#stretching the drawing muscles after two months and man i think i'm still burned out from that comic lmao

[hirazuki]

I finally got around to working out my full-body design for Námo!

The second image is inspired by a scene in this lovely fic by @melkors-defense-attorney, which is hands down the most adorable, wholesome, precious Námo scene I have ever read ♡

[lovetorn]

Life Was A Willow [Part 1]

Witch Hunter!Dream x Witch!Fem!Reader

Part 2 Part 3

Summary: it's always been hunters vs. witches, right?

Word Count: 3.7k+

Warnings for part 1: violence, swearing

A/N: AHHHH !! It's finally here !! i'm going to be posting this in parts, originally 2, but looking at it now, it may even possibly be 3 parts. i've been working on this for months and i'm extremely happy with it !! i hope you guys love it as much as i do !!

The leaves of the willow tree rustle loudly whilst Y/n kneels in front of the raspberry bush. With each piece of the fruit, her fingertips are stained with a deep magenta as she plucks them off of the branches. Bark and twigs dig into her knees sharply when she reaches forward to grasp one last raspberry, but before she has the chance to pick it, the sound of horse hooves galloping on the dirt startle her.

“Ma’am! Are you alright?” A deep voice calls. Y/n sighs, standing from her spot on the ground before she turns around.

Five men on tan horses surround her. Her heart skips a beat when she recognises their uniforms. Witch hunters. With the nod of her head, Y/n smiles. “I’m doing just fine, gentlemen! Thank you for your concern.”

Although, she doesn’t recognise any of their faces—especially the man in a mask. The girl tilts her head at the sight of it; hardly any hunters wear a mask. But, what confuses her more is the taunting smile drawn lazily across the white ceramic. “Are you sure? There’s a whole lot of danger in these parts, sweetheart!”

Y/n almost rolls her eyes but stops before they catch onto her. “I promise, I’m completely fine.” She wishes she could see the expression of the man in the mask.

None of the hunters reply before they kick the sides of their horses and ride off in the opposite direction they came. Panic sets in as Y/n drops her basket of berries and sets off into a sprint, her skirts catching under her feet.

Being this far from home with hunters close-by is risky, Y/n knows this. But the raspberry bush had just ripened and she promised Wilbur she would bake him a raspberry cheesecake in return for repairing her wand.

Her lungs burn as she pushes open the small wooden gate that surrounds the house.

“Niki!” Y/n yells, her voice cracking slightly in fear. Her friend spins around from her spot in the garden. “Y/n! Take a look at the rose—“

Y/n only shakes her head, turning back in panic. “Hunters.”

“Quickly then, get inside, we must inform Wilbur.”

The pair rush into the cottage, Niki’s rose bush and Y/n’s basket of berries left behind.

The back door slams against the wall, only to be shut and locked as soon as it was opened. Wilbur stands from his spot at the dining table with a puzzled expression.

“How many?” Wilbur runs a hand over his face.

“A whole army. The King’s been busy; there’s a lot of new faces.”

The man sighs deeply. He turns to face Niki, who sits on the kitchen stool with a look of fear on her face. Y/n swallows and peers out of the small window. She sees a flash of white and the sound of an arrow cutting the air. “They’re here. They’ve followed me.”

—

Niki is the first to exit the house, her hands out in front of her. She clenches her jaw as she feels tingles through her muscles, her eyes shaped like crescent moons. The sound of branches cracking and leaves crunching makes her throw her hand to her right, which earns a distant cry as a hunter is thrown backwards.

Wilbur hurries around the house in search of his staff while Y/n whispers angrily at him to hurry up. The man lets out a quiet squeal when he spots it leaning against the living room wall and faces Y/n. He exhales, nodding once to tell her to go out the back door.

Y/n moves silently whilst passing windows and eventually through the door. Her eyes dart in every direction as she steps onto the dirt beneath her. The only sound is the snapping of bows and faint cries from the front of the house.

“Witch!” A voice calls. Y/n lifts her hands up, flecks of glitter-like sparkles falling from her fingertips. “We come to you on behalf of the King; he wishes to discuss potential alliances with you.”

Y/n struggles to distinguish where the voice comes from before there’s a hand on her back and she’s being pushed to the ground. She scowls and turns to face the person behind her; a man with a white bandana tied around his head.

Y/n jumps up instantly, moving her finger in a circular motion until the man’s feet begin to lift off the ground.

“Hey, hey! No!” He yells, scrambling to grasp the sword attached to his back. Y/n raises an eyebrow as she gets a closer look at the weapon.

“A diamond sword? Huh? Did Technoblade give you that?”

The man visibly stills, his hands fumbling the sword as he brings it up beside his face. “Yeah, what about it?”

Y/n shakes her head, a sad smile on her cheeks. “Nothing, Techno’s an old friend of mine. Tell me, is he well?”

The squeal of an arrow stops the man from answering her question. Y/n steps back when the sharp object swizzles past her head. “That wasn’t very nice.”

She chooses to pay no attention to the other hunter, who hides behind a tree and instead focuses on the one in front of her.

“Are you new?” Y/n asks calmly.

The man nods before Y/n lowers him back onto his feet. “Name. Now. That’s not a question but a demand.”

“Sapnap.”

Y/n squints at him. “Odd.”

“Y/n! We need help!” Wilbur calls from the opposite side of the house. Y/n sighs and places her hands back to her sides. The man with the diamond sword narrows his eyes at her, jerking his neck to the side to stretch it.

Y/n sighs in annoyance and sweeps him to the side, the roots from Niki’s rose bushes wrapping tightly around his body; not enough to hurt him, but to keep him immobile.

Y/n goes to step in the direction of the front of the house but is stopped by the man in the mask. A bow and quiver sit on his back and Y/n glances at them, planning on destroying them. “Don’t even think about it.”

Y/n is taken aback by the man’s forwardness and watches as he draws a dagger from his boot. Y/n raises her hands again, her eyes turning to slits as she awaits the man’s next moves.

As anticipated, he lunges forward, the knife tightly held in his fist. Y/n swiftly dodges, her hands moving majestically around to form a divet in the ground for him to fall into. However, she is quickly mistaken when he spins on his heel and steps over the growing hole.

“Nice tactic,” The man teases. “But not good enough.” Y/n is annoyed that she can’t see his face—she'd love to see what it’d look like after this.

Y/n rolls her eyes, a bored look on her face. She sighs deeply and steps into a fighting stance. She notices the man doing the same.

“Nice footwork,” Y/n says, stomping one foot into the earth before it starts to vibrate. “But not good enough.”

The man’s face falls and pales behind his mask as vines come to conceal his feet. Y/n smirks as he falls onto the dirt with a thump. The man lays with his back against the ground and his arms outstretched as Y/n stands above him.

She smiles at him—her grin is more genuine than usual, which is odd considering the circumstances—and leans down and places her mouth near his ear. “You know, you did pretty well for being a new hunter.”

The man scoffs then laughs in response. “Thanks.”

—

A hunter draws his sword, one made out of netherite, and Wilbur’s eyes grow in shock. “How did you get that?”

The man smirks and lifts the weapon high into the air. He brings it down towards Wilbur, who quickly matches the hunter’s strength with his staff. The two objects clash against one another and white light begins to seep through the lines in the staff.

Wilbur inhales sharply at the sight and pushes the man away with all his might. His staff starts to vibrate and soon the wood cracks in various places.

“Wil, move!” Y/n comes from behind him, her hands out wide as she lifts the hunter into the air and towards a tree. His body slams against the bark, making pieces fall onto the grass before branches weave around the man, enclosing him in a cocoon.

“Thanks,” Wilbur smiles, although it falters when he notices his staff becoming weak. “But I think it’s the end for this guy.”

Y/n frowns, her fingers caressing the cracked wood. “We can’t repair this. You must go to Quackity, he’ll be able to fix it.”

“I can’t fix this.”

Y/n’s jaw goes slack before she stands from the long table. “Alex! Why not?”

Quackity stifles a sly laugh as he rounds the table, picking up the broken staff on the way past. “It’s beyond repair. You see, when netherite and magical objects mix, the netherite completely destroys any magic within it. Therefore making it impossible to fix.”

Wilbur rolls his eyes, “We know that already, Sherlock, which is why we brought it to you thinking you could help us. But you clearly can’t, so we’ll be on our way.”

Quackity’s eyes widen and he drops the stick onto the table once more. “No! I–I can fix it, just give me a few days.”

Y/n raises an eyebrow, suspicious of his sudden enthusiasm. She slams the staff onto the table from Quackity’s hands and looks him in the eye. “No fucking around, okay, Alex? You fix this staff or there will be consequences. Got it?”

The man looks around his cave in search of something. Y/n squints as she watches him duck under rocks and dodge around cauldrons.

“Karl? Have you got any wands?” He calls down a hallway. Y/n and Wilbur meet gazes, his eyes moving towards the staff before Quackity returns in a hurry.

“Well, I haven’t got a wand to cast a promising spell, but if you come back in 2 days, I’ll guarantee this staff will be good as new and back in business,” He smiles, snatching the wood from the table. “Free of charge, just for you.”

Wilbur nods hesitantly, glancing at Y/n before he stands. “Okay. See you then, I guess.”

Quackity grins. He slowly shifts his weight to his other foot as he waits for them to leave. But Y/n isn’t finished.

“If you trick us, Alex. I swear to god I will take that little hat if yours and shove it right—”

The younger man shakes his head, “There will be no need! I’d never trick you! I just want to help my friends.”

Wilbur winces on the word ‘friends’ and ducks his head as he exits the cave. “See you!” Quackity says before Y/n follows in suit.

“Karlos, we’ve got work to do!”

“Down this way!”

Dream’s eyes drift towards the small cottage he and the hunters were at yesterday. Sapnap rolls his neck and groans in pain. “You’d think they’d wait a few days before going out again.”

Dream ignores his friend’s complaints as the group nears the house. The tidy garden and ivy that intertwined along the roof are torn and disrupted, and Dream feels slightly guilty looking at the damage they did. But, upon arrival, the house is empty.

“It’s been abandoned!” A brunette hunter yells in confusion. Dream twists his lips and narrows his eyes at a faint snap a few feet away. The silence is deafening as he realises everyone else heard it too. “Don’t move. We’ve been ambushed.”

The men look up towards the trees above them; the canopy appears darker than usual. Suddenly, a hunter behind Dream yelps, and as he turns around to see what happened, the man is gone. This causes a collective gasp amongst the group, fear coursing through their veins.

“Hello, boys!” A voice calls from the trees. The hunters whip their head around, trying to decipher which direction it came from and readies their swords. However, Dream remains calm. He only raises his eyebrow at the sound of the voice continuing. “Lovely seeing you here.”

Another yell echoes through the group and another and another until only Dream and Sapnap remain.

“Hey, Snapmap. Can I call you that? Or is that only reserved for your friends?”

The younger boy furrows his eyebrows as his eyes lay on Y/n, floating down from the trees. Dream watches the same girl he fought yesterday, fling Sapnap’s sword away with the swish of her fingers. The pair tilt their heads at the action and remain quiet when Y/n begins laughing. “Calm down, you’re acting like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Dream feels someone behind him and then he turns around and swings his sword in one movement. He’s met with a slightly taller man, who immediately forces his sword backwards and onto the dirt.

Dream’s eyes widen before he brings his fists up. “This isn’t a fair fight.”

Wilbur struggles to contain his giggle as he meets Y/n’s gaze. “You want to take this one?”

Y/n nods and lifts her hands to drag Dream across the forest floor towards her. Dream is startled as he regains his balance. “Nice seeing you again, mask boy.”

“Can’t say I feel the same, witch,” Y/n smirks at his serious tone before she shoots her hand to the side to gather a sword from one of the hunters who sits tied to the branches above them.

“Get your sword, it’ll be a fair fight.”

Dream bends down to pick up his netherite sword, its purple aura intimidating to the iron one Y/n holds. “No magic.”

Y/n rolls her eyes. “Got it.”

And with the sound of metal scraping against metal, the fight begins.

Y/n steps back as Dream moves forwards. He bounces on the balls of his feet and adjusts his grip on the sword before he lunges forward. Y/n is quick to sidestep the sharp edge before she retaliates with her own movement. The pair continue barely missing each other, the interaction being a friendly fight rather than a deadly one. Y/n shifts her weight to her back foot as she watches Dream’s sword swing between them.

“What’s your name, anyway? I know Sapnap’s, so what’s yours?” Y/n asks, out of breath slightly. Dream squints as he dodges her swing at his abdomen. “Dream.”

“Well, Dream, you’re good with a sword. I’m Y/n, by the way.” Y/n mumbles, and what she doesn’t see is Dream’s cocky smile. She doesn’t question his odd name like she did with Sapnap yesterday, and it makes his stomach turn.

The pair stop for a second, staring at each other before Dream’s blade cuts the air and barely misses Y/n’s shoulder. The girl gasps at the closeness and scolds him.

In Dream’s moment of victory, and distraction, Y/n thrusts forwards, her sword coming to a halt at Dream’s throat. “I win. Again.”

Dream gulps. The feeling of the sharp point so prominent on his skin scares him. But, the soft look in Y/n’s eye tells him she’s not going to kill him. And as she begins to lower her sword, Dream’s foot sweeps under hers, causing her to tumble forward. There’s a dull thud of bodies hitting the dirt, and Y/n knows exactly where she is.

“I—Uh,” Dream mumbles, his hands hovering over Y/n’s hips as she lays on top of him.

“Thanks for that.” She murmurs. Dream hums and tries to help her maneuver off of him. The pair eventually stand and avoid eye contact, despite keeping it for close to 8 minutes straight previously.

“Get a room!” Sapnap yells from the tree. There’s a small grumble of laughter from the other hunters and Y/n shakes her head.

“How do you plan on getting down, Snapmap?” The youngest boy’s expression turns sour. Dream tilts his head back to observe the other hunters and laughs lightly—his throaty chuckle making Y/n look at him.

“Well, have fun!” Y/n calls as she slips away, but not before she bids Dream goodbye.

The hunters trudge through the castle gates with defeated expressions and their outfits muddy. The group share collective groans of pain as they walk the grounds, their muscles aching.

“What was all that between you and that witch?” Sapnap asks Dream whilst they enter the Hunters Wing of the castle. Dream shrugs and strips himself of his jacket, hanging it on the peg on the wall next to them.

The Hunters Wing of the castle is a large area with corridors of bedrooms and even more rooms for dining, training, cooking, reading, and more. The training room, however, is the largest out of all of them. Its high ceilings and concrete pillars make for a great place for target practice, surprise attack run-throughs, and performing hand-to-hand combat.

Dream spends most of his time here; Sapnap pokes fun at him for his constant preparation for new opportunities, but their other best friend, and the Prince, George, just applauds him for his determination—which eventually makes Sapnap agree.

“Nothing, and her name’s Y/n.” Dream’s lack of answer causes Sapnap to sigh loudly as he sits on the bench to untie his boots.

“Bullshit.” He exasperates. “There was definitely something there and you know it. But you better get over it, it's forbidden.”

Dream rolls his eyes and shrugs one shoulder. “Not forbidden, just frowned upon.”

Sapnap drops his shoes onto the cobblestone ground abruptly, groaning at his best friend before he stands and walks towards his bedroom. “You are such a—”

“Sapnap!” A new voice startles the boy, and Dream grins as soon as he recognises it.

“Georgie, don’t scare me like that, you idiot,” Sapnap whines, jogging over to the Prince to lightly punch his shoulder.

“Please, if that scared you then I’d consider you a—” Another light punch to his shoulder stops George from continuing.

“No swearing, Gogy,” Dream snickers as he walks towards the pair, heaving his duffle bag he collected from the cubby hole. He reaches his hand down to George’s cheek before pinching it. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your image.”

George shrugs both of the boys off of him with a scowl. “Get off of me, the both of you.”

Sapnap only giggles at George’s attempt at swatting their hands away, his own hand coming up to cover his smile. Dream places his bag on the floor, smirking, before letting out a soft laugh.

“Anyways, Dream had a moment with one of the witches today.”

George’s eyebrows raise as he turns to look at Dream, who rolls his eyes at the topic again. “Is she pretty?”

Dream goes to reply, yes, and she can fight really, really well, but Sapnap is quick to shut down his chance.

“George, it’s forbidden, why don’t you disapprove of this?” Sapnap’s brows furrow as he throws his hands around. Dream crosses his arms over his chest, irritated that he’s brought it up again, and now to the Prince.

The eldest shrugs. “I find magic more interesting and worth learning about, than dangerous. It would be so cool to have powers like that, don't you think?”

Sapnap groans again. “Ugh! You guys are so weird. Talk to me when you come to your senses about how it's destroying our world rather than helping it.” And ignoring Dream and George’s calls, he stalks to his room, leaving the pair in the training room.

“He’ll come around.” The Prince mumbles.

However, Dream doesn't say anything, picks up his duffle bag from the floor and takes off in the opposite direction, leaving George alone.

“Pricks.”

Y/n sits on the rocking chair on the patio of the cottage, a spellbook in her lap and a mug of lavender tea in her hand. The wind picks up slightly, making the leaves rustle and the trees sway around her. The chair rocks softly and the creaks of the house comfort her—especially in a time when everything is unknown.

As she goes to bring the cup to her lips, Y/n is startled by an object flying at her. She throws her opposite hand up to stop it before it hits her, the force causing the rocking chair to tilt backwards.

Y/n feels a sharp edge on her palm and her heart skips a beat. As she moves her hand away, she notices that the object is, in fact, not a dagger, but an envelope. She exhales loudly and feels her heart rate slow down from its once rapid beating.

Y/n examines the letter as it floats in front of her face and then grasps it in her fingers. The envelope is crisp and white and is closed with a red wax seal. The signature can only mean one thing: the Castle.

Opening the letter, there is a single white card with black calligraphy: Y/n, wait for the signal and I’ll meet you after dark, at the abandoned cottage that is East of the castle. We can talk then. –C

The witch furrows her eyebrows. C? Who is C?

She chooses against notifying Wilbur and Niki about the letter, and instead, slots it into her spellbook and takes a sip of her tea.

But, Y/n notices a return address on the card before she tucks it away, and flicks her hand back over her shoulder to summon a pen and paper. The pen stills in front of the card, waiting for Y/n to instruct it on what to write.

“Dear, C,” Y/n starts, she ponders for a moment before continuing. “I’ll be waiting for the signal, I hope it’s grand.”

Puckering her lips, Y/n swirls her finger around to fold the letter up and sends it back inside to package it.

The envelope, now sealed with periwinkle wax, flies out of the floor and then up into the sky and out of sight. Y/n sighs, mindlessly fiddling with the corner of the card she received.

Ok, she’ll meet them after dark. Whoever they are.

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Steve Rogers, The Man On Fire

Hey y'all, as Pride month draws to a close I would like to post this fic. It's been in my drafts for a month and I finally today found the motivation to finish it. This is special to me for many reasons, one of which being that I'm proudly a part of this community. Some of the anger written in is my own. I think a lot of people will resonate with it. I really hope you all enjoy this and happy Pride Month <3

This was based loosely off a headcannon and once I re-find it I will credit!

Synopsis: Steve is freshly thawed, queer, and pissed | A.k.a. Steve's experience in 21st Century America

Characters: Steve Rogers, Mentions of Bucky Barnes, (loosely a Stucky fic but Steve thinks he's dead here)

Warnings: Angst but not bad, Steve Rogers being volatile and chaotic (we love), poorly written accents (I literally read this with an accent in my head), literally a 2k monologue

Word count: 5.1k

Steve Rogers came out of the ice angry.

No— not angry— Steve Rogers came out of the ice fuckin’ furious.

He came out of the ice with his hands curled into two fists, with his jaw clenched so hard his teeth were liable to snap, and with a bone to pick with every damn reporter and historian and too loud opinion on this side of the Brooklyn Bridge.

He came out simmering— no, erupting— like the serum in his blood couldn’t keep his body from hibernation all those years ago but it sure as hell won’t keep him from setting the entirety of New York on fire now. He’ll burn it all down if he has to and rebuild it the way he remembers it— the way Bucky would have remembered it— and at the end of it all no one— not the bigots or deniers or the homophobes that seem to be the only thing that came with him from the forties— will be able to say that Captain America can’t love whoever he wants.

No one will be able to say that Steve Rogers didn’t love James “Bucky” “the man I’ve loved since twelve years old” Barnes with everything he had and then some.

No one.

So he starts with the museums in Washington— because sure it isn’t New York but where else would a relic like himself belong more?

He still has hope when he enters the building. They didn’t make them like this when he was a kid— they had science fairs in the town hall and culture fairs in the backstreets near the docks but never anything this grand. No tall marble pillars or enough stairs to make him wonder if he would have been able to climb to the top when he was half the size he is now. It’s strange. It’s kind of wonderful. Yeah, the Smithsonian museums make Steve Rogers feel small for the first time in a very long time and that gives him hope.

That hope doesn’t last long, though, because soon he’s wandering through the halls, following the signs that say Captain America: The First Avenger— what the hell is an Avenger? Is that what they’re calling soldiers these days? Now he feels small and old.

Turning the corner is like landing on another planet, one devoted entirely to him. His picture is everywhere he looks, his name is in lights, even his damn uniform has been replicated and presented on a little stage and he hates it. The rage is back, sparking at his fingers— he’s a match and lucky for everyone this building is made of stone because if it wasn’t he’s sure it would be reduced to nothing but ash by now.

It only worsens as he begins reading through the plaques and the paragraphs flashing across screens on the walls— he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that. The more he reads, though, the more he wonders if the stone is really, truly safe from the fire in his blood. He doesn’t think it is.

He surely isn’t at least— he feels like he’s going to explode. This isn’t him— none of this is him. War hero. Martyr. Golden boy. He has to stop reading that plaque— clearly no one did their research. Clearly no one dug up his medical files— or his police records. Brawls at the pub, disorderly conduct behind Mr. De Luca’s sandwich shop, public nudity at the beach that one time— thank you Bucky for the best night of his god damn life. Golden boy— ha.

Golden nobody with the black eye and broken hand is more like it.

For a moment he thinks he’s fine— he thinks it can’t get worse than this. Then he gets to the early life section and for an even longer moment his tongue tastes like gunpowder.

Steven Grant Rogers grew up in the streets of Brooklyn alongside his friend James Buchanan Barnes—

He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence— not when they already got the most important part wrong. Friend. Friend? No, no, no. No! There are a million words in the english language that Steve could use to describe Bucky and ‘friend’ will never be the first one.

How about best friend?

How about partner in crime?

How about soulmate who loved Steve so much that every night for the past forty-eight days since he woke up in an era that Bucky doesn’t exist in he’s cried himself to sleep with the same cherry cola taste of his ‘friend’ on his tongue.

It’s the final straw— Steve loses it.

“Anyone got a marker?”

The museum is quiet before he speaks but when his voice— steadily rising and taking on that New York headiness that his troops used to jazz him about— cuts through the exhibit— his fuckin’ exhibit— it’s silent. It’s dead, almost as dead as Buck— Nobody dares move a muscle as he rips his ball cap off his head and throws it at the statue of himself. Everyone knows who he is— everyone is going to know who he is so help him god.

“I said—” he tries again— “does anyone have a marker?”

It takes a moment for the people around him to pick their jaws up off the floor and he allows them that moment with a smug grin starting to tug on the corners of his lips. Finally— they’re starting to get it.

He’s not a hero; he’s a supernova of every scrawny, queer kid who’s ever gotten beaten to a pulp for kissing who they want.

Maybe then it’s fitting that the marker— when it’s finally produced and placed in his waiting palm— comes from a teenage girl with a shaved head and a blue, pink, and purple denim jacket and a busted lip. She doesn’t say much— only a mumbled here you go— but her eyes say everything that her words don’t. Give em’ hell, Cap. For the first time since waking up he flashes a genuine grin back— yeah, this one’s for you kid.

Steve wastes no time uncapping the sharpie— he’ll look that one up later— and scratching out the error. The blasphemy to his unholy name. It takes him a little longer to decide what to write in its place. There are a million words, sure, but somehow none of them feel right at this moment. None of them are enough. That’s something he’ll have to come to terms with later, though— how much nothing feels like enough anymore without Bucky.

Finally Steve settles on a word and he scribbles it as neatly as he can given the fact that he hasn’t had to write anything in eighty years. When he takes a step back, feeling alive for the first time since waking up, he beckons over the girl with the shaved head and points to the place where he’s taken it upon himself to correct history.

“Hey kid, why don’t you go ahead and read that outloud for everyone here.”

He allows another moment— this time because she deserves the time it takes for her eyes to light up and the smile to stretch across her bruised mouth.

Steve laughs— a rusted, croaky laugh; another first in forever— when her head whips around, facing him as she loudly proclaims: “It says boyfriend. Steve Rogers grew up in the streets of Brooklyn alongside his boyfriend Bucky Barnes!”

“Damn right I did—” he mutters to the kid before taking a step towards the crowd of gaping mouths. “Did you all hear that? Don’t worry if ya’ didn’t— I’ll say it one more time. Boyfriend. Bucky was my boyfriend and if he was here today he would be my husband. If any of you have a problem with that then feel free to take it up with me. I took on half of Brooklyn for that man and I’ll do it again.”

When no one says anything Steve nods, turning to hand the girl back her marker and to thank her— he may be angry but he hasn’t lost all his manners— but when he looks at her she doesn’t look back. Instead she takes the same step forward that he had, one of her hands balled into a tiny, shaking fist at her side and the other wrapped around a cell phone that’s pointed towards the crowd. He doesn’t understand the mechanics but he thinks she’s recording.

“You hear that?” She parrots the super soldier with a wavering but fierce voice. “Captain America likes men! And none of you can deny it!”

This time it’s his mouth that drops, watching as she shakily turns the camera off and spins back around. Before Steve can say anything, though, she’s talking again, this time hastier, and he can’t help but think that she sounds so much like him. All flushed and scrawny and pissed.

“I’m sorry, I’ll delete the recording if you want but, I jus’ know these bigots are gonna’ try and cover everything up and that would be a fuckin’ shame. I don’t know if you know how many kids need to hear this. I did— and I think they should too. Only if you want, of course.”

He doesn’t answer right away— he can’t. It’s like looking at himself at fifteen. Suddenly he’s back again, his feet hanging in the water as his boyfriend paces behind him, asking if he’s ready to have him look at his knuckles yet. He didn’t get that many good punches in— the scrapes are mostly from the pavement— but Buck always worries too much so it doesn’t matter. The protective idiot.

Steve shakes his head, blinking away the sunset lingering behind his eyes. “Bucky woulda’ loved you, kid.”

The next time he loses it— the next time he turns into more flame than man— is after he saves the city he’s been trying to burn down for three months.

It isn’t long after that day in the museum when Nick Fury decides it would be best for everyone if Steve goes back into the field. Of course, no one really asks him what he wants— they pretty much just shove a new suit into his hands and tell him to get training, Captain— but what else is new?

No one really comments on his outburst besides that either. Can you really call it an outburst when you’re just trying to reclaim the parts of you that have been stolen? Sure, the press gets a hold of the story and, true to what the kid had said, tries to twist it into something more digestible, but no one actually addresses it up with Steve. Apparently when someone saves the world as good as he does no one cares that they kiss men.

Or that they don’t wanna’ to actually save the world anymore.

See, in those three months— between the training and training and even more training that Steve Rogers begrudgingly obliges— he has time to catch up on the world. More importantly, he has time to catch up on what the world thinks of him. He scours a plethora of documentaries, scholarly essays, and whole books of information about his time as Captain America. Well— his time as Captain America when it mattered. In all his scouring he learns one thing: everything written about him is wrong.

It’s all so fuckin’ wrong.

Just why the hell would he want to save a world so bent on destroying who he is?

The Smithsonian exhibition was nothing compared to what’s been written in the eighty years he spent in the ice. Better yet, nothing compared to what hasn’t been written about him. They’ve taken an eraser to every part of his life that doesn’t fit with the golden image that they constructed for him. A.k.a. every part that matters. His relationship, his past, every little thing that made him supposedly perfect for the role he was given. Gone. Erskine told him he was a good man— apparently he was the only one who thought so.

Apparently being a good man isn’t good enough.

They only wanted the perfect soldier. Yeah, well, they had one and they fucked him over too. Don’t even get him started on what they did to Bucky— Steve doesn’t want to think about what Winnifred— Winnie for short— Barnes would do if she saw the history books erasing her baby’s Jewish roots. Or his relationship. It wouldn’t be pretty, that’s for damn sure. If ever there was someone more protective than Bucky it would have been his mother. Not that there’s a damn note about her in anything either though.

Maybe that’s the final straw that does him in this time— watching the place that Mrs. Barnes loved more than almost anything else in the world crumble, while also knowing that the world no longer gives a shit about the two people she loved more.

“Mr. Rogers, this is where you grew up, is it not? Is there anything you would like to say about what took place here in your home city today?”

Maybe he pretends not to hear the last part— maybe he really does only hear up until where the reporter asks him if there is anything he wants to say. He’s been around quite his fair share of explosions; it would make sense that his hearing is a little off. Maybe he just doesn’t care anymore, though.

Scratch that— he definitely doesn’t care anymore.

And why the fuck should he? He does have something to say and propriety be damned he’s going to say it.

Steve stares into the crowd of faceless reporters and flashing cameras with a scowl on his grimey face. Around him stand the other Avengers— his ‘team’. The last time he had a team the historians screwed up the history for every single member. Dugan, Morita, Falsworth, Jones, Dernier, Sawyer, Juniper, Pinkerton. Barnes. All of them were brave men with families and sacrifices and all of them were treated like jokes by ‘reporters’ just like the ones in front of him now. He really doubts there’s a difference between old and new journalism.

The only difference is that now he’s here and this time he’s not going to let them write anything but the damn truth.

“It is—” Steve muses, brushing the sweaty hair from his forehead— “I’m surprised you know that though.”

The reporter cocks his head, clearly confused, and it makes the super soldier’s blood boil. “Come again, sir?”

“I said I’m surprised you know where I was born, kid.” This time when he says the word— kid— it’s derogatory. “Ya’ know, considering how you all seem to know nothing about me otherwise.”

Steve almost smiles at the way the crowd tenses. He actually would if it weren’t for the white hot rage coursing through his veins, mingling with the last of the adrenaline leftover in his system. It gives him an extra kick— not that he needs it. Even when he was just a runt from the wrong side of the tracks he needed nothing more than an offhand comment to raise his fists. Fighting to Steve Rogers has always been intoxicating— the aftershocks of winning the battle just makes it more thrilling now.

Who knew, right?

“Sir I asked—” The reporter sputters and Steve simply holds a hand up, silencing him before he can start again.

“Yeah I know what you asked, alright. You want me to talk about the battle here in New York today and how I am more than happy to have risked my life to save it. But I can’t do that, kid. Because I didn’t save it for you. I didn’t save it for any of you.”

Steve feels his team tense— maybe were it any other time he would stop talking. He would just leave it, let the issue go, because Bucky would tell him too. They aren’t worth it, bruiser, he would say, they aren’t worth your blood. Maybe he would listen to his boyfriend because usually he was right. Bucky was always right. So yeah, maybe he would list—

Who is he kidding; he knows he wouldn’t.

Not then and certainly not now— not when Bucky isn’t here to defend himself against everything Steve has been reading about. That’s exactly why he doesn’t stop talking. Someone has to defend him and who better of a person than him? So, yeah, he keeps going, even when he hears footsteps behind him.

“You wanna’ know who I did save it for? James Barnes, that’s who I saved it for! You see, just around that corner there is a bookstore. Rickley Books. That was my boyfriend's favourite bookstore. You know, the man who gave his life to stop a train in Austria from reaching the enemies? Yeah that was him. That train was filled with supplies. Had it reached their headquarters, who knows if we’d be standing here today. If there would be a New York at all. Not that you would know that. But who cares about that dead sergeant from the 107th, right? There’s plenty just like him.”

Steve shrugs nonchalantly— a move he picked up from the very man he’s speaking about— but he spits his words at the reporters with enough venom to cancel out any peace that the action brings. That’s his own move.

He keeps going. “You know who else I saved it for? His mother. Yeah, his mother Winnie Barnes. Wonderful lady. She used to run a soup kitchen a couple blocks from here. Kept the rift raft like myself from going hungry most nights— I was a brawler, you know.”

A couple of reporters in the crowd laugh at that and Steve flinches, his vision tinting red as he cranes his neck, seeking them out.

“Oh you think that’s funny, do you? You think I’m joking? I’m not. You ever been backed into a corner, son? Had people hurl slurs at you that I can’t even repeat today? Ever been beaten up for loving your best friend? No, I bet you haven’t. You weren’t a queer kid in the thirties. That’s hard— that’s borderline impossible actually. I only made it because of people like Winnie Barnes. That woman was a saint but nobody talks about her either.”

Steve has to take a deep breath, clearing the rasp in his voice that rises as he dwells on the woman he called his second mother for so long. She wasn’t just a saint, she was an angel. He can’t cry here though, not now. Not even as his throat begins to tighten.

“Winnie was the type of lady who didn’t let anyone walk over the little people. She used to sit me down and say Stevie you gotta’ fight for what you want because ain’t nobody gonna’ give it to you. She told me that I shouldn’t have to but that there were going to be people who would try to tear me down just for being me. And she was right— just like her son— because that was the era, you know? But now, here in the twenty-first century, you’re all still trying to tear us down.”

A hand lands on his shoulder, small fingers tugging at where his suit has begun to tear. Natasha Romanoff. He meets her gaze quickly, neck craning to stare down the red head, and in the few seconds their eyes meet it’s like Bucky is next to him. Somehow the blue in her irises catches the falling sun just like his used to. Steve can hear the gruff of his voice in the depths of his mind. Back down, bruiser. The sentiment is echoed across Nat’s face.

Steve shakes her hand off him, turning back to the reporters— don’t they know that he can’t?

“You all say you care about me, huh? That I’m a hero? You know nothing about me— you don’t want to. Before I was a soldier I was a kid. A queer kid. I said that already but let me repeat it. Queer. Did you write that down? None of you certainly did before. That’s how I know that you don’t care— because in an age where being queer is infinitely more accepted you still don’t bother to write it down.”

He pauses for another breath, shutting his eyes against the blinking red lights of the cameras. They’re like little demons, always watching his every move. Recording. Everything’s always recorded these days. Will he ever be used to that? Bucky was the technology guy, not him. Not then and not now.

When Steve picks up again— eyes open and shoulders freshly straight— it’s on a new note— a clear note.

“You don’t care about me— you certainly don’t care about the real heroes of the war because if you did you wouldn’t erase our history. Do you know how much it would have meant to Bucky to see our relationship accepted? The man who died for you? How much it would’ve meant to his mother? You can’t just pick which of our stories and our sacrifices are worthy and which aren't.”

He hasn’t spoken this much since he’s woken up, not all at once at least. Maybe he should have, though— maybe if he had then he wouldn’t feel like ripping the heads off everyone in front of him right now. Call it fight or flight. Call it revenge. Hell, call it whatever you’d like because it doesn’t really matter. Either way he feels like a kid again— again— backed into a corner behind the deli with his fists up and his teeth bared.

He feels feral again.

“So now you just want me to save the world like I did— like Bucky did— all those years ago— or maybe jus’ New York— as if that’s any better— and you don’t even bother to write a proper article about me? Hell, I never even asked for an article, let alone a whole exhibit! I’m just a soldier— and before that I was just a kid. If there’s never another article written about me I’ll be grateful. But now that I’m here, standing in front of you, I’ll say this—”

Just as Steve’s voice is cresting into a shout that would no doubt be heard regardless of whether or not the microphones were in front of him, Natasha tries one more time, her fingers slipping between his.

Her voice is a dull buzz compared to his, only reaching his ears by sheer will. “C’mon Stevie— we gotta’ go now.”

Like before he’s stunned but this time instead of seeing Buck— instead of hearing him in his head— he hears Winnie.

You fought good, honey. You fought good for us. You can rest now.

It’s jarring and it’s not lost on him the handful of awkward seconds that it takes for him to respond. That’s just the effect Winnie had on people though— still has, apparently. Steve shakes his head— I know, mama. But I gotta’ finish this fight.

“No, Nat— I’ve got to say this.” Steve mumbles— voice just beginning to waver despite how hard he clenches his jaw— before sneering at the crowd one last time.

“If I ever read an article from any of you that discredits Bucky Barnes, our relationship, or myself just know that I’ll come for you. I’ll come for this city. Don’t you ever forget who I saved it for. James Barnes, Winnie Barnes, and every queer kid who’s ever felt erased because of people like you. The bigots in the forties couldn’t stop me. The Nazis couldn’t stop me. Not even the Atlantic Ocean could stop me. So don’t think for a second that any of you could either. Have a good day.”

With that Captain America turns, marching off the impromptu stage and beginning the trek back to his apartment. He doesn’t bother looking at his team as he passes them— he can imagine their stunned faces well enough on his own. No doubt he’ll be getting another assignment from Fury soon enough to make up for this ‘outburst’ too. Still, he feels a little bit better. There’s an ache in his shoulder, and one under his ribs too, but he still smiles as he passes Rickman and Sons Books. That must mean something good.

The last time Steve Rogers burns he doesn’t burn the way he’s expecting to— he doesn’t vandalize his own name or blow up at a reporter. No, the third time— the final time— that Steve Rogers burns it’s with nostalgia— and with a damn good cup of coffee in his hand.

“I had no idea this place was even here.” The girl across from Steve muses, tiny hands shifting the steaming cup back and forth.

Her name is Ellie, he learned that back at the museum after asking for a copy of the video she took. He barely knew how to use his phone back then, let alone his email— hell, both still confuse him more often than not— but she had been patient. A little awestruck and a little riled up too but he took it in stride— easily. It’s not hard being nice to the spitting image of him.

“I’m glad I’m good for something other than making the news.” Steve chuckles and this time he means it— there’s no malice or ill intent, only humor. “O’Malley’s ‘s been here longer than I have. Looked a little different then—” he takes a moment to let his eyes wander the old coffee shop and it’s new appliances— a moment to feel his age catch up to him— “but I guess I did too.”

Ellie’s laughter joins in there and it’s strange— strange that he hasn’t laughed with another person in seven, almost eight, months; strange that her laughs sound so much like Bucky’s when they were younger; strange that Bucky isn’t here to hear. Here to laugh, too. Because he would have.

He would have called Steve an old man, would have wrapped his arm around his shoulders, would have asked— no, demanded— that Ellie try the plum cobbler. They always made the best cobbler. Bucky always had the best laugh. All grit and breath and him. Steve feels warm just thinking about it.

“Well thanks for letting me in on the secret, I’ll make sure to guard it carefully.” She even has Bucky’s warm sarcasm.

Maybe it’s not so much like looking in a mirror as it is looking at what he wishes he and his boyfriend could have been back then.

“And thanks for letting me interview you—” Ellie continues, setting the cup down but not before nodding at it, her eyes wide— “wow. You weren’t kidding about the joe, huh? Anyway— thanks for scheduling this. I know you’re probably super busy— and that there are more well established people you could have gone to.”

Steve sets his own mug down too— if he hadn’t there’s a possibility it would be more puddle than porcelain. “Well established means nothin’, kid. Not when you don’t have heart. They’re parasites, all of ‘em. The press couldn’t care less about me.”

Ellie nods, lifting the lid of her laptop. It’s a little bit dented and slathered in stickers, not quite the newest model— he would know, he has the newest one and it’s still sitting in his apartment in the box. Yet another testament to how little the people around him truly know him.

“Welcome to the twenty-first century, can I get you a side of classism with that commercialism?”

Now she sounds like Winnie too.

“Say, has anyone ever told you that you’re funny?”

She shrugs, tilting her head, a lopsided grin glued to her face. “Once or twice— I never know if they mean it or if they just want me to shut up. I never do so I guess we’ll never know.”

Steve sputters out another laugh because; “I guess we’re the same then— never give them a moment, kid. That’s the best advice I can give you.” He pauses— again— he supposes it’s going to be a day of pausing— he supposes it’s about time he pauses— before adding, “Bucky would’ve scolded me for saying that.”

Ellie’s fingers, swift and deft over the machine— Steve hadn’t even seen her begin to type— pause too as her smile softens. “What would he have said instead?”

Her question shouldn’t catch off guard— this is why he asked her to meet him; to finally, properly write his story— their story. Still he pauses— Steve’s empty hands feel hot, his shoulders warm; bare— what would he have said? It doesn’t take long to hear his boyfriend’s voice, not there but somehow loud in his ear all the same.

Just relax— they aren’t worth it. It’s too nice out to care about anything but the water— are you coming in or not? Summer doesn’t last forever, you know?

It’s impossible but Steve can feel the sun on his back and on his ears again, like he’s there— like he’s back, sixteen and on fire. Those were the days where everything made him cold. The days where his skin burned no matter the season but especially in August which was when the ocean was warm enough to swim in. It never stopped him from joining Buck— nothing could have stopped him. His cheeks warm, too, at the thought.

Steve blinks, his own smile— perhaps a little lopsided in it’s own right— shaping over his mouth. “He would have told you to relax— and to try the plum cobbler. It’s fantastic.”

With another giggle— and a reiterated comment— has anyone ever told you you’re funny, Steve?— they fall into a conversation, just a kid and a relic, about life. It’s not an easy conversation— but then again those kinds never are. It’s real, though, and unedited. Unfiltered. Just the way Erskine and Winnie and Bucky would have liked it— the only way Steve wants it. It’s not perfect but, hell, Steve has never been perfect.

He’s never wanted to be.

Maybe Steve doesn’t know everything his boyfriend would say— and maybe he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t blow up once or twice after today— but he can confidently say that he gave Brooklyn a run for her money— twice— and lived to tell the tale. He can say then when it mattered, he burned. That he still burns. That he will until he doesn’t— until he’s extinguished.

But, hey, though Summer doesn’t last forever, not even the Atlantic could extinguish the flame that is Steve Rogers.

That’s what he writes— in Sharpie— on the card he writes to Ellie— the one attached to the computer he knows he’ll never use.

[roselen-mylady]

In Another Life

Bucky Barnes x reader ° part thirteen

Summary: Waiting 88 years to find your soulmate? It was cruel. But it was a cruel fate Bucky would have to face whether he accepted it or not. Bucky was a tortured man all his life and he wasn't even granted the solace of having his soulmate at his side. All he had was the promise of one in another life. They were separated by two different times.

But the pain in their lives were connected.

Y/n had been alone ever since she could remember. All she could depend on was the soulmate that was destined to be at her side. Yet when the snap occured she lost him.

And Bucky never got to meet her.

When Y/n awoke that morning there was nothing. No terrifying nightmare leaving her in a cold sweat. No hot tears streaking her cheeks as her guilt seeped free of her subconscious. There was only a vague tiredness that came with just waking up and as she slowly gained awareness, she'd realized what had awoken her. 

Bucky's arm had latched around her waist in his sleep, the vibranium piece chilling her warmed flesh. She'd been mostly used to the feeling but some nights, especially colder ones where he left his arms atop the covers before drawing them back to her, she found the sensation shocking but pleasant. If anything it was a reminder of him and his frozen past she was thawing more and more each day. 

Her fingers overlapped his own, entangling their hands together as she shifted herself to face him. His eyes moved under their lids, some dream that would soon be forgotten playing in his head as he slept. It was peaceful watching the way his chest rose and fell or the way his lips slightly parted with each breath. Admiring the way his lashes barely brushed his cheeks as he stirred, imagining the sea of blue that was hidden from her. 

He was beautiful. A kind of beautiful that wasn't shared with the world but a beautiful that was obvious to those around him. A beauty that started in his heart and seeped to each of his features. A beautiful person. 

"You okay?" His voice was gruff with sleep and his eyes barely peeked open enough to see her. The question was followed by a long yawn he tried rather pathetically to stop along with the small jerk as he moved closer into her side. 

She nodded, smiling lovingly as her hand came to his face, running her palm along his cheek. "I'm fine, go back to sleep." She lulled, her hand trailing up to his short strands and lightly brushing her nails against his scalp. 

He leaned into her touch for a moment before sleep took him once more. Sleep had always been something touch and go with them. But tonight it was granted and she couldn't shake the feeling that it was a small mercy for whatever they had to face in the future. 

But she refused to allow her thoughts to keep her up. 

And as she drifted off to sleep once more she promised herself that the only thing she'd let wake her up in the middle of the night would be the cold limb of her love.  

••• 

When Y/n awoke again, her head was on Bucky's chest. His breaths were steady but faster than usual sleep would allow so she knew he was awake, probably exploring the new tech she'd put on his phone, fascinated by the advances of 2024. 

Moving her hand across his bare chest, she could feel the shape of the muscle there, firm with years of use. Pulling her hand closer toward herself, she could feel the raised scar tissue where they'd attached his arm. She traced the skin there, his arm coming to rub her back as he eased her out of her sleepy daze. 

Morning Bucky was a sight to behold. It was like his past hadn't quite caught up with him yet and she could only imagine it was the same for herself. It was like they were still dreaming and this particular morning she wanted to do everything in her power to stay there with him. But Bucky was unaware of such plans. 

"You have a meeting in an hour." His words rumbled through his chest and Y/n sighed, half heartedly glaring at him from her lazy position across his torso. 

"You're really killing the mood." She hummed, burying herself further into his chest as his metal thumb brushed along her shoulder. There was a soft thud on the bedside table and Y/n guessed he'd set down his phone before moving his other arm to hold her as he chuckled. 

"What mood?" He questioned. Y/n didn't even have to look up at him, already picturing his amused but Loving smile.  

"The 'sunlight pouring in through the window while laying in the arms of the man you love' mood. In this scenario, they don't usually remind each other of nonsensical things such as meetings." She explained, earning another laugh from him. 

"Well, I'll keep that in mind for next time." He promised. A mock gasp slipped from her lips and she dramatically propped herself up, looking at him with playful eyes. 

"Next time? After killing the mood like this? Who do you think you are?" She couldn't help the smile that spread across her lips as his eyes mimicked her own teasing manner. 

"The man that you love." He answered rather matter of factly. Her cheeks burned at his words but she was too prideful to let him win, even in banter. 

So in a cunning and mischievous turn of events, she leaned forward, capturing his lips in a lingering kiss. Their lips moved slow, in no rush for anything but themselves as his hands came to grip her waist. There was a type of passion behind the kiss. It was like a fire but not the type that was fast and destructive. It wasn't wild and certainly showed no sign of going out anytime soon. 

It was the type of fire that started slow but once it was started, it burned throughout the night. The kind that kept warm and persistent despite strong winds. A slow burn. A burn Y/n hoped would never go out. 

"You're playing dirty." Bucky breathed as she pulled away, his lips still parted as if expecting her lips to return to his own once more. 

"I thought you liked that." She retorted making him shake his head. 

"As much as I'd like to lay here with you all day, we both have places to be." He changed the subject quickly. Y/n smiled knowing she'd won but nodded in agreement. Like Bucky had so kindly reminded her, she had a meeting with Pepper about budget and as much as she hated it, she needed to attend. 

Reluctantly she climbed off of him, allowing him to get up with a long stretch. His sweatpants had sunk a little, just hanging on his hip bones as he walked and while she would gladly watch him walk the rest of his way to the closet, his phone buzzed beside her making her turn her gaze away. 

"Sam's texting you." Y/n called after sparing a glance at the notification reading 'Bird Brain'. It was a weak insult but Bucky was pretty proud of it so the name seemed to stick despite Sam's protests. 

"Can you answer him, please?" Bucky replied, the quiet shifting of hangers following as he searched for something to wear. 

She stretched, detangling herself from the covers before reaching over and grabbing his phone. He didn't have a password which Y/n had advised him against but he didn't seem to listen. Her tech was secure though so she wasn't too worried. Powering it on, she smiled softly at the picture of them he had set as his screen.

"He says he wants you to meet him for coffee. Is that code for something? Is that a mission?" She called, a little excited with the idea of a mission. He'd never allowed her to go with them before, something about not being hired by the government or some nonsense she didn't feel like listening to. 

"I think Sam's just got a bit of a caffeine addiction." Bucky chuckled, tugging on his jeans and coming to sit on the bed as he slipped on his socks and shoes. 

She frowned playfully, a little disappointed that she wouldn't be able to try the new addition to her suit, an advancement she fondly called, 'Hellraiser'. 

"I can drop you off at the Tower before I go meet him. That is, if you actually get dressed." Bucky smiled, nudging her leg as he stood back up. He was a morning person and for that she had to condemn him but he had his moments, such as always waking her in time for work. 

"I'm gonna shower real quick. Don't leave without me, I wanted to show you what Peter and I have been working on." She explained, climbing up from the bed and rushing off to the bathroom. 

Bucky watched her go, smiling at his stolen clothing on her body as he stood and grabbed his phone. He made his way down stairs to the kitchen, swiping through the news app as he did. He tried his best to ignore the news like Y/n told him but sometimes he gave in, sparing a glance at what the media had to say about him. 

But before he could read any of the articles, a small white puff of fur pounced in front of him, nearly making him fall down the stairs in an effort to avoid it. 

"Alpine!" He cried, a little annoyed but mostly worried for the safety of their kitten. She was a little ball of pure marshmallow and while she seemed too adorable to be the menace she was, Bucky saw through her act, narrowing his eyes on her. 

"You're gonna get stepped on one of these days." He frowned, trying in vain to not let her curious, blue gaze melt his heart. 

However he eventually gave in and with a sigh he leaned down, plucking her from the ground and letting her sit in the crook of his arm, her little paws hanging over his shoulder. With his only obstacle now secure in his arm, he slipped his phone into his pocket and continued to the kitchen. 

The sun had just begun to rise, flooding the space in an orange glow. It was peaceful, a peace Bucky had grown used to in the six months Y/n and him had been together. He knew that was only a short period of time but after all the time they'd been without each other, it almost seemed like they were moving too slow. He would've married her the moment he met her if he could but he knew he didn't have to for her to be his. They needed each other and he was sure there wasn't a thing on Earth that could tear them apart. 

The smell of coffee wafted through the air and Bucky smiled, setting Alpine down on the counter and grabbing her bowl. She meowed impatiently, the tiny little sound making him chuckle as he poured some of her food into the bowl. "Oh, I know. Life is so hard having to wait for one of us to feed you every morning." He spoke to her sarcastically. She ignored him, burying her face in her bowl as his hand came to pet her back, running along the soft fur rhythmically.

Soon the coffee machine beeped, a freshly brewed pot of coffee steaming and ready to go. But before Bucky could reach over and pour the cups he'd set out, Y/n slid in next to him, pouring them for him. 

"I thought you were going to be late." Bucky remarked, sparing a glance at the clock as he tugged her into his chest playfully. She giggled, shaking her head as she leaned into his touch, brushing an arm past him to pet Alphine.  

"Me? Late? Doesn't sound like me." She replied, pecking his lips hastily before pulling away. Her hair was still wet and her make-up was fresh along with her perfume. He felt a little shabby next to her, his hair still ruffled with sleep and his shirt wrinkled. 

The suit she wore was her favorite, charcoal and pinstripe, reminding him almost of the mock gangsters of his time from the movies. Her pants were fitting around her waist and loosened toward her legs, making her appear taller, more powerful. It was flattering on her but that wasn't what attracted his attention. 

Instead it was her chest. She wore a matching vest along with a similar blazer folded over her arm, ready to wear. The vest came down in a deep V and there were no sleeves, exposing much of her skin and most of her scars. 

The purple marks spanned out from her heart like lightning and while he believed it to be graceful and unique, she often didn't share his opinion. He admired them nonetheless. It reminded him of her strength. Her courage. Reminded him why he loved her. 

"Uh huh, so that time we were two hours late to our own gala...that wasn't you?" He countered. Y/n sipped her cup, humming as she quickly swallowed to further argue her case. 

"Nope. Now come on, you're gonna make us late." She teased, slipping on her blazer and grabbing her cup. He followed her actions, sparing one more scratch to Alpine's head before pacing after her down to the first floor. 

"These damned heels." She groaned, pausing momentarily to adjust them as they made their way to the door. He chuckled at her predicament, plucking the keys from the hook as she walked out onto the street. 

"Why are you wearing them if they're such torture devices?" Bucky raised his brow at her, grabbing his coat and stepping out onto the street with her. It was a quiet morning and people were just barely beginning to stir out of their homes, heading off to work or dropping off kids at school. 

"They were a gift from Wanda and they're gorgeous. Leave me alone so I can suffer in peace as I wear them in." Bucky chuckled at her reply, slipping into the driver's seat and placing his coffee in the cup holder as she did the same. 

The drive to the Tower was short on good days. And as they drove Bucky realized that it happened to be one of those days. The drive was long enough for conversation but spared the stressful traffic that usually came with morning commutes. 

"Hey, I was gonna drop by and pick up Peter from school today." Y/n mentioned, putting on her earpiece as they drove. 

Bucky nodded absently, his focus half on the truck beside them that didn't seem to know how to drive. "Ok. Does he need a ride or something? I could stop by on the way home." He offered, knowing Y/n would have to cancel a meeting or two to get him. Y/n shook her head, waving a dismissive hand. 

"Nah, he said he wanted an appearance from Iron Star. He wanted to impress a girl or something." She explained, seeming a bit distracted as something played through her earpiece.

"Ah." Bucky replied, remembering vaguely of his advice to the boy. Of course he'd meant approach her through his alter ego but Bucky supposed having Iron Star show up at his school would definitely attract the attention of the feminist girl he was head over heels for. 

"I told him that MJ would admire his personality and intelligence rather than his connections but he didn't seem to think so." Y/n continued, sending a glance toward her soulmate. 

He chuckled, knowing he'd been caught. "Can you blame him? He's a 17 year old boy who thinks the best part of him is Spider-Man. He's young and still figuring himself out. He's still figuring out women." 

"Figuring out women?" Y/n raised a brow at this. Bucky gave her a look.

"Well, doll, when I was Peter's age I wasn't exactly the smooth talker you know today." He teased. She shook her head with a laugh, muting whatever she was listening to.  

"Is that so?" 

"God honest truth." Bucky replied, smiling as her hand slipped into his free one. 

"So what exactly changed?" Y/n asked, loving the stories he'd tell her. It was like listening to a very young looking grandfather and as weird as it sounded, she often enjoyed it. 

"Well, you, actually. When I was young I never sought after girls cause I knew I'd have you. But when I got my countdown…" He trailed off, both knowing the rest. Y/n knew he was still sore but he was a lot better then he had been. At least that's what Steve had told her. 

"Maybe we should stop for breakfast." Y/n suggested, trying to take his mind off of the thing that had haunted him most his life. 

However Bucky shook his head at this, giving her a soft smile. "No, I don't want to make you late. Shouldn't keep Pepper waiting." He explained, squeezing her hand lovingly. Y/n smiled at him, knowing he was right. 

If only they had stopped. 

When they arrived at the Tower it was 7 a.m. and the place was beginning to flood with people. As he pulled up on the street in front of the building, a man he recognized as one of Y/n's employees walked toward them, offering to park for him. 

Bucky thought nothing of it, as the younger man had done it for them every day. Instead he climbed out, handing the man the keys and walking around to open Y/n's door. She smiled at him, placing her hand in his as she stepped out onto the street. 

Once in the building, Y/n was greeted by the secretary along with a few other employees who usually saw her in the mornings. It was normal and Bucky even got a few 'hellos' of his own. 

They made their way to the elevator, a private one that led straight to the top floor. It was a penthouse of sorts with three floors separate from the rest of the building and while Pepper explained that they could move into this space, Y/n decided to instead turn it into a lounge for employees. Something about their job being just as hard as hers. 

She kept the top floor for her office along with a meeting room for her discussions with Pepper. But the rest of the penthouse space was for employees. Bucky was glad she'd arranged it like so. He quite liked their home in Brooklyn. 

Y/n tapped her earpiece lightly as they headed up, her gaze distant and her body tense. A holographic headset had appeared around her and Bucky caught a glimpse of what she'd been looking at last, what had distressed her so.  

Omega. 

Yet before he could say anything, she swiped it all away, bringing up blueprints for what she'd been working on with Peter. 

"So what happens when too much electricity builds up in one place?" She questioned him suddenly as the elevator dinged, stepping out with him at her side. 

"It overloads?" He replied, unsure. 

"Yes, exactly." She pointed a finger at him, smiling excitedly as she turned back to the hologram. Swiping away the top blueprint she was able to bring up a chart, enlarging it for them both. "Now the energy in the stones is similar to electricity and this is how much energy from each of the stones is in my heart." Y/n started, beginning up the stairs as he studied it. 

Each of the stones were on the chart, most with small percentages, which would've put him at ease if he hadn't seen which stones had the greater percentage. 

The Power Stone was the greatest. By her calculations there was enough in her to level New York. And if that wasn't concerning enough, the second biggest energy source in her was the Soul Stone, the one stone they didn't truly understand. 

"Why are you showing me this?" He asked, his voice low and troubled. Rather than answer him, Y/n simply pulled up another image, one that made them both stop halfway up the staircase. "Is that-?" 

"Yeah. It is." A joyful smile graced her lips as he stared at her in disbelief. They nearly fell down the stairs as Bucky crashed into her, hugging her like it was the first time. They let out an airy laugh as relief washed through them both. She would be okay. And Bucky was grateful. 

"What are we doing here? We should go to Bruce and have the procedure done now." Bucky demanded, grabbing her hand and beginning to make his way down the stairs. 

"Whoa there, hotch." Y/n chuckled, not moving from her step. Bucky looked back at her stunned. "It's still a prototype, genius. That's part of the reason I'm going to get Peter today." 

Bucky frowned a little but understood her explanation. He was just so worried. And she knew that. "Buck, look at me." She told him, pulling him closer to her, meeting eye to eye as he stood a few steps below her. Her tender hands came to hold his face, looking at him sternly as her thumbs brushed his cheek. 

"I know how important this is, trust me, I do. But I'll survive one more day. I need to do this right or else the energy may react badly. Okay?" She spoke softly, her eyes searching his for acceptance. 

Eventually he gave in, ducking his head further into her palms, kissing one gently. "Alright." He sighed softly, looking back up at her. "Tomorrow." 

"Tomorrow." Y/n confirmed, leaning in carefully and pressing the tenderest of kisses to his lips. He kissed her back but she pulled away too soon upon catching sight of Corey arriving on the floor. Her assistant caught sight of them, making her way over as the two parted. 

"Ms. L/n, I have those files you asked for." She told her, handing Y/n a stack of papers. Y/n nodded, smiling gratefully at Corey. 

"Thank you." Y/n looked at her watch before sending a quick glance to the conference room. "Any word from Pepper? I was sure she'd be here before me." Y/n wondered, watching as Corey checked the tablet in her arms. 

"Ms. Potts is running a bit late. She's asked me to tell you to prep without her." Corey replied. Y/n sighed, a little worried about how the meeting would go with the advisors without Pepper's help but she figured it wasn't anything she couldn't handle. She was the owner of the company after all. 

"Alright, thank you." Y/n smiled, turning and beginning to make her way up the steps once more. Corey nodded, heading the other direction as Bucky followed Y/n. But then suddenly Y/n stopped, turning back to Corey. 

"And Corey?" 

The assistant stopped, facing Y/n with her eyebrows pulling into a look of confusion. Y/n paused a moment, calculating her words carefully. 

"Good morning." She settled on, giving up on the words she'd wanted to say. 

Corey's look of confusion morphed into a shocked one and a hint of a forced smile began to emerge on her face. It was like she hadn't been expecting to smile and for that she seemed more annoyed than cheerful. 

"Good morning, ma'am." 

And with that she left, heading off to attend to other matters within the Tower that needed her attention. Y/n watched her leave, her eyes trained on the woman's every move. 

A feeling she didn't want to acknowledge settled in her gut but she ignored it, instead sharing a look with Bucky and making it the rest of the way to her office. 

"Did something happen with you and Corey?" Bucky asked suddenly. Y/n chewed her lip knowing nothing got past her soulmate. It was a troublesome feature but definitely had it's advantages. 

"Nothing important." She sighed, not daring to face him. He read her too easily. "Don't you have to meet up with Sam?" Bucky scoffed at her question, moving to follow her to her desk. 

"He'll be fine without me for a little while." Bucky ignored her nonsensical worries, taking hold of her hand once it was freed of the papers she'd set down. "Hey, what's the matter?" 

Y/n reluctantly looked up at him, unconsciously leaning into him as he stood before her. "What's going on? Is it Omega?" He asked tenderly, not wanting to upset her. She frowned, opening her mouth to reply. 

But something behind him caught her gaze and all the air vanished from her lungs. Then suddenly all the bad feelings she'd been getting that morning made sense. "Get down!" She screamed a moment too late. 

Before Bucky could even process what she'd said, heat enclosed them, flooding through the room. Flames rampaged around them but Y/n could hardly notice as they were sent flying back toward the window. 

All she could see was Bucky as the impact struck him. And only one thought ran through her head. 

Omega. 

•••

Just moments ago, CEO of R.E.S.T.O.R.E., Y/n L/n and her rumored soulmate, James Buchanan Barnes became the latest victims in the recent chain of bombings linked to the notorious Omega, a believed terrorist. The exact number of casualties in this horrific event is unclear but it is believed that Ms. L/n and Mr. Barnes have been confirmed dead. 

•••six months before•••

"Are you sure she's ready for that? I know well enough to trust Stark's plans but she's still young. Are you sure you want to put that kind of responsibility on her?" Fury asked, staring at the lake. The woman they spoke of was strong and definitely too intelligent for her own good. But was she ready for the world to depend on her? Was she ready to rebuild it from the ground up? 

"We don't have a choice. And honestly I don't think I'd choose anyone else. I trust Tony and I trust her. She'll figure it out, she just needs our help." Pepper replied, sending a glance back to her daughter who sat on the porch with Happy. 

"This isn't about trust. This is about capability. Trust me, I know how much she's grown over the last decade but that doesn't mean she's ready. The world isn't exactly gonna accept her help with open arms. If anything, she'll become a target for the backlash." Fury sighed, this eye patch squeaking in protest as he furrowed his brows. 

Pepper frowned, knowing he was right. The world was cruel and despite all they'd done for the world, their mistakes were all that the world seemed to see. And unfortunately as the world began anew, Y/n would be the main figure for that anger. 

"Then she'll need our help more than ever." 

Part fourteen

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