#enhanced reader

[theconstantsidekick]

I’m sorry to his might just be a dumb question but I started your stark verse series and why can’t y/n age?

not stupid at all. i have written a very overly complicated story because i am a complete asshole lmao. i'm constantly surprised that people are still interested in this fic verse. but coming back to your question, even though it's not clear what her parentage is, y/n stark is definitely not completely human. one of her parents was an alien, the other was human. her alien parent is responsible for the powers that she has.

she hasn't yet discovered which was which but if anyone is curious about it i do have a backstory for that too.

for a little more insight into her origin, you could read the Age of Ultron flashback or the Himbo and the Gnist.

[justkending]

Finding Memories. Chapter 21.

Series Summary: Waking up with little to no memory of her past, and being saved by a group of individuals who call themselves heroes, sends a long time captive for a whirlwind trying to find some form of grounding in this world she quickly learns runs on chaos. But she’s not the only one trying to figure out her forgotten backstory. Bucky Barnes, along with the other Avengers, can’t help but sense that there is a lot more to the whole situation than a diagnosis of amnesia. Her background slowly starts to come forward in pieces of her past and hidden information discovered. Who is she? And why was she in the room they were meant to destroy?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced Reader 

Word Count: 2600 (On the dot;))

TW: Torture, cussing, gore, PTSD, triggers.  

A/N: I finally sat down and forced myself to get a chapter out! I needed to get this chapter written in order to find some motivation, so I hope you enjoy! 

Chapter 21:  

Nothing was said and no sound came from Y/N’s direction. Her eyes were locked on the screen as if she were analyzing every detail in the video. 

“Y/N?” Bucky asked, moving some so he was in her peripherals. 

“He’s still alive?” she asked.

Everyone looked at each other, silently communicating whether or not to tell her. 

“He’s still alive,” Tony answered realizing lies would get them nowhere.

“And we don’t know where he’s at?” She was still staring at the image of his face as it replayed over and over in front of her. 

“For now,” Bucky answered. “We’ll have something soon though. Don’t worry.”

She seemed to snap out of it some and looked back at Bucky before down at the table. 

“I don’t have a name for him. No one called him anything besides Doctor or Sir,” she said under her breath. “His face is more in my memories than his name.” She froze, her head snapping back up. “I need to talk to Gabriel again.”

It was getting late and they had been hit with new information and facts since the beginning of the day. Bucky didn’t like he could see that she was clearly burning out, but the adrenaline and pure spite of the situation was what was fueling her at the moment. 

“Why do you say that?”  Tony asked.

“He’ll know more of what we need,” she replied. 

“I thought you said no memories sparked with him,” Tony was confused. 

“Yeah, well… Things are coming back to me,” she huffed. “Excuse me a moment.” 

She made her way out the glass doors and seconds before Bucky followed, Nat stopped him. 

“Uh uh,” she looked at him. “She’ll be fine.”

And he knew she was right, but his patience toward this day was growing thinner and thinner. 

She was planning on going into the bathroom to take a second, but she knew Nat or Wanda would follow her in within the next minute and she needed more time than that. 

So she scoped out a supply closet and made sure no one followed or saw her go in.

Since last night, she hadn’t really been on her own for longer than 20 minutes and that one time was when she took a shower and was changing. Besides that, there was constantly someone supervising her. 

Right now, what she needed more than anything was a second to collect her thoughts and not feel like she had to shush them. Her head had been screaming at her with new things coming forward every few minutes. 

It happened a few times after the attack, but once she saw the things Wanda brought back, new flashes of things kept coming and forcing themselves to the surface.

She didn’t remember hunkering down in a corner on the floor, but she was now in a ball with her knees in her chest and her hands covering her head as it throbbed trying to keep up with the memories flooding back. 

“It’ll only ever happen once, so don’t think for a second you’re getting out again,” a voice hissed at her and she recognized it as the one who was calling her Pet earlier.  

She cringed as she watched his hand come up and harshly grip her jaw before throwing it back down in a manner meant to hurt her. 

“Hartly, up security and make her next cell impenetrable. If she gets out again, it’ll be your head on a pike next time,” he threatened looking furiously to the side. “And you’ll see a side of torture you never even knew was possible.”

She could hear her struggle from the extra straps they had fastened her under and the mumble of her lips being covered, but all that did was provoke the scientist more. 

“Keep it up. I like seeing you squirm…” 

Another memory took over and it was her somewhere that wasn’t familiar. Usually, it ranged from her cell, to the facility halls, to the operation room. But here… She looked to be on the streets of a city or town. 

She was by herself, nothing was familiar to her besides the language they were speaking. She wasn’t sure how she knew it and could understand it, but she could make out the accents and fluency of French. 

She tried to pull details from around her, but nothing made any connections to her.

She seemed weak and small compared to those walking around her, but they didn’t seem to pay mind to her presence. She must have been wearing something to blend in and wasn’t visibly distraught enough to bring attention to her, so when was this?

A different flashback started fighting for control again.

This time it was Gabriel, but he was sick in bed and was being nurtured by Y/N though all she had was a damp towel and a water bowl to use to dab away his dried blood along his shoulder and arm. 

They had cut him up and dislocated his shoulder in some experiment and had thrown him into the cell with four items. A needle, floss, a washbin, and a rag. They were being kind in giving them the rag at least. 

“When we get out of here, what should we do?” he said in a tone so soft, if she wasn’t sat right next to him, she wouldn’t have heard it.

“What do you mean?” she asked, focused on the wound. 

“When we escape,” he chuckled, but it just caused him to cough. 

“Don’t say things like that,” she stopped instantly and looked to the cell door. “If they hear any whispers of us trying to escape, they’ll make our lives even worse.”

“I wasn’t aware it could get worse,” Gabriel rolled his head weakly. “I mean I don’t remember the last time I saw a ray of the sun hit my skin. I think dying trying to escape may be worth it.” 

“Don’t,” she stopped again and looked at him. “I don’t like when you say things like that.”

“What? Dying?” 

“Yes. Now stop,” she tried to refocus on the wound and dabbed lightly around the cuts. 

“You really think staying and fighting in hopes we get saved is a better way of life than just ending it?” he laughed but he was hysterical and drugged up on things she couldn’t even label. 

She ignored him and went to rewet the rag. 

“Your silence alone shows me that you’ve at least thought of it.”

“If I had, I never truly considered it,” she shook her head. 

“How much longer until you do?” Gabriel asked. 

“What?” she looked at him with furrowed eyes. “Consider dying for my freedom?” 

“Yeah.”

She remembered this moment and remembered what she really thought to answer that question, but worried that if she said it out loud, it would be true. 

She thought of ending things every day. Grabbing a syringe and overdosing. Moving when they’re operating at just the right moment to create a cut that they couldn’t fix in time. Those would be the only things her body wouldn’t heal quickly enough to survive. She wanted it all to end and dreamt something would go wrong every time she was at that table.

But instead, she said. 

“I wouldn’t leave you behind. And I hope you wouldn’t do the same to me.”

Her mind brought her back to the same memory of her walking the streets, but she was in a different part of town now. She was looking up at what seemed to be an abandoned building and was waiting for the right time to sneak by without someone seeing her. 

She got in without catching the attention of anyone and started to investigate the place. 

She realized it was a small motel-type building that had been bankrupt and abandoned. Only random pieces of furniture remained with the scattered litter of what was probably from squatters. 

She turned into a room and saw a mirror splintered and leaning on an empty and beaten dresser. 

She turned slowly to see her own reflection, nervous about what she would see. In front was a pale, sickly, and lost girl. 

No one she recognized. And in that memory, she knew that version of her didn’t recognize herself either. Whatever they had done to her, physically or mentally, showed. It was a depressing and sad realization. One that made her step away and avoid looking back into the shattered glass. 

She continued to search the place and while turning into another room, felt a hand on her shoulder. 

She quickly jumped back and raised her hands into a pose to shield herself from an attack, but the person who had surprised her was thrown through the wall that divided the room. 

Both her hands came up to cover the scream she knew would follow and she muffled it just in time. 

Frozen in shock, she didn’t know whether to approach the body or to run in the other direction, but something in her was telling her she couldn’t just leave him. So after a few seconds of processing what could have just happened, she took carefully and calculated steps toward the damage.

She wasn’t sure what caused the damage, but it didn’t take much to deduct that she was the reason for the giant hole that took up more of the wall than the plaster itself. 

She heard a groan as she walked closer to the debris and the man that was on his back looked to be ok besides the impact from the wall. She didn’t really know what to look for, because on the outside he was pretty unscathed from the hit.

She looked down at her hands and could feel a weird tingle throughout them like the power that had escaped them was still reeling to get out.

The man groaned, sitting up somewhat and she quickly ran in the other direction. Partially because she didn’t know what the man would do, but also not trusting she could hold herself back from doing it again. 

“Y/N?” 

A muffled voice came through her thoughts, but she wasn’t sure where it was coming from. Was it another memory? 

No, it couldn’t be because she hadn’t had that name until she got here.

“Y/N? Are you ok?” She looked up seeing that Wanda was coming in and carefully moving to her. 

She realized she was even more curled into herself than when she came in here and her hands were tightly cupping her ears to keep external noises out. 

“It’s ok. It’s just me. I came alone,” Wanda reassured, knowing Y/N was worried others would see her and quickly overwhelm her with trying to help her. “What do you need from me?” 

She wasn’t sure how to answer that at the moment, but she knew Wanda would be her first pick in this scenario. 

“I-I keep seeing things,” she stumbled out, not moving anything besides her hands. 

“What things?” Wanda lowered herself to her level and sat crisscross in front of her. 

“Memories, but they’re coming without any warning and I can’t control them,” she cringed as her headache came back after going just a few minutes without letting said memories come up on their own agenda. 

“Maybe you just need to let them come,” Wanda shrugged. “I can try and relieve some of the pain and tension if you want.” 

Y/N thought about it and came to terms that the best way about this would be to let them come as they pleased. Fighting it was just making things worse and more unbearable. 

“Ok,” she nodded, taking a deep breath before Wanda took her hands. Almost instantly another came to her. “Shit.” 

She grunted as each one felt like it was trying to rip out of her skull to escape. 

“Breath,” Wanda coached. 

“You could do what?” Gabriel's voice came through the vents this time and she could tell he was sick and injured when he coughed violently after his shocked question. 

“I don’t understand it at all. They thought I was under an aesthetic and were explaining all the new findings in my blood sample.”

“So they think they found a new mutation?” 

“Supposedly…” She wasn’t as excited as Gabriel was. 

A new mutation meant more power to most and a chance at freedom if it was strong enough. 

But she couldn’t muster up an ounce of it and didn’t know where to even start to learn how to use it, which is exactly what they wanted. 

“Have you tried to do anything with it?” Gabriel coughed again through the vent. 

“They have me extra dosed up on sedatives. Even if I did have the energy to try, I wouldn’t know what to even be looking for,” she sighed looking at her beaten body only covered with a thin hospital-like gown. 

She remembered how they would keep her in that type of dress if she was going to be back on the table soon after. No point in changing a prisoner if you were going to turn around and continue the torture. 

“Punch a wall. See if you can make a force field. Scream and see if the ground shakes,” Gabriel listed. 

“Two of those things take a lot more stamina than I have to give,” she chuckled lightly. 

“Ok and the third one?” 

“The third one is ridiculous. How does one just know how to make a force field?” she couldn’t help but let out a weak laugh again.

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Gabriel hummed softly.

Next thing she knew, she was thrown into one last memory that showed her in the same abandoned hotel from earlier, in a new room, crouched in a corner like she was in the supply closet present time. 

But in the memory, she was looking at her hands, never being able to pull her eyes back from them after witnessing what they just did to the man in the other room.

“H-How?” she said under her breath, turning and looking at her hands from different angles. 

Then it was like Gabriel's words from the memory before processed and she looked back around the room debating on her next move. 

“You’ll never know if you don’t try.” 

She took a shaky breath and lowered her knees from her chest. 

She dramatically threw her hands in front of her and closed her eyes scared to see what would happen, but the feeling she had earlier never took over again. 

She peeked out of her shut eyes and looked to see if any more damage had occurred, but the room seemed to be the same. 

She tried it a few more times with the dramatic hand movements and not even a spark caught on. She was growing slightly frustrated and kept trying different combinations of hand gestures and nothing happened each time. 

Eventually, with a push of anger to spark her power, she saw and felt the tingle from earlier. 

A small purple haze formed in front of her, but no bigger than a softball. 

“Holy shit,” she said to herself, eyes wide toward the space that had changed colors. 

She took a trembling breath to prepare for her second attempt and tried to mock the movements from before. 

Sure enough, the spark seemed stronger this time. It only got a little bigger, but she felt she actually had the control to keep it there instead of it disappearing a second later. 

Snapping out her memories, she looked wide-eyed at Wanda. 

Feel free to follow me on Wattpad too and vote on any of your favorite chapters:) It helps promote my story & also makes my brain release tons of endorphins everytime I get a notification about one of ya’ll❤️

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[jtargaryen18]

Will you be posting A gentle frost any sooner? No pressure just curious. And by the way your works always makes me come back to read again.😘😘

I've got a good start on the next part. I'm working on a dark something-something for His Inheritance and working on other stories as a break from it. Gentle Frost is one of them. I've missed that one. 💕💕💕

More soon 🙏

[captainsimagines]

dreaming in june || five

Summary: At the request of an old friend who now happens to be the new Captain America, you move to a place that only vaguely feels peaceful, to secretly protect his best friend. There you meet Bucky Barnes, your next door neighbor, who has also lived countless lives, seen a lot of things, and lost the one he loved. You have more in common than you thought.

Pairing(s): Bucky Barnes x (F) POC Enhanced Reader

Based on the Song(s): Heat Waves by Glass Animals and iann dior ; Coney Island by Taylor Swift and The National

Series / AO3 Link

(5/15)

Warnings: suicidal thoughts; angst; discussions of suicide; therapy session; strong language; plot twists!

Word Count: 4,500+

Author’s Note: hehehehehe xxMoni

~

“I’ve been wanting to try, too.”

~

      The two of you talk all night. 

About Steve, about Ari, about what decades and decades of history can do to a person. So many stories are shared—the happy, the heartbreaking, the painful. Granted, you don’t share the fact Sam asked you to look out for Bucky or that you’re enhanced. But everything else is spilled: Bucky now knows more about you than any other person this century, this planet. 

You don’t sleep. Bucky wants to know every detail about Ari and your people. You can skip describing Ari to him—the drawing does him complete justice. Steven Grant Rogers, Bucky’s one who got away, was the one who brought Ari back to life for you. You were starting to forget the shape of Ari’s eyes and that was Hell looming too close. You don’t forget faces. You don’t forget names. But the slight slant of his eyes and the way his prominent cheekbones made them look smaller… that was starting to become a little harder to conjure from memory. 

So you had put an ad out in the newspaper, completely anonymous. And this sixteen year old kid, with messy blond hair and bad knees, responded. His letter read: I would be honored to draw this requested portrait. And because this letter is private, and because I’m swallowing my pride, I want to let you know that I desperately need the money. 

You met Steve at Coney Island, where everyone was allowed at the time and wouldn’t question why the two of you were seated together, sitting at some bench in front of the ferris wheel. Of all your years on Earth, you had never ridden a ferris wheel. 

“Can you start with his facial shape? Bone structure, I mean,” Steve had asked, sitting criss-cross apple-sauced on the bench with a sketchbook in his lap. He was so young, so excited to make fifty dollars. You originally offered thirty but seeing Steve act so… natural about this? He didn’t accept the hundred extra you tried to slip in. 

Once he was done, Steve marveled at his own creation. “He reminds me of those Indian war heroes we read about in school.”

“He wasn’t—”

“Shit, I’m sorry. Native. I’m so sorry.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “He was just Ari. He was the Chief’s son. He was my best friend.”

Steve didn’t question the past tense word usage. He didn’t dig deeper into your history or try to pry. He simply thanked you for sharing Ari with him and asked if you’d like to ride the ferris wheel. You declined. You hadn’t even looked at the drawing yet. You said your goodbyes, made it home, and turned the protective sheet over. 

It was the first and last time you looked at the drawing. Until tonight. 

And Bucky, feeling so fucking happy to finally speak to someone who understood time gained, time lost, and love stolen, is just happy he’s still discovering new things about Steve even after he’s been long gone. 

Now, at seven in the morning and nursing two massive coffees while walking the streets of Brooklyn, you and Bucky find a sort of comfort with each other that’s rare. He’s also tired of living, but Sam makes him want to live more. You’re tired of living, and are feeling as if there might be something new to live for. 

“I have to admit something to you. I’m a lot older than you think I am.”

Bucky didn’t exactly carbon-date you. When you mentioned Ari and where you came from, he didn’t think you could be older than him. No one is older than him. 

“What do you mean?”

“I wasn’t completely honest. But I didn’t lie.”

“That’s not something a former Russian assassin likes to hear.”

A laugh bubbles from your throat and escapes your lips before the hot coffee can pass through. The streets are practically empty; a hazy fog has started to settle on the sidewalk and the sun is creeping in behind the skyscrapers. The more you walk, the farther the two of you get from the apartment. “I died.”

Bucky stops mid-step, mouth parted around a silent gasp. He shakes his head, pauses, then shakes it again. It takes you a second to see he’s not directly beside you anymore. You walk a few steps back to him. 

“What do you mean ‘you died’?”

“I mean…” You fumble your fingertips around the warm cup. “I died in 1527.”

Bucky’s eyes grow three sizes. “What?” he sputters.

“Arrow through the heart. But I didn’t stay dead. I think I woke up a few hours later? Then I just…”

“Just what?”

You sigh, shrugging a shoulder. “Went back to sleep. And when I woke up again, I lost 73 years.”

It’s too much like his story. Too much. “You can’t die?”

“Trust me,” you whisper. “I’ve tried.”

You know when someone says something so goddamn powerful or astonishing your legs go a little weak and your heart pounds once, then it grows silent? Bucky feels his legs go numb, the steady vibration from all those pin-pricks clawing at the backs of his thighs. His heart beats once, startled, then everything is unnaturally silent in his chest. 

‘I’ve tried.’

Bucky, who wants to drag you into the tightest hug possible, selfishly thinks, “I’ve been wanting to try, too.”

“Are you okay right now?” Something in your chest melts from his question. He didn’t ask you when you tried, how you did it, or tried to persuade you not to do it again. He just wants to know if you’re okay right now.

You nod, “Yes, James. I’m okay right now.”

He looks down the street and takes a long sip from his coffee. “This works both ways. I don’t want you washing my hair and feeding me then throwing dirt into the hole I’m digging for myself if I’m not allowed to do the same for you.”

“You want to wash my hair and cook for me?”

“If it makes you smile, then yes. You make me smile when you do it for me.”

You weigh the pros and cons of telling Bucky even more about yourself. If you showed him your powers, then you’ll for sure amaze and bewilder him more than you want to. It’s probably best to ease him into it. Since he’s woken up and became Bucky Barnes again, things have just been shoved in his face and stolen with a rather literal snap of the finger. Easing him… that could work. 

“I will cook for you tonight,” you promise, looking down the same street as the crosswalk shines the miniature human figure. “If I go to work now, I’ll be home earlier. Are you doing anything today?”

Bucky doesn’t want to let you go just yet. He wants to walk by your side through every damn state in this country, talking about everything that slips from the tip of his tongue. He’s been keeping so much inside—he only tells Sam some of it as to not worry him. If Sam knew the true extent of Bucky’s boggled mind, Sam would either never leave his side or drag Bucky along everytime he went out. Plus, that’s what Bucky’s new therapist is for. 

His therapist. He has a session today.

“I have therapy today.” Bucky just said that out loud. Just like that. And he’s not flooded by shame. 

“Tell them hello for me.”

Tell them hello for me. That, that combination of easy words, pulls a massive smile to his face. “I will.”

~

     “New collections!” Barbara announces, earning a few shushes from unenthusiastic college students huddled in their tight study quarters. Barbara clamps her mouth shut and whispers it this time, flashing her hands toward the massive boxes the delivery driver is stacking. “New collections.”

“Jeremy isn’t coming in today,” you say, grunting as you pick up the box on the very top of the pile. You place it on the opposite counter and find a pair of scissors to slice through the tape. “We’re going to need another set of hands to help unload all these before lunch.”

Barbara blows a raspberry, fixing her glasses from their slight tilt. “You might be right.”

You blow a similar raspberry and take off your jacket. It’s barely nine in the morning and already you’re tired. You didn’t get a wink of sleep, but it’s the sight of those boxes that’s pushing your eyeballs deeper into your skull. There’s no point in complaining further—these need to be sorted. The boxes are all labeled ‘Oxford University’. Seems like new textbooks and museum catalogs.

By ten, you and Barbara are stretching your backs when another truck drives up. You quickly run outside, holding your hands up. “Please, deliver it through the back. I can’t lug these downstairs again. Don’t do that to me.”

The delivery driver is barely detached from his seat when he registers your plea. His partner is still strapped into the passenger seat. He gives you a funny smile, lowers his clipboard, and bows his head. “Gotcha,” he says. “Making the delivery through the back, Pete.”

You fist bump the air. Rushing back in, you tell Barbara to meet you downstairs. The truck pulls up shortly after you reach the last steps. The two men quickly get to work. 

“This is my least favorite type of delivery,” Barbara mutters, her arms crossed over her chest as she watches the men unload. “Too much at one time.”

You chuckle, “I see your point.”

“Do you?” She flicks her glasses down as she turns to you. “You live for this stuff. I see you reading history textbooks all the time.”

“I read them to make sure the information is right. If it’s not, I don’t display them for the kids.”

“And how would you know?”

You bite your tongue. Because I just do. “I’m a historian, remember?”

“Still,” she shrugs, fixing her glasses again. “You can’t know everything.”

“No,” you say silently. “But I know enough.”

A loud grunt sounds from behind the truck. “You ladies need help opening these?” There’s a flirtatious grin on this man’s face. You feel your stomach flip, flattered. He leans a shoulder on the truck and winks. 

“Don’t you have other deliveries to make?” you challenge, cocking an eyebrow. 

His tongue rests gently on his incisors. He is cute. Blond hair carefully brushed to the right, freckles on his tough nose, pouty lips, and muscular build. His eyes are a calm hazel. His name tag reads Dylan.

“I do,” he says casually. “But I have no problem going at a slower pace.” He says this so smoothly that you’d be lying if you said your knees didn’t feel like jelly. 

How long has it been for you? Oh, that’s right. Nixon had been in office.

“Goddamn, Dylan,” his partner says, rounding the corner and huffing. “Stop flirting with all the clients.”

Um, ouch kid. You could have let me have this one, you think. Rolling your eyes, you turn to the intruder but freeze. 

What the fuck is Spider-Man doing driving around in a delivery truck?

“I’ve said it three times today,” Peter, or Pete, groans. “When you’re late, I’m late. Don’t do that to me, man.”

Barbara laughs loudly. She waves a hand in the air like Peter just said the funniest joke ever. Dylan just rolls his eyes and holds his hands feigning offense. They’re treating Peter… like Pete. You funnel the possible outburst of his name down to the depths of your stomach. 

“I’ll let you guys finish,” you interrupt, waving a tiny goodbye. You can vaguely hear Dylan grumbling a quick fuck you, dude to Peter. 

Barbara jokes the entire time as you resume cataloging and filing. But your mind isn’t on her. Your mind is on Peter. And Dylan. 

The first time you slept with someone after Ari, you had left in a hurry and promptly thrown up in an empty, dark alley. That was, maybe, around 1730? You waited one-hundred and thirty years since you woke up and it still wasn’t long enough. It took you five baths to wash the scent off you. A scent that wasn’t Ari’s. 

The second time, somewhere around 1780 China, you had met a prince while he was hiding in the village. It was Aladdin before Aladdin was a popular children’s story. Except this one was x-rated. At least with him, you didn’t feel that overwhelming cramp of betrayal. He was lovely, and he treated you lovely. You have him to thank for helping you regain your body autonomy, and in turn your sexuality. 

After that, you didn’t let it scare you anymore. But you didn’t do it often. If the person gave you the feeling, then you indulged. There was no harm in it. 

But you’ve been celibate for fifty years so you’re kind of cursing Peter Parker right now.

~

      “I got new chocolates. My kid absolutely loves these.”

Bucky glances at the jar full of Hershey’s Kisses and decides to take a handful. Chocolate has always been one of his guilty pleasures. “Thanks.”

His therapist, Berenice, smiles at him. She sits at her chair and opens her notepad to rest it on her thigh. He used to hate notepads. But after one of his first voluntary sessions with Berenice, she showed it to him. She had drawn little flowers and hearts all over the page. She wasn’t taking notes on him. And that made him sigh happily. Now, he notices she does take notes. However, they’re never critical or full of stupid, psycho-jargon. Just little notes here and there. Bucky misses Steve. Sam is very helpful. Ivy? That’s a new one. French fries.

The casualness of it all is what settles his nerves. 

“So,” Berenice starts. “What do you want to talk about today?”

Bucky shrugs, looking up from his handful of Kisses at her. His face pulls down slightly. 

“You know, I started this new show. Sense8, on Netflix. It’s amazing.”

“Oh?” Bucky tilts his head. “What’s it about?”

“Oh, gosh,” Berenice blows air from her mouth. “Eight people who were all born at the exact second, finding out years later that they all share one mind. They share each other’s languages, skills, visions, dreams, urges. It’s amazing. And the acting!”

Bucky smiles wide. He likes when Berenice shares snippets from her own life. It makes him feel like he’s having a regular conversation. He knows therapists aren’t supposed to divulge too much or make the session about themselves, but he’s noticed (and of course, Berenice has too) that he always feels comfortable once he knows something about the other person. Like he isn’t the only one revealing his secrets. Thus, they’re both equal human beings. 

“I’ll watch it,” Bucky declares. And he will. It sounds interesting. 

“I should warn you, though,” Berenice frowns. “It deals a lot with… Uh. Mind control.”

“Then why did you suggest it?” Bucky laughs. He opens one of the Kisses. 

“I’m so sorry,” Berenice quickly apologizes. “I was just focused on the people part of the show.”

Bucky laughs again. It’s funny seeing her all flustered. He can joke about these things now. He’s been having a good day. He can joke about these things now. “It’s okay. Maybe I can watch it when someone else is around.”

Berenice looks as if she’s going to apologize again. She’s turning all red. “I like the Korean representation. Makes me feel important.”

Bucky finally eats the chocolate. His tongue is thankful. “Any representation for me?”

Berenice dips her head and blinks. “White representation? What do you think?”

“No, no,” Bucky chuckles, moving the chocolate from the left side of his tongue to his right. “Jewish.”

Berenice stills, then clicks her pen. She practically beams. “I didn’t know that about you!”

“Eh,” Bucky shrugs.

“No, not ‘eh’. Thank you for sharing that with me, Bucky.” He likes her calling him Bucky. His old therapist called him James, even when he asked her to stop. He only likes being called James when it comes from the right person. “I don’t remember if there’s Jewish representation. I’ll let you know.”

Shortcake.

“The only person I let call me James is Hyacinth.”

“Oh, it’s Hyacinth today? Last time it was Daisy and Ivy.”

“She likes plants.”

“I bet,” Berenice grins. She quickly scribbles the new nickname in her notepad. “Do you like when she says it?”

He does. He really does. “She has a light accent. So it doesn’t sound so bold like when everyone else says it. I like her accent. When she says it, it doesn’t sound like when my handlers would call me that. It’s like she’s giving me a brand new name.”

Berenice nods in understanding. “As long as you’re comfortable. What did she cook for you today?”

Bucky stomach twists in a pleasurable knot. “We actually stayed up all night and got breakfast in the morning.”

“Oh,” Berenice blushes. “Well, I can’t say I didn’t see it coming.”

Bucky stills as he unwraps his second Kiss. “Um. We. Um. We didn’t…”

Berenice just stares, lifting one of her small eyebrows. She’s such a little woman, but the power of that eyebrow rivals the biggest tyrants. 

“We didn’t,” Bucky insists. The chocolate stains his fingers. 

“Okay,” Berenice says. “I believe you.”

“Thank you,” he breathes. He re-wraps the chocolate and shoves the handful into his sweater pocket. 

“Would you like to tell me what you two talked about?”

No. That’s for him only. “No, thank you. She says hello, by the way.”

“Hello, back.” Berenice writes something down then cracks some of her knuckles. “I want to swing back to you being Jewish for a second. Is that alright?”

He nods. Berenice continues, “Has your faith been affected after all this time? I understand you fought in the Second World War, so it was… somewhat personal.”

“A lot personal,” he mumbles. 

“Yes.” Her lips turn down. “Anything you want to share. I’m all ears.” That could mean anything. How does that make you feel? How did the war affect you? Does it still affect you?

“I haven’t believed in God for a long time,” Bucky admits, looking down at his lap. He touches the pads of his thumbs together. “I remember believing in him when Steve rescued me and the boys. Don’t really know when I stopped.”

And that’s true. He wholeheartedly believed Steve would rescue him from Hell after he fell from that train, also. When Steve didn’t come, he lost faith a little more each day. Then one day, it just… stopped. 

“But you still consider yourself to be Jewish?”

“Yes.”

“With your trauma, it’s completely understandable why you would feel abandoned by God. In fact, I believe you were abandoned by your country. We’ve discussed how the betrayal you felt by Steve not rescuing you was valid.” Bucky nods. “We’ve discussed the continual betrayal by your country by forcing you to attend court-ordered therapy and making you say sorry for things that were never in your control.” Bucky lips tremble. “We’ve discussed how all your feelings are valid. Not believing in God but still wanting to hold onto some of your faith is valid.”

“You think so?”

“We all have things that keep us sane. If religion does it for you, grasp it. If the simple, therapeutic thought about the possibility of an afterlife does it for you, grasp it. If the idea of a peaceful end with nothing on the other side does it for you, grasp it. There’s no deadline to this, Bucky. You’ll know when you know.”

He’ll know when he knows. 

~

     “The sun is set, my back is breaking, and I am absolutely done.” Barbara slams the final textbook in her pile into the shelves. She runs a fast hand through her hair and waves goodbye to you, huffing and puffing up the stairs. You giggle under your breath, still working through your pile. 

Fuck, you think. I told James I would be home earlier. You pull your phone from your pocket and look at the time. Seven. Fuck.

“Anyone back here?” The voice makes you jump. You’re the only one down in the archives. You brace yourself, emptying your hands. 

“Can I help you?”

A head pokes around the side of the aisle you’re in. Not just any head—Peter Parker’s head.

“Hi,” he stumbles, running a nervous hand behind his neck. “Sorry to creep you out. We forgot to drop off some boxes and it couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”

“Oh, okay.” You guide him out of the aisle and point at the few boxes left. “You can leave them here with the others.”

He nods. You get back to work, shelving the last couple books in your pile, before you notice that Peter is lugging in two boxes at once. Dylan isn’t here. 

You decide not to comment on it. He obviously thinks you’re not paying attention. 

There’s a picture on one of the textbooks. Mesoamerican Art and Artistry. It’s a jade bracelet. It’s shown as an artifact. It’s displayed as an archaeological find. It’s displayed as ancient art. 

“Hey, hey. Stay with me. Stay with me.” Did you fall over? There are hands lightly slapping your cheeks and a worried voice ringing above you. He sounds too worried. Maybe you should open your eyes. He’s hazy. 

“Hey, hi. You’re back. Stay with me,” Peter repeats, helping you sit up. You groan and rub your cheek. You face-planted. How fucking embarrassing. Your cheek begins to swell. 

“I’m okay,” you reassure him, pushing him away. He doesn’t budge. He helps you sit up higher. 

“You just fainted. Are you anemic? Diabetic? I don’t see a bracelet. Is this normal?”

His questions hurt your head. Why did you faint? Have you ever fainted before? You know you have but recently? Your eyes travel across the floor to the book that fell with you. 

The bracelet. It’s Ari’s bracelet. On display like some forgotten piece of history, without its story. Ari.

Your eyes water unexpectedly, but you swallow them down. Your throat clenches on itself, but you force yourself to reassure Peter. “I just got distracted by this.” You point at the book. He doesn’t ask. He’s confused, but he doesn’t ask.  

“Do you need me to call someone? Do you live close by?”

“Peter, it’s fine. I’ll pick up where I left off tomorrow and just take a cab home.”

Sweet silence. Your head is banging. You just want to get home and make some dinner for Bucky. Sweet Bucky. 

“How do you know my name?”

What? 

“What do you mean? You’re Peter Parker. Everybody knows you.”

Peter takes his hands away from your shoulders, cautious. “No, they don’t. I know they don’t. How do you know my name?”

If your eyebrows furrowed any further, they would connect. Are you sure you’re the one who fell and hit their head?

“Peter Parker. Spider-Man. The Avengers. It’s okay, I live next door to Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes. So, I’m not some crazy fan.”

Peter inhales a shaky breath, his cheeks going red. His eyes water and before he can control himself, a few tears escape his waterline. Shit. What did you do?

“I’m sorry,” you stutter. “What did I do?”

Peter runs a hand through his hair. His shoulders crumble. He can’t seem to hold himself up anymore. He falls to his knees next to you and stares with a slow growing smile. “You know me.”

“I know you.”

The first sob bursts from his chest. “You know me.” Another sob. “How do you know me?”

“I—” you try, but you really don’t know what to say. You have no idea what he means by that. 

“I’m Peter Parker. Tony Stark made me an Avenger. My best friends are Ned Leeds and Michelle Jones. I had an uncle. His name was Ben. I had an aunt. Her name was May. You know me.”

You search his teary eyes for answers. “I do.”

His breath falters and his face falls. Peter stands. “I have to go. I need to see someone. Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nod. He steps away, eyes never leaving you. He covers his mouth as another sob tries to escape, but this time, he also hides a massive smile. 

~

     “I was just about to knock on your door, Hyacinth.”

You absolutely love his nicknames. 

You twirl on the stairs and look down, finding Bucky Barnes perched at the bottom. It looks like he just entered the building right behind you. 

“Guess we’re both late, huh?”

Bucky smiles sheepishly. “I’m sorry. After my session, I visited Barton. He’s in town and wanted to see how I was doing.” He stops abruptly and tilts your chin o him. The feel of his hand on your face makes you melt. “What happened to your eye?”

You wave a hand through the air. His eyebrows turn down and his eyes go impossibly sadder. You’ve seen Bucky sad, depressed. Right now, he’s devastated. 

“We had a delivery today and I tripped and fell over the mountain of boxes,” you lie, laughing to cover your nerves. You start walking up, feeling Bucky catch up. “Work was… a lot.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” 

The sudden realization that you can finally talk to someone about this hits you, a wonderful case of whiplash that causes your heart to lurch from your chest. “Yes.”

“What’s for dinner?”

“I was thinking of making fettuccine alfr—”

You can feel it before you open the door. So can Bucky. He moves to enter your apartment first, shielding you behind him as his face contorts into that famous angry scowl. You’ve had a long day. Every emotion a human can feel is currently at the very ends of every hair on your body, at the tail ends of every single nerve ending, bursting brilliantly at your temples. Now, you’re angry.

Bucky is still shielding you.

No. Sam made you promise to protect him and if he enters first, you’re breaking that promise. 

Ari shouldn’t have come back for you.

Your people shouldn’t have come back for you. 

No one should have protected you. 

But you’ll be goddamned if you don’t protect Bucky Barnes. 

Before he can step inside, you push him out of the way and whip your hand out, summoning the plants on the left side of your apartment to stem out across the floor. As quickly as you commanded them, you do the same with the plants on the right. Ivy’s, and hyacinths, and violets, and lavenders reach the intruder at great speed, curling around their ankles and wrists, slamming them against the wall. The force causes them to grunt painfully. Vines curl around their torso and tighten, cracking the paint on the wall and snapping at awkward angles. 

Bucky doesn’t say anything. He can’t say anything. When you mentioned that you’re over five hundred years old, he didn’t think you had this power inside you. He honestly believed you were immortal, like those elves he read about in The Hobbit. But this… This is something else. 

The breath catches in your throat. You step closer to the intruder as he struggles against your makeshift chains, all vocabulary strained and heart pumping overtime. You can’t believe your eyes. 

“As I live and breathe,” Druig pauses, a shaky breath stumbling from his lips. He stares directly at you with passionate astonishment. It really is him. “Princess.”

~

Taglist: @natbarnes1917 @cloudyfeel @howlermonkey69 @wintersgirl1917 @aquariusbarnes @fandoms-writings @shirukitsune @goldylions @real-jane @mannien @sentimental-for-maneskin @dezthegeek​ @cutelittletwistedhorror @gabewerk

(I sent you a private message if Tumblr didn’t let me tag you.)

[anika-ann]

From Mars to Venus and Back (S.R.)

Type: A dad!Steve standalone or a part of the Melting Hearts ‘verse

Melting Hearts series (part 1 & part 2 & part 3 & part 4) with Avenger!reader AU.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader (in absentia)  Word count: 3950

Summary: They say men are from Mars and women from Venus. Oh Steve definitely feels like that’s true. Actually, it’s more like his daughter is from another universe entirely.

“I used to think we had moments we understood each other, had a connection, but lately it’s just… it’s like she’s from another universe.”

“She is, Steve. It’s called puberty.”

Warnings: death of a parent and a spouse (in the past; reader died), brief thought of abortion, dad Steve, hormonal teenagers, self-depreciation, language, fluff & angst

A/N: Can be read as a standalone, I suppose. Preceeded by this angsty af dad!Steve fic. Will be followed by another oneshot from the same ‘verse. If read as a part of Hell Froze Over, remember that it’s a flashforward.

Previous dad!Steve // Previous chapter  // Story masterlist

────── ·❆· ──────  

"I wish mum was here instead of you! She would have let me!"

The words were replaying in Steve’s head for the millionth time and yet they were still cutting into his heart as if she said them for the first time.

‘I wish mum was here instead of you.’

It was moments like this when Steve wished you were more than ever. He was the lucky one to get some time to spend with their daughter, he was the one lucky enough to be alive, but sometimes… sometimes the dark thoughts overwhelmed him and he couldn’t see the appeal of being the one who survived.

He missed you. God he missed you so badly, not just like a mother to his child – who was far from a child now, nearing her sweet sixteen – but as a friend, as a partner as… as a lover too. The heavy pit settled in his stomach grew heavier, his chest felt like in a vice. Sometimes he missed you so badly he could barely breathe.

It was exhausting to wear the façade – while there were moments he was genuinely happy, it seemed impossible not to feel the absence. Every time he felt the light of laugh and happiness wash over him, the longing followed soon enough. A silent wish you could be there with him to witness your daughter’s first steps, first school day, the day she controlled some of her power for the first time-

His fingertips traced your features in the picture unwittingly and he felt fresh tears roll down his cheeks, the loneliness washing over him like a tide wave, flooding his lungs and making his ribcage burn. You had always been beautiful to him, but you looked gorgeous in the photo – your figure was just slightly affected, only making the delicious curves of your body stand out; perfected by the round belly Steve’s hands were lovingly covering with his palm, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to your temple.

The photo was a picture perfect of joy and love – an empty promise of more delight coming. It had come; but no matter how much Steve cherished the chance to hold his daughter, he all too often couldn’t help the feeling that the blessing came with too high of a price.

Your life. If he had known– if he had known from the moment you had announced him you were pregnant, that you would die, would he do anything differently? Would he willingly give up the miracle of another life, piece of him and you, growing under your heart? If he had known how many beautiful moments Grace would bring?

A loud knock stopped that train of thoughts and Steve quickly wiped away his tears, setting the photo aside, picture down.

“Yeah?”

Dammit, his voice sounded too hoarse. He cleared his throat in a lame attempt to fix it.

He couldn’t really swallow the disappointment when the redhead woman appeared in the doorway instead of his daughter. He was secretly hoping Grace would come and… maybe even apologize for what she had said several hours ago.

But guess she wouldn’t, right? She had nothing to apologize for. It was how she felt. She meant it. She would prefer her mother to be alive, even if it would mean Steve himself wouldn’t be. It wasn’t a fair trade, but he would be a hypocrite if he claimed that this thought (or the thought of choosing between Grace and you) had never crossed his mind, no matter how ashamed he always felt after.

It only made sense his daughter would feel that way, he supposed. Grace was a woman and especially lately, Steve sensed that a distance started growing between him and her, he couldn’t replace or even try to replace her mother and… and it hurt. But truth often did.

He could only wonder whether he was being a decent father at least, for god’s sake. Guess he had got his answer today.

“This better not be a self-pity I’m sensing, Rogers.”

Steve sighed, letting his head fall into his palms. No Grace meant no fixing things, but it also meant he didn’t necessarily need to pretend to be strong. He wasn’t strong, Nat knew that and while he preferred not to burden others, he hoped he could afford a moment of weakness and grief.

“Am I terrible father, Natasha?” he asked quietly and he could hear her sharp inhale before the door clicked behind her and she almost soundlessly moved to sit next to him on the bed.

“No,” she replied simply, her voice missing its earlier hint of snark.

The single word was not enough to make him look up despite her tone. Because of course she would say that. Natasha wasn’t exactly known for using kinder gloves too often, bit she did have tact.

She could easily recognize a moment she needed to show her softer side; she could tell when she could and should show compassion and when she needed to provide some tough love.

"You're doing an amazing job, Steve. Grace loves you."

Steve scoffed, but somehow, the noise came out more like a sob as he looked up to the ceiling, blinking back against the tears threatening to spill again.

"Yeah? Well, you wouldn’t have said that if you heard her-"

"I think the whole Tower heard her," Natasha informed him, a small ‘ouch’ grimace twisting her features.

Steve just groaned into his palms, his dignity buried somewhere along with his already faltering self-confidence.

"But you are doing great, Steve. I mean it,” she whispered, shortly squeezing his arm.

There was a hint of a promise, of determination in her voice that actually caught Steve’s attention. He let his hands fall, slowly raising his gaze to her face with a frown. Her expression was soft as she reached into the pocket of her jeans.

“And I have a prove."

Steve squinted as she lit up the screen, a one-sided conversation appearing. His eyes scanned over the messages quickly, heart skipping a beat, lips parting in surprise.

Nat

Aunt Natty, help, please!

I screwed up. I screwed up ROYALLY. I said the worst thing ever and I have no idea how to fix it?!

Please, PLEASE how do I apologize to dad?

Please, Nat. He hates me now. I would swear I saw tears. I made dad CRY.

I know that he cries sometimes when I’m not looking, but he would never let me see. And now he couldn’t keep it together. I'm such an idiot and the worst daughter ever.

Please, help me fix it. Please I don’t want him mad at me. I don’t want him to be sad. He doesn’t deserve that.  

I can’t believe I hurt him like this. I’m so stupid.

Please, Nat, pretty please

"See? “ Natasha’s voice sounded from an indescribable distance, so so far from Steve’s world that had shrank into a phone. His ribcage suddenly allowed him to breathe in properly. “You raised an observant woman capable of compassion, of reflecting her own mistakes. Loving and kind. And she's strong too, Steve. She's an amazing kid. But even amazing kids enter puberty and let’s be honest, we all say things when angry that we regret later. Grace could not wish for a better father and she knows it damn well. She adores you."

She might. Maybe. Steve had thought he had been doing a decent job, trying his best, but… lately that was the case less and less often. He couldn’t provide her thing you would, she apparently didn’t feel like she could confide him in anything besides school these days and… it frustrated him. It hurt.

“I used to think we had moments we understood each other, had a connection, but lately it’s just… it’s like she’s from another universe,” he sighed miserably, ribcage echoing his pain.

“She is, Steve. It’s called puberty.”

Steve didn’t laugh at Natasha’s joke, even if he supposed she did have a point. A little bit. But that didn’t make it any easier. His daughter probably thought he was an oldtimer, but on top of that, he was a guy. Her father. The idea of talking to him probably gave her creeps.

“Look, Steve… I know it’s hard to believe it sometimes, but you are really good at this. Raising a child is… it’s incredibly difficult. Doing that as a single parent? Even harder. And raising a girl when you’re a man – and she hits that stage of puberty? Just talk to Clint. He would love to complain about Lila. You’ll either laugh your ass off or cry, because you’ll see yourself in him so much,” she chuckled, a soft smile appearing on her lips.

He didn’t dare to say a word, trying to listen and consider what his friend, aunty Natty, was saying.

“When you add the whole Captain America and Avengers things in the mix, and her powers… you’re a whole new kind of hero. It’s like everything that could have gone wrong, that could have made it harder for you, did. And here you are, your daughter regretting that she made you doubt yourself, because she loves you, Steve. And I think she believes that you are the best father ever.”

Steve was staring ahead, eyes burning, his mind a huge mess, a storm of thoughts – but the wind was slowing down, leaves settling on the ground, thunder nothing but an echo.

When Natasha listed it all like that… he had to admit the universe had not made it exactly easy for him in the first place – which he obviously knew, but didn’t necessarily keep in mind at all times.

He could swear to God that he was trying his best and… Grace caring about him, hell, caring about his feelings, it should have reassured him that his efforts had not been completely wasted. But he was reluctant to allow himself to let his guard down, to let the feeling sink in.

And then, even if Natasha was right, it still didn’t fill the empty place you had left when you passed away. Not in his heart, not in Grace’s.

But he couldn’t have everything he wanted, could he?

“Thank you, Natasha,” he mumbled absently, still processing,  unable to meet her gaze – and yet, he could still see her compassionate smile in front of his eyes.

“You’ll believe me, Steve. And if not me, believe her.” She shot Grace a short text and caressed Steve’s arm. Steve forced a small smile. “I told her to just talk to you. I’m not sure how much time it will take her to woman up.”

“Not too long, I think. She’s after her mother.”

“Well, she’s after her father too, so she should be knocking any second,” Natasha joked lightly and let her lips brush over Steve’s forehead as if she was the parent and he was a teary-eyed kid. “You’re not alone in this, Steve. Don’t forget that, Otets.”

────── ·❆· ──────  

She entered his room with her eyes glassy, biting her bottom lip, nervous as hell. She looked as if she expected Steve to shout her out before she could even open her mouth to speak – which said something, alright. Steve wondered if he had ever given her the impression of him being capable of that.

She ended up sitting on her knees in front of him, looking up at him with her – yours – sincere eyes, words spilling from her mouth, jumbled sentences barely making sense.

However, the message was more than clear: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Please, please forgive me.

Steve gulped, his heart swelling in his chest, his own tears threatening to spill all over again.

Perhaps Natasha had been right. Perhaps Grace did love him and he wasn’t such a terrible dad after all…? One glance at his daughter kneeling in front of him gave him the answer.

Tentatively, he reached out, patting her hair lightly, caressing when she didn’t retreat.

“Thank you, Grace. It… it means a lot, that apology,” he creaked, hating that his voice couldn’t be firm, remnants of hurt and the overwhelming relief getting through.

He managed to break a little smile for his daughter at least.

Grace smiled at him shyly as well, tears still glistening in her eyes. She looked so much like you, that little broken smile, grateful and full of regrets…

She pressed her lips together and averted his gaze when she couldn’t bear the intensity of the moment anymore and her eyes caught a glimpse of the photo turned the picture down next to him. She tilted her head curiously, her hand automatically twitching its direction.

“Can I?” she whispered hesitantly, fingers hovering above the frame. Steve only nodded, letting her turn the picture around. Her breath hitched when she saw it, her eyes widening in awe. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. “How have I never seen this before? It’s beautiful! Mum’s gorgeous.”

Steve gave her a watery smile as she echoed his earlier thoughts, a bit moved at the way she was looking at the photo; despite never meeting you face to face, never getting a moment with you to remember, it seemed she loved you all the same.

He wondered if he wore the same expression whenever he look at the photo, any phot of you really; an expression of undiluted of awe and love.

Grace’s lips were subtly parted as she lifted her gaze to him questioningly when he didn’t answer immediately. The lump in Steve’s throat only grew bigger.

“I… I kept it for myself. When— when I find it difficult to… reach you, I look at it, wondering what your mum would do.”

He could tell she bit her cheek as she glanced down, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. Her grip on the photo tightened, a barely noticeable tremble to her hand.

“You both look so happy. I… I hate that I broke it. That I-“

“Hey, hey now, none of that, babygirl,” Steve rushed to stop that train of thought before it could gain incontrollable speed. It was one this for him to have dark thoughts, but Grace was another case entirely. He couldn’t allow that. “You didn’t break anything. That’s not on you.”

“But-“

“Hush,” he shushed her, half serious, half teasing, bringing a clearly face smile on her lips as he took the photo from her hands. “She always said you were her little miracle. Ours. She wasn’t wrong, sweetheart.”

Maybe it was the fact she had nothing to hold onto anymore. Maybe she simply couldn’t take it anymore. Either way, her lower lip started wobbling, causing a ghost of a hand squeeze his heart painfully.  

“Dad, can I have a hug?” she sobbed, seemingly craving a loving protective embrace Steve was always happy to provide whenever she was younger.

Oh, how happy he would be to provide now.

“Since when do you need to ask?”

“Since I’m being a bitch,” she shot back, the sass in stark contrast to her tear-stained face and eyes he could never say no to.

Steve couldn’t help but let out a huffed laugh, almost forgetting then that he needed to be the adult here when he picked her up from the floor effortlessly, pulling her to his lap and enveloping her in his arms.

“Language, dear,” he murmured, but it didn’t even sound convincing to his own ear.

“Sorry, dad.”

────── ·❆· ──────  

They sat on the bed for hours, side by side, Grace resting her head against his shoulder. A content smile played on her lips as Steve kept telling stories about you upon her request. Most of them she had heard before, but he searched his memory hard to give her something new.

It wasn’t that hard – he would probably never run out of them and Grace admitted she not only loved hearing them, but also loved the expression on his face when he talked about you. Apparently, it was when he spoke in the softest voice, loving, and fond of every little memory. Even with the droplets of sadness soaking through.

Steve nearly burst into tears when she told him that – not because of you, it was obvious he missed you with every ounce of his being, but because of how observant his daughter was. Clearly, she did pay attention to him after all and it said more her upbringing that what she shouted at him earlier that day.

“She would forgive you, you know,” Grace whispered, earning a curious gaze and a confused frown.

“Forgive what?”

She bit her lip. She seemed as if she knew she was entering dangerous territory here, but felt like she should. Another bombshell to drop, Steve was sure and brace himself.

“If you… if you let yourself to be happy.”

“I am happy, Grace,” he stated firmly in an instant, his body stiffening when he realized what she was referring to. He hasted to put his walls up again, but he could feel her slipping in before he could.

“…you know what I mean, dad. If… I would never want anyone to replace mum. Ever. Not even for you, but… it’s okay. She would want you to find someone to… to share everything with, to love again.”

“Grace…” he sighed, wanting nothing more than to change to topic, fast.

She sensed it, no doubt, because her next words were quiet, apologetic, but not for long.

“Sorry, I don’t— I can’t imagine what it’s like. It’s just… Aunt Wanda has Uncle Vis, Nat has Bruce, Tony has Pepper, Clint has Laura, Sam has Gina. Hell, even Bucky has a girl and you two are OTP for way too many people.”

Steve blinked before frowned harder. “What’s an OTP?”

His daughter chuckled, a bright sound erasing any remnants of gloom in the room – she often did. She withdrew from his shoulder, looking up at him with her big doe-like eyes.

“You’re so better off not knowing— no, wait, actually. It stands for One True Pairing. It’s a term used on the internet for a pair you’re a fan of, of whom you ultimately believe should be together, because they are perfect for each other… or would be,” she explained, her voice softening when she continued. “For me… it’s you and mum. Always. But lots of other relationships outside of an OTP work too. And people are happy in them. You deserve to be happy, dad.”

Steve stared at her face for a while, rendered absolutely speechless, his heart hammering in his chest. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, awed. A distant memory of a conversation he and Matt Murdock had shared such a long time ago came to his mind, proving itself right in the most unimaginable manner.

‘They grow up very fast…’

“If I… if I ignore few things, I cannot believe you said that. When did you become so smart?” he stuttered, the question of when did you become so perceptive and compassionate and WISE nearly falling off his lips next.

“Since I’m my father’s and my mother’s child,” she shot back, a small but confident smirk on her lips.

“Sassy little lady,” he murmured, his arms sneaking around her shoulder to press her tight to his side. She reciprocated the hug in full force, holding onto him like to a life-line. And to him, she was. She was incredible and he couldn’t believe he had contributed to that by raising her. “Thank you, Grace. This permission means a lot too. It’s just… I don’t think I need it.”

“Everyone needs it. Even asexual people need it. I mean, kinda.”

Steve blinked, slightly startled at his daughter saying the word ‘sex’, even as a part of another word. What did that mean anyway?

“I’m gonna pretend I know what that means. But you’re banned from the internet,” he announced seriously and Grace, the little rebellious traitor, just grinned.

“No, I’m not. And you’re only saying that, because I’m right.“

Steve sighed again, the awe slowly dying out as the acute need to leave the topic alone returned. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to--- yes, he missed a woman in his bed, but… he missed you. Always. Every night. And he didn’t want anyone else.

“I don’t need just any woman, Grace. I… I still love your mum.”

“I don’t doubt that,” she whispered, nuzzling into his shoulder. “But it’s been almost sixteen years, dad. You deserve to…” she hesitated, clearly swallowing several words and Steve didn’t even want to think about where her mind wandered, because… ugh. Nope. Not having this conversation with his daughter. Ever. Not about his own intimate life, no thank you, birds and bees had been enough of a traumatic experience. “…go on with your life.”

Did he? Did he want to? He was perfectly--- he was happy enough like he was. And this was so not the topic he wanted to get into any further, especially not with his daughter as much as he adored her.

“I’m happy as I am. Now drop it and go to bed. You have school tomorrow,” he reminded her, the most cliché sentence of a parent, btu he couldn’t help himself. And he was right.

He patted her arm, letting go of her.

Only to see her not moving an inch beside looking up at his face, lips slightly pursed, eyes pleading.

“…can I sleep here?” she asked hesitantly, her words laced with emotion of which one was most definitely shame.

The question made him pause for several reasons, his eyebrows shooting almost to his hairline. What kind of a question was that?

“Aren’t you a bit old for that?”

The truth was, the main reason for Steve’s hesitation was that he didn’t know he could handle that. It had been too long since someone slept beside him and no matter how much he hated cold bed without a presence of somebody else – you – he got used to it. Grace had stopped sleeping in his bed several years ago, and even then it had been only when she had a terrible nightmare.

“I just… I just want to make sure you won’t leave,” Grace admitted sheepishly, a slight tremble to her voice, gaze pinned to the floor.

It was like a punch to his gut by Bucky’s metallic fist. Steve’s ribcage ached at the sight of his daughter, at the mere thought of her hurting, the loss she had no memory of deeply ingrained. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know that feeling… it had been an emotional day for both of them.

“Oh, babygirl, I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, pulling her into a hug once more.

“I know— I- know you wouldn’t leave on purpose, it’s just-“

Well, it looked like he needed to bite the bullet. There was no way he’d let her sleep alone in that state. Hell, he should be grateful. About an hour ago, he had thought his daughter hadn’t wanted to share a blood-bond with him, let alone a room.

“Yeah, yeah, you can sleep here, okay?”

“Thank you so much!” she yelped into his chest, squeezing Steve into a vice that knocked the wind out of him, as if he wasn’t a supersoldier.

He blinked at the display of affection and ran his hand down her back gently on autopilot, once again stunned.

Okay, maybe he was not a completely bad father after all, he supposed. It filled his heart with pride and for a moment and he caught himself hoping you were watching this scene from above, a smile on your lips.

“You’re welcome, babygirl. I love you.”

She murmured into his t-shirt, but Steve could make out the words just fine, for it was something he missed hearing – and he would never get tired of hearing it no matter what.

“I love you too, dad.”

────── ·❆· ──────  

Part 9

────── ·❆· ──────  

Look what is still being written 😅 

I hope that if you read the previous flashforward, this one was gentler on your heart. It was on mine 😊

Thank you for reading! 💕

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Logically Speaking: Seven

“How are you braiding your own hair?” Natasha asked, leaning on the wall behind you. 

“Necessity, I guess.” You don’t do much more than glance over your shoulder. You heard her coming. You felt it. That happened some times, with some people and you couldn’t explain it. 

She stepped closer, examining the neat row of braiding, “Neat trick. Hey. Do me a favor?”

“Yeah?”

“Come get some food with me?”

You cock your head, “Bucky out already?”

“I’m really tired of the guys,” she explained, “Do you know how awkward a 100 year old man can get about tampons?”

You snort in spite of yourself. The incompetence of men seemed to be a universal bonder for women. Across time, space, and social class. One thing all women could agree on is that all men, no matter how wonderful, feminist, or well meaning, were sometimes giant babies. 

“C’mon,” she said nudging you gently, “Orange Chicken, crab rangoons, we can even get a vegetable if you want.”

Talking doesn’t sound fun. You don’t want to go out. You want to hide in your bed. But you are hungry. Training is hard when everything tastes like plastic. And all you want to do is eat some popcorn and drink a coke. But.

Yesterday you left the tower and no less than three people had thrown things at you. And called you a murderer. And you weren’t sure you were up to another round of abuse. Not even with another one of the Avengers to play muscle.  “I don’t know,” you say softly. 

Natasha can hear your stomach growling. She knows you’re dying to eat something that actually tastes good. Anything. But she also knows that pressure is not the way to get you to do it. If you pressure a stray dog it bites. If you press a rookie, they bolt. Or fight. “Come on,” she coaxes, “I know a place.”

“I’m good. I hit the going out in public quota already this week,” you say politely. 

She nodded and smiled a little, “Rocks again?”

“And a couple pop cans,” you sigh. It’s frustrating. Really frustrating. And if Fury ever gets in punching distance you’re probably gonna try it. He knows you didn’t try to hurt anyone but Fuck if he’s doing anything about it.

Natasha crinkles her nose and nods, “That’s irritating.”

“Yeah.”

“So fuck going out,” she said, “We’ll order in. We can hole up somewhere. Eat and talk shit.”

It takes half a second for Natasha to realize she’d navigated her way into a mine field. She’d hit the trip wire for your anxiety. “Why?”

It’s a simple question. But she knows that the wrong answer with obliterate any progress. 

Natasha half shrugged, “Because I was an asshole,” she said, “And you didn’t deserve it.”

She doesn’t say that watching you waste away is heart breaking. She doesn’t say that seeing your file made her chest hurt. That she was sorry she let herself be snowed like everyone else. That you had to stay here because there was no home to go back to.

“If any of you had bothered to ask, you would have known from the start,” you say, picking up hair ties and your brush, stowing them back in your bag. 

“I know,” she said, “And I’m sorry.”

She stays still and watches your hands, groping for something to do to stay busy. “I looked at what I thought was your worst mistake and I judged you for it. I thought I knew everything I needed to know. And I didn’t. None of us did. And you deserved better.”

You exhale slowly and swallow hard.

“So come on,” she says, “lets go get something to eat. And talk shit. Because the guys are irritating the shit out of me.”

“Okay,” you say after a long moment. “Let’s go.”

[marquiswrites]

Silk and Steel Ch 27

AO3 Link

Master List

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)

Characters: James “Bucky” Barnes, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Peter Parker, Natasha Romanov, Sam Wilson, OFC/MC

Relationship: James “Bucky” Barnes/Reader

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 1055

Warnings: Mentions of previous trauma

Author’s Notes: 

Summary:The team has finally managed to rescue you from the Hydra facility... But how much has changed?

Chapter 27: The Blossom

There was something wrong.

That was immediately obvious, even to your muffled senses. Something muddying your mind. Trying to work through the sludge of it, inching your way to wakefulness. Swallowing past the heavy cottony feeling over your tongue. Trying to push your way up to sitting, and feeling tension through your body. Except it didn’t belong to your muscles, something pressing you down. Keeping you in place. 

You shook your head, tried to scream past the ache of your throat. This was wrong. Everything was wrong. 

Then feeling a hand running over your side. Heard the gently shushing, whispers that echoed through your head. Guiding you back down. 

And soon, with the soothing motion, you were drifting back under. Your body demanding submission. 

“I’ve got you, Doll…”

The next time you came back to yourself, you were in a white room, laid out on a bed, your head starting to throb. Shutting your eyes a moment to try forcing yourself back to sleep, but it was no use. Sighing before you were sitting up. 

Only to let out a soft gasp. 

There on a rather too white, long cabinet, was a small potted plant. Tied with a rather familiar satin bow. A bow the same color as his eyes. The smallest of buds starting to grow near the tip.

“Thought that it might make you smile.” 

You whip around, trying to fight off the smile that Bucky had just pointed out to you. He was your enemy… Wasn’t he? Suddenly frowning as he moved to press his hand to the two way mirror. You could see the way that his gaze flitted over you. “I told you once, you were meant to be surrounded by things like that. Green, flourishing… Was hoping it might make you feel more like yourself again.” You blink in confusion a moment. Then bite at your lip before deciding to walk to the plant. Dipping the tips of your fingers into the soil. Damp and warm beneath your touch. “Thank you…” Your voice barely a whisper. 

“Shuri put you under for a little bit. Might make things confusing, but it’ll help to strip away their commands.” Bucky murmured. His voice infinitely soft. Bearing the heaviness of guilt beneath it all. As if this were all somehow his fault. In that at least, he might be partially right.

“And in the meantime, what? I’m your prisoner?” You couldn’t help the venom in your tone as you let your power drip slowly through to the budding rose plant. Encouraging it to grow further. 

You could hear him flinch, even as he dropped his gaze from the mirror. Letting it go dark between you. Another illusion. Another lie, a wall between you that was one way. The way that it had ever been. Ever since your childhood. He could see in, and you could never see out. 

“Oh don’t be like that, Bunny.” Tony’s voice came over the intercom, lacking it’s usual lilting amusement, even as you could tell that he was trying. 

“And spying on me as well, of course.” You roll your eyes, checking on the roots of the rose trimming. They were coming along nicely. Settling in, fighting to keep the buds growing, to take in the nutrition that they needed. Obviously it had been well cared for, even without your own personal touch. Bucky had taken his duty seriously. 

Somehow that didn’t surprise you, even as you focused your attention back on the man speaking to you.

“Just have to make sure that you aren’t gonna go all Carrie at the prom on us, Bunny.” “Mister Stark, is she awake?! Can I talk to her?!” Peter’s voice bounced in the background before being audibly shushed and pushed away. By what sounded like Rhodey, if you could guess his voice right. 

You looked up, turning your attention to the ceiling, trying to pinpoint the camera’s. Catching one and keeping your gaze on it. “Hey… Can Bucky and I get a little privacy? Please? And then the kiddo can come and keep me company after?” “Sure thing, Bunny, you and flower boy just get good and comfortable, I’ll even let him in. Stark out.” The com crackling shut before a soft click indicated that the door had been unlocked. Bucky slowly and carefully making his way into the room after a few moments. The door clicking locked behind him. 

“Doll?”

Slowly, you turn to face him. Letting your gaze drift over the man. His beard had come in even heavier, so it had been a few days since your so called rescue, at the very least. His eyes were sunken, deep bruises marked under them. Sleepless nights. Then let your gaze drop to his hands, watching them twitch. Taking in each observation before raising your gaze back to his. “Will you say it again?”

The confusion was clear in his voice. “What do you need me to say?” His tone indicating his determination, he would say anything that you needed to hear, and you knew it. “The memory. Make me know that it was real… They couldn’t touch it, they didn’t know… I need to hear…”

Bucky moved forward slowly. Wrapping his arms around you, letting you bury your face against his chest, clinging to his shirt. Listening to his voice rumbling in his chest as you deepened your breathing. Feeling your body relax under the familiarity of each motion. Feeling his lips press to the top of your hair, the words spoken there without removing his lips. “Do not move. Do not open the door. You will be safe.” 

You swallow, nodding. Looking to the buds as they slowly begin to blossom, as small as they were. Reacting to the enhancement that you had poured into them. 

And then you poured the full extent of your power into the man holding you, sneering in disgust as he crumbled under the overwhelming flood of your connection to him, falling in slow motion to his knees. Your hands releasing their grips on his shirt to gently catch his chin. Cradling it lovingly. Thumbs brushing along the definition of his cheek bones, following the line of his scruff. Meeting his gaze. Distaste meeting betrayal, confusion. Then leaning down to press the gentlest of kisses to his lips. Whispering against them. 

“Hail Hydra.”

[morsmordre-writes]

Spaces Between - Masterlist

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Summary: The Snap took everything from you, who knew Loki would be the one to put back all your pieces?

Warnings: thanos doesn’t kill loki, everything else is cannon with IW & Endgame (im sorry), language, fluff, angst

AN: Tessa is an oc, readers best friend

[prologue][1][2][3]

[witchymarvelspacecase]

The Sight

Summary:  Pietro x Reader.  “The Big Ol’ One-shot That Came Up Outta Nowhere”.

Word Count: 3800

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Cursing, follows the AOU plot

A/N: I got no fucking clue where this came from, but here it is… Honestly, I’ve got a LOT of feelings going on right now, and I needed something with a fucking happy ending!

In case you were wondering, @writingwithadinosaur is STILL the bestest person on the whole planet!!

Most people have a story or two about a friend, or loved one who knew things. Whether they predicted something would happen or could tell you what someone was thinking, people seemed to have a lot of those anecdotes to share. It was safe enough for you to tell people that your grandmother had always known things; no one really questioned it. No one believed it either, but that didn’t bother you so much. What did bother you was that you couldn’t tell people that you knew things.

You had visions. Not all the time, but frequently enough. When you were younger, those visions were mostly harmless; knowing where your friend’s cat was after it had disappeared, saving a cup of dark juice from falling onto the carpet. It seemed your gift matured with you however. When you saw your first murder, and had been unable to convince any of the police officers in your small town of what you’d seen, you had all but broken down.

They’d found the body days later, in exactly the place you’d told them the murder would happen.

After that, you tried to fight back the visions. If you couldn’t prevent what you saw, then you didn’t want to see it. Unfortunately, no matter what you tried, the visions came when they wanted. You did what you could, but there were always some things you couldn’t stop; some people you couldn’t save. Each time, it took a part of your heart. You felt like shit each time, even knowing that there was nothing more you could have done.

You volunteered a lot, trying to balance the darkness you felt. The opportunity to travel overseas and help out in a small country sounded wonderful. You were helping to build sustainable housing, the project backed by a large charity foundation. You went to bed sore each night, but happy to have helped. Not that the effects your efforts would be enjoyed for long. Sokovia was doomed.

You hadn’t known that. You hadn’t known that thousands of miles away, the Avengers had unintentionally created, and then loosed, a monster intent on destroying humanity. Ultron.

….

You had been taking a short break, just getting some air, when you heard the first police sirens. More and more sirens sounded, and you saw people starting to file out of buildings. Huge crowds of people, all moving away from the city center.

But no one was panicking. You heard no shouts. No one was running, or pushing other people out of their way.

Something is very wrong… Squinting, you tried to make out any small details out of the hordes of people around you, you could almost see… something. It was an odd, shapeless, red mist that you saw enveloping the crowds. You could see a matching red glint in the eyes of the people who passed closest to you.

Enhanced individuals had been a popular news topic since the attack on New York, but aside from yourself, you hadn’t ever had contact with anyone with powers. You’d never experienced anything like this mist before, but you were willing to hazard a guess that it was some sort of superpower.

You could feel your heartbeat kick up in your chest. Even more so when you looked around and noticed that the red fog had surrounded you. But nothing happened. The entire population of Sokovia flowed calmly around you, but you felt no urge to join them.

You probably should have. No, you really should have, but you didn’t. Instead, you walked against the flow of people, toward the center of the city. As the groups of people became more sparse, you started to move closer to the buildings lining the street, ducking around corners as you walked. You didn’t know what you were walking towards, but there was a thick feeling of tension in the air.

What the EVER loving FUCK am I doing?! You were woefully unprepared for any situation, yet you walked on. You had nothing but basic first aid and self defense training. You could shoot a gun well enough, but you weren’t armed. You had no business walking towards whatever you were walking towards, but you continued. Something was drawing you in. Like steel to a magnet, you were pulled to the church in the city center. Which was where you spotted the robot. A humanoid shape made entirely of metal, waited in the church, alone but not for long.

Moments later the sky was filled with more robots. Replicas of the original.

I’m sorry. Did I say I was unprepared BEFORE? Jesus-motherfucking-christ!

Time blurred around you. You saw so many faces - people stuck, or trapped - people you felt compelled to remember. You made note of where each person was… Why?

No time to wonder about that. Suddenly, you were standing to the side of a new building, watching a different scene unfold.

A young boy. A man with a bow and arrows. The robots. A second man who seemed to appear from nowhere. The second man protected the first and the little boy, taking multiple bullets. Instead of running to the fallen man, trying to help, you looked at your watch, then at the street signs.

Time blurred again and you found yourself in bed. A large, comfortable bed with insanely soft sheets that you knew was not the cot and sleeping bag you’d been given upon arriving in Sokovia. You also weren’t alone. As you struggled to understand, a warm, muscled arm slipped around your waist. The arm tugged you, turning your body to face a man that you recognized. The man who’d sacrificed himself not moments before. He looked quite different. His expression sleepy, but happy. His hair a mess, but soft and clean. He smiled at you before tugging you again so your body lay atop his, your faces close together.

“Hey,” you said in a sleepy voice. You were happy and comfortable, even though the logical part of your brain reminded you that you didn’t even know this man’s name. The situation felt familiar, as if you’d been in much the same position many times before.

“Hi,” the man replied, his smile growing as he pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Good morning, my sibilӑ.” He had such a soft expression on his face, and his hand caressed you so gently.

“You’re going to have to stop calling me that eventually,” you grumbled playfully.

“Which part? ‘Sibilӑ’? Now why would I do that? Your gift saved my life, and the lives of many others. I can’t see any reason I would not use a title that so aptly suits you. And ‘my’? Well, you are mine, and that won’t be ending anytime soon, or ever for that matter.” He rolled both of you, so his body was pressing yours into the mattress. “My sibilӑ.” He pressed a kiss to your lips and you could feel a warmth spreading through your chest.

“My Pietro,” you gasped when he pulled away, breaking the kiss. He wasted no time before kissing you again.

…

You woke on a gasp. You were laying on the ground. On the partly finished floor of a housing unit you’d been helping to create. You’d taken a 2x4 to the temple and had been knocked unconscious, at least that’s what your friends saw happen.

You didn’t voice any of the questions you had running through your mind as the team medic checked you over. You knew no one would believe what you’d seen. Most likely, you’d be taken to the hospital and checked for brain damage. So as you allowed the the medic to look into your eyes, you sorted thorough what you’d seen. In the end, you were left with one question. How would you save the second man - Pietro?

…

It was 6 hours later, but a lot of the information you recalled was at least written down. You’d gotten yourself a map of Sokovia. On the map, you marked the places that you had seen someone trapped in your vision. And you marked the spot where you’d seen Pietro - the place he’d died. That particular scene played over, and over, and over in your mind. You knew the time, the place, and the cause. But how would you change the outcome?

One well placed explosive. One nearly impossible shot.

…

A week passed by.

You heard the sirens, and the most intense feeling of deja vu hit you a moment before your heart began to race. The attack had begun - the clock had started.

…

It struck you as funny, that in a crisis situation, some things could become so easy. Like breaking into a police armory for instance. A week’s worth of planning and research, and all you’d really had to do was walk right in. No one had been there to stop you. That week’s worth of research had also given you a rudimentary idea of how to use the RPG you’d stolen, so it hadn’t been entirely wasted.

You had good aim, had planned as much as possible, and had the weapon that had the best chance of taking down the jet that would fire the shots to kill Pietro. Now you just needed to believe your vision and trust that you could do what you needed to.

Your route to Pietro from the police station was circuitous, but planned and timed carefully so that you could help as many of the people from your vision as you possible. You told yourself you would go back for the people you couldn’t reach in time, though a part of you knew that you may have been lying to yourself.

Ducking and weaving, you stayed out of sight of the robots and the Avengers both. You had to reach your destination with time to set up your shot, and you couldn’t let anything stop you.

When you came to the cross-street, you slowed to a stop and set you pilfered weapon down carefully before peering around the corner of a building. The child was there, but Pietro and the other man were not. Leaving your weapon, you darted forward, toward the little boy.

He saw you coming, and readily jumped into your arms. You ran with him, back to the corner where you’d left your weapon.

“Stay here,” you said in Sokovian. “I will get you back to your mother, but we have to wait for the right moment. Understand?” The boy was shaken, probably in shock, but he nodded. When you tucked him into a small outcropping created by fallen debris, he made no effort to move.

Seconds felt like hours, until you saw the first man from your vision. He was looking in just the place the boy had been. Knowing only moments existed between that action and Pietro arriving, you raised the RPG. There… The jet entered your field of vision. You spotted it and adjusted your aim. Bullets ripped through the ground in a line towards the man, and you knew Pietro would step between them.

Deep breath in. Sight. Pull the trigger on the exhale.

The explosion backlit Pietro as he blurred into existence right where the bullets would have been headed had your shot been off. It wasn’t.

Confused, Pietro and the other man froze for a moment. They looked at the debris falling from where the jet had been, and then they looked in your direction.

And you waved, like an idiot. You’d planned everything, but not what you would do after you saved Pietro. So you just looked completely nuts. Armed and nuts.

Apparently Pietro, and the man who’s name you learned was Clint, were more interested in getting you and the little boy onto the large flying carrier with everyone else, than they were concerned about your mental status. They shuffled you both forward as quickly as possible while still dodging attacks, and firing off a few of their own. You added as many shots as you could with the handguns you had also swiped from the police station. Though your shots didn’t seem all that effective, you caught both men giving you an appraising look.

You had been about to board the shuttle that would take you up to the carrier when your vision cut out. You stumbled to a halt as an image of a little girl appeared before you. She was covered in dirt and blood, calling for a cat that had climbed up a tree. She was crying in desperation, but the cat was too terrified to move, and too far away for her to reach. You knew that little girl wouldn’t leave without her cat; she would die. You could just barely make out a street sign before you shook yourself from the vision, turned back, and sprinted away from the transport.

Clint and Pietro both yelled after you, but you paid them no mind; the little girl was close, and you could reach her before anything happened, but only if you hurried. Down an alley, and over a broken fence, you saw her.

The cat was on a low enough branch that, though the girl couldn’t reach it, you could. You scooped up the terrified cat and the little girl without breaking stride, and hopped back over the broken fence. You’d just exited the alley when Pietro appeared in front of you.

“Are you insane?! We need to leave and you go running off to--” he cut himself off when he noticed the little girl who was tearfully clutching a cat, in your arms. Pietro still looked angry, but he didn’t say anything else as he picked you up and ran.

He set you down outside the transport, but caught your arm when you went to step away.

“Ah, you aren’t leaving my sight,” he said in a firm tone.

Your eyebrows rose, and you knew your expression all but shouted “oh really?”, but you didn’t pull away.

The little girl clung to you, and though she seemed calm, the hold she had on you, and on the cat, was near bruising. Pietro spoke to her for a moment, asking her name, asking where her parents had been when she’d run off looking for her kitty. She didn’t seems capable of answering.

“I think she’s in shock,” you said quietly to Pietro, slowly stroking the girl’s dirty hair. “She may not be able to answer for a while.”

Pietro turned and looked around the transport. You guessed he was looking for someone, but you didn’t know who.

He spotted Clint, and through him was able to locate his sister, Wanda. Wanda, as it turned out, was the source of the red fog that you had seen in your vision. The fog that had the people calmly leaving the city.

Wanda’s powers freaked you out, but they were immensely helpful in locating the girl’s father. He clutched the girl to his chest, pressed kisses to the top of her head and murmured to her as she began to cry. The cat yowled to be let loose, but didn’t really seem to put up much resistance when it was pressed between the girl and her father. They boarded the carrier together.

Pietro, Wanda, and Clint didn’t let you out of their sight, even after the carrier landed. You didn’t want to leave, you had barely spoken to Pietro, but you had thought that you would have had to, at least for a bit, so the Avengers could debrief. Apparently, that was not the case. Even after all the rest of the civilians had disembarked, Pietro kept an hand on your shoulder, or elbow, or lower back until you had been led to an upper deck on the carrier. A deck that you came to see was full of Avengers and Shield agents.

“She ran off because she saw someone in trouble, but the person she saw was not actually visible from where we were standing.”

All eyes were on you.

“Ok, seriously? I am not the strangest one here. Why are you all looking at me like I sprouted another head?” That comment drew a few laughs.

You discussed your clairvoyance for a while after that. You managed to avoid mentioning that the vision about Sokovia had been largely Pietro centered, and you didn’t mention the cuddling episode at all. You had been about to breathe a sigh of relief when you noticed Wanda giving you an odd look.

Telepathic? You thought while looking at her. She nodded, and you closed your eyes. You were sure a blush spread across your cheeks as you wrinkled your nose and dropped your head into your hands, but Wanda didn’t speak up. Pietro was by your side for the rest of the day, he seemed to think that when you had dropped you head in embarrassment, you had been in pain, and he’d taken in upon himself to keep an eye on you. It was sweet, but the number of times you had to hide your red face, or duck away from Wanda’s sly smile was going to be difficult to hide.

…

Despite the ceaseless nicknames, you actually became comfortable with the Avengers. They were all sweet in their own way, though some were a bit more… odd than others. They helped you. They kept you sane when you couldn’t tell what was a vision and what was reality. They held you together when you couldn’t save everyone, and they stopped you when you pushed yourself too far. Or, they tried to. Given that some of the other members pushed themselves too far on a regular basis *cough cough* Tony and Steve *cough cough*, there wasn’t much room to talk.

That was when Pietro came in. He would run up, grab you, and run somewhere else so fast that you weren’t able to see where you’d been taken. Sometimes that pissed you off, other times it brought you to tears, but either way, you let your emotions go. He’d hold you at your worst moments, and he sought you out when he was feeling at his worst too.

You saved him, but he cared about you without knowing why.

He was always the first person you wanted to talk to. When you told him good news, he’d smile and hug you tight. That was the script, every time. Until one time, it became a kiss.

You couldn’t even remember what it was that you were so excited to tell him, but you’d known he would want to hear, so you’d run into the kitchen to find him.

You could remember the expression on his face when you’d told him whatever it had been. You remembered him throwing his arms around you, picking you up, and spinning you in circles. When he set you back on your feet, you’d leaned into him as a wave of dizziness washed over you. When you’d looked up at him, laughing, you expected to see him smiling. Maybe he’d kiss your cheek, or your forehead, but instead he’d pressed his lips to yours.

His kiss wasn’t forceful, but it was insistent. When he pulled away, you met his eyes, momentarily stunned. When he started to look worried and unsure, you snapped out of your daze. You smiled, and gave him a kiss of your own. When Pietro’s hands came up to frame your face, someone yelled, “get a room” and you broke the kiss, your face cherry red.

“Well yours is the closest, old man. Should we take that one?” Pietro asked without moving. One of his hands moved from your cheek to your waist when he felt you shifting away. He held you in place. Unable to leave, you pressed your face into Pietro’s chest and grumbled at him, though you smiled.

It took you a while to tell Pietro about your vision about Sokovia, about him. Wanda had told you that she was sure Pietro wouldn’t care about the fact that your vision lead you to him. If anything, she thought it would make him believe in some sort of fate, but he would never think less of your relationship. After Wanda had helped you so much, after she had all but adopted you as her sister, you wanted to believe her. You wanted to believe her when she said her twin would understand. But could you?

Yes, as it turned out, you could. Pietro had been surprised, maybe a bit shocked, but not as shocked as you’d expected. He hadn’t pulled away.

You’d been near a nervous breakdown when you’d told him. Tears fell from your eyes and your hands shook. You loved him. Had loved him before he first kissed you. Knew that you could love him before you’d even properly met him. You’d been terrified that telling him the truth of your vision would ruin what you had. But it hadn’t.

“Something brought you to me. I don’t care what it was, and I don’t care why. You’re here, and I have you. I wouldn’t wish any different.” He spoke to you quietly, soothed you, and dried your tears. When you’d exhausted yourself, he took you to bed, tucked himself in beside you and held you close.

…

You woke the next morning with a sense of deja vu, but you didn’t ponder the feeling long. Pietro wrapped an arm around your waist and rolled you so you were facing him, instead of away. He gave you a sleepy smile before he rolled again, pulling you onto his chest as he lay on his back.

“Hey,” you said, smiling at his fuzzy, silver bedhead.

“Hi,” Pietro responded, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Good morning, my sibilӑ.”

Your chest warmed through at the name. He’d been calling you that from the moment you’d told him about the vision. “Sibilӑ”; clairvoyant. His clairvoyant. You wouldn’t admit that you liked the name. It wasn’t all that different from Tony calling you “Ms. Cleo”. “You’re gonna have to stop calling me that eventually.”

“Which part? ‘Sibilӑ’? Now why would I do that? Your gift saved my life, and the lives of many others. I can’t see any reason I would not use a title that so aptly suits you. And ‘my’? Well, you are mine, and that won’t be ending anytime soon, or ever for that matter.” Pietro claimed in a playful grumble that matched your own.

He rolled the both of you over again, so your back was to the mattress with his body pressing down on yours.

“My sibilӑ.” He pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

You smiled into the kiss, as your eyes welled up. “My Pietro,” you responded when the kiss broke.

Your vision had come true. At least the good parts of it, you thought as Pietro smiled before pressing another, more insistent kiss to your lips.

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[iwillbeinmynest]

lol y’all

this Vampire!Bucky fic is killing me. lol I’m sitting pretty at almost 4k words and I don’t think I’m but halfway done. Hope y’all can tolerate it. hahaha

[jtargaryen18]

Hello, I love your writing. I am curious if you are planning to ever complete a Gentle Frost?

Definitely. There's one part left in A Gentle Frost.

I don't have an ETA but soon... Can Steve maker her want to stay?

[captainsimagines]

dreaming in june || one

Summary: Alive for centuries, you’ve navigated this world in all its singularities, all its multitudes. You’ve avoided, intercepted, and learned the meaning of loss. At the request of an old friend who now happens to be the new Captain America, you move to a place that only vaguely feels peaceful, to secretly protect his best friend. There you meet Bucky Barnes, your next door neighbor, who has also lived countless lives, seen a lot of things, and lost the one he loved. You have more in common than you thought.

Pairing(s): Bucky Barnes x (F) POC Enhanced Reader

Based on the Song(s): Heat Waves by Glass Animals and iann dior ; Coney Island by Taylor Swift and The National

Series / AO3 Link

(1/15)

Warnings: strong language; alcohol abuse; Bucky remembers more than he ever thought he would; angst; Peter Parker feels too much; just... a lot of sadness this chapter :(

Word Count: 3,600+

Author's Note: So... Coney Island is a Steve x Bucky song. Change my mind. Let's get this show rolling with the angst, shall we? I'm really excited for you guys to read this series! The chapters are shorter so I’ll be able to update more often without worrying about cramming too much into one part. 

~

"Because if there was one thing Bucky Barnes breathed for, it was Steve Rogers. But Steve Rogers left this unknown world for another, and Bucky Barnes could no longer remember the taste of air."

~

2023

     Sometimes Bucky thinks that if he asked clearer, or begged on his knees, or pleaded for another way, Steve wouldn’t have left him to navigate this world alone. He remembers the turn of Steve’s mouth when he uttered his plans, how his cheeks grew pinker like the spun sugar of his lips. The pad of his thumb itched to connect and swipe a touch at Steve’s bottom lip, to finally record what it felt like, if it was the same tender softness like in his imagination. And the way Steve always tilted his head down when he was embarrassed, or unsure, or just a little blue, Bucky breathed for it all. He remembers being silent as he listened to his best friend speak, remembers nodding along when Steve’s voice lowered, remembers lying about the acceptance and not feeling his body afterwards. Because if there was one thing Bucky Barnes breathed for it was Steve Rogers, but Steve Rogers left this unknown world for another, and Bucky Barnes could no longer remember the taste of air.

The first few weeks were the hardest. Sometimes Bucky would watch the sun rise and the sun set from the shield of his bed, telling time by where the shadows in his room were cast. He forgot to eat, and when he would finally get up from bed he would keel over, punched in the gut with the unforgiving emptiness and plea for nutrition. And Bucky hated that, because not even did his stomach beg while he was the Asset, when he hadn’t eaten for weeks and his body began working the serum into overtime. Bucky managed this anger with countless holes in the walls, still refusing to give his body what it needed, and watched as the fresh blood on his knuckles turned brown. Because his body didn’t need food: it needed Steve. But Steve was gone and Bucky had to remind himself every second of every day.

The only light during the day came from the sun behind the curtains, and the only light during the night was from his phone screen, illuminating an unread message from Sam. Sam, as well as Clint Barton, Wanda Maximoff, and Princess Shuri Udaku, are the only people who have his phone number. And even then he tried to fight Clint when he convinced him Wanda was a trusted ally, who would help him in any way he needed, who understood loss just as well as Bucky did.

But then Wanda Maximoff went and unknowingly imprisoned a whole town as she dealt with her grief, and Bucky laughed himself scared until his eyes hurt from so much crying.

Sometimes he wonders why Steve didn’t ask him to go with him. Bucky had a family; he had friends in Brooklyn. Then he spends hours screaming in solitude because it wouldn’t be possible for him to go back. Not when then Bucky Barnes was being tortured, torn apart and put back together, abused and spit on, trained to kill and not bat an eye. He couldn’t just go back and live like that wasn’t happening to him. Hydra would have sent him to murder himself.

Still, why didn’t Steve suggest it?

And it’s not just that question that eats at his mind. It’s millions of others — millions of questions that make his stomach coil, makes Bucky think about cursing Steve’s name, makes him want to sleep forever. And that coil never unfastens, and his throat doesn’t open long enough for him to even attempt screaming Steve’s name in vain, and he doesn’t want to go back to sleep, not again, not after Hydra kept him asleep for so long.

So Bucky thinks about Steve for months, even during his therapy sessions, even after Sam finally takes up the mantle of Captain America. Steve sits like a hammered-in nail at the front of his brain. Bucky doesn’t want to forget about him just yet.

~

2024

     “On a scale of one to ten, how much do you like being kissed on the cheek?”

Sam rolled his eyes as he continued signing autographs, nudging Bucky further and further to the side. But Bucky took it all in stride — he loves tailing Sam at these things. Following him, shaking the same hands after him, teasing him just to see if he’ll snap on camera. 

And Sam ‘secretly’ loves it too or else he wouldn’t invite Bucky to these things every single damn time. 

“Considering I’m not huge on public displays of affection,” Sam mumbles, smiling as fans scream to grab his attention. Bucky only asks because the number of women who have almost destroyed the metal barrier just to smoosh one on Sam is insane. It’s the opening of a children’s hospital with Sam’s family name, for goodness sake. 

Bucky purses his lips, nodding. The cameras flash, Sam signs a few action figures, and then… And then there’s an opening. Bucky practically skips to Sam’s side and plants a gigantic smooch on his left cheek, wrapping his arm around his shoulders and thumbs-upping the crowd. And the crowd goes wild. 

Sam just turns his head to Bucky and gives him this annoyed look, a look he’s come to absolutely love. It makes Bucky feel like he’s in the middle of an inside joke, or part of a friend group who simply expects this out of that friend, or just the main reason Sam doesn’t drop him on his ass. 

Ask Bucky a few months back if he even thought he would be smiling for cameras and he would have broken it before the flash went off. But he’s changed therapists, accepted a hell of a lot more friends into his life, and got a cat. All in all, Bucky figures he can add embarrassing Sam on the list of things that make him feel good. 

“I’m gonna get you back for that one,” Sam grumbles, smiling, as they finally reach the end of the line and hop into the vehicle waiting for them. 

“Can’t wait,” Bucky smiles as he fastens his seatbelt.

“Thanks for coming, by the way. The lights from the cameras always freak me out a little.”

“Figured I owed you since you almost died on me when we went to the pet shelter last week.”

Sam laughs loudly and nudges his shoulder with Bucky’s metal one. “Man, even I didn’t know I was allergic to a certain breed of dog,” 

He begins removing the suit’s gloves and his mask as Bucky says, quietly, “Thanks for inviting me, though.”

Sam side-eyes him with that signature smirk, the one that tells you Sam Wilson has put all his trust in you or he’s nonverbally declaring ‘I know you love me’. Either one, there isn’t much difference. 

“Did it do you any good getting outta the house?”

“Alpine’s probably clawing at the front door, but.”

“We know the cat has developed a dependency issue. But answer the question.” Sam’s face turns serious for a second. 

Before Sam gave up the shield, before they hunted down traces of the super soldier serum, before Sam invited Bucky into his home, he had witnessed Bucky’s episodes. The good and the bad. On the really “good” days, Bucky responded to his messages, he went outside, he even ate other things besides a simple sandwich. But on the really bad days, when Bucky was practically untraceable, when he wouldn’t even make a sound no matter how much Sam poked at his shoulder under his heap of blankets, no matter how loud he could hear his stomach rumble, Sam had no choice but to leave him be. A friend is a friend, but a friend can only do so much. 

“Yeah, Sam. It did me good.”

Sam accepts this and changes the subject. He starts by talking about this really cute nurse in the NICU that blushed like mad when Sam fumbled his pick-up line. He doesn’t usually flirt when in uniform, but he couldn’t help it this time apparently. 

Bucky hears this, truly he does, but his mind spaces as he watches the cars fly by on the highway. A Delaware license plate, two from California (surprisingly), and one from New Jersey. He curses inwardly at the very mention: he and Steve loved to tear apart Jersey when they were younger, claiming if the other was in need of assistance but couldn’t explicitly say, they would alert the other by saying they were in Jersey. Never once has Bucky stepped foot in New Jersey and he won’t ever still. He can’t believe Steve was forced to do Basic there. How Steve finished that trip without blowing his brains out is beyond him.

“—She told me, and I quote, ‘French fries for comfort, Vicks vapor rub for extra comfort.’ Tried it. Downed a medium-sized fry from McDonald’s, slathered some of that vapor shit all over my neck and under my nose. Out like a light.”

Bucky stirs, confused for a second. Scrunching half his face, he turns slowly and mutters a very apologetic-sounding, “...Who?”

Sam tilts his head and huffs loudly. “Are you serious right now? She’s been your neighbor for six whole months now, and she’s my best friend!”

Bucky squints, mouth parted in a tiny ‘O’. “Are you talking about Miss Mother Nature next door?”

“She feeds us like, every morning, Buck.”

“Hey! You barely say her name, too! You call her Shortcake.”

“‘Cause she likes bakin’ them!” Sam sputters. 

“So, her name isn’t commonly brought up. Stop crucifying me. I’m not that detached from the world,” Bucky mumbles. 

And he doesn’t exactly enjoy Sam using that nickname. He can’t explain it, but that short little chuckle he hears in response, the soft giggling Sam gets to indulge in, the whispered conversations that are completely innocent but just a little too quiet for Bucky’s liking — he wonders if he’s envious. If he’s jealous. Maybe both. Sam is his friend. Bucky wants to try his hand at gaining more, too. 

Bucky calls you a variety of nicknames. You don’t give him that short, little chuckle, though. You smile, look down, and change the subject. 

Maybe he’s doing something wrong. 

“As I was sayin’,” Sam grumbles as he adjusts himself in his seat. “You should try eating some french fries and rubbing that Latino shit over your neck, man. A guaranteed sleep-till-morning situation.”

Bucky snorts, “Pretty sure Vicks vapor rub is sold as a commercial product to all consumers and marketed as neutral—”

“Dude, she’s the one that joked about it being a common Mexican household remedy. You stop crucifying me.”

Bucky grins and goes back to studying license plates, and wonders what new flower he’ll catch you lugging up the stairs this week.

~

     “Don’t you get army money, man?”

Bucky chuckles low, underneath his breath, and to his side. It’s always weird when strangers know who he is, especially when he’s at these side jobs trying to make a few extra bucks during the week. And the stranger isn’t wrong: Bucky does earn a whole fucking backlog of army money — years and years of build-up until the year the U.S government found out he was alive. He gets Steve’s too — the government didn’t contest Steve’s will and no one bothered to question it. Bucky made quick work of it after he met Sarah, though. She tried to refuse, even smacked him around a little. She ultimately agreed after Bucky promised it was for the boys and not her, anything to make her comfortable. She still side-eyes him, but deep down Bucky thinks she’s warming up to him.

“I get bored in that small little shoebox they call a modern apartment. Least I had a massive living room back in the thirties.”

The smaller kid to his right laughs at that. He picks up a nearby paint roller and rolls it deep into the tray, making sure the white paint reaches each end. “Yeah, I get that. My apartment’s a little cramped, too.”

“Where you live?” Bucky asks, choosing a regular, large paintbrush for the picket fence. He likes this gig: he missed the whole suburban revolution of the fifties. It feels good painting something so old-fashioned.

The kid hesitates for a moment, his smile a bit forced. “Been in Queens my whole life. Just moved up the street a bit.”

“A Queens native,” Bucky smiles. He pauses his work to study the kid for the first time since the long hour started. He’s dressed in the same khaki-colored overalls as Bucky (they’re a little big at the bottom: the kid has had to roll the bottoms up just a smidge); his hair is a little unruly, but still a vibrant light brown; kid’s got good facial structure, small lips but strong cheekbones; and he’s got this incredible strength that Bucky hasn’t asked about yet. Bucky swears he knows him — the timidness of his voice and soft puff of hair he exhales when he laughs is a little too familiar. “I never got your name, kid. We’ve been here for the past two days and I never asked.”

The kid smiles shyly, dusts off his left hand, and holds it out for Bucky to shake. “Peter. Peter Parker.”

The name is familiar, too. Bucky can’t quite place him, which is unlike him, considering Bucky Barnes never forgets a face.

“Bucky Barnes.”

“I know,” Peter replies, shaking Bucky’s hand a little too long. He notices at around the twelve second mark, so he quickly pulls away and dusts his now-sweaty hand off on his pant leg. “Well, I mean, I don’t know. Just that I put two and two together when the others were calling you James and you kept on mentioning growing up during the Great Depression, so.”

Bucky looks down at the fence, slightly embarrassed. He’s really got to stop sharing so much with strangers. Except this kid has been nothing but kind for the past two days. He even, somehow, knew not to hold out his own hand for Bucky to shake when they first met. All the other guys had but Peter just waved. Peter even had a hair-tie on his wrist to offer Bucky — Peter’s hair barely makes it past the cape of his neck.

Bucky chuckles again. “It’s alright, kid. You doing anything after this? You old enough to drink yet?”

“No,” Peter says, sadly.

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

“Okay, that’s a start,” Bucky laughs, and finishes painting the tip of the arched wood. “You know, you remind me of someone.”

Peter looks startled but only momentarily. He closes his eyes and breathes in slowly. Bucky even hears a little sound crack in the kid’s throat. It all happens so fast that Bucky wouldn’t have caught any of it if he didn’t have enhanced hearing. But Peter recovers, plasters on a smile, and shrugs a shoulder. “I get that a lot.”

“Can’t place you, though.”

“That’s alright.”

Bucky squints, the answer on the tip of his tongue, but he ultimately gives up when Peter begins shuffling uncomfortably. “I think you’re the only person below the age of twenty that I’ve spoken to this century… besides Shuri.”

“No kids in your building?”

“Some. But it’s not like their parents are telling them to offer their home-baked cookies to the ex-enemy of the state living down the hall.”

“You eating enough cookies on your own, though? That’s important.”

Bucky smiles wide. After Bucky made his wrongs somewhat right, he vowed to do one good deed a day. Making friends with the awkward kid at a part-time gig painting picket fences and nurseries was the good deed of Tuesday last week. He just thought he’d be the mom of the relationship.

“Yes, I am a fully-grown man who knows how to bake and shop at a grocery store.”

“Just making sure.”

They finish painting the front portion of the house by the time the boss calls it a day. Bucky and Peter continue making small-talk while waiting in line to collect their paychecks then go their separate ways.

~

     It’s a little out of his way — or rather, it’s always out of his way — but Bucky hops on the subway and makes the trip down to Coney Island. His apartment’s in the other direction, but he’ll manage. Days like these, when the sun is setting and you can smell spring in the air, are always the best times to visit.

He wants to believe that excuse: that the weather is just right, the attendance is at a minimum because of the growing heat, and that he just felt like it. But it’s become routine now. At least once a week Bucky finds himself on the same bench in front of the giant ferris wheel, and through the breaks he sees the vast ocean, and he wonders why no one has ever tried sitting next to him before. There are families everywhere, couples enjoying their time together, and yet, no one has ever tried asking him if the other side of the bench was taken.

So Bucky decides to sit in the middle this time. He doesn’t try to think about why this particular bench is always vacant at the times he visits — Bucky figures if he questions it then it’ll jinx his luck.

At first he believed himself wild for feeling a familiar feeling. They’re so rare these days: Bucky remembers everything, mostly, bits and pieces here and there. He remembers conversations with people, but not the specific topic of discussion. He remembers people’s faces, just not if their signature mole was on their left or right cheek. And he remembers this bench exactly as it was in 1937, the moment he felt his heart grow ten sizes for Steve Rogers, but he can’t remember if it was because Steve made the most wonderful grimace when tasting his blueberry cotton candy or because Steve laughed so hard he started coughing up a lung. Bucky just remembers the feeling was because of Steve.

The bench would be too little to carry both him and Steve now, but back then? All Bucky would have to do is scoot a little to the left and Steve would fit perfectly.

Steve always brought his sketchbook, sketching the ferris wheel and practicing how to make the ripples in the water look more realistic. But Bucky loved the merry-go-round better than the ferris wheel. Maybe it was because he liked when Steve struggled to draw the horses, or because Steve had to watch him non-stop as Bucky joined the ride and traveled in circles, changing his facial expressions each turn-around just to mess with Steve as he sketched quickly.

There are days when Bucky just wants to be alone at the park, soaking in the natural noises rather than the high-pitched screams of everyone on the rollercoaster. And he’ll get angry, fists clenching and fingers twitching until he finally draws up the courage to call Sam and speak with him while watching the ferris wheel stop and go. He never mentions Steve; instead it’s “You know that ramen recipe Sarah said she’d write down? Do you think you can get it for me?” and “I finally watched Star Wars. What the fuck was that?” and “Saw the new action figure, man. How’d they get your smallass head on those bigass shoulders of yours?”

If Sam suspects anything, he’s pretty damn good at hiding it.

~

     Bucky sits until his back grows stiff and the sun sets completely. On the short taxi ride back to his apartment, he watches cars pass and maps out specific buildings and their closing times. He memorizes license plates because he wonders if he can (he can), and memorizes street signs this taxi decides to turn for. Last time the taxi driver continued straight instead of turning right at this intersection. Bucky realizes turning right subtracted forty seconds from the overall trip. He pays his fee, buzzes into his building because he forgot his damn key again, and trudges up to his door.

He originally wanted the apartment closest to the stairs and the emergency exit because… well… It's self-explanatory. No point in arguing for it anyway — there was already a tenant living there and the middle apartment became occupied around the same time he moved in.

Bucky lives in apartment 218. He wanted apartment 216. The flower girl lives in 217.

It’s a quiet, two-bedroom apartment. A room for him and a room for Sam. But Sam has been busy with his Captain America tour, press conferences, and small Avenger business since they tracked down replicas of the super-soldier serum with Zemo.

Alpine immediately greets him at the door, snuggling up against his shins and rubbing her face against his pant leg. He bends down to pat her head. She purrs softly, and in her eyes Bucky can see the wandering question of ‘where have you been all day?’

He watches a few television programs and fumbles with the remote before the overall silence starts eating away at him. Bucky likes peace, trust him he does, but it’s always better to be at peace when another person is home. Bucky likes being alone, but he doesn’t want to be alone. 

He sighs, desperately wanting to snuggle with Alpine and ignore that weird clawing behind his sternum. 

So Bucky turns off the television, taps his foot rapidly while in thought, and ultimately decides to unscrew a new bottle of Asgardian liquor, opting to enjoy the drink straight from the bottle rather than from his oversized coffee cup. 

Alpine meows by his feet. He looks down, takes another swig, and says, “Don’t judge me.”

He doesn’t exactly know the precise time he passed out, or when he opened his apartment door, or when he started dreaming. 

He just knows that his stomach is cramping and something is kicking at his leg. 

~

xxMoni

~

Taglist: @cutelittletwistedhorror @cloudyfeel​ @howlermonkey69​ @wintersgirl1917​ @gabewerk @aquariusbarnes​ @fandoms-writings​ @shirukitsune​ @goldylions​ @real-jane​ @mannien​ 

(I sent a direct message to you if Tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you)

~

[wordshappensometimes]

Ghost in the Sun Pt. 4 (final!)

(Steve Rogers x Enhanced Reader)

Summary: Just because you can make yourself invisible doesn’t mean you can keep yourself from getting a nasty sunburn, and after a grueling mission in the Moroccan desert that’s exactly what’s happened. Luckily Steve is more than willing to help you put aloe on those hard-to-reach places once you get back.

A/N: So this took longer than I expected but here it is! The last part of Ghost in the Sun! I hope you guys enjoy, this story was my first go at fic-writing, and this part is my first time writing smut so i seriously appreciate any feedback! Thanks for reading!

Words: 2,702

Warnings: swearing, smut-ish, sunburn?

Part 1  Part 2 Part 3

After dinner with the whole team, you help Wanda clean up in the kitchen. As excellent as a cook she was, she hadn’t really gotten the hang of not making a complete mess of the kitchen every time she cooked- especially when it came to her homemade sauces- so the clean up takes longer than usual. The two of you chat as Wanda washes dishes and you scrub sauce off of the stove top, catching up on everything you’d missed in the tower during your mission. Once the kitchen looks more like a human living space and less like a grocery store after an earthquake, you head out towards your room, passing the team as they relax in the common room.

Steve’s head pops up as he sees you come in and he looks to you attentively. You come to a stop, having forgotten your post-dinner plans with the supersoldier.

“Oh- right, yeah.” You motion with your head for Steve to join you; Steve smiles at you and nods, quickly pushing himself up out of his chair.

You’re not exactly excited about round two; while you’re grateful for his help, having Steve rub aloe all over you had been all sorts of uncomfortable last time (or at least that’s what you had insisted on telling yourself anyway). Hopefully it would be less weird this time around.

The two of you step into your room, and without giving it a second thought you reach down and casually pull your shirt off over your head, never missing a step as you walk towards the bathroom. Steve’s eyes go wide as you pull the fabric over your head and he can feel his heartbeat pick up a few beats. Is it suddenly warmer in here? He honestly can’t tell. Feeling his face flush, he averts his eyes to the carpet and takes a quick breath before following you into the bathroom.

Not having noticed the super soldier’s brief absence, you squirt some aloe into your hand and start to apply it to that strawberry you call your face. Steve steps in behind you and you pass him the bottle so he can get started on your back.

It’s quiet and strangely tense for a few moments, but suddenly Steve speaks up.

”So how is it that you can even get sunburnt?” His eyes flick up to meet yours in the mirror as he continues massaging the soothing gel into your shoulders. “You don’t even cast a shadow when you go ghost”

You chuckle at his question, “Well in an ironic twist of epic proportions, it turns out I can only avoid visible light rays, UV rays on the other hand, not so much, and they’re the ones that really love to burn ya.”

“Ahh, gotcha. And that’s why you’re redder than Stark’s suit?”

Your mouth drops open in mock offense “Hey! I’m the only one in this tower who’s allowed to make ridiculous comparisons about my new stop sign-ish hue!”

Steve laughs heartily as he moves his hands lower on your back, you move to support yourself on the sink yet again.

Mercifully, the conversation between you and Steve flows easily this time around, allowing you both to feel relaxed as Steve works his hands all over your burnt body. As the two of you talk, Steve massages aloe into your arms, belly, and chest (and even though he doesn’t hesitate like he did last time, a silence falls over the two of you as his hands smooth aloe onto your supple flesh). The combination of his strong hands and soothing aloe feels almost blissful, and if you didn’t know any better you would guess by his expression that Steve’s enjoying this too.

Over the next week this becomes your routine; and it gets easier and easier each time, more and more comfortable, more and more...dare you say...enjoyable?

Every night after dinner the two of you head to your room and chat while you run through copious amounts of aloe vera. This is the first time you guys have ever hung out on your own, and as it turns out, Cap’s hilarious, and not nearly as uptight as you thought him to be. To be fair, you really only knew Captain Rogers before, in all his responsible patriotic glory, but now you were getting to know Steve: the funny, kind-hearted guy from Brooklyn. The two of you seem to have a natural rhythm and chemistry, and it’s addicting for you. Sure, you’re tight with Sam and Nat, but spending time with Steve always manages to lift your spirits, and it almost makes you wish you hadn’t kept things so strictly professional between the two of you for so long--  almost.

As the week rolls along, your skin starts to look less and less like it’s on fire, and while you’re grateful to no longer look like Bob the tomato, there’s a pit in your stomach every time you think about your new routine with Steve coming to an end. You can’t shake the feeling, the little twinge of- what is it you’re feeling exactly? Sadness? Loneliness? Oh god, yearning? Whatever it is, you try to push the feeling in your gut away, besides it’s not like you’re never going to see him again- you live and work in the same building for pete’s sake. And as an added bonus, you and Steve have taken to hanging out together almost constantly when neither of you are working; how Steve always manages to find you when you’re on break is a mystery to you, but you’re certainly not about to complain.

Come Saturday night, there’s 3 empty aloe bottles stacked up in your garbage can, a fourth bottle stands half-empty on your bathroom sink. At eight o’clock on the nose, you and Steve stroll into your room, playfully arguing about Steve’s cooking abilities (or more accurately- lack thereof).

“Dude, all I’m saying is no one would complain if you decided to let someone else cook the team dinner when it’s your turn. In fact, they’d probably be grateful.” You flash a cheeky smile over your shoulder at the annoyed super soldier as you step into your room.

“Oh come on, (Y/N) I’m not that bad of a cook.” You turn towards Steve and scrunch up your face, playing up a pained, pitiful expression as he closes the door behind him.

His expression drops a little, “Is it really that bad?”

You think for a moment, “No, well, yes- but nowhere near as bad as Vision’s cooking... if you can even call it that.” Steve chuckles a little and you shrug, “You just need to learn how to season your ingredients and not, ya know, boil everything.”

Steve shakes his head and reaches his hand up behind his neck, “I’m tryin, (Y/N)”

“I could help you if you want.” Steve smiles at your proposition. You reach your hands down to the hem of your black t-shirt and pull the close-fitting fabric over your head, revealing a black push-up bra.

“That’d b-be.... Great......” Steve’s response trails off as his eyes take in the picture before him. Now that your sunburn was more or less gone, you were able to wear your regular tops and bras without feeling like your shoulders were being constantly scolded with a hot iron. And while you don’t really feel like there’s much of a difference between being seen in a sports-bra and your regular bra, the look on Steve’s face is painting a rather different picture. His eyes are glued to you as you haphazardly toss your shirt onto the bed, but you hardly notice as you start towards the bathroom.

“Ready?” You smile at Steve, and his gaze shoots back up to your face, he gives you a quick nod and bites his lip slightly.

You study your reflection in the bathroom mirror as Steve steps in behind you, you turn to the side slightly so you can admire how your ass looks in the jeans you’re wearing since you haven’t worn them for a while. You catch Steve also looking at your ass in the mirror and raise your eyebrow playfully at him- you don’t really mind, he’d been stealing glances at you all week. Boys will be boys you figure.

“Ya know, I think this may be the last time we need to do this-” 

You see Steve’s expression drop slightly and you feel that familiar twinge in your gut again. Shh, cállate (shut up). You clear your throat, and try to push away the feeling.

“I mean, my blisters are gone, I don’t feel like a human fireball, and I definitely won’t cut it as a Mr. Krab’s double anymore.”

You laugh to yourself as Steve tilts his head to the side and throws you a questioning look in the mirror. You sigh, “honestly even if you were the age you look you still probably wouldn’t have gotten that reference.”

You both laugh as Steve reaches for the bottle of aloe.

“Oh well that’s a relief then, one less thing that I have to catch up on.”

Steve squeezes some aloe into his hands and starts in on your neck and shoulders. He massages you with an intensity you haven’t felt before; it’s absolutely heavenly. You press your hands into the sink counter again. Steve’s strong hands really work into you as they move down your back, and you try to hold back the moan threatening to work its way out of your throat. 

“God, Steve that feels amazing....” you sigh out. The sentence hangs in the air around you for what feels like eternity before you realize how goddamn sexual it sounds. You clear your throat quickly and add “...Ever considered becoming a full time masseuse?” You look down, becoming suddenly interested in the marble countertop. You dare not lift your eyes up to meet Steve’s after what just came out of your mouth. You feel a heat rising in your cheeks and a tension building in your stomach, pero ¿qué demonios te pasa, (Y/N)? (what the heck is happening to you?)

Steve steps closer to you, and you can feel him press up against your butt. You bite your lip as you notice your breathing has picked up.

Steve traces his hands up your back to your shoulders. He gently places his finger under your bra strap, and slides it slowly down your shoulder. You’re expecting to feel his strong hands massaging in more aloe, but instead you feel the softest, most supple lips press into your shoulder. You inhale suddenly and look up to catch his gaze in the mirror. His bright blue eyes burn into you as he slowly kisses his way up to your neck. You bite your lip and close your eyes. His kisses grow stronger and more passionate when you tilt your head to the side to give him better access.

Steve’s massive arms close around your waist and pull you close to his chest, you reach up and card your fingers through his blonde hair as his lips reach your jawline. You let out the moan you’ve been holding in and let yourself melt into his touch.

Suddenly, Steve spins you around, you take in his features: his lips pink and swollen, his hair messy, his eyes hungry with lust-blown pupils. You look at each other for a moment, breathless. Finally you put your hands on the sides of his face to pull him down to you, and just as you do his arms around your waist pull you up towards him. Your lips meet in a passionate, almost frantic kiss as you pull yourself closer and closer to each other. His tongue slides over your bottom lip and you open your mouth and press into him to deepen the kiss. Steve moans, and the sound sends tingles through your entire being. Your hands stay on the back of Steve’s head, playing with his hair, trying to pull him even closer to you despite that being physically impossible at this point. Steve’s hands, meanwhile, run down your back and land on your plump ass. He squeezes firmly, causing you to giggle and moan into his mouth. He squeezes again and you moan on cue, causing a deep chuckle to emit from Steve’s chest. Este chico me va a volver loca (this boy’s gonna drive me crazy).

Next thing you know, Steve is pulling you up and putting you on the bathroom counter; you open your legs to let him closer to you, knocking the half-empty aloe bottle into the garbage along with the others. Your mind is a blur: lips, and hands, hands everywhere, and Steve, his lips on your lips, his lips on your jaw, his lips running down your neck. You reach out to blindly find the hem of Steve’s shirt, Steve’s lips lift from your skin just long enough for you to pull it over his head, revealing his frankly ridiculous body. In an instant he’s brought his lips to your neck again, not wanting to missing a beat. His lips work into your skin like he’s desperate for more, his hands never stop pulling you closer towards him, he pushes up against the heat building in your core and you can feel his growing hard-on. You moan at the sensation and wrap your legs around his waist, pushing your core closer to him.

Steve rolls his hips against you and an almost embarrassingly high-pitched whine leaves your mouth, but you don’t care, how could you when Steve is about to drive you absolutely mad?

Steve kisses down from your neck into the valley of your breasts, and as he does you unclasp your bra and let it slide down your arms. Steve pulls back, his eyes wide with shock and awe as your toss your bra to the side and rest your hands back up on his shoulders. He breathes heavily as he takes in the sight before him.

“You are so beautiful, (Y/N).”

You smile and bite your lip, just then Steve plunges towards you and pulls your breast into his mouth, sucking at your nipple and biting it gently. He takes your other breast into his hand and massages it roughly; you don’t know how much more you can take before you explode, the passion and ecstasy are almost too much to bare.

Between gasps for air you manage to moan, “Oh god, Steve. Steve I-I need you.”

Without skipping a beat, your legs still wrapped around him, Steve picks you up by your waist and carries you to the bed, plopping you onto it. He stands up to take off his pants and you scramble to remove yours. Now completely bare, Steve crawls over to you on the bed and hovers above you, you pull him into another passionate kiss and feel the weight of his naked body press against you.

Steve parts from the kiss and rests his forehead against yours, his lips now just ghosting above yours, he sighs and smiles,

“I’ve been dreaming of this for weeks.” You crook and eyebrow at him and drag your lower lip between your teeth.

“Just this?” You roll your hips up into his to tease him, and you could almost swear it looks like he’s about to fall apart. He whimpers at your teasing and then immediately dives back into a passionate kiss. Your lips move against each other in perfect, passionate rhythm, so much for keeping things professional.

Steve breaks away from the kiss again and you start to whine at his absence until you feel his mouth licking circle around your nipple again. You drag your hands through his hair as he continues his path downwards. Finally, after licking his way down your belly and inner thigh, he pushes his mouth against your clit and roughly sucks and licks at it.

“¡Ay! ¡Capitán!” you scream as a wave of pleasure overcomes you. You can feel Steve smile at the reaction he’s getting; he knows your Spanish is only reserved for the most intense moments, and this one was definitely a chart-topper.

You roll your hips up towards his mouth, desperate for more, but instead of giving you what you need, he pulls back and grins wickedly up at you.

“Paciencia, señorita.”

You raise an eyebrow at him and huff out a laugh. Before you have time to retort Steve’s already dived back in, and you scream out:

“¡Coño! (asshole!)”

______________________________________________________________________

~Fin!~

Please let me know what ya’ll thought! Positive or negative I’d love to know where to take my writing next <3

[buckysmischief]

Spaces Between - 1/?

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: The Snap took everything from you, who knew Loki would be the one to put back all your pieces?

Warnings: thanos doesn’t kill loki, everything else is cannon with IW & Endgame (im sorry), language, fluff, angst

AN: Tessa is an oc, readers best friend

FTS Masterlist | Series Masterlist

☄︎

Spring 2018, 5 minutes later

“Yn, wake the fuck up!” Tessa panicked, pouring cold water on your face. You sat straight up, wishing she’d have just slapped you instead.

“How many times have I asked you not to do that?” you grumble, wiping the water off your face. “How long was I out this time?”

“About five minutes, where did you go?”

You passed out for two minutes the first time you teleported from your apartment to California, but once you got used to traveling greater distances your body got used to it. Space though? It was surprising you woke up before the day was over.

“Uh.. I’m not exactly sure. Loki got me there, I just brought us back. Oh shit! Thor and Hulk, I gotta go get them!”

Before you could get up and attempt to travel back to space, Loki was at your side. “The bifrost opened while you were out, but we do need to find the Avengers. Thanos is coming and as much as I hate to admit it, I think it would be best if we worked together.”

“That big purple guy? What’s his deal?” you ask.

Loki explained everything to you and Tessa. The stones and what Thanos plans to do with them, even what Thanos has already done throughout the galaxy. You then explained to him what happened to the Avengers in Berlin, but reaching out would still be a better option.

“Do you know where we could find them, can you jump there?” you’re not an expert on Loki by any means, but you’re positive you can hear panic in his voice.

“Yeah, let me get some things together really quick and we can go.” grabbing Tessa and pulling her into your room.

There was too much going on. Not even an hour ago you were on a run in the park and now you had to help prevent half of the galaxy from dying? What were you even supposed to do? It’s not like you’ve had any training, just what you’ve picked up on your own.

“Tess, I need you to stay here. Call out of work if you have to but please.. don’t leave the apartment.” you were throwing clothes into a bag, not even realizing you were panicking until Smokey rubbed against your leg. You didn’t even want a cat, but Tessa insisted. And she was right, Smokey was basically your emotional support cat at this point.

“I will, Yn. But you gotta go save the world. I love you!” She gives you a hug and pushes you to Loki. “And you, keep her safe.”

Loki nods, “I give you my word, no one will lay a finger on her.”

Later that day, after Thanos

After leaving your apartment with Loki, you ended up arriving at the compound the same time as Captain America and a few others. No one was happy to see Loki, but once Bruce Banner told them what had happened (and that Thor thought he had died), everyone felt better about you two traveling to Wakanda with them.

The battle was unlike anything you’ve ever seen, worse than the battle of New York. When everything was said and done, there were bodies and blood - and dust - everywhere. But Loki kept his word. You had a few cuts and bruises, sure, but you were alive. The same couldn’t be said about half of the world, or anywhere else for that matter, though.

You were still on the battlefield with Loki, neither one of you were there when Thanos showed up. When he noticed you watching soul after soul disappear, he suggested you go back home to check on Tessa and Smokey.

“I’m afraid they won’t be there.” you finally look up at him, tears falling down your face. “They’re the only family I have left, what if they aren’t there?”

“I’ll go with you, you don’t have to do this on your own, little one.” He wrapped his arms around you and waited until you were ready to leave.

When you jumped to your apartment, you landed on the outside of your door, too afraid to open it. “It’s probably best to just get it over with..”

“I know, I know,” you turned the knob, immediately hearing The Office playing in the living room. You grab Loki’s hand and push the door open, venturing further into the apartment.

It wasn’t an act of affection he was used to, and his first reaction was to jerk away. But then he felt you squeeze his hand for comfort. He felt his heart swell, silently vowing to always protect you from this moment on, feeling great pride knowing you saw him as your protector.

You walk through the kitchen and yell out for Tessa, even shaking Shadow's favorite toy, but you didn’t hear anything. Loki helped you check the bathroom, her bedroom, your bedroom. Still, nothing. You had been saving the obvious option for last, hoping, praying that your worst fears weren’t coming true.

As you walked into the living room you didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, but then you looked to the spot on the couch where Tess and Smokey sit and just see a pile of ash. Loki saw the look of your face and was standing ready to catch you any way you fell. But you just stood there.

Numb.

The only person in this world who really knew you was gone. A victim to a war she had nothing to do with and yet she’s gone, not knowing what the hell was happening. It wasn’t fair. You failed to stop Thanos and yet here you were, alive. But all of these innocent, good people that had no fight in this war were just gone.

“I.. I need to get away from here.” you whisper. “I’m gonna pack, you don't have to come-”

“Nonsense, of course I’m coming.” he interrupted. “I told you you didn’t have to do this on your own and I meant that.”

You went to your room and packed all of the clothes that you could, and all the other essentials. After grabbing your bag you stopped at Tessa’s room and opened the door, working yourself up to go in. “What do you need in here?”

“Tessa’s blanket,” you sigh, “it was mine but she just loved it so much I kinda just let her have it. I can’t leave it here.” Standing up, you fold the small blanket and hold it in your arms.

You both leave the apartment and discuss ideas about where you could lay low for a bit, until you know it’s safe. Loki had been the one to remember the bunkers Rhodey was talking about the day before. When Tony Stark remodeled the Compound he added some bunkers, because apparently, you have to be prepared for everything.

Instead of jumping there, you decided you needed a walk. You needed to process everything that happened and maybe walking for a couple of hours would help, but by the time you found a bunker your thoughts were still a mess.

When you looked around to see what all you had, you noticed there was plenty of food and toiletries, even a tv and radio. There was even a small kitchen and bathroom, but there was only one bed which might make things a little awkward. “It’s not as tech’ed as I imagined, but this will work.”

“Agreed. I’m going to take a shower and get some rest, I feel like you should do the same.” He was genuinely concerned about your mental state, and you knew he was right. “Okay, I’ll make us something to eat while you shower.”

While Loki was in the shower, you could only think about two things. 1) Tessa and Smokey, and 2) the sleeping arrangement. You hardly knew the man, but he’s done nothing but make you feel safe. And you didn’t know if it was losing Tessa, going through all that you had with him today, or a combination of both, but you wanted to keep him close.. you just didn’t know how to ask.

As you heard the water in the bathroom cut off dinner was ready, just regular spaghetti, nothing special. It was one of the few things that didn’t require much effort to make. Shout out to whoever's idea it was to add a spice rack, though. It was obvious to you that Loki had never had anything like it, but he was kind enough to give it a try.

“So,” he stands up from the table, putting his dishes in the sink, “I can sleep on the couch if you’d like.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, that couch is way too short for you. We can.. we can share the bed, if that’s fine with you” you suggested.

“I’d like that.” was all he said before he left you alone to take a shower.

☄︎

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[jtargaryen18]

Raining in My Heart

Coming later... an angsty little, sexy little Valentine’s story for Johnny Storm and the Blizzard

Several minutes had passed, you didn’t know how long. You eased back, both of you trying to collect yourselves but not as hard as you would have been with anyone else. Johnny’s spirit was wounded, an open hurting sore. You cared enough about him to share the scar on your own soul when you never thought it was something you’d be able to do.

Johnny glanced at his clock, blowing out a sigh.

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” he told you. It was one in the morning but yeah, it was Valentine’s Day now. “I should have had something planned. I should have…”

“I did have something planned,” you admitted, grinning. “But…”

“You left it at your place?” The first hint of a smile played about his lips. You liked that. You wanted to keep that there.

“It’s not a tangible something,” you explained, shaking your head. You didn’t know if you’d be able to do it now.

His grin widened. Color was returning to his face. “Is it a sex thing?”

Now you were laughing. “It’s sexy. At least, I think it is.”

You could feel him heating up next to you. That’s more like it.

“You mean one of those blow jobs where—”

“No,” you laughed. “Though I guess a case could be made for that later.”

Johnny’s brows shot up. “Something new?”

You nodded. Your dirty, mischievous Johnny was back and that made you happy. Your heart flew in your chest.

“You’re going to freeze me to the wall – or my bed – and have your way with me?” Those gorgeous blue eyes darkened.

“I hadn’t actually considered that,” you told him. You’d tuck that thought away for the future. “Doubt I could lay down a layer thick enough to hold you.”

Johnny scoffed. “Role play, baby. I’ll act helpless as a kitten.”

You knew he would.

“Since we’ve been talking about missions, there are good ones too,” you told him. “I’ve learned so many useless things for missions… Maybe not so useless later on.”

You rose from the bed, going to stand at the foot of it. Johnny’s eyes widened when you used your powers to create a pole of solid ice from the ceiling to the floor. One of his hands was already darting under the covers and it had you chuckling.

“Are you serious, right now?” He looked delighted.

“I need music,” you told him. “We have AI back at the compound.”

“Please, we have better AI here.” Johnny’s hand was already moving in a suspicious motion under his bedding. “Name your song.”

“Let Me Love You by Arianna Grande and Lil Wayne,” you requested.

When the song started, you clutched the hem of your heavy sweater to reveal the “I’m a Hoe for Johnny Storm” t-shirt he brought you not too long ago.

You didn’t think you’d ever seen your fiery lover quite that excited before.

[jtargaryen18]

I wanted to post a preview...

But the first part could be a trigger. The second part gives that away. The third part is the thick of it...

So I'll post it tomorrow. 😏