft carpet, using the edge of the bed as a guide in the pitch black. The only other problem with candles is that their humble light doesn’t reach very far. But you know this house and keep the floors tidy enough that you’re confident you won’t trip.

Make it to the nightstand without incident and pat around. Knock the side of your hand into the little carton and only just catch it before it hits the deck. Let out a little huff and start to fumble it open.

“Nice catch, bonnie.”

You gasp, but your voice doesn’t get any farther than the back of your tongue. The box slips from your numb fingers, matchsticks scattering across the floor. He tsks.

“Shame that. We’ll get ‘em later.”

You can’t move. Can barely breathe. You’re just frozen, heart thundering with a sudden storm of fear and confusion. Hands still aloft in front of you, spine rigid, knees locked.

You feel more than hear movement behind you, and then the warmth of his body seeping into your naked skin. Not quite touching. Not yet.

“Missed you, little bird,” he rasps in your ear.

You always thought that in a moment like this you would scream. Kick and elbow and fight, damn your certain loss. But when it comes down to it, survival drowns out all those stupid, haughty ideas about pride and dignity. So you don’t curse and shout like you always fancied you would.

You whisper, “Soap.”

He hums but it sounds like a growl in your panicked state. “Missed me too, aye? You’re already naked fer me.”

His hands are searing when they settle on your waist like they belong there. He pulls you back against him; in the dark he’s bigger, broader than you remember. At least, you think, he’s fully clothed for now.

“What are you… how are you here?” you ask.

He barks a laugh, mean and rough. “Was only a matter of time after that shite they pulled.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and see it recreated in the phosphenes behind your lids.

Soap buried balls deep inside of you, murmuring a constant stream of filth as he got harder and harder inside you. Filling you up as you twitched around him, oversensitive and teary, afraid of what would come next.

Then the lights flashed, flicked red. An alarm sounded, Laswell’s voice ordering Soap away from you. But he just snarled and hunched over you, hips snapping to bury himself right back inside while you cried out.

The locked door swung in, armed guards swarming in. Yanked Soap off you while you scrambled to cover yourself. Someone grabbing your arm none too gently to pull you from the room. Soap wild-eyed and snarling like something possessed, until he was overtaken by struggling guards and you were trembling naked in that damned hallway.

“Was mad at you, at first, cannae lie,” he says, almost conversational. Your eyes snap open, though you know it’ll do you no good. “But I’ve had time to think on it. Wasnae yer fault, was it? Saw them drag you out.”

An awful relief floods you. Fuck dignity, fuck honesty. This is Soap right behind you, completely unrestrained and unsupervised.

“Yeah,” you answer, voice small. “I didn’t know they would do that. What… um. What happened to you?”

He presses his face into your damp hair, pressing closer, snaking his arms to squeeze you against him.

“Sent me off on some shite mission,” he explains, “probably hoped I’d die out there. You smell so good, lass.”

You shiver as his breath ghosts over the sensitive skin of your neck. Hot, humid.

“And… and then what?” you insist, trying to stall.

You’re not sure what you’re stalling for. There will be no miraculous saves here – not that you really got any last time. It’s not like there’s any real plan to be made here, either. None that you’d be confident enough to risk his wrath on.

“Disappeared. Took care of business. Came to get my pretty little bird.”

A rough hand trails over the curve of your hip, brush the neat curls of your mound. You suck in a breath, hands twitching with the urge to stop him but not sure of putting up resistance when you’re still unsure of his mental state.

“And what about you, hm?” he rumbles. “Been a good girl while I’ve been away?”

His fingers dart down towards your entrance, not nearly prepared for anything. Least of all his thick digits.

“Y-yes!” you yelp, grabbing at his wrist. Relief makes you dizzy when you manage to stop him. “I-I’ve been good. Which means I’m not… I can’t just take you. I need… I need prep.”

He huffs, nips at the tender spot beneath your ear. The thrill that shoots through your stomach is terrifying.

“That’s what these are for, bonnie.”

And to your horror, he starts to push past your resistance like your staying hands aren’t there at all.

“John!”

He freezes. You shudder air into your burning lungs, feeling dizzy on panic.

You can get through this without pain, just think.

“I haven’t even got to see you,” you stutter, voice shaky. Can’t quite inject the disappointment you’re trying for, but hopefully it’ll work. “And I bet you’re all dirty from travel.”

He grumbles. “So what?”

You scramble to think of a satisfactory response. “S-so let’s get reacquainted in the shower, yeah? That way I can see your handsome face, at least.”

He chuckles, grazes his teeth “playfully” across your cheek. “Bossy thing.”

“You like it.”

And to your shock, he agrees with an amused huff. Hauls you up in his arms and walks you back to the still muggy bathroom. You’re set on your feet and spun around, chin jerked up to receive a savage kiss. All tongue and teeth, no finesse. He’s just licking into your mouth, hungry and animalistic, spit dribbling down your chin.

When he finally pulls away, you blink spots from your vision. Finally focus on his smug features and make a soft, horrified noise when you register the splatter of crimson across them.

“Och, that? My little bird had watchers.”

Of course you did. The horror ebbs a bit. Resentment has made you indiscriminately bitter.

“Oh,” you say, “th-thank you. Definitely glad we’re showering first, then.”

“Squeamish?”

You’d like to know when the world turned upside down and John fucking “Soap” MacTavish began teasing you about the blood on his face.

“A bit,” you admit.

“Poor dear,” he coos. “Hard to believe we were made for each other sometimes, aye? Complementary, we are.”

Is that what he thinks? Christ.

You turn to start the shower again, spine prickling with the weight of his eyes on your back. The water rushes down and then he’s crowding you against the cold wall beneath the (thankfully) warm spray.

“Y-you’re still dressed!” you protest between sharp nips to your collarbone.

“Fix it, then,” he snarls.

You claw his shirt up his back, get momentarily distracted by the impressive display of muscle hidden beneath. Draw your palms over his chest and feel him shudder.

“Fuckin’ heavenly, love,” he purrs. “Missed this.”

A vague memory comes back to you, him gripping you close because he felt you naked against him for the first time. Him admitting he hasn’t had affectionate touch in a while.

This… this you could work with.

First | Previous | Next

Masterlist

[pedrospookie]

it seems that the eldest daughters of tumblr all want Joel Miller to come and take care of them (dear god, please please please, my soul needs it). this inspired me to start writing a couple of little Joel tales but until then, i thought this might tide us over.

someone (I think it was @itsokbbygrl ) said in the tags that Joel is a fixer and is def into parental issues and i literally cannot stop thinking about that— cause you are RIGHT.

it’s not my best work but alas!

Joel Miller x eldest daughter!reader imagine

nothing wild, mostly fluff! Joel soothing an eldest daughter’s nervous system one day at a time.

Joel would wash the dishes every night just because he knows how much you hate washing the dishes. It’s the least I could do, darlin’ he’d praise, taking immense pride in seeing the relief fall on your face.

Joel would kiss you just to kiss you; in the comfort of your home as you pass in the hallway, or out at the stables while caring for the horses, even at the bar in front of all the folks who know you. It was his small way to show his unconditional love and appreciation for you. He’d spend all day kissin’ you if he could.

Joel would take the time to rub your feet and ask about your day. His genuine curiosity about the townsfolk you encounter or the adventures you have brought a warmth to your chest as he works on the knots along the arch of your feet. He would always remember the little details of where you’ve been or what you’ve seen, or the names of the people you mention in your stories. Joel wasn’t perfect and would often get confused between Jess, Jessica and Jessa, but he certainly would do his best to keep it all straight.

Joel would listen and hear you. If it was important to you, it was important to him. He didn’t care if it was about how you admired the pretty pink colour of the flowers you passed by on patrol or how you had to remember to mend your socks later. He listened and cared. So much so, that whenever he could, Joel would bring home a small bouquet of said flowers for you after his patrol.

On bad days, Joel would be there. He would hold you through your big, ugly feelings, and tell you that it is okay and that he’s got you. Joel would force himself to stay calm and to speak softly to you, keeping his own panic and worry at bay. He would tell you that he was proud of you and your “smarts”, and that the only thing that matters is that you made it back home to him. He would slowly and gently wash your body and hair clean of all the blood and guts from the nearly failed patrol, and would mend every scrape and wound, sealing each one with a kiss.

And on the nights where you were plagued with terrors, the kind that woke you in a panic, the cold sweat glueing your hair to your neck and forehead, Joel would be there. To hold you and coax you back to sleep, rubbing soft circles on your back, and softly murmur that it is okay, that you’re safe.

In the mornings, you always woke to the smell of coffee wafting it’s way into your room. Joel always made sure to wake up before you, to let you have those extra few minutes in bed because he knew you needed them. He’d greet you with a big smile and a kiss, the kind that made you feel like you were back in the early days of your relationship. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, he would say as he placed your meal in front of you. Joel never let you leave the house without something warm in your belly.

Joel knew that you were more than capable of caring for yourself. Hell, you had survived 20 years in that hellscape overrun by infected, raiders and god knows what else. You had told him time and time again, often through gritted teeth, I’ve got this. I can do this myself. I do not need your help. Can you just let me handle this, please!

Slowly, yet surely, with patience and kindness, Joel slowly broke down your walls until you were ready to let him in. To accept the peace and love he had to offer. Joel is not a perfect man, but he tries. Which is more than most. He tries his damnedest every day to keep showing up for you the way he knows you deserve. To show you and make you feel the love, peace and respect that you deserve. And that? Well, that makes Joel feel a deep sense of joy that he hasn’t felt in years. He will gladly do it until his dying breath and that is a promise he will never break. The easiest job he’s ever had was lovin’ you.

tagging some folks who may like this (if not/tags aren’t your thing, just tell me to buzz off! I wont be offended!): @slimybeth69 @itsokbbygrl @mrsmando @evolnoomym @sanarsi @marilovespedro @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal

[cissa-calls]

Countdown to the Darkhold Diaries: Day 562

Wanda, to the enemy: “-and that is why your cunning shall crumble to nothing but hollow hubris” *glances around realizing she’s alone* “-one sec”

Wanda: “AGATHA! Y/N! GET BACK HERE WE NEED TO FINISH THIS!!!”

*Agatha and Y/N playing rock, paper, scissors*

Agatha: “We’re BUSY”

Wanda, caught off guard and about to get pummeled: “THIS IS WHY YOU’RE NEVER SENT ON OFFICIAL MISSIONS - so not professional!”

Y/N: “-Steve said that it was because Agatha kept flirting with the enemy-”

Wanda, narrowly avoiding a strike: “That too!”

Agatha: “In my defense…they were hot!”

[imtryingbuck]

Remembering

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: The team lose their friend (I’m bad at summaries sorry)

Word count: 2,821

Warnings: Angst. Mentions of children dying. Our poor reader gets attacked. Small mentions of suicide, being spat on

Translation: unde este femeia?-where is the woman?/oms-who/da, ea este prietena noastră- yes, she is our friend/ea este cu noi, acum ești în siguranță-she is with us, you’re now safe. If any of the translations are wrong please let me know

Masterlist   Series Masterlist

It has been two weeks since the attack on the Capital. Two weeks since the Avengers got their friend back.

Y/n was taken straight to the Raft, for her own protection incase Hydra came for her. None of the team was happy about it especially Bucky who fought against the medical staff, trying to stop the SHIELD agents from taking her.

“It’s for her own safety” Fury explained, he still couldn’t believe she was alive, he didn’t believe the agent who had informed him that she was was on the street and was now working for Hydra.

“Okay well why all the guns being pointed at her?” Tony said with his arms crossed.

“For everyone’s safety”

“You’ve got a collar around her neck, two handcuffs on her wrist and cuffs on her ankles. I don’t think she’s going to get very far, do you?”

“It’s okay Tony-it’s fine I promise” Y/n spoke, Fury had to admit he hated doing this to her but he had no other option.

In them two weeks, they fought tirelessly to get her back to the tower, fought to get her pardoned - it should of been easy as they couldn’t connect her to any crimes committed by Hydra, but the government wanted her locked up as a traitor.

Ross allowed the team including Fury to go and question her at the Raft, on one condition - there be armed guards in the room.

They were led into a huge room with tiny windows, a small table and three chairs. There was armed guards lining against the wall. They had been there for 10 minutes before three locks sounded from the metal door, just as the door came open the guards stance changed, ready to shoot kind of stance.

They saw the man in charge walking in front of someone who they assumed was Y/n, who was then being flanked by three guards on either side. When they got closer the man moved aside, they all sucked in a breath at the sight of their friend handcuffed, a collar around her neck, but the worst part was the bruises littering her face and a busted lip that they could tell were fresh.

Fury reached out to her before a voice stopped him “No touching the traitor”

“She’s not a traitor” Fury snapped back.

“That’s not what her file says” Turning his head to Y/n “Sit and don’t move”

“Don’t talk to her like that” Bucky’s anger started to get the better of him.

“Oh I’m sorry, do you want to have this visit or not?”

“It’s fine. You can leave now” Fury replied.

“Remember no touching her and don’t try and pass her anything or she’ll be shot, enjoy” the man walked off chuckling to himself.

“Are you alright?” Questioned Bucky.

“I’m so sorry for what I did to yo-“

“Hey it’s fine, I’m okay, look. Now answer my question”

“I’m fine”

“What happened? Because they’re fresh bruises Birdie”

“It’s nothing”

“It’s not nothing Y/n! Who did it?” Tony says from next to Steve.

“Nothing I don’t deserve” Shifting more comfortably she sighs “Ask the questions you want to ask and you can leave”.

“You don’t deserve this Y/n!”

“Ask or I’ll get them to take me back”

Fury finally speaks after a few minutes of silence. “Okay, do you remember what happened the day we lost you?”

“I remember we was on a mission in Russia and I remember being shot and then falling and hearing voices, thinking it was you lot I-I saw faces and felt something pinching me and then waking up at Hydra’s base.”

“T-that can’t happen, Y/n we found your body and you was dead. We took you back home…”

“It wasn’t me. Hydra used a woman who could shape shift, they showed me”

“What else do you remember?” Tony asks.

“They tortured me, questioned me about my genes, t-they showed me my funeral. Then they gave me the serum and after a few months they started training me”

“Do-do you remember any missions you went on?”

“No. They always wiped my memory after I came back”

“Has any memories come back?”

“Yes”. Her head bowed and her eyes closed “I was the one that killed all those SHIELD agents”

All of them sighed in defeat. At her confession, she could be tried as a traitor, it didn’t matter if she was brainwashed or not. She had just admitted that she killed over 60 agents.

“I don’t remember any other missions. I’m sorry. I hear that you’re trying to get me freed, don’t. I belong in here”

“No you don’t! None of this is your fault!” Bucky’s voice broke.

Not listening to him, she looked directly at Fury “Lloyd was a member of Hydra, there’s many agents at the FBI that work for them and The Reapers didn’t exist because it was Hydra - the whole thing was a set up to get me. Rumlow told me that there was a deal in place between Hydra and The Facility, but when Logan got me out it pissed them off because they didn’t have me and the deal was off” Sighing, she moves the handcuffs to more of a comfortable position.

“Theres something else you need to know, the base they kept me at is in Romania. There’s children there, they’ve been injecting them with my blood. Innocent children are being killed because of me. I’m so sorry.” Looking at the guards “I’m ready to go now”.

“No no Y/n we’re not done yet” Fury stands and tries to stop her from standing.

“I’m done. Take me back”

“She’s not safe in there Fury!” Tony exclaimed as he paced back and forth in the briefing room.

“We don’t know who did it yet��� Fury replied.

“Well it’s obviously the guards, we need to get her out of there” Tony’s voice rose with each word.

Shaking his head at the billionaire, “It’s safer for her in there Tony”

“No it isn’t and you know it!”

“We need to find this base and see if there are any children like Y/n said, couldn’t that help with getting her out?” Wanda ever the voice of reason.

“About that, the main reason I came here is because there is a base in Romania just like she said, you guys need to go there and check it out, I’ve already sent the coordinates to the pilot”

“When?” Steve asks.

“Pilots are ready whenever you are”.

Five hours later they were inside the base, the whole building had paperwork littering the floors, blood smeared on the walls, the horrible stench of death lingered in the air.

They searched the whole building from top to bottom for any signs of life, coming up empty until Bucky and Sam opened a door on the far end of the corridor, inside the darken room they saw seven small children huddled together in the left corner.

“It’s okay, we’re not going to hurt you” Sam says as he put his gun down. The children’s faces all contorted in confusion making Bucky repeat what Sam had said but in Romanian.

“unde este femeia?” A young boy spoke from the front.

“Oms?”

“Y/n”

“Y/n?”

“Da, ea este prietena noastră“

“ea este cu noi, acum ești în siguranță” Bucky and Sam watched as the children took careful steps towards them, Sam spoke through his comms to let the team know that they were coming out with kids.

After getting the kids on the quinjet they both made their way back into the base.

“I found a file called Little Bird, all the crimes Y/n’s ever committed for them is on here” Nat says as she opens up another link, surveillance footage after footage showing Y/n, committing crime and crime, more worse than the previous.

“Download everything to do with Y/n and we’ll show Fury, Buck Sam said something about the kids knowing Y/-Buck?” Sam laughs at Steve’s facial expression when he realises that Bucky’s not in the room with them.

“Left corridor, right at the end”

“She carved her name into the wall just so she wouldn’t forget” Bucky says without looking to see who was behind him. “She also wrote how many days she was here, she probably lost count after day 327” Turning to face his oldest friend with tears rolling down his face. “Steve, day 327 I lit a candle in her room to keep it smelling the way it always did. For 327 days we cried and mourned her whe-when she was here all along, alone and terrified. I should of done more Stevie, I shou-should of known she was still alive”

“Buck it’s not your fault! It’s not our fault either, we all watched her die. We couldn’t of known Buck so stop trying to blame yourself”

“I need to tell you something”

“Anything pal, you know this”

“17 years ago when I was still under Hydra’s control…I was sent on a mission to kill this girl, I get to her location bu-but I couldn’t go through with it. I remember her smile as clear as day, she was with an older man - laughing about who knows what but her smile Stevie” For the first time in over two weeks Steve watches his friend smile at a memory he wishes he could see. “I left and was punished for not completing the mission. It was Y/n, she was the girl. The exact same smile when I first met her-“

“Buck…”

“I never told her. I just couldn’t you know? And the worst part is Steve, if I could go back in time and do it over again, I wouldn’t. For my own selfish needs I wouldn’t stop the pain she would have to go through for six years. I would let her go through all the pain and suffering because I’m selfish!”

“You’re not selfish Bucky! You love her, you always have and you always will. I’m glad you didn’t do it 17 years ago either because I wouldn’t have met her, I wouldn’t have had a great friend, she’s the only person who ever treat me as Steve and not America’s puppet. It’s okay to be selfish sometimes Buck”

“We agree, with Steve I mean” Both men turn to face the team who were standing in the doorway.

“It’s not your fault tin-Bucky, none of this is” Tony corrects himself.

“I’m pretty sure she’d do it all ove-“.

Wanda gets cut off by Fury’s voice through their comms “You need to get back to the Tower now”

“What’s goin-“

“Now!”

They are looked equally confused by Fury’s tone and demand, but complied nonetheless.

After the children were taken away by the medical staff, FRIDAY let them know to go straight into the briefing room - where Fury, Maria, Ross sat waiting.

“What’s going on?” Steve asks, looking at all three people.

“Y/n’s been attacked in the Raft” Fury speaks solemnly.

“W-what? Who by? When?”

“Late last night”

“And you’re only telling us this now?”

“We only found out an hour before I told you to get back!”

“Where is she?” Tony questioned.

“Still there…” Ross speaks up from the end of the table.

“You’ve got to be joking right? She gets attacked and she’s still there?”

“We have to wait for the President to sign the paperwork agreeing to have her moved to a hospital, a lot of armed guards are going to be needed”

“Who attacked her?” Bucky asks.

“We don’t know”

“How bad is it?”

“We don’t know, but bad enough for the prick in charge to let us know about it happening”

Just as Bucky was about to open his mouth an agent came running in “Sir, this is straight from the President” Handing over a piece of paper to Ross, who then squeezes his eyes shut.

“What does it say Ross?”

“He’s not allowing her to be moved”.

Chaos. Chaos is the best way to describe what happened next. Everyone shouting, Tony even picked up a chair and threw it through one of the windows.

“He can’t do this!” Fury shouted.

“He’s the President of the United States Fury! He also believes she’s a traitor. He’s also not allowing her to have any more visitors”

“She’s going to die in there Ross!”

“I know, I know. Now if everyone calmly collects themselves and follow me I have a plan.”

She had managed to find a more comfortable position to finally fall asleep, which wasn’t easy to do on cold concrete flooring. Now matter which way she turned the collar dug in her neck causing her to wince at the pain. The handcuffs weren’t helping either.

Hearing the now familiar locks clicking on her door, she sat up and scooted into the corner.

“You’ve got special visitors” One of the guards said “Get up traitor”

Standing up on shaky legs, she waited for her next instructions, which didn’t come as the guard gripped the cuff link and pulled her roughly. Bare feet digging slightly into the metal grates of the walkway as she tried to keep up with the guards.

“Get in there” His rough voice echoed through the empty corridor, her heart pounded in her chest as this wasn’t the same place she was taken to when Fury and the team had been to see her.

“Whe-“ She gets cut off as she gets pushed into the room.

In the windowless room there was no chairs or table, there was nothing other than 8 men standing there.

“You’ve got two hours boys. Make sure you don’t kill her or the warden will be pissed plus she’s got more special visitors tomorrow” The guard chuckled before he closed the door.

“The most respected agent of SHIELD you was, hell I even looked up to you. And now you’re a murderer and a traitor!” A tall man with dark hair, whose eyes burned with hatred.

“So here’s what we’re going to do, each one of us is going to take a turn beating the shit out of you and your gonna be a good little girl and take it, understand?” The only blonde man spoke.

“Understand?” The first one spoke again.

Nodding her head, she watched them move around each other and waited for the first blow to come.

The punches and kicks just wouldn’t stop, she couldn’t even fight back due to the collar and handcuffs. Despite her whole entire body screaming and throbbing in pain she refused to let one sound slip from her now busted and swollen lips. All she repeated in her head like a mantra was that ‘she deserved this and more’, everyone was right, she was a traitor and no not because she wanted to but because she didn’t end her life before Hydra had a chance to turn her into a monster. She betrayed every single thing she stood for, everything she believed in, she betrayed herself and SHIELD. But most importantly she betrayed The Avengers, her family.

Knowing that they watched her ‘die’ broke her heart, when she watched her funeral, - Rumlow using it to break her - she put a shaky hand to theirs faces on the small grainy tv screen, trying to send them comfort despite where she was and what she was going through. She didn’t mean to hurt them, of course she didn’t want to but it wasn’t something that she had no control over. 

If laying on the cold, dingy floor taking punch after punch, kick after kick was to make up for the pain she caused her family to go through, she’ll happily do it until her last breath.

“Times up fellas” The guard came into the room “I gave you an extra 15 minu- you did a right number on her, didn’t you lads” He chuckled at the sight of her.

“Just give me one more minute with her, I just need to say one last thing”

“Sure thing just make it quick”

As the men walked out they spat on her one by one, and when the door closed the last man picked her up by her hair. “That was for all the agents you killed, my brother was one of them! I had to tell our parents that he wasn’t coming home anymore. I promised my ma I would get the person who did this, best 300 bucks I’ve ever spent - oh sweetheart, didn’t you know that the wardens charging people to have their way with you, you’re not big and scary now are you?” He chuckled just before he spat right in her face and dropping her.

The guard comes back in and takes her back to her cell. “Sweet dreams Little Bird” is what he says to her before locking the door.

After the third day, her face was unrecognisable. Her prayers for death weren’t being answered.

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