#i wish we had sam reaction to his message but i bet no one recorded bc they was all rightfully focused on jacob

[hyohaehyuk]

Jacob Anderson and Eric Bogosian couldn’t be at the panel so they sent messages! #SDCC24

J: “I’m here in London doing music stuff, jumping around on stage, which you’re going to see a lot of Sam Reid doing in the future. So i dont know, I send you a video or something. Take notes, Sam”

via holdthegirI, armandvampyr and hiimbobbi

[amandaoftherosemire]

Hey Pretty

Fandom: Marvel AU

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader

Characters: Steve Rogers

Author: @amandarosemire

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8,133

Format: One-shot

Warnings: Smut, 18+ only, sexting, language, masturbation (male and female), descriptions of explicit images, sexual intercourse, minor dom/sub dynamics if you squint.

Summary: Steve wakes up from dreaming about you while away on a mission. Sexting and smut ensue.

A/N: I spent most of August working on getting back into writing in between catastrophes. Why this manifested in a smutty, fluffy bit of Steve fic, I don’t know, but I’m not really worried about it. I am a little concerned that this gives away that my kink is people doing what I tell them, but I also imagine I’m not the only one who think it would be a lot of fun to tell Steve Rogers what to do.

I had this done a while ago but hadn’t found a moment to proofread and post it because I started a new job. Then my state’s seasonal wildfires went crazy thanks to record winds and everything fell apart again. Then it settled into a white-knuckled waiting game while we literally prayed for rain. Now that it’s pouring once again, I could sit down for five minutes to shine it up and post it. I hope y’all enjoy. :)

Texts from you in Bold.

Texts from Steve in Italics.

Hey Pretty

The air was close and thick, each breath in hot and slow as syrup. Every one of those humid breaths carried the warm seductive scent of sweat and sultry sex into his head, his mind, leaving him lost. The taste of salt and sweet on his mouth vied with the sensation of silken skin as his lips and hands slid over soft flesh, seeking both to feel and be felt.

Soft whimpers and low moans poured into his ear along with gentle, demanding whispers that set his brain and body ablaze. Every part of him yearned to fulfill every request, satisfy every need. All he wanted in return was to saturate his senses in the endless pool of desire into which he’d fallen.

When soft hands slid into his hair to clench and grip, his willpower broke. As he moved to give in, to let himself be taken over by desire, by pleasure, he woke gasping and hard enough to cut glass.

Staring at the ceiling of a motel room he shared with a friend and teammate, Steve focused on keeping his breathing slow and silent. He didn’t want to wake Sam, whose soft, even snores sounded from across the room. He valiantly tried to ignore the fact that it would take maybe three strokes of his hand to finish what dreaming of you had begun.

Folding his hands behind his head, he attempted to put the dream out of his mind by going over the mission he’d be running in a few short hours. He failed almost immediately, his imagination too detailed, his senses too keen, his memory too clear. You haunted him.

He could too easily recall the scent of your hair, the softness of your skin, the sweetness that he'd discovered lay just a little under the surface. He’d only needed to scratch a little to find it.

Steve gave up and rolled to his side to snatch up his phone. He’d typed out I miss you and hit send before he could think better of it. As soon as it was gone, he wished the words back, still anxious about showing too much vulnerability, not to mention breaking protocol by texting anyone while on this mission. Doing quick mental math to figure out what time it was back in New York, he waited, a little worried, for your answer.

You have literally no chill, Rogers. You’re lucky you’re so sexy.

Steve grinned at your response, his tension dissipating in the rush of electricity he always felt when you teased him, your warm humor lighting him up, the first of a thousand things he’d fallen for. Any contact with you, any reminder of you could rocket through him and make him shine. The smell of your perfume, the sound of your voice, your words on a screen, anything you did filled him up and steadied him, no matter how empty or fragile he felt.          

Hey, pretty. I miss you too btw.

His heart sighed when your second text came through. You were sharp and strong and since the moment you’d come striding into his life in combat boots and covered in attitude, he’d been riveted, unable to resist you. When you’d turned the sweet sunshine beneath the attitude on him, he’d been captivated, unable to refuse you.

I was dreaming of you. Woke up and needed you.

Steve stared at the message for a moment with his heart pounding. He'd gotten better at this kind of honesty, but it still terrified to step out on the ledge. He hit send before he could rethink it and then rewrite it until he sent nothing at all. You'd never yet made him regret telling you how he felt. He was starting to trust that you never would.

Must have been some dream to have you breaking radio silence during a mission. Good? I hope?

He grinned, practically able to hear your wry, seductive tones as he read your message. That sultry, smirking attitude had drawn him in from the beginning and had only wrapped him more and more tightly the more time he spent with you. By the time he’d worked up the nerve to ask you out, he’d already fallen half in love with that alone.

Us. The night before I left.

His heart sped a little more at the images flashing across his mind. A mixture of the heated imaginings of his unconscious mind and the memories of the one and only night he’d spent with you had his skin running with heat even as the erection that refused to abate hardened almost painfully.

Ahhhhhh. I love it. Tell me everything.

Steve stifled a laugh at your answer. He’d swear he’d never met anyone like you. Tough and terrifyingly efficient during business hours, he’d never imagined the hidden depths he would find as you'd slowly let him in. Under that fierce exterior, he'd first found a warm and generous humor, then a soft and generous heart. He'd most recently been delighted to discover an avowed and generous hedonist in your bed.

I shouldn’t. I’m sharing a room with Sam.

He felt a brief twinge of regret, wondering what you'd have said or done if he'd told you about his dream, if he'd been alone and free to do so. The full intimacy that had just blossomed between you had followed an intense courtship where he'd learned how diabolically patient you could be. He'd long since discovered your ability to drive him wild from a distance.

You’re so fucking adorable. I bet you could get some privacy in the bathroom.

Heart kicking, Steve immediately moved to get out of the bed. Whatever you had in mind, he knew he needed privacy to deal with it. Not that he wasn't certain he'd like it. He always enjoyed letting you have your way with him, no matter the situation. Tapping out a quick reply, he moved as silently as he could to the bathroom.

Do I need privacy?

Shutting and locking the door behind him, he waited for your answer with bated breath.

For what happens next, yes.

Steve dropped down onto the closed lid of the toilet when his knees went weak. Anticipation had his heart already pounding in his ears.

Okay. I’m in the bathroom. What happens next?

His mind raced with possibilities as his skin ran hot. He’d learned from experience that you could always surprise him, especially with the creative turns your mind could take. He’d long since given himself into your hands with no regrets.

Turn the shower on cold.

At least, he’d had no regrets until now. Steve frowned at his phone but stood to comply with the command even as he hoped you weren’t about to send him into a cold shower. You had a wicked sense of humor so he wouldn't put it past you to be having fun with him.

Unless you want Sam to hear you.

Steve grinned, relieved and yet edgy, and shivered in anticipation. He could almost feel your breath on his neck, could almost hear the sultry undercurrent to your voice. He loved it when you had fun with him like this, was happy to take your orders, especially when those orders took on this tone.

At the end of your first date, you’d seen through him to the twitchy anxiety he'd been poorly hiding. Instead of the disdain he'd feared, you'd responded by taking his face in your hands to kiss him for the first time. That sweet first kiss had spun out when he’d forgotten his anxiety in the gentle press of your lips against his. He’d fallen completely under your spell when you’d whispered against his mouth, “Why don’t I tell you what I want, Steve, so you don’t tie yourself in knots trying to figure it out?” The relief he'd felt at the mere thought had allowed him to kiss you properly the second time.

Since that day, you'd made good on that offer in a thousand ways, leading him on a tempestuous journey of affection and fun with an honesty so sweet and hot that it left him putty in your hands. All you’d asked in return was that he be equally honest about what he felt, what he wanted.

Done.

Hands shaking a little, he kept his eyes on his phone as he waited for the next step. He was certain now you were about to lead him on an adventure. Though he knew he shouldn't follow, knew he could tell you he wasn't comfortable and you'd easily segue into something light and probably funny, he also knew he wasn't going to stop this. He'd told you he'd woken needing you; he wasn't surprised that you'd offer to give him what he needed.

Have a seat. ;)

The winking smiley face was your way of letting him know you were fully up to no good and if he wanted out now, he should speak up. He adored how careful you were to make sure he was fully on board with whatever you wanted to do. You took care with him but wrapped it in a warm humor that was almost as seductive as the tenderness underneath.

Now take that pretty cock out and wrap your hand around it.

Steve was grateful you'd told him to sit down as his knees turned to water in the rush of lust that blew through him. The hand not holding his phone moved to obey even as he let out a shuddering breath of reaction. Knowing he had to be quiet or risk embarrassing himself made his heart race in either anxiety or excitement, he wasn’t ever really sure when you tempted him out onto ledges like this. His chest tightened, his breath choking in his lungs, making him feel like he was on the verge of an asthma attack, if he still had those.

But every other time he'd followed you into this sensation, he'd found nothing but pleasure and passion on the other side. He wasn't going to back out now. As he pushed his underwear down his other hand tapped out a quick reply.

Yes, ma'am.

Steve's brain offered up the image of your slow, wicked smile whenever he gave in to your demands and his desires. He loved that his obedience to your commands brought you as much excitement as it did him. He loved knowing he could please you, loved that you never left him in doubt as to how.

You're so pretty. Does it feel good?

God

Yes

Steve didn't move, his hand wrapped around his cock but not stroking, not yet. Not until you told him to start.

Mmm. What were we doing in your dream the moment you woke up?

That 'mmm' stood in for the sultry laugh that came out of you whenever you were deliberately teasing him. The thought of that tease, that laugh had his dick twitching in his hand. You knew he adored the slow build, had taken your time working him up to the night he'd spent with you right before leaving on this mission. He'd loved every minute of it, thoroughly enjoyed the odd paradox of frustration mounting through repeated satisfaction. Making love to you, at last, had been glorious.

His breathing already ragged, the memory of that night in the soft romance of his dream drifted across his mind's eye. You'd been sweeter that night than he'd ever known possible, tender in your demands, gentle in your requests. A night unlike any other in his experience, he'd never expected the dark and debauched to be so bright and beautiful.

I was sliding inside you for the first time. I could have cried when I woke up.

Muscles quivering with the effort to stay still, Steve waited. He wasn't disappointed.

Pretty. Are you as hard now as you were then?

Almost

Oh, I wanna see. Would you take a picture? Send it to me?

Steve bit his lip to stifle the moan that wanted to lift out of him. He was more certain now that it was excitement, not fear, but he felt a prickle of anxiety run up his spine, nonetheless. Not only was he naturally shy, he was uncomfortably famous. He examined how he felt, and decided quickly, typing his response and hitting send just as a text from you came through.

Yes ma'am.

I'll go first, sweetie.

Steve quite simply melted. He adored the strong and sarcastic, but he had no defense against the sweet and kind. The way you’d asked combined with the endearment you only used when you were being particularly tender eased every fear, every worry. Still feeling shy, he nonetheless lifted the phone to snap a picture of his achingly hard cock in his still motionless fist.

As he was preparing to send it, however, your picture came through. He whimpered at the sight of you on his screen, pink and glistening. His hand reflexively tightened, and he started to moan aloud before he remembered himself. His cock hardened to the point of pain as he locked his muscles, resisting the urge to move his hand for a little relief.

Panting, he snapped another picture, knowing you’d love to see what the image of your fingers sliding over and through and into your pretty cunt did to him. He’d already been flushed and on the edge. Looking at you, remembering how you’d felt moving under his hands only intensified the sensation of aching need and the red heat that suffused his skin. He sent you both pictures with a text that read, How do you do this to me?

Mmm. Did my picture get you that excited?

God yes

You’re killing me doll

Me too sweetie. So fucking hot. Go ahead and start sliding your hand up and down that gorgeous cock of yours, pretty.

Steve shuddered in relief as he slowly began to move his hand, though the way you spoke to him had his stomach muscles tightening with lust. He bit his lip to hold back the moan of pleasure, the sensation made more intense by the wait. His eyes fixed on the picture you’d sent, he imagined replacing your fingers with his own.

I like that you were dreaming of me. I loved taking you. Being taken by you.

Another groan tried to escape as Steve tried to type despite the pleasure running over his skin. His hand moved faster as wetness spread over the head of his cock and eased the motion.

God me too. It was so good. I’ve dreamt of you every night this week.

"Oh, fuck!" Steve whispered the words in a voice tight with lust as his hand began to speed. You'd sent him another picture and the sight was more than he could stand. The photo was taken from the same vantage point he'd have if he was about to use his mouth on you, the memory of which had him thrusting mindlessly. The smooth columns of your thighs framed your pleasure as you arched under your own hands. Your body was bared and beautiful and your eyes glowed with power and promise. Slick and wet, his hand moved more quickly over his cock as memories of you over him, under him seared his mind.

Do you want to do filthy things to me, pretty?

Steve's mind exploded with possibilities and immediately triggered the climax he'd been trying to hold back. Reliving the glory of being inside you, of making you cry out in ecstasy, he came with a soft groan, shuddering as he coaxed every last quake of pleasure from his body. Panting and boneless, he lay in awe of your ability to wreck him even when you weren't there.

His hand shaking slightly, he tapped out the first thing that came into his head.

And you call me pretty. You’re so beautiful. I couldn’t hold back.

Too heavy for his neck, Steve let his head fall back, resting it against the wall behind him as he tried to catch his breath. He found himself once again awed and baffled by your ability to tempt him so easily into situations that he couldn't have even imagined before he met you.

Mmm. Are you a mess? Show me?

Blushing rosy red against the creamy skin of his face, neck, and chest, he lifted his phone to take another picture. Angling the camera to capture both his naked body and his shy smile, he snapped a photo he knew would make you crazy. You loved to see what you did to him, loved to see him sated, soaked in pleasure. When you went to such sweet effort to bring him to this point, he couldn't see how it was fair to deny you the evidence.

So sexy. I love it. I’m so close. Tell me about your dream

Steve smiled at your response, gratified by the knowledge that he could drive you as wild as you drove him. He wondered if you were making the little whimpers in your throat yet. He could always tell when you were about to let go, when he'd pushed you up and over the edge.

I was touching you. Sliding my hands all over you. You’re so soft.

Not sure how to continue, Steve hit send. The dream had been nothing but sensation, hot breath and slick skin. He paused a moment, considering the best way to describe for you the images his subconscious had conjured. As he weighed his words, a picture of you came through.

Tousled and smiling, your face had taken on that particular softness his perfect eyesight had memorized in recent weeks. Saturated in pleasure, your face only looked this sweetly relaxed after you were satisfied.

Mmm. Pretty. You fuck me so good, baby.

Steve laughed softly, exhilarated if a little shocked at how easily he always let you lead him into temptation, let you take over. Other attempts at relationships since he'd come out of the ice had always ultimately failed when he couldn't relax enough to be himself. But being with you was as easy as breathing, in no small part because you so confidently took command.

Looking down at himself, he shook his head at the mess you'd once again made of him.

How do you do this to me?

Standing up, Steve set his phone on the counter and glanced at the washcloth hanging on the towel bar. He figured he'd need a shower before he started the day anyway and it was close enough to dawn that he was done with sleep for now. When your message came through, he smiled at your unrelenting sweetness.

You let me. Don’t forget to turn the hot water on before you get in that shower.

Except I might still need to cool off.

Can’t argue with that. Go get the bad guys, then get your ass back to me.

Yes, ma’am.

Your heart kicked into high gear when you heard that the quinjet had touched down.

Steve was home.

Steve, with his serious eyes and hands so gentle it almost ached where he touched, would soon be walking through your office door for debriefing. And you were expected to cope with that.

Steve Rogers, a man with a heart as good as it was wild, was enchanted with you. The very idea was still largely inexplicable to you. You'd never been the sort to argue with a good thing, however, and you certainly weren't going to start now. What mattered was that you were making each other happy, that he was as sweet as he was sexy and you clicked in a way that you'd never expected but for which you were profoundly grateful.

That didn't mean that you knew how to handle it.

The whole thing had started so innocently, lunchtime walks over the grounds of the compound. Steve had started coming by your office in the middle of the day, his excuse that he wanted to make sure you weren’t chained to your desk, get you moving. You’d thought he was simply being himself, kind and caring and a little overly conscientious.

Over the course of those walks, however, you’d become friends, and dear friends, but you’d never expected anything more. He was so careful, so guarded, you'd never realized that you were seducing him with your playful teasing and genuine interest in the man behind the shield. When, after a couple of months of those daily walks, he’d asked you to dinner with the dread of rejection sick in his smile, you’d been completely shocked.

You didn’t know it, but your complete surprise at his invitation had been utterly unexpected; Steve had thought himself painfully obvious in his crush. Your astonishment, followed by a slow, delighted grin spreading across your face, had made Steve’s heart jump in anticipation. Your reply, voice full of fun and mischief, "Steven, I would love to have dinner with you; I like a pretty view while I eat," had made him blush and smile in a way that had made your heart pound like a drum.

That first date had been wonderful, an extension of those daily walks but with a new dimension revealed by the change in your relationship. You were flirting with purpose now, not simply to tease a friend. He was so adorable, you couldn't resist, his blushing, gratified smiles too tempting.

When he'd walked you to your door, the sick dread was back in his smile and you'd had an epiphany. Making the first move was agony for someone like Steve. Having to put his true self on the line to be accepted or rejected at the whim of another was a nightmare for him. You could see he was terrified of the moment he'd have to lean in to kiss you good night, dreading the possibility that you might turn him away.

As you reached your door, you'd turned to him with a sultry smile and slid your hands up and over his gorgeous chest, something you'd been fantasizing about for a while, until you had his pretty face in your hands. You'd pulled his face to yours and pressed soft, warm lips to his, kissing him firmly, but gently.

"Why don’t I tell you what I want, Steve, so you don’t tie yourself in knots trying to figure it out?”

The breath of relief he'd huffed out would have made you laugh if your mouth hadn't immediately been taken in the hottest, sweetest tangle of lips and teeth and tongue you'd ever experienced. His arms had come around you to cradle you against his body like you were delicate and precious and in that moment you felt it, certain you were already in over your head with Steve Rogers.

"I'd love that, doll," he'd whispered in return when the kiss finally broke, his breath ragged. "What do you want?"

You'd chuckled darkly at that, your body humming and blood rushing with lust. "I want to take you inside and have my wicked way with you," you'd brushed your fingertips over the nape of his neck and made him tremble, "but I think we should take it slow, take our time. So, I'll take another kiss like the last to keep me warm for now."

“Yes, ma’am.”

The smile that spread across his face right before his lips met yours told you that you'd made the right call. Steve was the sort that moved at a slower pace, needed room to feel. Over the next couple of months, you'd given him that space as you slowly deepened the intimacy between you, learning what he liked, teaching him what you liked. With only a little patience, he’d proven eager to learn and innately adept at the study.

As you’d become more physically familiar, you’d also explored the added emotional dimension to your relationship, the vulnerability that comes when you allow a friend to become something more. Not that you’d had reason to regret that decision yet, Steve having also proven a sweet and attentive boyfriend.

By the time you'd come together, you'd found a number of creative ways to satisfy both of you while still building the anticipation. The wait had ensured that you were physically comfortable with one another before you’d gotten to that last glorious night together.

You’d deliberately chosen a night before he left for a mission to invite him to stay, to make love with you and wake in your bed. You’d been unable to wait any longer, the desperate need too much to hold back, but you'd also wanted to keep the edge of his desire for you well honed. You hadn't considered what the enforced separation after such a night would do to you, too. When he’d broken radio silence to text you during a mission, you’d been both moved and gratified, but you'd also needed him with an ache you'd never known before. You'd been unable to stop yourself from using the opportunity to take the edge off.

You'd also been exasperated, radio silence had been placed on the mission for a reason, but that was professional.

No harm had come of it, but it was still a breach in protocol.

You looked up when Steve knocked on the door as he opened it, poking his head into your office, as had become his habit over the previous months. “Come on in, Cap," you said with a slow, warm smile. "Have a seat."

"Yes, ma'am." His eyes were hot as he settled into the chair on the other side of your desk. The words sent a shiver of lust up your spine and over your scalp when coupled with the sweet appreciative grin that lit up his face. You had to be ever vigilant lest you get lost in his ocean eyes. The man was unfairly pretty, hence the pet name.

The debriefing went quickly as the mission had gone mostly to plan. What few deviations had occurred were in minor variables and were easily documented. Steve didn't have anything to add to what you'd heard from Sam and Natasha, but you believed in being thorough. Once you heard it once more from Steve, you pushed all of it aside without a twinge of guilt. 

Before you moved on entirely, however, you fixed him with a gimlet stare. "I'm surprised I have to remind you of this, Captain, but radio silence was put on this mission for a reason." One eyebrow and the corner of your mouth lifted as he grinned at you.

"That takes care of business." You got to your feet and rounded your desk to cross to the door, flipping the lock as your heart started to race. "Now," you went on in a purr as you circled back around to slide into Steve's lap. Heart singing, you pressed your lips to his in a soft kiss. "Hey, pretty."

Steve was in heaven. He wrapped his arms around you to press you close and reveled in the feel of your body against his. Dimly, in a far-off corner of his mind, he wondered if he should be concerned by his tendency to get lost in you, the ease and speed with which you enthralled him. But you were nuzzling your mouth across his cheeks and mouth, seducing him all over again with sweetness, and he couldn't find it in him to care. "Hey, babydoll," he sighed happily as his eyes fluttered closed.

"So ya missed me, huh?"

Steve smiled at your playful tones but kept his eyes closed as he basked in the feeling of your mouth against his skin, of being adored by you. How could he not miss you when you made him feel this way? His voice a sigh, the sound made you tremble deep inside. "I did."

"I like that." Your voice throbbed with an emotion you weren't ready to name but knew you'd have to deal with soon. Steve seemed to hear it, as his eyes opened to see your face, his eyebrows quirking in question. Your smile twisted wryly as you shrugged a little. "I like being missed."

Steve's pretty face melted into a smile rich with affection as one of his big hands slid up your back, his warm palm between your shoulder blades and pressing you into his chest. His lips as soft as his touch, he kissed you with the same tenderness he'd shown you from the start, the same tenderness that had seduced you before you'd realized it was happening. You didn't know what he'd seen in your face to make him kiss you like this, but you weren't going to argue.

Your breathing ragged and your throat thick with that nameless, dangerous emotion, you broke the kiss to bury your face in the crook of his neck, brushing your lips over the soft skin under his ear. "I missed you too, sweetie," you whispered, your breath wafting across his ear and making him shiver agreeably. You could feel it, and it made you needy, made your voice turn husky with that need. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about those pictures you sent me."

Steve stretched his neck to give you better access, the sensation of your mouth on his skin a temptation he couldn't resist. Simply being in the same room with you was intoxicating; he’d already been hard as steel by the time you'd slid into his lap. Your touch, your voice, your scent, everything about you set him aflame. "You didn't keep them?"

"I told you; I'm the jealous type." You lifted your head to nip at his lips with a wicked smirk and eyes that burned. "I couldn't risk anyone else seeing them. Only way to be sure was to delete them."

The hand that had been squeezing your hip came up to cup your face when every part of him softened in adoration, appreciation. He wasn't the least surprised to find that you'd acted to protect him, but he was still deeply grateful. "I deleted yours, too." His mouth twisted when your eyebrow raised in mock suspicion. "Didn't want them falling into the wrong hands. Damn near broke my heart to do it, but…"

When he trailed off with a shrug, you tilted your head back and laughed out at the twinkle in his eye behind his look of broken-hearted regret. You combed your fingers through his hair, fisting your hands there and tilting his head back to smile affectionately into his gorgeous face. "I'll send you more, you pretty thing."

When his grin flashed, cheerful and sweet, you couldn't resist his plump, pink lips any longer. You took his mouth with yours, kissing him deeply, with heat. With purpose.

Gasping breaths inward escaped as panting moans as your mouths pressed and tangled together. You shamelessly rubbed your breasts against his chest as your hands began to skim over the muscles of his shoulders and arms. Your tongue curled around his as you encouraged him with your mouth and body to touch you more, kiss you harder.

Steve cradled you in his lap as gently as he could while still pressing you close, holding you tight. He knew his strength, tried to be mindful of it out of concern that he might hurt or scare you. Sometimes he thought he gripped too tightly, his mind so easily muddled by you, but you never complained.

In fact, sometimes you straight up ordered him to stop treating you as though you were as delicate as he knew you to be and touch you already. Sometimes, like today, you showed him your impatience physically, pulling at his clothes and arching into his hands. When you tore your mouth from his to scramble to your feet, he was confused for half a second before you were pulling him up with you.

"Doll," he breathed, his heart running away with him as you backed into your desk and boosted yourself up onto it, "I'm falling hard for you." You wrapped your legs around his hips as you fisted your hands in his shirt to drag him close. "I don't know if you want serious, but I can't help it."

Steve thought he'd just made a colossal mistake when your movements slowed and your eyes lifted to his, your face a study in consternation. His heart started beating again when your face softened into a smile and then a laugh as you lifted your hands from his belt to his face.

"I'm trying to fuck and you're trying to talk about our relationship." You pulled his mouth to yours and kissed him softly, sweetly, utterly charmed. "Steve," you crooned as you smoothed your thumbs over his cheeks, "my sweetheart." You huffed out a shaky laugh, the vulnerability of the moment hitting you all at once. Your mouth twisted with wry affection as your eyes searched his worried face. You went on, your voice an aching sigh. "I don't want you to help it. I don't know how to do serious, but I'm starting to think I'd do anything for you."

Steve felt the muscles in the back of his neck relax. On a sigh of relief, he rested his forehead against yours as the hands at your waist slid around your back to hold you close. He had known you wouldn't make him regret telling you the truth about his feelings, but he'd barely hoped that you would reciprocate them. He'd never anticipated that anyone could make him feel the way you did and was gratified to the bone that he could make you feel the same.

Arms wrapped around your back, one hand squeezing your hip, the other cupped around the nape of your neck, Steve kissed you. Slow, and gentle, he coaxed your lips apart like a man with nothing but time. His mouth brushed and clung to yours with a diabolical kind of tenderness as his body pressed more firmly against yours. Eyes bright and warm, he broke the kiss to smile and whisper, mild concern and confusion chasing one another across his face. "I know the feeling."

The relentless honesty that characterized Steve could be its own kind of trouble. He was in so many ways an open book, it made it easy for you to see the struggle he sometimes had with his emotions. On the other hand, you had only to pay attention to know what he was thinking and feeling. Steve, and everything he was, made you feel safe and secure in a way no one ever had before.

"Oh, baby, don't worry," you murmured, linking your wrists behind his neck and nuzzling at his mouth. "I'm as flustered by this as you are. I know you can't believe the things you'll do if I ask it," your voice dropped to a rasp as your thighs tightened around his hips, "because I can't believe it either." You shrugged, and you let him see how he dazzled you in your smile. "I talk a big game, but every day I'm stunned all over again that you like it. That you like me."

"You are so fucking sweet." Steve's voice was rich with wonder as he spoke. His eyes burned as he huffed out a laugh of astonished joy and his head dipped to yours. No longer slow and gentle, he kissed you with an urgent passion that you soaked up and returned with abandon. When his hand slipped from your hip to squeeze your ass and his lips grew hungrier on yours, you chuckled in your throat and let your hands drop back to his belt where you went back to unfastening it.

Steve couldn't stop the laughter that bubbled up at the sound of your dark glee and the feel of your hands teasing the erection behind his zipper. He lifted his head just enough to look into your face, the warm affection in his so pretty it made your throat ache. Your eyes fluttered closed as his lips brushed over your cheeks, but your hands went back to work on getting into his pants. He started chuckling, but that quickly turned into a low moan when your hands slipped under the waistband of his underwear to push them down. "I don’t just like you, doll."

“Good.” You replied with a nip at his lower lip as you closed your hand around an impressive erection. “Because I’m just crazy about you.”

Your smile as you caressed him was like nothing he’d ever seen before. Starting bright and happy, Steve was awestruck by the way your whole face seemed to shine with joy. In the next moment, your smile was melting into a look so hungry his cock hardened even more and his hips gave an involuntary thrust into your hands.

The sensation had you grinning recklessly as you twisted your hand around his length and made him groan. You lifted one hand to cup the nape of his neck to pull him forward for a kiss as his breathing sped in excitement. "Steven, I wore a skirt for a reason," you purred against his mouth and felt powerful as a goddess when his hands immediately left your hips to fumble at the long peasant skirt you'd worn. The feeling of his hips stuttering slightly as those hands closed around your thighs made you feel irresistibly sexy as well.

Being with Steve made you feel adored.

His mouth drank from yours with ever more urgency, even as he gripped your thighs more tightly and spread your legs to pull you closer. You encouraged him with murmurs of approval and gentle, teasing touches designed to inflame. His long fingers squeezed the flesh of your ass and legs as his body bent to yours, over yours. His thumbs caressing the insides of your thighs made you feel like you were going to fly apart and had your arm sliding around his neck to bring your body flush with his.

Steve tore his mouth from yours to gasp for breath. He buried his face in the crook where your shoulder met your neck and panted in excitement, in pleasure, the tremble of his lips against your skin sending shivers through you. "Babydoll," he whispered, the taste of you going to his head and muddling his mind, "I can't stop thinking about being inside you."

His thumbs had reached the apex of your legs and were brushing lightly over the soft skin he'd found there. His breathing was as ragged as yours, shuddering gasps of reaction mingled with moaning sighs of pleasure as the two of you touched one another. "Is this okay?" he asked gently, lifting his head to look into your face as one of his long, beautiful fingers slipped between your folds to tease at your entrance, to feel your wetness.

"God, yes," you moaned and made him smile. You were dazzled by the feel of him between your thighs, the sight of him flushed with his excitement and shuddering with need in your hands. When his thumb pressed you open and he circled your clit with the pad of his finger, your hips jerked forward in response, the sweet sensation of him gently caressing you so intimately overwhelming in its intensity.

Steve's hand slid down and he pressed into you with a soft groan of reverence, of hunger. You tilted your hips to allow him easier access, your head falling backward on your neck as you gasped with pleasure at the rasping sensation of one long, finger stretching you open. Your thighs tightened around his hips and your hand around his cock as you shuddered out a moan that made him crazy.

His mouth moved over your neck in desperate open-mouthed kisses as he reveled in the feeling of your wetness covering his hand. He loved feeling the proof of your desire for him. He loved that he'd brought you to this point, clutching at his shoulders and sobbing his name. He loved that you could so easily bring him to this point, panting with need and ready to beg. When your hand smoothed over his erection with a twisting motion and your lips at his ear whispered, "Play later, pretty. Inside me now," he could have promised you the moon.

He ever so slowly withdrew his hand from where he'd been pumping his finger slowly, gently in and out of your soaking pussy, dragging his fingertips over your clit as he went. The sensation was exquisite, prompting another gasping moan from you and making you fumble as you let go of his cock to bunch your skirt in your fist. You pulled it up and out of the way so you could see where you connected, wanted to watch him slide inside you. You wanted to imprint forever on your memory the image of Steve Rogers making love to you.

Tight t-shirt rucked up over a perfect stomach, belt and pants undone and pushed down below his ass with his underwear to reveal him flushed and shiny wet with anticipation. His hands, big and beautiful, gently held your thighs apart as his fingers pressed with just enough force into your muscles. The sight, along with that of his cock, hard as steel and pressing slowly into you, had your body clenching in need and your mouth running away with you as you rasped, "So pretty."

Steve flushed with the praise. As he eased into you, he marveled that his memory hadn't done you justice. He'd thought he remembered how good you felt wrapped around his cock, thought he'd remembered the ecstasy of the moment when he rested buried to the hilt, but he hadn't even been close. Once there, his hands left your thighs where they were wrapped around his hips. Skimming up over your waist, he took you gently in his arms, one palm on your lower back, one between your shoulder blades. Gasping for breath and grasping for control, he rested his forehead against yours and shuddered with restrained greed.

You wrapped your arms around the barrel of his chest and nuzzled under the collar of his t-shirt to brush your mouth across his perfect collarbones. Murmuring words intended to incite, you breathed adoration into his skin. "Sweet pretty Steve." You tilted your head back to look into his face. "You feel so good."  

The sight of your face, warm and soft with passion as you almost whimpered the words took Steve's breath away. Unable to help himself, his head dipped to kiss you as his arms tightened, his hands grasping you close as he started to tentatively thrust into you. You kissed him back, your hands avid as they clutched at his back and hips to encourage him to move faster, thrust harder.

You loved that Steve was as close to out of control as you'd ever seen him, loved that he was lost in you enough to move instinctively. He was still following your lead, but he wasn't thinking anymore, was letting his body rule. His hand slid down to close around your thigh to hike it higher, using the leverage to pull you onto him more forcefully. A happy squeal muffled by his mouth expressed your approval, as did the arms you wrapped around his neck to pull yourself more tightly against him.

Though Steve would have at least tried to go slow, you weren’t having it. You’d twined around him like a vine and were using your grip to rock your hips to his in abandon. The uncomplicated affection on your lips and the desperate need in your sighs of pleasure came together on his tongue to seep into his mind and send him reeling. Unable to stop himself, he gripped your thighs and ass to tilt you to the perfect angle for his relentlessly pounding hips and gave in. Groaning in his throat, he let your genuine passion wipe his mind clean of everything but you.

Steve's fingers were digging into your flesh with just enough pressure to feel delicious. His mouth was avid on yours and so sweet you had to tear yourself away to drag in a breath. You released that breath on a shuddering moan when he immediately buried his face in your throat to taste the skin over your pulse under your jaw. Your hands clenched in his hair and you rocked your hips harder and faster into his, chasing your climax. Steve was a perfect fit; you were fully enthralled with the sensation of his cock gliding into you, rasping out.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes," you chanted, each more frantic than the last, as the rhythmic slam of his hips against yours built you swiftly and steadily to peak. Hearing that you were nearing your climax, Steve lifted his head from where it was buried in your cleavage and pressing open mouthed kisses to the curves of your breasts. He loved to watch your expression while you came, loved to see you taken over by rapture, especially of his making. When you shuddered out, "Fuck me, baby," he knew you were close.

Steve's grin flashed and he started to thrust harder and faster into you, shaking your desk enough to knock a few things to the floor. The sound of soft thumps as a stapler fell to the carpet and pens scattered made you laugh. The thought that it was Steve Rogers you were fucking on your desk in the middle of the day met the joy of the moment and pushed you happily to the edge where need met satisfaction.

Pretty, sweet, reckless Steve with his bashful smiles and sad soldier’s eyes was building you to peak with ever more force and speed, about to send you tipping over that edge with flashing hips and a whimpering moan. You tilted your head forward on your neck to look into Steve's smiling, blushing face, his flashing eyes. With a sighed, "Pretty," you smiled as you let go and fell into rapture.

At the same time you spoke, Steve could feel the beginning of your orgasm fluttering and squeezing around him. His hands tightened around your thigh, your ass as he shook with pleasure at the sensation. The feel of you in his arms, clutching at him in ecstasy pushed him to the edge of his control. The sight of your eyes, glowing with pleasure both given and received, sent him tumbling over.

The beautiful groan Steve released as his head dropped to your shoulder made you tighten around him in every way. You gave in happily to the overwhelming urge to hold him close as he came inside you with stuttering hips and shaking limbs. Twining around him, you basked in the scent, the taste, the feel of him as you dragged him into the same spell that held you.

Everything about you softened like wax when he turned his face into your neck and nuzzled in with a sigh of contentment. He was holding you against him with that astonishing tenderness he possessed, cradling you in his arms like you were something infinitely delicate, infinitely precious. The sensation never failed to turn you to mush.

You combed your fingers through his hair and rubbed your cheek against his temple, holding him with the same tenderness he showed you, something he found utterly beguiling. He brushed his mouth over the soft skin of your throat and murmured in appreciation, "How do you do this to me?"

You couldn't help but love how that question had changed over time. At first, he had asked with concern vying with bafflement, but he'd come to ask with warmth, humor, affection. The answer had changed, too, from curiosity to pleasure to something more, something neither of you knew how to name. Not yet.

"I ask nicely," you replied with a smirk.

Steve burst out laughing and lifted his head to grin at you. You had a look on your face of such infinite tenderness, such warm wonder that his heart jumped and jumped in response to an emotion he wasn't sure how to describe, or if he was ready yet to do so. He pushed it aside, gloriously and willingly lost in you. "That would do it," he admitted with his heart in his eyes.

"In that case," you leaned forward to kiss first one side of his mouth, "would you like to come over for dinner," then the other, "stay the night?" Your eyelids dipped with a hint of shyness and made Steve's romantic heart yearn, inspired that still nameless emotion. "I really liked waking up next to you."

His eyes lit up in a way you'd never seen before; his smile was bright and joyous and made you want to promise him the world. Warm and affectionate, his expression held everything you could want as he replied, his voice low and full of fun. "Yes, ma'am."

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[clumsyclifford]

don’t need money, don’t need sleep (just need your pretty face)

hi !!!!! some jalex fluff for you all :)

back when i was looking to start writing some jalex i requested prompts from my friends and @tirednotflirting gave me three from this list: 14, 23, and 82. sam i am sorry it took me so long to get this done (and that it’s not like, my best work or anything) but i am treating this like a prompt fic even though you never actually sent the prompt to my inbox so here it is as its own post. how exciting

title is from bottle and a beat by all time low god that song really did not deserve to be a b-side have i mentioned i love all time low?? was that evident?? anyway. onward

read it here on ao3

Jack yawns. “I’m sleepy.”

“Then go to sleep, you dolt,” Alex says, although it’s dripping with fondness and he’s sure Jack can tell, even over Skype.

“No,” Jack says. “Talking to you.”

“We can talk tomorrow,” Alex says logically. “I’ll be home tomorrow.”

“Mm, that’s too long,” Jack says, and then yawns again. “Alex,” he says, stretching out the vowel, “I’m tired. ” He closes his eyes and buries his head on his pillow. The angle of his camera really should be unflattering, but Alex is so in love, and he misses falling asleep with Jack so much, that even getting to see his almost-asleep face is feeding a part of him.

“You want me to sing you something?” Alex asks. Jack smiles, or at least the visible half of his face does.

“Just tell me about your day,” he says. His voice is barely audible and his lips hardly move; he’s clearly just on the verge of falling asleep completely. Alex is concerned for his phone battery.

“I’ve told you about my day already,” he says.

“Tell me again. I like to hear your voice.”

They’re so ridiculous, Alex realizes. They are the shitty rom-com couples that people point at to say look how unrealistic that is. Nobody acts like that in real life. But Alex is happy with Jack, happier than he’s ever been, and he thinks that’s more than worth the cheesy tropes.

“Alright,” Alex says. He settles back against the hotel pillows. They’re too soft; if Jack were here he’d have a lot of choice words about that. Jack’s firm anti-soft-pillow stance has taken over their bed — all of their pillows are relatively unyielding. Yet another way that Jack has made himself a permanent fixture in Alex’s life. God, Alex loves him. “Well, I woke up at the hell hour of five in the morning, and then I tried to Google Maps my way to the radio station, which didn’t work, and I ended up kind of lost. So then I called Rian, because obviously I didn’t want Bryan to know I got lost, and Rian just laughed at me, and then together we figured it out — there are two places here with the same address, like, one is the radio station and the other is, like, a convenience store, so I don’t know what kind of planning went into that? Anyway, the radio promo stuff was fine, and then I went and got coffee and called my boyfriend, except he didn’t pick up because he was still asleep, and I should have probably known better than to try and call, so I left him a really cute message that I bet he still hasn’t listened to.”

Alex pauses, watches the screen. Jack’s breathing is even. He’s never been the kind of person who could fall asleep right away, but now must be an exception, or maybe he’s more tired than usual, because he’s already dropped off, and his phone is moving irregularly until it finally slips out of Jack’s grasp and the screen goes dark, face-down on the bed. Alex smiles. “And then I had a boring day and then I Skyped my boyfriend and he had the audacity to fall asleep while I was in the middle of talking to him,” he concludes. “And I love you, and I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Jack doesn’t reply, so Alex resolves to remind him tomorrow. Maybe without calling him sweetheart, though. Jack doesn’t take kindly to nicknames unless they’re grossly unrealistic (sugarplum, and such).

For the moment, though, Alex listens to Jack breathe slowly, and then he hangs up the call, sets his phone aside, and pulls the covers over himself. Sleeping alone is one of Alex’s least favorite things, but he’s lulled to sleep by the promise of not having to do it again tomorrow night.

-

“Hi,” Jack breathes, throwing his arms around Alex’s neck. Alex gives a little, wrapping his arms around Jack’s waist and squeezing tight.

“Hi. I missed you.”

“I missed you,” Jack echoes. “More. Fuck, it’s good to hear your voice.”

Alex laughs. “You heard my voice yesterday.”

“Not like this,” Jack says, bringing his hands reverently to Alex’s throat like he wants to feel the way it moves when Alex talks. “It’s so much better in person.”

“That’s rude,” Alex says. “You listen to my voice on recordings all the time. Are you saying I’m worse on albums than I am live?”

“Whatever,” Jack says, drawing Alex into a kiss. He’s managed to suspiciously sidestep the question — Alex will have to interrogate him further later on —  but for now he just hugs Jack close. Yet another cheesy rom-com trope: kissing on the doorstep.

It makes Alex chuckle, so it might do it for Jack too. Alex pulls away. “They should make a Hallmark movie about us.”

“Fuck, I’d love that,” Jack says, grinning and stealing another kiss off Alex’s lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Hallmark movie, but I’d watch it if you were in it. Or if I was in it, honestly.”

“I don’t think they’d cast us as ourselves.” Their acting careers begin and end with the “Something’s Gotta Give” music video. “And I would want to be played by Jason Statham.”

“Jason Statham? Why the fuck?”

It had really just been the first name to come to mind, so Alex shrugs. “Handsome and British?”

Jack snorts. “I want to be played by Brad Pitt then.”

“What the fuck do you and Brad Pitt have in common?”

“Uh, excuse me? We’re both sexy and have cult followings.”

Alex laughs, loud. “Got me there.” It makes Jack smile indulgently, all pleased like he’d gotten precisely the reaction he’d wanted, and Alex loves him so much it threatens the break the seams holding his heart together and just flood him. It might already have done.

“Okay, it’s cold,” Jack says. “You’re letting all the fucking air in, you asshole.”

“You can’t be nice for more than one minute.” Alex edges past Jack into the house. It’s true they’re letting the cold night air inside, but if Jack’s going to be a shithead then two can play that game.

“It’s late and I’m tired,” Jack whines as they walk together to the bedroom. Alex drops his bag on the floor. He can unpack it later. Tomorrow, or the day after, or next week — definitely at some point. Maybe he can harass Jack into unpacking it for him. Bribe him with sexual favors or a fancy dinner or something.

“Babe, you’re preaching to the choir,” Alex says. He’s exhausted. Travel takes it out of him, and the prospect of curling up with Jack, cold feet pressed against calves under the warmth of the blanket, is so appealing it almost makes Alex cry. Putting on a silly affectation, he says, “Prepare the bed, monsieur, and I shall join you presently.”

“Ah, yes,” Jack says, rolling with it — because he’s the best and weirdest boyfriend ever, and so perfect for Alex — with an exaggerated bow. He jumps into bed, already pajama-clad in boxers and one of Alex’s shirts, kicking down the covers so they’re far back enough for Alex to slip underneath. In a French accent, he says, “Le bed is prepared, monsieur Gaskarth.”

“Merci,” Alex says, which is about the extent of his French knowledge. Carelessly discarding his travel clothes, he grabs a comfier shirt and pulls it on. Then he clambers into bed, Jack’s arm settling comfortably over his shoulders. Even more than their reunion hug/kiss/debate at the door, lying down with Jack in their bed at home restores in Alex a sense of peace that he only finds here. He wishes it existed in words instead of just feelings, but it doesn’t. Alex would know; he’s tried, hundreds of times, to write it down, has filled pages with efforts to find an adequate description, but there’s nothing like the feeling. Nothing like just being at home with Jack, redundant though that is.

(If it’s Jack, it’s home. But it’s nice to have a place where they can mutually agree to be at home with each other.)

“I missed this,” Jack murmurs, leaning his head onto Alex’s shoulder as Alex shifts to accommodate him. “Before you say it, I know you were only away for a day, but I can still miss it.”

“I was going to say I missed you too,” Alex says. “But now that you’ve mentioned it, Jack, come on. I was only gone for a day. Don’t get clingy.”

Jack bites Alex’s shoulder and Alex laughs. “You’re an asshole.”

“I know.”

“I’m joking,” Jack adds, yawning.

Alex reaches across Jack’s lap to grab his hand. It’s a little awkward, holding Jack’s left hand with his own, but they make it work. “Okay. Tell me about your day. We didn’t talk all day because I was traveling.”

Jack hums. “Seriously, now?”

“I talked you to sleep last night,” Alex protests. “It’s only fair.”

“So you don’t even want to know about my day? You’re just going to fall asleep?”

Alex shakes his head as Jack straightens up in mock-indignance. “Come on,” he entreats Jack, shuffling lower to curl up against him. Jack’s not small in most ways, because he’s the tallest in the band, and his personality fills every room like a gas, reaching the corners no matter how far they are. But he’s so skinny, so many lean lines, that it should be more difficult to cuddle up to him. Still, Alex finds it surpassingly easy. He rests his head against Jack’s chest, immediately attuned to the steady beat of his heart. When the foundations of Alex’s world are crumbling to the ground, when he’s grasping at straws or gasping for air, he can always sink an anchor into Jack’s heartbeat.

Objectively, it’s just a ba-bump rhythm like any other, but it’s music to Alex, and music has always been his driving force.

“Fine,” Jack huffs, curling his fingers into the cotton of Alex’s shirt. Alex burrows into him, closing his eyes, sliding his legs between Jack’s under the covers and slinging one arm over Jack’s stomach. “But it wasn’t that exciting. Mostly I just waited for you to get home.” Yeah, right. Even Jack can’t sit around doing nothing for a full day. “I don’t know. I washed my dishes from yesterday. Listened to all of Enema start to finish. Called my mom. It wasn’t that eventful.”

“You’re so ridiculous,” Alex mumbles, feeling his lips buzz against fabric. “Proud of you for doing the dishes, though.”

“Don’t get your hopes up. It won’t happen again.”

Alex smiles, too tired to laugh. “Sure.”

Jack is gently rubbing his knuckles against Alex’s back. “That was it. Not a lot to report, I told you.” “How’s your mom?”

“Good. She asked about you.”

“Oh? What did you say?”

“That you went dark side and became a drug dealer.” Alex snorts. “She took it well, of course. Told me she always knew you were a drug dealer inside and that she was glad you were living your truth.”

“She did not say that.”

“I am one hundred percent serious, I can call her right now and ask.”

If Alex weren’t so worn out, he’d keep up the banter, but he’s pretty sure neither of them are up for it at the moment, so he lets it drop. For a few minutes, they sink into an easy quiet. Alex sighs, content. His soul has stopped its restless search for comfort, now that he’s home, now that they’re reunited, and the calm washing over him is stronger than a sedative. “Mm, I’m so tired,” he says, mouth barely moving. “Wanna sleep.”

“I’ve been tired for, like, twenty-four hours,” Jack says. “Go to sleep. I’m right there with you.” He drops a kiss onto the top of Alex’s head, knuckles still tracing their pattern just under Alex’s shoulder blades, a sweet soporific lulling Alex to the edges of consciousness. He wants to kiss Jack goodnight, but he doesn’t have the energy to move. As it is, he’s pretty sure he’s already drifted off.

“G’night,” he remembers to say.

Jack drums his fingertips over Alex’s back, and even though Alex can’t see him, he knows Jack is smiling. “‘Night. Love you.”

Fuck, that’s what he’d forgotten. “Love you,” Alex exhales with the last of his waking energy, and falls asleep after that, with no reason left not to.

(He would say I’m happy to be home, but he’s already said it with love you, and he knows that Jack knows.)

[valkyrie-echo]

Project Echo, Part 1: Chapter 4 (Astana)

Part 1 Summary: A long-buried Hydra disaster, a monster in the shadows, a missing child. Eight months after the events of “The Winter Soldier”, Bucky turns himself in to the Avengers on one condition: They must help him find a girl snatched off the streets by Hydra seven years ago. In their quest, the Avengers accidentally unleash a horrifying creature of darkness and shadow, intent on making their quarry its prey.

[Edited 4/30/19]

Chapter 4: Astana

Getting the blueprints for a Hydra facility turned out to be a hell of a lot easier than finding the slip of information that had led them there. 

Agent Ivanou came through within hours and an encrypted data-burst included not only base schematics, but also a personnel list and guard rotation schedule- confirmation it was still very much active. At least as of that morning.

Within five hours Steve was back on the Bus with Sam, Agent May's team, and about a dozen support agents. While Steve and Sam made for the records room the others would take control of the facility and wipe out Hydra with extreme prejudice.

Hydra Facility Astana turned out to be a top-level research arm. Mechanical, scientific, chemical- if it could be experimented with or on it passed through Astana at some point. 

The best and brightest of Hydra all conveniently gathered for destruction.

Natasha's assessment of Tony wasn't promising, and frankly Steve fought alone for so long it didn't seem appropriate to bring them into this fight now. He and Sam were going to Astana with only the two of them- and neither were bullet proof like Thor or apparently immortal like the Hulk. An Iron Man suit would have provided some added level of comfort, but Steve wasn't about to trust Stark to help them on anything- not just after he found out the guy they were hunting killed his parents.

Sam spent the flight socializing while Steve and Tripp swapped more stories of Gabe Jones while Sam wandered, happy to have a variety of people to chat with for once.

Simmons and Skye were keeping busy in the corner discussing someone named "Ward" in hushed tones. Sam ambled over to the girls and joined in their conversation, "Sorry, I couldn't help but overhear, you're looking for someone too? We might be able to help, we do kind of owe you."

Skye was always open to any and all help on the Ward front, "A member of our team. He turned out to be a Hydra agent- you know what that's like."

"Actually I'm not SHIELD- not really." 

Both women were surprised at that, "Weren't you one of Captain Rogers' support crew members?" Simmons asked.

He shook his head, "I met him jogging. We ran the same route. Well, I run, he sort of flies past me… Fury made me an Agent at some point after I became an Avenger, but I'm really not sure what that means."

"So then, how did you go from jogging buddies to partners stopping Hydra's big Doomsday plan?" Simmons was incredulous.

Sam shrugged, "He turned up on my back porch with Natasha- Agent Romanov- looking for a place to lay low. Fury was dead, SHIELD agents were trying to kill them, and I offered them a place to regroup."

Skye waited for more, the story couldn't be finished just like that, "And-?"

"And I showed Steve and Romanov what I worked on back when I was a soldier. Project Falcon. We took it from there and two days later the Triskellion raid happened."

"Wait," Simmons said, "he finds out SHIELD is infested by Hydra and Captain America, Leader of the Avengers, doesn't go to his team for help, but a man he met jogging?!"

"And if you think that's scary he only learned my name like a day before."

"Now that's trust," Skye laughed, "and you've been running ever since?"

"Pretty much, yeah. We've done a couple of stints in Avengers Tower for repairs to my wings, but otherwise we've been hunting. We can't get help from the Avengers just yet- it's kind of a tricky situation."

Simmons understood immediately, "You needed pictures of the chair to prove Barnes isn’t a threat... do you think it was enough?”

Sam's mood took an abruptly somber shift, "Honestly? No idea. I barely know the others… Bucky’s admission into Avengers Tower isn't even the biggest question on our list- it's if Steve and I will have to go underground entirely…"

This was the first time Sam voiced his fears aloud- that finding Bucky was only part of the battle. Steve acted like it was an endgame, the grand finale. Of course they'd all skip off into the goddamn sunset and even Stark would welcome Bucky in without any worries. 'Project: Echo' would be forgotten and Steve's world would be a bit less lonely with his old friend and brother in it.

He told Simmons and Skye nothing about Bucky being the one to kill Howard and Maria Stark. Even if the Winter Soldier had nothing to do with their deaths, it was still too much to expect the Avengers to swallow.

I wish I had Steve’s faith that this would all work out, Sam looked down at his hands. 

He teased Steve about his eternal pessimism, but what Cap saw as a finale to a horror story he saw only as the beginning to something else. Tony was a good guy, but stubborn. He wasn't the forgive-and-forget type, and how many more families had Bucky torn apart for Hydra? How many people were out for his blood? What about Bucky himself? 

The psychological fallout was terrifying on its own. What if they never caught up with him though? Sure, he stole a file, but it might have been insignificant in whatever his grand scheme was- collect reports on all his missions to try and jog his broken mind. 

It didn't mean he was hunting for 'Project: Echo' specifically. It might be nothing to him at all.

Steve was a pessimist with an optimistic outlook, Sam was the optimist with the pessimistic outlook. When the hell had that happened? Somewhere in the 8 months of frenzied searches and half-planned raids they'd switched places.

"What's up, Mopey?" 

The pitch and volume of Sam's scream would have been funnier to Skye if she hadn't done basically the same thing when Natasha Romanov, Black Widow of the Avengers, suddenly plopped down on the couch next to Sam. 

Steve laughed so hard at the commotion he fell out of his own chair as several SHIELD agents hastily drew, then just as quickly holstered, their weapons.

"Where the hell did you come from?!" Sam sounded angrier than he intended. He was red-faced and embarrased as hell.

"I'm bored, you need backup, ipso-facto I'm here."

"When did you get here?!" Sam was positive he would have noticed Natasha and her bright red hair getting on the plane with the SHIELD agents- especially since it seemed to have doubled in length since he last saw her. Her tactical suit was unique to say the least- between the two he was either blind or she'd mastered invisibility.

Steve wandered over as his giggles subsided and shook Natasha's hand. He'd seen as much as Sam- nothing out of place one second and the next Natasha was just there. 

"How's it going Steve?"

"That depends. How's Stark taking the news?"

Natasha winked at Sam, "He's upset, and we had to override JARVIS' systems a couple of times, but once he took a good, long look at that picture of the Chair from Alaska he changed his tune. You know Stark- he could probably build one of his own by now, and he sure as hell knows what it was used for. Still, keep his exposure to Bucky on a strictly supervised basis for the first few weeks. He won't try anything, but you don't want to push Tony's buttons."

"Natasha, I think you miss-understood what I said over comms. We've got a lead on some old case file, we still don't know where the hell Bucky is."

A trickster's glint lit her eyes, "I put a few of my contacts in Kazakhstan on high alert for anything unusual- no specifics, naturally. An hour ago one of my favorite little Baursaki street vendors called to report a man wandering through Astana towards the hills. Not unusual on its own, but apparently this particular man was covered in dried blood and his left arm was throwing sparks. I left as soon they hung up."

"Bucky's actually in Kazakhstan?” Steve's excitement couldn't be masked.

"We've been in the air for six hours,” Sam muttered to himself.

Natasha was smiling herself as she nodded. Steve’s honest, open joy was contagious. 

Eight hard months of searching were taking one hell of a toll- on both Avengers- but Steve in particular showed it. Now they finally had more than hope, they had proof. She was glad she'd delivered the message in person rather than over comms, if only to see Steve’s reaction- and the overwhelming confusion coming from Sam.

"We can bring him in and end this. Today."

Hope after so long without any overwhelmed Steve, "I can't even- it's hard to imagine this ending." He hugged Natasha, his face plastered with a dopey grin. 

"Six hours…"

"Well, do you think he'll be, like, waiting?" Skye was excited, "Maybe he brought everyone here intentionally. Take out some top-level Hydra scumbag and break the bastards once and for all, then he goes home with the Avengers!"

Simmons was more apprehensive, "He's experienced major traumas for an extended period of time,. If he's learning who he was he may be unstable. Throwing him in the Bus' holding cells won't help, and we're not equipped to contain someone with his abilities back at the base. I mean, Fitz would probably love to get a look at that arm, but-"

"We won't be coming back in the jet," Natasha said, "and I'm willing to bet Tony will be curious enough that he calls dibs on the arm. We'll figure it out at the party."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Steve's concern was immediate, "party? Nat, we don't know what condition he's going to be in or how responsive. A party is absolutely out of the question-"

"Dinner party, a small one," she promised, "Avengers and Bucky only. No one's even bringing a date- not even Pepper is coming. It's a welcoming reception for Thor, actually…"

"Thor's back?"

"Steve- six hours."

Natasha continued to ignore the dazed and confused Sam, "Odin appointed him the official Ambassador to Midgard. He's almost done unpacking- he sent for something to help with Bucky."

"OK, even so, we may have to keep Bucky locked up, Nat. A party isn't-"

"Nope, no arguing," Natasha held up a hand. "Everyone wants to help- and they will have to in different ways. Clint and I are well-versed in deprogramming, you and Thor can grab him if he starts a rampage, Sam has experience with PTSD, Tony gets the arm, and Banner wants to run tests to see what exactly Hydra has been doing to him. Barnes needs to meet everyone and the sooner the better."

"He can meet everyone without a party," Steve protested, "You know how crazy the others get Natasha. Tony will try to drink Thor under the table, Banner will probably be the one mixing drinks, and Clint will be forcing everyone to sing karaoke. It's a horrible environment for someone who's been tortured, traumatized, and spent eight months on the run. It will overwhelm him. Trust me- I was there the first time I got him back from Zola- he didn’t want anything to do with anyone."

"I bet you another $100 you're worrying over nothing. Tony and Thor swore to save the competition for another night and I had JARVIS disable the karaoke system. It'll be dinner and dessert, that's all. No games, no roughhousing. I made them swear on their pinkies."

"You mean pinky-swear?"

"No, if they fall out of line I’m breaking their pinkies.”

Sam was finally fed up with the entire conversation (not to mention being ignored), "Am I the only one who heard her say she decided to come an hour ago?!"

Steve was confused by his abrupt outburst, "Sam, we know, we're here too."

"What's wrong with that?" Skye wasn't following either.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe the fact that we've been in the air for six hours? How did you get here?"

Steve turned back to stare at Natasha along with the equally amazed Skye and Simmons, "Wait- he's right! How are you here?!"

"Irrelevant-"Natasha waved him off. "Now, where's Agent May hiding? We've got some catching up to do…"

They’d find out eventually, and frankly she liked scaring the boys, it kept them in their place.

---

---

Nestled in the rolling hills outside of the Kazakh capital of Astana was a simple storm drain- nothing much to look at on a normal day. 

Except today there were people running for their lives from it. 

Guards lined the drain with their rifles pointed inwards, covering fleeing scientists. They barely even turned when the cloaked jet's turbines were within hearing range. Whatever Bucky was doing here, he'd already made his presence felt.

With the exception of Agent May,  SHIELD's best and most lethal were gathered in the cargo hold readying for a fight. 

Steve, Sam, Natasha, Tripp, and Skye were separated from the others. Unlike the main force they were now the hunting party. Any plans to clear the base were gone the moment Natasha received confirmation of Bucky's presence in Kazakhstan. Now the parameters were different: Strike team goes in, the rest hold until the first level is cleared, and then they stick to their floor while the others aim lower in the building until they find Bucky. 

Once he and the Avengers were out of the way the rest would be free to take the base. Bucky might not be able to differentiate SHIELD from Hydra, so the new game plan was their best bet to protect their SHIELD allies.

"This is a Hydra containment and experimentation facility," Steve had to shout as the landing gear lowered and they began a slow descent to the ground, "if you take prisoners, make sure they are secure! We’ve got blueprints of the facility, but we still don't know where the Winter Soldier may be. Keep your guard up until we confirm contact!"

"We'll be making the initial entry into the facility," Sam was all business now, "We aim to soften this place up as much as possible for you, but our priority is recovery of the Winter Soldier. As soon as we have him, we’re out. Apologies in advance if that means we leave mid-sweep."

"Agents Brett and Wong will guard Simmons should we need medical assistance," Steve pointed out two agents he'd met in-flight. "No one waste her time by getting shot or stabbed- our goal is minimal casualties!"

"The Winter Soldier is not to be approached by anyone except for Captain Rogers or myself," Natasha announced. "If he comes at you drop all weapons and get out of his way- fast. It doesn't matter if he's in a cell with his back to you and you have a hand on the door controls- DO. NOT. ENGAGE."

"You'll know him by his left arm- made entirely of metal and probably damaged. If you see him contact us via radio beginning with 'Steve Rogers' or 'Captain Rogers'. DO NOT just say 'I found him'. If he even thinks you're Hydra he will shoot to kill,” Steve said.

Natasha wrapped up the briefing as the jet landed and May activated the defense systems, "We will be taking the Winter Soldier into custody by alternative means, so this is goodbye from us. We will check in later to make sure everyone makes it out."

The infiltration team stepped forward. A barrage of gunfire from the turrets eliminated the horde of scientists and security personnel running towards the distant jet in their haste to escape the base. Few Hydra facilities were as large or as active as Astana’s. All the technology Hydra had at their command and Bucky had them literally running for the hills.

"Skye, Trip, and Sam- use the stunners only as a last resort," Steve reminded them for the hundredth time. “They haven’t been tested on a super-soldier before. You might just piss him off."

"Get ready," Natasha called out. The ramp was moving, "Time to go to work kids."

The hills outside of Astana were all dead grass and soft inclines- great if you're worried about your enemies trying to sneak up on you, shit if you're the enemy. The team was totally exposed as they sprinted the half mile back towards the storm drain. 

Bodies littered the field but more Hydra agents poured from within. Any who knelt in surrender would be taken into custody- but the Bus only had so much room. Whatever had the scientists spooked was sending them running without thought or reason- so the jet's defense systems eliminated them. 

Agent Ivanou had sent word with the blueprints to remain on high alert- these people did things that would make Mengele shudder. It made Steve less than sympathetic to their plight.

Scientists, maintenance, doctors, cooks, launderers, service personnel- Steve was fine with leaving those to Agent May and SHIELD. The feisty-looking ones Natasha hamstringed before the Bus' bullets reached them- they at least deserved questioning before they died. Natasha kept her blades coated in a slow-acting neurotoxin. SHIELD would get 48 hours to get their intel before the prisoners died.

No one would ever accuse her of having a flashy hero name- she was the Black Widow.

The first wave of guards fell under the SHIELD suppression fire, but as Steve, Sam, Natasha, Skye, and Tripp closed the gap more guards appeared to hold the door. Natasha opened fire on a line of them to the left as Steve threw his shield to the right.

Natasha ran ahead as Steve caught his shield and opened fire on the ceiling. It had the desired effect- the crowd hesitated long enough for the troop to get in through the narrow door without being trampled.

Inside the Hydra facility it was chaos. Half the scientists were running for the doors, half for security checkpoints, and the guards were divided between covering people as they fled and stopping them from leaving. 

The Winter Soldier was a force of nature- but to inspire this much chaos? These people looked like they were afraid of something more than one man.

"Stay alert, Bucky might not be the only thing in here," at least in the crush of bodies the guards didn't care that a few Avengers had wandered in- at least not until the group began to open fire on them. Steve targeted anyone in his path- scientists and guard alike. He tried to keep fatalities high and casualties low, but as far as he was concerned Hydra were no than the Nazis they’d served. 

 For 70 years they thrived while he slept, now he was making his presence known. They should have killed him before the ice finished melting.

"Keep up the pace," Natasha was the only one who didn't break stride as they began to fight. 

She made herself the lead in their group and crippled anyone within reach. There were times when showing mercy to your enemies was the right path. This wasn't one of those. SHIELD didn't have the resources it would need to hold them and it wasn't worth risking leaving some Zola-wannabe on the loose.

At the first fork, some hundred yards into the base, Steve pinned a guard against the wall and dealt a fatal blow to the man's neck with his shield. Natasha spared a glance at Sam. He understood her question and nodded. 

Sam couldn't figure out how she got on the damned jet, but he knew why she came- to see if Steve was as uncharacteristically brutal as reported. If something didn’t change there would be bigger problems down the road. Steve was running himself beyond even his endurance and it showed in the violence with which he executed his enemies.

"Sam, go left with Skye and Tripp, we'll head this way. If you find the security room great, but don’t spend too long looking."

"The security room is our best chance," Natasha objected.

"Do you don't see what's going on here?!" Steve snapped, "We're not the only ones attacking! Finding the security room may be a waste of time and we don't-"

"I get it," Sam cut Steve off and peeled away. He knew enough about strategy and timing to make his own calls, and Steve was a big enough boy to get over it when his plans were scrapped. "See you on the other side! Don't die!"

---

---

An hour and a half later Steve was alone somewhere in the second level living quarters. 

Natasha had long since split off and no one was on comms. Their infiltration became a mindless cycle of opening doors, clearing the rooms (if the inhabitants tried to fight), locking the rooms from the outside, and moving on. 

SHIELD controlled the first level, and resistance was lighter by the second as the infiltration team progressed.

The last report Steve received was from Sam when he finally reached a security room.  Bucky had already gone through and smashed the monitors, then disemboweled a security guard. At least, Steve hoped it was Bucky. The man wasn't able to say- half his tongue had been pulled out. 

He had no chance of being saved, so Sam pulled out his gun and gave the man a quick death. He'd been silent ever since.

Something was definitely in the base besides the infiltrators and their quarry. Steve had a feeling something was creeping behind him, just out of sight. He was constantly on-edge, and the deep gashes in the walls weren't helping. 

The first time Steve noticed the creature was in a bedroom full of scientists who'd surrendered flat-out: four long scratches that began on the ceiling and continued down through the wall. When he demanded answers from a cowering lab tech the man swore they’d been there for years.

More and more Steve was finding signs of a creature moving through the halls. Those first marks were old but he had a feeling some of them were new. Fresh chips of stone on the floors was merely the first clue- dripping silver goo was the other. That was why Steve had SHIELD move in early. 

Simmons was busy collecting as many samples as possible.

Steve braced himself and opened the last door in the hallway. Any worries about a mysterious beast were cast aside at the first sign of what was on the other side. A half-dozen armed guards arrayed around the door in a half-circle. Steve found weapon storage.

Immediately he folded himself behind the shield and waited until the deafening pings of bullets stopped. The ricochet took out two (judging by the screams) and the moment the men stopped firing he was up and diving into the group. 

Two had indeed been injured, but they still threw blades to give their buddies time to reload. As Steve ducked a throwing knife he brought up his shield to break the elbow of an armed soldier. The problem with his abilities and fighting while tired was that he tended to misjudge his super-strength. Between spinning away to dodge the knife and his sharp uppercut with the shield he ended up severing the limb entirely.

‘Oh well, he was Hydra after all.’ Steve grabbed the screaming man's head and snapped his neck.

The fighting was cathartic and helped Cap release his frustration. He threw the shield at two men directly across from him in the cramped room. They couldn't move out of the way quickly enough and in such close quarters the shield was lethal. It took off one man's head and severed the throat of the other. 

Steve didn't waste time watching them die. He grabbed the last standing man and used him as a shield to absorb three blades from one of the injured guards.

"S-steve Rogers? Captain Rogers? D-do you r-read?"

"Give me a second!" Steve ignored Tripp and fired on the soldier, then snapped the final guard's neck.

"A-alright. You're busy. I’ll w-wait."

Tripp's voice was thin and reedy, he was hurt. He was also following Natasha’s protocol on how to speak around Bucky.

Steve's stomach dropped while his heart swelled. Good news and bad. The grandson of one of his closest friends in his old life was injured, but by the sounds of it he'd found another long lost ally. He yanked his shield out of the crates it was embedded in and began to run back through the halls to the first junction the team split up, "Tripp, give me directions to your location!"

His sigh of relief was cut off abruptly by a wheeze and a hiss of pain, "S-Steve, my location is as f-follows: right, right, l-left, right left, left, d-down three levels, left, right, then the third right. F-follow the b-blood from there for a right a-and two lefts."

"Is he with you?" Natasha rocketed out of the hallway ahead of Steve. She was nowhere near as bloody as he was, but he had no doubt she took out more agents.

"Y-yes," Tripp was having trouble breathing. 

Steve kicked up his speed as much as he could. He wasn't worried about whatever creature prowled the base (though he saw scientists in a side hallway freshly mauled), he was worried about Bucky hurting Tripp- a Howling Commando legacy- before he could talk him down.

"Almost there!" Natasha was keeping ahead of Steve but when Sam and Skye appeared from opposite halls near the stairs she fell back to run with them. Down on Level 4 the halls were longer and more grid-like. Steve led them through the first left, then skid to a stop.

The hallway was all but destroyed. 

Silver liquid oozed from the ceiling and floors where the concrete was ground to uneven rubble. Pieces of bodies were strewn everywhere. The largest solid piece Steve could see was the size of a fist, and intestine hung from ripped-out lights. 

Even Natasha was stunned.

"Holy shit," Sam wasn't sure what else to say. There were no shoeprints in the silver bog- this all happened after Tripp and Bucky came through.

"Stay here and cover our escape route," Steve tried to make his voice more confident than he felt. He was eyeing the ajar door on the right side of the hall, "Tell SHIELD we’ll be needing Simmons- Skye, you're in charge of escorting her down. Also- I know we didn't bring any heavy ammunition but Skye, if you know a way to bury this place I suggest you get ready. The safest option may be to blow this place to hell. Sam- if Tripp can't walk out of there on his own I'll send for you. Natasha- does our way out have anything to do with JARVIS?"

"Yes."

"Good. Tell him to get our ride ready and if you see or hear anything unusual call me immediately, alright?"

"Got it, go."

He was apprehensive about letting his boots touch the slime, but there was no clear path to the door. Steve stepped on it gingerly. It was slippery, but he didn't see smoke or smell burning rubber. As quickly as he was able to he made it to the door and edged through.

Most lights were out in the next hallway, and it wasn't comforting to find out the silver veins glowed the in dark. Hair rose on the back of his neck but Steve didn't turn to check the shadows, it would only make him more anxious. He continued forward- even though he could feel breath on the back of his neck (or at least imagined he could).

Just through the third door on the right Steve saw a splash of blood on the wall and the body of a guard. The guard's neck was broken but his gun hadn't been kicked out of his hand. A puddle of blood indicated someone- probably Tripp- had been shot before falling to the ground. 

No silver liquid oozed from these walls, and the sensation of being followed was gone.

Steve focused on what was in front of him and the problems Bucky might pose to Tripp's rescue rather than a possible Hydra animal loose in the halls. Judging by the long streaks of blood, Bucky had dragged his friend down the hallway. According to the metal plaque outside the door they were in "Research Lab 6". 

There was a meeting room to one side and several filing cabinets- but it looked like nothing had been used in a long time. Dust covered everything and the guard who shot Tripp wasn't significantly armed. Steve was willing to bet he was a simple security officer to babysit the hallways. The air was close in the lab, stale. 

In an active Hydra facility why would there be an abandoned room?

He followed the blood down a side hall on the right and saw a dim light ahead. A headache was just blooming behind Steve’s eyes, and he had a feeling the further he went the worse it would get. There was a scratch of an old speaker in the distance and a distortion to the normal ambient noise- like a television left on without any picture on the screen.

Steve used a clean knife to peek around the corner. When he detected no movement he inched into the first room. A row of computer monitors on his right were inactive, but labels above them read 'Heartrate', 'Blood Pressure', 'Blood Oxygen', 'Brainwaves', and 'Alerts'. Medical monitoring? 

On the left was a shorter row of monitors, a few panels of switches, and a very large one-way mirror.

The cell Steve looked in on painted a very clear picture of what happened inside so many years ago. 

Chains hung from the ceiling in the back right corner and were fitted with rusty metal cuffs. Were set all around the room with four under a large, clear table- which Bucky had pinned Tripp against. The walls and ceiling were fitted with lights, but a row of them seemed to have been torn out at the very back and through them Steve could just barely see a large, dark room.

Bucky watched the door with a level of fanatic determination that made Steve hesitate. He was bloody, disheveled, and barely able to stand on his own two feet. His hair- matted with grease and blood- hung lank over his eyes.

He looked more like a rabid animal than the calm, cool assassin Steve faced 8 months ago.

The metal arm had burned off the left sleeve of his thin coat and occasional sparks still shot from it. The whole unit had bits of wires poking through the metal plates. 

Steve secured his shield on his back before entering the cell. Bucky jumped and Tripp groaned- the metal hand was closed around his throat, locking him in place. The man was gray-skinned and pale.

"Bucky, please, let him go. He needs a doctor." Steve slowly removed his shield and set it by the door, then inched to the far corner. He kept his hands out to the side, "I swear I won't leave. That's Tripp Jones- Gabe's grandson. Do you remember Gabe?"

Bucky didn't even look like he could understand what Steve was saying. The stench of dried gore and sweat was overpowering. A spray of sparks near his neck made Tripp cry out and seemed to jar Bucky to life.

"He goes. You stay." His rough mumble was barely intelligible. How long had it been since he'd spoken?

"Can I have someone come get him?"

Again, it took Bucky a long time to respond. When he did it was by drawing an old hunting knife. Steve held his breath as he slid the blade between Tripp's neck and his metal hand, then pried his fingers loose. 

As soon as he re-sheathed the blade and pulled the wrecked arm away Tripp began to gasp and cough. There were cuts from the blade on his throat, but nothing too severe.

"Call your person, then come here." He backed into the corner opposite the chains and pulled the blade back out. Bucky set it in his metal hand and used his human one to close the fist and secure the knife. He looked up at Steve expectantly.

"Sam, come get Tripp," Steve walked towards Bucky slowly. As he closed in his old friend grew more agitated.  His headache was reaching epic heights- how long had Bucky been exposed to whatever was affecting him?

When Sam ran into the room Bucky lunged at Steve, spun him around, and held the blade to his throat. He kept him firmly locked in place as a human shield as Sam scooped Tripp up off the table and glanced back.

"I'm alright, go." Steve said. Sam nodded and hurried back out. "Thank you Bucky," he let out the breath he'd been holding.

Bucky spun him around so that they were facing one another, but kept the blade to his throat, "You help people?"

He hesitated, “I try my best."

Bucky looked confused, lost, and sad. He walked away from Steve to the far side of the table and stared at the blood left behind. When he looked up his eyes were over-bright, "Then help me find her." 

"Find who?"

"Echo," Bucky pulled a folder from the back of his jeans and set it on a dry part of the table. He opened it to reveal a few hundred pages layered in dirt or torn and wrinkled. The fruits of his hunt- and if the top sheet was any indication, everything was redacted to hell. 

"Sure, Buck. We’ll figure this out."

"Yeah, ‘we’. And if you think for a second you can put me back in that chair-" he took a step around the table.

"I would never do that. I'm not Hydra, I'm your friend. You and me, until the end of the line- do you remember that?"

This time Bucky took a long, hard look around the room, as if waiting for some kind of trap- or perhaps seeing phantoms of whatever past he had in this place. He looked down and pried back his metal fingers until the knife fell, "I don't." 

Bucky took a step back, allowing Steve to retrieve the papers, "We'll find Echo, I promise," he tucked the pages into his suit. Bucky was somehow more agitated when they were out of sight, "Before we find her we need to go somewhere safe, ok? I'll still help you find Echo, but from a secure base. Somewhere Hydra can't go. Deal?" Again, he wasn't even sure his words were getting through.

"Where?"

Steve considered his phrasing, "Do you remember my friends from the Triskellion?"

Bucky stepped back, then rubbed his head as if it could help him remember, "The man who was here. The assassin-woman?"

"Yes! Very good,” he felt a sliver of hope bloom in his chest, “those are just two of them. I have more friends, an entire team. You'll be safe with them, they're good people. We fight against Hydra."

"People like me?"

"People like Pierce. Every member of my team is more than capable of finding Echo. I swear Bucky, we will find her and you will be part of that."

"If I go with you then you have ten days to find her. If you don't, I leave on my own."

It was a risky deal to make, considering Steve already knew she was dead, but ten days was enough time to lock Bucky down and start trying to heal him. Once he remembered she was gone they could figure out how to drive out the Winter Soldier and bring Bucky back, "Deal. I'll take you to my friends. They'll come with us to our base. We can start looking tonight, okay?"

Bucky looked around the room one last time. He waited for Steve to retrieve his shield, then followed him reluctantly to the door. Just before they stepped out of the control room Steve could have sworn he saw movement through the split in the wall. 

Something silver shining in the black.

A shiver went up his spine.

SHIELD knew they were leaving with Bucky. Steve just hoped they could bury whatever was loose in the bowels of Hydra Facility Astana.

Chapter 5: Safe

[mattzerella-sticks]

Worse Than a Slap (Coda to 12x11 “Regarding Dean”)

During the spell, Dean managed to find time to send a message out. Only thing is he can't remember what he said. Now Castiel is avoiding him, and he can't figure out why that is? But when he does, he knows exactly what to do. (AO3)

            Castiel sits in the war room, surrounded by papers, maps, and books. They go unnoticed, untouched, as Cas stares at his phone. It rests in his hand, his grip on it tight. It-He is shaking. The pin board is just a few feet away, Kelly’s smiling face in the center staring at him, laughing at him-

           “Cas, we’re home!”

           Castiel looks up, whipping his phone away, hiding it in his pocket. He stands, just as Sam walks into the room, a bag of take out in hand.

           “Sam,” he attempts a smile, “good to see you. Is Dean-“

           “Right, here, Cas,” Dean walks in, a grin plastered on his face. He’s already got a drink in hand, and takes a sip out of it.

           “Dean,” Castiel smiles, “You remember me?”

           Sam and Dean share a glance at Castiel’s reaction. Dean walks forward; just enough to see Castiel’s blue eyes were starting to get glassy.

           “Of course,” he starts, “Why wouldn’t I?”

           “The memory spell,” Castiel says, tilting his head, “the one you told me about?”

           “I did?”

           “You don’t… remember?” Cas closes the gap, frowning, “is it… do you-”

           “No, no,” Sam answers, walking towards them, “we handled it. Dean’s better.”

           “I have no memory of anything that happened while under the spell,” Dean shrugs, “but thankfully, that’s the only thing I can’t remember.”

           “Oh…”

           Dean and Sam exchange another glance as Castiel steps back, hands reaching into his pocket.

           “Did I,” Dean asks, “Did I say anything el-“

           “No,” Cas cuts him off, blushing, “you called to assuage me of any worry. Although telling me about it did nothing to help.”

           “Sorry Cas,” Dean chuckles, laying his hand on Castiel’s shoulder, “wasn’t in my right mind.”

           “That’s right,” Cas says, shaking his head, “you weren’t.” He doesn’t look at Dean. Dean swallows hard, and turns to look at Sam. Sam shrugs.

           He walks towards the table, putting the bag down. “We were just about to have dinner, Cas,” Sam says, “would you like any-“

           “No,” Castiel says, stepping away from Dean, “I think I’ll just go lie down. I’m… tired.”

           “Really? I thought you couldn’t get-“

           He walks away before Dean can finish. All Dean can do is watch him go.

           “Dean?”

           “What?” Dean says, gruff.

           “You sure you can’t remember anything from the curse?” Sam asks, pulling out the food, “Like, at all?”

           “It’s just one, big black spot Sammy,” Dean sighs, moving closer. He waves his hand by his head, “’S’all gone!”

           “Well, you better hope it comes back,” Sam says, “because something tells me your little chat with Cas wasn’t just that.”

           “You and me both,” Dean mutters, taking one of the containers and popping it open. He takes a bite of the rice, and looks back at where Castiel walked out.

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

            Sam is sitting at a table in the library, looking over the spell book Dean and he had acquired. He’s been making notes on them, their translations, trying to glean any useful spells he and Dean might need in the future. That is, until he hears the sounds of footsteps. He looks up to see Castiel standing in the entryway, wringing his hands together, and looking everywhere but at him.

           “Something on your mind, Cas?” Sam puts the book down.

           “May I,” Castiel starts, “May I speak with you?”

           “Of course,” Sam smiles, “you know that.”

           Castiel nods, still not meeting Sam’s eyes. He shuffles forward and takes a seat across from Sam. He drums his fingers on the wood. Castiel takes his time talking, so Sam does the first step for him.

           “Does this have anything with how you’ve been avoiding Dean,” Sam says, startling Castiel into looking him.

           “You noticed?”

           Sam rolls his eyes. “You haven’t been exactly subtle,” Sam leans back, “maybe don’t run out the second he enters a room.”

           Castiel blushes, remembering what Sam is talking about. A few days ago, Castiel had been in the kitchen looking for something, anything to do. His head was in the kitchen and the general humming distracted him from listening. That’s why he didn’t hear Dean until he was right behind him.

           And how Dean scared him enough to hit his head on one of the shelves.

           He bolted the second he could, refusing to look back at Dean. If he did… he wouldn’t have left.

           “It may,” Castiel answers Sam’s first question, leaning back as well.

           “What is it?”

           “Dean, when under the spell,” Castiel says slowly, choosing his words carefully, “How… how was he?”

           “How was he?” Sam parrots, eyebrows raised.

           “Yes.”

           “Well, he was fine… for a bit,” Sam tells him, “it was kind of funny, too. He got slapped… forgot the names of things… even forgot which key was Baby’s. But then, then he couldn’t remember his name or-or my name. He forgot more and more with each passing minute it… it scared me. And through it all he was just-happy.”

           “Happy?”

           “He couldn’t remember his life,” Sam says, “the life of a hunter. Anyone would be happy to not have this life.”

           “Does he,” Castiel swallows, “Does he wish he still doesn’t remember all that we-all that he did?”

           Sam raises a brow at Castiel’s misstep, but answers him anyway. “No,” he says, “he doesn’t. Sure, being able to live a life without being a hunter is rare, but it wouldn’t be Dean. It must have felt nice, for a bit, too escape, but Dean knows this is what he wants in his life.”

           “Huh.”

           Sam can see Castiel thinking, and then watches as he pulls his cell phone out from his coat pocket. He plays with it, fiddling with it while looking up at Sam every few seconds. Sam waits, not wanting to scare him off.

           “Hey Sam I was-Cas?”

           “Dean!”

           Castiel stands, pushing the seat back. He stares at Dean, eyes wide and mouth open. Dean mirrors him for a few seconds, then comes back to himself.

           “Cas-“

           He turns and walks out, leaving Dean standing there, his hand outstretched. Dean frowns, lowering his hand. He looks to Sam, only for Sam to roll his eyes at him and shrug. Dean slumps, and walks over to take Castiel’s seat across from Sam.

           “Do you have any idea what I did?”

           “I might have,” Sam snorts, “before you spooked him.”

           Dean throws his arms out, “Really?”

           “It must have been something big, Dean,” Sam says, “I bet you wish you were back dealing with slap-girl.”

           “I wish all Cas did was slap me,” Dean says, looking down, “at least it’d hurt less.”

           Sam’s about to ask what he means when Dean pushes back his seat, eyes locked on something.

           “What is it?”

           “Cas’s phone,” Dean answers, holding up the small, black object, “he must’ve dropped it when I… yeah.”

           “His phone?” Sam’s eyes widen, “you know what this means?”

           “We can text Claire and play a prank on her?” Dean huffs, “I don’t know, Sam!”

           “We can see what you said to Cas, idiot,” Sam tells him.

           “Oh… right,” Dean smiles, then frowns, “Wait… how are we even gonna do that?”

           “Leave that to me.”

           Sam holds his hand up, and Dean drops the phone in his hand. Dean gets up and moves to Sam’s side, hovering over him.

           “How’d you even get in?”

           “I knew the passcode.”

           “What was it?”

           “Zero-nine-eighteen.”

           “Zero…nine…” Dean’s face scrunches up in confusion, “Wait, isn’t that the day we-“

           “Here it is!” Sam says, “but… it’s not a call.”

           “What is it?” Dean leans in closer.

           “It’s a… voicemail.”

           The brothers look at each other. Sam asks Dean if he should press the button, seeing as how it’ll be Dean’s voice they’ll hear. Dean nods, because he’s just as curious as Sam. Sam presses play.

           “Hey Cas! It’s Dean… I know, it’s Sam’s phone but-uh, he told you I broke mine right? I’m sure he had, too-look, that isn’t important. I just wanted to tell you, before I… before… I-uh, no, no keep it together, Winchester. I… sound crazy, don’t I. I also don’t have another shot of recording this message given… well, I won’t draw out the suspense Cas, I’ve been hit by a curse. Some witch got me and… I’m forgetting. Everything. It’s hitting me in bursts like, one moment I’ll have forgotten how to use a pen and the next I don’t… don’t know my own family. And, well-I just wanted to tell you something before I forget. Something I thought I’d get to tell you in person, maybe after a bit too much to drink and I’m a little less afraid. I don’t know if Sammy and me’ll be able to get out of this one. I don’t even know if I’ll know what I’m in in the next hour. But… I want you to know, even if I forget, that… that I love ya, Cas. Not as a brother and not like a friend but, like, the real deal, Cas. I feel it in here-in my heart-whenever I look into your eyes. And the sad thing is I’m even starting to forget what color they are which-which is crazy because they’re my favorite color and-look, I just I wanted you to know because after everything we’ve been through, you deserve to hear these words before either one of us bites it for the last time. I just… didn’t think it’d be now. …What do you mean I’m almost out of time? Who are you to tell me-“

           The message cuts out after that. Sam takes a quick glance at Dean from the corner of his eye. His brother is frozen, staring at the device slackjawed. There’s a tear near his eye threatening to fall, and Sam can feel Dean’s body shaking.

           “Dean-“

           He turns, heading in the same direction Castiel went, running after the angel. Sam watches him go.

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

           Castiel is in his room, lying on his bed. He holds onto the pillow, resting his chin on it as he stares at his blank television screen. He’s just about to turn it on when he hears a banging on his door.

           “Cas!” Dean calls from the other side, “Cas, open up!”

           Castiel does nothing but watch the door with wide eyes. He doesn’t even move, careful not to make a sound and alert the elder Winchester to his presence.

           It doesn’t matter.

           Dean kicks down the door after a few minutes. He walks in, staring at Castiel with something burning in his eyes.

           “Dean!” Castiel yells, shocked, “You kicked down my door! What are you-“

           “Why didn’t you tell me?”

           Castiel’s eyes widen a fraction before they return to normal size. Castiel looks away, fingers playing with the pillow.

           “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

           “Seriously, Cas?” Dean asks, adrenaline making its way out of his system. He collapses onto the bed, a hand resting on Castiel’s ankle. He rubs his thumb across it. Castiel watches him carefully. They sit like that for a few minutes. Castiel dare not run, because he knew Dean would quickly hold him down.

           “I heard what I said.”

           “How-“

           “Dropped your phone,” Dean chuckles, “by the way, September 18th?”

           “It… means a lot to me.”

           “It means a lot to me, too.”

           “Dean, where are you going with this?”

           “I meant it, y’know.”

           Castiel raises his brows at Dean’s confession. Dean isn’t looking at him, but the flush is fairly visible crawling up Dean’s neck.

           “I thought you said you couldn’t remember?”

           “I did,” Dean says, “but, hearing myself I… it all just came back to me, and… you want to know what I was thinking, when I called you?”

           “I’m surprised you know what you were thinking back then.”

           “I was a little miffed, when I got your voicemail,” Dean chuckles, “but then I started to forget what I was trying to do so I… I focused on your voice. It brought me back. And then, when I was talking, I tried remembering all the little things about you that I… your trench coat, your jokes, how you always look out for me, even when I want to throw you against a wall because of how you do it… your eyes.”

           “I thought you couldn’t remember the color of my eyes?”

           “For a second,” Dean tells him, “but I looked up at the sky, and I remembered.” Dean turns to him, “Cas, don’t think for a second that this spell made me say something I didn’t really feel. When I was trying to hold on to the most important things, when my head was fogging up worse than San Francisco, my love for you was one of the things I kept a tight grip on. I just wish I didn’t end up losing it, s’all, even for a night…”

           “Fuck you, Dean Winchester.”

           Dean looks up at Castiel to see tears in the angels eyes.

           “Fuck you for calling me,” he continues, “for giving me everything I ever wanted and then ripping it out of my hands.”

           “Cas-“

           Castiel pushes the pillow away, and moves closer. “The next time you have something to tell me, something important,” he growls, grabbing Dean by the shirt, “don’t wait for the next time your life is in danger.”

           Then he kisses Dean. Dean is surprised, but soon enough melts into the kiss, raising his hands and threading them in Castiel’s hair.

           Castiel turns them around, pushing Dean on his back and straddling him.

           “By the way,” he says, pulling away to give Dean some air, “I love you, too.”

           “Awesome.”

           “Dean? Dean?”

           Sam is walking down the hallway, Castiel’s phone in hand, trying to find Dean.

           “Look, Dean, I know you didn’t want me to hear what I did,” he says, walking closer to Castiel’s door, “but know I still love you, and don’t think any less of you.”

           “Okay, good, do you mind shutting up?”

           Sam startles, turning to Castiel’s open door–and instantly regretting it, turning back with a heavy blush on his face.

           “Dude, seriously?” Sam yells, “you could have closed the door.”

           “Sorry,” Dean giggles, body pressed up against Castiel’s under the covers, “guess I forgot.”