#cap watches caged again the series

[sunshinechay]

Caged Again is a great story about finding love and what it means to be human and I love it.

I am also still entirely stuck on the animals in the mural and so I am now wondering if Porsch and Arm are animals, if they are in the mural and if they are, which animals they are?

I mean I love that their narrative purpose, at least right now, seems to be showing the goodness of humanity and the type of love that both Junior and Sun are desperately in search of.

I also love the idea that they could also be animals from the mural that have been human for a long time, possibly decades at this point. If that’s true, they would also represent that it is possible for the boys to continue to be human and that adjusting is possible. That finding what you want from the human world is also possible.

[macfrog]

If you ever feel up to it - a little short story from the scom universe about reader and Joel deciding to have a second baby or finding out they're pregnant for the second time would warm my cold dead heart <3

i am. so. sorry. for the word count on this i truly do not know what happened. but i had a lot of fun with it, so. hopefully y'all do, too. happy fathers day! x

jellybean ~4k words | series masterlist warnings: pregnancy symptoms (feeling and being sick, horniness + sleepiness. aka me even when not pregnant), 99% just duckie vs her mom

Duckie spills the secret on a Friday.

The morning is lazy, slow. The breathing of the sea across a plain of beach. Your fingers sift through her hair like the breeze through sun-bleached pages. The way she and the sun tint the room peach.

Sarah sprawls out across the spot still warm on her dad’s side of the bed. She’s in a habit of waking up early to sneak through to your room, lift the bottom of the covers, and army crawl between your bodies.

Joel’s in a habit of stirring to the heat of her at his back, her tiny toes at his spine, and turning to scoop her in one arm. They sleep curled into one another, mouths catching flies.

This morning, though, she’s up to something. She brought a secret.

She’s flat-out on her stomach, pens scratching at the paper. There’s the scent of cherry and lemon and green apple tangling in the air. Taut frown on her face, tongue poked with concentration. She looks just like her dad.

She pauses and looks up at you. “What color is this part?” she asks, dabbing at the blank hubcap.

“Silver,” you reply, fixing the cap back onto the grape pen before it stains your sheets.

She huffs. “I don’t have silver, Mama.”

You tap on the page. “Daddy’s wing mirrors are black, but you did ‘em green. The colors don’t matter, do they?”

But it’s seven a.m., and you’re sharing only the red jellybeans for something of a pre-breakfast snack (the four-year-old’s idea), and you’re exhausted despite having slept the full night, and she keeps halting any time Joel’s humming quietens – just in case he spoils his birthday surprise.

She hunkers down with the lemon pen to nail the emblem of his truck, and you figure – color is just the least of it. Truthfully, to your kid – and so, to you, too – nothing has ever mattered more.

You cup her cheek and lift her gaze back to meet yours. “How about I grab you a glitter pen today, just for the wheels?”

She grins. Little milk teeth, gappy and gummy. Peach fuzz cheeks, sweet as the rest of her, a perfect fit in the palm of your hand.

I love you I love you you’re my whole world I love you, you want to say.

Instead: “Only if we tidy your room later. Deal?”

“Deal, Mama,” Sarah giggles, and her little ink-stained hands splay out across the page again.

She scribbles only a few more splotches of color before you both notice it.

The sudden silence.

The water’s stopped running. The shower screen rattles as he pulls it back. Dripdripdrip from the showerhead straight down to the empty basin.

Sarah twists to watch Joel’s disembodied arm blindly grab for a towel folded on the sink. It whips off out of sight, and he calls through from the bathroom.

“Duckie? You still there?”

“Gogogo,” you whisper, helping your daughter cover her dad’s drawing with blank sheets. “Leave the jellybeans, Duck, save yourself!”

She finds the entire thing hysterical. Swinging her masterpiece under one arm, two fistfuls of rainbow pens, springing from the mattress like it suddenly caught flame. She throws herself from the foot of the bed and dashes across the hall to her own room, candy scattering in her wake.

Joel’s head cranes around the doorframe. “Where’d she go?”

You smile, shrugging. Chewing innocently on a jellybean. “That’s funny. She was here a second ago.”

He pads over to the bed, towel slung loose around his hips. Smirks, when your hungry eyes descend his figure – the bearlike shape of him, all muscle and fur, toned where he needs it but soft where you want it.

He cages over you, dark hair dripping with the smell of citrus, skin sticky.

His lips are like velvet against yours. Tongue still singed with coffee. A low growl from his throat when you lean forward to lick into his mouth.

“Smell so goddamn good,” you murmur, dipping your head to bury into the crook of his neck.

His beard is fuzzier when it’s damp, natural masculine musk melded with the fresh soap and rich aftershave he uses. All honey and oatmeal, mixed with a woodsy scent – and fuck, it’s intoxicating. Moreso than usual – stronger and sexier.

You take his hands and lower them to your hips, letting his fingers knot around the baggy material of your – his T-shirt. Tugging on it, exposing the slip of delicate lace on your hips.

“Darlin’,” Joel warns, “we’re late. We still gotta drop Duckie off – If she walks in –”

You groan, huffing back into the mattress. The weight between your legs ripples over the horizon, pulses into weak nothing.

Joel fixes the shirt back down to your thighs just as the thunder of his daughter’s footsteps rumbles back into the room.

Tonight, he breathes, slicking some of the hair from his face.

You grin, taking his hand to pull yourself back up.

Sarah materializes in the doorway, a lingering half-girl. Smiling from behind the frame, twisting the ball of her foot into the floor.

“Hi, Duck,” Joel says, still playing with your fingers.

“Hi.”

“You look guilty.”

Her grin widens. She totters into the room, launches herself onto the bed, and nuzzles into your side. She squirms when Joel digs his fingers into her waist.

The beats of her laughter drum against your ribs, the same way her fists used to when she lived inside you.

“Alright.” You cradle her, her little head tipping back to wake the rest of Austin up with her squeals of glee. “Are we ready for some actual food, now?”

Joel chuckles, reaching for his mug.

Sarah nods from your lap. Her eyes drift down to the print on your tee. “Mama?”

“Mhm?”

“Do they like jellybeans?”

You frown. “Does who like jellybeans?”

Her finger prods lightly into your tummy. “The baby.”

Joel chokes, splattering coffee into his fist. He slams the mug down, pounds his chest clear of liquid.

“There’s no – Jesus, Joel,” you swipe mocha flecks from the sheets, “Told Sarah to be careful with her pens and then you spray coffee all over the…”

Sarah rolls off, cackling. “Silly Daddy,” she hoots, leaping on the bedroom floor.

“Hey,” you usher her over to the door, “Why don’t you go pick out what you wanna wear today? I’ll be right behind you. Quit tryna give your dad a heart attack, okay?”

“The baby, Mama,” she’s repeating, walking like a little convict. She turns over the threshold to her room like it’s a cell, her pink pajama uniform and guilty expression to go with it. Still laughing, swallowing the ticklish bursts when she notices you’re shaking your head.

“There is no baby.” You kneel before her, repeating, “No baby. Just you. How about your T-shirt with the butterflies?”

It seems to distract her enough. Thank Christ. She gasps, inspired, and twirls off to find the tee.

“Fucking hell,” you sigh, pushing back to your feet.

Joel’s flapping the sheets when you slip back into your room, still clearing his throat. Half-dressed: a white T-shirt over his broad chest and a pair of black boxers. Soaked hair clinging to the back of his neck and drying in flicks across his forehead.

Jesus, you want to pull him back over you and let him have his way.

You close the door over and spin, hands on your hips. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Me?” he croaks. “Did you hear what she just said?”

“You’ve known this kid for four years, Joel, you really can’t tell when she’s fucking with you? She’s my kid, keep up.”

“Just seemed an awfully –” he thumps his chest again, “– awfully specific thing to say.”

“She’s in a phase I think,” you reply, catching the pillow he tosses across. “She’s telling stories. Last week, her pre-K teacher congratulated me our supposed wedding. Asked to see pictures of the Mickey Mouse officiant.”

“Jesus,” he grumbles. “She really bought that?”

You mimic the breezy voice: “Sarah was very convincing.”

Joel scoffs. “I don’t know if I can take a lying phase and a copying phase at the same time. Every goddamn word I say, she’s gotta repeat it.”

“She idolizes you,” you straighten the sheets, “I think it’s endearing.”

“Hm. Just wait until it’s you.”

He wanders around the bed, pulls your back against his chest. His arms cross over your tummy, lips pressing into your shoulder where his shirt has slipped.

“How much harder would two be?” he mumbles into the bare skin.

“Two Sarahs?” You scoff.

Joel laughs. “Yeah, you’re right. I forget she runs on chaos and jellybeans.”

“Yup,” you turn in his arms, linking yours behind his neck, “And there ain’t no point in talking about it anyways, because I am not fucking pregnant.”

He rolls his forehead against yours, stealing bristly kisses. “Okay.”

“I’m not, Joel.”

“I believe you, baby.”

Sarah’s bedtime is a liberal eight, eight thirty on weekends. She likes to sit up, lodged between you and Joel on the couch, and help pick the movie you two will watch once she’s in bed.

Once – and only once – Joel tried to fool her by pretending to play her choice, then switching as soon as she went down.

The kid quizzed him on the movie the next morning. He failed. She’s never forgotten.

Tonight, though, Joel’s out. Some game that you know and care too little about sports to learn the name or importance of. He’s with some buddies at the local bar, probably nursing his second beer in as many hours, and counting down the minutes until he can come home to his girls.

Sarah snores soundly, slumped at your side as though butter wouldn’t melt. The flicker from the TV across her face, the gentle mumbling of the voices onscreen. Her hands limp in her lap, fingers idling in a pink snack bowl.

You admire her, stealing a piece of her popcorn. Teeth grinding down when you remember dishing it for her earlier, hearing her curious voice ask whether or not the baby likes popcorn more than jellybeans.

Nope, you sang, tossing a handful in your mouth as you passed her the bowl. Imaginary babies don’t eat popcorn.

She snorted (which unnerved you, because what the fuck is this kid finding so funny?), and followed you to the living room so close that you could feel her toes at your heels.

Some of the kids in her class have siblings. Some older, but mostly younger. It’s the only fucking explanation, the only thing that explains this sudden interest in the real estate of your uterus.

She’s going through a phase, you tell yourself, suckling on popcorn. But then – how many fucking phases do kids go through? Which phases did you go through?

Barney & Friends. That was a fucking phase. Refusing to leave the house without the hoodie your mom bought you from the Museum of Natural History, even in the height of summer. Ketchup and broccoli, your boyfriend at seventeen, frisbeeing your neighbor’s newspaper and aiming for his flowerpots.

Phase, phase, fucking phase.

Does she know something you don’t?

…No. You took a test just last week. Shut up. Stop letting the kid into your fucking head.

Joel’s keys jangle on the other side of the door, shunting into the lock with a sound which stills your brain.

You tilt your head over the back of the couch, your man’s beard tickling your nose as he kisses you. “Evening.”

“Missed you,” he whispers against your lips. He straightens and tugs the jacket from his shoulders. “She not in bed yet?”

“She fell asleep down here,” you reply. “I got too tired to carry her up.”

He caresses your forehead, big pillowy palm. “You feelin’ okay?”

“It’s been a long day,” you grumble.

Joel smiles. He flops down onto the couch beside you, reaching over to stroke Sarah’s head.

You roll, solid as a rock, curling into his side. “She keeps saying it, Joel. She keeps fucking saying it.”

His chest jumps, tectonic plates moving with a laugh. “You’ve met your match, honey. Produced a professional little shit.”

“One of the other moms from her class is pregnant,” you mumble. “That’s gotta be it, right? That’s where she’s getting it from?”

“Maybe,” Joel muses. His fingers link with yours. “Why don’t you take a test anyways? Settle it in your mind?”

It startles you awake, even if only enough to prove the fucking point.

“No, Joel!” you hiss, body jerking. “If I take a test, and it turns out negative – which it will – she wins! My four-year-old fooled me. No,” you pluck spilled popcorn from your lap, pinging it back into the bowl, “I know this kid. I gave birth to this kid. She is not fucking winning.”

“Alright, baby,” he coos, “it’s okay. I won’t let the four-year-old fool you.”

You glower. “Thanks, asshole.”

He chuckles. “She’d make the best big sister, though. She would,” he insists, when you huff back against his chest. “She’d love being the oldest. Get to be bossy, get to call the shots. Get to protect them, no matter what.”

Your voice feels so small, as inquisitive as your daughter’s when you blink up at him. “Were you protective over Tommy?”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, he was annoying as all hell – and I told him so – but anyone else had anythin’ to say about him, and – well, they had me to deal with.”

“Big scary Joel Miller,” you whisper, yawning into his shirt. “I knew him once.”

“Mhm,” he rumbles, “You sure did.”

You look up again, blinking all doe-eyed and dreamy. Already half-asleep.

“He never scared me,” you whisper.

Joel smiles.

“Well, you scared the hell outta him.”

Saturday morning, you wake to an empty bed. No snoring man, no scribbling girl. Just you – a starfish on the mattress. Bathing in waves of late-morning sun, sheets for coral, body as heavy as though you really are at the bottom of the ocean.

Her giggles carry all the way upstairs. Sarah. They surf into the room on a sunbeam, sounds like bubbles which shatter and sprinkle over your aching body.

You smile into Joel’s pillow, breathing in the smell of him, and peel your eyes open.

It’s ten thirty. Definitely – you blink three times and rub at your eyes, just to make sure. Ten thirty, and something’s swirling behind your navel. Something that sharpens, sours, when you push yourself upright.

“Oh, shit,” you rasp, and throw yourself across the room.

You barely make it, collapsing in a heap at the toilet. Your stomach empties in seconds; three heavy, painful gags and your head is in the bowl, choking on last night’s dinner.

“Motherfucker,” you spit, gasping, “Oh, Jesus.”

You’re sick. You’re just sick. Sarah probably caught something from pre-K, passed it on without even knowing. And, hey – you feel better, now that that happened.

You’re just sick. Nothing else.

“Mornin’,” Joel calls, watching as you stagger into the kitchen.

Sarah mimics his drawl. “Mornin’, Mama.”

“Hi, Duckie.” You crumple into the chair beside her, shoulders hunched. The smell of burnt toast and grape juice twists up your nose, and you suck in a slow breath.

Joel sweeps a hand over your forehead. He tips your jaw up to face him. “You alright? Thought we heard running.”

Sarah rips a slice of toast in two. She stares at the fluffy insides, the jam dripping from the tear. The sight of it lifts the hairs on your skin, the gloopy mess splattering onto her plate.

“Just feel kinda…funny,” you slur, turning away.

“Funny? Funny how?”

“Funny how?” your daughter parrots.

You shrug. Every word, every inhale makes you feel even more nauseous. “Probably just ate something.”

“Heard that one before,” Joel drones, and you throw him a flat look.

Sarah licks the jam from her fingers. She holds her tiny hands up to her dad, snorts when he pretends to bite at them.

“Eat your breakfast, Duckie,” he says then – in his Dad voice. And in something softer, kinder: “Can I make you somethin’?”

You swat the idea away, but it’s already churning in your stomach again. “Just gotta – get over whatever it – is.”

The table falls silent. Joel and Sarah stare blankly at one another. When you turn to look at your daughter, she’s staring straight back. Smirking.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you clip, wincing again at the dribbling jam.

“Alright,” Joel utters, “I think you oughta take a test now.”

“That is not what this is,” you groan, petulantly pushing up from your chair.

He takes your hand, steadying you. “No? I was thinking about it, baby, and I don’t think we’ve been safe enough to be so sure.”

You dump your golden toast in the trash and turn, crossing your arms. Your shoulders lift. “We’re not being any less safe than we have been the last four years.”

“Safe,” Sarah says, and Joel holds a finger up.

“No,” he tells her. “No. Not that word. Go back to funny.”

She beams at him. “You’re funny, Daddy.”

He sighs, pacing over. “Look,” he lowers his plate into the sink, “I’ll take Duckie to the park. Let you rest up, give you a quiet house for the morning. But darlin’, if you’re not better by tonight, you’re takin’ a test.”

You grimace. “But she –”

“I know –” he grits his teeth, “– I know you don’t want her to be right. But I want you to be okay, more ‘n I want to prove my child wrong. Like it or not, you’re taking a damn test.”

Your eyes flit across to the kid swinging her legs in her chair, the splotch of jam down her Peppa Pig T-shirt. Your greatest accomplishment and your biggest challenge, wrapped up into a hundred-centimeter, jellybean-fueled monster.

Her cheeks lift, jam-covered and smug.

“Funny,” Sarah says, nodding.

The afternoon strings the sun high in the sky.

You’ve been home alone for the better part of an hour, busying yourself by cleaning to take your mind off the nausea tugging at your esophagus. Making and remaking beds, folding laundry until your fingers cramp.

Sarah’s room has never been tidier. Joel’s workshop has never seen so little dust. And you have never been more determined to prove your four-year-old wrong.

You’re lingering in the bathroom, the window gaping. Sucking in breath after breath of fresh air – which only serves to tickle the acid burning its way up your throat, entice it further.

You’re emptying the cabinets, reorganizing them into some senseless order. Playing Tetris with boxes of Band-Aids, slotting in tubes of toothpaste. You blindly reach behind your hip for the next box – a nearly empty thing which rattles when you lift it, jitters as though nervous.

You glance down.

“Fuck off,” you hiss, throwing it on the shelf beside some tampons.

It stares back at you, as blinding as the sun. The two display window examples, pregnant and not pregnant, like a wink peering out from the dull cabinet.

Your gums taste of bitter bile, rancid. Teeth furry and aching. Your entire body aches – though nothing quite so bad as the space below your ribs, still tender from all your retching.

Slowly, your hands slip down your front to cup your lower tummy. Rounder than before, suppler – bloated, even.

“’s from all the throwing up,” you tell nobody in particular. Maybe yourself. There’s a desperate edge to your voice, almost a plea.

But then – a plea to who? For what? There was nothing you loved more than carrying Sarah for nine months. Duck. Start saying duck. Baby Duck.

You were never on your own. She was right there. Someone to talk to, someone to complain to. Someone to weep to, in the quietest lulls of night.

Her language came to you as easily as your own. All her kicks and punches, her fucking acrobatics while you tried to sleep. It was love, in its most chaotic form.

And you loved her, the very moment you saw those two lines. The very moment you realized she’d been in there the whole time.

You realize now, squatted on your bathroom floor, that it feels the exact same. A warmth, radiating from your very core, if only you’d pay it enough attention to feel it.

Like there’s someone there. Right there.

“If you’re fucking with me,” you warn your stomach, reaching for the single test, “I will lose my shit.”

Love, in its most chaotic form bursts through your bedroom door no less than half an hour later.

“Hi, Mama!” Sarah sings, tearing through the room with her hands behind her back. Her knees bump against the side of your bed, the air about her summer-warm and pollen-sweet.

“Hi, little Duck,” you mumble, voice swollen. You wipe sleep from your eyes, asking, “How was the park?”

She answers with a wide grin on her face, whipping out a small, shabby bunch of flowers. Dandelions and daisies tangled around one another, loose petals scattering over your bedsheets.

“Oh, baby,” you push yourself up, ignoring the sickly weight in your stomach, “Are these for me?”

She nods. She dusts her hands free of grass when you take the bouquet. And then, as you smell them and hum with delight, she turns.

First, over to the dresser. She stares at her reflection, pokes at some of the makeup on the table. Then over to the window – where her breath fogs the glass. You hear the whack of Joel’s tailgate closing, and she tracks him into the house, before examining the windowsill.

You watch nervously as she drifts back over to the bed, a curious hop to her movements. Inspecting, like she knows there’s something waiting to be found. Someone.

“Did you have fun with Daddy?” you ask.

“Yep,” her small voice says, distant and distracted. She disappears into the dim bathroom.

You slump back down on the mattress, dropping the flowers in a clump on your bedside table. “I don’t even know when I fell asleep, baby girl,” you say through a yawn.

Sarah doesn’t reply.

“Duckie?”

“What’s this?”

You lift your head. “What’s wh…Oh, n-no, Duckie, wait –”

She flees past you, one fist raised and wielding the pregnancy test.

“Sarah! Jesus, fuck –”

You’re chasing after her before you have a chance to consider it – nausea be damned. She’s squealing something, roaring with laughter, blitzing out into the hallway. She swivels, ladders down the stairs backwards, leaps straight into the arms of –

“Christ, Sarah –”

Joel stumbles backwards with the force she throws at him. She’s safe in his arms by the time you reach the top of the stairs, waving the stupid stick around his head like it’s a magic wand.

“Daddy!” Sarah cries.

He glances up to you: hunched over the top step, panting, clutching your stomach. He pinches the test from her grasp. “What do we got here, baby duck?”

She kicks her feet. She has no fucking idea what they have, but she knows you didn’t want her near it – and if you know your kid, you know that’s all the catalyst she needed to fucking take it.

You slowly make your way down towards them, smirk growing the nearer you draw.

Joel glances down to the test. The creases by his eyes deepen. He hugs Sarah closer.

“Two...two means...pregnant, right?” he asks.

You sigh, nodding. “Mhm.”

His head lifts.

He breaks, the second he sees your expression. Eyes glassy, tears spilling onto your cheeks. The same smile you wore that June morning: sleep-deprived and shellshocked, a love pumping through your veins so strong that you thought you might burst with it.

Joel reaches for your hand, reels you in against his body.

“Shit,” he laughs, holding the test up.

Your shaking hands take it from him – though you already knew what it says. You were dreaming of it all when Sarah broke into your room.

Dreaming of linked hands and echoed giggles; of bunkbeds and matching surnames, of all four seats in the truck filled and all four chambers of your heart spoken for.

Dreaming of one on each hip, one in each hand. Dreaming of them tag teaming Joel, of the word kids slung with his southern twang. My kids, the kids, our kids. All ours.

Dreaming of two Sarahs, goddamn it. Because nothing ever completed your life as effortlessly as one Sarah, and – hell, she was born to follow in her dad’s footsteps and become the elder Miller sibling.

“Shit,” you agree, turning to sob into Joel’s chest.

“Duckie,” Joel says, voice hoarse and choked by tears, “You’re gonna be a big sister.”

She giggles, tracing the damp lines down your cheeks. As she reaches your jaw, the elation on her face slowly dwindles into something of a frown.

Your lips part to repeat it – a big sister, Duck – when her tiny voice steals the air from your lungs.

“Shit!”

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius x fem!reader

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT (see full series list here)

1995

The house is all commotion the next day. Most of the kids wake up late and this sends Mrs Weasley into a tizzy as she hurries from place to place gathering trunks and belongings and throwing them downstairs in front of the door. You place your own trunk in front of the door, scratching Dubh’s ears as she leaps into your arms and digs her claws into your jumper to hold herself against your chest.

Moody stands at the doorway, both hands on his staff as his magical eye swivels from room to room upstairs. He glances at his watch. “Where is Podmore? We can't leave without him, we’ll be one short.” He taps his foot impatiently.

Mrs Weasley looks up the stairway and clears her throat before bellowing, “WILL YOU LOT GET DOWN HERE NOW, PLEASE!”

At once, Walburga Black’s portrait starts screaming and shouting, but no one bothers to close the curtains on her. The noise in the hall will only continue to wake her.

Sirius appears beside you and slips his hand into the back pocket of your jeans, kissing your cheek. “All set?”

You hum, turning to face him. “Hope so. I’m going to miss you so much, you know that?”

He smiles lovingly at you. “I’ll miss you too — I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

You hum thoughtfully. “Talk to Kreacher a lot more, I guess?” You smile cheekily at him.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Don’t even joke about that, it would be hell.”

Ron, Harry, and Hermione come hurrying down the stairs, their footsteps drowned out by Walburga Black’s screeches.

“Harry, you're to come with me and Molly,” you yell at Harry over your mother-in-law's portrait.

“Leave your trunk and your owl, Alastor’s going to deal with the luggage,” Mrs Weasley explains. “...Oh, for heaven's sake, Sirius, Dumbledore said no!”

Sirius’ hand leaves your pocket and he turns into his dog form, following you as you clamber over the trunks.

“Oh, honestly…” Mrs Weasley says despairingly, “well, on your own head be it!”

She wrenches open the front door and you step out into the morning sunlight, followed by Harry and Sirius. You descend the front steps of number 12 and they vanish the moment you reach the pavement.

You glance at your watch. “We’d better hurry up, Molly.”

“I know, I know,” she groans, lengthening her stride, “but Mad-Eye wanted us to wait for Sturgis…if only Arthur could have got us cars from the Ministry again…but Fudge wouldn’t let him borrow so much as an empty ink bottle these days…How Muggles can stand travelling without magic…”

Sirius, on the other hand, seems delighted. He gives a joyful bark and runs around you, snapping at pigeons and chasing his own tail. Harry laughs and you can’t help but smile. He’s been trapped inside for far too long.

Mrs Weasley purses her lips disapprovingly.

Dubh keeps her gaze laser-focused on the dog, watching him closely and swishing her tail agitatedly when he comes too close, digging her claws tighter into the fabric of your jumper.

On platform nine and three quarters, students and families bustle from place to place carrying their heavy trunks, owls hooting from their cages.

“I hope the others make it in time,” Mrs Weasley says anxiously, staring behind her at the arch through which new arrivals come.

“Nice dog, Harry!” calls Lee Jordan, waving at Harry.

“Thanks, Lee,” says Harry, grinning, as Sirius wags his tail frantically.

“Oh, good,” Mrs Weasley says with a sigh of relief, “here’s Alastor with the luggage, look…”

With a cap pulled low over his eyes, Moody limps through the archway pushing a cart full of trunks.

“All okay,” he mutters to you. “Don’t think we were followed…”

Seconds later, Mr Weasley emerges onto the platform with Ron and Hermione. You start to help unloading the trunks from the cart and nearly have them all off when Remus turns up with Ginny and the twins.

“No trouble?” growls Moody.

“Nothing,” Remus replies, dusting off the front of his jacket.

“I’ll still be reporting Sturgis to Dumbledore,” Moody says lowly. “That’s the second time he’s not turned up in a week. Getting as unreliable as Mundungus.”

“Well, look after yourselves,” Remus says, shaking hands all round.

You beam at him when he reaches you and pull him in for a tight hug, laughing. “See ya, Moony.”

“Keep your head down and your eyes peeled,” Moody says to Harry, shaking Harry’s hand too. “And don’t forget, all of you — careful what you put in writing. If in doubt, don’t put it in a letter at all.”

“If you need to pass anything on, tell me,” you say as the warning whistle for the train sounds and the students still on the platform start to hurry onto the train. Sirius nudges your hand with his head and you gently scratch the top of his head, smiling. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Quick, quick,” says Mrs Weasley distractedly, hugging everyone at random. “Write…be good…if you’ve forgotten anything we’ll send it on…onto the train now, hurry…”

Bewitching your trunk to fly in the air behind you, you hurry onto the train and make your way past the throes of students greeting you in the corridor, down to your usual compartment in the prefects’ carriage. You set Dubh down on the seat beside you and as you sit down, you feel something in your back pocket and curious, you pull out a slip of parchment and unfold it.

I love you

Tell Snape he looks like a gargoyle

You chuckle appreciatively, putting the paper back in your pocket and feeling your heart warm.

♡*⁠。♡*⁠。

February, 1977

“Transfiguring something of a larger stature, however, can prove to be more difficult,” Professor McGonagall says, the chalk in her fingers scratching against the blackboard as she writes instructions. “It takes a lot more concentration and practice, so I suggest you use your free time wisely and —”

Sirius sighs in boredom, eyes skimming around the room until he finds the person he's looking for. Across the room, sitting as far away from James as possible, is Lily, and right beside her, you.

You lean over to whisper something to Lily, who chuckles, and Sirius finds himself following your every movement, tracing the line of your jaw with his eyes, the curve of your neck, the way you're swinging your legs under the chair absent-mindedly…

“And then, you put the charm on the ties and I'll keep look-out — hey!”

James slaps Sirius across the back of his head angrily.

“Ow! What was that for?!”

“You're not even listening!”

Sirius snaps out of his daze and looks back at his best friend’s angry face, scrunched up beneath his circular glasses.

“Sorry, Prongs, what were you saying?”

James scoffs, folding his arms dramatically. “You were staring at her again, weren't you?” He makes a noise with his mouth like the cracking of a whip, rolling his eyes. “Pathetic.”

“In my defense, she is very pretty — “

“I don't want to hear it!” James snaps. “Y’know, I liked you better before you got a girlfriend. You were more fun.”

“Oh, shut up, James — you're just jealous ‘cause Lily would rather go out with a toad than with you — “

“That's not true — !”

Someone clears their throat loudly and the boys look up to find McGonagall glaring at them from behind her spectacles, clearly unimpressed.

“Yes, Potter, Black — we’ll all just wait for you to finish your very important conversation and then I can get back to teaching.”

Quiet sniggers ripple through the room. Lily rolls her eyes as her best friend giggles.

“Sirius was distracting me, miss —”

“James won't stop talking —”

“Enough.” Professor McGonagall pinches the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “Pay attention or it's detention for the both of you.”

“Yes, miss.”

♡*⁠。♡*⁠。

“Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices,” says Dumbledore after he gets to feet for his start-of-year speech. “First years ought to know that the forest in the grounds is out of bounds to students — and a few of our older students ought to know by now too.”

You glance down the Great Hall, skimming your eyes around at all your students.

“Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four hundred and sixty-second time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor are a number of other things, all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr. Filch’s office door. We have had two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

There is a round of polite applause. You crane your neck to look at the new hire of Professor Umbridge: a small woman wearing a fluffy pink cardigan with mousy brown hair and a pair of small, beady eyes. She has her lips pursed and her hands folded in on the table as she looks out at the student body.

“Tryouts for the House Quidditch teams will take place on the —”

“Ahem.”

Dumbledore breaks off and looks surprisingly at Professor Umbridge, who has gotten to her feet (though it is hard to tell the difference between her height while standing and while sitting), and clearly wants to make a speech.

Minerva glances at you for half a second, her mouth a thin, disapproving line as she turns back to focus her attention on Umbridge.

Her interruption irks you — no one has ever interrupted Dumbledore in the middle of his speech before. It feels quite disrespectful, though Dumbledore doesn't seem to mind as he sits down and gives Umbridge his utmost attention.

“Thank you, Headmaster,” she starts, her voice sickeningly squeaky, “for those kind words of welcome.”

She clears her throat again, that same little ‘ahem’. “Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say! And to see such happy little faces smiling back at me!”

You raise your eyebrows, noticing how the faces looking back at Umbridge seem quite far from happy — they actually look highly affronted at the childish tone that she has taken on.

“I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and I'm sure we’ll be very good friends!”

Nobody seems too keen on that idea.

She clears her throat again, but this time her tone becomes more business-like and official. “The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the Wizarding community must be passed down through the generations lest we lose them forever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished, and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching.”

She clears her throat again and Minerva’s face tightens as she exchanges a glance with you, her distaste clear on her face.

“Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. Then again, progress for progress’s sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation…because some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognised as errors of judgment. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness, and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited.”

Finally, she sits down, looking expectantly at her audience. Dumbledore claps. You and the rest of the staff start to join in, though you bring your hands together once, maybe twice, before stopping completely.

“Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating,” Dumbledore says as he stands, bowing to her. “Now, as I was saying — Quidditch tryouts will be held…”

“I suspect we’ll be having an interesting year with her here,” you say to Minerva in a low voice, moving your lips as subtly as possible while keeping your eyes on Dumbledore.

A breath of air whistles out of her nose. “Interesting indeed. The Ministry loves to poke their nose into things.”

You hum in agreement. “You can say that again.”

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

“Now as you all know, next June you will be sitting your O.W.L. examinations,” you say, leaning against your desk and flicking your gaze from student to student in your classroom. “They are, of course, important — failing certain classes may mean you are unable to continue those classes at N.E.W.T. level next year — but they are nothing to get stressed about. Study well and do your best and you will be absolutely fine, there is no need to panic. Exams are not the be-all and end-all.”

Hermione’s brow furrows as though this notion is completely inconceivable to her. You notice the way she has her parchment neatly laid out on her desk at the ready, her book perched at the top, and her quills perfectly aligned with each other beside it.

Beside her, however, Ron and Harry have absolutely nothing on their desks.

“Those who are interested in taking N.E.W.T. level Astronomy in sixth year, I accept anyone with at least a passing grade in my class. I must warn you, though, that the work and curriculum is increasingly hard and quite a jump from O.W.L. level.”

The students look quite bored.

“I'm guessing you've heard all that before?”

There is scattered murmurs of agreements and nodding.

You sigh. “I’ll be honest with you all — you will be sick and tired of hearing about those exams in no time. Have your classes been hard so far?”

They glance at each other, and you hear Dean Thomas snort and mutter to Seamus Finnegan, “Not Defense Against the Dark Arts, anyway.”

Your ears prick up at this and you raise your eyebrows. “Not in Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

“Professor Umbridge refuses to let us use defensive spells in class,” Hermione says, frowning.

“What?”

“She's only teaching us theory,” Harry confirms, scowling. “We don't even get to practice the ones we need for the exam.”

“And she called Professor Lupin an ‘extremely dangerous half-breed!” Dean pops up angrily.

This seems to set off the rest of the class, and all at once they start voicing their complaints with vigour.

“What's the point of having a Defense Against the Dark Arts class if we’re not even learning how to defend ourselves in it?”

“You can't learn spells just by reading about them!”

“She's not even a real teacher —”

You wait patiently until everyone has let out their anger before you take a deep breath.

“That’s…ridiculous.”

You pick up your textbook, thumbing through it absent-mindedly as you think of what to say next. “But…if this is what your teacher wants you to do, I should tell you to listen to her.”

Uproar, again — and you hold up an authoritative hand to quiet your agitated students.

“I will tell you to listen to her, but that's not to say you're definitely going to listen to me,” you say with a shrug of your shoulders. “You should listen to me, but not everyone likes to follow the rules…I will tell you not to practice these defensive spells in the privacy of your own dorms because Professor Umbridge does not want you to be performing these spells at all. I will also tell you not to be so open in complaining of your new teacher — you will get into trouble.”

You sigh dramatically, flipping the pages of your book to the first chapter as the students pass mischievous glanced around at each other. “Now, let's get started, shall we?”

⁠After a long day of classes, back-to-school paperwork, and meetings, you relax into your comfy armchair in your office, listening as Minerva talks about how her week went. Your mug of hot tea warms your hands as the typical Scottish rain patters against the castle windows, and Dubh sleeps contentedly on a stack of papers lying haphazardly on your desk.

“I don’t trust that Dolores Umbridge,” Minerva says with a tight-lipped frown. “She sent Potter to my office on Tuesday, for running his mouth.”

You hum. “About her theory-only classes? Yes, I heard several complaints already.”

“Not just about that,” she says. “He told her He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was back, which did not go down well, of course.”

“Like talking to a brick wall, I’d say.”

She clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “He’d do well to keep his head down and out of sight after her speech at the start-of-term feast…” She casts a glance at you from behind her spectacles. “As would you.”

You laugh humourlessly. “Believe me, I am. I’ve been avoiding that woman like the plague — thankfully she’s easy to spot from a mile away with those horrible cardigans.”

As though she doesn’t mean to, Minerva lets out a cat-like giggle, before clearing her throat and regaining her composure.

You smile knowingly at her over the rim of your cup, resisting the urge to laugh.

She yawns, adjusting herself in her seat. “I suppose I best be off, I have a few essays to grade for tomorrow…”

She sets her cup down on the table, standing up. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” you answer honestly, smiling at her. “Night, Minnie.”

She opens the door to leave. “Goodnight.”

You've never liked that Dolores Umbridge, not since she drafted some anti-werewolf legislation a few years ago that made it impossible for Remus to find a job. You remember the stress it gave Remus, he had very little money and was reluctant to accept any help from you — despite the large sum of gold sitting in your bank, practically untouched.

When you settle down to sleep that night, your mind turns to Sirius: alone in Grimmauld Place, listening to the screams and screeches of his mother’s portrait. The moment you got on the Hogwarts Express you regretted letting him persuade you to come back to school and leaving him, right after you had just found him.

As if she senses your worry, Dubh pads along your covers before settling into the bed beside your chest, purring contentedly and bringing you significant comfort just by being there.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

The next morning you wake for breakfast, sitting as far away from Dolores Umbridge as possible, making absolutely sure to avoid all eye contact with the woman. The last thing you need is a Ministry mole rooting around your business when you are technically harbouring a fugitive in your house.

While you poke and prod at your breakfast, thinking about nothing in particular, owls begin to filter in through the windows bearing the morning’s post. A barn owl makes it way over to you and drops off your usual delivery of the Daily Prophet.

“You’re still reading that?” Minerva asks in surprise as you tuck a few coins into the small sack tied to the owl’s leg as payment.

You hum, undoing the twine wrapped around the paper. “Good to know what the enemy is putting out there, right?” As you unfold the newspaper, your heart drops and you let out a small gasp.

“What is it?” Minerva asks, and you wordlessly hold the paper between you so you can both read the headline article.

BLACK SPOTTED IN LONDON

The Ministry of Magic has received a tip-off from a reliable source that Sirius Black, notorious mass murderer who killed thirteen people, is currently hiding in London. The Ministry warns the wizarding community that Black is very dangerous and to be vigilant. Anyone with information of his whereabouts must come forward and alert the Ministry immediately.

You look up at Minerva, feeling dread sink down through your body.

“I knew he shouldn’t have came with us,” you whisper, swallowing thickly.

Minerva looks at the article again, her mouth thin. “He will just have to stay in the house from now on.”

You frown. “It’ll kill him.” You glance down the table at Dumbledore, currently talking to Professor Flitwick animatedly. “Maybe I can ask Dumbledore if I can go home, just for the weekend — I can’t bear the thought of him alone —”

Minerva looks at you sharply, her expression serious.

“And how do you think that will look to Umbridge? Sirius Black’s wife leaving without any explanation the weekend after he is spotted in London?”

“I’ll just say I’m going to my parents’ or something, I don’t know —”

“They will not believe you,” she hisses. “They have never believed you before, they will not believe you now. Do you wish to end up in Azkaban?”

You look back at her, biting your lip before breathing a long, defeated sigh. 

Minerva gently pulls the newspaper from your grip, flicking through the pages with mild interest. You push your plate away from you, feeling nauseous and without any appetite. Why didn’t you push more for him to stay at the house that day? You were selfish, letting him come with you because you wanted to drag out your time with him as much as possible and putting him in danger. Where is Kingsley, he’s supposed to be staying on top of this, feeding the Ministry fake information and keeping Sirius out of the headlines. 

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

->-> read chapter twenty-nine here!

-> all kinds of interaction appreciated ♡

hi everyone, im really sorry for the huge wait!! I know how annoying it can be sometimes to have to wait long periods of time for a writer to post the next chapter, so I really am sorry for that :( I honestly don't really have an excuse, other than writer's block and a busy schedule. You all are the absolute best for your constant patience and support, i love everyone sm <3 Kisses!

a really huge thank you to my taglist loves ♡ :

@mothraantics @wholelottalove05 @izuoyarmin @devoid-swanky @carpe000diem @mooonyxoxo @hyperspeedo @idkman5335 @elanna-elrondiel @murielisacertifieddilf @penelopied @imgondeletedis @wooyoungsrightsock @jennifer0305 @wolfdragon0424 @lovemesomevesey

[jen-with-a-pen]

F O X ＨＵＮＴ

summary: Not only has HYDRA executed their infiltration on S.H.I.E.L.D., but they have also reclaimed their finest weapon. Your safety isn't the only thing that's compromised.

pairings: WS!Beefy!Bucky Barnes x F!Avenger!Reader

word count: 6.1k

warnings: chasing, being hunted down, implied n0n-con elements, canon-level violence, cursing, implied t0rture, blood, beat1ngs, forced nud1ty, language, HYDRA-level cruelty, Bucky gets Brainwashed (again), there's Steve x Reader if you squint REALLY REALLY hard

read here on ao3!

a/n: This was inspired by last year's Whumptober Day 2: NOWHERE TO RUN - CORNERED, CAGED AND CONFRONTATION. I know it's February JUNE, but shit came up and my motivation tanked lmao thanks adhd med trials Literally have never done a dark(er?) fic before and this one has been cooking for god knows how fucking long now. I hope y'all like it <3 (also the hydra victory au is something i discovered from the lovely @lunarbuck reset series and stewed obsessively over for literal months now. still obsessed with it whoops)

dividers by @firefly-graphics | gif by @lost-shoe | @hydravictrix

my ao3 | my masterlist

Translations

Lisitsa | лисица - fox/little fox

Soldat | солдат - soldier

Syuda | сюда - over here

Khitraya suka | хитрая сука - sly bitch

Moy priz | мой приз - my prize

Glupaya pizda | глупая пизда - stupid cunt

Moye | мое - mine

The infiltration was subtle at the start.

A few missions gone mysteriously wrong, agents killed in action or disappearing entirely, hacks that were, thankfully, contained within an inch of a full-blown data breach. All of it seemed so coincidental when it happened, swept under the rug each and every single time before Director Fury could have a swear-filled say as to what the hell was going on. 

But hindsight is 20/20. It always is.

The day S.H.I.E.L.D. fell was, ironically, the perfect day: brilliant sunshine, clear blue skies, a breeze weaving between the towering buildings and skyscrapers. It was almost eerie, in a way, how perfect of a day it was. 

You found yourself in the gym, Steve and Sam hashing it out on whose turn it was in sparring. You had all but knocked Sam out cold in the previous round as Steve watched from behind the ropes, cheering you on with a cocky, proud grin as he watched all of his hard work in your training pay off.

Of course, the stubborn ass he was, Sam wanted another go. 

“C’mon, Steve! I wanna rematch!” Sam protested, gesturing wildly in your direction with one hand while his other held an ice pack to his bruised temple. Steve stifled a laugh, tossing a glance over his shoulder to you. You shook your head, smiling back as you gulped down the rest of your water bottle. Cool strands spilled out from the corners of your lips and down your chest. You welcomed the relief from the sweat gluing your t-shirt to your skin. 

“How ‘bout I take Steve instead of giving you another concussion?” you retorted, giggling as Sam shot a narrow look at you. He huffed, forfeiting his argument by waving a dismissive hand. 

“Fine, ’m gonna go find some pain meds,” he grumbled, turning to point a swollen finger at Steve. “I better see you in the infirmary next, Cap.” 

He stomped off through the metal doors and left the two of you in silence.

“Whaddya say, sweetheart? You up for round two?” Steve teased, stepping under the ropes and into the ring. He wrapped his hands as he moved to the center, muscle memory carrying him while keeping his eager gaze on you. His eyes carried excitement as they journeyed up and down your figure, rolling his lip between his teeth as he drank you with his stare. 

You did little to hide your pride at the Captain checking you out, chewing the corner of your cheek to tame your own smirk at the beautiful blond. You turned away, hiding the heat from your cheeks as you tossed your bottle at your bag. You weaved under the ropes, coming face to face with your willing opponent in the center. You lifted your chin to meet his, the hidden smirk on your lips growing into a grin.

“With you? Always, old man,” you purred. You tossed him a teasing wink as you positioned your fists in front of you, feet planted firmly in the starting stance. Steve lingered on you for a second longer, tongue swiping across his lips hungrily as he cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, raising his hands to mirror you.

The two of you began to circle one another, dancing in a familiar pattern you knew by heart. Steve took his first swipe at you and you ducked, managing a hit to his stomach. A grunt escaped from him– not of hurt but of thrill. He lunged for you as you dodged again, blocking his failed strike to your head. 

“Wow! You really can’t teach an old dog new tricks!” you taunted, dodging another blow, his wrapped fist only grazing your shoulder. You rolled it back, holding back a slight wince as you continued the violent waltz. 

You lunged at him, instead faltering and falling to the ground. Readying the curse on your tongue, it stopped short of your lips as you looked up at Steve. 

He stood frozen in place, panting, fists at his sides clenching tighter and tighter. As you opened your mouth to unload even more cursing questions, screeching erupted from the loudspeakers around the room. High-pitched tones screaming above, a robotic voice speaking clinically and quickly. You scrambled off the floor, unease creeping in as you latched onto Steve’s arm, his arm tensing under your touch.

CODE WHITE. CODE SILVER. ALL SECURITY AND TEAM UNITS URGENTLY NEEDED. 40th FLOOR. THREAT IS ACTIVE AND HIGHLY DANGEROUS. REPEAT. CODE WHITE. CODE SILVER. ALL SECURITY AND TEAM UNITS–

The message had cut out, static replacing it alongside the echoing alarms throughout the hallways outside the gym. You looked up at Steve. Anxiety surged upon finding his face devoid of all blood, his jaw slack, eyes boring into the metal doors leading to the hallway. He looked scared. 

You’d never seen Steve scared before. 

“Steve, what the fuck was that–”

“Get to the locker rooms and hide,” he ordered. He pulled his arm from you, jumping over the ropes and sprinting to his duffel bag on the floor. He pulled out his phone and dialed frantically as he ran to the doors. 

“Steve!” You stood trembling in the ring as your stomach churned. 

“Now!” he yelled. “I’ll come back for you!” 

He didn’t wait to hear your response as he slammed the gym doors shut, followed by a whir and click.

He locked you in. 

You didn’t– couldn’t– hesitate as a surge of urgency overtook you. You needed to hide. Now. Fast.

Your legs carried you as you jumped out of the ring and raced to grab your duffel bag, sprinting to the back of the gym through another set of double doors. You wove through the tiled maze of the locker room searching for some sort of hiding spot, settling on the showers. You snuck over to the stall at the very end, the closest one to the emergency exit, and ducked under the opaque plastic curtain. Your bag fell to the floor as you climbed onto the stall seat. Blood pumped in your ears, thumping as quickly as your shaky, shallow breathing. Millions of thoughts and questions and worries rushed through your mind at impossible speeds.

White and Silver. Which alert was that for?

You racked through fleeting memories, distant recollections of training and orientation from months ago, searching for anything remotely familiar. You remembered all of the other codes– red, orange, teal– but no white, no silver. 

A faint buzzing sounded from inside your duffel. You lunged, unzipping it and fishing out your phone. Natasha. Her name lit up the screen and you frantically hit the answer key before the call could even think about dropping.

“Where the fuck are you?” Her panicked voice hissed into your ear. Her edged tone was enough to make your stomach backflip faster. 

“Locker rooms, forty-fifth floor. What the fuck is going on, Nat?” Your voice shook as anger and confusion boiled in your blood.

A muffled swear. “Where’s Steve?”

“He ran out, locked me in, told me to hide.” More incoherent curses.

“Fuck, fuck, okay, look, trust me on this, you need to stay where you are, okay? I can get you out, I–” 

High-pitched ringing overtook the speaker, sending you reeling away from the receiver. Static echoed out of the speakers.

“You what? Natasha!”

“No– time– you–”

“Natasha! Hello?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

You tore the phone away from your ear and choked back the bile rising in your throat. Service was out. The blinking bars at the top of the screen mocked you and your sudden plunge into isolation. 

The lights went next. 

The dull fluorescents flickered. Someone cut the electricity, sending you into almost darkness as the backup generator lights kicked on. Scattered lights from above cast an eerie yellow glow over the shower tiles. You’d only seen this kind of outage happen once before, when New York was hit with Hurricane Noah a few years back.

The fear you felt in that storm paled in comparison to what you felt now.

You sighed, shaky and surrendering, and pulled your body closer to you on the shower bench. A chill snaked its way down your spine as your skin brushed the cool ceramic, an unwelcome addition to the cold already enveloping you. Your sweat-soaked t-shirt and shorts failed to aid you and your aching muscles. Fingernails dug into your kneecaps in a struggle to stop trembling as you tried to focus on your breathing. Inhaling, exhaling, in, out. Screwing your eyes shut, praying to any deity imaginable it was all just a drill, it was all an accident or a misunderstanding or–

The ground shook as a loud bang echoed from outside the locker room. A panicked yelp escaped your throat before your hands could scramble and cover your mouth. You froze as the tremors subsided and listened. It, or they, sounded close. 

Too close. 

Another BANG! Then another. 

Rhythmic, steady blows, each quicker and more powerful than the last. Hands clamped tighter over your lips until your blood froze at the sounds of crushing steel and crumbling concrete. The lump in your throat grew as horrific realization flooded over you. 

They, or it, broke in.

You couldn’t wrap your head around it– those doors were more fortified than Tony’s lab. Four-inch-thick, steel and plexiglass doors with a three-tier secured locking system. Nothing, nobody– not even the strongest Super Soldier– was powerful enough to make the faintest of dents in them.

Racing through who, or what, could have possibly broken into the gym, your train of thought derailed as echoes of men yelling indecipherable words and mixed commands shattered the remaining air of safety you clung to. Listening intently, a mix of combat boots and tactical gear filtered in with the echoed commands.

The S.T.R.I.K.E. Team.

Your legs begged for reprieve from crouching, but your body disobeyed and froze you in place. Part of you didn’t trust who was outside. Footsteps and gruff voices became heavier, closer. The relief that greeted you was replaced again by panic as you listened closer.

Clear, Russian commands resonated at the entrance to the locker rooms. They were coming in. 

Your breath hitched, blood running cold as footsteps closed in. It was one person, but their steps didn’t sound like the heavy boots before them. They sounded more like…

Sneakers?

The rubber from the intruder’s shoes squeaked on the tiled floors. Ragged breathing echoed off the walls. A low growl, accompanied by quiet whirring. Someone big, someone mean. 

Your heart made its way to your throat as the intruder inched closer. Slow, methodical, as if trained in search and rescue. 

It didn’t feel like a rescue.

The lump almost turned into a scream as an echoed BANG carried from the bathroom stalls around the corner. Silence followed, then a growl, then another BANG. The cycle repeated for the remaining stalls, the intruder slowly creeping along. Growls became deeper upon each disappointment. 

Hostages. They were looking for hostages.

Soles squeaked as the intruder changed course, stomping around the corner to search the line of shower stalls. You hiccuped a sob, realizing tears started to trail down your cheeks. Biting your palm only proved a lame attempt to calm your racing heart, a scream threatening to leave your throat as they began tearing the plastic curtains off the stalls. Each clang of metal cracking onto the tile became closer as you ground your teeth into the meat of your hand. Eyes screwed shut, silent prayers raced in your head, pleading to wake up; to wake up from this hellscape of a sick, twisted nightmare. 

The intruder’s steps stopped. 

Your eyes opened, widening at the blurred, hulking shadow standing outside of your stall. They had to be well over six feet. Towering, bulky, monstrous. 

Slowly, the shadow’s hand reached for the curtain. One by one, its fingers closed around the plastic’s edge, preparing to rip it down and rip you open. Eyes burning, hot tears felt like molten metal as you attempted to make yourself as small as possible in your corner, huddling your knees as close as they could be. This was it. This was the end. You prayed– actually fucking prayed– hoping they couldn’t hear your pathetic whimpering, hoping they would make this quick, painless; break your neck or put a gun to your head and get it over with. Leave your body for someone else to find.

“Soldat, syuda!” 

The command made your heart stop.

The shadow froze, stopped by a call from the entrance to the locker room. Skin met your teeth as you bit harder into your hand. Lungs began panicking as you started hyperventilating, bile reaching your throat and burning the back of your tongue. 

The shadow, the monster, growled in protest. It retracted the curled hand from the curtain, wordlessly moving back towards the bathroom stalls. Footsteps faded as muffled conversation floated away from the locker room.

You needed to get the fuck out of there. 

You slid off the bench, legs aching and knees popping as you crouched silently over to the curtain, peeking out behind the plastic. It crinkled quietly and you bit your lip, leaning out ever so slightly over the threshold. 

Tiptoeing around the corner, you faced the emergency exit. The glowing sign omitted a creepy, green glow that added to the eeriness brought by the generator lights. 

This was it.

You slammed the push bar down, throwing the door open with your body and spilling out into the hallway. Sunlight flashed through the infinite glass hallway, blinding you. In your frozen state, you hear commotion from behind the door as it slammed shut. Banging from the other side, the sound of metal on metal, made your teeth grind. Indents from punches dented the door, deforming its smooth outside. You didn’t stay frozen for long as your body screamed at you to fucking move, now.

Your legs obeyed immediately, carrying you through the corridor to the closest means of escape you could find. As you rounded the corner, the crushing sounds of the door breaking off of its hinges hit your ears. You didn’t dare to look back, sprinting through the twists and turns of the infinite hallway. You followed what felt familiar, burning muscles egged on by the sound of pounding footsteps getting closer and closer.

Finally, you stumbled onto the entrance to a stairwell, pausing to gasp for air your lungs demanded. The burn in your legs and chest only aided in the physiological need to hyperventilate. Sweat dripped from your temple and your head pounded as hard as your feet hitting the ground. 

You leaned into the safety bar, inches away from further distancing yourself from whatever, whoever, was on your trail, when a yell erupted from the end of the hallway. 

It felt like slow-motion; one of those scenes in those cheesy horror movies Sam always made you and Steve watch on weekends off. The ones with cheap FX, bad sound, but somehow great editing for the budget. The scenes where realization hits the main character and suddenly everything is half the speed while they still move in real time. 

You turned your head towards the source. Then, it hit you. Blood drained from your face as the horror of realization hit you, like a speeding sixteen-wheeler head on.

Bucky Barnes stood hulking at the end of the hallway. Generator lights and setting sun illuminated his snarling teeth, gleaming from parted lips that had him panting like a rabid dog. If you hadn’t known better it would’ve looked like he was heading for the gym for his daily workout. Blown pupils, sweat-stuck hair, complimented by a shaking frame– most definitely caused by adrenaline, dopamine, and a slew of Gods-knew-what other drugs he had pumped into his system. Splotches of drying, smeared blood coated his neck and shirt while even more dripped onto the ground from his fists. The crimson contrasted with the medically white floors. 

Bile rose in your throat again. The acidic taste made you dry heave at the sight of the blood, knowing from the looks of Bucky it definitely wasn’t his.

He snarled as your eyes finally met. Fists of flesh and metal flexed. Rippling muscles shook as he readied to launch forward.

“You’re mine, lisitsa!” he barked. His voice booming louder than the speed of sound, it made your ears ring.

Your throat finally opened. You screamed as he sprinted towards you, making more ground down the hallway than an apex predator out of hibernation. You shoved the exit door open, heaving your legs forward as you ascended the stairs. No choice but to go up, you refused to look back– nay you didn’t dare to even consider it. Muscles and tendons and joints burned, yearning for you to stop, but the door slamming from flights below you only pushed you harder, flying up and passing floor after floor. 

You were fast, but he was faster. 

Dizziness overtook you as your vision began to blur. Darkened edges of your peripherals made you stop your climb at level 50, pausing for a split second to hear Bucky’s progress. He was close behind, but you still had more of an advantage. You knew the Tower better than him. You knew level 50 had another stairwell on the opposite side of the floor, through another hallway off the corner of your current one. Sneakers pounded too close for comfort as you shoved the door open and made a break for it down another corridor labyrinth.

If you made it out of this alive, you swore you’d kill Tony’s architect yourself. 

“You can’t hide forever, lisitsa!” Bucky’s voice rang out from the stairwell as you rounded the corner, sprinting through more identical-looking hallways. Another corner later and the glowing red EXIT sign appeared above the next stairwell. A beacon of hope, almost. Relieved, you head straight for it, body and mind and soul pushing against the burning and the gasping for air. You were right there, hand outstretched, fingertips grasping the metal bar–

It felt like a car crash. 

Not an accident or fender bender. No, it felt like seventy miles an hour meets a tree with no intent of moving. That split-second feeling where your stomach drops and you can all but brace for the deadly impact destined for you to meet.

Time stopped as you were yanked backwards. Cold, slick metal wrapped around your ankle, bloody hand print smearing some poor bastard’s DNA all over your calf as your body fell to the ground. Hard. Your jaw clenched as your chin slammed into the linoleum. Teeth ground into your tongue as copper flooded your tastebuds. Your lungs, with little wind left in them, gasped for oxygen. Another scream rising in your throat became stuck in your vocal cords. 

Bucky whipped you around as you struggled to free your lower half. You landed on your shoulder, head bouncing against the floor and teary eyes struggled to stay open and endure the pain. He straddled your form, the weight crashing down on your bones and organs. A sharp inhale impaled your chest as you met Bucky’s darkened eyes, then; the familiar steel blue replaced entirely with dilated, unhinged pupils. 

It was the first time you got a good look at his face. His face is speckled with blood spatter and several bruises spread across his cheek down his neck. Two black eyes, a bloody nose– one you hoped was his– and a broken lip. The bloodied collar of his shirt only aided in the mess of his hair. His soft, chocolate strands stuck in mats to his neck and temples with sweat and blood. 

Out of sheer habit, because he looked like your Bucky, you couldn’t help but reach a hand out to him. A soft plea for the man behind his eyes, one you begged everything holy was still there. He held your stare, face contorting into unrecognizable emotions. Tears brimmed your eyes as your hand stretched further, sobs escaping as your fingers inched closer and closer to his battered face.

“Bucky, it’s me–”

Your appeal transformed into a shriek, quickly snuffed out as Bucky wrapped his crimson-spattered metal hand around your throat. You choked, sputtering lost pleas as your hands flew to your neck. Fingernails flailed in futile attempts to claw off the weapons-grade titanium. 

“You’re done running, khitraya suka,” Bucky’s hot breath fanned your face as he leaned in. His mouth grazed your jaw, titanium hand on your throat flexing with each syllable. He slowly made his way down your neck, pushing harder into your chest with his forearm. A heavy growl. His grip only tightened as you tried to knee him in the groin, picking you up by your neck and slamming you down again.

Stars circled your blurred vision, eyes rolling back into your head. The corridor, the lights, everything split into two.

“You owe me for my victory, lisitsa,” Bucky’s husky whisper resonated in your ear as he licked the side of your face, his hot, wet mouth against your tear-stained cheek. As his free hand moved to the waistband of your shorts, another surge of panic washed through you. You tried to sputter a weak cry from your closed-off throat, blood turning cold, another scream building and building in your chest and aching for release. 

“You owe me what’s mine –!” 

BANG!

Something from somewhere all of a sudden. The object slammed into Bucky, throwing him off of you and spilling across the floor. 

Finally, your lungs lunged at the chance for air, leaving you a heaving, choking, coughing mess. Spitting at the ground as you made your way shakily to your hands and knees, a freed hand traveling to rub the fresh strangulation bruises forming on the column of your stiff neck. 

“Get the fuck off her, Bucky!” 

Steve.

As your vision cleared, the shield whizzed past you as it ricocheted back into Steve’s open arms. Bucky groaned, low and guttural, but only for a moment is he subdued. Slowly, he rose, like smoke from extinguished ashes, looking to his metal vice. A large dent adorned the weathered, bloodied appendage where his bicep met his shoulder. He then turned his attention to Steve, baring his teeth, anger coursing through him as he immediately disregarded you. His sights set on a new target, launching himself at Steve without a beat lost.

Steve grunted as Bucky’s metal fist met the vibranium shield with a deafening clang. Steve gritted his teeth and pushed back, managing to break Bucky’s attack and aim a kick for his stomach.

“Go! I got him!” Steve yelled to you through a gasp as Bucky countered with his own swipe at Steve’s middle. Your body stayed put, relishing in the ability to fucking breathe again, also painfully aware how screwed you’d be if you didn’t escape as you had the chance. You willed yourself to move, to run and to keep going, to no avail. As Steve landed a blow to Bucky, his eyes met yours once more. His baby blues, pained and tired, begged for you to listen to him for once in your life. 

“Now!”

The strain in Steve’s voice seemed to ignite a fire underneath you. Pushing yourself up, you willed your legs to carry you to the exit. Bloody shoe prints tracked your route as you slammed through the doorway. You cursed, knowing they’ll give away which way you’d go, knowing your life matters more than a twenty-dollar pair of sneakers. Kicking them off, throwing the pair down the exit, praying they made it far enough Bucky wouldn’t know any better. 

You threw yourself up the stars, tremors and pain afflicting every limb as the cold concrete seeped in through your socks in each step. The railing helped as you heaved yourself forward with help from the railing. Sweaty palms slipped on the bars, but your grip only grew tighter. 

You didn’t know how you, or your body, was able to do it, making it up seven more flights of stairs before your knees buckled on level 57. Heaving the door open and slamming it shut, you stumbled out into the new hallway. You hadn’t visited that level before. Something Steve and the others– especially Doctor Banner– said was “just a business floor.”

The sign on the wall directing to ‘SAFELAB’ said otherwise. Nothing in the Tower was “just business.” 

What you did know was that every SAFELAB on every floor was located in the same, far-east hallway. 

Wiping the sweat from your temple, you turned right, jogging down the darkened, emptied-out hallway. It felt like the apocalypse. No sign of anybody else. Doors left ajar, papers and bags and other employee memorabilia scattered throughout abandoned offices and cubicles. You hoped everyone was able to make it out, at least.

Part of you didn’t hope for much, though. 

The door to the lab came into view as you rounded the last corner. The door was still locked, the lab inside sterile and untouched. A sigh of relief escaped you. Holding your palm to the door’s scanner, it answered your prayers in a soft beep and whir, miraculously allowing you in. 

You maneuvered through the multiple security doors, four in total, crouching low once you managed to slip into the lab itself. The gigantic window at the front of the labspace spared no room for you to hide easily, but you had zero room to complain about it. It was your only option, after all.

Well, besides the roof. 

Crouched, you snuck your way around the counters and various equipment to one of the supply closets. The furthest corner from the entrance. You scoured through drawers and cupboards for some sort of weaponry; the most you could find was a new scalpel out of a box of extras. 

You closed in on the supply closet, reaching up and grasping the handle, turning it slowly to prevent any squeaks from the inner hinge. A tear glided down your cheek in relief. You hadn’t realized you started crying. Again. 

The door swung open. It greeted you mostly empty, deep enough for you to cram your body into. Crawling inside, bones and limbs contorted into the most comfortable position you could manage. You pinched the edges of the doors to close them as best as you can, accepting they, in fact, couldn’t close all the way from the inside. A curse under your breath, the sliver of dim light through the crack cast onto your face. Once settled, you crumpled your damp t-shirt up from the collar and shoved the fabric into your mouth. Teeth and tongue greeted sweaty cotton and hints of copper as you bit down on the collar, covering your mouth with a free hand. 

At last, after Gods knew how long it had been since you ceased moving, a silenced sob heaved out of your chest. Tremors only worsened as your nervous system rode out the fumes of its adrenaline high and flight mode instincts. Hot tears spilled down your cheeks, mixing with snot further down your face, slipping down to your neck and leaving behind streaked paths in the bloodied, hand-printed bruises adorned on your flesh. The pain from the near-strangulation you suffered broke through the shock and endorphins that were keeping you sane until then. You knew, though, you couldn’t break down. Not yet. Not until you saw Natasha or Steve or someone you trusted face-to-face. 

You started counting your breaths. Mind racing, thoughts traveling near sonic speeds through your mind carrying questions at how the hell it all happened.

You thought for sure S.H.I.E.L.D. was secure, especially after the ordeal with Bucky, Steve, and the whole ‘defeating HYDRA’ ordeal from a few years back. Hell, you thought it was safer than taking the FBI’s recon mission that was offered to you before being referred to Tony himself. Your mind raced, what-ifs and endless possibilities flashing across your eyes like a snuff film. You hoped Steve was okay. You hoped Natasha was on her way to your location any second. You hoped Sam was safe and made it out okay. You hoped Bucky –

Bucky. 

Christ, you hadn’t even stopped to think about how the hell everything happened to him. He’d been doing so well in his recovery program. Steve was even telling you about it that same morning, bragging about how well Bucky was doing, how much progress he was making, how soon they’d finally be able to move in together once Doctor Banner cleared him. Another sob overtook you. How you’d never seen him like that before, the feeling of his titanium arm slowly crushing your windpipe, the weight of his entire body crushing your internal organs as he’d held you down. The things he’d said. You tried to wrap your head around what he’d said, what he was going to do–

Crashing followed by shattering glass emitted a muffled yelp from you as your blood ran cold. Another wave of tears flooded out of your burning eyes, chest heaving unevenly. Your hand clamped even tighter over your mouth as teeth bit into the salty fabric of your shirt, drying up any more moisture your mouth was grateful to finally have.

BANG! Then another. Then more in rapid succession. Shattering, crashing, shattering, silence. The final blow to the security doors sounded from inside the lab itself. Your breath hitched and bile began bubbling in your stomach, reaching the back of your throat and across your tongue. You forced yourself to swallow the acid, listening intently to the crunch of sneakers on shattered glass.

He’d found you. 

“Lisitsaaa,” Bucky drawled, his voice dropped to a primally low octave. Lower than before. You almost couldn’t make out the words, a mixture of growled mumblings of English and Russian. Knees folded closer to your chest, you tightened your grip on the handle of the scalpel. Bucky’s footsteps were slow, methodical, predatorial. 

His heavy steps inched closer, each followed by a pause, then sudden crashing of lab equipment and smashing of drawers. More glass and metal slammed to the ground and walls after each pause. He sounded feet away. Then inches. 

Your breathing stopped as the sliver of light clouded over. The lump in your throat threatened more puke to rise as you dared to peer up through the crack, heart dropping like a dead weight to your stomach as your eyes fell on freshly bloodied sneakers. A stifled scream in your lungs choked you. You refused to think about whose blood that was.

Eyes darted back up. You could see Bucky’s blurred features clouded in shadows. The only light visible, then, was the glint from his wicked smile. Bloodied teeth shone as he licked his lips hungrily, a predator finally cornering its prey. 

Ever so slowly he crouched, shoving his face closer into the seam in the door. Tears and snot continued to stream down your face, your body hyperventilating as you forced yourself to look into his eyes. There was nothing else you could do. Nothing else to say, to cry about. There was nowhere left to run. He got you. 

“There you are, moy priz,” Bucky hissed before reaching through and throwing the doors open, heavy hands leaving imprints in the flimsy metal. Frozen, your fist was still closed around the scalpel, your muscles tensed as joints locked in place. His evil eyes scanned your body greedily, looking for which cut of meat to divulge in first. His gaze stopped at your fist and he chuckled, tisking in a disappointed tone. 

“Oh, glupaya pizda,” Bucky shook his head, amused at your meager choice of weaponry. Compared to him, you might as well have been waving a white flag. His smile only grew, tongue jutting out to lick his lips. Specks of blood coated the sides of his cheeks and edges of his mouth, smeared about from ear to ear with the back of his hand.

“Come with me and they might consider your life, lisitsa–”

You sprung into him, swinging your arm, landing the scalpel into the middle of his flesh hand, impaling straight through it. In an instant, blood spewed from the impact. Bucky screamed out in pain, a slew of mixed language curses reverberating in your skull. You scrambled out of your hiding place, bashing him with a balled fist to the face as you tumbled out and onto your feet, sprinting to the lab’s only exit. Freedom was only an arm’s length away when an overturned stool tripped you. The impact didn’t hurt near as much as the millions of shattered glass bits shredded cut into your skin, your hands and knees and arms and face littered as blood smeared under you and across the once-sterile white floors. You cried out, writhing around. Battered and bloodied, struggling to rise and run again despite the searing pain in your ankle.

Before you could form your next thought, a rough hand snatched your scalp and dragged you up by your hair. You uttered a panicked scream as Bucky hoisted you to eye level, snarling like a rabid dog as he shook you hard.

“I thought you were smarter than that, lisitsa,” he sneered, “but I was wrong.”

He hurled you back onto the floor, his bloodied, titanium fist still gripping your hair, dragging you over to one of the disheveled lab tables. More glass shredded your skin, blood and sweat and tears mixing and pouring over your face and hands and body. With ease and a free hand, he swiped the rest of the contents off another counter; beakers and burners crashed to the floor. His grip tightened as he threw you up onto the stainless steel counter, the dead weight of your body banging onto the table, landing you hard on your back. Eardrums rang into your skull and jaw, radiating down your spine and out your limbs. Your hands slip against the smooth metal from the blood, futile attempts to grab onto something, anything. You groaned and huffed excess sobs. The pain, unbearable; the fear, unimaginable. 

Bucky hoisted himself onto the table, landing on top of your broken body, his knee hitting your spine and knocking your last breath out of you. Straddling you, his thick thighs bulged through tattered sweatpants, squeezing into your rib cage. He looped another fist into your hair, raising your head and slamming it down. The side of your face smushed into the steel table, smearing around more blood as he did it again. And again. The cartilage in your nose cracked and throbbing pain radiated into your eyes, your skull. Warmth from the break and the blood poured over your face. The pain, dulling into numbness as you began to fade in and out of consciousness.

Your vision started to blur and blacken, stars and specks orbiting around Bucky like a halo of hallucination. Your body, finally surrendering to him. No fight left. Any strength you could have mustered, funneled into staying awake, proved useless. 

A new sound, then: ripping.

You didn’t have to look to witness Bucky unrelentingly tear your t-shirt away from your body, training his eyes on your open form. Bruised skin exposed to cool air, your chest still momentarily held together by your sports bra. He made quick work of it next, the nylon snapping off in one swipe, sending goosebumps racing down your spine. 

Ice-cold titanium fingers untangled from your matted hair and made their way from your nape, to the small of your back, to the waistband of your gym shorts. Muscles tensed as you felt each digit wrap almost leisurely onto the elastic. He tore them away swiftly, baring the rest of you and your skin to him. A growl, one of pleasure, vibrated into you from him, emitted he palmed the skin of your ass. His fingers journeyed languidly in a slow trail from your back to your core. You squirmed, wasting the last of your strength, a hopeless attempt to get away one last time. 

A crack came across your face. Flesh against flesh, he slapped you. A punishment. A command for obedience. Your body fell limp. Breathing raggedly and gagging on blood and spit, you shuddered as he took your wrists and tied them together with your t-shirt. 

Satisfied, his prey finally submitting, Bucky paused, panting as he leaned down to you. He wet his lips before speaking, gruff words slurred against your ringing eardrum. As he spoke, cold metal grazed your entrance, a threat of what was to come. 

“Now, I get to take what’s mine.”

Your screams echoed as the world fell dark.

[ruinedbylanadelrey]

King of Your Heart

Chapter 6 "Games"

summary: All that Frankie has ever wanted to be was your everything. After years of being best friends one phone call changes everything between the two of you.

inspired by The King by Sarah Kinsley

warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, age gap (reader is 28-29, Frankie 38-39), friends with benefits -> situationship, Frankie isn't a dad, jealously, best friends with benefits, reader is lowkey toxic, reader wears makeup, reader has long hair, self-hate (both characters), alcohol consumption, yearning, secrets, no y/n, pet names, possessiveness, triple frontier boys, Tom is dead, reader is a flirt

inside the world of king of your heart

playlist

series mainlist | main masterlist

taglist: @hiroikegawa

Meeting Frankie was the worst night of your life, you had just broken up with your last partner and you ran into your military friend Ben. You haven't seen him just yet since he had only been back in town a few days. You were sulking at the bar, and Benny bumped into you, spilling a pitcher of beer on your lap. You stood up and backed Benny against the bar like you were going to punch him. Your right arm is backed to throw a punch when you see the blonde in front of you with a dazzling smile laughing at your fight stance.

"Still feisty as ever, princess," Ben lowers your arm and takes you to his table with his friends.

Seeing all of them attractive as hell. You had melted every guy's heart when you became friends with everyone. That bad night turned into a good one, finding some good friends who liked you for you. 

You kept looking at the brooding brunette with the damn 'Standard Heating Oil' cap shadowing his beautiful face. Frankie "Catfish" Morales.

When you became friends with Frankie, it was like you've known him your entire lifetime. As Frankie made his way into your heart it was like you and him were soulmates, just meeting in this lifetime. Maybe in another lifetime, Frankie would be an older man, and you just be a silly 20-year-old girl fawning over the older gentleman. But this is the platonic break for your souls. 

So many days and hours were spent with Frankie, you want company as you run errands Frankie is there driving you around, just enjoying the mundaneness of life. Frankie needed a small pair of hands to screw in a part for the Jeep, you and him have decided to buy together as a project car, since you both love cars; you were there to help. Late-night liquor store runs. Late night Mcdonald's due to have the munchies. Everyone assumed you two were dating until you asked Ben to fix you up with someone. 

A lot of questions were asked. Confused faces on everyone's face. Frankie trying to act like he was grossed out by the thought of dating you and then you were laughing it off burying down the yearning for him. 

His deep brown eyes burn into your doe eyes. No one says anything, Frankie just continues to hold you. Frankie feels his heart wince because of the look on your face, just so soft and all the walls are broken down. Your eyes flashing the green light but it seems like a mirage to him. Walls are being built on Frankie's side as he unwraps his arms from you and turns back to the fight. 

Your body felt cold without Frankie pressed against you. Dispair hits your stomach, twisting up your insides, and nausea makes you break out into a sweat. You can't make a scene. Not here when you are all there for Benny. You turn towards the cage and try to watch Benny throw punches and then absorb the counter move from his opponent. You recluse into your mind, recalculating every interaction you ever had with Frankie.

Can you and Frankie ever be best friends again?

Does this mean that Frankie is done with you?

If you play with fire too much you are bound to get burned. At this point, you wanted to be set on fire so you wouldn't have to feel rattled awakening. Another 10 minutes went by then Benny announced the winner. The guys were cheering more like just yelling and pushing each other around. You snapped out of your head and started to run to Ben exiting to cage.

"I told ya! I told you'd win, pretty boy!" You threw on a cheery persona and gave him a quick hug before you met up with the rest of the guys.

Will suggests going to the bar, Ben and Pope were walking to the locker room hollering down the hall. You swallowed the knot forming in the back of your throat.

"Alright We'll make you guys there," Will could feel the shift in the air between you and Frankie, and couldn't bear another second of it. 

Frankie opens his mouth and turns watching Will walk away. You sighed and rolled your eyes,

"Shut your mouth you look like a fish," You gritted through your teeth. He snaps his head and looks at you, just an angel with anger festering inside. Frankie swears he watches your halo fall and horns sprout from your head. Becoming someone he doesn't know. 

Where is the princess who just loves her friends?

Who is this girl in front of him?

Did he screw up that bad?

"Watch your mouth, princess," Frankie didn't know what took over him, but here you were between the cinderblock wall and Frankie who never looked so sexy before. Both of his hands make purchase on the wall and his frame towers over you, both of your chests heaving and heavy breathing. A scowl still on your face and that infamous Frankie smirk on his face. You grow enraged, and you push Frankie away, his hand grabs your arm and pulls you to his chest. 

Frankie had to make it right. 

But maybe it's too late.

Frankie swears that each time he tries to make sure he's doing right by you, he screws it up and you only give a finite window to fix his mistake. He wishes that he could have someone tell him to change his ways when it's needed.

He needs to fix this.

Your relationship.

Platonic.

Romantic.

You put up a fight and just gave up and let him hold you. It was time to let you have happiness, a life with the one person who knows you. Breathe, breathe, breathe, and just cry into his brown eyes. This is the millionth time crying to Frankie.

"O-ohh...Frankie, I love you," You spin his arms and cup his face just itching to feel his skin on yours.

"Do you think you could love me?"

Your question stuns him. How could he not love you? Yes, you have your baggage but so does everyone else. 

"Oh, sweetheart..." Frankie brushes the hair out of your face and just loves how pretty you look when you cry. The tears glistened in your waterline drawing more attention to them.

"You're too precious. I love you for your faults and all." Frankie chuckles and helps you embrace the blooming love that is coming out of your heart.

"Because that is what you do when you're madly in love with somebody," His words are just so heavy and meaningful. You always said Frankie's a secret hopeless romantic just like you are. 

You smiled and sniffled, Frankie wipes away the trickling tears from your eyes. 

"You have to promise me one thing, princess," 

"Anything,"

"You don't even know what I was going to say." Frankie laughs a bit and shakes his head at you. 

"I know but I'll do anything for you."

"No more playing games. No more of this 'more than friends but less than lovers' bullshit."

"I promise."

Frankie appreciates your promise with a kiss. It's been a while since a kiss from Frankie, a deep kiss, teeth clinking together, your fingers brushing through his hair and taking off the cap. His nose bumping yours, and his hands resting on your hips pulling you closer by the belt loops.

"I fucking told you guys!" Benny shouts, you jump in the kiss and Frankie doesn't move one muscle besides his tongue licking into your mouth. 

Frankie breaks the kiss and looks into your eyes while the hallway sounds like a middle school with all the whistling and catcalling coming from the guys pretending to gawk at Frankie. "The Princess and the Catfish!" Pope tries to make a joke and everyone including you groaned in dismay. 

"C'mon, we are celebrating the win!" Benny clasped his hand over Frankie's shoulder fixing his cap and pulling it over his eyes. You pushed Ben off of Frankie and fixed the mistake Benny made. Frankie smiles when you come into view, eyes tinted pink from crying, your lips swollen from the kiss.

"My place or yours?" You asked with a cotton candy fluff tone. 

That same question still makes his heart race. 

"Your apartment since it's closer," Frankie smiles and intertwines your hand with his and walks you to your car and watching you drive away to the bar.

Frankie could feel 3 pairs of eyes on him, his chest rose up and down before he faced them. All their faces were straight as they saw a tired look in Frankie's eyes. 

The drive to the bar was quiet, Benny not wanting to ask Frankie the question they were all wondering. 

Is Frankie happy?

You had a table with 4 beers and one cranberry vodka. You were giddy in your seat while you waved over 4 of the scary-looking guys.

Will makes a toast to Ben on his win and 'to Frankie and Princess for finally ending the games.' Frankie takes a drink of the beer and your hand rests on his thigh, he swallows hard and feels like in a dream state.

You with the guys, sitting next to him, touching him in front of everyone, finally letting go of whatever fears you had about being in a relationship again. A small pit in Frankie's stomach with each laugh that comes out your mouth, every hand rubbing up and down his thigh.

How long will you be like this? Is this going to be forever or until you get in your head?

[scarletsaphire]

DP Sidehoes Week Day 5: Dani, Self Defense

Trigger warnings for: Dissection, dehumanization, brainwashing, organ harvesting (kind of)

The incision was only slightly over a millimeter deep, carved in the lines of scar tissue that had formed directly under her rib cage. A second set of gloved fingers reached into the incision with forceps, peeling the skin away from the muscle and tissue underneath it. Dani's nerves were set alight with a searing, scorching pain as the free hand began to scrape whatever fat build up had accumulated there, but she did not move or scream. She didn't even look away.

Not that she could have, even if she wanted to. The muscles that allowed her to move her neck had been removed sometime last week, or perhaps only a few hours ago. It wasn't like it mattered. They'd grow back eventually, and then they'd be taken away again, and again, and again, just like they had been a dozen times before. In the mean time, all Dani could do was watch, unblinking and unmoving, as the scientists took her away in jars and vials in bits and pieces.

She didn't blame them. At the beginning she did, back before she'd understood why. She remembered fighting and screaming and swearing that she'd kick all of their asses into next week, and even if she didn't, than someone else would. She remembered screaming and writhing in pain and anger, even after they'd restrained her. It was only after they'd gone through three rooms and double as many agents that they explained it to her.

The woman who had talked was nice. Still in the bright white uniform and black sunglasses, of course, but she'd talked to Dani as if she was a dog or a cat, or maybe even an infant child, if Dani was willing to stretch it. She talked to Dani as if she could understand, as if Dani was anything more than the pile of spare parts she now knew she was.

It was her explanation that allowed Dani to understand what she was. Why her cooperation was important.

"We are alive," she explained, her gaze strong even behind the shades. "And you, simply put, are not."

Dani tried to argue, but the bubbling groan of ectoplasm and blood in her throat silenced her faster than the scientist's words.

"I know that you think that you are, but just look at you." She walked away, pacing a few steps, and then turning back. "Living things die. That is a simple fact. If you were a living thing, than you would not be here to listen to me speak. You are not living. As you exist now, you are worthless."

She turned back to face Dani head on. "But you do not need to remain worthless. With our help, you can become more. You can help."

With a wave of her hand, a sickly man was wheeled in. He was not dressed in the customary guys in white uniform; rather, he was wearing a hospital gown. His legs were weak and bony and covered in lesions, and the rest of his body wasn't far behind. He smiled brightly at the woman, with a look that channeled as much hope as any look ever could. "Introduce yourself," she said.

He only glanced at Dani for a moment, before looking away. "Uh. My name is Xander." His voice was not as weak as his body, but he clearly had not been prepared to speak.

"Xander is dying, in the way all living things do. And he will die before the end of the year." With another wave of her hand, a different agent wheeled in a table, a series of vials placed in orderly rows on top of it. "But with this..." She grabbed the closest vial, a soft, muddy brown, and held it out to Xander.

He grabbed the vial and twisted the cap off, before downing the whole thing greedily. The effects were instant. The color returned to his face, the meat to his bones, the strength to his grip. He slumped into his chair further, eyes closing as he sighed in relief.

"And now he will live." She turned back to face Dani. "Possibly for only a few more years, but he will live. All thanks to the samples we have taken from you." She grabbed another sample off the table. "This is your essence, your ectoplasm and blood mixed together. A miracle cure for all of humanity."

She set it back down, and stepped forward slowly, until she was standing next to where Dani was propped. "Do you see what you can give us?" Her voice was soft now, the tone of authority dropped. "Your cooperation is all we need to cure... everything. Humanity will not need to suffer, will not need to go through pain. Fighting us is to fight against the saviors of millions. Is your freedom really worth that much misery?"

At the time, Dani had spit in her face. Now, with months to think it over, she couldn't help but agree. Sure, everything hurt. The feeling of hands and metal inside of her body, tearing her into pieces, was nothing shy of the worst thing she could ever imagine. But it had been... months? Months of pain, to the point of it carrying her far away on an ocean of agony.

She was being useful. She'd never been useful before. Vlad had cast her aside near instantly, and no matter how hard she searched, she'd never found a place for her. Maybe it was a good thing. There was no one to miss her, not really. Danny and his friends might wonder, but she'd disappeared before. They would not dwell on her.

The scientists had finished. They did not bother to stitch Dani back up; the wound would heal on its own by tomorrow. They filed out of the room, turning the light off with them, plunging Dani into darkness.

It was nice, to find her place.

[3pirouette]

Fic: The Paradox of an Old Man (1/1)

Title: The Paradox of an Old Man

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Spoilers: General MCU through Endgame, No Indy Spoilers

Disclaimer: They're not mine :)

Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Summary: Indiana Jones may be nearly immortal, but one of the perks is that he’s lived long enough to see a few things, including finding a close friend again many times over.

A/N: So, even though I have this as a series, some of these stories DO contradict themselves. Basically, I just love playing with this idea of Indy and Steve and Peggy all knowing one another and I’m not going to go too nuts with the details, because the stories are what they are.

This one plays with the idea of Steve and Indy finding one another in the future more than once, and how that affects them both. There’s a larger story in here, but I seem to have a hard time grasping at it. For now- here’s the lighthearted side.

This if for Steggy Week 2k23 (Day 1: Headcanons and Meta - Thank you @steggyfanevents ) and also for @captainjimothycarter , whose unending love for this ridiculous universe only makes me want to write it more.

~*~

2012

Indiana Jones looked near the same as he had 70 years before, and it stunned Steve to his core.

“You were expecting an old man, weren’t you?” Jones stepped back, opening his door wide and sweeping his arm out. He smiled, just a little, as Steve moved past him into his home. “I guess we both got a surprise here.”

Steve turned, shoving his hands in his pockets, nodding. “When Fury told me you were alive…”

“No one knows why,” he threw his hands up, shrugging, before tipping his head and leading Steve into the living room. It was small and lived in, with books and tiny treasures covering every surface. Jones stacked the papers and folders on the coffee table and shoved them in a drawer next to the well-worn couch. “Though a few SHIELD scientists seem to think it has something to do with this cup I drank from…”

“A cup?” Steve looked up, confused, as he sat.

“Cup, chalice of Christ…” He shrugged and grumbled, moving to the small kitchen and pulling two bottles of beer from the refrigerator. “We couldn’t ever find it again to test it, so…” He rolled his eyes as he handed the Steve the bottle, “They think.”

Steve nodded, pulling the cap off his bottle and tapping his against Indy’s. “To old friends.”

He laughed, short and hearty. “To old friends, who both look like they did in 1945.” He took a long drink, sitting in the arm chair across from Steve. “Fury didn’t tell me what happened, just that you were back.”

“It’s a long story.”

“I know the first half,” he muttered, “how’d you survive?”

Steve smiled. “Well, they think…”

~*~

1954

“People are noticing,” Peggy started, folding her hands in front of her.

The gray in Peggy’s hair slipped simply into her chignon, a small streak of something he’d never known.

His dad had lost his hair young, and he couldn’t remember his father without gray in the hair he had left and in his beard. Indiana Jones hadn’t seen a change in his hair, except for the length, in as long as he could remember.

“Nary a wrinkle in twenty years? Yeah, they should.” Jones sat across from her in her office, shaking his head. “What are we going to do about it?”

Peggy sighed. It wasn’t easy to have to have this talk with him. He was a friend. A confidant. He was one fo the smartest men that consulted for SHIELD and sure as hell one of the few that took her leadership seriously. “The current school of thought includes special effects make-up and prosthetics.”

Indy laughed, standing. He paced the room, wringing his hands. “You’re gonna dye my hair gray?”

“Among other things.” She watched him like a tiger in a cage, heart in her throat. “That keeps you here, with us.” She looked down at her desk, tapping her nails on it gently. “The other options are much more-“

“Much more ‘run and hide’ every ten years?” His voice was dripping with sarcasm. He turned to her, shaking his head. “If it was anyone but you, Peg, telling me this-“

“You’d have laughed your way out the door by now, I know.” She stood, moving to his side. “Please, I need you to understand. Questions have been raised that we can’t ignore anymore.”

“Everyone in SHIELD has seen a lot more weird shit than a guy that doesn’t age.” He paced away from her, needing the distance. “You’re telling me you can hide the Ark of the Covenant in your yearly reports but I’m a problem?”

“You’re not a problem!” Peggy paused and amended herself, shrugging. “Most of the time.” He smiled at that, and she was happy for the moment of levity. “But this is a problem. One we can stave off for a bit but…”

He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have given you a hard time.” He stepped over and sat back in the chair heavily. “Truth is, people outside of here are starting to notice, too.” He looked up. “So maybe we should talk about the options.”

Peggy sat on the edge of her desk, a little calmer, and a little sadder, knowing this meant an ending was coming. “Let’s do it over dinner, shall we?”

Indy smiled slyly.

~*~

2012

Steve sat back on the sofa, beer warming on the table. “It’s good to know she had you,” he muttered. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but-“

Indy cut him off with a nod. “I see her when I can.” He looked down at his hands. “She has more bad days now than good ones.”

Steve sighed, rubbing his suddenly sweaty hands on his thighs. “I’m uh-“ he cleared his throat, hiding his emotion. “I’m just glad she had a good life.”

Jone’s eyebrows rose. “She told ya about it?”

Steve took a long swing of beer, hiding the time he needed to compose himself. “No, uh, not so much.” He sniffed and took another shorter drink. “She told me mostly about her time with the SSR and SHIELD, but she did tell me she had a family- showed me pictures of her kids and grandkids.”

Jones paused, asking when he couldn’t wait anymore. “Her husband?”

Steve shook his head, looking at the floor. “No, no. It was still- is still-“ he stopped and looked up, eyes a little haunted. “She had a lot more time to get over me than I did to get over her.”

“Still not over her,” Jones commented, drinking from his own beer.

Steve just shook his head. “How do you get over a girl like that?”

Indy stood, taking Steve’s nearly empty bottle from his hands. “Well, if you don’t want to know anything about him, I can respect that.” He slipped both bottles into one hand then let his palm sit on Steve’s shoulder for a minute before heading back into the kitchen.

~*~

2023

When the door opened, Steve was confronted with a man who hadn’t aged a day. Indiana Jones looked exactly the same, with the exception of his mouth hanging agape in surprise, as he had for nearly the last hundred years.

Steve smiled, wrinkles shifting around his face, glad he was able to surprise his friend. “You weren’t expecting an old man, were you?”

Indy stepped forward, hugging his friend. “You’re confusing this old man, now, Rogers.”

“You know well enough, Jones,” Steve pulled back, moving past him and into he home where he felt comfortable as he’d been there many, many times in his life. “I couldn’t remember the exact date-“

“Have to get you a date book with the big print now,” Jones joked, closing the door.

Steve pointed at him, only half smiling at the joke. “So I probably waited a little too long.”

“Saw your young self for the first time last week,” Jones said gently, sitting in his armchair. “You drank all my beer.”

Steve smiled, moving into the kitchen and helping himself to a bottle of water from the refrigerator. He held it up but Jones shook his head. “And ate all your food, as I recall.”

“Damn near all of it,” Indy grumbled good natured.

Steve leaned against the counter, fiddling with the water.

Jones waited patiently for the questions to come, he knew there would be questions.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He smiled. “Because you didn’t know. Because I wasn’t sure if that was how time worked. If it was a paradox that would somehow fix itself or, well, I’m sure you can guess. A million reasons, really.” He spread his hands out. “Every culture has myths about time travel, and none of them tell us what to do with the possibility of paradoxes. I didn’t think it was a good idea to mess with it.”

Steve nodded. “Fair.”

“Better be,” he smiled crookedly, “It’s the only answer I got.”

He slipped to the couch, sipping from his water. “You know, for the longest time, I thought you were the one that married Peg.”

Jones did a double take. “What?”

“You never talked about it, neither did she.” Steve shrugged. “I couldn’t find anything on it, anywhere.”

“Because we were hiding you from yourself, buddy.”

“I know that now,” Steve smiled up at him, “but back then- or now- hard to get a grip on tense with this.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I was convinced that you’d married her.”

Jones leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He took a long, slow breath, and then looked Steve in the eye. “To tell you the truth, I thought about asking her out more than once. There was a gap in there before you showed up…”

Steve leaned back, unbothered. “I wouldn’t have blamed either of you.”

“Gorgeous, smart, quick-“ He sighed, shaking his head. “But she was always yours, and I knew I made the right decision to stay her friend when you showed back up.”

The men smiled at each other. “Still, thanks for looking out for her before I got there.”

“Glad to have done it. She’s my friend, too.”

~*~

1954

“Steve!” Peggy called, unlocking the door. “We’ve got one more for dinner!”

Steve appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, apron slung around his hips and toddler upside down in his arms, smiling when he saw Jones move into the house behind Peggy. “Great.” He walked over, depositing his son in Jones’ only slightly surprised arms. “He’s all yours.”

Steve pecked Peggy on the lips before turning back to the kitchen, Jones tickling the toddler as he squirmed in his grasp, giggling. “Dinner should be ready soon.”

“What’s on the menu?” Jones asked, righting the boy in his arms and tossing him nearly to the ceiling to hear him giggle.

“Roasted chicken!” Steve called from the kitchen. “Maybe potatoes. They’re…”

A pot crashed and Peggy, Indy, and the boy paused, looking towards the empty doorway.

Steve peeked around the edge of the doorframe, apron dripping wet. “Uh- no potatoes.”

Indy huffed, passing Peggy her baby boy and pulled his hat off. “How are you one of the greatest soldiers the word has ever seen and yet incompetent int he kitchen?”

“I’m not completely incompetent,” Steve’s voice drifted as the two men disappeared.

“No, Just mostly,” Jones jabbed, moving back through the space Peggy could see to pull an apron from their cupboard and then stack a new set of potatoes in his arms. “How did you mess up boiling potatoes? Aren’t you Irish?”

“”Well, I-“

Indy was zipping through Peggy’s line of sight, and she smiled as she watched Steve trail behind him like a lost puppy. “And you grew up in Brooklyn, in the Great Depression?”

Steve paused, flopping his hands out to the sides. “Like we had money for potatoes.”

“Just… focus on the chicken before you burn the damn thing,” Jones ordered, before leaning out, smiling at Peggy. “There will be potatoes.”

Peggy just laughed, cuddling her boy to her chest.

“Oh, goodness,” she muttered, shaking ehr head, before calling back out. “I’ll be in my office, then. Don’t burn the place down please.”

Their voices, in chorus, answered her as she moved down the hall. “I won’t!” The unspoken part, full of levity, was that neither man could really be sure if the other wouldn’t, though.

Peggy wouldn’t have it any other way.

[tuiccim]

TikTok Trend: #ItsSettled

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Billy Russo x Reader

Word Count: 1653

Warnings: Angst, language

Summary: Work at Anvil yields results and dangerous temptation.

A/N: Divider by @whimsicalrogers

TikTok Trend Series Masterlist

You sit across from Billy in his office and prop your feet on his desk while giving him a shit eating grin. 

“So, what’s this offer, Mr. Russo?” 

“Consulting on an as needed basis for training, security, so on.” Billy’s dark eyes stare into your own. 

Despite feeling insulted, you keep your expression benign. You had expected a job offer and had planned to counter with consulting. “I told you, my consulting fee is hefty.”

“That’s not a problem. Plus, I don’t think it's the right time for you to be leaving the Avengers and I think you feel the same.” 

“Mind reader now, are we?” You smirk.

“Not usually. There are so many things going on here and with the Avengers. I think you’d like to keep a finger in both pies for the time being.” Billy returns your smirk. 

“I don’t fuck my employers. Mixing business and pleasure only causes trouble.” You counter. 

“That’s disappointing but, as much as I’d like to take you to bed, you’re worth more to me as an asset.”

“Then it’s settled.” You stand and shake Billy’s hand. This was going to be fun. 

--

A few weeks into your consulting position and you had already improved several of Anvil’s procedures. Billy was quite pleased with your progress. You had earned his trust, proven your loyalty, and was now a trusted member of his team. He had fed your disdain for Steve and Tony, as well as the entire situation with Bucky. He hated the Avengers and was glad to bring you into the fold. 

Finished with running a training exercise that day, you had just dismissed the team you were working with when you felt a breath fan across your neck. 

“Watching you take down men twice your size almost makes me regret employing you.” Billy says. He often flirts this way. 

You lean back into him and look over your shoulder, “But then your business wouldn’t be running so damn smooth.”

“And my cock wouldn’t be so achingly hard all the time.” Billy whispers in your ear. 

“Mmmm,” you release a small moan and rub your hips against him, “then may I suggest a cold shower?” You laugh as you pull away and finish stowing gear. 

“Fucking tease.” Billy chuckles. 

“Absolutely.” You smile as you unzip your tac suit just enough to give a peek of your breasts. 

“I have a job for you.” Billy’s voice is gravelly. 

“What would that be?” You hop up on a crate to sit. Billy immediately positions himself between your legs and cages you with his arms. 

“I need some intel.” Billy states while bringing his lips to your neck. 

“On?” You lean your head to give him access. 

“Carl Creel.” 

“And who is he?” You whisper as Billy’s lips travel up and down your neck as he speaks. 

“A bad guy. I just need some info on him. Stark and SHIELD have dealt with him in the past. I believe Stark even ran some tests on his abilities.” Billy’s teeth scrape against your skin deliciously. 

“And how, mmmm, how am I supposed to get that to you? Everything is encrypted and shielded from leaving the Tower.”

“Put it on this thumb drive and hand it off to Benjamin Poindexter in R&D. He works for Stark and can get it out of the building undetected.” Billy says. 

You pull back and look at Billy, “Will it piss Tony off if you apprehend this guy?”

“Immensely.” 

“Consider it done.” You grin. 

--

You head to a meeting with the Avengers team, but when you get to the meeting room, a different one than normal, the door is locked. 

“No electronics. All devices must be checked.” FRIDAY announces. A drawer pops out of the wall. You place your phone and tablet in it and turn expectantly to the console. “Your watch also, Agent.” Friday pronounces. You roll your eyes before removing the watch and dropping it in as well. The door buzzes and you are finally allowed entry. 

“Good, we’re all here.” Steve says from inside the room. 

“What is this room?” You ask as you look around at Tony, Steve, Natasha, Bucky, Sharon, Sam, and Artie. 

“It’s entirely shielded. Nothing electronic can get in or out. No cameras, no audio, nothing.” Tony smirks. “Since we know who our mole is now we can’t have this meeting in the conference room.” 

“So, we can say or do anything in here without it getting out?” You ask to be sure.

“Exactly.” Tony says. “We need to make plans.”

“Yeah, yeah. One minute.” You say as you walk to Bucky. Jumping into his arms, you crash your lips into his.

Bucky’s chest rumbles with a chuckle and once you pull back he grins, saying “Hi Doll.”

“Hey baby.” You whisper against his lips. 

Steve clears his throat loudly causing you and Bucky to laugh. 

“Shut it, Punk. We haven’t been able to even be in the same room for weeks. Give us two minutes.” Bucky grouses at his best friend. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Sorry.” Steve says. 

“I still don’t think the two of you dating is the best idea.” Artie pipes in. You and Bucky both flip him off while sharing another kiss. 

When you finally separate, you turn to Sharon, “Hey, friend, how are you doing?”

“Good. Been dating a really sweet guy, but I think he’s interested in someone else.” Sharon winks at you. 

“Thanks for doing this. I know the publicity wasn’t really what you wanted.” You say. 

“Just one of those things. I don't mind you owing me a favor.” Sharon smirks. 

“Actually, the polling on you two dating is extremely favorable, Agent Carter.” Artie announces. 

“Artie, shut up.” Steve says as he puts an arm around Sharon. “Hi Beautiful.”

“Hi.” Sharon whispers sweetly to Steve. 

Artie groans, “Oh, this is going to be a nightmare.”

You laugh, “No wonder you weren’t so keen when I suggested Sharon date Bucky, Captain.”

Steve looks at you with a little pink tinging his cheeks and shrugs. 

You remember the meeting that started this all:

“How bad is this?” Bucky asks. 

“I don’t-” your phone ringing cuts you off. Looking down at it, the dreaded name appears, Tony Stark. You look at Bucky as you bring the phone to your ear. “Tony?”

“Both of you, conference room, now!” Tony demands before hanging up abruptly. 

“It’s bad. Conference room.” As you make your way to the door, Bucky interlaces his hand with yours, pulls you back for one last kiss, and then leads you out. As soon as the conference room door closes, you eye Tony and Artie Pithins, Director of Public Relations. 

Artie looks disdainfully at your joined hands and says, “This ends now.”

“Cam down, Artie. I know this looks bad but we can fix it.” You say. 

“Friday, black out mode. You’re supposed to be single. We needed to release the story and make you look bad for this to work.” Tony throws at you. 

“This can work out to be even better. Hear me out.” You insist. 

“Doll, what the hell is going on? What are you talking about?” Bucy says.

“A mission.” You say.

“We believe we may have a mole and very few people know the specifics of this mission.” Artie says with arms crossed. 

“And why would you be in on it?” Bucky asks Artie.

“Necessary optics for it.” Steve says as he enters the room. 

“Look, bare minimum, we believe there is a mole working for Billy Russo, owner of Anvil. I was supposed to have some bad PR leaked about me and make it look like I was on the outs with the team in order to get him to try to recruit me.” You turn to the rest of the group, “This can work out even better, I think. Instead of me causing trouble, I could be heartbroken. Hell hath no fury, right? It would make sense that I’d be willing to turn against the team over that and I throw in a few anecdotes about the tightass and the playboy running the team and I’ll have him.”

“Tightass?” Steve grouses.

Tony rolls his eyes at Steve before turning to you, “How does Bucky break your heart?” 

“That video will go viral,” Artie chimes in. “It’s bound to, with her popularity and people’s curiosity about Sergeant Barnes. But if, that same week, we see him out with another woman. Say, Natasha? It would play all over the tabloids.”

“Natasha won’t work, Artie. Everyone knows she’s my friend and they’ll see it as a publicity stunt. I think there is only one person that could raise the profile enough.” You look at Steve.

“No.” Steve shakes his head. 

“Sharon is perfect. A few dates, some PDA, and then an appearance at the party. It’ll be sold.” You argue. 

“I agree.” Artie says.

“Wait, you two actually agreed on something?” Tony looks between you and Artie, the animosity between the two of you well established. 

“First time for everything.” You say. 

“Why does it have to be Sharon?” Steve says again. 

“Because it’ll cause an uproar.” You nearly shout. 

“What is happening right now?” Bucky puts his head in his hands. 

You look at Bucky and cups his face, “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t tell you about this mission. It was very hush hush. I need to be single to get Billy’s attention. I’m his type and as the newest member of the team he’ll see me as being vulnerable to being turned.”

“This is bullshit.” Bucky says.

The next hour is spent making plans. Bucky is furious at the thought of you dating someone else, but understands the mission comes first. Everyone leaves the conference room worse for wear but with the mission intact.

Now that the mission is nearly complete, you look to your team.  “Well, now that we know who the mole is, how are we handling it?”

Part 6 

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[writethelifeyouwant]

Femme Fatale - Ch 2 / 2

Pairing: Alex x Reader Rating: 18+ Tags: Sub!Alex, Domme!Reader, pegging, blow job on a dildo, praise kink, bondage, cock bondage, spreader bar, dirty talk about exhibitionism, degradation Word Count: 3.2k Created for: @spnkinkbingo - Praise Kink | @anyfandomgoesbingo - Blindfolds

A/N: Thank you so much for being my first ever commission Sin! I've had a lot of fun tackling this challenge because I've never written a Domme!reader before but I really appreciate you trusting me with your idea, and I hope I do it justice ❤️

Series Masterlist

Alex has been waiting so patiently. Since he and Y/N had gone to Femme Fatale a few weeks ago, he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about everything he saw there. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about what he saw Jared doing – or more accurately, what he saw being done to Jared.

Seeing Jared submit so publicly to all those people had been mesmerising; Jensen watching on proudly from the sidelines, offering Jared encouragement and praise when Jared finally couldn’t take it any longer and asked permission to cum. Jared had spurted into Jensen’s hand, held just below him while some tiny thing continued to pound into him from behind, her own domme egging her on the whole time, and then Jared had dutifully licked Jensen’s hand clean for him when he was finished. Alex had thought he was going to cream his shorts just from watching but he’d managed to restrain himself until they got home and Y/N had ridden him until they were both shuddering and sated.

He’s been dreaming about it, waking up hard every morning since that night. And not just semi-chubbed up – achingly, maddeningly, rock-solid and leaking. It’s gotten him into trouble, because he hasn’t been able to resist touching himself when he’s that hard up, and he’s not allowed to do that. Y/N had actually brought home a cock cage the night before for him to sleep in, so he didn’t wind up breaking his rules and ruining her plans for him. She can’t very well give him what he’s been dreaming about for weeks if he’s misbehaving.

Y/N had brought home a few other things last night along with the cock cage – she’d clearly enjoyed her shopping trip a little too much. The object of his fantasies is now sitting in front of him in the centre of their bed, black and threatening against the crisp, pale linens of the rest of the bedroom. The strap-on was a good size. Alex had been nervous that Y/N would be too cautious, too gentle with him, and get something shamefully small, but she hadn’t. Caution has never been her style anyways. He’s already getting ahead of himself imagining what it will be like to take something even bigger.

Alex is wearing the other new addition to their collection, a silicone plug that has been holding him open for the past hour or so while he kneels, waiting, at the foot of the bed. He had settled easily into the familiar position, his ankles and knees spread wide and in line while he sat back lightly on the spreader bar holding his legs apart. Being held open like this, he has to concentrate on staying tight so the plug doesn’t slip out. He knows if it does, he’ll be punished.

Y/N is in the shower, part of her ritual when they plan longer play sessions like this. She leaves Alex to sit and settle into his headspace while she uses the steam and the quiet to find her own. At the sound of the hairdryer, Alex feels his cock try to harden inside its restraint. That sound means Y/N is almost ready for him, and it’s a conditioned response by now, the excited heat he feels creeping under his skin. The sound of the door opening and closing comes a moment later, and Alex’s cock gives another smothered leap. She’s in the room with him now.

The scrape of blunt nails across the short hairs at the nape of his neck makes Alex shake, and the cuffs on his wrists and ankles rattle. He tries to crane his head back to see her but she pulls away, and he knows that means he’s not supposed to look yet.

“Have you been good for me, baby boy?” Y/N’s voice rings sweetly above him, sinking into his veins like a shot of something cool and calm. She’s using Jensen’s nickname for Jared again, the name he’s come to associate with this act. With dildos and harnesses and boys on their knees showing off how good they can be when they’re told what to do – when they’re owned like he and Jared are.

“Yes, Mistress,” Alex answers steadfastly. He has been good, he knows he has. He has been perfect for her.

“Yes, I can see you have been,” and he can hear the smile in Y/N’s voice, even though she still won’t move to where he can see her. He gasps suddenly but manages to choke it off before he gets too loud. Y/N had bent down to tap against his plug, nudging it maddeningly close to his prostate. “Good boy,” Y/N drops a small kiss to his shoulder in recognition of his efforts to keep quiet.

Alex savours the compliment, smiling proudly until a wisp of black trails up his back and over his eyes – his blindfold. He instantly deflates as Y/N secures the tie at the back of his head. He wants to see her. Well really, he wants to see her with a cock jutting out from her hips. He desperately hopes this doesn’t mean he won’t get to do that. A sharp tug on his cock sends Alex’s back rigid again as he tries to hold in the cry of shock at the sudden pain, however short lived.

“If you’re going to mope, we can stop right now,” Y/N speaks gently against his ear. She’s not mean about it, not cruel or teasing, she’s simply informing him.

“No, sorry, I’m sorry,” Alex sits as straight as he can manage, shoulders back, thighs and spine tensed.

“It’s okay, baby boy,” Y/N slips the back of her hand across his cheek and down his chest before pulling away. The creak of the bed springs tell Alex that she’s climbed on, hopefully, he prays as fervently as he can, to retrieve the strap-on she’d left him to contemplate this whole time. There’s moving and rustling and breathing but it’s all muddling together in his ears. He can’t make out where anything is, what anything is. He can only wait.

Something firm brushes against his lips. Y/N is in front of him now, and, he hopes, wearing the harness. The dildo is what’s pressing at his lips, and it is pressing now, not just brushing against them. Y/N wants him to let her in. He does, with relish.

“Good boy,” Y/N intones above him, her hands reaching for his head and combing through his hair. She doesn’t try directing him at first, just lets him explore the toy on his own. The silicone feels odd against his lips, it dries too quickly every time he pulls back so his mouth catches against its veins on each push back in. He isn’t sure how much of it he’s managing to fit into his mouth but he finds his limit fairly quickly, accidentally gagging himself and having to pull off.

“Sorry,” he pants, wishing he could wipe the spit that’s dripping down his chin, but his arms are still tied to the bar behind him. He must look so pathetic right now. His cock gives another twinge in its cage.

“It’s okay baby boy, try again, you can do it.” Y/N reassures him gently and pulls his mouth back to the toy. This time, when he reaches his limit and starts to pull away, Y/N stops him. She grips his hair tightly and holds the back of his head still on her cock. Alex gags again but stays still, and after a moment the intrusion doesn’t feel as bothersome. “Good boy,” Y/N murmurs above him, and Alex’s chest swells with warmth. “Just take a little more for me, baby boy. There we go,” Y/N eases him down just a fraction, and Alex starts to suck to distract his throat from wanting to push the toy out the other way.

“Fuck, you look so good like this baby,” Y/N sighs above him, petting his hair in appreciation. “Can just imagine how jealous all those guys at the club would be, seeing you suck me down so good. They’d all want a turn. It’s a shame to have you waste such a pretty mouth on a cock that can’t even feel it.” Alex moans around the toy and Y/N lets him pull back to suckle at the head. “You tryin’ to make me cum, baby boy?” Y/N laughs as Alex nods. “Such a fucking cumslut, aren’t you? Perfect fucking toy for that club.”

Alex’s mouth is suddenly empty and the air around him grows still and cold. He wants to call out, ask where she’s gone, but he doesn’t dare. Y/N keeps him waiting, testing him to see if he can behave, if he can keep quiet.

He passes.

The restraints holding his wrists to the bar click as Y/N undoes the buckles. She carefully rubs each wrist and moves the arm gently back and forth so she doesn’t shock his joints, before placing each hand palm down on the bed in front of him.

“Stand up, and keep bent over.” Alex pushes up from his knees onto his toes gracefully, in a move reminiscent of a yoga transition, and sinks his head and shoulders to the mattress, back arching and feet still widespread, leaving his ass open and on display. Arousal courses through him from the depth of the submission in this position. “So pretty,” Y/N coos. “I’ll have to bring a camera next time.” Next time. Alex’s blood sings at the promise, and he hasn’t even been fucked yet.

A fingernail trails lightly over the head of his cock through its cage, and he groans, unable to hold it in. That earns him a smack right over the plug sticking out of his exposed hole. He can’t stop the moan that follows that either, and Y/N repeats the motion harder, and harder again.

“C’mon baby, if you’re gonna moan like a little bitch then at least try to sound sexy while you do it,” she sneers behind him. Alex feels his body flame red under the insult. “You just sound like a slut. There’s plenty of those to go around, nothing making you special.” Alex cries out at the next hit and feels a spurt of precome force its way out of his cock. “That’s more like it,” Y/N praises, and he sighs in relief that he got it right.

The next sound Alex hears is the snick of a plastic cap – lube – he clenches just thinking about it. Then the plug in him is being twisted, swirled and thrust in and out of him teasingly. He moans again, now that he has permission, and Y/N pumps the plug in even harder as a reward. His ass doesn’t want to let it go when she pulls it away, oh so slowly, but it’s almost immediately replaced with her finger. It’s much thinner than the plug, and Alex feels his hole fluttering around it wantonly, silently begging for more, which she readily gives.

A second finger follows quickly and easily. The third is tougher, this time it’s a stretch, but the tight pain sends another shot of warmth through his cock and leaks out of the tip onto the bed. Y/N notices.

“You like that, baby boy?” she asks, sugar sweet. Alex nods and whines, and her fingers leave him instantly.

“Yes, Mistress!” he corrects, arching his back to try to find her fingers. She obliges him and pushes them in again.

“You think you’re ready?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he answers properly, fucking himself back into her hand.

“Okay,” she withdraws her fingers and gives his butt a soothing pat. “On the bed, on your back for me, yeah?”

“Yes, Mistress.” Alex turns to sit on the bed and hoists himself back until he can feel their pillows and headboard behind him. He lays down, bending his knees and pulling them back to his chest. The bed dips below him as Y/N climbs on too, crawling between Alex’s legs. Another click, more lube drips down his ass, the cool liquid pooling on the covers as it runs off his ass. He feels the dildo press against his hole and he holds his breath.

The first nudge inside of him is strange. It’s thicker and rounder than anything he’s had back there before. The second little push is uncomfortable, and Alex scrunches his eyes shut, even though, with the blindfold on, it doesn’t make much difference. Y/N’s hands smooth up the backs of his thighs, rubbing gently, soothing the tension that had rocketed through them a moment before. After a few seconds of sympathetic touching Alex manages to relax, and he feels the dildo slip a little further inside of him.

Y/N keeps up soft cooing noises under her breath, making sure Alex knows how good he’s being, what a perfect baby boy he’s being for her. The praise makes him glow, and helps him forget the pain that’s still pulsing dully between his legs.

“I think you deserve a little reward, for being so good,” Y/N whispers when she’s finally pushed the toy all the way in, her hips flush with his.

“Can I see you?” Alex asks desperately. “Wanna look at you Mistress, please.”

“That’s what you want?” Y/N laughs, a little creully. “I was going to take this off,” her fingers skim over his balls and the cock cage keeping him soft and Alex jumps under the touch, “but if you want the blindfold off instead…” Y/N trails off, leaving the choice up to him. Alex falters, caught out by his own eagerness. If Y/N doesn’t take the cage off him now, she might not take it off at all. But on the other hand, the thought of not being able to see her the rest of the night… not being able to watch her fucking him, to see the cock pushing in and out of his body, the same sight he’d been so transfixed by when he was watching it happen to Jared… he needs to see it.

“The blindfold,” Alex whimpers as Y/N continues to tease his cock through the metal rings clamped around it. “Take off the blindfold, please, Mistress.”

“As you wish.”

Alex blinks up at Y/N’s smiling face as his eyes adjust to the light in the room. She looks fucking sexy. She’s in the same lingerine that she’d worn to Femme Fatale that night, the set he’d picked out for her to wear, and the addition of the leather harness at her hips is unfairly attractive. Alex glances down to their hips, takes in the sight of his cock lying limp against his stomach in its little metal prison, and skims further down to catch a glimpse of shiny black poking out from between their bodies. He swallows hard. This was absolutely the right decision.

“Like what you see baby boy?” Y/N taunts, swivelling her hips just a little to pull a groan from him as the dildo rubs against his prostate.

“Fuck yes,” Alex whines, the sound catching high in his throat and pouring out of him raggedly.

“Gonna let me fuck you now?” she asks sweetly, swinging her hips again.

“Fucking please, Mistre– fuck!” Alex shouts as Y/N pulls out and pistons her hips back in harshly. The pain is still there but the sharp strike of the toy inside him sends something like lightning up his spine that drowns out any other feeling his body is trying to conjure.

“Such a dirty mouth,” Y/N pants, beginning to sound out of breath as she fucks his ass relentlessly. “Love that about you, baby. Let me hear you.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” That’s the only word Alex can remember right now. He’s been waiting for this, dreaming about this, for so long and now it’s finally happening he can’t hold himself back. His cock aches and his head goes fuzzy as all the blood in his body tries to drain to his groin to get him hard but the cage keeps him soft and passive. It doesn’t stop him from leaking precum all over his stomach though. It’s dripping down his side, pooling in his belly button, leaving him slick and sticky and fucking humiliated the more he looks at it. Y/N catches where he’s looking and smirks, running her fingers through the offending liquid and bringing it to his lips.

“Look at this fucking mess, such a needy little slut aren’t you?” Alex whimpers and nods, head jerking back as Y/N pushes his hips up so she can get even deeper. “Like my cock in your ass baby boy?” Alex nods again, lost for words and breath. “Can’t wait to see how much more this slutty little hole can take. Maybe it can take two? What do you think about that, me and someone else fucking you open so you’re all loose and used up?”

Y/N’s monologue has Alex gasping for air. He’s always found her voice sexy, and when she paints these pictures for him, how can he not fall straight in and give himself up to the pleasure she’s promising?

“Wanna get you a cock that’s so big I can see it inside you.” Y/N runs her hand over his stomach, through the sticky mess he’s leaking over his happy trail. “Wanna see it right here, punching up inside you, filling you up so good.” Alex groans, pushing up into her hand and pushing his hips back onto her cock. “That’s it baby, fuck yourself for me, good boy.”

Alex is starting to get dizzy. The physical exertion and the immense pleasure and the tinge of pain and lack of hard on to channel everything into has him thrown off, and achingly desperate – obviously just how Y/N wants him. Then, without warning, the pressure on his cock disappears and it fills so rapidly it’s painful and without the chance to even think about asking for permission he’s cumming in long pulses, shooting up his chest and onto his lips and his chin. He thinks he screamed but he can’t be sure and then everything goes orange and red and splotchy, and then white.

Alex blinks awake in the semi-dark, the blue glow of Y/N’s laptop illuminating her baggy t-shirt and messy hair as she sits up in bed reading. It takes him a moment to orient himself, to remember how to move his fingers and toes but he finally manages to drag himself closer to Y/N.

“Hey there, sleepy head,” she grins down at him, and reaches out to stroke his hair off his forehead. “How are you feeling?”

“Completely dead,” Alex breathes. “In a good way,” he adds when he catches the tinge of worry flit across Y/N’s face. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, baby boy,” Y/N leans down and brushes his lips in a soft kiss. “So, you want to do that again?”

“Absolutely,” Alex sighs, snuggling into Y/N’s side and wrapping his arms around her like a teddy bear.

“Good,” Y/N pushes away her laptop and settles into the cuddle, curling up in Alex’s arms like a happy little spoon. “Because I’ve got some ideas.”

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[sunshinechay]

New crack theory:

The zoo keeper is the elephant

[persephonesinfernos]

ignoti nulla cupido | part eight.

summary: natasha finds you once again to be able to keep her an tony’s promise to keep you safe, but how would they react when they’ll learn about the little dirty secret you have been keeping since you left bucky’s side?  

word count: 1128.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader.

warnings: angst, and bucky being a dickhead.

author’s note: I’m sorry but I hate bucky, it doesn’t matter if I write him like this, I hate him. and please, please, do not hate me.

ignoti nulla cupido series | taglist | masterlist.

“A kid?” Steve asked astonished.

“Yes, Cap. A kid, a little human being.”

Suddenly the whole room erupted in noises, everyone was asking questions about the revelation. Every single one of the Avengers wanted to know the name of the boy, his age, who was his father, why HYDRA took him, why (Y/N) didn’t tell anyone about him, etc.

Everyone was stating their opinion on the mater but Bucky, Bucky remained sited in a dazing state. Not a single movement was perceived by Natasha that was solely focused on the father, little did he truly know about (Y/N)’s son.

“Okay, that’s it,” Tony’s voiced was heard loudly over the murmuring. “Romanoff, why didn’t you tell me about this? Knowing about the kid would’ve made things much easier all this time.” The billionaire was clearly fed up with the present issue.

“Because Tony, I didn’t know,” the redhead spat back tired of Tony’s shit. “I didn’t even know until a few days before I went for her, until it was probably too late,” her hands up in the air, signalling her frustration. “Don’t you think I would’ve love to know that my best friend was pregnant? To be with her during the pregnancy, during the whole thing? She did it all by herself Stark,” Romanoff’s orbs stayed focus on Tony, but she was still very aware of Barnes’ movements. “Besides, it was not my secret to tell, not my confession to make. If she didn’t it was because of something and I always have trusted her judgment.”

Bucky stood up abruptly, his chair falling behind. Every single pair of eyes darted to him, however, nobody said anything as he walked out.

“Where are you going Buck?”

“Steve, I just… I just need to know,” a distraught whisper was all Steve could make out of his friend.

“Let her be, maybe you don’t like what she has to say.”

“I don’t care anymore.” With that, James Buchanan Barnes left, ready to discover what was truly going on with her former lover.

(Y/N) was pacing around her room, she knew she told Nat to tell her big secret – most of it, at least. The team deserved to know if they’re going to help her out on this, but did she make the right choice? Maybe it was her who should’ve let everyone in her secret, maybe she should’ve of talk to Bucky first.

An ear-piercing bang startled her, turning around as she pointed her gun at whoever dared to walk in there without her permission. A blank pair of blue orbs staring right through her, her soul ripping apart at the sight.

“A child (Y/N)?” Barnes’ voice was calmed down but his heart, his heart was beating so loudly he was afraid it would break through his thoracic cage.

(Y/N) was still pointing her gun towards him, too afraid to even breathe. This was the moment she dreaded for the past three years, all the things she had thought of saying to his father’s son at some point evaporated from her mind.

“What do you want Barnes?” She blurted out.

“By starts, to not being pointed with a gun. Secondly, I want to know.” Bucky’s eyes began to look everywhere in hopes of a sign. A sign that he was doing the right thing, that what his instincts were screaming to him was wrong.

“I don’t have anything to tell you. You were crystal clear last time we were standing in front of each other, do you remember it? ‘Cause that last time is still my worst nightmare James.” Just speaking out his name broke more of her soul, not anymore was the name of the love of her life, but also the name of the child he fathered and now was at the claws of the same people that made Bucky’s life a living hell.

“(Y/N)….” He spoke softly, his feet stumbling to her in caution but something made him stop dead in his tracks. An image on an Ipad, a picture of a little kid with striking ice blue eyes, sharp jaw and short brown hair that was cut oddly familiar to a past life.

(Y/N) noticed what was going on but she was too afraid to try anything, she just stood still and watched how Bucky’s face changed from sorrow to realization, realization about your little boy, about his boy.

“Is that him?” Bucky’s voice was just a whisper, his fingers tracing the screen.

Taking a deep sight (Y/N) decided to tell the truth, nothing could be more broken. “Yes, name’s James. A shy three-year old that doesn’t need to blurt out a word, just the way he looks at you is enough to know what’s in his mind,” (Y/N) approached Bucky’s slowly, she was behind him now and even though Bucky didn’t budge when she placed her hands on his shoulders, she could sense the storming coming. “Just like his father” (Y/N) spoke, tears running freely down her cheeks.

Bucky snapped out, turning furiously to (Y/N) “He’s my son and you didn’t think I deserved to know? To know I had a kid.”

He towered over her, making (Y/N) feel terror at how his metal fist clenched in his side.

“You told me to get the fuck out of your life, that you didn’t care anymore about shit that happened to me or that will happen. That I was a demanding bitch.” (Y/N) chocked out, not looking at his eyes.

“You gave birth to my fucking son (Y/N), and now Hydra took him because you weren’t able to protect him.” She was sure that by now, someone had heard all the noise coming out of her bedroom even thou Bucky’s words were a mere whisper.

“I wasn’t able to be there, to watch him grow, to protect him because of you and your fucking insecurities and fear.” He was now inches away from her face, his metal hand grabbing (Y/N)’s wrist so tightly she was sure there were going to be bruises on it tomorrow morning.

(Y/N) tried to say something but it was like she was paralyzed, the only thing she was able to do was to watch the cold demeanour of the person she still loved and hated equally.

“This is on you (Y/N). Whatever happens to him is on you, just pray that we will get to him in time.” Bucky said voidly now, it felt like the Winter Soldier was the one standing in front of you.

He let go of (Y/N), her back hitting the wall behind her. As Bucky was about to cross the threshold, he stopped and without glazing her way he spoke “I’m getting a lawyer, as it is clear that you can’t be responsible for my child.”

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[finiteuniverse13]

home is people, not a place 2/?

Part 1

Summary: Clay gets attacked on base. DEVGRU finds an issue in that.

TW: Blood mention, physical assault, canon typical violence

Tag: @rebelwrites @chibsytelford @bravo-four-seal-team @velvetcardiganbucky @supervalcsi @abby-splace @itsonautopilot @thegirlwhoisalwayswriting @pinkrockstar19 @softi92 @mrsmarvelous1995 @jayhalsteadfan-2417

Lisa is pissed. She has every right to be. Clay had been attacked in the Bravo cages.

She’d watched the kid go from a strap who couldn’t stay in his own lane to an operator who could lead Bravo – and Tier One, for that matter – into the future. And then he’d been attacked in his team’s cages, in his own cage. Blackburn was still at the hospital – he’d found the kid in a pool of his own blood; Lisa wouldn’t blame him if it took an apocalypse to separate him from the kid – making sure that the kid got appropriate care.

She pushed open the door to Bravo’s briefing room, not that it actually had any members of Bravo in it. Alpha, Charlie and Delta were all there, waiting on her brief on the situation. Echo would have been there, if not for them being halfway through their first deployment as a team. There had been hesitation about deploying Echo – the loss of the last Echo line-up still sat heavily in the Tier’s mind.

The three team’s Master Chiefs and 2ICs had sat in Bravo’s usual chairs. Full Metal and Derek sat in Jason and Ray’s chairs, respectively. Beau and his second in command had taken Sonny and Trent’s, while TJ was sat in Brock’s. Delta Two had distinctively chosen not to sit in Clay’s seat, instead sitting in a chair usually used for either Cerberus or a support staff member, depending on the op.

(It was very funny to watch Brock and Clay push a wheely chair with Cerberus on it between the two of them, and they’d pretty much mastered the art of doing it in the last few months. Cerb had found that if he allowed it to happen, he’d get belly rubs and treats, so he was unbothered about it)

The other seats had a random assignment, seemingly first-come-first-serve. The ones unlucky enough to have not found seats stood tensely, arms crossed and grumbling under their breath to each other.

Nobody sat in Clay’s seat.

All 18 operators looked up when she walked in, attention snapping to the person with the most information. As she walked in, her gaze caught on the table space in front of Clay’s chair. Clay had left his book on the table. It’s about as thick as a brick, and Sonny would probably take a glance at it and tell Clay it was as dry as one. The embossed cover didn’t read English, and Lisa had a feeling that there would be very few, if any, people in the room able to read any part of the book.

She stood at the front and pushed her emotions down. These operators were here for information, not emotion.

“At 0145 this morning, 4 Green Team members entered Bravo’s Cage room. At 0157, they left, and returned to the Green Team barracks. 0204, Lieutenant Commander Blackburn entered the Bravo cages. He dialled 911 and was assisted by Alpha Four-”

She cuts herself off for a few seconds, as various operators slapped Jordan on the back, mumbled thanks spreading through the room as they reassured themselves that one of their own had helped their kid.

“Assisted by Alpha Four at 0207. Ambulance arrived at 0215. The Green Team members were apprehended by Alpha and Delta at 0248.”

She pauses again as a ripple of thanks goes through to room, Alpha and Delta thanking their Master Chiefs and each other and Charlie thanking both teams.

“Petty Officer Spenser was admitted to hospital at 0224, and was assessed as having a concussion, a broken nose and 5 bruised ribs.”

Alpha, Charlie and Delta’s medics all take note of this. They’re probably going to be on Clay’s ass for the next few months about this, right behind Trent.

“Bravo arrived at the Hospital at 0243. They are all with him. Hayes has asked that he is included in any appropriate punishments.”

Full Metal snorts. “Bet he didn’t word it like that”

A series of chuckles and grins echoes around the room. He did not word it like that. There was much more swearing, and much, much less formal language. He’d implied murder no less than 5 times.

Lisa allowed a smile to pass through the stony calm façade she had up.

“Command has delegated these appropriate punishments to be carried out within DEVGRU and have stressed the importance of leaving an impression on future graduates. This cannot be a recuring event.”

TJ pipes up first, almost before she’d finished talking. “I say we let Metal work his magic, make sure nobody finds them.”

This gets mixed responses, but Lisa isn’t surprised when none are wholly negative. They all had a younger brother in the form of Clay, and they had all trained for years in the art of killing their enemies as swiftly and efficiently as possible, and these candidates fell wholly and completely under the title of ‘Enemy’.

Metal gives a faux hopeful look to Lisa, and Lisa can tell that he’s not entirely dismissed the possibility, even as he does a terrible job at pretending to still consider it an option that Lisa could authorize. Lisa plays into the joke – god knows that Tier One needs some light in this disastrous day – and gives him the look mostly used for when Bravo (usually Sonny) suggests a stupid idea that shouldn’t had even crossed their minds. Blackburn jokingly referred to it as her “bad dog” look, and it worked for its purpose, making the operators put their tails between their legs. A few faces form smiles, and a few look to be wavering on the edge of smiling.

“No murder, and no death.”

This gets her grumbles, and not all of them are joking. Clay had gotten all of them out of sticky situations. Every operator in Tier One had a handful story where Clay had needed to be briefed on their op, and all of them had at least one where he’d taking calls at 2am to translate over a connection that he could barely hear English through. He’d never berated them for waking him up, and had often taken time to teach various operators key phrases, if he knew they were deploying somewhere where he knew the language.

Beau goes next, possibly the most level-headed of the Master Chiefs – both in the room and not. “Advanced SERE?”

Now this, Lisa can work with. Something about her posture must change, a twitch in her face, because the room suddenly erupts in sound. Charlie Two, Delta Five and Alpha Three all are in close enough range to clap Beau on the back, and they do so in quick succession.

“Gentlemen.” She raises her voice to be heard by the room. There’s nothing gentle about the looks on their faces.

“I’ll leave you to figure something out. Report to me with a plan of action.” And with that, she gives them a single nod and begins to leave. Her turned back does not block out the whispers of violence, but it does hide the vicious smile that’s stretched itself out along her face.

Nobody would even think about hurting their kid. Ever again.

+

As Clay blearily opened his eyes, he realised that he’d succumbed to pain-med-induced sleep. A few hours had probably passed since then, based on the fact that sunlight was now filling the room. Sonny was sat on his right side, gaze focused on the room’s TV screen, which was showing a play-by-play of a football game. The volume was cranked down, and even as Clay becomes more aware; he can only hear every other word.

“Son?” The word passes his lips without him meaning it to. Sonny’s head snaps over to Clay, so fast that Clay fears he may have given himself whiplash.

“Hey Bam Bam, how ya doin?” The toothpick moves hypnotically. Stop looking at the toothpick. Stop it. Stop it. Sonny’s casual expression is betrayed by the slight waver in his voice, a sliver of raw emotion that Sonny couldn’t fully supress. Clay gives him a strained smile in lieu of answering and reaches his hand out. Sonny catches the hand before it moves very far, holding it in a tight grip.

Sonny’s thumb absently runs across Clay’s unblemished because he hadn’t even been able to fight back knuckles, and his spare hand turns off the TV, leaving them in silence.

“Kid.” Clay’s eyes widen slightly, and he almost pulls his hand out of Sonny’s grip at the softly spoken word. He tries to get in the apology, the explanation, before Sonny can tell him that Jason is punishing him for being unaware.

“I should have being paying attention. I know I should have been paying attention, I was just so tired.” I’m sorry I’m so sorry don’t kick me out please

Sonny freezes. What?

“Clay. Stop. Stop-” he has to cut himself off before he says something that includes those really touchy-feely-emotions he’s feeling. Thankfully, Clay doesn’t take the pause as an opportunity to continue. “Stop trying to defend yourself. None of us blame you, Blondie. You were on base. You should have been protected. We won’t fail you again.” Sonny gives him facts, because he knows that if he tries to do anything else he’ll make it worse.

“Son?” Clay recalls a voice calling through the dark, through the black water he was floating in, a voice he’d recognised; “Did Blackburn find me? He- he had blood on his hands”

For a moment, Sonny curses Clay’s blessings as a sniper. He’d always been able to notice the little things, the things none of them would notice. “Yeah, he was checking that none of us were sleeping in the cages.”

Clay nods, and then his brows furrow. He breaks eye contact with Sonny and frowns in the genal direction of his feet. His face makes what Sonny calls his ‘Brainiac’ Face, and Sonny can only assume that he’s thinking about what happened with Blackburn, not rationalizing with himself that the beating was somehow his fault.

“Son, can I talk to him?” Sonny doesn’t want to think about whatever that conversation is going to be, so he nods and begins to gather his stuff. His cap is hanging precariously from one on the bed’s corners, his phone on the bedside table. He stands and ruffles Clay’s head, laughing despite the stink-eye he gets for it. Clay doesn’t mind it, and he has the feeling the next few weeks, if not months, are going to be filled with various forms of physical contact to reassure his teammates that he was still with them.

And now he’d asked Sonny to get Blackburn. God what do you even say to the guy who had found you beaten? ‘Hey Boss, I’m sure that what you saw was horrifying, but I’m alright now?’ God help him. Sonny hadn’t given him a weird look, so he’d probably been expecting Clay to ask at some point.

Clay’s train of thought is interrupted when a soft knock sounds on the door. There’s a second of pause before the door opens. Clay can’t think of a time when Blackburn’s looked worse. There are dark circles under his eyes, and a vaguely haunted look in his eyes. His eyes have a red tinge, and Clay can’t tell if that’s from sleep deprivation, or something else. His hands are rubbed red and raw, and Clay can tell that Blackburn had taken extra care to get every fleck of blood off his hands. He’s in a jacket that looks too big for him, and Clay suspects that Trent had a hand in that. Since the injured person – Clay – wasn’t someone he could immediately care for, Trent had gone for the next best thing, a shaken Blackburn. Under the jacket, he’s still in his fatigues, and by the time he’s finished the assessment of Blackburn’s top half, he’d moved close and sat down, hiding everything below his waist from Clay’s view.

Blackburn reaches out, putting a palm on Clay’s forearm, Clay’s hand mirrors it on Blackburn’s arm, and tension bleeds from Blackburn’s figure. His shoulders slump slightly, and he leans forward.

“How are you feeling?”

Clay considers lying, considers saying that he’s not in any pain, considers easing Blackburn’s mind. He decides against it. Blackburn had found him in a pool of blood, it’s the least he can do to tell him the truth. “My ribs hurt. But I’m, I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you were there.”

Clay is the sometimes literally bleeding heart of Bravo, levelling out Sonny’s emotional constipation, and the admission is the balm of some of the burns on Eric’s soul. Eric leaned forwards, shuffling closer to the bed, trying to hide the blood on his knees. He hadn’t been home to change, a call to his wife at 8am had told her that he wasn’t going to be home for a while. She, like the amazing wife she was, had been understanding, and then grumbled at him to let her sleep. They’d both laughed and exchanged ‘I love you’s before his wife ended the call. Clay didn’t need the stress of knowing that Eric had knelt in his blood. Nobody needs that.

“Gave me quite a scare, gave all of us quite a scare.” Eric doesn’t tell him that he’d spent the last half hour scrubbing his hands raw, that Jason had needed to strong-arm him into the waiting room, that Trent had given him one look and offered up his jacket, that he’d had his head in his hands until Sonny had come into the room and told him that Clay wanted to talk to him. Doesn’t tell him that he’d stood outside for nearly a minute before he’d knocked, that he’d needed to barrel in before he lost the nerve to speak to his operator. He usually prides himself on staying calm, on being collected, but Clay had been attacked in one of the few places on earth that he could honestly and without reservation call home. That scared Eric. If he couldn’t keep his operators safe on base, where would they be safe?

“Davis is talking to command about adding locks to the cage room doors, make sure this doesn’t happen again.” If she wasn’t already talking to command about it, she would be soon.

Clay nods. He shifts and grimaces in pain.

“Do you want me to get a nurse?” It’s a safe question, one that doesn’t involve the emotions in the room.

Clay ignores the lifeline. “I’m alright as I am. Did you get the guys?”

Eric nods. Breaking the news to Bravo had been the highlight of his morning. “Command is letting DEVGRU work out how to punish them.”

Clay grins. “I bet Metal is having fun with that.”

It’s Eric’s turn to smile, and a soft chuckle makes its way out. “Davis is under strict orders to not accept a plan that involves murder. I’m sure Alpha’s disagreeing with that.”

Alpha was most likely to deploy with Bravo, and all were in line with their Master Chief’s ‘Bury-first-questions-second’ policy when it came to Clay. Eric had a feeling it wouldn’t take much convincing to get Delta and Echo behind the plan, and that Charlie would only argue on principle.

Tier One was a brotherhood that didn’t take kindly to injury, as the world would learn.

+

Echo One – Zack Greer – a newly promoted Delta Two, wasn’t a very outgoing man. One and Twos were meant to both complement and contrast each other, a precarious balancing act honed over years of living out of each other’s pockets. TJ had needed a level head, so his Two was calm in the face of crisis.

Echo Two, on the other hand. A Floridian man, Elliot Howe, promoted from Charlie Three, who was under strict orders to never drink unsupervised with Sonny Quinn, lest they empty a bar and then burn said bar to the ground. He’d chaffed under Beau’s tight ship, so when the opportunity to move to form Echo had arisen, he was hard pushed to say no.

Together with Echo Three (Alpha Three), Echo Four (Delta Six) and two Green Team graduates as their Five and Six, they’d created a tight brotherhood.

Echo Five, Dan Wilder, a multilingual K9 handler, had initially been lost at DEVGRU, not quite fitting in. He’d reached out to the youngest operator – Bravo Six – in order to get some advice. What he didn’t know at the time is that their languages had overlap. Together with Clay and Ares – his K9 – he’d been able to find someone to practice with.

Echo had long since lost count of how many times Clay had come into their cage room, with a well-loved book, offering it to Dan with a brief explanation of how it would interest him. The book was never in English, and neither was the explanation. For all they knew, Clay could have spent the last few months giving Dan anything from Harry Potter to The Anarchist’s Cookbook (he’d actually only given Dan one of those, and Dan was under strict instructions not to tell them which, and Dan had been recommending others back).

Sonny, on the days when they were hanging out after work, sometimes tagged along to these exchanges. He’d joked about a book club, and Echo Two had picked up on the joke immediately, and since then the pair had resigned themselves to the nickname.

Between Clay’s frequent interactions with Dan and the fact that all of DEVGRU was deadly protective of Clay, it was no surprise that when Echo had heard the news, they hadn’t been happy. Command had fought a battle with Echo to keep them deployed, and Echo had nearly won. Dan had been on many rants, talking to empty space in Pashto – Four only caught a few words, and those were all along the lines of murder and death. Ares was giving out a low, constant growl. Both of the DEVGRU K9s were as protective as their owners, it seemed.

The door to their dorms slammed open and Zack marched in. Echo looks up in sync, and if it weren’t so serious, Zack would be amused by how much his men look like Meerkats. “Got word from Virginia.” This sets his men on edge, Howe half-steps forward, and his shoulders visibly tense up. “They found the green team rookies. We’ve been asked to approve the plan of their punishment before it gets sent to be approved by command.” Malicious smiles break out among the barracks.

They may be 7000 miles away, but they wouldn’t let anybody off the hook because of it.

[marvelgiggles]

Learning to Be Loved

Chapter 4

This is a TICKLE SERIES!!! If you aren’t interested please keep scrolling.

You could not believe what you just heard. 

JARVIS had alerted you that you had to go to the living room and when you did you saw everyone sitting there. You picked up some tension in the room and your brain immediately went to you doing something wrong and now you were going to get kicked back out on the streets. 

You nervously sat down no the couch in a tense position, Bucky noticed it and wrapped you in a hug helping you nerves slightly. 

“Okay, Y/N we have some news to tell you.” Tony said seriously making your nerves spike up again. 

“There is a mission we all have to go on for a couple days.” Steve informed you. Wait all of them? Who was going to keep you company, Peter was gone on a school trip so you were going to be all by yourself in this huge compound you now called home.

“We’re sorry Y/N but we just found a few hours ago.” Bucky whispered in your ear causing you to giggle a little bit. “Are your ears ticklish too?” Bucky whispered again and then blew in your ear causing you to squeal. Thankfully he didn’t continue because you weren’t really in the mood to be tickled so he just snuggled you closer.

“So we decided to spend the entire day unplugged and as a family. So what do you want to do Y/N?” Nat asked you putting you on the spot. You didn’t want to pick something someone didn’t want to do.

“Nothing you pick is going to upset anyone.” Bucky assured you rubbing you arm up and down, but you were still to nervous to say anything in fear of upsetting someone else. 

“Wanna have a water balloon fight?” Tony says hoping to get you to agree to something someone else picked and plus New York was going through a little heat wave in the beginning of September. You smiled and nodded your head. “Go get changed then.” You bolted off the couch clearly excited to play you changed into a swimsuit but changed into a larger t-shirt to cover your swimsuit.

Once you stepped out into the yard you were quickly splashed with a water balloon hitting you in the shoulder. You screamed not expecting to get hit that quickly, also understanding that the Avengers didn’t show any type of mercy when it came to games like this. Although you’ve learned the Avengers as a group were really competitive. 

You heard what could only be described as a battle cry and suddenly Steve was in front of you, like a shield and wrapped an arm around your waist and picked you up. “No I must protect Y/N at all costs.” You giggled at his childishness. The other thing you loved about living here was how playful everyone could be. They knew when to be serious but more often than not it was super light hearted and playful around the compound. 

Steve carried you to safety and handed you some water balloons. “Give ‘em hell Y/N.” He smirked and then ran off to drench people with water. You saw Nat run by away from Clint and you went to toss a water balloon at her, thankfully you hit right on the mark and she made eye contact with you. You squealed and took off running from her, which then lead you getting hit by another water balloon from Tony.

This fight was becoming an epic battle and you were getting a little tired from all the running around and from throwing all the balloons. Then you had a genius idea to probably win the entire war, you had to be sneaky though otherwise you didn’t think this plan was going to work.  You made your way to the side of the compound with the water hose, you quietly unraveled it and turned the crank the knob and aimed.

Everyone screamed as you soaked them all with water from the hose, you laughed at their reaction and you continued to spray the hose back and forth making sure that you got everyone. You noticed you didn’t see Steve when suddenly you were wrapped up in a bear hug, you screamed from the surprise and from the coldness from him being soaking wet with water. “You little cheater and to think I helped you.” 

Then you saw Bucky slowly walk toward you with an evil grin on his face. You knew what was coming and tried to get out of Steve’s arms but you stood no chance. “We don’t tolerate cheating here Y/N, you must be punished!” Bucky said as he quickly grabbed your foot in his metal arm and dragged his finger down your foot. 

“Bucky!” You screamed then burst into laughter, you tried to kick your leg but Bucky held it firm and your other leg wasn’t going to help you. Then you felt Bucky grab one of your toes and you screamed louder and you were now trying to kick your other leg to make Bucky let go. 

“You never run out of ticklish spots do you bug?” Bucky smiled at you at his nickname for you, he was the one who found out you liked to cuddle, gave you the nickname Cuddlebug but when everyone else started to call you that, he had to come up one that was just for him so he shortened it to bug. Once Bucky played with all of your toes on one foot, he grabbed your other one, “we can’t have the other feel left out can we?” Then started to tickle your toes on that foot causing the same reaction as before, finally he got to playing with your last toe. 

You also started to feel the arms around you loosen but you were being gently put on the ground and you were looking up at Steve and Tony. “Even though we found a new spot there are some old good ones.” Steve smiled at you and went straight for your sides causing you to giggle sweetly and try to twist away, even though you really didn’t want to. One hand was poking rapidly up and down while the other was massaging your side. The two different sensations were incredibly ticklish.

“Yup still a good one.” Tony said, “But so is this one,” as he inserted his face in your neck and started to rub his beard around everywhere. You squealed louder and started to laugh more frantically.

“Tohohohony!” You cried trying to squish his head out of your head but that only opened up the other side for him to torment. 

“Yes pipsqueak?” He whispered in your ear flowed by a small puff of air. You also choked on your salvia from the scream that worked it’s way through your throat, but it also didn’t help that Steve also moved his hands to the bottom of your rib cage. 

“Now Y/N, Queens told me you have a pretty good ticklish spot on your ribs, wanna tell me where it is?” Steve teased you evilly but you were laughing to hard to answer him. “Okay, I just I’m going to have to find it myself.” He started to vibrate his fingers all over your rib cage frantically and quickly to try and find the spot he was talking about. When he finally found it you let a loud scream. “Oh, Queens was right this is fun.” Thankfully, Steve had some mercy on you not wanting to get too carried away and he let you breath for a little bit. But because Steve was still sitting above your waist you couldn’t see Sam sneak over. 

You suddenly felt someone squeeze your knees, you screamed again, and let out your favorite deep laughter. “SAM!” You yelled before you were kicking your legs in every direction you could with Steve still hovering above you. It didn’t take long for your laughter to become silent causing Sam to stop.

“Sorry rugrat, but I couldn’t miss the opportunity.” He said with a quick kiss to your forehead. Tony let you go and Steve got up as well. You were still laying on the ground recovering from your tickles but then you felt two hands under your arms, which caused your Tickle Me Elmo giggles to come out but it was just Tony helping you stand back up. 

“Pizza and a movie sound okay there pipsqueak.” Tony asked you and you were still giggling from early so you just nodded your head. He gave you a quick kiss on the forehead, “Go on and get cleaned up. We will be in the movie room when you are done.”

———————

After the chaotic water ballon fight and the torturous tickles you received you all went your respective ways to clean yourselves up before the pizza came. You all met up in the movie room, which you found both of the large sectional arranged in a U shape that all of you could fit on. You went to curl up in one of the corners but Tony sat next to you and pulled you away from the corner to curl you up in his arms with a kiss to your hair. 

“Kay, pipsqueak what movie do you wanna watch?”

“Can we watch the Parent Trap?” You asked boldly yet still quietly, you then heard a loud groan from Steve, you instantly curled into yourself a little more and felt bad. Steve probably hated that movie and you had just picked that for him to sit through. 

Tony instantly picked up on your change of mood. “Hey, don’t listen to Cap. He doesn’t know a good movie that isn’t from the 40’s.”

“No, it’s okay we can watch something else.” You said quietly picking at your fingernails, but you were a little disappointed because it was one of your favorite movies.  

“How do I burn the toast. EVERY. TIME!” Steve yelled from the kitchen. You started to giggle at Steve’s constant ability to fail at doing something as making a piece of toast. He walked into the movie room and you giggled slightly as you saw his facial expression of annoyance. He gave you a look knowing that you were in trouble, you clung tighter to Tony in hopes that he wouldn’t be able to get you but you were easily snatched from Tony.

“Is my misery funny to you Y/N?” He whispered in your ear while starting to claw at your tummy. You began to giggle sweetly and weakly try to bat his hands away from your tummy. “And you think your funny trying to get away?” He put his nose into your neck and started rubbing it all around causing you to break out in laughter trying a little more desperately to get away.

Tony grabs you away from Steve. “Leave my baby alone.” Tony pulled you tight into his chest and wrapped his strong arms around you. Suddenly you felt fingers brush through your hair, that was something new but you loved it, it was so relaxing and comforting. Soon you were quickly asleep halfway through the movie cuddled up in Tony’s arms. 

———————

“Y/N wake up.” Bucky gently shook your shoulder. You groaned not wanting to get up and face saying goodbye to everyone and being left alone. “Come on, we have a surprise for you downstairs.” You could hear the excitement in his voice but it still didn’t make you want to get up. “Fine, I’ll resort to other measures.” He quickly blew a raspberry in your neck you squeal and tried to bury yourself under your pillow and blankets.

Bucky laughed at your reaction and yanked your blankets off you causing you to whine at the sudden coldness. He quickly squeezed your ribs a little making you try to squirm away while giggling adorably according to Bucky. “Come on, we have a really good surprise for you downstairs.” He stopped tickling you pretty quickly but continued to sit by your side. “I’ll give you a piggyback ride downstairs.” 

You smiled and quickly nodded. Bucky stood up and you launched yourself off your bed onto his back, he grunted at the sudden impact but started his way downstairs. “You pack a real punch Y/N, I’m gonna have to teach you how to fight soon.” 

He took you to one of the rooms that supplied all of the Avengers gear and uniforms for the missions. Everyone was eagerly waiting for you, you could tell Tony was the most excited because he couldn’t stop moving. 

“Sorry I’m a little late, someone didn’t want to get out of bed.” Bucky teased with squeezing the back of your thighs by your knees. You instantly belly laughed and started to kick both of your legs until he set you down on your feet. 

“Y/N, I’m sorry that we have to all go on a mission the same weekend Peter’s on a school trip but we don’t want you to be alone so we got you some more company.” Tony explained. You looked around the room confused when you didn’t see anyone new in the group. “Go open my locker.” He smiled nodding in the right direction.

You were a little nervous it was some kind of practical joke but when you opened the locker a little ball of fluff attacked your lower legs. You squealed and dropped down to the floor letting your new companion lick at your face.

“You got me a puppy?” You were shocked and so happy because you always wanted a puppy. 

Especially a golden retriever puppy.

“Well yeah, we can’t have you worrying about us day and night can we?” Steve chuckled at your reaction.

You were giggling as your new puppy kept licking your face and neck and it sort of tickled too further adding to your giggles. 

“What are you going to name him?” Tony asked clearly happy at your reaction to the puppy. 

You thought about it for a while as you got the puppy to stop licking your face. He was now cradled in your arms as you were giving him belly rubs. “Solider.” 

“Perfect.” Steve exclaimed giving you a kiss on the head. “I don’t wanna ruin the moment but we really do have to get going.” 

Everyone gave you a hug or kiss goodbye before making their way to the jet. Tony wanted to make sure that he was the last one to say goodbye. “See you later pipsqueak, everything little Solider needs is in the closet next to your room. If we can we are going to try FaceTime you at night but I can’t promise anything. I love you.” Tony said before he gave you a longing kiss on your forehead. You watched the QuinJet fly off into the distance but before you could get too lost in thought Solider let out a little yip.

“Okay boy, what should we do?” You set him on the ground and watch him clumsily try to make his way further into the house, having him would definitely keep you occupied until your family came back.  

[blissfulsun]

3rd installation of the lessons in love series, written for and with my angel Nics in mind because it’s my best frenssss bday!!! I love you so much💖@vlobsessed

word count: 2,311

A masterpiece in the making // Jeff Wittek

‘You’ve been quiet...’ 

It’s a simple observation made by Jeff, his fingers intertwined in your own as he leads the way and you follow. 

The fact you look so much like a couple right now is not lost on you, hands clasped tightly together and his jacket adorning your frame. 

An older lady even smiles as she walks past you two, it’s the fondness in his eyes that’s corresponding your own which makes her compliment how lovely of a couple you make. 

He’s right, you’ve been quiet since then, far too focused on the hammering in your chest and whether Jeff can hear it. 

If not that, then he can definitely feel just how clammy your palm has become. 

‘Angel?’ there’s humour in his tone, underlying concern that dances in his eye when you finally look up at him just as he pulls your clasped hand up and lays a feather light kiss to the rings adorning each finger. 

‘Sorry, ‘m just hungry’ it’s half a lie, since your stomach does grumble following the confession. 

Jeff knows there’s more to it, but he also knows how you operate, will tell him what’s on your mind when you’re ready. 

Besides, his primary concern right now is to feed you before you get grumpy, a look consisting of a permanent pout and furrowed brows that he secretly loves. 

‘What my girl wants she gets’ You soften, staring up at him with uncontrollable wonder but Jeff just misses it, already looking around the street for a place you might like. 

You end up in a quiet coffee shop, quaint and homely despite it’s location in the city, yourself taking a seat after Jeff has promised he already knows what you want as he goes to order. 

He sits close in the corner booth, your thighs touching and one of his arms around your shoulders while the other pushes another dose of caffeine your way. 

‘Is it-’ You begin to ask. ‘oat milk? Course, told you I know exactly what you like baby.’ 

He feels smug in the way his words seem to make you frazzled, teeth nipping at your bottom lip which makes his heart lodge itself in his throat in return, accidental payback. 

Because you are, frazzled that is, it’s a simple detail: knowing how you like your coffee or that you always forget to bring a jacket wherever you go. 

It’s the choosing to remember that keeps you in your own head so much on this day, Jeff’s choice to take notice of your habits, and you’re not even sure why it feels so different now, why it seems to have such an earth shattering effect on your thought process but it does. 

It feels good to be known without asking, you don’t remember the last time you’ve let someone close enough to even have the opportunity. 

Not like this, with his feet kicking against yours under the table as Jeff retells a story from a barbershop shoot you missed earlier that week, his fingers playing with the hair at the nape of your neck. 

Hours pass like this and you never really notice, afternoon slipping away without a care in the world, your usual habit of glancing at the clock forgotten in favour of looking at him, face animated in the storytelling, eyes reflecting the sunlight bouncing from the windows as strangers come and go but you don’t want to look away and miss a single thing. 

Has he always held your full attention like that? Hours turned to days spent in each other’s company, with your friends crowded around you but no one else truly in your sight. 

‘We should head back to the car if we wanna make our booking in time’ Jeff finally says, bursting the little bubble that’s somehow become your favourite spot in a couple of hours. 

You nod, standing up to follow him outside after thanking the barista in passing, hands once again intertwined. 

Maybe, just maybe your mind has been playing trick on you and there’s nothing different in the way Jeff glances down at you while you roam the streets, there’s nothing unusual about the comfort of his frame towering so closer over yours, or the way he opens the passenger door for you and lands his hand on the top of your thigh as he drives. 

It’s nothing more than two friends pushing boundaries in the name of your forsaken assignment. 

But then he’s smiling over at you, wind blowing his growing hair underneath the cap and cheeks full with bubbling laughter and you think, god, I love you, almost whisper it across the console when you’re sure the music playing is far too loud for him to ever hear it. 

Yeah, it’s definitely you that’s falling, simultaneously for your best friend and apart.

The day continues on, as if you haven’t had an epiphany that’s shaken you to the core. 

Jeff put the truck in park, runs around to your side of the car to open your door and reaches for your hand. 

You fight the urge to shiver when your fingers intertwine. 

‘You ready baby?’ He asks, dimples on show and brown eyes lit with underlying excitement at the prospect of the next part of your evening. 

‘I would be if you finally told me what it is exactly that we’re doing’ you whine, lips forming into a playful pout that Jeff mocks with his own before letting your hand go in favour of throwing his arm around your shoulder to pull you tight into side. 

He comes clean with his lips pressed against your forehead, a half peck accompanied by an instruction ‘We’re just around the corner, you’ll see’ Once you do, the excitement surges through you. 

‘The Broad?’ Jeff observes carefully, fondness sparking in his heart at how easily your expression brightens at the sight. 

Deep inside, he’s already sure you’re bound to be the most angelic work of art he’ll see tonight, a masterpiece of freckles, scars and booming laughter all wrapped up in the best girl he’s ever had. 

Jeff coughs, hand flying to rub at the back of his neck as he nods in answer to your question. 

‘I got us tickets to that light exhibit you wanted t-’ Your eyes almost pop out of their sockets as you interrupt. 

‘Kusama? I thought they were sold out’ your attempts at getting tickets proving futile in months passed. 

You watch the man shrug, expression a mixture between sheepish and smug, ‘I have my ways doll.’ 

The only thing left to do is leap into his awaiting arms, you whisper a gentle thank you with your head furrowed into his neck, lips pressed against the skin there momentarily, the touch is so feather light Jeff’s left wondering if it ever really happened as you pull away only to grab his hand and head inside with a new found bounce to your step.  

He’s right. The mirror rooms are beautiful, each installation of light stretching on in its endless path. 

Your eyes brightened by colour in wonder, each reflecting in the smile that shows your teeth and dimples as Jeff takes pictures and poses accordingly at your request. 

He listens to your explanations , every single thought, hangs on to every word as it leaves your pretty lips.

I could stay here forever. The thought presents itself through an exhale in your mouth, eyes travelling around the final room to land on the brunet that’s asking one of the other visitors to take a picture of you guys. Jeff returns with a sweet older lady in tow. 

‘C’mere doll’ he finds himself behind you, arm wrapped around your waist and palm splayed across your stomach, you smile, first at the lady and then again in preparation for the picture when the same hand turns your frame around and closer in his clasp, Jeff’s face leaning down. 

The flash goes off. He doesn’t kiss you, merely hovers with his forehead pressed against your own, but each of your erratic breaths makes the cupid bow of your upper lip graze the tip of his own. 

‘You two make a lovely couple, it’s sweet to see two young people so in love’ the older lady interrupts the storm brewing in your heart. 

The two of you reluctantly pull away, each reeling at the almost that hangs in the air as Jeff clears his throat and takes his phone back. 

We do..I am, you admit to yourself, gaze following the man that’s somehow the brightest beacon of light to your pacified mind. 

You’re surrounded by art, sculptures and reflections of beauty but there’s only one masterpiece worth observing in wonder for eternity if you get the chance. 

Unknowingly to you, Jeff’s heart is settling in his rib cage with the same realisation. What now? 

Something changes. Shifts as you exit the art gallery to be met with darkness of the night and sidewalks illuminated by streetlights. 

Jeff’s at ease, movements intentional as his hand slips into your own. 

You lift the intertwined fingers up to kiss his knuckles, pretending the blush you see dusting his cheeks and mirrored in your own is caused by evening breeze and not this new found quiet affection that feels so right. 

‘Hungry?’ Jeff asks, breaking the comfortably silence as he swings your hands as you walk to the car. 

‘Mmmm’ you ponder, ‘we could cook something back at mine?’ he nods, the journey spent listening to another one of your playlists made with him in mind. 

It should still terrify you. How your body slots against his, filling every space and gap with gentle precision, each of you mindfully working around the other as you teach him how to make the pasta dish of yours Jeff loves. 

The rest of the evening slipping past you in a domestic bubble of his aftershave wafting through the air and directly into your nose as you cuddle into his chest on the couch. 

‘Y/n...baby wake up’ the soft whisper stirs you awake. 

The moan of protest that leaves your mouth in realisation of being awake causes Jeff’s chest to rumble in laughter under your weight. 

‘Let’s get you to bed doll’ he insists again. 

‘Mhm...yeah, I wanna shower first’ you protest sleepily, body clinging to his warmth like a koala as Jeff sits up and begins the journey to your bedroom. 

Though once he sits you and pulls away you open your eyes to see the tiles of your bathroom from the sink counter. 

Your eyes watch his every move, white cotton shirt stretched along his muscled back as Jeff turns on the shower and sets it to a warm temperature that immediately fills the room with steam. 

He turns around to give you a soft smile, a sweet go ahead before turning to step out.

You’re not sure when you move, feet meeting the cold floor tiles as your small hand wraps around his wrist.

Jeff’s lost, brown eyes searching your own for an answer once he turns around, only seeing the vulnerability laced in your own that causes a stammer in his heart. 

You’re not sure what you’re doing, toeing this invisible line as you pause to momentarily fidget, teeth gnawing at your bottom lip before you whisper ‘Stay.’

One word, short and simple but enough to shatter the thin veil of almost that’s hang over both of you all day, if not for months. 

You think he’ll protest, respond with a Jeff like nervous giggle and the shake of his head that’s meant to let someone down easily, you’ve seen it happen in the past with your very own eyes. 

Instead, you watch the man take a shaky breath, eyes fleeting up and down your frame that’s changed into a hoodie of his earlier. 

He moves, hands instinctively reaching in your direction before they go for his own T-shirt instead, each garment falling to the floor with a thud as you slip your own off and step inside, distorted by the foggy window of your shower. 

Jeff hovers outside, inches of colourful glass separating him from you. 

Before you have a chance to call out his name he’s inside, pools of darkened brown tracing every detail of your bare face framed by wet hair. 

His gaze drops only for a short second, but it feels like a lifetime as you allow yourself to admire his toned chest and pause at the deep v lines of his hips without looking any lower.  

‘Turn around’ the gentle command pulls you away from reverie, you do as he asks. 

Breath quivering in your throat as you watch his hands reach to the shelf built into the wall to pull out your favourite bottle of shampoo before he squirts some onto his palm and begins to massage the soap into your strands, from the roots down to the ends that fall down against the lover skin of your back. 

The sensation is heavenly, Jeff’s long fingers gentle in their effort to clean your hair thoroughly before moving on to conditioner. 

You turn around after, silently returning the favour once he gets the hint and leans down slightly to match your height and allow you easier access to the locks matted against his forehead. 

There’s a moment of clarity, your eyes falling closed as he pulls you into his wet and naked chest, arms wrapping around your shoulder as you both sigh against each other. 

It remains, buzzing in the air when you slip into the bed and slot yourself against his side, head on his chest and leg thrown across his own as Jeff whispers a sweet good night that’s met with your soft snores.

It’s gone in the morning. When you wake up tangled in cold sheets and alone, tears blurring your vision at the realisation that your twenty four hours is finally up.

[buckys-little-hoe]

Guys my age | Peter x Fem!Reader, Tony x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Peter x Reader, Tony x Reader

Summary: Years pass and you’re not the little girl anymore.

Warnings: Half naked woman, alcohol, sexual thoughts, grammar and spelling mistakes (I really don’t feel like reading through it again lmao)

A/N: Do I smell a possible series? Tell me if you like it and I will probably continue this. Hehehe

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Peter Parker. The cutest best friend someone could only ever find in their wildest dreams. He helps you with your homework, he’s been there when you were lovesick, when you were hurt, he trusts you with his life. You’d do anything for him and he’d do the same. He’d get you the moon if you’d ask him. 

You’ve been close friends since Freshman Year - therefore you know his secret identity. Countless nights you spend in eachothers arms, both of you have changed in front of the other. Nothing is really a big deal to you two anymore. Now that you’re two years into college - you traveled around the world for one year after highschool - you’re legally an adult. Drinking is something you can legally do now, not that you often would. You feel like a woman. No. You are a woman. Things change. Feelings change. You often spent the weekend at the compound, sharing a room with Peter back in highschool. So spending Spring Break there isn’t really different. What Peter didn’t tell you, was that everyone is going to be home. This situation is rare. More than half of the team you’ve last seen when you were like sixteen. It will be something completely new, not only for you. “Y/N?”, your dorm roommate calls after you. “Yeah?”, you respond while packing the last things into a suitcase. She barges into your room and scans the room, looking for you. She sees you standing in front of your small closet. “Ohh. You’re leaving. Where to?”, she asks, raising an eyebrow in confusion. “I told you. I’m staying at Peter’s.”, you answer smiling. “Peter? Oh, your boyfriend!”, she says. “He’s not my boyfriend.”, you mumble now. “Whatever, he’s totally into you.”, she responds and sits down on your bed, which is a mess by the way. “He’s not.” Your cheeks start to burn and you turn around. “If you wanna believe that. Have you seen my black dress?” You're grateful that she changes the conversation. “Yeah, you brought it to the salon to get it cleaned.”, you respond, still not facing her. “You’re a literal angel, Y/N. I guess we’ll see eachother after spring break again, so have fun and wrap it before you tap it, darling.”, she says and gives you a kiss on the cheek. Before you can turn around she’s already out the door. 

“I’m bored Peter.”, you sigh looking out of the window. “We’re almost there.” You can feel how he rolls his eyes. “Why are we spending Spring Break here anyway?”, you ask him now facing him. His brown messy hair almost falling into his eyes. He needs to cut that. “I want to work on my skills again and maybe Captain can teach you something, like he promised when he saw you last.”, he replies, still focused on the road. Oh yes. That five years ago. Captain please fuck me America. Man, what a sight for sore eyes. That man could literally run you over with a car, you’d be thanking him. “So instead of relaxing, you want them to murder me?” “Basically.” He finally pulls up to the compound after passing through all those security checks. You look at the time. Almost ten p.m. You feel so tired. “Alright Parker. You bring in those bags, I’ll shower and we watch a movie while falling asleep?”, you question. Well not really, It’s more of an order. He sighs and kills you with his eyes. Before he can say anything, you run into the empty compound. Seems like they’re on a mission. “FRIDAY?”, you call. “Hello, miss Y/L/N. It’s good to see you back.”, the AI greets you. “Well, thanks. Where can I take a shower?”

Relaxed, you get out of the shower, seeing the dampness all over the mirror. That’s when you realise you forgot to bring in clothes. No big deal, right? It’s just good ol’ Penis Parker. You wrap a towel around your curves. You slowly open the door just to see nothing. No Peter, no suitcase. No clothes? You moan in disbelief. This can’t be true. Your old clothes already went down the laundry chute. “FRIDAY?”, you call once again. “Yes, miss?”, the voice answers. “Where is Peter?” “It seems to me that mister Parker went to the kitchen with the luggage.” You’re going to murder him. “Well can you tell him to come?”, you ask. “Unfortunately he has his headphones in at full volume. I can not reach him.”, FRIDAY replies. “That’s fine, thanks.”, you huff, annoyed. It’s been only like ten minutes. They’re not gonna be here, right? Peter said they’ll return tomorrow. Alright. You pull the towel tighter around your body and slowly walk across the room. It’s now or never. You open the door and look outside. No sign of anybody. So you slowly walk next to the wall. You just need to reach the elevator, go into the kitchen and beat his ass. Man, you’re really nervous. You take a deep breath and walk to the elevator. The elevator opens and you slip into it. Thank god, you’re alone. You turn around to look into the mirror. Your wet hair falls on your decollete, your cheeks still a little red from the hot shower, your lips are plump from the lip masks. Wow, you look really good. What a shame that you don’t have your phone to take a selfie. You don’t even notice when the elevator stops. You do notice when the doors open. Your heart drops when you hear two voices, now becoming clearer to hear. No. No. No. You try to keep your cool. Both of them enter and you could drop dead right now. They stop their conversation when they notice you. “Uhm. Ma’am?”, Steve asks while pulling his eyebrows together. Bucky looks really confused. Of course. A half naked woman stands in their elevator. “Oh. Hey.”, you smile softly, trying to ignore your fast beating heart. “It’s me. Uhm. Y/N Y/L/N.” “Little Y/N?” “Queen’s girlfriend?” Both of them ask at the same time. “I’m not Peter’s girlfriend.”, you answer with an eye roll. “Also, I’m not little Y/N anymore. I’m a woman, Bucky.” He looks you up and down and nods. “Yeah, no. I can see that.”, he stutters. You remember how you're clothed and get shy again. You clear your throat and ignore Caps stare. “Have you guys seen Peter?”, you ask, changing the conversation. Captain awakes again and blinks. “Uh, yeah. He went upstairs.” “That little fucker.”, you whisper while pushing the button to your floor again. So the elevator stops one last time before going up again. Your eyes are glued on the floor. That’s awkward. “It was nice meeting you guys again.”, you smile, still not looking up. Instead you just exit the elevator, walking straight to your shared room, ready to beat his ass. “Was that really Y/N?”, Bucky asks Steve quietly while the doors close again. He just nods as a response, his eyes still on the closed doors. 

You yawn and turn around, just to see Peter’s already dead asleep. The movie finished a few seconds ago. Your phone buzzes and you turn around again to see a notification. With tired eyes you unlock your phone. Your roommate sent you a picture of her with a bottle of vodka. A Sigh escapes your parted lips. You’d give anything for a little bit of a party. Why not make one yourself. Excited you grab your headphones and walk out. A few minutes later you stand in the kitchen searching through the cabinets. The headphones blast your favorite music into your head. What a dreamlife, you think as you pull out something. There you go, a little bit of Tequila never hurts. You don’t waste time searching for a shot glass. Instead you drink it straight out of the bottle. Nice. You lean on the counter, humming the little song. Even swaying your hips a little bit. Peter can be such a nerd. Instead of getting your brain fucked out, you’re stuck in this golden cage with a bunch of old people. Suddenly someone pulls one headphone out. The music stops automatically. You turn to your right and stand right up when you realize who it is. “Mister Stark!”, you say with wide eyes. Your head shoots to his hand where he holds your headphone and then back to him, your two little braids flying with you. “Y/N?”, he asks confused and you nod. He then looks you up and down. There you are again, in shorts that barely cover your ass and a cropped sweater. “Yes, sir.”, you reply nervously. Of course you are. Who is standing half naked in his kitchen in the middle of the night just to down a little bit of vodka? Right, you are. “You grew up, huh.”, he says taking the bottle out of your hand. You make a pout but don’t resist. “You could say so, sir.”, you respond. “Well, compliments, princess. You look beautiful.”, he tells you and finally looks into your eyes. And the longer you look at him, the faster your heart beats. Was he always this handsome? “Thank you, sir.”, you reply shy. “Please, call me Tony.”, he sighs. “May I ask why you’re already here?”, you ask now. He raises an eyebrow. “I mean.. Peter. He, uhm. He told me you’d arrive tomorrow.”, you stutter. “Pepper broke up with me so I thought I could as well already return.”, Tony answers. “Oh. I’m sorry.”, you say. “For what?” For asking. “I’m not sure.” He looks you up and down again. “You should go back to Peter, princess.”, he whispers, still not taking his eyes off of you. You feel the heat in your cheeks and once again you ask yourself if he’s always been this gorgeous. “I don’t feel like returning.” Your answer is fully the truth. You’d rather stay here next to him. “You feel like playing with the big ones, sweetheart?”, he wants to know. His voice is hoarse. You bite your lip. And when you understand what may happen you can’t help but giggle. “You could say so, Tony.” 

[hughiecampbelle]

Vulcan (Arthur Shelby Oneshot) Pt. 2/12

Character/s: Arthur

Word Count: 1,145

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @writerdream22 @death-of-a-mermaid @woahitslucyylu @obsessedunicorn24 @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @captivatedbycillianmurphy @theshelbyclan @creativemayhems @soleil-dor @thegirlwithoutaname87 @babylooneytoonz @peakyxtommy @locke-writes

A/N: Hello I'm a liar I stayed up v late to write this and I'm too impulsive and impatient not to post it asap!!! I hope this one is as good as the first!!! And makes you want to read more!!! Again this is my first BIG series which is kinda scary considering there was a time I thought I'd never be able to write more than 500 words! Look at me now :D Anyways, be sure to check out part one my loves and I just really hope you like it!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

Gif Credit: @peakycillianblinders :)

FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO. / PART THREE.

WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

ROMAN GODS SERIES: Jupiter /Juno / Mars / Vulcan / Mercury / Minerva / Neptune / Venus / Pluto / Janus / Caelus / Apollo

You are no more human than himself.

Nothing, though, more human than mans own emotions. The very things that beat and pound against the cage of his ribs, breaking every bone, tearing through himself in an effort to conceal until he is nothing but ruins himself, until there is no fight left. The very things that rule him. Control and berate his spirits better than any blood could. It's not their words spoken behind closed doors, or the distance they put between themselves, but their expressions. The pity. The disgust. The horror. As if he is less, as if he were mortal. Atop their pedestals they are in power, in control, their true selves hidden behind masks. He lives truthful, exposed, waiting for infection. Begging for it. Few can understand, fewer sympathize, but from the moment you looked at him, watched the lines in his forehead crease, his mouth fall, his entire outward being change, you knew. How could Gods possibly live among their people and not pick up a few habits? Not just the things they mirrored with ease. Joy, sadness, even anger became second nature. He was burdened with more, with complications. Anger became fury, rage, bitterness, even destruction.

They were scared not because they could not understand what it felt to hurt so deeply, to bleed to freely, but because pride lived in him where they felt nothing but shame. Shame for screaming, crying, sobbing. For finding their knees weak, breakable, their spirits broken, their worlds shattering before their eyes. Shame for falling, shattering, letting themselves be weak, vulnerable, human. He was not. Openly, he let these things seep through his words, his actions, carrying it on his back when there was no where else to put it, never daring to put up a front of invulnerability. Gods could be fragile, too.

And just as they could be fragile, they were dangerous.

Not once would he let you forget that.

You never saw it. Not when it was happening. When his arms grew tired, when his back ached, when his eyes saw red. The myths, the stories, the thing of nightmares. Horrifying. Truly horrifying. In his prime, nothing left unharmed, untouched. Pushed to the edge, he didn't just fall, he put on a goddamn show. Sometimes you wished to watch, see for yourself what it was that made others shake, what made them leave everything they had in his name, praying for joy. Sometimes you decided it was better to leave it up to your imagination. You were there after though, ordered to clean up, collect his pieces, hold him together until someone more familiar put him back together again. He trusted you, for what reason you still questioned. Let you get close enough to hush his own unrecognizable sobs, plucking the gun, knife, pipe from his weak hand, wipe the red from his cheek. Still wet. It wasn't a fall from grace, not exactly, but a taste, a glimpse of how fragile ones world really was when immortals lost their grip. Just as they could play nice, offer riches, they could leave nothing but ash in their wake.

Little fires everywhere.

The ruins were magnificent. Shocking, and amazing. Homes unrecognizable. Bodies shredded, anonymous now, without worth. The grass and trees blackened, smoking even as the sun rose, welcoming a new day. You never could get used to the smell of burning flesh, the stinging in your lungs enough to bring tears to your eyes. The clouds grey, moody, as far as you could see. A reminder, as if the unsettled silence weren't enough. All that's left is the quiet cry of the crackling fire, weaker and weaker with every passing second. He could not bear to look. A man gone blind in his rage. You'd seen it enough with the mortals to know. Humans had a funny way of wanting to protect themselves, their psyche, even at their most destructive. Funny, and odd. He possessed these same traits. Weakened by what he's done, exhausted, there is not another threat of this for a long time. But when it comes, because it always does, he'll scorch the new earth, this new life, without hesitation.

Sometimes, it's not an outward cry, but inward. A gun to his head, the metal kissing his temple goodnight. The rope around his neck, soft against his skin. The booze sweet, tempting, making his steps light and careless. Someone is there before it's too late, before there is no God left, easing him off the ledge the way they think they'll always have to. This you do not see. You do not hear. This is kept among gods, another secret they are sworn to, another thing they can use against one another. But you know, as you would. And again, you understand. Stitched across his features. A crime not yet committed. In due time, he promises, without a single word, and you believe him. Succumbed to his emotions. He does not berate them, or belittle, but joins them, knowing, despite how much it hurts, how beautiful they really can be.

Something none of them could begin to understand.

All of this is worth the euphoria, the tears of joy, walking the thin line between elation and madness, even if it only lasts one second.

Lower on the ranks, the impoverished class, fresh blood, sent to do the work no one else wanted because you had no other choice. Unlike the rest, he was eager to join, to help, anything to rid himself of his own guilt, gain back the respect he's lost. A glance is all you share. That of secrecy. Those moments, where he is shattered, the source of so much heartache, kept between you. Not out of personal gain, for leverage, but because you, too, have found yourself the cause, not the affect. The rest underestimate, overlooking, never meeting your eyes, but he is careful. He doesn't know, none do, but he is one of few who see man and God all the same. Strengths and weaknesses. Pain and suffering. Love and war. A multitude of pieces, each worthy in their own right of respect, of understanding and patience. One is not only their mistakes, their faults, all the things that keep them awake at night, just as they are not only their vigor, their vitality, all the battles they've won. They are all of them, and more, things he cannot even see, nor begin to comprehend. So, he looks you in the eye, as he does the others, regardless of who they take orders from.

As long as he's concerned, with that cap, you're one of them. The rest of the family, they differentiate, they seclude, they draw a line right down the middle. Us and them. Worthy and unworthy. Those that decide and those to be disposed.

Not Arthur, though.

He is different.