#roger keeps pulling the I did all the work but i promise you his music wouldn't have been as popular without the collective effort of all o

[johnhelliwell]

Oh i am so mad at Roger. They settled with Rick at least but are still going with Roger.

[beyondspaceandstars]

The Military Dog Tag Dilemma

Relationship: Stucky x Reader Warnings: N/A, just fluff Summary: You just want to wear the military tags of both your men but Steve seems to run into some issues. A/N: I am also always a sucker for Stucky writing ok and this was my first personal attempt at it and i thought it came out well <3

masterlist

Bucky gave you his dog togs within weeks of establishing your relationship with him and Steve.

You loved to mindlessly play with them as the three of you cuddled up in bed, enjoying some pillow talk after, particularly long days. Steve spooning you from behind as you laid on Bucky’s chest, his arm thrown around you, running his fingers through Steve’s hair. Your fingers would fumble with the shiny tags, turning them over in your hand, watching the minimal moonlight hit them every now and then.

You didn’t know what it was about the tags that had you so captivated nearly every night. It felt so simple yet so intimate as you stared at your lover’s name and information engraved in them. While you weren’t exactly an expert on wartime, you knew the tags could serve as gifts to partners, assuring your heart to one another. The concept definitely drifted through your mind from time to time, but you never brought it up.

Bucky, however, seemed to be thinking the same thing. Wordlessly, one night, he slipped off the silver chain, tags clinking together musically, and slid them over your head. The coolness of them tickled your neck as the tags fell to the valley between your breasts.

You didn’t know what to say. Your heart was pounding as you ran your fingers around the necklace. Even Steve seemed a little shocked by the actions. But Bucky was fully pleased as evident by the cocky grin he wore watching you ogle at the gift. He had to admit — knowing you were walking around with his name dangling from your neck did something for him.

"Where are your tags, Steve?" You had asked after placing a loving, appreciative kiss on Bucky’s lips. Now that you obtained Bucky’s tags, it only seemed fitting you wore Steve’s as well.

Steve shifted. You looked up at him only to find him watching the wall across from the bed, seemingly lost in thought. "I-I’m not really sure, honey."

You let out a sad hum at the response. "Well, if you find them, let me know," you yawned, shuffling down in the bed to get comfier. "I’d like both of my men close to me all the time."

Since then, Steve had been on a mission to find dog tags. Going through archives, chain of custody notes, discarded boxes… Everything. There was just something about the entire thing that was driving Steve mad. He was honored you wanted to show off the claim your two lovers had on you but he was also deeply concerned about the fact that currently you only had Bucky’s to wear.

While Steve wouldn’t exactly call himself jealous in this situation, knowing you didn’t love him any less, the relationship was established the way it was and he felt you should still have something of his to truly show for it.

This led Steve on what felt like a manhunt for the "damn dog tags," as he kept referring to them when Bucky would check-in asking if all was okay. Nothing was really okay. He had looked high and low for them, going through every potential record in the database trying to at least confirm there was something to even look for.

He pounded his fist against the desk late one night. Steve had pushed you and Bucky to get some sleep, claiming he had some reports to look over before bed. You two had looked at him suspiciously but eventually agreed, planting loving kisses on his cheeks, and telling him not to stay up too late.

"I get cold without both of you there," you had mumbled with a sleepy yawn following. Your words almost made Steve give up for the night but then he caught a glimpse of the silver chain on your neck. Seeing you like that, using your tired, loving voice, he remembered what he was doing this for. It was you. It was all about you and your love for sentimental things.

He grudgingly agreed to be there in an hour and that seemed to please his two lovers. Except — it was way past an hour. The sky was close to daybreak when he hit the desk in frustration.

Pushing the folders away, Steve leaned back in the chair, sighing. Within seconds, footsteps came from the hall and Bucky appeared in the doorway, watching a frustrated Steve.

"Everything okay in here?" Bucky asked, leaning against the door frame.

"Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine," Steve nodded. "Go back to bed, I’ll be there in a bit."

But Bucky didn’t look the slightest bit convinced. He had a knowing look in his eyes which Steve tried to avoid by looking down at the now splintered desk.

"How are those reports going?"

Steve rolled his eyes, letting out an annoyed groan. Deep down he knew he couldn’t hide anything from Bucky but still, worth a shot.

He pushed all the folders away this time, leaving them at the very edge of the desk. "I did have dog tags, right?"

"That’s still bothering you, huh?" Bucky crossed the threshold into the office and made his way to one of the chairs in front of Steve’s desk. He took one of the folders and sat directly across from Steve. Casually, he thumbed through it, waiting for his partner to start talking.

Steve didn’t really want to get into it again as he had probably hounded Bucky about it all last week but acting like it wasn’t bothering him was getting him nowhere — obviously.

"Yes," Steve sighed. "I just want her to have something from each of us. It’s- It’s hard watching our girl…"

Bucky frowned, "I’m sorry, Steve. I should’ve waited to give them to her."

"No, Buck," Steve leaned forward, reaching his hand out. Bucky took the signal and leaned, placing his own hand in Steve’s. "You wanted her to have them. That’s your call. I just feel disappointed I have nothing to give."

"Well…" Bucky hummed, tilting his head in thought. Steve’s eyes furrowed, trying to get his partner to spit out whatever he was thinking. "What if we ordered you new ones?"

"Can you do that?"

"I honestly don’t know," Bucky chuckled. "But I don’t understand half of what you can do these days, so, I’d imagine there’s a way to get dog tags made."

Steve sighed, leaning back in his chair, disconnecting their touch. It seemed reasonable and would do the job except for the fact— "But they wouldn’t be in combat or- or from the actual military."

Bucky just shook his head. With an annoyed scoff, he said, "Do you think that really matters to her?"

"I guess not…"

"Steve, honey, I promise. It’s about the presentation, the show of it. Our girl is just looking for something personal from you to keep close to her," Bucky assured him. "Plus, I think we can get it updated and personalized. Maybe even write something nice just for her on the back."

Steve had to admit, his heart was jumping happily at the idea. He really couldn’t argue with anything and agreed to the plan. The only issue was — they were a bit out of touch with ordering anything online. You had always been the one to assure online packages and food deliveries arrived but now they had to take you out of the equation. While excited to surprise you, they were slightly unsure about ordering and had to enlist the help of the team who all turned out to be more than happy to assist once they explained their idea.

A few weeks later, you were laying in your shared bed, back against the headboard, body cozied up under the duvet. You were engrossed in a cheesy romance novel, waiting for Steve and Bucky to join you for the night. Eventually, the two came in, but they were still in their work attire.

You frowned at their appearance. "Aren’t you guys coming to bed?"

As you asked your question, you couldn’t help but note their unusual stance. The two men were side-by-side, standing at the foot of the bed, looking down at you. Bucky had his hands in his pockets while Steve appeared to be hiding something behind his back. You eyed them suspiciously.

"We will in a bit, doll," Bucky said. You watched him as he came around to the side of the bed. He sat down and leaned against the headboard, shifting right next to you, sneakily taking the book out of your grip. "But first, Steve has something for you."

"For- For me?" You asked, whipping your head around to face Steve. He had a bit of nervousness to him as he nodded, making his way over to the bed and sitting on the edge.

Silently, he handed you a small box. You eagerly accepted the item, turning it over and over in your hands. Giving it a light shake, the box made a jangling noise. "What is it?" You asked, wide-eyed looking between the two men.

Steve and Bucky both let out soft chuckles at your excitement. "You have to open it to find out," Steve said. He still had an air of anxiousness, running his hands up and down his jean-covered thighs, fidgeting.

To put your poor boyfriend out of his misery, you opened the box. At first, all you noticed was something slim and shiny. Eyes furrowed in confusion, you pulled out what appeared to be a chain. You could feel a slight heaviness to it — and then you saw it. Your jaw dropped as you tossed the box next to you. In your hands was another set of dog tags nearly identical to the ones you already had adorned on your neck — only this pair were inscribed with the name Steven Grant Rogers.

"Steve-," you gasped, staring at the tags laying in the palm of your hands. You were at a loss for words as you read the tag.

"Are- Are they okay?" Steve asked, his nervous hand came up to rest on your thigh, pulling your attention back to him.

"Are you kidding me?" You let out a breathy laugh. "They’re wonderful, honey, thank you so much."

"You’re sure?" He asked again. Bucky gave him a pointed look for his ridiculousness but that didn’t stop Steve from rambling. "I-I couldn’t find mine so, I got a new pair made. I know they’re maybe not as authentic or something but I still wanted-,"

"You had these made?" You cut in. "For me?"

Steve nodded, "You had Bucky’s, so, it was only fair you had something of mine, too."

You couldn’t hold your emotions back at his word. Tears began forming as you looked at your soft, loving partner. You let out little sniffles as you turned back to the tags, still soaking in their meaning. Bucky placed a light touch on your arm as Steve scooted closer, probably suddenly scared by your tears.

"They’re perfect, honey," you whispered as you looked back at him and leaned forward, placing a sweet kiss on Steve’s lips. He eagerly accepted, practically sighing from relief under your touch. "They’re going to go perfect with the tags from my other man." You mumbled and turned to now give Bucky a kiss, who felt very pleased to get a turn to lock lips with you.

Facing Steve again, you handed him the chain. He looked down at it, confused.

"Well, soldier, are you going to put them on me?"

Both of the men chuckled at your actions but Steve happily slid the silver chain over your neck, watching as the tags fell to your chest. Once they landed, they clang nicely with Bucky’s. It sounded like music to your ears.

"I love you both so much," you said, your hand mindlessly running over the pair of tags. "Thank you."

"We love you too, doll," Bucky said. Steve nodded in agreement.

Smiling, you gave them both quick pecks and said, "Now, are you guys coming to bed?"

Bucky scoffed, "How could we ever deny you?"

You giggled. "I don’t think you can seeing as last time I checked I was a special girl."

At your words, both their gazes dropped once again to the tags hanging between your breasts, seeming so at place there.

"You sure are, honey," Steve mumbled, placing a kiss on your cheek.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

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[witchwitha-b]

⛔ Swearing, drinking, car accidents ⛔

Here is the promised and very spontaneous FF! This time it's about Dan and a really sad idea I had a while ago.

The song this FF got inspired by is a link on Dans profile and looking at the lyrics I couldn't help but to think about a sad, drunk Dan listening to this on his way home after he was stood up by Jessy, right before the accident. Please don't kill me😬

I hope you like it!

Have a great day or evening depending on whenever you see this<3

PS: I'm still nervous about posting FF😅😬

PPS : here is the song: Snuff- Slipknot: https://youtu.be/W9y8aUi3qFY

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Angels Lie To Keep Control

My view is blurred, the too bright light annoys me to the core and I feel myself fuming on the inside. Who likes this place anyway? She does...right.

I throw some money on the table and stand up, the people beside me already stood up 10 minutes ago, probably because of me. I couldn't care less. I stumble to my car, the whiskey here kicks harder than the one Phil has in the Aurora. Shit I almost fell, fucking stair. I fumble with the stupid keys in my leather jacket and almost curse out loud but then I manage to get a grip on the key and I can open my car. It's even colder on the inside: "Fucking bullshit." I slur and start the car, I'm more than capable of driving home. If I can drink it, I can take it. I begin to drive and I feel at least a little bit better, a little bit of freedom. She stood me up, I wasn't the one she wants after all. Or maybe she decided that Richy is a better man for her, I can't blame her but really? Richard 'Richy' Rogers? Him of all people? I like the little guy but Jessy has terrible taste. The guy's a workaholic, not to mention without any customers but she knows that already, I mean she works there. The radio plays my favorite song I notice as I get pulled out of my thoughts because of a curve I managed to see in time. What is happening to the lot of us? Cleo becomes unreliable, TommyBoy becomes even more than just a wimp, Lilly looses every bit of selfcontrol and Jessy seems to loose her appreciation. Goddamn I get a headache!

"I only wish you weren't my friend.

Then I could hurt you in the end

I never claimed to be a saint

Ooh, my own was banished long ago

It took the death of hope to let you go..." I sing along and open a window to feel even more free. Fucking coincidence that this song is playing at a time like this! Does she even know how long I waited for her? Did she even read my messages? Has she said 'yes' to me to keep me quiet? Fuck!

I turn on the headlights to see better through the dark, the streetlights of Duskwood are a damn joke! I listen to the song as the music gets louder and I move my head to it, my hands are strongly wrapped around the steering wheel and I close my eyes for a second. The world is blurry as I open them again and I let out a chocked scream before I notice another curve but this time it's too late I loose control of the car and I get thrown around. My grip on the steering wheel disappears and the only thing keeping me in place is the seat belt. I feel pain, the last thing I hear is the song slowly coming to an end....it fits very well especially her...

"Angels lie to keep control

Ooh, my love was punished long ago

If you still care don't ever let me know..."

[idy-ll-ique]

One And Only.

Pairing: Mob Boss!Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Smut

Warnings: s*x

Requested: nope

Summary: Their marriage is for business purposes only but they fall in love. Until Y/N starts having a doubt... does Steve Rogers have a mistress? It's all a misunderstanding...

Author's Note: Hiya peeps, iw!Steve in this one. Enjoy!

---

"Hey, you doing okay?" Y/N turned away from the mirror and smiled at Natasha and Wanda. "As well as a bride could be minutes before her wedding," she jabbed, making the ladies chuckle. "It's going to be fine, Y/N, Steve will treat you well. We've been friends with him for years, one thing we know about him is that he never treats women wrong."

"I don't doubt that, it's just that— I met him a week ago. One time. I don't even know him, anything about him, other than the fact that he leads the most feared crime gang in the entire country," Y/N muttered, tugging at the sapphire necklace she was wearing. Something blue. "You will get to know him soon enough, though. Come on now, everyone is waiting."

Her father stood outside the door, a soft smile on his face. "You look lovely, honey," he cooed, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead as the two ladies sauntered past them into the Hall with their partners. "Thank you, papa." The two people walked into the Hall and everyone stood up to greet the bride. At the end of the aisle stood Steve, tall and proud, a huge smile on his face.

Y/N couldn't help but smile back. As soon as she reached near him her father let go, but not before pressing a kiss to her cheek. Steve took her hand and brought it to his lips when she stood in front of him. The priest standing next to them began his usual recitations; Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today… Y/N didn't really pay attention to his speech.

She was busy staring at Steve, who looked magnificent in an all black suit, his dirty blond hair and full beard making her feel all sorts of things. His smile softened a bit, also not listening to the priest. He was observing her. It was supposed to be purely transactional, the marriage, but he knew it wasn't gonna end like one. It would be a proper marriage.

Happily married.

She looked wonderful. He met her a week ago; a bit wary at the concept of merging two mobs by marriage but the moment he saw her, he knew he had to have her. She was his, no one else's. The two quickly exchanged their vows as the ring bearers came forward with the rings. The bride and the groom took the rings with smiles and turned to face each other.

"Steve Rogers, do you take Y/N Y/L/N to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together in marriage? Do you promise to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health, and forsaking all others, be faithful only to her, for as long as you both shall live?" The priest turned to Steve expectantly.

"I do," Steve spoke, loud and clear, as he slipped the ring on Y/N's finger. Y/N had to admit, she felt a bit giddy when those words left his mouth.

"Y/N Y/L/N, do you take Steve Rogers to be your lawfully wedded husband, to live together in marriage? Do you promise to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health and forsaking all others, be faithful only to him so long as you both shall live?" Y/N smiled shyly at Steve. "I do."

Steve grinned widely when she neatly placed the ring on his finger. "You may now kiss the bride." And the whole room erupted into stentorian cheering as Steve gathered his wife in his arms, pressing his lips to hers in a deep kiss. Only when he heard a wolf-whistle coming from the crowd did Steve stop, pulling away to look at his out-of-breath wife.

"Mrs Rogers," he spoke fondly and she giggled. "Mr Rogers," she teased as they turned to the crowd, Y/N clutching Steve's arm as they smiled widely. Not many people had attended the impromptu wedding; just Steve's close friends and Y/N's father. Her bridesmaids were Natasha and Sharon, with Wanda being her maid-of-honor.

Steve's groomsmen were Sam and Tony, with Bucky being his best man. "Well, the first dance goes to the bride and her father, I'd say," Clint called out, already helping himself to a bottle of beer as music started playing. Steve reluctantly handed his wife over to her father, bidding her with a sweet kiss on her cheek.

"I hope you know why I had to do this, honey," her father sighed as they danced in the middle of the Hall. "I know, papa. Don't feel bad, I think I'm starting to like Steve. He seems friendly enough and Nat and Wan told me he's good to women." Her dad chuckled. "Well, he doesn't have the label of promiscuity that other leaders do." He was right.

Steve Rogers never really had time for dating, too busy leading the salient mafia. Also, the thought of having women just for a night or two didn't sit right with him, so he never went in that direction. "Can I have this dance now?" As soon as the song changed Steve appeared on her side, holding his hand out. She smiled and took his hand.

He easily slid an arm around her waist as the music slowed. One hand around her waist and the other holding her hand in classic ballroom dancing position, he pulled her closer. She rested her head on his chest, the arm which was around his neck lowering to his middle. "I'll treat you well," Steve whispered as they languidly swayed in the middle of the room.

"I know. If it's not much, um, I think I'd like to take things slow…" she hinted, hoping he'd notice. And he did. "Of course, of course, we can do that. I don't want to make you uncomfortable in any way," he assured her. "Thank you, Mr Rogers," she mumbled. "My pleasure, Mrs Rogers." The rest of the ceremony was enjoyable to say the least.

---

10 months had passed since the wedding.

Steve and Y/N were still taking things slow, against their own wishes.

It was a misunderstanding.

They loved each other; they really did, but they couldn't bring themselves to say the words to the other. Steve was purposely not making the first move, in fear that his wife would think he was rushing things. Y/N, on the other hand, had started severely doubting herself because 10 months have passed, does he not want to be with me anymore?

She was expecting him to make the first move, and he was expecting her to give him the permission first. It was annoying, to say the least. They were still friendly with each other, so Steve didn't pay much attention to the anxiety his wife was feeling. Y/N was beside herself with worry that had increased tenfold since... well, 15 minutes ago. She had overheard a conversation.

"So, how's Smith treating ya?"

"Same old, ya know. He has like 3 bitches as mistresses, thinks I don't know about 'em. Which mob man doesn't have a mistress in today's world, ha?"

"Preach, sister. I'd think even Rogers has one, heard somewhere that he and his little wife haven't even consummated their marriage. Probably doesn't even wanna be with her, he did marry her for the business."

"Mmhm, I agree. What about you, Lin?"

"Oh, Danny? Probably out there sleeping with Denise."

She didn't mean to eavesdrop on their personal conversation, but she couldn't help it. Mistress? She was familiar with the term, but what she was not familiar with was the fact that nearly all married mobsters had one. And when they mentioned Steve, she was done for. Crying, she had gone back to her room, collapsing on the bed, sobbing.

In her crying state, she failed to notice Steve also in the room as she raked her brain, thinking about all the times Steve had come home from work. He had given her no reason to believe that he had another woman, but what if he was just that good at hiding it? "Sweetheart? My love, why are you crying?" The bed dipped next to her.

Steve had just stepped out of the shower when his wife had thrown the door of their shared suite open, falling on the bed with a nerve-wracking sob. Why was she crying? "S-Steve…" she stammered and he pulled her on his lap, rocking her back and forth, getting her to calm down. It worked as Y/N's heart rate slowed down.

"Y/N, tell me, what happened? Who hurt you, tell me their names." Steve suddenly saw red at the prospect of someone hurting his wife. "N-No one hurt me, I just… I accidentally overheard a conversation I shouldn't have and—" She trailed off when her breath hitched. Steve soothingly rubbed her back, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

"What were they talking about?"

"Mistresses. One of the ladies said that nearly all mob men had mistresses and I— We haven't even consummated our marriage, haven't done anything besides kissing so I just thought— Do you have a mistress?" Her question shocked him. Him? Keeping a mistress when he had a wife he was head-over-heels for? "My darling, I love you."

She looked up at his words. "You do?" she mumbled, taking a deep breath. "Of course I do. The only reason I didn't say anything was because you told me, on the day of our wedding, that you wanted to take things slow. Before doing something, I needed your permission and that's why I haven't made a move on you." Y/N felt very silly all of a sudden.

"I'm so sorry for accusing you—"

He chuckled and shook his head. "Don't apologize to me, princess. Come here." He hugged her tightly, cradling the back of her head as she buried her face in the crook of his neck. "Do you know how many of my colleagues have asked me the same question?" She gently shook her head. "One too many. Do you know what I say to them each time?"

"No…"

"I say, why would I have a mistress when my wife makes me the happiest person on the planet? Why would I have a mistress when my wife is an angel personified? You guys are just jealous that she's mine and not yours." Y/N's skin burnt at his praise and she burrowed closer to him. "Steve," she muttered bashfully and felt him chuckle underneath her.

"Will you allow me to show you just how much I love you?"

"Yes."

He gently lowered her on the bed and hovered above her, one large hand coming to rest on her cheek. Then he made quick work of their clothes until they were bare in front of each other; Steve's eyes went wide with awe when he saw her body. "You are perfect," he declared, his warm hands grabbing every bit of skin it came in contact with as his lips touched her neck.

Y/N mewled underneath him when he shamelessly groped both her breasts, groaning. "So perfect. So beautiful. Only mine, my one and only," he whispered, pressing his lips to hers in a chaste kiss as he felt his shaft harden. "I love you," she blurted out as one of his hands found her core, his fingers scissoring her open, getting her ready for penetration.

"I love you too, my sweet," he smiled at her before lining his shaft against her core. He pushed in inch-by-inch, giving her some time to adjust to his size. He was bigger than anyone she had previously been with, much bigger. Y/N bit her lip to stifle a moan as he bottomed out inside her, grunting. "None of that," he rasped, "I want to hear you."

Y/N groaned when he lazily rotated his hips, not holding back, just like he asked. "That's it, baby girl. Just like that." He sped up inside her, grabbing the headboard of the bed, each snap of his hips sending waves of pleasure washing over Y/N. "Oh, Steve," she whimpered, her hands balling into fists around the bedsheets she was clutching, moving weightlessly against him.

"Are you close, my dear?" he growled when her walls clenched around him. She meekly nodded, throwing her head back as she tried to hold in. "Only one moment, love, I'm close too." His thrusts soon got sloppier. "Cum with me," he ground out before letting go, shooting his load inside her. Y/N came just moments later, her arms wrapping around Steve's shoulders when he slumped on her.

"There we go, our marriage is sealed," he joked and she laughed tiredly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Steve rolled off of her, smiling gently when he saw her drifting in and out of consciousness. "Go to sleep, I'm right here. I'll take care of you." He got up and walked to the closet, taking out a spare towel. Running it under some hot water, he sat next to her and cleaned her up.

Then he cleaned himself up, put on a pair of pyjama pants and lay down next to his sleeping wife, an automatic smile blooming on his face. He'd dreamed that their first time would be unforgettable, and it was, but he also wished it was… longer. God knew he was an insatiable man; but he also didn't want to pressure the woman he had grown to love.

There's always a next time, anyway.

"Sleep tight, my dear."

---

A/N: Leave a like if you enjoyed, thanks for reading!

[holylulusworld]

The B*tch

Title: The b*tch

Summary: It’s a game for you and Bucky. Sometimes you even burn a whole town down if you must.

Square Filled ‘Second Chances’ for: @buckybingo​​

Rating: Explicit 18+

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Characters: Steve Rogers, Dot, Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff

Warnings: angst, language, love-hate relationship (toxic relationship), public blowjob (light), light fingering, mentions of anal sex (nothing happens, no description), mentions of infidelity/break-up, implied/mentions of threesome/foursome, smut, unprotected sex, public sex, forced voyeurism, possessive Bucky, hair pulling, roughness, implied character’s death, therapy, roleplay

Words: 5,3k

2021 BUCKY BINGO masterlist

Divider by @firefly-graphics​

A/N: Please head the warnings. The reader and Bucky have a toxic relationship in this. Both are awful people.

“Steve, tell your boss to keep his bitch in line,” you growl, tapping your glass to order another drink. The bartender smirks, watching Steve Rogers, the right-hand man of the most feared man in Brooklyn cower in front of you. “This is my club, and I don’t like hussies at my club, nor whores.”

“Doll, don’t make a fuss,” Steve tries. “I know you and Buck got a war of roses going on, but he didn’t think much of bringing that girl here.”

“I said, I don’t want his whores at my club,” you whip your head to meet Steve’s eyes, narrowing your eyes. “And I don’t mean girls making money with riding dick. I like prostitutes, Stevie. They are always polite and know how to dress. Suzie over there works here every night.”

“Y/N, stop right now. You know every club pays Bucky good money. Every club except for you,” Steve warns.

“I don’t give two shits on Barnes. I make the rules here,” Steve doesn’t like you slide your hand over your thigh, patting the hidden knife. He knows you love to wear a knife strapped against your thigh beneath your crimson silky robe. 

He follows the motion, eyes glued to the slit in your dress, revealing your thigh and the tattoo on it. The one you will remove soon enough.

“Still got the tattoo, doll? I knew you can’t get rid of me completely,” a smug grin on his lips, and a dopily smiling Dot on his arm Bucky waltz toward you as if he owns the club.

“Oh, the trash made it out of the house,” you batt your eyelashes, chuckling lightly. “Didn’t think she can walk on her own.” turning around to face the bartender you give her a sweet smile. “What do you think, Wanda, doll. Does that woman look like she should be at my club?”

“I don’t know, boss,” Wanda smirks. While refilling your drink, she looks at Dot, shrugging as she doesn’t want to get in trouble with Bucky. “I’m not into cheap chicks.”

“Give me two cherries,” you coo, ignoring Bucky fumes right next to you. “Maybe give Steve water to make sure he doesn’t dehydrate. He looks so pale tonight. We don’t want him to get sick.”

“On its way, boss,” snickering Wanda pours Steve water, relieved she doesn’t have to talk about Bucky’s latest arm candy.

“Steve, tell my ex to shut her nasty mouth before I stuff it,” Bucky barks orders at Steve before he sits next to you on his favorite barstool, the one he used to occupy when you still were a thing.

“You wish,” you sip at your martini, looking anywhere but at Bucky. “Why do you come back here? There are other clubs in Brooklyn, with owners liking you, Barnes.”

“I like the atmosphere and the drinks are good,” he smirks, placing his favorite knife onto the bar top. A silent warning for you to watch your tongue. “What can you recommend?”

“To leave,” you quip, sipping at your drink.

“You know, it’s a crime to put cherries into a martini,” Bucky mutters, watching you place one of the cherries on your tongue, moaning at the taste.

“I give a shit on your opinion, Barnes. If you would excuse me now, there are tables, a dancefloor, and restrooms you can use,” you jerk your head toward Dot stand next to Steve, still grinning at you. “Take your bitch and leave me to my drink and the music.”

“Ya know,” Bucky leans closer to breathe in your neck, “you should fuck more often to get the stick out of your ass, my love.” his fingertips ghost over your back, draw circles in your skin.

“Ya know,” you get your knife out to press the tip into Bucky’s crotch before Steve can even flinch, “men like you should watch their tongue and balls. One day someone will break into your house and cut them off. Now go.”

“Little bitch.”

“I used to be your doll,” you say, a little too bitter. “Sadly, you couldn’t keep it in your pants,” you chuckle. 

“Bitch,”

“Cheating bastard,” you dip your head to glance at Dot. “You should hurry to disappoint the next woman. Maybe you will keep your promises this time – huh? Or maybe she’ll get empty promises too.”

“One day someone will cut your sharp tongue off,” you press the tip harder into his crotch, smirking when a hint of pain flashes across Bucky’s features. “Maybe I’ll be the one to do so.”

“Aw, you can’t take the pleasure away from all men in Brooklyn who want a blowjob from me. You know,” leaning closer you brush your lips over Bucky’s ear, “men love it when I use my tongue.”

Bucky shudders, remembering the way you went down on him. Teeth, lips, and tongue. “You weren’t that good.”

“What a pity,” you smirk, hiding the knife in your garter. “I just wanted to remind you how good I can blow you off.”

“You sure?” Steve chokes on his water when you slide off the barstool to pat his cock, right in front of his boss.

“What the fuck, doll?”

“Oh, you believed I wanted to suck your dick?” you chuckle. “No, I wanted to go down on your tall blonde piece of meat and show him a good time.”

“Go ahead and show Steve a good time,” Bucky challenges, watching you slowly unbuckle Steve’s belt.

You don’t care the club is crowded or that Bucky is right next to you and Steve. 

“Y/N, doll,” Steve mumbles when you slide your hand over his chest down to his abs. “Stop, you don’t want to do this.”

“Stevie,” you coo, giving his lips a peck, “you should know I do what I want, and right now,” you tug harshly at his pants, shove them down his legs, “I wanna suck your dick and show you a good time.”

Steve swallows thickly, but what can man do when a woman like you shoves her hand down his boxers to run it up and down his swelling length. 

“Oh, you are packing, sweet Steve,” you moan, hand leaving his boxers too soon to shove the fabric down his thighs.

No one at the club dares to watch you. You’re at the VIP section, the one reserved for and your friends. This part of the club only belongs to you, and you can do whatever you want without anyone spying on you.

“Doll,” Steve’s breathing quickens when you ever so slowly sink to your knees to cup his balls. “You shouldn’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I can do, Stevie,” you smirk, hand fisting his cock harshly. “That’s a nice cock, a big one and I’ll worship it. Don’t you want my lips around your dick?”

“Y-yeah-“ Steve chokes out. “But B-Bucky is right next to us, doll. Can we go somewhere private?”

“No, baby,” chuckling you roughly grip Steve’s cock. “I want to prove a point, Steve, and want to choke on your cock right here and now.”

You lick over the wide head, smiling to yourself when you hear Bucky bark your name. He dangerously growls it, wants you to stop but you relax your jaw and go for the goal.

“If you dare to suck his dick, I’ll end your life,” he growls. “Y/N, I’m warning you, doll. Don’t you-“

It’s too late, you suckle at the tip of Steve’s cock, ignoring Bucky throws a tantrum.

“What, James? You told me I’m boring and you want to move on with a hotter chick. Obviously, Stevie has a different opinion and is hard as a rock for me. Now lemme get him off, he’s so hard it would be a waste to not suck his dick.”

“Stop being a brat,” fisting your hair Bucky drags you off Steve, leaves his friend panting and unsatisfied behind.

“Let go of me Barnes,” you try to swat Bucky’s hands away, but he pushes you onto the couch at the VIP section, growling low in his throat. “I wanna suck Stevie’s dick, James. Let me suck his fucking cock!”

“Be good now,” panting heavily Bucky pins your hands above your head, to hold you down. “You will not suck Steve’s cock, not before you did so with mine.”

“I won’t suck your pitiful dick,” you spit into Bucky’s face, grinning viciously when he growls low in his throat. “Now get off me! This is still my club.”

Bucky’s eyes drift toward your legs, especially the tattoo on your thigh, the one with his name on it. 

“This is still all mine, doll. Forget about Steve’s cock, mine is all you’ll get. No one in this town will ever touch you.”

“You fucker!” you try to kick Bucky but he takes the opportunity to settle between your thighs, smirks as you can feel his erection press against your thigh. “Get off me! You made sure no guy I hit on fucked me?”

“It’s the law,” Bucky breathes against your lips, “Y/N, Y/L/N is Bucky Barnes property. I laid claim on you years ago, my beloved wife.”

“The fuck! I’m not some fucking property, you dickhead,” you cry, fighting Bucky with all your strength. “I will kill you the moment you get off me. I will start with cutting your balls off and end it with carving your heart out of your chest!”

“Damn, you really want to suck Steve’s dick,” Bucky grins. He pecks your nose, snickering when you try to bite him. “Did ya hear, Stevie? Y/N wants to suck your cock so badly.”

“Barnes, get off me,” you mutter, tilting your hips to rub your core against Bucky’s erection. “Or get me off.”

“Interesting,” he smirks, eyes drifting toward your chest. “But I don’t fuck bitches,” you huff at Bucky’s words, wiggle harder in his hold.

Your stiff nipples strain against the thin fabric of your silky dress, force Bucky to remember how it felt when you pressed your sweaty body against his chest, nipples scraping his skin. 

“Then get off me, Barnes, and leave my club. Take your sweet puppy with you,” you growl. “I’m gonna find another dick to suck tonight.”

“You had to fuck with her again, didn’t you, Buck?” Steve sighs, tugging his cock back into his pants. “Damn, why didn’t you let her finish me? She’s so good at sucking dick.”

“That was a one-time thing, and we were all drunk,” Bucky growls. “And it was one of her fantasies. Y/N is not for you to touch.”

“Didn’t look like it when you encouraged her to give me a blowjob,” cursing under his breath, Steve stomps toward the car. “I had a raging hard dick.”

“Do you think I give a shit! She’s still my wife, Steve,” Bucky sneers. “If not for our friendship, you would lie six feet under right now.”

“Bastard!” tossing the divorce papers onto Bucky's desk, you scowl at him. “James, you told me you’ll sign the papers weeks ago. Now you sent them to me, unsigned and a picture of your dick glued to it.”

“I’m not going to sign that crap, kitten. And I know you loved the picture. I bet you got off looking at my dick,” leaning back in his chair Bucky roams your body with his eyes. “You look ready to get eaten in that black pencil skirt, baby doll. Why don’t you come over here and let me shove my hand down your panties?”

“Everything is a joke to you,” you roll your eyes, not in the mood for one of Bucky’s games. “You wanted out of this marriage, you got out. You can’t suddenly change your mind.”

“I can and did,” he shrugs, eying you shamelessly when you cross your legs. “What happened last night will never happen again, doll. If you ever try to let another man touch you, he’ll die. Everyone in town knows you are mine.”

“You can’t-“ you growl, hands balling into fists. “What do you want for letting me go? I don’t want to fight anymore. I’m tired of your games. Do you want my club? You can have it! Just sign the papers and I’m out of town for good.”

“You would give ‘Artemis’, the club you built out of nothing, up to be free of me?” you shrug. Nothing you can’t accomplish. When you are free of Bucky you will start anew.

“New town. New club,” Bucky huffs at your words. “It’s nothing special. People want to dance, drink, and fuck everywhere. The only difference is, there will be no James Buchanan Barnes fucking me over.”

“I did not fuck you over but fucked you thoroughly,” you scream in frustration, grasp the first thing on Bucky’s desk to throw it at him. “I even let you fuck Stevie.”

“That was a birthday gift, and you had your turn too,” getting up you want to attack Bucky, but you don’t get far. 

“Come here doll and get some,” he already grasps for your arm, moves faster than you can blink to push you onto the couch at his office.

“Get off me,” you fight with Bucky. Slap his face, tug harshly at his hair, fist his clothes before you end up on top of him. 

He has you on his lap, your legs on each side of his thighs moments later to shove your panties aside, fingers pushing inside your dripping core. “Fuck, you’re dripping for me, doll.”

“I’m just needy thanks to you, Barnes,” you growl, hands pawing at his jacket, tugging harshly. “Give me something, anything…”

“My dick?” he cocks a brow, groaning when you nod eagerly. “Just a minute baby doll,” husking the words Bucky rips your panties apart. “Lemme call Steve to join us.” He grins, revealing he tricked you again.

“Fucking asshole,” you slap his cheek harshly, growling his name. “There I believe you can act like an adult.”

“Just let me call him and he can watch me fuck you like a man,” Bucky grips your waistline, fingers digging in your flesh to hold you on top of him. “I want him to see how good I can make you feel.”

“I wanted to get off, not give your best buddy something to jerk off,” you growl, pushing against Bucky’s shoulders. “Jesus, we are a mess, Barnes.”

“I know, but I love you,” you sigh, forehead pressing against Bucky’s. “Can we not try again? I know that I fucked up, but give me another chance, doll.”

Your hands cup his face, and you breathe against him. Your forehead still touches Bucky’s heated one, and you just take a moment to feel him against you.

“I want Dot gone, not just out of your life but out of town. I don’t care if you send her to hell or Timbuktu. Just get rid of that grinning bitch,” you mutter. “If you get rid of her, we can talk again.”

“Uh-erm,” Bucky tilts his hips to press his erection into your core. “Can we still fuck? I didn’t touch Dot, I swear. Yes, I had a few flings here and there, but I know you were riding Steve’s dick over the last months.”

“What can I say – he has a nice dick,” you smirk, hands kneading the knots out of Bucky’s shoulders. “Maybe we can invite him once in a while?”

“What will I get in return?” Bucky husks, searching your eyes. “Doll?”

“You can do that thing with your thing,” a deep guttural growl leaves Bucky’s chest before you find yourself underneath the mobster, pinned to the couch.

“Give me five and I’ll get her out of town. And then, I want to do the thing with my thing in your ass.”

“Not today,” you grumble. “Get me off first and show me you’ll not stray again. If you can prove you are worth my time, you can conquer my ass.”

“I wanna-“ Bucky whines. “You better let me fuck that tight ass, doll. If not, I’ll not let you cum for months…”

“Promises…promises…”

“Bye, bye, Dottie,” you coo, waving at Steve. The tall blonde drags said woman out of her apartment, not caring Dot screams, fighting Steve with tooth and nails. “Have a nice trip!”

“Bitch!” Dot growls, screaming on the top of her lungs. “You can have that bastard back. He barely made me cum.”

“Did you fuck her?” growling the words you glare at Bucky. “James Buchanan Barnes! Did you fuck that woman?”

“Maybe a little?” Bucky shrugs, rubbing his hands over your arms, grinning sheepishly. “I was barely inside, ya know.”

“What the fuck! There is no ‘I was barely inside’, James. You were inside and fucked her or you weren’t,” you punch his chest harshly. “There is no halfway!”

“Fine, I fucked her ass,” your husband grumbles. “What can I say? We were on a break, and I was lonely.”

“Don’t you fucking dare to tell me you were lonely, Barnes,” pushing against his shoulders you ignore Steve tries to drag you off his friend. “Good thing I rode Steve’s dick excessively. Damn, he was so good!”

“If you don’t stop talking about Steve’s dick I’ll let him fuck you right here, in front of all my men! Maybe I’ll let them have a turn too – huh? All of them!” Bucky threatens, not liking the grin on your lips.

“Oh, please! As if I didn’t already fuck all of your men! Sam was the first I blew off in your car! He tasted like a goddamn popsicle!”

“Lying bitch!” Bucky is in your face, breathes heavily when you exclaim Thor had you on your husband’s desk, followed by his raven-haired brother. “You didn’t fuck my men!”

“I did and if I want to, I’ll do it again. Right here. Right now. All of them in all my holes,” you jab your finger into Bucky’s chest, snickering when he wraps his metal hand around your throat.

“You better think before you speak to me again,” he growls. “Get in my car and shut your mouth.”

“Aw, don’t you want one of your men to shut my mouth with his dick?” you retort, laughing when Bucky roughly shoves you toward his car to bend you over the hood.

“You want to act like a whore, I’ll show you what you’ll get,” Steve tries to stop his friend when Bucky rips your dress down your body, followed by your panties.

“Oh, do you want to fuck me, or will you ask a real man to do so?” laughing manically you spread your legs. “I’m ready for all of them, James.”

“Fucking bitch,” he unzips his pants, impatiently getting his dick out. “I’m gonna fuck you right here for all my men to see.”

“Promises again-“ you giggle, not missing Steve tries to stop his friend. “Will ya fuck me now or shall I ask one of your men?”

“Shut up,” his cock slaps against your ass, and his men turn around, not wanting to peak on you getting fucked. “If anyone takes his eyes off my wife, he’ll fuck her after me!”

“Did you just offer my pussy to all of your men? Naughty, James,” you grin, imagining getting filled by all of Bucky’s men. “Damn, yes.”

“I might add, anyone putting their hands on my wife will die, slow and painful!” you whine, disappointed you’ll only get Bucky’s dick. “Now shut the fuck up and just take my dick like a good girl.”

“Aw, you still think I’m a good girl, Bucky. That’s so sweet of you,” giggling you tap your fingers onto the hood. “Will I get your dick now or do you have performance issues in front of your men?”

“Fucking bitch,” his metal hand roughly fists your hair, presses your face into the cool surface of his car, gives you a stark contrast to his hot cock that nudges at your slit. “I hope you are wet because I don’t care if it hurts for you.”

“Bastard,” filled to the brim seconds later you struggle to breathe. Bucky is not gentle by all means, he roughly grips your shoulders, holds you down like you are nothing but a hole to fill. “Fuck me like a man, if you can.”

“Buck, can we not leave,” Steve grumbles, eyes glued to your body pressed to the car. He would never tell anyone so, but Steve loves to fuck a girl on a car. 

“Watch and maybe, you’ll get a turn too. Sloppy seconds and all,” Sam tries to not look, knowing Bucky is too engrossed in starting to fuck into you. Brock on the other hand rubs his hand over his dick, listening to all the noises you make for your husband.

“Buck, this goes too far,” you moan loudly, feeling Bucky speed up. He doesn’t care if you get off or enjoy the ride; he simply wants to lay claim on your body again. “Bucky!”

“You’ll watch me fuck my wife, Sam,” Bucky moves his hands to your hips, holds your body in a tight grip. “I dare you to look away.”

“Bucky likes to have an audience while we fuck,” you quip, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to meet Steve’s darkened eyes. “Look at you Steve, so hard while your best buddy fucks his wife.

“Can you stop flirting with Steve?” Bucky starts to drag you onto his length, groans with every harsh thrust. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to not let you cum.”

“Don’t challenge me, Barnes!” while you bicker with your husband, his men silently sneak toward their cars, leave you to your coupling. “You better make me cum!”

“Little bitch wants to dictate my life,” he ruts into you, hands pawing at your flesh. “My doll wanted to fuck Stevie, and I let her. But then I want to fuck Natasha and she freaks out.”

“As you didn’t ask me to do so! You fucked her in our bed, and she wore one of my dresses,” you growl, pushing back onto Bucky’s length. “All those bitches, you fucked them on our bed. I would’ve never fucked Steve on our bed!”

“Hypocrite!”

“Cheater!”

“Fucking cum.”

“I’m trying but you lost your mojo,” you pant, smirking at Steve. He’s the last man standing – or rather the only guy watching you and Bucky fuck. 

“Steve, make a mental note. We will put my wife in the dungeon and play with her all night long,” whimpering you look at Steve, imagining all the cruel things both men will do to you. 

“Please.”

“Cum and I’ll hurt you so good…”

“I forgot we got a freaking sex dungeon,” you roll on your back, stretching your sore body. “So, who’s going to get me food?”

“Steve?”

“I don’t feel my legs, Buck,” Steve groans. “How about you go, and I’ll just lie here, ignoring my sore dick.”

“Don’t be such a baby,” you tut. “I only tried to show you a good time. How should I know you can’t take it?”

“Stevie, if you want to keep up with my wife, you must train your dick,” Bucky snickers, looking around the room to find his pants. “Sam, why are you still on the floor?”

“I need a break,” Sam pants, glancing at Bucky who ushers toward the door to unlock it. “I never thought I will ever not want sex.”

“Aw, my sexy soft bear can’t get up from the floor, Bucky,” you sigh deeply, closing your eyes for a moment. 

“Did you hear me?” the female asks, disturbing your moment of silence. “Mrs. Barnes, did you hear me?”

Your eyes snap open and you feel the heat creep into your cheeks. Your therapist looks at you, expectantly, waiting for you to answer her question. “What did you imagine?”

“I-I,” you sigh, realizing you daydreamed once again. “To pay him back and, have some fun,” you sniff now. 

“How did you do it? Who are you when you pay him back?” she asks. “Describe the person you are in your dreams.”

“When I imagine paying my husband back, I’m sexy and wild. Not meek and boring. If only I was a little more like that woman, he would’ve never found someone better, sexier, and more interesting.”

“Mrs. Barnes, you are not boring nor unsexy. Men cheat on their women for other reasons,” she tuts. “We talked about your low self-esteem.”

“Doesn’t change the fact she’s a ten and I’m a two, maybe even a one,” you sniffle. “I guess he will file for divorce soon enough to marry that woman. I can’t do anything and feel so helpless. What can I do? Bucky doesn’t love me anymore, maybe he never did.”

There is a knock on your therapists’ door, causing her to frown. “Just a minute, Mrs. Barnes. I wonder who dares to disturb our session.”

“It’s okay,” you give her a soft smile. “I can open it for you, and you can make some more notes.”

“We need to talk,” when you open the door, Bucky stands in front of you, panting heavily, an envelope with papers in his hands. You assume he wants to deliver the divorce papers today, so you nod silently.

“Okay, come in,” defeated you open the door a bit wider to let Bucky inside. “Let’s get this over with.”

You walk toward the couch, holding back the tears while Bucky strips his coat off, tossing it onto the couch, ignoring your therapist completely.

“You need to stop talking to your therapist about me,” he begins. “Y/N, what will happen when she tells anyone about the stuff you told her.”

“I only told her about my doubts, that I feel like a grey mouse,” you sniffle. “There is nothing wrong with it. I try to feel better and get over the fact that I never was pretty or sexy to you.”

Tears run down your face, and you choke out a sob, hating yourself for it. “What the fuck, doll. I gave you time and space, but you’ll not talk about shit with a stranger. I want you to talk to me!”

“About what, Bucky? There is nothing left to say. You want that sexy woman, and I’m going to fade in grey again,” you shrug. “It is what it is.”

“Fade to what?” running one hand down his face Bucky sighs. “Y/N, doll. I was drunk and Natasha asked me if she can stay in the guest room. When I walked into our bedroom she was there, wearing little to nothing.”

“How could you resist a woman like her while having someone like me at home. I’m not-“ your voice cracks when you look down your body. 

“I-I’m sorry that I almost had sex with her. I was stupid. We had this fight, and I was weak that night, baby doll,” he crouches down next to you, gently touches your foot. “Look at me, doll. Natasha can’t compare to you.”

“’s okay, Bucky,” you shrug. “Men like you shouldn’t go for girls like me. You belong to Natasha or anyone else but me.”

“Fucking shit, Y/N! Yell at me. Scream. Throw things. Do anything but blame yourself for my infidelity. I was drunk and made out with Natasha. This was not your fault, it was mine, doll,” he runs his hand up and down your leg, tries to make you talk to him.

“I will sign the papers, no problem.” 

“Papers? What papers? I got you the photos you wanted of the puppy,” Bucky opens the envelope to place the pictures of one of the puppies you liked onto your lap. “I-you see.”

“Puppies? I don’t understand, Bucky,” sniff, wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt. 

“Y/N, can we not talk about what happened?”

“Mr. Barnes, I’m glad you made it to one of our sessions,” your therapist clears her throat, watches you make space on the couch for your husband. “Why don’t we talk about your problems? Maybe I can help you?”

“OHMYGOD, Bucky,” you giggle, slapping his bare chest while he tries to slip inside of you. “Hey, shouldn’t we do one of those pair therapy exercises?”

“I’m on it, beautiful,” your husband slams into you, ignores you are still sore from your last encounter. Well, you barely made it out of your therapist’s office without fucking the life out of each other. “Aw, you were such a cute shy girl, and I, the big bad mobster just came to the session to help you cope.”

“You’re an asshole,” you pant, cunt already soaked again. “But fuck me, baby. My therapist will be so fucking proud of me for taking the next step.”

“Next step, huh? You went straight to fucking me, Steve, and Sam. That’s not the next step, it’s the ultimate.”

“Yeah, and it was great,” your nails bite into Bucky’s back, leave angry red lines but you don’t care. “I’m gonna lay claim on you again Barnes.”

He growls, hips crashing into yours. “This cunt is mine. No more Sam or Steve,” you hum to yourself, lean back, and decide to just enjoy the ride. “What? Don’t just lie there, doll.”

“I’m tired but want an orgasm. Come on, Buck, work that body,” you grin, watching Bucky move on top of you. “That’s what you wanted. Right? A girl like Dot, who just lies there and takes it.”

“Damnit, doll. Move your body,” he groans when you decide to buck your hips. “More, Y/N. I wanna feel you move your body…”

“So, a second chance?” your therapist asks when you shyly sit on the couch next to Bucky. Oh, how you love to pretend you are not the devil in disguise.

Your red lips curve into a smirk and you wonder if that smart woman will ever find out the truth about you and Bucky.

“Yes, we will go for more sex and fewer puppies,” Bucky grunts, patting your thigh, squeezing it roughly with his metal hand. “Truth is doc; my girl needs a cock more than anything. Sometimes I’ll bring Steve in, to help me fuck her.”

“What?” your therapist stutters, looking at you with wide eyes. “Mr. Barnes!”

“Oh, she loves it, doc. Last time it was an orgy. I watched Steve, Sam and Thor take turns. She was covered in cum and screamed only my name,” Bucky grins like the devil, already patting his hidden gun.

“I-I,” unsure what to say or how to react to such a confession your therapist slowly gets up from your chair. “I think I’ll need fresh air.”

“Sit, doc,” his voice dangerously low now Bucky dips his head to look her straight in the eyes. “Did you think I don’t know you were selling all those nice information my wife gave you to my enemies?”

“Buck,” you sigh. “Don’t kill another therapist. I liked that one—”

“Great, now I must find a new therapist thanks to you,” watching Bucky parade around your bedroom, a smirk plastered all over his face you roll your eyes. “Seriously, Barnes. You killed three of my therapists in not eight years.”

“The first dared to say we should file for divorce. I know he only wanted to get a taste of your pussy,” your husband mutters.

“Yeah, but what about therapist number two? He didn’t do anything wrong, still, the cops knocked on my door not days after his disappearance.”

“Hey, it wasn’t me!” Bucky snickers. “Maybe Steve didn’t like your therapist blamed him for our failed marriage.” The bastard shrugs. “Or I had to show him no one touches my wife.”

“He didn’t touch shit, Barnes,” you growl, watching Bucky open the door to the bathroom to reveal his next gift to you. “What?”

“May I present to you—” he smirks when a black cat waltzes into the room, “that’s Hades, its soul is as black as yours.”

“Don’t say shit about black cats,” patting the mattress you watch Hades jump onto the bed, purring. “I love black cats.”

“I know, doll,” laughing Bucky sits on the bed to watch you pat the cat.

“This is your last second chance, Barnes. Next time I’ll just kill you...”

Tags in reblog.

[dark-twist-fairytales]

I HAVE ANOTHER GODDAMN AU-

I am so sorry for the capslock, but I am so annoyed with myself. Not because it’s shit, but because it’s so fucking good that words aren’t going to do it justice and that pisses me off. I am going to try my fucking damnedest, but I promise it is probably WAY better in my head than I’m about to describe it.

Warning, uhm.. Buckle the fuck down, it is not only a ride, but it is a LONG ride.

~~~

I physically had to calm down before typing this. Okay. This is slightly based off of the song ‘First Burn’ that was cut from the Hamilton musical (it has so much emotion that my mind can’t comprehend all at once), as I keep listening to it and it keeps expanding this idea and AU. Now onto the actual AU.

-

This has so many different angles. Some of these ideas are loosely based off of AU’s I’ve seen from other people, but don’t know who actually created them.

Firstly, it starts with the CCC going to the government base and pulling a few soldiers who willingly signed up for it. No one ever does it due to time, but these four thought ‘what the hell, why not’. The CCC doesn’t tell them that they’re trying to get control of the infinite multiverse, which had been an experiment of the past getting resurrected. Henry is that experiment, what they consider a ‘fail’, as they weren’t able to contain him or control him. They lost Henry, but Henry has control.

Rupert Price, my goddamn guinea pig with a lot of things, is one of them that signs up for the CCC, being left in the dark (along with the other three joining). The universe he gets sent to, not being replaced rather added, is a kingdoms universe. Advanced technology, bartering, the facts aren’t the same as they were, the CCC and the people within it? Not even a thing. Toppats and Government? Nope! The Wall? Not even a building! He got ‘spawned’, for lack of better words, into the kingdom of the sky, high in the mountains, and he had to make it seem like he was completely normal to that universe. Did it work? Barely passed. He was different and made into the writings of legends. He couldn’t tell this universe to the CCC, and broke down when he got pulled out of the test. He felt better there than in his own universe. It wasn’t fair! The CCC wasn’t going to use it for themselves!

Konrad Bukowski, the twin that thought could handle just about everything, signed up for the CCC in assumption that Calvin was doing the same, only to realize in horror that Calvin didn’t, and neither of them knew if he would return. Coming to the CCC program and being forced into it, he was set with Rupert in the way of him going into the place. The universe he was sent to was.. Needless to say, traumatizing. Monsters roamed the planet, all sorts of inhuman being, and with no knowledge of what the fuck was happening, he just booked it. The government was a thing, the Toppat’s weren’t a criminal organization, they were monsters hunters of the wild. NOT of those that were benefiting society, but those that would hunt and kill humans and other monsters with no remorse whatsoever. These also included human monsters. Yes, I’m talking about anyone who breaks laws and traumatize others, you really think they only were inhuman-monster hunters? Nope, versatile! But, what if the CCC got a hold of what they thought were more Toppat’s and damage the universe..? Are the CCC part of what the organization hunts? If it was the last breath he took, he would join these Toppat for the better.

Liam Rogers, a pilot that was sensitive to a lot of elements, was the most left in the dark about everything. Mask? Removed. Ear muffs? Removed. Any source of actual comfort? You guessed it, gone. On top of being overwhelmed with too much sound and light and too little comfort, he got sent to a place that was completely unknown. It was bright, he was crying, there wasn’t any comfort at all for him, until.. Well, he was found by an android of The Wall, brought along to the base and questioned immensely, while still overwhelmed, still crying, and still searching for the comfort he was stripped from. Once one of the few humans realized what was happening, he was finally able to get the relief of his overwhelmed senses and actually make proper sense of everything around him, it wasn’t a bad world. Peaceful of a lot of things, but it seemed very lackey in some areas, almost like something was missing.. Oh yeah, the huge criminal organization that wasn’t even talked about. Apparently, the Toppat’s were one of the first people to create androids for the world, but refused to make them for criminal purposes. Even more overwhelming shit, if the CCC ever got their hands on one of the more important androids of The Wall, it was over and done with. Was he going to let that happen? Fuck no!

And finally, Brian Reynold. Whoosh, this boy is gonna need a fucking hug and better therapy than what the basic military would even supply. A goddamn zombie apocalypse. Wouldn’t seem so bad, right? If it was a regular damn Walking Dead type! You know the type of zombies from Left 4 Dead 2? Yeah, THAT. Those types of zombies! First thing Brian got was a damn concussion and amnesia (faked, but he nearly started believing it himself), as well as a broken nose, busted cheek that went all the way down to his jaw, and his left ear drum becoming damaged from the shots being rang out near him. He was founded by a small group of survivors, this mainly being made of previous government officials, obviously not in a good shape at all, and just wanting back. The people he knew, scattered around on the ground, or needed to be gone. He can’t.. He couldn’t.. After so long, all of his senses became over-rid with the sense of survival, and even after being brought back, this wasn’t the Brian everyone knew. He was a paranoid, spastic, severally traumatized husk of what was a military man. The CCC can capitally fuck themselves if they think it’s a good idea to go into that universe. He’d rather go off the radar and force no one else to experience what the Hell he had to go through.

--

This took me 2 hours to write. It’s 2 in the morning. Holy shit.

[maeve-writes]

Heroes

Pairing: Stripper!Bucky Barnes x Reader x Stripper!Steve Rogers

Rating: 18+, Minors DNI 

Warnings: Adult situations, alcohol consumption, allusion to mild cheating(??). More to be added later.

Summary: It’s your friend’s birthday and you’re dragged to the Heroes club. You’re not one for that kind of place, but you quickly change your mind after you get to play the damsel in distress for a pair of Brooklyn babes. 

a/n: Unbeta’d, any mistakes are my own and please forgive me. This is the second story I’ve written in a while. Forgive me?

You normally don’t go to these sorts of places but it was your friend’s 30th birthday and it was on her bucket list. Luckily, you weren’t talked into planning any of it, just had to toss in some cash for the fee to get in and the never ending flow of drinks, plus the very special Birthday Girl Dance package.

It took you three years after the second Magic Mike movie came out to watch the first one. The idea of male strippers seemed odd. But, when you really thought about it, so did female strippers. 

Nevertheless, the night ultimately wasn’t about you, it was about your friend and her birthday. You were happy to be there with your friends, enjoying the celebration and drinks, seeing hot guys take off their clothes was a weird added bonus.

Heroes was the club to go if you wanted to see buff dudes bare it all. Tara, the birthday girl, had been raving about it for months. She found videos of it online and shared them in your group chat. That, of course, had your other friends looking for more videos and all of them started to have their favorites.

“Girl, some of them even give private shows,” Sonya, the oldest and who was supposed to be the responsible one of your group, mock-whispered excitedly.

You tried not to roll your eyes as your gang was escorted to the front table near the stage. It was a semicircular booth where small round tables came up from the floor, big enough for drinks, but small and spaced out enough to allow for bodies to move around and in between.

Your host was a slender built guy on the younger side, barely old enough to be allowed in. He had a baby face and a boyish smile, but his muscles were well defined as the club forced him to be shirtless save for the small bow tie around his neck with a spider in the middle, and the tiny pair of shorts that cupped his rear which stayed there by what you guessed was his will or magic. Maybe both.

“Here you are, ladies,” he guided, instructing Tara to take her seat near the middle. “The name’s Peter- uh Spider-Man. I’ll be taking care of you tonight.”

That set off a fit of giggles from your friends which caused a full body flush from your waiter. His embarrassment tugged at your heartstrings. “New at this, Mr. Spider,” you asked.

His flush darkened and he rubbed absently at the back at his neck after he passed out the menus. “It’s Spider-Man,” he corrected you, “but is it that obvious?” You tilted your head and scrunched up your nose, parting your pointer and thumb a small ways apart. He laughed in return, his shoulders relaxing a little. You gave him a wink and a smile before the rest of your friends attacked the poor kid with their drink and food orders.

You felt sorry for the guy, but he seemed to have loosened up a bit since your small, playful banter and your friends ate up his boyish charm. 

While you waited for your turn to order, you looked around the club to find its sleek design, not something you thought a strip club would offer. The walls were painted black, accented by silver framed posters of the dancers. Above each were white neon lights that spelt out their Hero name.

The rest of the booths were like your own, made of soft black cushions, black metal bases which were illuminated underneath by white light. The tables that sprang from the ground were polished silver necks with textured tempered glass tops to keep drink slipping and spilling to a minimum.

Of course, all of the booths surrounded the stage, which was mostly closed off by a thick black curtain, save for the large catwalk that split half of the sitting area in two. It was wide enough to fit three large men comfortably across it, shoulder to shoulder, and from some of the videos your group shared, they had done so before.

When Peter- there was no way you were going to refer to him by his Hero name- got to your order last, you could hear other rowdy groups start to file in. A couple of bachelorette parties, a girl’s 21st birthday, and a Happy Divorce Finalization Day were all joining you. Your friends quickly became friends with everyone in the room, so even if the show sucked, at least all of you could get drunk and have fun.

“Excuse me, ladies,” a voice rang out above you. Cheers burst from the crowd and every light in the room popped out and stayed out until the room fell silent. “Now that I have your attention…” A tall, dark man walked out from the split of the curtains. He wore a wireless microphone over his ear, an eyepatch over his eye which rested just above a self assured smile. Dressed in a fitted pair of leather pants and combat boots, he strode to the center crossroads of the stage and catwalk, “My name is Director Fury. I will be introducing you to your Heroes tonight.” He paused for another round of catcalls. “And hopefully we can save you from the Villains, too.” That drew out louder screams from the crowd.

“Now, what do we do to the bad girls like you,” he paused, looking pointedly to the crowd, “we contain,” he pulled a piece of rope from the back of his pants and tossed it into a group nearby, “detain,” he pulled out cuffs and twirled them around a finger before he threw those out as well, “and entertain.” With that, the bass dropped and the curtain flew open, behind Director Fury were the Heroes (and Villains) in all of their sweat slicked glory. 

Once the Director stepped aside, the seven dancers on stage began their opening routine. Dressed in black vests and tear-away leather pants, the men paraded around the stage and catwalk to the thump of the music, pulling off pieces of their clothing as they went. The women around you went wild, snatching at whatever was tossed their way, fighting playfully for it. While it seemed incredibly silly, Tara was having the time of her life and you absently sipped at your Tequila Sunrise while you scrolled on your phone. 

The dance number finished not two minutes later with a screaming cheer and standing ovation from the rest of the already slightly tipsy crowd. Director Fury came out while the dancers disappeared into the back to get ready, he worked the crowd, mentioning the brides-to-be and promised them a very special wedding gift before the night was over. “But I heard there were a couple of birthdays here,” Fury said, looking between your group and the one behind you. “Now, I’m going to get the young gun back there in a moment, but… a little bird told me that you,” he pointed to your friend, “are a very big fan of our first Hero of the night.” 

Tara squealed and stood up, “Fuck yes, I am. God bless Captain America! ...and dat ass!”

It was obvious that Director Fury was trying to keep his composure, but the corners of his lips twitched like he wanted to join in on the laughter from the crowd. “Well, he is certainly blessed,” he replied, “and ladies, you will be, too, when you see him at full salute.” He winked and started to walk off stage, “Captain? Duty calls…”

Some sort of abomination of the Star Spangled Banner started to play, remixed with drum and bass. You looked up to see what kind of horror show would come from something treasonous as what bled from the speakers around you, you were met with over six feet of muscle covered in a fitted blue suit, fingerless leather gloves on his hands, and a round metal shield on his back painted red, white, and blue. 

The Captain’s background was what looked like a large war ship with painted ski-masked bad guys spread throughout the levels. His stage allowed him ramps and poles to move up and down, which he used freely. He used a mixture of acrobatics and dance to move across the stage, tossing the shield around, “fighting off the bad guys” and losing his clothes in the process. By the end of the song he was left in just the leather gloves and a very tight pair of shorts, much like the ones Peter wore, except the Captains had the same pattern of his shield printed across the backside. 

Tara’s screams knocked you out of your daze and you realized you hadn’t stared down at your phone at all during the Captain’s dance. You watched all five minutes of it and couldn’t tear your eyes away. Heroes wasn’t about getting drunk women horny, they wanted to put on a show, too. You clapped lightly, though it was drowned out by the cheering around you, but unbeknownst to you, it wasn’t unnoticed. 

Fury was out once again and he brought up the first bachelorette of the night. He put her in a chair on the catwalk and gave her a candy-garterbelt. Then he asked her waiter, a guy named “Ant Man”, to remove it with only his tongue, which he happily obliged. 

Peter cut off your view with another drink, one you didn’t order. “On the house,” he said with a lopsided grin and placed the red, white, and blue layered drink next to your nearly empty Sunrise. Before you could ask him who ordered it, the candy garterbelt was being tugged between the bachelorette and her waiter. It ended in a tongue-y kiss and the ladies went wild. 

“Let’s hope her future husband doesn’t mind,” you muttered and turned your attention to your phone once again. Director Fury, thankfully, broke up the awkward scene on stage and began to introduce the next dancers. It was a pair, brothers, apparently, and they worked on the good versus bad troupe. Thor and Loki were opposites in every sense of the word. Thor was a large blond with a commanding presence. He had a bright smile and sun kissed skin that looked great in his red and gold trimmed briefs. But his brother was slender, graceful - almost cat-like, with dark hair and a mischievous grin all wrapped in flawless alabaster skin. They didn’t look like brothers, but they moved around each other like they had been together all of their lives, and knew each other’s moves. 

You only caught half of their story, as you were already halfway done with, what you found out was called the American Glory drink, and half wondered if that was what Captain America tasted like. Fury was up again and had the young lady celebrating her 21st birthday take two shots and lick the salt from Thor and Loki’s still sweaty chests. 

Peter found his way in front of you again and said that someone needed to talk to you about your card being declined. You frowned and excused yourself from your friends to find out what was going on. There shouldn’t have been a problem, you got paid the day before, there was plenty of money in your account.

You were taken to a hall that connected what seemed like offices, the dressing room, and the route to the backstage. “Sorry,” Peter said sheepishly, “they said this was the only way to get you back here. Gotta go.” He waved and jogged back out to the lobby.

Confused, you were about to shout out after him when you felt a tap on your shoulder. When you turned, you faced that wall of American muscle beaming down at you. “Hey there,” he greeted, a smile almost blinding you from its perfection. “Don’t be too mad at the kid, I asked him to get you back here.”

“What,” was all you could get out. He was thankfully dressed, but his muscles were straining against the white tshirt and the gym shorts did not hide the package he carried. Even with all of that, what mesmerized you most was his eyes, sparkling blue and bright with amusement. 

“This next bit requires audience participation and he had someone in mind,” the Captain replied like he explained everything.

“We had someone in mind,” a voice corrected behind the door you two stood near. You tore your eyes away from the blond and eyed the wood barrier suspiciously. 

“Don’t worry,” Captain America laughed, capturing your attention once again, “it’s nothing too dangerous or embarrassing. You just have to sit there, pretend to be tied up, and me and Buck will dance around you.” He put his hands on his hips and tilted his head in thought, “Well, actually, you really will be tied up, but we promise we’ll let you go once we’re done.”

“Or not, if you don’t want us to,” came the voice again, which made the Captain laugh.

You blinked up at him and frowned, “What’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch,” he shook his head. “We might dance on you a little, if you don’t mind, the crowd likes it. But if not, we can work around that.” The thought of Captain America in those tiny shorts grinding on you was a very nice thought.

“‘Sfine,” you shrugged.

He beamed and reached out to squeeze you on the shoulder, his touch lingering and his thumb running along your collarbone. “I’ll let the stage team know.” Reluctantly, he dropped his hand and knocked on the door next to you both, “Five minutes.” When he heard a ‘yeah, got it’, the Captain motioned you to follow him. 

The stage crew took over and the Captain disappeared to get ready. You were told about the chair you’d be sitting in, the rope that would be tied around your chest and if you would be okay with it. There was some hesitation on your part, but ultimately you agreed. They brought you on stage, a winter wonderland of sorts and placed you on a log-like chair. The rope wasn’t tight, but it was obvious you were the damsel in distress. 

“One of you was taken,” Director Fury said from the other side of the curtain in front of you, “by The Winter Soldat. Will she survive? Will she be saved?” All of the lights turn off once again and an industrial heavy beat thrummed through the speakers, rattling your bones. Red stage lights shone down on you when the curtain pulled open and your friends lost their minds.

To your right you saw a figure stalk out of the dark, red light bouncing off a silver metal arm. A mask covered the lower half of his face, but his eyes were trained on you like you were prey. His black muscle shirt clung tightly to his chest, one sleeve missing to show off his arm, and his black tactical pants stretched against his thick thighs. You could feel the shaking of the stage from the stomps of his booted feet.

Eyes wide, you stared at him until he stopped short of your chair on cue with the music. His nostrils flared lightly before he moved again, the music flowing with him. He slung one leg over the side over your chair, straddling you. The metal arm clamped the wooden back rest of the chair and he narrowed his gaze. Lights flash around you, strobing from red to white and back again until they settle on the house lights. 

Soldat began to roll his body with the tempo, blue eyes locked with yours. You could hear the screams behind him as he dancing, but neither of you were paying attention. 

His hips circled until he’s seated on your lap, you’re practically nose to nose. He brought his flesh hand to the side of your face and you could feel it trembling against your skin. With him that close you could hear him mutter in some other language that isn’t English, you’re guessing Russian, but you’re not sure. Either way, you felt crushed by his weight and you liked it. You didn't want him to go. 

But the music changed and the lights started to flash again, red, white, and now blue mixed in. Captain America joined the two of you on stage and Soldat slipped from your lap. Just as Thor and Loki had before, these two moved around each other like they were made from the same mold. 

During the fight, pieces of clothing were tossed aside and at one point you were freed from your bonds. Soldat pulled you up from your chair and up against his chest, your backside pressed so tightly against him you could almost feel his heartbeat. He moved you with him as he continued to fight the Captain.

Until seconds before the song ended and the music swelled, the Captain landed one good blow to Soldat and sandwiched you between them. The Winter Soldier recalibrated and recognized his old friend and you. He pulled the Captain into a big bear hug and then picked you up bridal style, taking you off stage with cheers from the crowd.

Once you’re all off stage, he sat you down with a hearty laugh. “You did a fantastic job, sweetheart,” the Soldier praised, running his metal hand through his chin length brown hair. “Couldn’t have asked for a better dance partner.” Flushed from embarrassment and arousal, you continued to stare at him until you were joined by the Captain. “I told you she’d be great, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, Buck, you know how to pick ‘em,” the blond agreed with a smile.

“Thanks,” you replied breathlessly, finally coming out of your stupor. “That was… fun. I’m just going to go back to my seat now, I guess.”

“Wait,” the one named “Buck” jumped to stop you, “we were wondering if you wanted a private show?” You heard about those from Tara. You knew that they were exclusive and very expensive… and sometimes had happy endings. They seemed to sense your hesitation because they both added in unison as they eyed you up like you were a four course meal, “For free.”

“I never turn down free anything,” you shrugged. The pair turned to look at each other and their smiles turned to wicked grins. You aren’t sure what you got yourself into, but you’re pretty sure you were going to enjoy it.

a/n: Part Two coming soon... with smut!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Looking for a Place to Happen 2

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), age gap, general stupidity, some violence and threats

This is dark!biker!Sam Wilson x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s lots happening in Birch and you find it all too amusing.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, Little Bones, and Fully Completely

Note: Here’s chapter two. Think I’ll probably slow down writing. Appreciate y’all.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 2: I follow every little whiff

💀💀💀

You gave yourself a day off that week. Rather, the desolation of Birch allowed you an excuse to get away from your desk. An internet outage across the town had you up and wandering the main road just after noon. Your grandmother refused to join you so she was left to her true crime novel and the weekday droning of talk show hosts.

After a peek in the book shop where you picked out some used thrillers for your nan and a guilty splurge on one of Babs' pies to add to the surprise, you stopped by the diner and had some soup to warm up from the unrelenting cold. You played around on your phone as you blindly slurped from your spoon. With no available connection, you swapped candies to achieve a score high enough to get to the next round.

After another loss, you put your screen down and added some pepper to the tomato soup. You leaned your chin in your hand and peered across the road. The Asp was just diagonal from The Chipped Saucer and from your seat by the window you could see the comings and goings of the dingy bar.

You chuckled to yourself as you remembered the hundreds of comments on your video. You weren't entirely surprised that the internet cheered at the sight of a woman beating up a man in broad daylight, you'd seen much worse on the web. But many were curious and asked about how it started and about the small town alluded to in the caption.

You picked up your phone and flipped open the camera. You pointed it through the glass as one of the many bikers strutted out of the bar and down the street. You knew him, like most in town, he was the leader's right hand man. Steve Rogers. He had an odd gait, rigid with long strides, and you remember Kelly used to make fun of him when you walked home from school. That felt like forever ago.

You ended the video and dropped your phone again. You'd send it to Kelly when the outage was over. It would be a good laugh. Plus, you hadn't heard from her much since she moved to the city.

You finished your soup and paid. You went out into the street and cut around to the backstreets. You made your way back to your nans and found Pippin scratching at the front door. You stopped and scooped him up before you let yourself in.

"Don't like the snow, do ya?" You set him down and he whipped his tail before skittering off, "hey nan, I got you some stuff."

"You spend too much," she grumbled as you hung your coat and grabbed her treats.

"Only on you," you sang as you entered the front room, "sugarless blueberry pie, your fave, and some books about murder and all that freaky stuff you love."

"Hmm," she watched you put the pie and books down on the coffee table, "suppose the pie will go good with tea."

"Ah, and I suppose I'll be making that tea?" You returned.

"My arthritis…" she pouted but her grin came through.

"Yeah, yeah," you snickered as you went to the kitchen to put on the kettle, "we going black today or something lighter?"

"Put on some of the pekoe," she called back, "make a whole pot."

"Will do, ma'am," you trilled and basked in her annoyed mutter.

💀

When the internet came back, you sent of an email to inform the agency of the interruption and promised to meet your deadlines. Then you puttered around and added a caption to the video before you sent it off to Kelly; 'why he walk like that tho'. She sent a series of crying emojis back and told you to post it.

'Nah, it's a dumb joke.' You typed back.

'Saw ur last vid, ppl will eat it up,' she insisted.

'Well, got nothing else to put up. The account’s dying since no one cares about my writing.'

'DO IT.' Her words sealed your resolve and you uploaded the video with some dramatic music in the background.

The response was almost instantaneous. Several comments saying they were happy to see more and others being for another video. 'We all wanna see inside this fucked up town' one added and several latched on. Ignoring the questions of where this was, you gave a thin promise of future small town thug content. 

You turned back to your work email and opened up your draft for your next gig. You couldn't help but smile as you went over your work. You might have just found your niche.

💀

You knew your nan would lose it if she knew you were snooping around the club, so you didn’t tell her. You went down, made her breakfast, went back upstairs to do your work, then tiptoed out in the late afternoon to poke around town for something to upload. Birch was so dull when you lived there but to those outside, it was a novelty you were all too eager to provide.

You got more videos of the bikers; some revving their bikes, others arguing, but there was nothing overly usable. You were getting bored of it until the man himself walked out of the bar. You record the man’s glower expression as he marched down the sidewalk and turned off just down the way.

‘His name is Bucket… wtf?!’ you keyed in and snorted as you waited for it to load to your account.

Still, there was nothing special going on, like always in Birch, and your grandmother was bound to get suspicious if you kept sneaking around. You went back and hid your phone before she could bitch about it. You cooked her dinner and sat with her as your thoughts swung between work and your TikTok.

You went to bed but couldn’t sleep. You ended up watching YouTube on your phone as the windows shook with the night winds. It wasn’t until the darkness began to glow that you were roused from the cocoon of your comforter. You looked out and saw smoke coming from the main road.

You didn’t think before you pulled on your jeans and shoved your feet into your slipper, unconcerned about them soaking through as you barreled down the stairs, the sleeves of your hoodie only half on. The back door bounced behind you and you crunched down into the snow and clamored past the row of lifeless houses. 

You were out of breath as you got to the end of the path and rounded the diner to gape over at the burning garage. You got closer as the line of bikers stood in their leather with breath puffing before them in the frigid night. You stepped back into the shadow of the brick façade of the realty office and swiped your camera open.

Your hands shook and you struggled to steady the image on the screen as the mechanic woman raged in only her tee shirt. You didn’t quite understand what was going on; only that her garage was up in smoke and then men were doing nothing to smother it. She swung at the dark haired man and spat at several others; “cowards”... “fuck all of you!”

You gulped and held your breath as she was dragged away by the large redheaded henchman of the slender outsider. She fought for a moment before she was flung over his shoulder and the biker followed their leader back to The Asp. You sidled in between the building and hid until the voices faded into the wind.

Well, that would be a hell of a video. It might even go viral.

💀

Your phone did not stop. You almost felt bad as you saw the screen limn the edges of your cell as you left it face down on the little table beside the couch. Your nan sat in her rocking chair talking away on her corded phone to Linette from down the road. You suspected that every other person in town was gossiping about the same thing; the fire.

You finished your coffee and rubbed your eyes as you checked the time and ignored the pulsing notifications. It was too much to keep up with.

Your grandmother hung up and sighed, “can’t believe it. You hear?”

“Hear what?” you pretended ignorance.

“That old garage burned down. The one with the lady,” she said, “pity. When I was a girl, that place was a salon. Ma used to take us there to get our hair cut. The barber would give us wrapped candies and pretend to cut himself with his scissors.”

“Oh? It burned down?” you weren’t sure you were very convincing but you also could just say you saw it happen.

“Yep, no one really can say. You know, maybe she was welding or some rag caught, but I bet my money on those bikers,” she sneered.

“Good thing you’re poor,” you kidded, “and why the bikers?”

“Oh, well, you know Kimmy, Linette’s girl, works down at the diner and she saw that mechanic arguing with one of those strangers, the ones dealing with the club men. Well, it’s no coincidence that trouble follows those leather jackets around,” she rocked as she nodded knowingly, “oh, one of the boys I knew back in the day, he was found burnt up with his bike. They said the tank blew… well, I saw it and that tank was pristine.”

“Nan,” you gasped, “you… Jesus.”

“Well, things don’t change in Birch, we just get older,” she continued, “when you’re young, everything seems new but then you age and it’s all just the same.”

“Wow, how… inspiring,” you said dryly.

“Girlie, you gotta be careful,” she intoned, “that fire, that’s a lesson to all the women in this town. To everyone. You don’t cross the Commandos.”

“I don’t think anyone--”

“That’s another thing, there has never been a shortage of stupid people, not now not then,” she girded, “those women who get tied up in that club, their lives are already done.”

You frowned and hid your phone in your pocket as you stood. You rubbed your neck and picked up your empty mug, “I should get started.”

“Mmm,” she said as she dialed the phone again, “I wonder if Fran knows yet.” 

💀

You were being really fucking stupid but peer pressure was not a logical thing. Even through a screen, you found it hard to resist the goads. So there you were, your phone in your hand as you live-streamed your walk down to The Asp. The data costs alone would make you regret it but you were caught up in the hype of you fifteen second of internet fame.

“Alright,” you stopped across the street and gave a view of the moniker with Cleopatra sultrily looking down at you, “this is it… I just gotta play it cool…” you turned the lens towards you and smiled nervously, “hopefully that dude at the front doesn’t stop me.”

Comments flicked up the bottom of the screen so fast and smilies and hearts floated up the side around your face. You crossed the screen as you turned your phone against your coat and approached the bar door. The large biker butted out his smoke and you bared your teeth nervously. He didn’t stop you as he rolled his shoulders and coughed.

You entered to the noise of classic rock and low voices, the clink of glasses and tap of chalk on marble. You glanced around and quickly swept your phone around to give a view of the patrons. You hurried over to the bar and climbed up on a stool.

“You need a drink?” the woman behind the bar scowled. She looked worn out even with her lips painted bright pink and her eyes clouded with blue shadow.

“Uh, sure, can I… can I get one pint of everything you have on tap?” you asked as you set your phone down and shrugged out of your coat. You draped it over the next stool and reposition your phone as you flipped the cam and used the built in stand on the case to angle yourself onto the screen.

“Sure,” she narrowed her eyes and glanced past you.

You swung your feet as you waited for her to pour the five pints; some with too much foam and the others with no head at all. You took the first and held it up for the camera.

“A classic, BudLight,” you held it up to the light, “no head and…” you sipped, “flat.” You plunked it down and coughed as you grabbed the next, “this is a raddler?” you looked at the tap for confirmation, “grapefruit… smells like piss…” you had a sip, “tastes like it too.”

You chuckled to yourself and asked for a water. You made a show of swishing it around in your mouth before you moved onto the third beer.

“Had to cleanse the palate,” you joked, “now… lots of foam on this one, dark. You know, I’m pretty surprised they have Guinness here but let’s see…” you tasted it and crinkled your nose, “that’s it. Exactly like toilet water!”

You read some of the comments telling you to check the bottles for bugs and laughed. Suddenly you were yanked off the stool by the back of your shirt and your phone was swiped up by another man as the first restrained you. You struggled against his thick arm as it hooked around your neck and the leader of their crew stared at the screen of your cell.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he snarled as he hit the screen with his thumb but the stream kept going. He dropped the phone to the floor and stomped it instead.

“This is the bitch posting about us online,” the man at your back growled. It was Steve, the one with the weird walk.

“I doubt either of you know how to use a computer,” you scoffed, “hey, let me go.”

“And why would we do that when you’re snitching to the whole world, sweetheart?” Bucky kicked your phone away as he crossed his arms.

“Actually, I’m--” you grasped Steve’s arm as it threatened to get tighter, “--promoting your trash business. I was just having a tasting, if you had just asked--”

“Shut up!” Bucky stepped closer and brought your legs up and stopped him as you planted your feet against his stomach.

“Hey,” a woman’s voice came from behind the bar as the waitress shoved aside her empty tray, “hey, she’s just a kid.”

“Bullshit,” Bucky huffed, “she looks full-grown to me.”

“So what are you gonna do?” she said, “she’s young. You can’t--”

“Don’t tell me what I can’t do,” he snapped.

“She’s right,” another voice intoned and that man, Sam, came up beside them with a pool cue in hand, “she’s just goofing around.”

“She’s a rat,” Steve insisted.

“You’re being dramatic. It’s called a meme and you do walk a little strange,” he chuckled, “no one’s gonna follow her breadcrumbs back to this shithole anyway.”

Bucky considered Sam and then looked at Steve. He poked his cheek with his tongue and sucked his teeth.

“So… you vouching for her?” Bucky asked.

“She won’t cause any more trouble, promise,” Sam said, “I’ll make sure of it.”

“You better,” Bucky snapped his fingers and you were released, “get her out of here.” 

[omg-just-peachy]

Hii 🤩 11 for the touching prompts? Also I love your writing so much, thank you!!

Ahh thank you so much! 💗💖

11 / laying their hand on the other’s neck

***

Tony Stark is hardly a small person, and even less so when he’s in the suit. But when you place him beside Steve Rogers, certain comparisons tend to be made. The media loves to point out how much taller Steve is. And even though Tony's long been accustomed to tabloid nonsense, he almost always finds himself pink-cheeked at each and every one of those comparisons.

But Steve’s height does have its advantages, too. He can always reach the tall shelves in the kitchen, making him the perfect person to have around when they’re unloading the dishwasher, or trying to grab a favorite mug, tucked away at the top of the cabinet.

They never have to call maintenance to change the battery in the smoke detector, and Steve can always reach up and squish a bug on the off chance one found its way in all the way up here.

So, no, Tony isn't opposed to how tall Steve is. Distracted by it, sure, maybe sometimes. When they sparred, for one thing, Tony became acutely aware of just how much bigger Steve is, how much taller, yes, but also... stronger. Wider. He could knock the breath right out of Tony if he wanted to.

Or if Tony wanted him to.

...Not that he did. He doesn’t think of Steve that way much these days. He’d made a promise to himself to stop, actually. A New Year's resolution type deal to help him get over his giant-sized crush on Steve.

But Steve makes it hard. Like this morning, as they bobbed and weaved, each trying to reach a cupboard and grab something for breakfast, until, laughing, Steve had lifted Tony up like he weighed nothing at all and simply moved him out of the way.

It was unnerving.

Distracting.

And certainly not making it any easier for Tony to keep his thoughts and feelings about Steve to himself.

Because really, Steve could reach down and manhandle Tony all he wanted, but Tony would have pull Steve down to eye level if he ever wanted to—

But, no. He doesn't have to worry about what he would have to do to kiss Steve, because kissing Steve isn’t something he’d be doing.

For the next few weeks, Tony mostly sticks to his so-called resolution, even if Steve continues to make it difficult to do so. Which he does, a lot of the time, actually. Like when he falls asleep right on Tony’s shoulder during a movie, mumbling tiredly and snuggling in closer anytime Tony tried to shift away. Or the way Steve would always come down to keep Tony company while he worked long hours in the lab, no matter how late it was.

But aside from those weaker moments, Tony kept any lingering thoughts and feelings about Steve Rogers to himself.

He probably would have continued on that path if it wasn’t for the September Foundation Gala, and the stupid blue tux Steve showed up in.

As soon as he walked in, it felt to Tony like all of the oxygen in the room vanished, leaving him breathless as Steve fidgeted with a glass in front of him.

“Tony,” Steve says now, looking relieved to have spotted him among the sea of party-goers, “hi.”

“Hi,” Tony says, smiling up at him. “You clean up nice, Cap.”

This earns him a blush that Tony’s pretty sure he can feel in his own cheeks, warm and fiery red.

“You too,” Steve tells him, smiling in that far too earnest way he has that always leaves Tony’s stomach in knots.

“I should probably—”

“Dance!” Steve blurts, before Tony can fumble through the list of people he should probably talk to before the night ends.

“Dance?” Tony repeats, dumbly. He can lead with the best of them, but the idea of dancing with Steve, here, makes his feet feel like lead in his shoes.

“Sure, why not?” Steve asks, and holds out a hand, like dancing is something they do all the time.

“Why not,” Tony agrees, nervously setting his hand in Steve’s and letting himself be led to the floor full of swaying couples and waltzing music. Steve’s hand comes to rest on Tony’s waist, grounding him and pulling him close, until Tony’s so light-headed with nerves and joy he feels like he’s downed far more than his single glass of champagne.

“You really do look nice tonight, Tony,” Steve says quietly. “Everything looks amazing.”

“Oh,” Tony says, blinking up at him. “Thanks,” he says quickly. “It takes a village. Mostly Pepper, though,” he babbles. "She has this team of minions she recruits for these things, like Santa and the elves, you know..."

Steve laughs, and holds Tony impossibly closer. “You don’t give yourself enough credit for things.”

“Some people would say I give myself too much credit,” he counters.

“Well, some people are idiots,” Steve says firmly, a frown creasing the space between his eyebrows. Tony’s fingers itch to reach up and smooth it away.

“Okay, okay,” Tony laughs. He’s trying hard not to notice the way Steve’s looking at him, his bright blue eyes warm and fond and perfect, but it’s hard, what with how close they are, and the way Steve’s hands seem to fit so perfectly around him.

The song ends then, couples making their way back to tables as new groups fall in around them, but still Steve doesn’t make a move to let Tony go, even as the next song picks up, faster and more upbeat than the last.

“Um,” Tony says, as Steve’s mouth opens and shuts, desperately trying to find something to say to fill the silence falling between them.

And maybe it’s the music, or the way Steve is still looking at him. Maybe it’s that lone glass of champagne, but one minute Tony’s scrambling for something to say, and the next he’s laying a hand to Steve’s neck, reaching up as he tugs Steve down to him. Down until he can finally, finally bring their lips together, Steve leaning down as Tony presses forward, wrapped together right there on the dance floor until they pull away, Steve’s face flushed and breathless.

“I’ve wanted to do that for… a long time,” Steve says quietly, as Tony leads them to a quiet hallway, away from prying eyes and knowing smiles.

“Yeah?” Tony asks, because he needs to be sure he heard him correctly.

“Yeah,” Steve nods, and Tony grins.

“Come back here then,” Tony murmurs, gently pulling Steve down towards him again. And for all of Tony’s planning, all his wondering what the physics of kissing Steve might be, in the moment, all he can think is that it’s easy.

[violettmedusa]

Not Ready ~ AIEB

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x OC Enhanced Avenger

Series Synopsis: Lilith Fletcher, the Navy’s first female officer escapes from hydra and meets Tony Stark who works to keep her undercover until she is ready to face the world again. When that time comes, she is reunited with Bucky Barnes. After Tony finally badgers you into moving into the compound, you are met with a familiar face and finally start to find yourself and get rid of your hydra past to build your future.

Chapter Summary: Chapter 6 - Bucky gets a hint at your background and loses it, Tony gets a lesson in recovery.

Word Count: 2,476

Warnings: angry protective bucky 🥵

A/N: my summaries are just simply not going to be good I dont think so I apologize lol

The nightmare that night wakes you up at 5am. A lot later than usual so you feel pretty good about yourself. You decide to find a treadmill and run for a bit. You always prefer to run outside but your paranoia is keeping you from doing it by yourself. The training room is empty but you put your earbuds in anyway, you turn on some music on to try to drown the racing and intrusive thoughts in your mind. Flashes of memories dance in your head, smiling faces; your father, your best friend Peggy, war buddies, mere glimpses of people you once knew. You finally look down and realize you are going 30 miles an hour and it is 7:45 already. You stop running and stand there breathing heavily. You can sense someone watching you and turn around to see Tony leaning on the doorframe. You take your headphones out and walk towards him, drinking from your bottle. He motions to a bench and you both sit.

   “How’re you doin, kid?”

   “You know, I’m old enough to be your mother” you say and chuckle at him. 

   “Yeah, but you look young enough to be my sister so just humor me” you roll your eyes at his sass but you both smile.

   “I’m doing fine so far” you say, unsure of the answer yourself but saying that to try to fulfill what he wanted to hear.

   “I think that treadmill might disagree with you” he says laughing at you.

   “I didn’t sleep too well that’s all” you say trying not to worry him.

   “How come?”

   “Just adjusting to a new place. I’m not used to having this much room.” You laugh desperately trying to avoid talking about your nightmares.

You don’t talk to anyone about your nightmares. You know that if you told someone about what you saw, they’d be horrified. You don’t even tell Dr. Raynor about all of it. 

   “Tony, I have a question” you state after a brief moment of silence between the two of you.

   “Shoot.”

   “Why now?” Tony looks at you quizzingly. “Why did you send Nat now, did Raynor tell you to or something?” You ask that last question with a twinge of hurt in your voice.

   “No, God, no!” You breathe a small sigh of relief at his response. “She and I don’t talk about you, I just wanted to make sure you were seeing someone, I set you up and that’s it I promise. I sent her now because we stopped hearing from you as regularly and I was getting worried about your health and safety.” He puts his hand on your shoulder, pulling your racing thoughts towards his answer.

   “Okay, it really was just weird timing then I guess. I have been thinking about taking you up on the offer and when Nat showed up out of the blue I assumed she told you I wasn’t doing well.” He shakes his head and you’re back to comfortable silence. 

   “Mr. Stark, Captain Rogers requests your presence in the conference room” says a female voice coming from somewhere in the ceiling.

   “Tell him I’ll be right there.”

   “Of course” the voice responds.

   “Okay, what the fuck was that?” You say a bit freaked.

Tony laughs at the shock on your face.

   “That’s my computer system, FRIDAY. You can communicate by saying the name and she can pretty much do whatever you want.”

   “Huh.”

   “Pretty cool right? Well, I better go see what Rogers wants, I’ll see you later.” You nod at him as he gets up and leaves. 

You stare at the treadmill for a few more minutes until you hear the door open. Sam and Bucky enter the gym to spar a bit before the mission tomorrow. You stand up getting ready to leave and eat some breakfast.

   “Off so soon?” Sam asks with a smile on his face.

   “I’ve been in here since five” you smile back hoping he doesn’t see how self conscious you feel. 

   “Damn girl! No wonder you look so good.” Sam says with a chuckle looking you up and down. You can’t help it and your cheeks go completely red and you look down.

   “I-I’m going to go get some breakfast I’ll see you guys later” you say and dart out of the room.

Bucky punches Sam in the shoulder and glares at him.

   “What the hell was that for!”

   “You just made her really uncomfortable” Bucky states coldly.

   “It was supposed to be a compliment” Sam says while Bucky just shakes his head and gets ready to train.

   “What’s her deal anyway? Why is she here?” Bucky asks since he didn’t sit in on the whole meeting.

   “Tony brought her in, she’s ex-HYDRA, like you, but they aren’t really telling us much more than that. Steve and Nat aren’t budging on the details. It’s for her privacy, I guess.”

That’s when Bucky breaks. Fully enraged, he leaves Sam in the gym confused and bolts to find Tony, Steve, and Nat. When he gets to the conference room, they’re all there with Bruce. 

   “Why the FUCK did no-one tell me she was HYDRA?” He barks at the three of them. 

   “Well, if you had be-“ Tony starts just to be cut off by Bucky’s screaming.

   “Don’t, Stark! Do you have ANY idea how dangerous that could have been for either one of us? At any given moment we could have a memory surge and send us into a tailspin!”

You hear the commotion as you’re drinking your coffee and wander over to hear what’s going on.

   “Is she even stable?” You wince when you hear the anger in Bucky’s voice and you know he’s referring to you. 

   “She wanted a bit to adjust to being here before we sent her to Wakanda but yes, she’s been under the radar for almost three years.” You hear Steve trying to reason with him.

   “You’ve known about this for three fucking years and didn’t think to tell me?!” You can tell he’s getting more aggravated and you can’t take it anymore.

You walk in to the room quietly and everyone turns to you, you refuse to look at Bucky but if you had, you would have seen the anger in his eyes shift to worry when he realized you had heard him.

   “I asked them not to say anything because I didn’t want people to be scared of me. I just wanted a chance to be free, but I felt like I needed to be with people who might understand, so I came. I didn’t want to burden anyone with be being here, I’m sorry if I’m freaking everyone out.” Your voice starts to waver and your eyes are glued to the floor.

   “You’re not sweetie, this is my fault, I told them not to tell Bucky and I should have known better. He’s not scared of you either I promise” Nat says calmly as she walks over to you. 

   “Let’s go get some breakfast and when we’re done Steve will explain what the mission is going to look like if you’re up for going.” She puts an arm around you and leads you back to the kitchen. 

   “You should have told me. If she had recognized me, it could have been really traumatic for her, Steve.” Bucky’s anger is now replaced with disappointment in Steve, and regret for making you feel like he was scared of you. 

Bucky goes back to train with Sam and Tony, Bruce, and Steve just look down at their hands, knowing that Bucky was right. 

Nat sits you down and gets breakfast together while you try to choke down a sob lodged in your throat.

   He isn’t scared of you, Lilith. 

Your head whips around and you see Wanda with pity in her eyes. The tears start to fall and you put your head in your hands.

   He’s worried about you.

   How do you know?

   Uh. I can read minds. And his was screaming as I walked past him just now.

You wonder why she’s able to read him and you’re not but decide not to bring it up. Nat looks over and sees Wanda, they look at each other and Nat can tell that she’s talking you down.

   Why would he be worried about me? He hasn’t even said two words to me since I’ve been here!

Wanda tries to think on her feet, not wanting to go into Bucky’s history without his permission.

   He saw how hard it was for me and didn’t want the same mistakes made with you.

You scowl at her knowing her story is bullshit but not pushing it further, she had to be lying for a reason. 

After breakfast everyone meets in the conference room for the final brief on the mission tomorrow. As people come in you say your good mornings but avoid eye contact with Bucky. Sam walks up to you and squats down next to you so only you can hear what he’s saying.

   “Okay, two things. One, I’m very sorry if I made a comment earlier that made you uncomfortable I didn’t mean to.” You smile a bit, feeling a hint of relief and it reassures Sam that you aren’t upset at him. “And two, Bucky isn’t upset that you’re here” your smile leaves and you look at your lap. “I mean it, he’s just worried that about you being forced to adjust too fast. He ranted about it the whole time we were sparring. But you didn’t hear that from me.” You look back at him and he winks at you before standing up and sitting next to Clint. 

You look at Bucky and he’s already looking at you with obvious worry in his eyes. You don’t have to read his mind to know that he regrets you hearing his yelling match this morning. Neither of you maintain the eye contact, shifting focus to Tony immediately after your eyes meet.

   “Okay, so the bad guys are going to be in this building during the day and every night they head over to the club right next door. They meet a lot of the other cartel there and there is supposed to be a deal going down tomorrow night.” Steve starts the briefing with what you already know about the drug ring. 

   “Now because this is a mob business that basically comes right out of a movie, the nightclub has live music on Friday nights” Tony continues. “I’m thinking we need a reason to be in there as well as someone who can read the room to be a gopher so, I’m thinking Lilith is the entertainment while Nat plays bartender and Sam and Wanda act as patrons of the club. Steve, Clint, and myself will stake out until we get a signal from those on the inside and Parker and Barnes will go into their building to gather and files and other information we might need.” Tony finishes with a smile, content with the thought out plan that he’s come up with. 

   “You’ve got to be shitting me” you say, the words just falling out of your mouth.

Everyone looks at you and you have your eyes fixed on Tony.

   “You can sing can’t you?”

   “I guess but I don’t do it in front of other people and especially not on my first day on the team! Who even told you that?”

You look over at Nat who is avoiding eye contact and you glare at her for a moment.

   “I’m not even sure I’m ready to be in the field, let alone front in fucking center. Can I just be in the van to watch for body language or something? I can’t do that. Not yet.” You feel you cheeks get hot and you are all of a sudden aware of all of the eyes on you.

   “Uh. Yeah. If you aren’t ready I’m not going to force you to do anything like that yet” He responds, a little thrown off that someone vetoed his plan. “We can have everything set up the same and I won’t call in about entertainment. Sound like a plan?” Everyone nods but you just look at your lap.

   “All right, everyone dismissed, don’t forget about movie night and don’t train too hard today, get some rest” Steve finishes the meeting and before he can finish his sentence, you’re out the door and running to your room.

                                                         ~

You’ve been reading in your room on your little couch and staring out your window on and off for several hours when you hear a soft knock on your door. You can sense its Tony and you tell him to come in. 

   “Hey.”

   “Hi” you respond, still looking out your window. 

   “I’m sorry about earlier” he starts.

   “Which part? The screaming match or the mission brief?” You ask curtly, making Tony flinch a little.

   “Yes, I guess” he lets out a nervous laugh, trying to lighten the mood. 

   “Bucky was right about it all I guess, and I should have listened to him.” You finally look at him with a confused scowl.

   “He said that we should be giving you more time and I guess because you seemed fine in Salem I thought that you’d be able to just kind of pick it up here.” He sits on the edge of your bed facing you.

   “You really have no idea what trauma is like for other people do you?” Tony winces at the word trauma used again when referring to you. 

   “I suppose not, and I’m very truly sorry for pushing you when thats the opposite of what I wanted to do. I even said I wasn’t going to and did it anyway. You really don’t even have to go on the mission if you don’t want to.” 

   “I do, but I thought I was just starting with intel so if I’m in the van watching over everyone and working comms I’ll be fine.” 

   “If thats what you’re up to doing, that’s completely fine. You don’t need to do more than what you’re comfortable with.”

You nod at him and look back out your window. 

   “Dinner will be ready in a few, I know you didn’t eat lunch so I suggest you eat dinner if you’re feeling okay.”

   “I’ll be out in a minute” you say as Tony gets up to leave.

You take another glance out your window and take a deep breath. You know Tony didn’t mean you any harm but he doesn’t need his hand held either so you don’t mind that he got a slap-in-the-face type of a realization of your situation. It does make you more curious about Bucky though, what did he go through to make him that worried about how you were feeling? You shrug the thought off and head to dinner.

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

@vicmc624

[anika-ann]

My Timid Hello, My Clumsy Goodbye (S.R.)

Type: one-shot, canon semi-compliant?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Barton!reader    Word count: 8900 (...sorry)

Summary: You’re spending the evening and the night before your wedding with the two most important men of your life.

When the sun rises again, you’ll say your ‘I do’ in a close circle of friends and family. It’s not a goodbye to your old life and it’s not a hello to some enormous change; but you will no longer be a Barton. You will be a Rogers. Why not reminisce a bit? 

Warnings: mention of an abandoned baby, blood and injuries, alcohol, implied possibly rougher sex (nothing graphic) ...mature?, language, so much sappiness... let me know if I missed any

A/N: For what-is-your-backupplan-today 10th anniversary of CA:TFA challenge. Prompts in bold. Thank you for coming up with this wonderful theme and hosting this challenge! Long live CA:TFA!

A/N: Throughout the fic, you’ll find snippets of lyrics from SYML’s "Everything All At Once”. Honestly, the song has a completely different meaning to me, but tearing it out of context works for this story just fine :) When you’re done reading, I recommend the music video. It friggin’ broke me in the worst and best ways. Enjoy!

This is my hello This is my clumsy goodbye I'm putting my glass down I wanna remember tonight

Tony rented an island for you. Clint nearly passed out learning about it and grumbled for days about having a hard time to top that, which, no arguing, was understandable.

It was an incredibly extravagant thing to do, throwing around money that could have been used for a much more honourable cause, but you couldn’t complain. One should not look a gifted horse into mouth – and so you didn’t.

Because Tony Stark renting an island was his premature wedding gift. The fact that your brother bitched about not being able to top that, well, that was his problem. You were certain that deep down, he knew you didn’t need any fancy gifts like that.

Then again, Tony’s gift might have been epically overpriced, but not exactly unthoughtful; along with a private island came a private jet and you being literally flied under radar so no single paparazzi knew where you and America’s golden boy Steve Rogers would seal the deal with your ‘I do.’ So, you were everything but ungrateful to your friend that he succeeded at pulling off such covert operation; and frankly, this place was nothing short of wonderful.

The golden sand was pleasantly warm under your toes as you as you and Clint walked towards the two single beach chairs facing the ocean. Wearing bikini under the baggy t-shirt and a pair of shorts, sunglasses on top of your head, because why would you deprive yourself the gorgeous view of the sun beginning to set down, you followed your brother – not in blood but in every other sense – to the seats, allured by the view, the serenity and the cold sixpack in his hand.

You had already had a traditional bachelorette party with your girls – with the team, with your family. Natasha, Wanda, Pepper, Sharon and Maria. The night had been the perfect blend of what was considered typically feminine, dress up, fanciness and wine and gossip, and a fun night out with shots, dancing, karaoke and pool. That particular night sadly was interrupted shortly by an annoying photographer, but he soon understood it was not very clever to annoy three and a half Avengers or the CEO of Stark Industries for that matter.

Clint however… Clint deserved a special evening with you. With the rest of the team in various state of chilling out, scattered around the luxurious small houses and gorgeous beaches, you two were left the privacy such moment required.

Even if the special moment consisted of simple talking and drinking beer while watching the sun set, a symbolic end of one phase of your life – a phase that was undeniably tied to the famous and yet barely known archer, one of the seven defenders who rushed into the Battle of New York to save the Earth.

One of the seven had been your brother, having previously been controlled by the monster who brought an army from outer space; there was no questioning whether you would join the fight or not, no matter how you preferred the latter part of your field medic job title to the former.

Another of these brave people, as it turned out, was your future husband. A man you had met for the first time that day, but whom you didn’t hesitate to push back down when he got hit by a freaking alien weapon and stood up, wanting to shake it off as if it was nothing. Your medical training told you not to let him; and your stubbornness had been just a touch stronger than his that day.

Apparently, Steve found you always standing your ground to be one of your most endearing qualities.

What a fancy way to express it instead of simply calling you a stubborn pain in his ass.

“You’re lost in your head, Twinkie,” Clint hummed, playfully nudging your ribs with an elbow, bringing you back to the present.

Your nose automatically scrunched at the childhood nickname.

“You gotta stop calling me that, Bobo,” you retorted, a grin spreading on your face as it was his turn to grimace.

You knew it was nothing but an act and that he in fact loved that nickname, because it held so much sentiment, so many memories… as did his endearment for you.

Bobo had been your first word or so Clint always claimed. Obviously, you wouldn’t remember.

You wouldn’t remember your parents, having been only two days old when your mother left you with a damn circus which was in your hometown at the time. You couldn’t recall how you wouldn’t stop crying until you heard a seven-year-old Clint humming a lullaby for you, with silly replacements of lyrics that always made you laugh later on when you could understand them.

How he started calling you Twinkie, because he was a sugar addict and apparently, you were sweet and small and he liked you; so much that he soon appointed himself to be your brother, your bro, your Bobo.

Once you were older and learned that your involuntary nickname for him also meant ‘crazy’ in Spanish, you were sold to that Bobo endearment forever.

Including the night before your wedding.

“You keep zoning out on me, Kid. Getting cold feet?” Clint hummed, casually handing you a can of beer, opening it up for you.

You automatically reached out and took a sip, eyes fixed on the warm colour on the horizon. What a ridiculous question… but kind and caring, with a hidden promise of getting you out of here if you just asked. Your amazing, protective, crazy brother.

You couldn’t but smile widely, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

“You offering to kidnap the bride, Clint? I’d like to see you try. You were always better at trapeze than at being an escape artist.”

Clint scoffed. “Please. These are amateurs. I bet I could pull it off.”  

That drew a laugh from you.

“Are you calling the Avengers amateurs? Better yet, are you calling your wife an amateur?” you teased him, watching his face lose colour when he realized that he did exactly that. You leaned over and patted his thigh. “Don’t worry, Bobo. I won’t tell Nat.”

Clint visibly relaxed, but a shadow of worry twisting his expression.

“Seriously though. Where’s your head at, Kid?”

You just shrugged, smile resting on your lips as you wondered if you ever felt so relaxed. It went along well with the reminiscing of the past and despite the fact that tomorrow was a big day and you should probably be nervous, you weren’t. Not in the slightest, more like the opposite. You were giddy even; it dawned to you that nothing in your life had ever felt so right.

No moment in your life offered you such serenity to your heart, your shoulders free of any weight, body light as air.

“Just taking a trip down the memory lane. Thinking about how lucky I was to be dropped at your circus of all circuses of the world,” you grinned at Clint, your tone remaining completely serious.

Because you were being serious – words couldn’t express how grateful for everything that led to this moment you were. How grateful you were to your brother for watching over you, making sure you would always see the light of a new day, guiding you when you found yourself in a dark.

Clint didn’t react beside his fingers twitching and you knew he was giving you the chance to say what you needed to say.

“About how you taught me pretty much everything I know. About how while I might not be the best person in the world, my brother, who is the best brother ever, made me into a decent person and I owe him everything I am. And how I should probably feel guilty for tying myself to another guy who just swept in and whisked away your little sister.”

Clint stared at you, gulping as his eyes gradually filled with tears. You found yourself in a very cheesy moment, bordering on absurd and it was almost too much to handle – but Clint took a deep breath, cleared his throat and swallowed his tears.

“Well, that bastard did steal my greatest life achievement with way too little effort,” he remarked, voice cracking slightly, the image of him causing your eyes to burn as well even if his words made you both tear up and burst out laughing.

“Dammit, Clint, stop making me laugh and cry at the same time…”

“You started it!” he pointed his index finger at you accusingly, taking a large sip of his beer to drown his sentiment. “But for the record, you should not feel guilty. It’s not like you’re leaving me.”

“I know, but-“

“And if you were, you’d be leaving me in good hands.”

“That’s true, Natasha does have a grip on you and might keep you outta trouble-“

“She’s the one who gets me into trouble half of the time!” Clint cried out in protest and you would have argued if it wasn’t the truth.

But before he had met her, Clint was able to make up his own trouble just fine – he was more than half of a reason why while doing a bit of trapeze yourself, you also grew interested in medical care. Because who else than the little sister should treat her big brother’s wounds when he got too crazy?

“In all seriousness, I’m proud of you, Twinkie,” he said sincerely, one corner of his lips raised in a lopsided smile. “You’re entirely entitled to have your own life and if there’s one guy in this whole damn world I’m willing to trust to have you… well, I guess it’s that big blond dumbass.”

“He can be a bit dumb of ass occasionally, can’t he?” you mused lovingly. “I guess it’s right what they say… we do pick our partners similar to our parents, maybe not only in looks. I didn’t really have a dad, I had you, so…”

Clint sighed, smile widening, before it slipped from his face as he caught up on the not-so-hidden insult.

“Hey!”

You couldn’t but laugh at his shocked expression, accidently spilling a splosh of beer on the sand.

“Just… maybe make sure that even married, you still find time to hang out with your big dumb of ass brother every once in a while?” Clint suggested, sounding surprisingly vulnerable.

Your whole demander softened, a little pang of guilt stinging in your heart as he took your words too seriously – and at his worry.

“Clint… I will always find time for my amazing brother.”

“Well, you’re marrying a pretty amazing guy too, so, you know, I understand the dilemma…”

You snorted when he seemed to genuinely fawn over your future husband, shaking your head before downing the rest of your drink.

“As amazing as Steve might be – and gosh, he is, don’t get me started – you still own a pretty big chunk of my heart.”

“Good. You are a Barton at heart,” Clint hummed, pretending that a few tears didn’t roll down his cheeks, leaning towards you as his expression once again grew serious.

Your chest tightened. Oh no. He was gonna say something to make you cry too – as if you already weren’t at verge of crying, emotions bubbling under the surface.

“Clint-“ you warned him silently, but he spoke up anyway and you gulped, bracing yourself.

“Just… whatever happens tomorrow, you must promise me one thing. That you will stay who you are. Not a perfect housewife, but a good woman.”

That was not what you were prepared for, as touching as the sentiment was.

You burst out laughing, head thrown back, hands clutching at your stomach as it actually hurt with the sudden clench. Tears did spring from your eyes, a perfect blend of touched and infinitely amused at your brother’s words.

“Har, har, that’s what I get from trying to speak from heart…” Clint muttered grumpily and you willed yourself to calm your hitching breaths as you looked at him, the pout of his mouth causing you to cackle again.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just… I am moved, I really am. Thank you. But me? A perfect housewife? And you realize I’m marrying Steve Rogers, right? The epitome of a good man? He would probably threaten to sock me in a jaw if I tried to change into something I’m not just for his sake and actually sock me in my jaw if I turned into a bad woman.”

Clint’s eyebrows jumped, a smirk appearing on his face. “That’s a lot of punching.”  

“My thoughts exactly,” you agreed, reaching for another can, pausing when a thought occurred to you. “Just so we’re clear, I might turn into a bit of a housewife when we have kids, alright? And I want to be a good wife, a good partner to Steve, which is what I’m trying to do even now.”

“I mean, yeah, sure, wouldn’t expect anything less. But… just promise me you’ll stay you and that you’ll keep giving him a run for his money, keep him on his toes a bit,” Clint shrugged with a grin, drawing another chuckle from you.

You saw his point – and you fully intended to keep Steve on his toes. You had a good reason to believe that your future husband enjoyed when you did.

“Oh Clinton… I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He nodded contentedly, picking up another beer and raising it for a toast, his can clinking with yours.

“Cheers to that!”

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you then, a quiet joy wrapped in one moment; the sun ending its quest, the warm breeze in your hair, the waves whispering of a journey you were about to take off to. And all that with a wordless comforting presence of your family, ready to offer you a shelter if a storm rocked your boat and the wind caused you to lose course.

As your mind wandered, you had to laugh at yourself – it was almost as if you were raised by pirates and not circus performers. Perhaps it was the little bit of free cheeky spirit these life journeys had in common what brought the metaphor to your mind. It was a bit like working with the Avengers too, always on a road, adrenaline in your veins even as you mostly stayed on the jet, ready to assist them… yet here you were pondering that maybe, you were yearning for settling down a bit more.

“Cap wouldn’t punch you anyway, right?” Clint remarked, breaking the silence and you blinked yourself back into reality, taking a moment to figure out what he was talking about.

Oh. Right. Steve punching you if you changed yourself significantly for his benefit.

You smiled softly, heart swelling in affection when the answer to that question appeared obvious.

“No, he wouldn’t.”

“Good. He’d try once and I’d put an arrow straight between his eyes,” Clint promised darkly, almost causing you to choke at the sudden violent note. He quickly fixed it with a ramble, lightening the atmosphere yet again. “Minus training of course. He’s allowed to try in order to improve your hand-to-hand. Not that he would ever land a hand on you anyway. Always so soft on you…” he grinned, seemingly alright with that attitude if not slightly calling the big strong supersoldier out.

Oh you could be cheeky too alright if that was what your brother wanted.

“That you know of.”

A confused huh was the only reaction you got – that and a puzzled look.

“He’s always soft on me,” you repeated Clint’s words, turning to him, lips slowly spreading in a wicked smirk. “That you know of.”

Clint’s brows furrowed for a short moment and then his features twisted in a disgusted grimace, face growing a tint crimson.

“Gross!” he complained, more blood rushing to his cheeks. “You know what, I changed my mind. We’re leaving. You’re not marrying him. I’m kidnapping the bride and never returning her, locking her somewhere far far away-“

You snorted at his indignation, your grin undoubtedly battling the one of the Cheshire cat.

“No will do, Bobo. I’m marrying Steve and you can’t stop me.”

This time, Clint didn’t even protest, eyes misted over, nose still scrunched at the mental image, lamenting as the night slowly settled over the paradise-like island.

“Oh god, please help, I can’t unsee it, can’t unhear it--- ew-”

Your laughter was carried away by the breeze as Clint seemed to be unable to look at you.

You swung your beer around, thinking that yes – nothing quite ever felt so right as being here in this moment. Relaxing with your brother, teasing him relentlessly and counting down hours to when you’d say ‘I do’ to the only man who in your eyes ever battled the mantle of the best man in the universe.

In one unending moment You fall within my reach I'm close enough to whisper Hold on to me Hold on to me

You weren’t sure what time it was when you snuck into the beach house, one of few, which had been wisely chosen to be occupied by you and Steve only. You attempted to be quiet and liked to think you succeeded, in your even barely tipsy state, but your effort turned out to be in vain as you found Steve perched against headboard of your bed; reading a book, thin white t-shirt and sleep shorts on display as the soft sheet had been kicked away, scrunched up by his feet.

He was gorgeous – he was gorgeous and yours, a momentary picture perfect of peace, appearing to feel just as light as you did and somehow the dullness of the moment, just him relaxing in bed with a good read as you came home… it was more alluring than one would think.

Steve looked up from the book when you wavered in the doorway, soft lopsided smile spreading on his face.

God, that smile. It might be over two years since you saw it for the first time, but it could still make you weak in your knees.

And somehow, it was now even more charming now than the day you met, more tender than just before you kissed for the first time, sweeter than when he proposed.

“Hey sweetheart,” he greeted you, appreciative gaze roaming your figure and the little too much skin on display – something you regretted when the warm sunrays had bid you goodbye, raising goosebumps. And Steve, the attentive man he was, noticed, his smile earning a teasing edge. “You look a bit cold in there.”

You resisted the urge to stick your tongue out.

“And you look pretty cosy in there. Thought you’d be either asleep or with Bucky.”

Steve shrugged, not letting go of his unfinished chapter just yet, knowing you had a routine to go through before joining him.

“Maybe I missed you. Maybe Bucky is an old man and needs his sleep.”

You chuckled, not rising to the bait – you knew what would follow if you dared to say Steve was just as old. Not that you would complain about Steve trying to convince you about the opposite. You could never.

“Well, I bet he still made you a promise of breaking a bone of mine or two if I ever hurt you. He’ll find energy for that, centenarian or not,” you hummed nonchalantly as you bounced off the doorframe, heading to the bathroom and leaving Steve puzzled by your remark.

“How did you know?” he called out after you, endearingly confused.

“That’s what big brothers do, love!”

Short silence was your answer as you reached for your toothbrush and begun your nighty ritual.

Steve must have figure out what did it mean for him, considering you had a protective brother of your own, because a moment later, his half-amused “noted!” reached your ears.

You chuckled and shook your head, smile spread on your face which you didn’t think could be erased as long as you were in this paradise – free of worry, full of joy. And why wouldn’t you be? You were about to marry one of the smartest, kindest, sassiest and most beautiful men that ever walked the Earth. What was not to love?

You couldn’t but let your mind wander again; if you had only known the day you met, right from that moment, that you’d end up here…. well. It felt a little surreal, knowing that by this time tomorrow, you’d be Steve’s wife; then again, Steve’s life story was surreal enough on its own.

Who would have thought that the stubborn handsome man in the ridiculous suit and you, equally stubborn about you at least checking on the wound upon half-dragging him to a quiet corner in a middle of a battlefield, would grow so close?

It hadn’t been simple. Steve wasn’t the most open guy and while friendly enough, he wasn’t exactly offering his heart on his sleeve, not to strangers. But it hadn’t been too hard, once you were meeting on regular basis. Piece by piece he revealed his true colours and soon after he did… you started falling; hard and fast.

Not necessarily swooning, not on the outside at least; you were a professional, after all. The safety and the well-being of the team was your priority.

It was just too bad – or the best thing, you supposed – that Steve had the same goal as you with one significant difference; as far as he was concerned, the responsibility to look after his team sometimes excluded him.

Oh, was he wrong about that.

And boy, did you let him know you thought so. You still kept proving him wrong to this day and was planning on nurturing his own acknowledgement of his self-worth till your last breath…

“Get your ass in here, Steve!” you called out after him, slowly losing patience as you had tried asking politely the previous two times with no result but being dismissed.

The change of tone and language made his head snap to you from where he was talking to Sam, an offended scowl on his face.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Captain. Don’t be a stubborn jerk and get your ass in here so I can clean your cuts.”

A few months ago, you wouldn’t have been able to talk to him like that; to the great legend, Captain America. At least you certainly wouldn’t have called him his first name and maybe, just maybe, you’d be a little less crass. But now? He might be Captain America still, a hero who deserved all the good things for the sacrifices he made for the world’s safety, but first and foremost, he was just Steve to you.

A colleague, a teammate, a friend. You might not be a part of the team per se, not the way Clint, Natasha or Steve were, but you still belonged. And you were all friends.

Friends irritated each other sometimes and frankly, Steve was often battling with Tony for the mantle of the most infuriating one.

Friends also needed to call each other out on their bullshit by any means necessary when the time was right and now the time was as good as any.

Usually, Steve slipped through your fingers, because he was a supersoldier and the others weren’t, so their injuries took precedence; today, it was only Natasha, Sam and Steve, and the captain was the only one whom you hadn’t checked yet. And you knew there were things to check, the trickle of blood from his eyebrow probably the least of your concerns.

“I wouldn’t argue with her, Steve. She can be pretty stubborn. Clint wouldn’t stop complaining about it,” Natasha supported you from the pilot seat and you fought yourself so you wouldn’t grin at her in victory – it would only irritated Steve further. “She’s almost as bull-headed as you are.”

At that, your smile would have slipped. But honestly, she wasn’t wrong.

“Don’t I know it,” Steve grunted, sparing Sam another glance and when the Falcon himself beckoned to you as well, wordlessly asking Steve to get himself checked up.

The captain sighed irately, but made his way back to the separate and well-lit space of your examination room.

He didn’t try to hide his annoyance – in fact, he squared his shoulders and his steps sounded a bit loud for anyone to believe it was a coincidence. Also, the scowl of exasperation never left his otherwise handsome face.

“This is completely unnecessary. A stupid waste of time,” he hissed as he walked past you and you took a deep calming breath, exchanging an eyeroll with Sam before you disappeared from sight.

“Captain. I respect you and your position, but you say one more time that my job here is unnecessary and stupid, you’ll be looking for a new medic,” you retorted as he stripped the upper part of his uniform angrily, revealing his white-tank-top-clad torso.

Well, at least the fabric used to be white – now a blood stain the size of both of your palms was seeping into the material at Steve’s right side, gushing from what definitely appeared to be a knife wound.

You were gonna murder him one of those days... unless he got killed himself first.

“Seriously?!”

“It’s just a graze-” he started to argue but you cut him off when you tore the fabric away. He winced as some of the dried blood had acted as a glue, having stuck the cloth into the wound, and now was violently ripped off.

“Tr to insinuate again that I’m incompetent at recognizing what’s just a graze, Steve. I dare you. This is a cut wide and deep enough for stitches! Haven’t you had the serum, you could have been bleeding out to death on this table!”

“But I do have it-“

“Or for fuck’s SAKE, stop being a baby and let me treat the bloody gash in your right mesogastric area! The serum accelerates your healing, but it doesn’t make you invincible OR immortal as far as I know--- Jesus fucking Christ-!”

He bristled, taking a deep breath to fight back, but he never got the chance, because you started working and the words died in his throat. Surprisingly, inspecting the damage, poking around a knife wound that might have already begin to seal itself thanks to Erskine’s formula but had not been just a graze hurt and coincidentally, it pulled the rug from under his feet.

To his credit, Steve barely even hissed at the pain.

“Just so you know, I’ll be using the disinfection that stings worse,” you noted, voice dripping venom, because you were genuinely done with Steve’s bullshit.

You lied through your teeth though. You wouldn’t. No matter how infuriating Steve was and how difficult he made your life – causing you to fall for his stupid martyr ass and pine after him among other things – you would never purposely hurt him.

And he must have sensed that, because your remark didn’t earn you a murderous glare or a retort – much to your surprise.

In fact, Steve fell entirely quiet, watching you work without protest, not even objecting when you applied enough local anaesthetic to knock out an elephant and sewed the tissue together so it healed easier. He let you inspect the rest of his torso and bandage his ribs, vigorously shaking his head when you asked him if he was injured anywhere below the waist.

He observed you as you kept an eye on his face for any minute sign of pain he’d be hiding, but all you could see were his irises, startlingly bright blue, pools of honesty and something you had trouble decoding. He seemed… humbled almost. It silenced the anger inside you, the flames of rage – and fear for his well-being, if you were being honest with yourself – turning into a barely smouldering pile of ash.

When you moved on to his head, gently pushing away the strands which obscured the gash on his eyebrow, his eyelids slid shut. You knew how unpleasant facial injuries were, especially around one’s eyes and so you took care to be extra careful as you cleaned the wound and the area surrounding it, most definitely not using the stingy disinfectant.

Not that Steve could get an infection as far as you knew. It was more force of a habit than anything else… and it made you feel better. He had this idiotic mask of an invincible hero he put up sometimes and it drove you insane, because you knew he was only human, a beautiful kind soul, but god, could he be an ass.

“Almost done,” you whispered soothingly when you noticed his jaw tightening as you had to apply a bit more pressure to get a tiny piece of gravel from the cut. You certainly didn’t want that to stay under the newly healing skin.

The moment you retreated with the bloody gauze, Steve’s eyes were back on you, wide and regretful.

“I’m sorry,” he offered quietly, a genuine apology that sounded almost absurd after you two were hissing at each other like damn hellcats. “I didn’t mean to--- I’m sorry for being rude and ungrateful. Thank you for taking care of my injuries.”

One glance into those deep irises and benign hesitant smile and you were done for. How could you stay mad at him? Well, you were still mad at him for the absolute disregard of his own health, but… well. You also understood he felt like he needed to stay strong for the team and put them first and how he actually was in pain.

Pretty much everyone was a pain in the ass when in pain.

You sighed as you searched for few band-aid strips to cover the cut.  

“It’s alright, Steve. I’m used to old men being grumpy and not meaning things they say when they are,” you offered lightly and he hung his head with a chuckle, clearly not taking the old man remark personally – and understanding you were referring to your brother.

His smile was wider when he looked up again. “You shouldn’t have to be used to it.”

You shrugged, carefully slipping two fingers under his chin to angle his face so you could stick the strips over the wound.

“Well, I deserve it sometimes. I don’t mean to… to be overbearing and make you feel like you’re incompetent or something,” you added hesitantly, worrying your teeth over your lower lip as the tone you’d been handling him with caught up with you. Perhaps you could have been nicer.

You smoothened the stripes of band-aid, gulping as you felt Steve’s gaze boring into your face while you continued.

“I know you’re not incompetent. You’re very capable, you’re the best. It’s just… I still--- worry- for all of you. For the full-time Earth’s mightiest heroes. Silly, huh?” you muttered self-depreciatingly and when your eyes met, you were startled by the intensity he watched you with as you laid your fears bare in front of him, leaving you vulnerable. You swiftly looked away and dropped your hands. “Here, almost as good as new.”

A lump grew in your throat as you stripped your gloves, tossing them into the bin. Did you reveal too much? Didn’t it sound silly indeed as you said it out loud? Yes, you were all friendly with each other, but you were supposed to be a professional, focused on your task, not getting distracted by-

-by Steve gently grasping your wrist, causing your heart to skip a startled beat. Definitely not getting weak in the knees when you shot him a surprised glance and he just… brought your hand to his face, lips briefly skimming over your knuckles.

Jesus Christ, Lord have mercy with me.

“Don’t you ever apologize for caring. Don’t stop caring. Silly is the last thing I’d call it.”

Your cheeks felt like set on fire, stomach fluttering as well as your heart. You could feel the ghost of Steve’s lips on your skin, sending your heartrate sky-high, causing your head to spin a bit, your body hot all over.

Did he really—did he just-? And did it mean that… did it mean anything at all?

He let go of your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles, but held your gaze adamantly as he gave you a sad smile and rose to his feet, clearly ready to leave.

You, on the hand, stood there frozen, mind racing.

Why had he done that? Was he really just trying to express gratitude and say sorry for his previous behaviour? Because that was not the way it was supposed to be done, because such tenderness left you entirely bewildered. Was he trying to tell you he was somehow interested in something more than friendship? Was he just high from the anaesthetic, mind you, local one that was not supposed to mess with his brain? Was there any sign of a head injury you missed?

“Thank you, again,” he whispered softly, moving to sidestep you and your hand instinctively shot out, latching onto his forearm… gently.

You gulped, heart stuttering when he glanced at you, puzzled.

One part of you wanted to sink into the floor in embarrassment at your unwitting reaction. Another part of you observed him so closely that you would swear that there was another emotion in his eyes and it was neither apology nor gratitude. You wistfully hoped for longing, the same longing you felt when you were near him, sometimes distant and barely there, other times so acute it hurt.

With your stomach somersaulting in doubt, you willed yourself to raise your free hand slowly, purposely giving him a chance – Lord, please, don’t let him take it – to stop you before your palm settled on his cheek.

You were certain you experienced a small cardiac arrest when Steve not only didn’t avoid the touch, but actually leaned into it, gaze fixed on your face, eyes brighter and softer than you ever remembered seeing. Your gaze flickered to his mouth deliberately, throat turning dry. Too daring? He kissed you knuckles, surely you could reciprocate some affection?

Swallowing against your dry throat, you leaned in before you could change your mind and dropped the briefest peck to his lips, causing his eyelids to flutter shut.

Oh no. Oh no no no no, you totally crossed a line-

You went to retreat your hands from him, but the second you moved, his eyes were snapping open, hand covering yours on his face to keep it there, the other cradling your face and then there was a warm and soft sensation on your own lips as he seized them with his.

Your mind went completely blank save two single thoughts: Steve is kissing me. I really like that.

A small sound escaped you, a blend of surprise and contentment, breaking you from your trance and turning you into an actual participant of the pleasant and entirely unexpected activity.

You drew in a small breath, head spinning from the scent of Steve’s shampoo, disinfectant, sweat and something you couldn’t quite put your finger on and not caring.

He tasted faintly of blood, but otherwise was nothing but sweet as his lips caressed yours, gently tugging at your lower lip and then the upper, the lightest graze of teeth and tease of tongue, finger pressing into your jaw to pull you closer, thumb stroking your cheek.

You whimpered involuntarily when his lips parted from yours, soothing as they returned for a short peck, to drop a brief kiss to the corner of your mouth, to brush your cheek.

Your name was a breathy whisper between the two of you, barely audible as all you could hear was your heartbeat pulsing frantically in your ears, growing aware of your fingers clutching at Steve’s still unzipped armour and nearly sinking in his hair, his hot breath tickling your skin.

You didn’t dare to open your eyes – what if you dreamed it up? What if you looked at him and saw regret – it didn’t feel like he would be regretting it, but… still. Insecurity tugged at your mind as it slowly cleared from the literally breath-taking kiss.

Steve repeated your name with urgency that was unheard of, the single word sounding almost as a plea.

“Please say something.”

Oh.

You blinked your eyes open, surprised to be met with his searching gaze, a minute furrow of his brows. It seemed you weren’t the only one whose mind was being the worst of one’s enemies.

Perhaps your brain was being stupid. Perhaps you both wanted this. Perhaps you felt exactly the same.

As you forced yourself to move, fingers actually slipping into his hair to caress his nape, Steve inhaled shakily, shoulders slumping. The tinniest of smiles tugged at his mouth, tempting red and minutely swollen from the kiss; you had to resist the urge to just taste it again.

Instead, you licked your lips only, savouring the previous sensations, smiling unwittingly.

“That’s… uhm, that’s a really creative new way of driving me crazy.”

Steve’s eyebrows rose along with one corner of his mouth, relief written all over his face.

“Oh? There are other ways in which I’m driving you crazy? Because I couldn’t tell...”

You narrowed your eyes, but you didn’t think he bought you unconvincing act of being irritated with him at such remark.

“Don’t push it, Captain,” you warned him, but your treacherous mouth kept curling up in a smile, your body still buzzing with aftershocks of the kiss.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Uh-huh… s-sure,” you stuttered briefly as his thumb caressed your cheek, bright smiling eyes watching only inches from your face – and yet it felt like he was too far.

“You’re driving me crazy too, you know,” he noted in a breathy voice, causing you to gulp as his gaze flickered to your mouth, clearly implying how you do so… among other ways… like your stubbornness practically matching his.

“Oh really? I do? I couldn’t tell…”

He chuckled, his hand slipping to your nape, soft tickle of his fingers making you squirm.

“I’m gonna kiss you again now if that’s okay,” he whispered, not waiting for your permission and erasing the distance between your lips again.

Still, you whispered your approval to his mouth.

“So okay…”

Long moments later when Sam called out to warn you that you’d be landing soon, you said yes to the grumpy old man’s request to let him treat you dinner.

Oh if you only knew by then how far you’d come…

Lost in thought, goofy smile on your face, you exited the bathroom, ready to snuggle your future husband… and to fully take the opportunity to make love, last night before you officially became his and he became yours.

You had a brief second to register that the bed was empty, your heart skipping a started and disappointed beat. The second you stepped out though, you were literally swept off your feet.

A yelp erupted from your throat as you found yourself with no ground under your feet and high in the air, one of Steve’s arms under your knees, the other under your back. Your hands frantically gripped at the nearest firm point, Steve’s shoulder and arm as you finally realized what the hell happened and was met with a cheeky grin and sparkling blue of his eyes.

That traitor was waiting just by the door to ambush you! Why?

You slapped his very much bare shoulder playfully, hissing a curse, not unaware of the heat radiating of him and seeping into your skin.

“You jerk! You almost gave me a heart attack!” you complained, but he didn’t even have the decency to look apologetic.

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

“No, you’re not.”

Steve grinned wider, shrugging and pulling you closer to his torso, nuzzling your temple and dropping a placatory kiss there.

“Still looking a little cold.”

“No, I look like this because you scared me,” you emphasized, vainly trying to resist the seduction; a mixture of playfulness, sweetness and blatant display of strength as he still held you with ease. It was hard not to be temped. “And you look like you’re awfully warm, parading here without a shirt.”

“Well, I’d call us even since you’re parading around in these absolutely sinful shorts. Makes me hot. I can warm you up,” he mumbled to your skin, lips moving to your ear, causing you to shudder.

How was it so easy for him to make you all hot and bothered? You guessed that at least, as he said, it made you even... it wasn’t difficult to get him riled up either.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Driving you crazy?” Steve offered, sounding awfully delighted at the idea and you only melted into him further at the reminiscence of your first kiss and what followed.

“Always,” you confirmed, deadly serious, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips or the mewl that escaped you when his teeth grazed the shell of your ear, warm breath tickling the sensitive skin of your neck.

“But you love it.”

“Uh-huh…”

“I can live with that with that then,” he said, stalking to the bed determinately. “Now let me drive you so crazy you can barely speak and the only sound you’re making is whimpering my name.”

He all but tossed you on the bed, a yelp of his name in fact erupting from your throat, followed by a fit of giggles that only died when his mouth seized yours, his lips only leaving when heading south to indeed drive you crazy.

And yes; you loved it.

And you loved him too.

In one unending moment I fall within your reach My song a sweet surrender Hold on to me Hold on to me

Before the girls could steal you from him, Steve decided – with your enthusiastic agreement – that you should once again try how it felt to make some morning lovin’ outside marriage. With the ceremony planned for the late afternoon, you had plenty of time; and needless to say, it was bliss. Then again, you believed that marital sex with Steve would be just as delightfully pleasant, thank you very much.

Then, it was a whirlwind – make up, hair, dress, a tear or two spilled when you saw the result in the mirror.

More tears spilled when you glanced out of the window and saw the tastefully and modestly decorated arch, the path created by few scattered rose petals, the male part of your almost family sans Clint in the suits, effectively hiding Steve from you; and you from his just in case, because no one wanted any bad luck.

Your staring was interrupted when your brother went to pick you up to lead you down the aisle.

Upon entering the room and setting his gaze on you, he promptly looked away with a sniffle. It both warmed your heart and made you laugh as did his remark.

“Nope, not giving you to him. In fact, I’m never giving you to anyone. No one will ever be worthy, so I’m keeping you.”

“Hush, Clinton, you’ll still have me,” Natasha winked at him as he took a deep calming breath before carefully eyeing you again.

Clearly, it hadn’t done the job, because few tears still found their way down his cheeks.

“You’re a knock-out, sis,” he sputtered hastily, but no less honestly – clearly moved to tears.

And yet… you snorted at his choice of words and he rolled his eyes, quick to compliment your beauty instead.

You wouldn’t have it any other way though, even appreciating his first remark more for it came from the bottom of his heart rather than from what convention required.

Embracing you carefully in fear he would mess up the work of art his wife and other girls created, he held you in his arms for a moment, as you retuned the hug, clutching at his suit with a little too force. From the corner of your eye, you noticed the bridesmaids clearing the room.

“It’s not like I’m leaving you, Bobo,” you hummed with a smile, throwing his own words from last night at him.

And you weren’t leaving him; your heart swelled with love for your brother, your father figure, your long-life friend.

With sniffle, he let go of you and looked you up and down, proud smile spreading on his lips.

“It’s okay. If you are, I have the best spy in the world for a wife, we’ll drag your ass back home.”

You just slapped his chest playfully and took a deep breath – it was time. Clint grasped your hand firmly then, elbows interlocking, and went to step out just a moment after the bridesmaids left to join the groomsmen.

Well-aware everyone was going to stare and that Steve awaited you at the end of the aisle to marry you, your legs were shaking minutely as the magnitude of the event finally dawned to you.

“Getting second thoughts now?” Clint teased you, eliciting a chuckle from you and shake of your head.

What a question.

“No. Just… please don’t let me fall,” you muttered to him, entirely serious and grateful for your choice of footwear – simple flats hidden by the long flowing skirt of your dress. Better chance of not spraining your ankle on your wedding day.

“Never.”

Clint squeezed your hand under his warm palm and you took a deep breath, stepping into the doorway. Soft melody welcomed you, your very own wedding march Bruce was playing on a mouth organ – something you had previously had no idea he was capable of.  

Looking up from your skirt, you feasted your eyes on the company and the beautiful scenery for only a regretfully short moment, grateful for Sam’s Redwing programmed to record and take photos.

Your gaze instinctively searched the small crowd instead, until it fell under the arch where three men stood.

One of them was Sam himself, having obtained a licence so he could be your wedding registrar; he looked positively dashing. So did Bucky, who patted his best friend dressed in his old-fashioned green captain uniform on the shoulder, his smirk visible even from tens feet away as he stepped back.

Naturally, your gaze lingered on Steve, your feet acting of their own accord and following your brother’s lead.

Gosh, your future husband was the most handsome and absolutely hottest specimen to ever walk the Earth. Hair combed neatly to one side and in his old army uniform, he truly looked like the gentleman from another era he was and yet, he undeniably belonged exactly where he was. His eyes were bright and blue just like the sky, lips slightly parting before curling up into a brilliant smile which somehow still carried the tenderness he treated you with when he felt particularly affectionate.

He must have uttered something under his breath, because Bucky pressed his lips together as if he was holding back laugh. The absolutely best best man, ladies and gentleman.

Your found yourself smiling just as widely, a stray tear tickling the corner of your eye and you had to fight the sudden urge to ditch Clint in order to gather your skirts and run the rest of the way just to jump into Steve’s arms.

But in reality, there was no rush – here, on the damn island Tony rented, there was so much time that one short walk meant nothing in comparison.

“Alright, maybe I’ll give you to him,” Clint whispered, making you bite the inside of your cheek so you would cackle.

Leave it to your brother he would find Steve Rogers so fine he’d be willing to give you out just to have him become a part of your family.

One corner of Steve’s lips twitched in amusement – supersoldier hearing didn’t miss the remark then. Good. Then Bucky heard it too and you had a witness just in case Clint would change his mind. Again.

Finally, with your heart almost in your throat, you reached the end of the aisle, Clint gently putting your hand into Steve’s… without letting go.

“You be nice to her, Cap. And I mean really nice, you hear? Or else-“

“Hush,” you hissed good-naturedly in your brother’s direction, winking at him before you returned your gaze to Steve. “Hey there, handsome.”

Steve chuckled under his breath when Clint stepped back. He returned the greeting with soft ‘hey there, beautiful’ and then proceeded to lift your joined hands, brushing your knuckles with his lips – just like the day you shared your first kiss.

Well now you truly found yourself on the verge of crying. And Lord, you wanted to kiss him so much-

Sam cleared his throat loudly, casting you both a meaningful look as if he could read your mind and wanted to remind you that there were a few things to go through before that could happen.

Ugh. Formalities. Just let me kiss him…

Steve licked his lips – the audacity! – and turned, lightly tugging at your hand so you both faced your friend who held a little leather book open, beckoning towards the guests: Bucky and Natasha, the best man and the best woman, Clint, Bruce, Tony, Vision, Wanda, Sharon, Pepper. Just your closest friends and family.

Sam cleared his throat again.

“Alright. We all know why we gathered here today. To get these two amazing people married, so they could officially become a special team within our team.”

You grinned, peripherally noticing Steve eyeing you as well. Team indeed.

“This is the part where I would ask all of you, bride and groom included, to speak up now if you’re aware of anything standing in the way of this wedlock or to remain silent forever. But frankly, if you have something to say, right now is the perfect time to keep it to yourself. Just let these lovebirds get married…”

Muffled laughter and giggles erupted from your group. Honestly, you wouldn’t say it better. You noticed Clint shifting and Natasha forcefully holding his hand down; you bit down on your lip so you wouldn’t laugh and sent her a grateful smile instead. The best maid of honour ever.

“Good, that’s what I wanted to hear, folks. We have the rings, correct? Great. Just so you know, these two saps asked me to read one vow which they are making to each other, because they didn’t trust themselves to say theirs individually without bursting into tears. So now it’s left to me to cry instead. Thanks for that.”

Your cheeks were honestly starting to hurt from smiling so wide, but tears prickled in your eyes acutely just at the thought of the vow you agreed on. You spent countless hours thinking about what you wanted to say and realized that your vow would be too long and that you would in fact start crying and that you could never name all the things you loved Steve for. It had been a relief to find out that Steve shared the sentiment and the deal was made.

Natasha and Bucky dutifully laid the rings on the pillow Wanda’s powers held levitating by your and Steve’s side – not without Bucky finding a split second to compliment your appearance and earning a brief smirk from Steve.

“I know,” Steve uttered and you wondered if there was a dare going around as to who would make you burst out laughing first.

This was your wedding dammit. You could be at least a bit a lady and remain collected.

Hardly.

“With this ring,” Sam started, breathing in and out and you knew you already lost, first tear rolling down your cheek as you gazed into Steve’s inviting eyes, “I give myself to you without giving up myself. With this ring, I surrender to you for I have faith you understand the value of wielding such power and for I deem you worthy of it. With this ring, I promise to love you, to respect you and to support you to be your best self as I trust you to do the same for me, for us.”

You blinked away the waterfalls, reaching almost blindly for Steve’s ring and with fingers trembling – with giddiness, not nerves – you somehow succeeded at slipping it on his left ring finger.

“I do,” you whispered, your voice cracking even in such simple sentence and the watery smile Steve graced you with made your ribcage feel too small for your swelling heart.

Fingers equally clumsy, he slipped a ring on you as well, shoulders squaring as if in pride.

“I do,” he said firmly, the damp path down his left cheek only adding severity to his vow.

“You may-- uhm, okay, you may kiss the bride, your wife--- I mean, Mrs. Rogers. You may kiss the groom, your husband…” Sam mumbled under his breath until he didn’t, because Steve pulled you in for a kiss the same moment Sam said the first ‘may’ and incidentally, the same moment you practically threw yourself at Steve.

Laughter and whistles erupted from the group of your friends as Steve bend you back dramatically, the determined press of his lips to yours not at all disrupted by the change of angle, claiming your mouth in ways that made you shudder and stirred flames in your belly.

Years and years later, you’d recall that kiss and realized an amazing thing; how it felt just like your first kiss, your last one, and every single one in between.

With you still practically horizontal, Steve’s crinkling eyes met yours, delighted smile on his kiss-swollen lips.

“I love you, Mrs. Rogers,” he hummed, adding a cheeky grin. “You’re stuck with me now.”

“The horror,” you muttered back teasingly, pulling at his nape, demanding another kiss, your own declaration whispered to his mouth. “I love you too, Mr. Rogers.”

And you did. Gosh, you did.

S.R. masterlist

(divider by firefly-graphics)

Well. This turned out SO DIFFERENTLY than I anticipated and SO MUCH LONGER. If you feel like leaving feedback, I’ll be grateful. If not, well. *shurgs*

Excuse me while I go and continue dreaming of ONE fictional man. Ugh. Anyway.

Thank you for reading!

And once again, thanks to WIYBUPT for hosting and for just being awesome in general :)

[darthwheezely]

a change of heart - g.w.

summary: falling out of love was the last thing they had wanted.

pairing: muggle au!george weasley x reader

warnings: mentions of break ups, sex, cussing, ouid, heartbreak, no happy endings, apathetic!george, domestic fights, mean!reader (at times), insinuations of depression, toxic relationship

a/n: this is my first angst without a happy ending and honestly it feels very last 5 years to me and i was in a bad mood yesterday so this happened i love you all mwah xoxo

are we awake?

am i too old to be this stoned?

George blinked in what felt like slow motion at the crumbling ceiling above him as he took another long drag of his joint. He breathed out, his lungs and mind relaxing under a slimy green haze. The bed was spongey, destroyed from one too many sexual escapades and one night stands and full body tantrums that left him kicking and screaming.

His mind never really woke up after the day you packed up and took the bus downtown back to your parent’s. He usually laid there in a collapse of old cassette tapes and cannabis flecks, generally shirtless and wearing wear bleached boxers and lost.

George was never really awake after you.

was it your breasts from the start?

they played a part

You were stunning to him that day in London. You always were. That hadn’t been any different. But the day you walked into the pub everything about you just ached to be adored, he thought. He wanted to know what it was like to attach his mouth to the skin of your collar bone and nibble, knead at your breasts and have his fingers gripping your thighs the second you struck up a conversation.

“Two whiskeys and a beer later and I still don’t know your name,” he gave a little half smile and watched you bite your lip, a chuckle erupting from your throat.

“Y/N.”

“No last name?”

“Don’t need one, not yet anyway. You?”

He looked at you softly and nodded to himself.

“Let’s see if I can change that. I’m George.”

George needed you. Or at least, he thought he did.

for goodness’ sake

i wasn’t told you’d be this cold

He passed out on the couch, the old and relatively shitty TV left on static due to inactivity and refusal to be fixed.

You were supposed to have date night. At least, that’s what George thought. He knew you’d be out and about all day at work and then picking up dinner on the way home, but when you stumbled through the door at 2am, he shot awake. And in a flash of anger, he just picked up on the idea that date night didn’t really matter to you then, at least not tonight.

“Baby-“

“Don’t fucking baby me,” you had growled, looking at him with streaks of mascara running down your face. You sniffles and wobbled off to the bathroom, leaving an albeit confused George on the couch. He listened to you cry in the bathroom, and suddenly realized it didn’t matter if you were pissed at him or scared or whatever was happening.

At least you came home.

you smashed a glass into pieces

that’s around the time i left

“Fine,” you had shouted, picking up the now empty wine glass from the table and throwing it at the cabinets across from you.

The night had started off fine, the dinner was neutral - that had been your new normal with George. Neutral. You two weren’t really angry anymore, just tired. Until you both got in that heated argument and were screaming, the radio getting blown out your earshot due to the high intensity yelling in the room.

The minute the glass hit the cabinet you jumped ever so slightly, not really realizing you had done it, but knowing the lashing out of yourself had scared you just enough. You had let out a choking whimper and quickly enough, your boyfriend had rushed over to you and held you up.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed against his chest. “Georgie, I’m so sorry, please don’t be mad at me anymore.”

He knew you weren’t really apologizing for a wine glass, or missing a date or two. He knew it was everything, and the idea that you were getting blamed for it all in your mind due to things you didn’t feel safe telling him about crushed him.

“My sweet girl,” he cooed, his nose and mouth pressing into the top of your head.

He pulled off the top of your head, brushing the tears from underneath your eyes “I love you so much, and you can push me away as hard and as much as you want but I’ll come right back, every single time.”

You nodded and fell back into his arms, and George regrettably swallowed.

He had just made a promise he knew he wouldn’t keep.

then she said, "i’ve been so worried about you lately"

"you look shit and you smell a bit"

“George,” you had cleared your throat and sat up a bit straighter in the chair.

It had been approximately two months since he had pushed away from you, and since then you had heard radio silence from the man that had stolen your heart and left your mind mush. But here you were back in the apartment at the behest of Fred who had been, admittedly, “worried fuckin’ sick” about his younger twin.

The apartment was disgusting. Dishes from weeks left in the sink that had most likely caked mold and other major nastiness. Everywhere it smelled like cheap beer and even cheaper weed. It was nauseating to be at the dining room table, looking at the face that used to be George Weasley, but was now puffy, like he’d been getting over crying every single day, his eyes red rimmed and purpling, his usually pale but still vibrant skin tone sallow and raw.

“Georgie, they’re worried about you,” you said softly. He snorted and took another bite of his Ramen.

“George, you look shit, you’re just a-a shell, and your mom has no clue what’s going on, Fred can’t keep up with demands for the record store without you and god, everyone just misses you-“

“I’m fine, Y/N,” he cut. He clenched his jaw before finally looking back up at you, nodding ruefully to himself.

“You saw to it that I always was.”

i feel as though I was deceived

i never found love in the city

i just sat in self-pity and cried in the car

“Pass the damn thing, Fred, Jesus, you bong hog,” George playfully slapped his older brother on the chest. It was their best friend Roger’s nineteenth birthday, and as such, it was 4 in the morning, everyone either knackered as hell or making out in the corner. But Fred always opted to light up with George, especially since he knew it’d be the last time before the Big Move to the City as they referred to it.

“I am, I am, calm your tits, mate!” Fred had puffed into the air, sliding the bong to his brother and watching him inhale. He coughed, George always coughed - as much as he said he was the more mature and worldly one, he still got these little flashes that proved only to Fred that George was his baby brother.

“You know what I’m gonna do once we get to Londontown, Freddie-bomb?”

“What would that be, Georgie?” He smirked, leaning back against the couch. George grinned to himself and finally looked at Fred.

“I am going to find the most beautiful girl and marry her outright.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And she’s going to have the most gorgeous mind - her brain, y’know. And and we’ll talk about music and art and shit I don’t care sex and whatever the hell else she likes, and I’ll buy her flowers and perfume and pretend I know what I’m doing because I’m a dumb kid and hell, I’ll fall in love so fast...and I hope she does the same...”

George sat in his beat up old Volvo, took in a shaky breath, and started to sob. His fists delivered downward strikes against his steering wheel at his memories, the feelings of love and joy he knew were still there begging to be freed.

But for now, he’d cry.

oh, i just had a change of heart

The answering machine clicked on, the voicemail ringing through the silence in the bedroom. “Hey, Y/N...sweetheart, we - I - can’t do this anymore,”

i just had a change of heart

“It’s not your fault, baby, but...angel, we can’t do this anymore,”

i just had a change of heart

“I loved you so much and we’re killing each other and I-I couldn’t do anything to stop it except hope that it would pass one day, because we could always make it pass, we could do that,”

i just had a change of heart

“But baby, it’s time to...it’s time to stop. For now, at least until things are better - until we are better,”

i just had a change of heart

“Until we can fall back in love again...I just know we can.”

The machine stopped clicking.

taglist! @whizboingies @harrysweasleys @wandsandwheezes @valwritesx @lumosandnoxwriting @amxrtentias @mothermantids @cyliamarti @shakinganxiety @godricsswords @rosietoesy @jorduhnn @sinfulweasley @wand3ringr0s3 @jaywritesstuff0 @anchoeritic

[giorno-plays-piano]

Last one, I promise. MonsterHunter!Bucky or Steve where you’re the rare creature they’re after. You don’t have to write any of these, I just feel like you would appreciate these 💕 keep up the good work giorno, I’m so proud of you bb❤️

Thank you for your requests, hun! I haven’t worked on other ones, but I’m happy to present you this story 😌❤ Hope you’re going to like it!

Daughters of Persephone

Pairing: monster hunter!Steve Rogers x vampire!Reader

Warnings: yandere-ish Steve, kidnapping, death of minor characters, mentions of torture and suicide, gore (a severed head), general vampire stuff.

Words: 4109.

___________________

Suddenly waking up in the middle of the night, you fell down your bed, desperately trying to turn on the small lamp on your bedside table and reaching too far, soon ending on the cold floor. Trying to get up, you hit your head on the table and moaned. Saints, what on Earth was happening? You barely realized you were laying on the floor in the dark, but you knew for sure you were woken up by someone's agonized cry.

Who was that? The closest rooms to yours belonged to Iriya and Alice since mother lived in the north wing in a room she once shared with her late husband. Who screamed? Was it Iriya? Why was she screaming in the middle of the night? Was it just a nightmare? You had no time to think, finally standing up and rushing to the door, abandoning the idea with the lights: window curtains in the corridor had never been kept closed, so you would be able to see something thanks to the moonlight.

Hurrying to the point you ran barefoot, shivering in the dark - the floors had always been cold despite mother doing her best with all those expensive carpets - you reached Iriya's room and banged on her door, hoping it was just a nightmare.

'Iri-"

Before you called her name, the door opened by itself, and you froze in fear: Iriya was always closing her door at night, explaining that it all started when drunk Alice mixed the rooms and then woke her up with her angry shouting. Why was the door open? Was it better to go find mother rather than go there all by yourself?

No. What if Iriya needed help right now? You couldn't risk it.

Nervously getting in, your fists clenched painfully, you peaked inside your sister's room only to find her beheaded, her body laying on her spacious bed, Iriya's head on the carpet with her face caked in blood, her mouth open as if she was still screaming, pleading for help. Despite total darkness, you could see the white bedsheets soaked in her blood, the rich crimson fluid seeping through the fabric and dirtying the floor. You felt the bile rising in your throat, almost throwing up and barely containing yourself.

Iriya was dead. She was dead.

You were horrified to the point you could hardly move, your hands trembling as you wept, then getting on your knees and trying to reach out to Iriya's head but failing to do so - you didn’t have the courage to take her head in your hands, blood spreading further and almost reaching your long cream-colored nightgown Alice always mocked you for. You needed to run and find help. The murderer was still in the house, you were sure.

The thought of burglars breaking in had crossed your mind before, but you had never imagined some madman to get into your house and kill your poor older sister in such barbaric, horrible, revolting way, cutting her head off as if she was a character in some sick videogame. Why would anyone do this? How could they murder a harmless young woman sleeping in her bed?

You needed to get to Alice. The murderer could already be there.

Letting out a loud cry, you got back on your feet, hanging on to the large dark jacaranda drawer with nice thin metal legs - mother had it customized specially for Iriya on her 20th birthday. Thinking what would mother say once she saw her daughter with her head chopped off, you covered your mouth with your hand, unable to hold your tears. How could it happen? Who could commit such atrocity?

"Alice? Alice!" You could see the light coming from beneath her door.

Kicking it with all your force, you prepared for the worst, ready to jump at whoever you saw, but the only one there was Alice herself standing close to her desk. She was holding a revolver in her hands.

"Alice, Iriya-" You muttered, unable to say your sister was dead out loud and just pointing to the corridor with your shaking hand. "Iriya, she..."

"I know." Your other sister said through gritted teeth, her eyes still on the revolver she was holding. "It's not like I'm deaf."

You always had a hard time understanding her even when she was perfectly sober and in a good mood. Alice was strange: she reminded you of girls in Nirvana's music videos, either pretty angry or too energetic for you to keep up with her. She had been drinking as long as you could remember her, always silently protesting against mother's lifestyle and probably having a grudge against her and you. When you asked Iriya if you'd done something that upset her she just brushed it off, saying the youngest sister had always been a little monster in the family.

Now she looked like a monster, too.

"It wasn't you, right?" You whispered, holding your hands against your mouth. "You didn't do it to Iriya, did you?"

"Of course, I didn't!" She shouted angrily but shut her mouth as she saw you trembling, all of a sudden her expression guilty and grim. "Sorry, it's too late to explain. I don't have much time."

You nodded eagerly through tears, holding the door and ready to leave, "We need to run!"

You didn't miss a dark chuckle escaping Alice as she smiled at you bitterly, bringing the revolver's barrel to her head, her hand not shaking the slightest bit. "No. I've been waiting for this opportunity for a long time, and now is my chance."

Your head was spinning from shock and confusion. Iriya's chopped head, her bed full of blood, Alice pointing the gun at herself... Was everyone mad? Were you mad? Was it some nightmare you were seeing in your sleep? It felt damn real.

Seeing your horrified expression, your younger sister lifted the corners of her mouth, a broken smile on her face. "I'm sorry it turned out that way, but no one of us has been given a chance. This is how things have to end."

"Alice, please-"

"I have a full magazine. I know it sounds terrible, but after I'm done you have to shoot yourself, too. Believe me, it's the best you can do."

Before you opened your mouth to ask for an explanation and demand her to stop, Alice had pulled the trigger right in front of your eyes, blood and something that reminded you the insides of her brain smearing the wall to her left. While you screamed louder than you ever done in your entire life, her body landed on the floor with a loud thud, the left side of her head completely destroyed as you stared at the bloody mess, red liquid gushing out of the deep wound.

You felt like you were losing your sanity, crawling to her and cupping her head, unable to believe your eyes. She couldn't do it to herself. She has never seemed suicidal! What would she end herself like this? What did her words about some chance meant? Was it really her who cut off Iriya's head?

Wrapping your hands around her shoulders, you tried lifting her suddenly heavy body, crying and demanding your sister to stand up and stop pretending. It just couldn't be true. This madness couldn't be happening.

"Please, please!" You kept weeping, your nightgown soaked in her blood as her head laid on your lap. If body wasn't warm and heavy, you could believe it was all a nightmare, a frightening dream you saw, but Alice's empty eyes staring at you were making you painfully aware of your insane reality.

You cried so hard you missed the heavy steps of the intruder, realizing someone's here only when he opened the door and came in as if he weren't bothered by you screaming at all. It was a tall, wide-shouldered man in his thirties, his hair shining like gold in the bright light of Alice's room, a sharp blooded knife in his hand - the one he used to cut Iriya's head off. You reacted surprisingly fast, reaching out to revolver laying on the floor close to your sister's lifeless body, and tried shielding her as if it mattered, as if she didn't take her own life minutes ago. Your head was hurting, your thoughts mixed up: you barely understood what was happening, but you knew this man wasn't here to help, standing in the doorway with a stony expression on his handsome face while you pointed Alice's revolver at him, your hand shaking.

Who was he? What did he want from your family?

"Go away," you cried, hoping he wouldn't get closer. "Go away! You won't have her!"

You clenched the fabric of your sister's black tee, barely seeing the figure of the intruder as tears were making everything seem blurry.

The man was silent, staring at you with a blank expression as if he weren't interested in cutting off Alice's head and then murdering you, too. He made no attempts to come closer, although he didn't leave the room either, simply standing on his place and not moving an inch while you struggled to keep what remained of your sanity. Could you ask your mother for help? Should you yell so she'd hear you? Would it be better to challenge the murderer yourself since your mother certainly wasn't a super soldier to deal with someone like him? No, no, you couldn't shout to catch your mom's attention. Even if she'd hear you from the other side of the building, you couldn't let her end up just like your darling sisters. You needed to shoot the man.

But as you kept your gun aimed at him, you slowly realized you couldn't do it despite him clearly being a culprit of this madness. It just wasn't in you. You weren’t made to kill other people. Maybe that's why Alice told you to shoot yourself? Maybe she knew you couldn't protect anyone even if you had a gun in your hands?

"Please, don't touch her." You pleaded him, your hand aching from holding a heavy revolver for so long. "She didn't do anything bad. Please, please just go."

"On the contrary." The man suddenly said, and you froze on your place, frightened to the core. "She was the epitome of bad, but it wasn't her fault. Can’t blame the both of you for what your mother has done.”

“Mother?”

Looking at his blood-stained black pants and leather boots with dry blood on them, you opened your mouth but didn’t utter a word, watching his grotesquely big figure relaxing against the wooden frame, a silver cross hanging from his neck, drops of blood on the shining metal looking like dirt. Oh God. He didn’t do anything to mother, did he? He didn’t kill everyone in the mansion, did he?

Wailing like a wounded animal, you kept your gun aiming at the man, praying for him to just leave, vanish, let you call the ambulance and police, let anyone come and help you. What did he wanted? Money? Mother kept them in the bank like any other human being. Did he want her jewelry? Her collection of antique service? He didn’t have to kill your mother and Iriya for it, they would give him anything willingly if he didn’t hurt anyone. Who was this lunatic? Did he do something to Alice, too? He did, undoubtedly. She wouldn’t commit suicide just like that. She might have had issues with alcohol, but your younger sister had never been suicidal.

... however, well, considering you barely remembered what had happened before your fall from the bridge, she might have been.

“Sorry, little girl.” The man suddenly said, landing on the floor and dropping his knife as if he weren’t planning to attack you - you were much doubted it, though. “I know it’s not your fault. You’ve been for how long with the family? Around three months, correct?”

Still shielding the dead body of Alice with yours, you whispered, tears still falling down on your nightgown wet with your sister’s blood, “What are you saying?”

A dry chuckle escaped him as if he knew you were gonna reply exactly like you did, his left cheek resting against his hand caked in crimson fluid, but it didn’t seem to bother him much as he rubbed his skin with his dirty fingers, smearing the blood.

“I’m saying your darling mother adopted you when her second daughter had committed suicide just like Alice. Couldn’t stand what she had to do to stay alive after she was turned, you know?”

Gritting your teeth, you felt the rage raising deep within your chest: the bastard had the audacity to mock your family and you after he had probably killed everyone but you in the mansion. He probably tried to make you drop your revolver and finish you off as fast as he could and run before the police arrives - if anyone was going to come at all. You lived all by yourself with no one but a cleaning lady coming once a week to help you take care of the mansion; it was Friday evening, and people would start wondering why both Iriya and Alice stopped attending university only after a couple of days. Police will probably discover your bodies only when they start to rot.

Clenching the gun in your hand, you pointed it directly to the man’s head, ready to pull the trigger. If you were gonna die or lose your sanity tonight, you had to make sure you kill the murderer of your family before. You could do it. You had to!

“I won’t make it difficult for you.” The man said calmly, seemingly unafraid of your gun. “One day you woke up here with no memories whatsoever, and that creature played a role of your loving mom, saying how she’s scared about you after some incident has happened. She forbade you to leave the mansion because it was doctor’s orders purely for your own sake. Of course, she said something about a rare genetic decease and forced you to drink your medicine before every meal like your sisters, didn’t she?”

Yes. Yes, she did. Although she refused telling you what had happened to you, later Iriya confessed you jumped off the bridge because of some bastard you loved once you figured out he only dated you because of your mother’s money. Of course, they destroyed all your photos with him and anything he gave you so nothing would remind you of that despicable man. You didn’t question it. You didn’t question your mother’s decision to make you study at home just so she could keep an eye on you. It was reasonable: what mother would leave her daughter unattended after a suicide attempt? Naturally, you didn’t question her words about the genetic decease running in the family thanks to your blue blood ancestors marrying within a family. In the end, both your mother and sisters were taking the medicine every meal.

How did he know that? Was he spying on your family?

Oh. A silver cross, a knife made with something that look a lot like silver, cutting the heads off... this madman thought he was a vampire hunter. He was a lunatic who had murdered your family because he decided you were vampires!

“Are you mad?” You shouted angrily at him, unable to believe someone would go so far for something so stupid. “Do you think mom gave me blood, and I couldn’t figure it out?”

“You think she’d give you pure blood to make you freak out?” The man grinned at you, and you felt nauseated: he was fucking insane. “Of course, she didn’t. She diluted it for you and added some supplements, sweeteners and artificial flavors.”

“You lost your mind.”

“Huh, you wish, little one.” He cocked his head to the side and took off his cross, you raising your gun and almost firing it at his sudden movement, but the stranger did nothing else, throwing the cross closer to you. “If you doubt my words, just take it. It’s pure silver. Your mother didn’t stand it, did she? Probably said something about it bringing bad memories.”

Yes, she did, but thinking it was because she was a vampire who could burn herself with silver was ridiculous. What, now all women wearing gold were considered monsters?

“Why would I do that?” You said, your damp from tears cheeks finally becoming dry. “What if you put some chemical on it?”

“Then it would burn me, too.” Showing you his hand, he proudly demonstrated you his fingers that looked perfectly well.

Maybe you were really going mad, but you had touched the cross laying close to Alice's arm and immediately regretted it since it stung as if it was hot as a frying pan on the stove. What was that? Why did it hurt? Unable to believe it, you grasped it in your hand and cried out, dropping it and bringing your hand closer - a large burn was spreading out on your skin, bleeding on the floor, your blood mixing with your sister's. How did it happen? What was that?

"See? That what happens when a vampire touches silver," before you opened your mouth, the stranger continued, "and no, vampires aren't scared of sunlight or garlic, that stuff is straight from the novels."

Crying from pain, your hand shaking, you still didn't lower the revolver despite your other hand already starting to hurt from having something so heavy for a couple of minutes. No, it couldn’t be. He tricked you, surely. Vampires didn't exist! Besides, how would mother get so much blood to feed all of you? It's not like some truck was delivering you blood packs from the hospital every day! And, of course, you had never seen any other human being coming to the house other than a family doctor treating you and a cleaning lady. Where would the blood for your medicine come from?

"Your mother has a nice dungeon with a few iron maidens, little one."

Bullshit. It was all bullshit! Did he expect you to believe your kind, intelligent, loving mother who donated money for building a school in the village would kill innocent people? It was outrageous! From the day you woke up after the incident she had been nothing but a caring parent, always worried about your wellbeing and willing to give you everything you asked for. A week ago you joked about getting some super expensive haute couture dress for your graduation ceremony, and the next evening your mother invited you to her cabinet with her laptop open to show you the designers she found suitable to make you a dress. A woman like her just wasn’t build for murdering others.

The man snorted, “I can show it to you, actually.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” You whispered, your other hand now clenching the gun, too. “If you won’t leave, I will shoot you, and no jury would convict me after they found out you cut off Iriya’s head.”

“I wouldn’t be violent if I could neutralize her any other way, but Iriya had accepted her vampire nature a long time ago. Alice, on the other hand, ended her own life. I didn’t do anything to her; it was her own choice.”

“It’s a lie! If she really hated us all for being vampires, why didn’t she do anything? She had a gun, she could shoot us!” Desperate, you yelled at the man seemingly unfazed by your behavior and waiting calmly when you’d get back to your senses - if it was possible in a situation like this, your sister’s body long cold on the floor.

“I bet she wanted to, but, you see, Stockholm syndrome is a funny thing. After 5 years in the family she grew to love her mother and sister, this always happens at one point or the other. I think she probably loved and pitied you, too, since she couldn’t prevent her mother biting you.” There was no pity in his voice, but you could see something compassionate in the way he looked at you, a girl who had no idea who she had become or who she was before that, getting mixed up with dangerous creatures feeding off humans like cattle. “Bet she was scared of the mother, too. But when the opportunity presented itself, she decided it was enough and shoot herself before I came for her head.”

His words were scaring you because it was all making sense now: her addiction to alcohol mother could do nothing about even with all her money; that attitude of hers as Alice had always been unhappy and never agreed to anyone; her constant desire to be left alone and locking herself in her room...

“But why would mother bite us in the first place? What would she need daughters for?” Getting overprotective to prove all this wasn’t true, you asked him.

“All ancient vampires like your mother were human once. They have the need to reproduce as much as we do, but what they don’t have is a physical ability. So, at one point they want to adopt a human and turn them into a vampire, raising them like their own. I’d find it sweet if only they weren’t making more blood-sucking bastards killing people.”

“I DON’T KILL PEOPLE!”

Your deafening scream could probably be heard even in the garden, but you didn’t care, your aching hands gripping the revolver with 5 more bullets in it. You had done nothing wrong in your entire life! You didn’t hurt anyone! You didn’t break into someone’s house to cut off people’s heads! You were just a girl who had now have to live on her own after all your family was brutally murdered by some lunatic thinking you were vampires. It was him who was a true criminal, not you!

“Sorry, little one. I know you don’t, but it doesn’t change the fact you will have to sustain on human’s blood, and then I will have to take care of yo-”

Unable to listen to him anymore, you moved your hand a bit to the left, and the revolver fired, bullet getting into the wooden drawer, a poster with Alice’s favorite rock band hanging on it. “Just move once more and I’ll shoot you. I swear I’ll shoot you! Get out and leave me alone!”

But before you had time to react, the man had disappeared from your sight, and the next second you felt his hot hand on your throat, the other one forcefully taking a gun out of your arms as you screamed, crying and shaking beneath the stranger who felt even heavier on top of you than he looked. Why was this all happening to you? What have you done? Would he cut off your head just like Iriya’s?

“Mama! Mama!” You shouted, crying, his grip suffocating you. Knowing he would have no issues murdering you, you had nothing better but to plead for your mother’s help even though she had been most likely dead. “Mama, p-please... argh... hh... mama...”

If you could look into his face, tears not blurring your vision, you’d see Steve’s expression distorted with what seemed like guilt or maybe empathy when he was slowly, but surely making you lose consciousness, his knife laying on the floor far from you. Did you think he got pleasure from murdering little girls like you? Well, he might have been happy while killing the creature calling yourself your mother, but not the daughters, never the daughters.

You had finally fainted, your body now close to your sister’s. Unlike her, you were still alive, and watching your lay beneath him, unarmed and harmless in that nightgown covered in blood of your beloved ones, Steve thought he may have leave you alive - you really were new to the family, it couldn’t be more than 3 months since you had been bitten. Maybe there was something he could still do. He heard Tony found a way to stop the turning mid-way.

Anyway, keeping a pretty girl like you didn’t seem too bad. You certainly wouldn’t like waking up in his lair, but it was still better than ending up with your head cut off, wasn’t it?

Grabbing your revolver with a couple of silver bullets, Steve showed it into his pocket and carefully lifted you up, his knife in its sheath. Carrying you like a bride, both him and you drenched in blood, the man quickly disappeared in the corridor, heading to the dungeon beneath your mansion. His job was done.

_________________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherubwrites @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @ximebebx @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @iheartsebandchris @lovelydarkdaydream @illyrianprincess @caffiend-queen @ninefuckingoneone

[buttybarnes1917]

An Unexpected Party

Chapter 5

AN: I know I said I couldn’t write for a while, but I got so stressed I had to work it out somehow.  

You smoothed your dress out sighing softly as you played with the thin fabric, lost in thought.  Wanda smiled gently at you through the mirror as she braided your hair back.  Yelena looked over at you a little nervously, smoothing her dress shirt down as she paced back and forth in the hotel room you shared with the two of them.  

“Are you okay,” she finally asked, and Wanda watched your reaction.

They had every right to be worried.  You and Steve hadn’t ended well, and Steve could be petty.  You should honestly have been worried about what he could do, what he was planning.  Your friends hoped the fact that it was Tony’s wedding would have dissuaded him from anything that Steve could have been planning, but honestly? You weren’t even thinking about him.

Instead, your thoughts were consumed by a tall, lanky brunette with piercing blue eyes, and lips softer than any you had ever kissed before.  

“Hmm?” you asked, blinking as Yelena poked your shoulder.  

“I asked if you were okay,” she asked softly.  

“Sure,” you said smiling a little.  “Why wouldn’t I be? Pepper and Tony are getting married tomorrow.”

“Right… and you have to see Steve.” Yelena said, her eyes on yours.  You could feel Wanda’s gaze and you looked down at your hands.

“He’s moved on.” You said quietly.  “I have too.”  Wanda’s eyes widened a little and she covered her mouth giggling a little.

“Wait… WAIT. YOU AND JAMES?” Yelena yelled and you and Wanda both hushed her, giggling. “Does Steve know??”

“I don’t know, Wanda blocked him on my Instagram,” you said and Wanda grinned.

“I blocked him on all of our Instagrams,” she corrected you.  

“Wait no stop back up.  What happened to make you want to date him?” Yelena yelped.

“He painted Tony a portrait of our family… as a present.” you said softly and Yelena’s eyes widened.

“He… he hasn’t painted since he was with his ex,” she said quietly.  

“He’s painting more today,” you say, blushing a little.  “He got his studio up and running last night.  I helped him with that a little… and he’s pitching a little sitcom to your dad’s company next week.  He already has the script… it’s so funny.”

Yelena stared at you.  “He’s…. creating again,” she said softly and smiled a little, sitting in the chair near you. “He… he hasn’t done that in years.” She swallowed hard and took your hand squeezing it in a silent thanks.  You squeezed back and Wanda patted your shoulders gently.

“Alright.” She smiled softly.  “Come on then.  You need to get downstairs.  Pepper needs her maid of honor.”

You giggled softly with Pepper as everyone lined up to start the rehearsal. You knelt down to fix the flower girl’s crown, giggling, and tapping the tip of her nose as she wrapped her legs around your knees.  Pepper took your hand gently.

“Just so you know,” she said softly, “You’re walking back on the recessional with Steve.”

You frowned immediately. “Pepper—”

“I’m sorry… he’s the best man,” she said softly.  “We had to keep the line up the same.”  You swallowed hard.  

“Okay,” you mumbled a little as you gently pushed the flower girl back into line.   “Alright, Peggy, you’re gonna do great,” you said softly to her, and she bit her lip nervously as you heard the music start up. You felt Pepper’s grip on your hand tighten a little and you looked back at her, smiling softly.  “I’m so proud of you,” you said quietly, and Pepper smiled nervously.  You turned and watched the other bridesmaids walk down the aisle and started your walk.

At the end of the aisle was Steve Rogers, in his stupid light blue suit, with his stupid beard and his stupid muscles, his eyes only on you.  

In a way, it was fitting for this to be how you met again.  In fact, he had promised that one day, you both would be taking part in this same event.  That you would be having children together, a house, a dog, vacations to Disney.  You felt hot, angry tears spilling onto your cheeks as you turned away from him and stood at the left of the altar. All of this could have been yours, would have been yours, should have been yours.  You straightened angrily and rubbed your eyes quickly, unwilling for him to see you cry again because of him.  Pepper walked down the aisle, rolling her eyes at Tony catcalling her, and you giggled as Tony made faces at you and Pepper, cracking jokes about prenups and divorce rates.

Steve’s eyes never left you.  

The ceremony rehearsal was just Pepper sniffling and Tony trying to get her to laugh, which eventually worked.  He had pulled her into his chest with a kindness you had yet to see him use toward anyone but her.  You took a deep breath as they walked back down the aisle, practicing the recessional, and Steve was suddenly there, his arm ready for you to take.

You gritted your jaw, pasted on a smile, took his arm, and began what felt like a mile long walk back down the aisle.  

“Do you ever miss us?” Steve asked you quietly.  It felt like your ears were buzzing, your cheeks flushed angrily. Did you ever miss us? The two of you? The quiet moments, the happy times, the peaceful picnics and Sunday hikes and sitting on the roof watching the sunrise and the gentle kisses…

“No.” you answered quietly. “I don’t miss us. At all.”

“Y/N,” he said quietly.  “Please. I never wanted us to end badly.”

“Then maybe we shouldn’t have ended.” You shoot back, ducking your head as Pepper peeked over her shoulder at you.  “You don’t get to miss us,” you say as you pull away from him as you ended the walk back to the foyer.  “You’re the one that ruined it.  Go back to your model.  I’m sure she’s missing you.”  You turned and walked away, feeling your hands shaking nervously.  Yelena and Wanda looked up from their chairs and waved you over, Yelena glaring in Steve’s direction.  

“I can go smack some sense into him.” She offered and you shook your head as you sank into your seat.

“Not at Peppers wedding,” you said quietly, and looked at your phone. Bucky should be here any minute to accompany you to dinner.  You felt your body relax as you thought of him and his kind eyes again.  Steve never treated you like Bucky did.  Bucky was sweet, and kind, and he actually listened to the thoughts you had, instead of just waving his hand as you ranted to the air.

“Lover boy is here,” Yelena giggled quietly, and you looked up immediately and smiled as Bucky walked in with a single daisy in his hand. He wore dark jeans and a suit jacket with a nice, collared shirt on underneath.  As soon as he saw you, his eyes lit up and he grinned.  “Oh Christ, the lovey dovey look,” Yelena groaned and Wanda slapped her arm laughing.  

“Let them be cute.  When was the last time you saw Y/N this happy?”

You ignored the both of them, taking in a shaky breath as Bucky walked toward you, grinning.  You pushed yourself out of the seat and wrapped your arms around him gently as he pulled you into him softly.  “You look stunning,” he said quietly into your ear and you blushed furiously.  

“Thank you,” you giggled softly.

“So this is the man that’s got my sister all heart eyes,” Tony chuckled as he walked over.  You pulled away, blushing furiously.  

“Tony, this is—”

“Tony?” Bucky asked, confused.  Tony slowed down as he approached.

“James?”

“What are you—” Bucky asked in confusion.  You looked at him, confused.  

“Tony is my stepbrother,” you explained slowly.  “Do you know each other?”

“Yeah… He’s-“ Tony started to say, but you saw all the color leave Bucky’s face as Steve rounded the corner of the room.  Steve looked up from his phone, and saw Bucky, freezing for a minute.

“Buck?”

“…Steve?” Bucky asked, his voice breaking a little. Yelena looked at Steve, then at Bucky, and her eyes widened.  

“Fuck,” she breathed out and pushed herself up.  

It suddenly hit you.  Bucky’s secretive nature about his ex, the way he used gender fluid pronouns, the few basic details he had provided…

James Barnes and Steve Rogers had dated before.  

TAGLIST:

@ceeellewrites​ @anna-kaye​ @toothhurtyam​

[kareofbears]

margin of error

Sophia knows a lot, but that does not mean she understands much of anything at all.

Or, Sophia struggles to grasp why Akira and Ryuji don't follow her predictive algorithm.

read on ao3 or below the cut :)

Sophia knows a lot.

She can tell you almost anything in the known world in an instant. Calculate the radius of the sun. Who won Best Picture three years ago. The outfit to wear when you need to 'dress to impress.' Just yesterday, she was able to find them a bath, a takoyaki restaurant, and an overnight camping site within 0.3 milliseconds. That’s not very many seconds.

Sophia knows a lot, but that does not mean she understands much of anything at all.

She’s quiet while she’s propped on the phone stand, watching the rest of them lounge in the RV. There’s a shape to the interior that wasn’t there before—where it had been pristine when they had first gotten it, now it’s littered with crumbs and instant-food packaging despite Makoto’s half-hearted attempts at scolding them for it. Empty surfaces are filled with knick-knacks, stuffies and a plastic ramen bowl rattling gently along with the RV.

There’s a rare lull amongst them, a moment of quiet. Most of them were napping away the road, gently snoring and bodies jostling whenever a pothole hits, oblivious to the scenery that passes by. Only the soft tunes of pop music from the front and the hum of the engine broke the quiet.

Other than Makoto, there were only two people awake: Akira, scribbling in his journal, and Ryuji, watching him do it. They sat across from each other in the booth, with Ryuji’s chin propped against his hand.

Probability and pinpoint accuracy is what she excels at, and being able to apply them to her friends excites her. Not to mention, she hasn’t been wrong yet.

Idly, she runs the numbers—according to the data she’s collected from spending time with them, the silence will be broken by Ryuji within approximately two minutes. Pulling up a time from within Akira’s phone, she waits eagerly.

A minute passes, and then another. And another. Akira is still scribbling in his neat penmanship and Ryuji is still watching him doing it, unspeaking.

Frowning, she double-checks her calculations. No errors that she can see. It seems that he simply does not want to speak. This is surprising, and very unlike him. He is not usually this quiet. In the Metaverse, he is by far the loudest of them; calling on his Persona’s name can often leave her own ears ringing.

The real world does not stray from that data. His voice is clear in crowded areas, helpful in guiding their big group throughout bustling cities. He is often shushed by the girls when they are trying to sleep at night—Futaba even goes as far as to kick the ceiling from her bunk bed.

The data is strong and sure. There should not be a reason that she should be wrong in this assumption unless there’s a confounding variable that she had missed.

Akira looks up and catches his eye. “Am I boring you?” he asks quietly.

Ryuji shakes his head, grinning. “Couldn’t be happier,” he whispers back.

Sophia’s about to ask when Makoto cuts her off.

“Wake up everyone. We’re here.”

—

“Okay,” Akira calls. His voice isn’t raised, despite the crowded street of downtown Sendai, but they all straighten up. “We’re probably not going to spend too much time here, especially once we take over the Jail. Grab what you need now—snacks for the trip. Shopping. Souvenirs. Frozen pineapple. Any questions?” Yusuke raises his hand. “Yes, I’ll pay for you.” The hand falls back down, relieved.

“Cool. How about we meet back here…” he squints at the large clock hanging on the wall, hand blocking out the blaring sun. “In an hour?”

A chorus of agreements rolls through them as they rush out, excited to explore a new city. “Good speech,” Sophia pipes up from his hand. “Do you do them often?”

“I try not to,” he yawns. His thick black hair is even more unruly than usual, glasses barely hiding the light blue that’s beginning to form underneath his eyes. “Most of the time, they can handle themselves fine. All they need is a schedule and some rules to work with.”

When she doesn’t answer, Akira brings his phone up. “What? Did I say something?”

“It’s because she’s worried about you, you moron,” a disgruntled voice says.

Akira’s gaze flickers towards it. “You’re still here?”

“Of course I am,” Ryuji says. “You really think I’d leave without saying goodbye? Glad I didn’t either, cause you look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

“Still pretty, though. No worries about that part.” He shoves his hand deep in his pocket, stray yen clinking against each other as he rummages. After a moment, he throws something at Akira. “Catch.”

He plucks it out from the air with ease. “Car keys?” he asks, surprised.

“Grabbed them from Makoto before she ran off for stationery shopping.” Ryuji reaches forward, gently turning Akira’s head this way and that, frowning. “I told you to quit staying up so late. You’re exhausted.”

“I am not.”

“He is,” Sophia refutes. “Last night, he had approximately four hours of sleep, with only four minutes of that being REM sleep.”

“I told you. She’s even bringing up computer stuff now.”

“I think you are thinking about RAM, Ryuji.”

“Whatever,” he shakes his head. “Look, just head to the RV, get some shut-eye. You can finally sleep in a proper bed that isn’t an overheating tent with three sweaty dudes and a cat. Oh, and trade phones with me.”

He hands it over without hesitation, sliding Ryuji’s phone into his own pocket. “Why?”

“You have the grocery list in here, yeah? Not to mention, I don’t want Sophia getting bored while you nap it up.” He looks down at her. “Hi, by the way.”

“Hi!”

Akira still doesn’t seem convinced. “But I promised Yusuke—”

“Who’s with Ann now, shopping like they’d die if they didn’t get the perfect skirt to fit her next shoot,” he says, uncompromising. “Chill. It’s fine. We’ll survive an hour without Joker keeping an eye on us.”

They stare each other down for a long moment with Sophia watching. She does not need to run the numbers on this one; Akira will not allow himself to go back to the RV.

To her surprise, he relents. “Twenty minutes.”

Ryuji scoffs. “We’ll see about that. You suck at waking up.”

“Shut up.” And then, quieter, “Thank you.”

“You know I got your back.”

He yawns once more, slowly walking back to their car. “Sophia, please make sure that when he gets the Pocky to get the strawberry one. Futaba won’t eat anything else. And also that Haru wanted doilies to make the place look nicer. White, if you can find them.”

“Roger that,” she replies, distracted. How is she wrong again? This is troubling.

“My hoodie’s in my bag if you get cold!” Ryuji calls out. Akira throws him a thumbs up without looking back. “Jeez, that guy. He’s gonna run himself to the ground before he’s thirty, I swear. Like some geezer with a bad back but with really good hairline or something.”

An old man with a thick head of hair shoots him a glare as he passes by them. Ryuji laughs, high-pitched. “Yikes, that was awkward. Let’s get out of here, we need to hit up the grocery store before they run out of carrots.”

Sophia doesn’t answer, too deep in her thoughts and running endless calculations.

—

It’s impossible for her to get a headache, but her code is trying its best to give her one.

Two mistakes now. That isn’t allowed to happen. She’s lucky that they were both relatively small errors, but it can easily become a bigger problem. What can she do?

Luckily, that had a very simple answer.

“Ryuji?”

“Hmm?” He peels his eyes away from scrutinizing the oranges in his hands, the wires from his earphones swaying when he does. After one too many strange looks when he talks to nothing, it was just better to act like he was on a phone call. “Yeah?”

“I have a question.”

“What am I, a teacher?” he snorts. “If you got a question, go ahead. Friends can do that.”

That’s right. They’re friends, and friends have trust in one another. Sophia jotted that down as lesson number forty-eight, thirteen days ago.

“Okay,” she says. Questions float around her, and she picks the one that’s giving her the most stress. “If I was not as useful as you think I am, would we still remain friends?”

The orange tumbles out of his grip, and he rushes to catch it before it hits the ground. “Wha—!” he stutters out. “Duh! Obviously! What the—where the hell did that come from? Did we do something to think that we’d just ditch you like that?” he lifts the phone so that she was eye-level with him. “Be honest,” he says seriously, quickly. “Did I say something to hurt your feelings? I do that sometimes, and I’m working on it, and I know that’s no excuse—”

“You did not say anything to hurt my feelings,” she says before he spirals even further. “In fact, I do not have feelings for you to hurt.”

Relief blooms on his expression, and he sags his body against the fruit display. “Okay, good. Good. Thought I was gonna get a heart attack. I’d be pissed at myself if I did, and I just know Akira would give me so much shit.” He sighs, ridding himself of panic before giving him her full attention. “So what’s up?

“Sir…” an employee shuffles towards them, hands shaking knees knocking against each other. He is afraid, she notes, but of what? “I’m sorry, but it’s against store policy to lean on the product. Please try to understand.”

“Oh, shoot!” Ryuji exclaims, straightening up. “Sorry, man. I didn’t even realize. I think I squished an orange, but I’ll buy it so your boss doesn’t give you hell for that one.”

The employee blinks. “You would?” he says, shocked. “That would be great, actually. Thank you so much!”

“Don’t sweat it,” he waves it off. Tugging the shopping cart, he places Sophia where they’d normally put babies. “Hope he doesn’t get in trouble. I feel kinda bad.”

She thinks for a moment. “Ryuji, why was that man afraid?”

Swiftly, red rushes to his cheeks. “That obvious? Aw, man.”

“I don’t know if it was obvious, but all the signs were there,” she says, watching as he ducks his head, embarrassed. “What is happening? I do not understand.”

“It’s just—” his eyes shift sideways, meeting the eye of a young girl. Immediately, she directs her gaze downwards. “I look really scary to people.”

“You do?” It isn’t in her program to doubt, but she is rather skeptical. During the entire trip, he has been nothing but kind to her. Yes, there are times when he has arguments with others in the group, but more often than not it’s him that’s being teased rather than the other way around. “Why? You aren’t even that tall.”

“Ouch?”

“I’m just saying that you are not scary to me, so I don’t really understand why other people would be.”

He sighs, picking up a box of miso unseeingly. “It’s a combination of a lot of things. My hair’s bleached, and people usually see that as like, punk or whatever. My posture sucks and my voice is loud.” Shrugging, he throws it in the cart. “It doesn’t really bug me though. At least that means strangers usually don’t bother the group, cause they think I’ll kick their ass.”

“And would you?” Sophia crosses off miso. Only bandages are left on the list, but the cart is filled with snacks, sodas, and a small cactus. “‘Kick their ass?’”

“No way. If I did, my mom would kick my ass, and I can’t pull that shit twice in a lifetime.” Pushing the cart, they slowly meander through the aisles, occasionally looking at what’s on sale. Ryuji tosses in rainbow marshmallows, and after a moment, reluctantly puts it back.

“But you know,” he says eventually. “If someone was bothering the group, it��s not as if I’d just let it happen.”

She considers his answer. “You are tough,” she concludes. “But not scary.”

“Uh, yes,” he says, unsure. And then, with more conviction, “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“Got it. ‘Ryuji is tough, but other people are terrified of him.’ I will make a note of that.” He looks like he wants to say something, but she keeps going. “Synonyms for ‘tough’: robust, stalwart, and strong. Would you say that’s accurate?”

He laughs, disbelieving. “No idea what the first two meant, but the third one isn’t right.”

“Why not? You can fight Shadows. Your muscle ratio is high. One time, when Futaba couldn’t unscrew her water bottle, you did it with no problem.”

“Because, Sophia,” Ryuji picks up gummy worms, and turns to her with pleading eyes. When she shakes her head, he puts it back on the shelf with a grimace. “Strength isn’t always about muscles and who can kill what. It’s more than that.”

It seems as though he doesn’t want to speak about this anymore, but the topic is too interesting to stop here. “Explain, please.”

“It’s...it’s like mental strength,” he says begrudgingly. “Like if someone failed an exam they studied real hard for, mental strength would help them get through a tough situation like that. Like Akira.”

“Akira has high mental strength?”

“Oh, the highest out of all of us without a doubt. The world could explode and he’d be all—” Ryuji lowers his voice by an octave. “‘Here’s what we can do,’ and then fix it somehow. That’s just the kind of guy he is. All plans and no fear.”

All plans and no fear is a good way of describing Joker. “And you aren’t like that?”

“No way. Have you ever seen me have a plan in my life? I’m more of an ‘act before I can talk myself out of it’ person. Usually works out fine in the end. Besides, he does it enough for the both of us.” His eyes light up. “Do you think if I get the panda bandages, it would work better in the Metaverse? Cause of the brain stuff?”

“I think so, as long as it makes people think it works better.”

“Great.” Ryuji tosses it in with the rest. “And I think we got everything! Let’s head out. If we’re lucky, we can grab some ice cream before we meet up with the rest of them.”

“Good job! But you may want to consider removing the orange soda. Makoto is already unhappy with how much junk food you are always eating.”

“Fine. I’m keeping the cactus though.”

It was only when they’re all sleeping back in the RV when she realizes that she never got to ask him her actual question. Actually, she ended up with even more questions than when she began.

Maybe she’ll have better luck asking Akira instead.

—

They, or rather Akira, have their knees buried in a patch of grass in the middle of Sapporo with a small pile of four-leaf clovers by his ankles when she decides it would be appropriate to ask him.

“Akira, can I ask—” she pauses, and tries again. “I have a question.”

His face is so close to the ground that even the dirt would realize that his glasses don’t have prescription, and people are shooting him worried looks that he completely ignores. “Shoot.”

“Actually, I have many questions, and I’m hoping you’ll answer all of them as honestly as you can in order to have the most accurate data possible.”

“Research?”

More often than not, Akira has been giving her information about the world that she does not have access to. Slang terms that Futaba yells out in frustration, Ann’s tendency to jump from one topic to the next with little regard to who she’s talking to. It’s all confusing to Sophia, so she makes sure to memorize all of these instances and bring it to him for clarification.

“Sort of,” she says. “Some of my predictions have been off lately, and I am trying to figure out why.”

“Sure. Oh, another one.” Gently, he plucks it from the soil and gently places it with the others. “For Haru. Apparently, she’s really struggling with economics, so hopefully this helps her out next semester.”

“How many more?”

“Four,” he replies. “Yusuke, Sojiro, Akane, and Ryuji.”

She frowns. “Ryuji already has one.”

“He’s going to need more than one.” Akira turns to her, distressed. “Entrance exams are coming up.”

“Oh.”

“Yup,” he turns back to his task. “Anyway, you had a question?”

“Right,” she says, clearing her throat: a sign of taking a more serious tone. “Why are you scared of Ryuji?”

Akira freezes. Sophia waits patiently. But after a moment, then two, then five, there is still no reaction from him. And then slowly, he faces her with a blank expression.

She has not known Kurusu Akira for very long—only a few weeks in fact. But in that time, she feels that she has come to learn a lot about him. For instance, he does not like pears. He also finds grocery shopping relaxing, and he would die for his friends. Another thing she has learned from him is that he is very quiet; even in the Metaverse, amidst the explosions and gunshots, he does not yell. It is not as if he has nothing to say, but rather he would rather express himself through gestures and the odd comment here and there. He is much happier to let the people around him carry the conversation for him.

Shock racks through her as he bursts out laughing. His shoulders move up and down as laughs pour out of him uncontrollably. “What—?” he tries, pushing his glasses atop his head. It’s almost hidden amongst his thick, black locks. “Did you seriously ask if I was afraid of Ryuji? Sakamoto Ryuji? Blond guy, helps out in the Metaverse? My best friend?”

“Um.” This was not what she was expecting, despite having no expectations to begin with. “Yes.”

He sighs, content. “I really have to thank you, Sophia.” Akira brings his glasses back to his nose, the corners of his mouth quirked up. “That was really good. Haven’t laughed that hard since Yusuke thought Italy was near Mexico.”

She tilts her head sideways. “I was not joking.”

“Yeah, I figured.” He sits up, crossing his legs over each other, giving her his full attention. “Tell me why you thought I was scared of him.” Even as he’s sobered up, he can’t quite finish the sentence without smiling.

“My predictions have been off lately,” she says, a wrinkle between her brows. “This is normal—predictions by their nature cannot always be right. However, I’ve noticed that they’re incorrect more often lately. I ran the data, and these errors are related to two things:” Sophia brings her hand to the screen so that he can see properly. “You and him, as a unit. Individually, there doesn’t seem to be any errors. It is specifically when you are being measured together that creates mistakes. My prognosis on everyone else in the group creates more stable and accurate results.”

Sophia twists her hair in her hands. “The only reason it would be wrong is because of a confounding variable. Maybe there’s something between the two of you that others do not have. So I thought that answer—”

“Was fear,” he finishes. There’s an odd tone in his voice that she doesn’t comprehend. His gray eyes, sharp but never unkind. “I see where you’re coming from. But, and I can swear on this fact—it isn’t fear. I am not, nor will I ever be, afraid of him.”

She deflates. Wrong again. “And he’s not afraid of you?” she asks, out of desperation than anything.

Akira thinks for a moment. “Do you remember when I was cooking, and Ryuji went in to smell the broth, and knocked the whole thing over and onto my suitcase?” She nods. She had taken many pictures of that moment. “He felt really guilty, but he wasn’t scared of my reaction. He was more scared that he had ruined my stuff. You know what I mean?”

“I think I do.”

He bops the top of his phone a few times, an odd resemblance of patting her head. “Cool.”

Sophia stares at the road past their garden of clovers. Cars speed forward, too quick for her to focus on what the driver looks like. It’s hot today, but she doesn’t feel it. She runs her data one more time. “Akira, do you love Ryuji?”

His hands do not pause. “I love all my friends,” he answers simply.

—

At the end of the day, it does not matter if her attempts at predicting the future are fruitless. If she is in fact humanity’s companion, her code makes sure of one thing above all else: to help humanity with any of their endeavors.

That’s a tall order, especially when there are 7,874,965,825 humans within that humanity at this moment. Sophia is only one being, and realism is etched into her. To make things simple, she gave herself a domain of discourse. A sample size. Narrowing what she can do, and who she can help. The entirety of humanity then, at least in Sophia’s mind, falls under the Phantom Thieves of Hearts.

Sapporo is freezing. Frosty. Crisp. Chilly.

“Fucking cold!” Ryuji shivers, jogging around them in an effort to get warm. “I hate this, I hate this, I hate this.”

“Even with the space heaters on, it seems that the winter isn’t interested in going anywhere,” Makoto says. She’s standing uncomfortably close to Ann, trying to leech off of her inherent heat. Actually, she wasn’t the only one—Haru is also inching her way to her. “It should probably get better once we start moving. Good thing we won’t be here long.”

Yusuke nods, unperturbed. “Yes, this should be a quick run. We’re just here to collect a desire gone astray, yes?” It seems that the ice does little to bother him. “Oracle, can you find its location?” No response. “Oracle?”

He glances to the ground, sighing when he finds her on the ground, eyes closed and breathing deeply. “Wake up,” he says, nudging her with his boot. When she doesn’t move, Yusuke throws an exasperated look at Akira.

Reluctantly, he nods. “Yeah, yeah, I got her,” he says, summoning Queen Mab. Instantly, the temperature seems to rise, just a little bit. Scooping her up, Akira shakes her roughly like a particularly malicious sack of flour. “Wake up, your space heater’s here.”

“This may be a quick run,” Haru says. “But it doesn’t mean we should take this any less seriously. Someone’s desire got lost on its way back, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, that sounds—Mona, get off my leg—about right.” Ann squints her eyes along the horizon. “It’s far, right? If we start moving now, we can probably work off the frost on our skin.”

“Yeah, it’s about…” Futaba yawns as Akira sets her on her feet. “Twenty-minute walk? Ten-minute run, but unless you want me slipping and turning the ice red, we’re gonna want to slow down.”

Akira touches his mask. “Agi.” A wave of heat rushes over them, and she sighs, grateful for the respite. “Hopefully that helped a little. But it won’t last long, and we shouldn’t waste energy warming up. Quick recap—someone lost their desire, we’re here to make sure it gets back. Our top priority is getting that desire back as quick as possible. Questions?”

Sophia raises her hand.

“Yup?”

“Did you say top priority?”

“Yes, I did say top priority.”

“Understood!” she chirps, making a note in her head. It was hard to concentrate when she felt like her insides were freezing up.

Another hand shoots up.

“Noir?”

“I don’t have a question. I just think you’re doing a wonderful job.”

“Thank you, Noir. Always a pleasure.” He looks around, nodding. “Alright. If that’s it, then let’s do this thing.”

They all move ahead, wary of their footing. Sophia frowns as she scuttles forward, scared of being left behind. There is no room for error here. If she feels that she is not useful in the real world, then she can at least utilize her talents here. And the first step to doing that is to make sure she is doing two things:

1) Not slow

2) Won’t trip

After a while, she looks up and feels her eyes bulge. How did they get so far already? Sophia can hardly see them anymore, especially with the slight fog that’s beginning to emerge. She has to get there faster.

Failed step number one already. For once, she’s glad she wasn’t hardcoded with emotions, or else humiliation would be overwhelming. Quickening her pace, she’s determined to do this correctly. One foot, then the next. One foot, then the next. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left—

She slips.

With a gasp, she moves to twist her body so that it wasn’t her head that would take the impact, and closes her eyes shut.

Just before she slams into the ice, arms grab her torso, swinging her forward. “Whoa there, shorty!”

Ryuji uses the momentum to swing her onto his back, and she latches around her neck, bewildered. “You okay? Almost got knocked out before any Shadow got to us.”

“Yes,” she replies, breathless. “Thank you for saving me. That would have been bad.”

“No prob!” he marches onward as if he wasn’t carrying an entire human being on his back while treading through sleet.

“...You can settle me down if you’d like.”

“I would not like.” He grins, boots finding matte ice with ease. “I kinda love carrying you like this. Not like I can do this in the real world, can I? ‘Sides, Futaba would chew my head off if I tried it with her.”

“Have you?”

“Maybe.”

She laughs as they finally reconvene with the rest of them. When Akira turns to them, his expression softens with relief. “All good?”

“All good,” Ryuji says. “Nothing Sophie and I can’t handle.” He raises his fist at her, and she bumps it enthusiastically. Lesson twenty-three: never refuse a fist-bump. It’s one of her favorites.

“Stop, stop, stop, stop!” Futaba calls out from beside Ann, arms were linked as if they were strolling through a park, and not a Shadow-infested land. “I said stop!”

“We heard you the first time!” Morgana yowls. “Are we here?”

“We’re close. Kinda weird though.” She smacks the side of her goggles a few times impatiently. “Nothing’s showing up.”

“Lucky!” Ann whoops. “Let’s get this over with and get some gelato!”

Rounding the corner of an empty street, Yusuke points forward to a glowing heart, beating in time to its pulsing light. “That’s it, I take it?”

“I can get it.” Sophia pats Ryuji’s shoulder, and he lets her down. “That way, we can finish this as soon as possible.”

She runs forward, eager.

“Wait—!” Futaba cries out from behind her. “We’re getting ambushed!”

As she says it, footsteps surround them, the clanging of weapons and the grunts of Shadows appearing out of nowhere. She starts to run faster, terrified of slipping but pushes on anyway. She can do this.

“Shit,” Akira hisses. “Sophie, come back here!”

Sophia ignores him, the Desire almost in her reach when she feels it. A cold breeze, impossibly colder than the temperature before, almost seems to pierce through her skin. She did not need to turn around to know what it was—every cell in her body is screaming it for her.

A curse. A strong one that would have no problem wiping her out like fly on the RV’s windshield wiper.

Would she at least be able to save the Desire? Even if she ceases to exist? Would it be worth it then? It should be, since this is what she was made for.

Something solid shoves her from behind, and she gives out a yell before hitting the ground, hard.

“What…?” she mutters, disoriented. Somehow, she isn’t dead, or even near death. Shaking her head, she grasps for the Desire in front of her before turning around.

Instantly, her heart stops. The Desire in her hand continues to pulse steadily as she stares down at Ryuji, collapsed on the ground.

“Skull?” she whispers. Leaning down, she can still hear his breathing, though it’s faint. Her hand reaches out, before she remembers. Top priority. The Desire needs to get to Joker first.

The ground begins to rumble, and Sophia looks up in time to see an arch of glowing white explode. Every Shadow is eviscerated, their ashes scattering violently at the aftershock of wind that follows from the impact. Concrete cracks, snow blows away. Without a doubt, it’s an attack from a Persona user, but she has no idea who it came from.

As the dust settles, stray bits of ice falling from the sky like hail, Akira shoots out from the fog. He’s moving faster than she’s ever seen him, and there’s a desperation to his movements that throws her off-guard. Maybe he didn’t see yet? Sophia steps forward.

“Joker!” she calls out when he gets closer, thrusting her hand forward. “I got the Desire!”

He rushes past her without a blink.

Akira skids to his knees. “Ryuji!” When there’s no answer, he pulls Ryuji to his knees, resting his head on his lap. Akira presses his fingers against the pulse on his neck, concentrating intensely. Then he grits his teeth. “I can work with this.”

More footsteps. Familiar ones. “Dammit, Joker!” Morgana says. “You can’t just throw around attacks like that, especially with such weak enemies. You know how draining that spell is.”

He ignores him. Akira removes Ryuji’s mask with great care, setting it aside, before touching his own. “Aid me, Sarasvati.”

“Joker?” she tries.

A floating woman donned in green with a delicate instrument in her long fingertips appeared from the fibers of his mask, her expression kind and tender.

“Joker.”

Healing power flows through his hands, so potent that it glows green. Sweat pours from his brow, and his wrist begins to tremble with effort.

“Joker!”

“What, Sophie?” he rounds on her, gray eyes intense.

“I got the Desire!” she announces triumphantly.

A beat passes. And then another. It was as if there was never even a deafening battle not one minute prior.

When Akira finally speaks, his voice is low. “Panther, take Sophie away please.”

Her breathing stops. She could not inhale the air even if it was demanded of her. Akira turns back to Ryuji, but Sophia’s eyes stuck to him—like she was hypnotized, cemented to the back of his head, unable to look away. Every inch of her body is numb, but none of it has anything to do with the cold.

Ann gently takes her hand, hot as iron against hers, and takes the Desire in the other. “Come on, Soph. Let’s go for a walk, huh?”

She lets herself be led away, blank and unseeing, a part of her staying wishing to stay behind to...what? She didn’t know. There’s so much she doesn’t know.

They keep walking, rounding street corners, quietly passing underneath frozen lamp posts. Sophia wasn’t sure where they were going, but she didn’t bother to ask. Eventually, they duck underneath a railing, Ann covering her head to make sure she doesn’t accidentally bang her skull against the metal. When they straight up, she blinks.

“A heater?”

“Yeah,” Ann sighs, flopping down on a toppled column as if it were a sofa. “I figured if we were going to talk, you might as well stop shivering during that time.” At her words, Sophia realizes how hard she was shaking. Ann pats the spot beside her. “Sit. Nothing a little girl talk can’t fix.” She does.

At her silence, Ann hums. “Cold, isn’t it? You guys haven’t stopped complaining since we got here. I’m super lucky that Carmen’s here to help me. Warms me up even better than this heater, if you can imagine that. Completely different from the real world, where we feel like we’re going to burst into flames any second.” She yawns. “But god, there’s no one in all of Japan that can run his mouth about the weather like Ryuji.” Sophia clenches her fist, but she keeps going, speaking almost wistfully. “I mean, he’s just so loud, you know? Like, how many times have we driven by cows on this trip, and he’d literally wake us all up just to show us? Not to mention, he eats up all the food and snores like crazy. God, one time I invited everyone over at my place, and he just slept in my bed when he got tired! Who does that?”

Ann sighs. “But man, I’ve never met someone more devoted to his friends than him. Sometimes, he’d even give ‘Kira a run for his money, the way he’d just drop everything and run to where trouble is. Day or night, that idiot would show up on your doorstep the minute you shoot him a text, wearing the most ridiculous pajamas you’ve ever seen,” she scoffs. “He started the Thieves with Akira, you know? All gung ho about justice and stuff, you should’ve seen it. And he had the spine to back it up, too.” She smiles, just a little. “Don’t tell him, but I think he’s really, really cool.”

A drop of water hits Sophia’s wrist. And another. And another, until her vision blurs and her chest is heaving. “I just—” she sobs without restraint. “I was just trying to help. I just want to be useful and do what I was made to do, and Akira said from before that this—this was the top priority, and I even made sure, so I asked, but when I finally got the Desire and I was so sure that I’d finally done something right...” the image of Akira’s cold gaze makes her flinch, hard. “He’s just so mad at me, Ann. And Ryuji—” she chokes on his name like a curse, her tongue tumbling over it as if it were getting caught in a lie. “He protected me from before, but he said he was tough, so I thought it was okay since the Desire was the top priority but he got hurt because of me.”

“I don’t even know what I’m feeling, or why I’m crying, or why you’re being so nice to me even though I know I did something bad! I just—” Sophia buries her face in her hands, muffling her scream. “I just don’t understand anything!”

Warm hands rub her back. “I know,” Ann says quietly. “You’re trying your best. We all get that, and we all think you’re doing an A-plus job.” She pauses. “Sophia, Ryuji didn’t take the hit for you because he was thinking about the Desire. He did it because he didn’t want to see you hurt.”

That makes Sophia peek up. “But that was the top priority, wasn’t it?”

“Uh-huh, but that wasn’t his heart’s top priority.” Ann pokes her temple. “That whole logic and calculation thing you have going on is good and stuff, but the thing about the human heart is that you can’t always choose why you do things, or how you react in certain situations. I bet you anything that he totally forgot that we were even looking for this thing when he pushed you,” she waves the beating heart in her hand, still glowing. “And that’s also why Akira got a little mad at you from before.”

She deflates. “He hates me,” she mumbles, feeling her insides churn uncomfortably.

“That boy doesn’t have the time in his schedule to hate anyone,” Ann reassures her. “He’s just...really, really terrified.”

“But why?” Sophia’s starting to despise that word. “He already knew that he was okay. Why would he still be worried?”

Ann looks up, thinking. “You really love and care about Ryuji, right?”

Love was still a foreign concept to her, but for once the answer came forth with ease. “Yes.”

“Take that feeling, that dense, little ball of love and adoration in your tiny body, and multiply that by about eighteen million. That’s probably about the range of what Akira feels about him.”

She quickly runs the numbers. “Whoa.”

“Yeah. Kinda scary, huh?”

It is scary. With numbers this high, she can only begin to imagine what it felt like for Akira to think that he might be seriously hurt, or even worse, dead. All because of Sophia.

“Hey now, I know that look!” Ann flicks her forehead. “I don’t want you to get all mopey about this. You said it yourself—he’s a tough guy. The toughest there is, but don’t tell him that. It’ll go straight to his empty head.”

She stands with exuberance, stretching. “Alright, I think we’re about done here. How we feeling? You ready to go back?”

No. Her heart speeds up at the thought of going back, her shoulders tensing in on itself, but somehow it would be worse to stay here. “I’m ready.”

“That’s what we like to hear!” Ann cheers. “No chickening out now, okay? You can do this.”

“I can do this.” Sophia repeats, and then, louder: “I can do this!

“Yay! And Sophie?” she looks up in time to see Ann giving her a warm look. “Just because you don’t understand something, doesn’t mean we love you any less. You are allowed to be confused and make mistakes. Do you understand that?”

Sophia smiles wide. “I understand.”

—

They were a block away from the rest of the group when Akira emerged from the fog. With his black attire and dark hair, he could have looked like a picturesque horror movie figure, but somehow his expression ruined that facade the moment she saw it.

“I’m going on ahead,” Ann says when Sophia stops in front of him. “Someone has to make sure Futaba doesn’t sleep on us again.”

“Thanks,” he answers. Then, to Sophia, “Hi.”

“Hi, Joker.” She’s been practicing her speech the entire way back, her points all lined up in her mind, all leading up to the big apology. “I—”

“Pause,” he cuts in, and she shrinks. Is he still mad? She can’t read his expression. He kneels in front of her, squinting, and it suddenly shifts to horror. “Did...did you cry? Did I make you cry?”

“No,” she says quickly, but he doesn’t believe her for even a minute. “Yes. Sorry.”

“Oh god, no, please don’t apologize. Shit,” he rubs the back of his neck, sighing. It’s guilt, she realizes with a shock. “I’m such an asshole. I can’t believe I let myself lash out like that. A thousand apologies won’t even be enough. I was scared out of my mind, but that doesn’t mean I can just treat you like that. I even sent you away, like you’re some sort of kid,” he winces. “I’m really sorry. Can you forgive me?”

She stares at him. “I was supposed to say that stuff.”

He looks taken aback by her words. “No? How could you have known that we would have been ambushed? Ugh, I’m so dumb. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.” Akira sends her a pointed look. “Though, you really shouldn’t split off from the group next time. Top priority means important, but above all else is your safety. Put that in your code.”

“I will,” she promises.

“Good. And the second priority is—” he reaches forward and engulfs her in a tight hug. “Is that you won’t ever, ever think that I’d hate you.”

She frowns. “How did you know?”

“A hunch.” Beat. “Also, Ann gave me a look.” He pulls back. “Are we still friends?”

Relief washes into her, crashing like a wave. “Of course,” she says, before hesitating. “Is…?”

“Yeah, he is.” Akira rolls his eyes, but there is no hiding the grin that takes over him. “A little too good, actually. He hasn’t stopped running around since I poured some energy back into him. I kind of think I overdid it, actually. Oh, and he’s excited to see you again.”

“He is?” she asks, hopeful.

“Absolutely. Asked about you the minute he came to.” Akira gets to his feet. “Shall we say hi?”

“Please.”

As they walk back, an epiphany takes over her. “Oh!” she exclaims, making Akira jump. “I get it now.”

“What’s up?”

“You love Ryuji.”

“That’s right,” he raises a brow.

She shakes her head. “You love Ryuji,” she insists. Even accounting for a margin of error, there’s simply no mistaking her results.

Akira stares at her for a long moment, before huffing out a laugh.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he says softly.

The moment Ryuji sees her, she sprints, throwing caution to the wind as she leaps into his arms. He catches her without hesitation. “Glad to see you’re safe, shorty.”

Sophia knows a lot of things, but there’s also a lot she doesn’t understand. But that’s fine. She’ll get there, and her friends will be waiting for her when she does.

[illfoandillfie]

Out of Context

Request: First of all, congratulations on 1,000!!!! Could you do a a sequel to Interloper where maybe an interviewer is giving her shit for having once been a groupie and Bri Rog and Deaky defend her and have amazing sex after at like their hotel 😂-foursome anon (I’m back)

Interloper / Snapshots From Before (Prequel)

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Brian May x John Deacon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT (18+), gangbang/foursome, oral sex (m and f receiving), anal sex, tit fucking, light choking, slightly dom reader, cheer up sex, some spanking, double and triple penetration

Words: 6,145

A/N: This was another request from back at my 1000 follower celebration last year. It’s been sitting half written in my drafts since then and I finally felt inspired to finish it lmao. Foursome anon I hope you’re still around and you see this!!

Blurb Advent: Day 10

Taglist:  @vee-ndetta​ @atomic-watermelon @kellypenac @labessieisallama​​​ @deakyclicks​​​ @jennyggggrrr​​​ @drowseoftaylor​​​ @hannafuckingsucks​​​ @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming​​​ @queenmylovely​​​ @ilovequeenmorethanyou​ @johndeaconshands​​​ @borhapbois​​​ @stardust-galaxies​

Doing press wasn’t easy, especially when interviewers insisted on questioning you all separately. You preferred having at least one of the boys to back you up. They’d been dealing with the whole interview process for so long now they knew how to avoid answering things they didn’t want to, knew how to deal with rude reporters. But it was all new to you. Perhaps that was why this particular interview had gone so badly. There was no Freddie to make the right snide comment, no Roger to get pissed off on your behalf, no Brian or John to squeeze your knee comfortingly or take over when you go tongue tied.

Things between you and the rest of the band had been going much better since Freddie had locked you in that room together. It didn’t happen overnight, there were still lingering tensions. But any badmouthing they did of you was out of your hearing which you much preferred. Gradually, as the tour wore on, there were less tensions. They got used to having you around, began including you in their games of scrabble and their not-quite-awake conversations over hotel breakfasts. Until one day, in the final leg of the tour, when Freddie admitted to you quietly that he hadn’t overheard any whispered comments for nearly a week. “And here I was thinking we’d never get there.” “Oh hush, darling, I told you from the beginning they wouldn’t hate you forever. Sure they took a little longer to come around than I had anticipated but it all worked out in the end. And now when you tell them the execs have asked for another full album featuring you, they probably won’t kill you.” They hadn’t, of course, though you’d worried for the safety of everyone involved in making the decision. Roger looked as if he were a second away from punching the first person to talk to him.

They took less time to calm down though, especially after they saw how nervous you got before the first interview. Your agent had decided some preliminary press would help build excitement for the album before the songs were even written. Calls were made, journalists were found, and before you knew it you were facing a crowd of people vying to ask you their questions, cameras flashing the whole time. It was a lot. More than pushing you into the deep end, you’d be thrown to the bloody sharks. Any lingering ill will the boys had for you vanished after that. They’d all thankfully been there too, had drawn the attention to themselves rather than let you struggle to answer everything on your own. After that they’d kept an eye on you during the smaller interviews. Mostly the reporters were happy to talk to you all together and, as long as you said one or two things about how excited you were to be working with Queen again, and how much fun touring with them was, you could get away with letting them take lead. But every now and then you got stuck with some jackass who wanted to quiz you solo. And this interview, this horrid interview, had been one of them.

Roger pushed the magazine away from himself, letting it slide as far down your kitchen table as it would go. “She’s a fucking bitch that reporter.” You looked down at the magazine, still open to your interview, the headline alone making your stomach turn. “No, sorry, that’s an insult to dogs. She’s a fucking cunt.” “Rog,” “No, that’s an insult to vaginas. There is no word strong enough for that poor excuse for a journalist.” “Roger, sit down.” Roger shot Freddie a dirty look but sat down anyway, his knee bouncing with restless energy, “Sorry. I’m just pissed off.” “Yes, we gathered that, thanks Rog,” “She took everything I said out of context, you have to believe me.” “We do, Y/N, we do,” John said softly from beside you, rubbing circles on your back. “It started well, I swear. Just the usual questions y’know, what’s it like working with Queen? How does it feel to be singing next to Freddie Mercury? Were you nervous about touring with them? Can you give us any hints about the new album? All the things that usually come up that Freddie coached me on how to answer, and I was doing fine. I had my prepared answers and there was no stumbling over words or anything like that. I thought I’d finally got the hang of it all and then she asked me to elaborate on what it was like working with you. I’d already told her the usual thing – it was fun and y’know blew my mind and all that. But then she asked how it compare to being your groupie.” “You didn’t answer her did you?” “Christ no, Brian! Jesus what do you take me for?” Brian held his hands up in apology. “I told her that it wasn’t relevant, but she kept asking, one question after another thrown at me and no matter what I said she didn’t stop. All sorts of stuff, like which of you was the best shag, and if I’d only wanted to be your groupie because I hoped it would lead to my own album, and if I was still offering my services,” you made air quotes around the words, “accused me of using you for my own gain and asked if you were the first band I’d tried it with or if you were just the only ones gullible enough to let me. I tried to tell her no and that I wasn’t going to answer those questions but she just kept going and then she told me to get used to the attention and left. I guess she didn’t need my answers to write a whole article about it.” “Which of us is the best shag?” Brian repeated the question though you suspected he wasn’t just checking he’d heard you correctly. The others all fell quiet, waiting to see if you’d answer. “Really Bri? That’s what you got from that?” “Right, right, sorry, not the important part. Look, it’s not as bad as you think it is.” “Bri’s right, love,” Roger said, much calmer than he had been before, “there’s nothing of substance in here. Like this quote, as for the fun Ms Y/L/N mentioned was had on tour, one can’t help but wonder just what she meant. Could the stories about nights spent playing boardgames be covers for debauched, drug-fuelled, orgies the likes of which would make a pornstar blush, I mean, there’s nothing there. It’s all conjecture and anyone worth a damn will see right through it.” “But some people will believe it,” “Maybe, yes,” Freddie said, “but it’ll blow over. We’ve all been in the same place you are at one time or another. If anything this officially makes you one of the band.” “Yeah, Y/N, it’s all just spiteful rubbish.” “Thanks guys, but I think I might just call it a day, go back to bed. Stay if you want, I don’t mind. But if you leave lock the door behind you.” You stood and headed to your bedroom.

The four boys stayed quiet until you were out of your room but you heard their hushed voices and hissed comments through your bedroom door as you pulled off your jeans and unclasped your bra from under the baggy jumper you wore. It took about five minutes before there was a soft knock on your bedroom door. “Y/N, can I come in?” You contemplated feigning sleep. “I know you’re not asleep.” You sighed and sat up, hugging your knees to your chest, “Fine, Roger, come in.” “Freddie’s gone to make some calls,” he said, standing just inside your doorway, hands in his pockets. “Calls about what? It’s out there now, there’s no getting it back.” “No but we need to make it clear to other journalists that those kinds of questions won’t be answered in any future interviews, and hopefully we can make sure that parasite never gets to come anywhere near us again.” “Isn’t that mean to parasites?” Roger chuckled, “getting over it already, see,” he sat on the edge of the bed and placed his hand on your covered knee, “I know this sucks, and I get that you’re ashamed, but I promise it’s not as bad as it feels right now.” “I’m not ashamed.” “What?” “You said I’m ashamed of it but I’m not.” “Oh. I thought-” “I’m a bit embarrassed because obviously I’ve never told my family what it is I got up to when I went to all those concerts and now they’re all going to know, lord knows some of them will believe the worst of it. And I’m pissed off that I didn’t stand up for myself more. I just let her keep cutting me off and talking over me when I should have told her to fuck off or at least called her out for being a prudish arsehole who probably only attacked me because she’s jealous I’ve fucked three quarters of Queen. And I’m annoyed that you’ve all been brought up in the article, and she’s questioning whether your good people just because you sept with me. I mean does she expect you all to be virginal saints or something? It’s just frustrating and yes, upsetting. But I’m definitely not ashamed.” “Huh, okay then.” “What?” “Nothing, just, we assumed you regretted sleeping with us.” “Lord no. It wasn’t planned, like she was insinuating, but seeping with you definitely helped me get my foot in the door with this whole music thing. And even if it hadn’t done that, it was still fun as hell and made me feel good. If I wasn’t fucking you I would have been out having mediocre sex with guys I met in pubs and I don’t care how much of a slut it makes me seem, but I’d rather fuck a whole band every single night and actually get off than have a disappointing drunk lay with a guy who’s never heard of the clitoris. Fuck, I’d still be doing the whole groupie thing now, and be perfectly happy with it, if Freddie hadn’t heard me singing that day. That night at the after party, that was heaps of fun.” “Give me a second would you,” Roger stood and walked to the door, giving you another glance before he turned the corner. You watched the doorway, not quite sure what to make of his behaviour but your questions were answered soon enough when he reappeared with Brian and John following. “So apparently we misread the situation,” Brian said, taking the seat Roger had just vacated. John sat cross legged at the end of your bed while Roger flopped onto the mattress beside you. “I can’t believe you’d think I regretted being your groupie. Have you met me?” “In our defence you seemed very upset, what were we meant to think?” “I had a shitty interview and got called a whore in a very public way, of course I’m upset. Doesn’t mean I regret anything.” “Yeah, that makes sense. Sorry, we should have realised. But we have a proposition for you. We actually thought of a way to cheer you up when we first saw the magazine this morning but then when we got here you seemed so sad and we didn’t want to make you more upset or uncomfortable,” “What Brian is trying to say is that we have an idea we think you might like.” “Jesus will you two stop beating around the bush?” “Shut up Rog, I’m getting there.” “Y/N,” Roger said cutting off the others before they could waffle any longer, “Would you like to fuck us again?” You almost choked. “Zero tact. What he means is, we thought we could cheer you up. All three of us, entirely focused on making you forget that magazine.” “Wait, I’m confused,” you massaged the bridge of your nose as you tried to catch up to them, “you saw an article that called me a whore and thought it would cheer me up to, what, be your shared fucktoy again? Yeah it was fun but-” “No, no, no, that’s not what we mean,” John said, “you’d be in control of how it all happens. It wouldn’t be like last time.” “So, you’d be my whores?” “I guess?” “The point is,” Roger chimed in, “we want to make you feel better. If that means making you cups of tea and buying you a box of chocolates that’s fine. But it could also mean you having three cocks and all the orgasms you can handle.” You looked from Roger to John to Brian and then back again, trying to work out if they were joking or not. But they all seemed sincere enough for you to actually think about their proposition. It wasn’t what you were expecting to hear from them, and it hadn’t crossed your mind until they mentioned it. But now that they had, you had to admit it sounded fun. Last time had been fun and that was when you’d been passed around and used mercilessly, so having them all again, but with a bit more say in how it happened, could only be better. Plus, part of you wanted to prove how unashamed of your groupie history you were and what better way than this? “Okay, I’m in.”

“Do we need to set any ground rules?” Brian asked. “You all know my safeword,” “Saxophone,” You laughed at the chorus of eager voices, “Yes, exactly. Other than that I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. Not like this is new exactly, is it?” “Well, no, I s’pose not.” “Exactly. And if there’s anything I don’t want I’ll tell you. So you’re,” you pointed at Roger, “going to kiss me now, while you two undress,” “Getting right to it, excellent,” Roger laughed, as he pushed himself closer to you. He didn’t waste any time, leaning in to kiss you right away. It started off a little too soft for your liking but as soon as soon as you made it clear how into it you were, kissing him back harder and pressing yourself closer, Roger reciprocated. His hands wandered down to your chest as you felt Brian and John get up, following your orders, their clothes left where they landed on the floor. Roger’s hands were soon replaced by Brian’s as he knelt behind you, and you found your head being pulled around so he could kiss you too. Roger took the opportunity to undress as Brian and John caught you between them. You couldn’t tell who was removing your clothes, only that once your jumper had been pulled over your head John was kissing you. He leaned back, tugging you along so Brian could pull your underwear off, his hands caressing your bare bum. “How do you want us?” John asked, brushing your hair back behind your ear. “Um,” you looked around at the three very naked bandmates waiting for your word, “One of you is going to eat me out. Don’t care who but I am going to cum.” “Yes Ma’am,” John laughed, lazily saluting you before rolling you onto your back and shuffling down between your thighs. You were taken by surprise when you felt his tongue run between your lips, expecting nips on your thighs and the teasing puff of his breath as he hovered just out of your reach. But he was clearly taking the job of cheering you up seriously. Brian and Roger weren’t any different, settling into the spaces on either side of you, their light touches only enhancing the feeling John had set off. You felt their fingertips on your breasts and in the ends of your hair, tugging just enough to send a shiver down your spine but not enough to make you gasp in pain. “So what would you like from us, love? What dirty little fantasies are going through your head right now?” Roger tapped his finger on the middle of your forehead. You opened your mouth but a small oh as John latched onto your clit replaced the words you’d been intending to say. “Think we’re going to need a little more than that, Y/N. C’mon, tell us what you want. Do you want us to just take turns fucking you, filling you up over and over and over.” “Or are you thinking more along the lines of last time? Taking two at a time because one cock isn’t quite enough for you now?” “Try three,” you managed to get out as you slid a hand into John’s hair to hold him in place, “want you all at once.” “Jesus,” Brian swore, dropping his lips to your neck. “I’ve been a piss-poor groupie considering the stories that reporter’s peddling. Everyone’s going to think I’ve been taking all three of you at once constantly, but we’ve never actually done that, have we? Might as well embrace my slut title and change that,” “Let us work up to it, Love” Roger said softly, recapturing your lips as he rolled your nipple between his fingers. You whined, partly from Roger and Brian’s attention and partly because John raised his head, your hips rising slightly at the loss. “Guess I should start stretching you out then,” he said offhandedly as he licked his fingers, the same way you’d seen him do a hundred times before while playing. You couldn’t stop the moan that rose up in your throat, the sound only making John chuckle against you as he lowered his head and resumed his focus on your clit.

It only took a few more minutes to have you swearing through your first orgasm. The two fingers John had inside you enough to send you over the edge as they brushed against every sensitive spot they could reach. Your neck tingled where Brian had marked it and your nipples were stiff peaks, extra sensitive to cool air after he and Roger had delighted in torturing them with teeth and tongue and fingertips. “How was that?” John asked, slowly withdrawing his fingers when he was satisfied you’d finished. “Fuck,” was all you could say, the three boys laughing, John dropping a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Think you can handle more?” “Actually Bri I think I might be done,” “Oh. Really?” “I’m kidding.” “Thank Christ. I’m so fucking hard there’s no way I could get my pants back on anyway.” You laughed and pushed yourself to sit up, “Poor thing. I suppose you can use my cunt for a bit.” “Classic guitarists always getting first go,” “Shut it drum boy, I was about to offer to blow you but if you’re going to be like that,” “No, no, I didn’t say anything.” “He did Y/N, I heard him, blow me instead,” “Ignore Deaks, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” “Like a couple of – oh!” you were cut off as Brian grabbed you round the middle and wrenched you onto your hands and knees, “children. A little warning next time please,” “Sorry,” Brian leaned forward to kiss your back as his fingers trailed up the inside of your thigh, “but if I didn’t move this along we’d be stuck arguing about who gets to blow who forever.” “N-no we wouldn’t,” you stumbled over your words as Brian’s long, talented fingers pressed into you, “I made up my mind, Rog in my throat.” “What about me?” “Don’t worry Deaks, you’ll get your turn. If you want you can spank me though, or bite me or pull my hair or whatever else you can think of. You know my limits. Also we’ll need lube so if you want to go digging through my bathroom draws and find some you can. Might be a reward in it if you do.” “Spankher, please,” Brian nearly whined, “always makes her cunt so tight.” “Think I’d rather claim that reward thanks” “Alright then I’ll spank her,” “Guys! Can you stop arguing. I have holes enough for all of you, that’s kind of the point of this. And, Brian and Roger, if I don’t get both of your cocks deep, deep inside me within the next thirty seconds I will kick you both out and let John have his way with me on repeat.” A moment of silence accompanied your statement. You saw Roger, eyes wide, look over at John and then to Brian, and could only assume they were returning his dumbfounded look. “Twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven,” Roger blinked as if waking from a daydream and hurried to kneel in front of you, one hand gliding over the length of his cock as the other reached for your hair. Your mouth fell open in a gasp as Brian suddenly filled you, holding your hips tight as he bottomed out, which gave Roger enough opportunity to push himself towards the back of your throat. There was a shift in the mattress as John got up but you were a little too preoccupied to hear the door open and shut or the sound of him rummaging through your bathroom. You only realised he’d returned when a sudden, loud spank hit you and you knew Brian’s hands were still occupied with your hips. For their parts, Roger and Brian were keeping you busy, skewered between them, not sure whether the noises coming from your own throat were moans or gags or wordless begging. Brian breathlessly laughed as John spanked you again, “So fucking tight. Bit harder?” “Y/N?” You made an assenting humming noise and nodded as much as Roger’s cock would allow which John rightly took as permission and so hit you again, harder than the last.

It was an intoxicating feeling, taking two cocks at once, all the while wanting more and knowing you’d have it before long. Brian fucked you hard and precise, as if his goal was to split you open from the inside out. Had it just been him and you alone you would have found yourself creeping further up the bed. It had happened a few times before, leaving you either hanging off the edge of the bed, or with your hands over your head and pressed against a wall in an effort to keep from banging your head. But all he managed to do was push you further onto Roger’s cock, making you gag and choke more often. Roger didn’t seem to mind that though, giving as good as Brian, firmly gripping your hair so that you couldn’t even attempt to move off him. The added impact from John’s hand just made you shiver and moan. He was the one who sensed you were getting close though, reaching under you to rub your clit and give you the extra push you needed to get over the edge. Brian wasn’t too far behind you, groaning as he tried to keep fucking you, his hips faltering as he twitched inside you and spilled his seed. You felt his hands on your backside as he spread your cheeks, leaning down to spit on your arsehole before he pulled out of you. Once Brian was finished with you, you tapped Roger’s thigh and he pulled back. “You okay?” he asked, stroking your cheek with a knuckle. “Brilliant, just thought that since I can move a bit easier, I’d take over. You look like you were close.” “Fucking yes I was close,” You giggled as you readjusted your position to be more comfortable, once again taking Roger’s cock between your lips. This time you pushed yourself lower, taking him deeper, making Roger swear above you. You pulled back again, hollowing your cheeks until you sank down once more. A strangled moan seemed to catch in Roger’s throat and it spurred you on. You reached out to cups his balls, massaging them in your hand as you took him as deep as you could and hummed. The hum turned into something akin to a squeal (though slightly muffled and choked off at the end) as the sticky cool of John’s lube covered finger teased your arsehole, tracing circles around it before slowly sinking into you. The sight seemed to be enough to finish Roger off, one hand on the back of your head to steady himself as he shot his load down your throat, pulling out towards the end so the last of it dribbled down your chin. “Now me?” John asked, pushing a second finger in with the first as Roger let you go. “Stretch me out a little more and then yes,” “Oh, no, I’m not ready for that yet. I want your tits.” “What?” “Your tits, Y/N. Turn around,” His fingers left you and you were free to move, shuffling on your knees to face him. John pressed down on your shoulder pushing you to sit back on your knees and adjusting your angle so he could slide his lubed up shaft between your breasts. He pushed them together with his palms and slid them up and down his dick as he rutted against you, spreading the sticky lube over your chest. With a slight smile at John, you  dipped your head a little and kissed the tip of his cock as it moved towards your lips. “Fuck, been waiting so long for this,” he groaned, “gon-na make a mmm-ess all over you.” He gave up on speech as he neared his released, communicating exclusively in grunts and increased speed until he finished, covering your chest and sternum in ropes of cum that dripped down your skin.

You laughed as John fell back. The hardest you could remember laughing in a while. “What’s so funny?” Brian asked, reaching out to rub your shoulder. “Just thought what that reporter would say if she could see me now, naked and dripping in spunk,” you managed to get out between giggles, “her face would be fucking priceless.” The boys laughed along with you, glad you could see the funny side of the situation with the article. “Does that mean you’re feeling better?” “Yes Rog, but I’m still not done with you.” “What did you have in mind?” “Well,” you crawled over to where Roger was sitting, leant back on his hands, and placed your hand on his throat, tilting his face away from you a little so you could lick a long stripe from his jaw to his temple, “I meant it when I said I wanted all of you.” “Never doubted it, love,” he sounded a little breathless. “Just let me know when you’re all ready to go again. Not you Rog, I can see you’re ready.” “I’m good too Y/N,” “Yeah, same,” “In that case,” you shifted your position, lining yourself up with Roger and sinking down on him, squeezing his throat a little harder as you adjusted. “John, you still got that lube?” “Yes, uh, yeah here,” there was the sound of a cap flipping open and you leaned forward encouraging Roger to lay back so you could give John better access. “Hey, Rog, can you spread your legs a little wider,” “S’pose so, just don’t kneel on my bollocks or anything,” “God give me a second, the thought of that just made mine try and jump up inside me,” You giggled as John shuffled closer, using his fingers to spread some more of the lube over you and to keep stretching you out. “What about me, Y/N?” “I haven’t forgotten you Bri. I want every inch of your cock shoved so far down my throat I can feel you for a week. Just let me get used to the others first, yeah? Still feels kinda odd having two of you at once since we’ve not done it much.” Brian nodded, contenting himself with running his fingers through your hair as he waited. John, having pulled his fingers from you and slicked up his dick with more lube, sank into you slowly, his hand on your back to keep you bent forward. It suddenly felt hard for you to pull in a new breath as you tried to adjust to the feeling of both of them, especially when John gave an experimental thrust, fucking you slowly to make sure it felt okay for everyone. Brian talked softly, reminding you to breathe and telling you how well you were doing, until you were better in control of your lungs and ready for more. “Are you sure you want me as well?” “Yes. Lets show that parasite just how far I’ll go, huh?” Roger laughed, “that’s the spirit.”

Brian didn’t need more convincing than that, though it did take a little trial and error to find the best way to accommodate all three of them. Brian tried perching his arse on the headboard but Roger whinged about “seeing nothing but Bri’s ballsack flopping about. And I know you see things when you’re gangbanging but that is too much.” In the end Brian stood next to the bed by Roger’s head, enough to the side that Roger’s view wasn’t impeded but still close enough so that the angle wouldn’t strain your neck. He gathered your hair into a messy ponytail as he pulled your mouth onto his cock, letting you work yourself further down his shaft as slowly as you needed, checking in with you every now and again to make sure you could take more. The other two were mostly still as you adjusted to Brian, though once or twice they’d given a small thrust or shifted slightly and made you whine. Once you had Brian buried as deep in your throat as he could go you paused for a few seconds and then pulled back again, strings of saliva breaking on your lips. “How was that?” “Good,” you gasped, “New. Kinda weird but very fucking good.” That didn’t really explain anything but you weren’t sure how to describe the nearly overwhelming fullness, the sudden heat, the tension in your belly which you couldn’t pinpoint as either anticipation or nerves or just because you were stretched open on three cocks. “And that’s without us doing anything,” “I know,” you grinned, “I’m excited. Why didn’t we try this sooner? But now you guys can cut loose. I’m not sure I’ll be much use in like riding you properly or whatever. Just don’t know my brain can focus on keeping both of you in my holes while I’m thinking about blowing Bri well. So, just fuck me however you can and we’ll see how it goes.” “Don’t worry, we’ll make you feel good,” John said, rubbing your back softly. “Yeah, course we will, love. And if ends up being shit then we can just take turns instead,” You nodded and took a deep breath before leaning forward to take Brian again. You controlled the pace once more, bobbing up and down his shaft, sucking on his tip, as the other two figured out their rhythm. It was a strange sensation to start. It felt clumsy and more than a little awkward, especially when John mentioned how he could feel Roger inside you. But that eased as they adjusted and worked out how best to fuck you. John held your hips as he plunged into you, each thrust harder than the last as his confidence rose and he found out what you liked most. Roger’s hands moved over your skin rather than staying in once place, palming your breasts and teasing your nipples between his fingertips before sliding down your side to grasp your waist and then back up to your breasts. You were rocked on his cock with each of John’s pounding thrusts, which only made you moan around Brian’s. You let instinct take over there, one hand stroking from his base up to meet your lips as you swallowed him deeper. His hips jolted when you whined or moaned and before long you dropped your hand away from his shaft, instead grabbing his arse to keep yourself steady. He pulled you off him again and you could feel the spit on your chin. “Forgot what a fucking incredible cocksucker you are.” Brian groaned, “But can I take over? Fuck your throat?” “Yeah, okay,” You had time for another breath and then you were pushed down again, right to the base. “There we go,” he groaned, pulling on your hair, “Gonna make you feel so fucking good.” Your hum was choked off and ended in a gag as Brian ground his hips into your face. That seemed to be the tipping point though. The moment all three of them forgot about awkward views or who was positioned where and became entirely consumed with fucking you deep and hard. You were glad to let them lead, grabbing you, pinching and pulling and squeezing every inch of you they could reach. And all the while spearing you on their dicks, keeping you in a cycle of mounting pleasure as they found all your most responsive spots inside and out. You felt your orgasm building again, the heat rising, getting more urgent as you got closer and closer. The sounds you made were muffled by Brian but that didn’t stop you making them, moaning with every pounding thrust. As you neared the edge Brian pulled you off his cock so they could all hear you properly, their encouragement mixing in your lust addled brain and creating a wall of noise that pushed you over the edge with a loud cry. And yet they didn’t stop. Brian waited until your orgasm was reduced to aftershocks that made you wince and whine and then cut off your air as he entered your throat again, resuming the long, deep strokes that made you gag until he came, holding you down as he emptied himself completely.

As soon as the other two didn’t have to worry about giving Brian access to your mouth they adjusted your position, John pushing on your back until you were bent over. Roger attached his lips to your throat as they simultaneously fucked into you, the change of angle pushing Roger’s cock against you in a way that had you seeing spots. You cried out again as Brian lay a slap on your arse. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” John grunted as he came too, unable to hold out any longer though he didn’t withdraw from you either. His hips slowed a bit and he whined softly but he kept fucking you. “Rog,” you panted, trying to get him to finish too. “You’ve got another one in you, c’mon love,” You whined but nodded, the familiar sensation already tightening in the pit of your stomach. Again the three of them encouraged you, John wrapping his hand around your waist to find your clit, Brian reaching under you to squeeze your breast as his other hand came down on your arse again. They gave you no option but to cum, shivering between them. Finally Roger let go too, moaning into your ear as he filled you up.

It took a moment to disentangle everyone, John being careful not to go too fast and hurt you, but finally you were able to collapse together, sweaty and panting, spread out over the room. “So, cheered up now?” Brian asked from where he’d lain down on the carpet You peered over the edge of the bed at him, “Think so. Thanks for that, it was fun.” “Any time, love,” Roger chuckled from the end of the bed, patting your knee, “and I mean that.” “I’m not you groupie anymore,” “Never said you were,” “Then what?” “What Rog means,” John cut in from where he’d spread out on you window seat, “is that if you ever need cheering up or to let out some frustrations, we’re here. We’re happy to help,” “Does your help always involve a gangbang?” “Not always,” Brian laughed. “Well, a lot of the time,” Roger added with a wink. “I’ll keep it in mind,” you chuckled, “I’ll have to face my family at some point and there’s a high chance I’ll leave upset and frustrated so, we’ll see. Wonder how Freddie’s getting on with those calls.” “I’ll go give him a ring and find out,” Roger said, half groaning as he stood and stretched. He didn’t bother grabbing any of his discarded clothes before he left. “I’ll take Rog his pants,” John sighed as he got up and replaced his own underwear, exiting the room with an eyeroll, Roger’s underwear pinched between his thumb and pointer. “And I’ll...stay here?” Brian said, “unless you need anything?” “Nah, I’m going to jump in the shower. Let the other two know that’s where I am, would you?” “If you’re doing that, can I have the bed?” “Sure Bri,” you laughed, “as long as you promise to change the sheets when you wake up.”