#the weaponization of Barnes father against her

[waldosakimbo]

OH MY GOD Heretic (2024) has me by the throat. I feel like this one is definitely worth rewatching, because it TELLS you so much, it advertises SO MUCH right away, and it's sinister how it plays out!

Does Sister Barnes have faith? Does Sister Paxton actually believe she's seen evidence of god from, hilariously, some amateur porn? You're given the idea Sister Paxton believes more but she has no converts and no baptisms. Sister Barnes is questioning, but she's more successful. Why is that? (Is it the big sad eyes?) When they spot the teenagers in the street and Sister Paxton earnestly says "I love them," they immediately betray her. She loves the world. Its cruel. She wants to save this man. He's cruel. Faith and cruelty. Iterations. The butterfly image. The dead moths coating the window. Belief and disbelief and god damn it's tasty. Quick aside, did anyone else think he drugged those drinks or not? I worried initially, but I think it was genuinely just another one of his tests for later. Also it's insidious how Reed tells them "truths." He tells them the walls and ceiling have metal but they don't know that would block cell phones. He tells them the front door locks by a mechanism timer that doesn't come undone until daylight, (but he can switch it off). He tells them the house is wired weird. He tells them he put the aromatic pie there, he tests them, and it's so. Good! So when he tells them about religion, his motivations, his study of theology, and the challenge from Sister Barnes (the faithless? Who choses Belief and stands up to him? Who has her throat slit as the sacrificial lamb? Beautiful, tragic) is the other side of that. The flipside of the coin. Hugh Grant is AMAZING in this, because he's Hugh Granting it up but instead of a comedy, it's a horror. Unsettling to the max. Why? Because it's just the power of humanity and faith. It's JUST. The power. Of humanity. And Faith. It's nothing supernatural. It's using knowledge, history, the arts, humanity and psychology. As a weapon. Longlegs fell short for me because it was eventually supernatural and I thought it clunky and mishandled in the second half. This one? It's just humans. It's just an evil man. And it's visceral. More grounded, which makes it Terrifying. Even when faced with a miracle, we learn it's false. It's a magic trick. Even when we could pray, we're told BY THE PERSON. WHO IS FAITHFUL, that it means nothing, but sometimes it's beautiful to still pray for someone. Which brings me to the point where Sister Paxton was stabbed and praying in level...three? of his twisted Dante's inferno house? Actually, quick aside to that, I love the back and forth of quoting Spider-Man or Voltaire. Quoting Virgil or the Swamp Thing. It's again putting them on opposite sides, another mirror. But also showing the house itself as a labyrinth, yes, but specifically I think that was Dante's Inferno poster in his office, making Paxton Virgil, travelling the levels of Hell to the frozen pit/horrifying chamber of cages where he keeps other pious women, going Through to get Out. "Sister P" Is praying even though she Just said it does nothing. Reed crawling towards her, his own throat slit. But there's this moment where he's draped over her, sobbing or choking, looking for the warmth of her prayer, I think trying to feel her belief because he's been searching for it for so long and he's left empty. Before he can find peace (or kill her, did he have his knife to her throat to kill her? I think he would, but I still think he had this moment where he wished he could believe to find peace with someone, especially after seeing that interview where Grant stated backstory of Reed that he was a lonely man who lost someone dearly to him and he searched through religions to find comfort and couldn't) he's killed. He's smashed in the head with the McGuffin from earlier. Victory. Did Barnes come back? I think she was saving her strength and had one final moment to help her friend. And then that fucking ending. Is she dead? Is she alive? Was the butterfly real? Did she believe? Is it only her belief, her butterfly, or is a final hallucination before she passes? Did she make it out of Hell? Anyways, I'm going to have to see this again soon. Delicious. Horrifying. Loved it.

[helaintoloki]

Misunderstanding

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!reader

warnings/notes: angst, reader is described as timid/shy, fluff

a/n: this prompt was sent in as a request! hope you all enjoy <3

summary: you accept Bucky’s invitation to attend Tony’s charity gala as his date, but your night quickly turns sour when you find out about his bet with Natasha

Your hands tremble as you raise the gun towards your target and fixate your aim on the bullseye. You’ve never handled a weapon like this before, but your novice status in the shooting range isn’t what has you feeling so nervous.

“Relax your arms a bit,” Bucky suggests, his hands gently resting on your biceps as he positions them in the correct form. His chest is pressed against your back, strong arms encasing you against him while he uses his leg to gently nudge your own into the proper stance. His metal hand comes to rest on yours and adjust your aim so that it’s aligned with the target across the way from you both. You hope he can’t hear the rapid beating of your heart or feel the growing perspiration resulting from being so close to the man, and you hope he doesn’t take notice of the fact that your powers are slowly manifesting themselves around you in result of your emotions.

You’ve been an Avenger for a few months now, having joined the team after they’d been sent to investigate an environmental disturbance in a quiet California town. You had just developed your powers after becoming an unwilling test subject for your father’s experiments and had little to no control over your ability to manipulate the flora around you. The city had been turned into your own arboretum overrun with a multitude of different plants, some more dangerous than others, and it was only with their help had you been able to clean up the mess.

Your first months training had been spent solely focusing on controlling your powers, managing your emotions to prevent plants from popping up in places they didn’t belong, but this was easier said than done. Your abilities still had the tendency to activate even when you didn’t want them to, but you were doing much better now with practice. Your regime had slowly begun to include more practical elements like hand-to-hand combat, stealth, and weaponry. That’s how you ended up alone in the shooting range with Bucky who had been more than happy to help you learn.

“Now when you’re ready, pull the trigger,” his encouraging voice sounds in your ear.

You clicked with Bucky almost immediately after joining the team. As a victim of scientific experimentation himself, he understood the trepidation you held towards your abilities and the loss of autonomy you were experiencing. He was a calming presence that provided you with comfort every time you felt like your body was turning against you, and it wasn’t long before he decided to take you under his wing. You’d become fast friends in no time, and it was a rare occurrence at the tower to see one of you without the other.

Calming your nerves, you let out a slow exhale before pulling the trigger. You watch anxiously as the bullet flies out of the barrel and hits your target dead on.

“Right on the mark!” Bucky compliments proudly before removing himself from you. You find yourself already missing the closeness, but you play it cool by flashing him a bashful smile. Your joy has already begun to present itself as tiny daisies bloom at your feet, but the super soldier doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. “See, wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“I just got lucky,” you admit with a sheepish shrug. Bucky laughs before giving you an encouraging pat on the back.

“You just need some practice. I’m sure you’ll be able to start shooting at moving targets in no time.”

“She’s a natural, isn’t she?” A third voice chimes. You turn your heads to find Natasha standing in the doorway, a knowing smile on her face as she greets you two with a nod before settling her gaze on Bucky. “Steve’s asking for you. Wants to talk strategy for the mission you two were assigned.”

“Right,” Bucky sighs before turning to you. “I’m going to be gone for a few days. Will you be alright without me?”

“I’ll manage,” you joke with a halfhearted smile that Bucky is quick to match. Your heart nearly jumps out of your chest from the way his blue eyes stare down at you, and you hope neither he nor Natasha can pick up on your nerves.

“Don’t worry, Barnes,” Natasha quips as she comes to wrap an arm around your frame, “she’ll be in good hands while you’re gone.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he affirms with a nod, bidding you both a goodbye before making his way to Steve.

You’d been holding back your powers for as long as you could in Bucky’s presence, so once the man is gone you let out a sigh of relief and finally release the tension within you. Red carnations bloom in a circle around you before quickly wilting once you will them away with a wave of your hand. You wish your abilities weren’t so intertwined with your thoughts, and you wish you weren’t so infatuated with your teammate.

“Rough day of training?” Natasha prompts with a raised brow.

“Just overwhelmed, I guess,” you offer with a weak shrug before gesturing to your surroundings, “and a bit intimidated by all of this.”

“You’ll get the hang of it,” she assures you with a faint smile. “It just takes time.”

You settle into a comfortable silence as you begin to clean up the mess left behind from your training session. Natasha simply watches on in silence, but you can tell by the look on her face that she’s heavily contemplating her next words.

“So you and Barnes?” She finally prompts, acting as inconspicuously as possible. You stiffen slightly at the question but immediately regain your composure as you unload your gun.

“What about me and Barnes?” You retort as nonchalantly as possible, though the mere mention of the man has your heart skipping a beat.

“You guys have gotten awfully close these last few months.”

“He’s a good friend,” you retort defensively, but it’s clear that Natasha isn’t buying your story. Her gaze suddenly becomes fixated on your head, and you watch with uncertainty as she reaches forward and lightly plucks something out of your hair. You blanch at the sight of the rosebud in her hand and try to avoid her knowing stare.

“You like him, don’t you?” She says with a coy smile.

“God, please don’t tell anyone,” you beg her in earnest while snatching the flower away, eyes full of panic and desperation. You thought you were doing well at hiding your little crush on Bucky, but you should have known better than to think an amateur like you could fool a top agent like Natasha.

“My lips are sealed, but even if I wanted to tell I think these flowers would end up blowing your cover before I could.”

“I can’t help it!” You exclaim in exasperation. “Wanda has been helping me learn to control my thoughts, but it’s like that all goes out the window whenever I’m with him.”

“Have you ever considered telling him?” She asks with a raised brow as if it’s the most obvious solution.

“Are you crazy? I think I’d rather die.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” she scoffs with an amused roll of her eyes. “What’s the harm in playing the field?”

“I doubt there’s any part of him that sees me as more than the new teammate he has to babysit,” you denote woefully, clearly having already accepted defeat in your predicament. “Why risk making things horribly awkward for everyone?”

“It’ll only be horribly awkward if he actually rejects you,” Natasha reminds you thoughtfully, “and he won’t. But, Bucky also won’t make the first move either, so you have to.”

“Fat chance,” you murmur under your breath before turning to the armory to return your gun. You miss the look of determination that flashes across her features as she mulls over your conversation. It’s clear to her that your feelings for Bucky aren’t something that can just be swept under the rug, and she’s well aware of the fact that you won’t be able to muster up the courage to voice your feelings.

It seems it’ll be up to her to make the first move on your behalf.

~~~

“Y/n, just the person I wanted to see!” Tony’s voice calls, prompting you to halt in your tracks and remove your headphones. You’d just finished a workout session with Thor and were dying to let your aching muscles relax under a hot shower, but it seems your teammate had other plans.

“What is it?” You press gently while slowing your brisk pace so that Tony can walk alongside you in the hall. You watch with piqued interest as he pulls an envelope out of his pocket and hands it over to you.

“This, my dear, is an invitation to your very first charity gala,” he replies proudly. “I’ve already taken the liberty of RSVPing for you, so consider this as more of a formality than anything.”

“Charity gala?” You retort with a raised brow.

“Stark Industries throws one every year to raise money for good causes around the world, and it’s customary that every Avenger attends.”

“I don’t know,” you drawl nervously, already anxious at the thought of a huge party full of random strangers who know you as the girl that almost turned the state of California into an uninhabitable forest.

“You’re an Avenger now, sweetheart,” Tony reminds you thoughtfully, “and this will be a great way to introduce our newest member to the public and let them get to know you more. You wouldn’t say no to charity, would you?”

“No,” you sigh in defeat, clearly bested by Tony’s guilt tripping. You will yourself to open the envelope and take in the extravagant detailing on the card listing the time and date for the event. You’re not exactly the most extroverted person on the team, but you figure if you can fight world ending threats with no problem then you should be able to stomach one night of being paraded around like a show pony. “I guess I better find something to wear.”

“There’s the spirit,” Tony grins cheekily, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wallet before producing his credit card. “You know what, since this is your first event why don’t you take my card and buy something new. Sky’s the limit.”

You look at him stunned before hesitantly pocketing the card and thanking the man for his generosity. You never imagined that one day you’d be able to have access to Tony Stark’s credit card, but then again, you also never imagined you’d be living under the same roof as Captain America and Black Widow.

After your conversation with Tony, you finally make your way back to your own room and step into the shower to freshen up. You spend most of it anxiously mulling over the upcoming gala and worrying about how you’re going to present yourself. You hate being perceived by strangers, but you suppose that’s what happens when you become a public figure.

Once you make yourself presentable again, you roam the tower in search of Wanda to seek out some guidance for your attire. You make your way through the hallways hoping to run into her after finding her bedroom empty, but you instead stumble upon a hushed conversation taking place in the kitchen. You falter slightly at the sound of Natasha’s voice, and though you can’t make out what she says you’re curious to know what she could be speaking so secretively about. Not wanting to eavesdrop, you make your presence known by rounding the corner only to be met with the startled faces of Nat and Bucky.

“Bucky?” You retort in surprise, stomach already twisting with nerveous knots the moment you meet his eyes. “I didn’t know you were back.”

“Just got back an hour ago,” he explains with a tired smile, but you don’t miss the way he subtly shoots a glance at Natasha before returning his gaze to you. The two look suspicious, almost as if you’d caught them in the middle of something you weren’t mean to be privy of, and though you tried to ignore it you felt unnerved. You didn’t think your teammates capable of keeping secrets from you, especially not Bucky or Natasha, but it seemed apparent that they knew something you didn’t and intended to keep it that way.

“I’m glad you made it back safe,” you offer with a timid smile, swallowing down your nerves to keep your powers at bay. You can feel the itchiness on your palms resulting from a flower attempting to bloom and decide it’s best to make your exit as quickly as possible. “I, uh… I guess I’ll leave you two alone now.”

“You don’t have to go,” Bucky assures you with a frown, but you quickly shake your head and already begin making your exit before he can argue further.

“I have to find Wanda,” you answer almost breathlessly. You quicken your pace before either of them can stop you, your heart pounding in your chest and thorn covered vines trailing in your wake at the sudden emotional discomfort you’re experiencing.

You can’t help but to think you’d accidentally walked in on an intimate moment between the two and perhaps discovered a secret bond they shared. Your stomach flipped violently at the thought. Surely Bucky and Natasha weren’t involved romantically, were they? You knew she could be harsh, but you don’t think she’d be cruel enough to fill your head with encouragement to pursue Bucky just to end up pursing him herself.

You give up on your plans to find Wanda and instead shut yourself into your room for the remainder of the evening to wallow in your ruminative overthinking. You’re left to your own devices for a good hour before a knock sounds at your bedroom door.

“Come in,” you call out quietly. You watch on in interest as your door slowly creeps open so Bucky can peek his head inside.

“You got a minute?” He asks with a bashful smile that makes it impossible to deny him. You give him a small nod and watch as the man makes his way into your room before timidly seating himself on the edge of your bed. “I wanted to talk to you earlier but you sort of just bolted out of there.”

“Sorry,” you reply with a meek smile, eyes glancing away towards the floor. “I was feeling a little overwhelmed about Tony’s charity gala. Plus, it looked like you and Natasha were having a pretty intense conversation…”

“Right, that,” Bucky says with a sigh.

You muster up the courage to peek over at him and ask, “Are you two…?”

“What? No, of course not,” he quickly interjects, and despite the subtle guilt that arises within you, you feel relieved to hear him say this. “I know it might have looked suspect, but I was actually talking to her about you.”

“Me?” You repeat in surprise, shifting closer to the soldier and hanging onto his every word. A fond smile washes over him as he sets his eyes upon you and carefully reaches for your hand.

“I wanted to know if I’d have a shot at being your date to Tony’s charity gala,” Bucky admits with a charming grin. Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest, and you can’t help the sudden triggering of your powers as bushes of roses plant themselves around your bed. Your face heats with embarrassment at the display, but the giddy smile on your face says otherwise as you look to Bucky with wide eyes.

“You want to be my date?” You repeat in disbelief, nearly swooning when Bucky carefully picks a rose from beside him and hands it to you.

“I’d be honored if you’ll have me,” he utters sincerely, voice gentle and eyes full of admiration as he gazes upon your flushed face.

“Of course I’ll have you!” You exclaim, all inhibitions thrown out the window as you fling yourself into his arms and tightly embrace the super soldier. He lets out a soft laugh before gently wrapping his arms around your figure and encasing you against him. You never would have dreamed that Bucky would be hugging you so tightly in your room, that you’d ever be going to a charity gala as his date, or that he’d ever return your affections so sweetly as he was now. You’re overjoyed, a multitude of colorful flowers blooming around you much to Bucky’s amusement.

You suddenly find that you’re not so nervous now about Tony’s party.

~~~

“Hold still,” Wanda scolds lightly as she carefully swipes the makeup brush across your eyelids.

“I can’t help it, it tickles!” You retort defensively only for the witch to roll her eyes in amusement.

The night of the gala had finally arrived, and you were grateful for the fact that Wanda had been more than thrilled to handle your makeup for you. You worried your nerves would prevent you from creating a flawless look, and you entrusted her steady hands much more than your own trembling ones. You had purchased the perfect dress and jewelry to match, and all you were missing was a pair of heels to go along with it.

“I found them,” Natasha’s voice announces as she enters the room with the shoes she’d offered to lend you. “These should fit perfect for you.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” you gush in earnest, earning a pleased smile from her in response.

“Barnes is going to lose his mind when he sees you tonight,” she compliments with a wink.

“I had a feeling about you two,” Wanda adds teasingly as she puts the finishing touches on your makeup. “I’ve caught him thinking about you when you’re not around. He’s smitten.”

You smile bashfully at the floor in response to their comments and nervously rub your arm as you think about Bucky. You’ve been waiting for this night for weeks, and now that it’s here you couldn’t be more excited. You were finally going to spend a romantic evening with the man you’d harbored feelings for since joining the team, and you had high hopes that the night would end with your friendship becoming something more.

After Wanda finishes your makeup and Natasha helps you learn how to balance in the heels, you make your way downstairs where Bucky waits patiently in his best suit and tie. His eyes brighten when they land on you, and you let out an embarrassed laugh when he releases a long whistle at the sight of you.

“You look absolutely gorgeous,” he compliments in earnest before taking your hand in his own and prompting you to twirl. “Come on, give me a little spin.”

You do as requested and giggle in delight at the attention you’re receiving. You always thought yourself to be fairly pretty, but Bucky makes you feel like you’re the most gorgeous woman on the planet. His eyes rake over your figure and admire every detail of your ensemble while still managing to be respectful of your person. You never thought the man who always appeared so solemn and reserved on the outside could be so romantically sweet.

“You don’t think it’s too much?” You ask meekly, somewhat apprehensive about your look. This isn’t how you’d typically style yourself, and though you enjoy the glamour and excitement that come with attending the gala you’re worried about how the public will perceive your image as the newest Avenger.

“I think you look perfect,” Bucky assures you before opening your door and helping you into the car. The drive is filled with quiet conversation as he informs you on what to expect at a Stark party and how to expertly avoid nosy reporters. You’re absolutely enamored by the Winter Soldier, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt as secure as you do now alongside Bucky.

Just as Bucky had warned you, a gaggle of journalists surround your car as you arrive at the party. You feel the nerves beginning to overtake you, but Bucky’s gentle touch against your arm brings you back down to earth as he assures you he’s got your back. He helps you out of the car and allows you to take his arm before guiding you up the stairs into the building. You’re blinded by the flash of cameras and overwhelmed by the multitude of voices that try to get your attention, something Bucky can sense by the way your grip on his arm tightens.

“Don’t worry,” he assures you, leaning in close enough for you to feel his breath fan against your ear as he whispers, “I’ve got you.”

You feel your heart nearly burst from the gentleness of the words and the way he lovingly gaze down at you. Everything around you seems to melt away when your eyes meet his own blue ones, and all your mind can comprehend is Bucky- the smell of his cologne, the way the corners of his eyes crinkle with his smile, the softness of his touch. You’re completely enamored, and you hope he feels as strongly as you do.

Despite your initial apprehension towards the charity gala, the night almost seems to go seamlessly for you and the Avengers. Tony is able to secure generous donations from his richest guests, your teammates are able to relax for a rare night of festivities, and since gaining your powers you’re finally able to feel comfortable in your own skin.

Halfway through the party you end up on the dance floor with Bucky, your head resting against his shoulder as he holds you close and gently sways you in time to the slow song being played by the band. Despite the excitement you feel, you’ve been able to keep your powers at bay the entire night.

“You having a good time?” Bucky asks after twirling you on the dance floor. You smile as he immediately pulls you back into his arms, finding solace in him as you drape your arms around his neck.

“It’s not as scary as I thought it would be,” you admit with a sheepish smile. “I was afraid I’d mess it all up, but Tony says the journalists loved me.”

“Why wouldn’t they?” Bucky says adamantly. “You’re sweet and funny and so strong.”

“You really mean that?”

“Course I do,” he assures you with a charming wink. You let out a quiet laugh and bashfully look away only for Bucky to gently grab your chin and redirect your gaze back to his own. “You’re the prettiest girl in this entire room, and I’m the luckiest guy to get to have you on my arm tonight.”

You swallow nervously as you meet his intense stare, unused to having him look upon you in such a way. Bucky had always been sweet on you, but you assumed his kindness was a result of platonic affection and understanding for the new girl on the team. You were vulnerable and alone when you first joined the Avengers, and you assumed the extra care he gave you was merely him trying to smoothen your transition into the life of a hero. But now, with eyes boring into your soul while his metal hand gently presses against the small of your back to bring you closer to him, it seems as if your hopes for his affection are finally coming true.

“Bucky?” You murmur softly, stomach twisting itself into nervous knots.

“Yeah, doll?”

“I’ve been wanting to tell you that I… well, I-“

“Mind if I cut in?” A voice interrupts, startling you both out of the moment as you turn to meet Natasha’s expectant gaze. She looks between you both with a raised before asking, “Did I interrupt something?”

“No, not at all,” you quickly interject before Bucky can answer. You look to the man with an apologetic smile in search of approval. “I’ll find you after this dance, okay?”

“Sure,” he relents with an understanding nod, “I’ll get us some drinks in the meantime.”

You watch his figure disappear into the crowd before allowing Natasha to pull you in for a dance. You shamelessly let her take the lead as she guides your steps to match with hers, and she wears a knowing smirk on her face as she looks to you. “I didn’t mean to interrupt the moment, but I wanted to see how things were going.”

“I’m kind of glad you did,” you offer with a despondent sigh. “I almost told him how I feel.”

“What? That’s great!” Natasha retorts, confusion clearly etched on her features. “I feel like you should be more upset with me than you are right now.”

“I’m just afraid of the possibility that I could be reading it all wrong. I mean, I know he asked me to be his date, but what if this is just a one-night only type of deal? Steve said Bucky was a charmer back in his day, so maybe he’s just trying to be nice and show me a good time.”

“Wow,” the redhead breathes out with a shake of her head. “You really are dense.”

“Natasha!” You exclaim in offense only to receive an eye roll in response.

“If you can’t see how completely enamored that man is with you then I can’t help you,” she states bluntly. In a gentler tone now, Natasha gives your hip an encouraging squeeze before continuing, “I have never seen you as sure or confident in yourself as you’ve been tonight, so don’t be so quick to revert back to doubting your worth. You deserve to get what you want.”

Despite the initial harshness of her words, you know that Natasha is right. You’ve worked hard these last few months to earn your spot on the team, to prove your capabilities, and to force yourself out of your protective shell. Gaining your powers and overrunning an entire city with plants had been terrifying but you’d gotten through it, so there was no reason to believe you couldn’t handle putting yourself out there and sharing with Bucky the feelings you’d been harboring for him. His actions tonight were clear indicators that the possibility of him viewing you in more than a platonic lens was real, and if a woman like Natasha who’d been trained to easily read others could clearly see his interest in you, then you shouldn’t have any ounce of doubt left within you.

“You’re right,” you utter undauntedly with a firm nod of your head. “I should just get over my fears and tell him how I feel.”

“There’s the spirit,” Natasha retorts with a proud smirk. She releases you once your dance is over and sends you off with a wink, watching on proudly as you leave to search for Bucky. “Good luck!”

You manage to push your way through the crowded banquet halls towards the bar, but Bucky isn’t there. Your eyes anxiously scan the room for any sign of your date, and you’re barely able to catch sight of him stepping out onto the patio with Steve and Sam. You smile in relief before briskly making your way over to him. You’re not as nervous as you thought you’d be, and your body feels as if it’s vibrating with the exhilaration you feel at finally taking charge in your life for once. You don’t want to be the shy or timid Avenger your teammates know you as any longer; you want to be seen as someone who knows what she wants and is sure in her ability to achieve it, and you hope that after tonight you’ll be able to prove that.

The cool night air sends immediate shivers across your bare arms as you reach the doorway to the patio. The three men have their backs turned to you as they converse amongst one another away from the crowded party, enjoying a moment of peace free of reporters and fanatic guests. You know that you should make yourself known instead of eavesdropping, yet you can’t help but falter when you hear your name arise in the conversation.

“So you and y/n?” Steve prompts with a pleased smile. “You two looked like you were having a lot of fun out on the dance floor.”

“She’s great, isn’t she?” Bucky voices, admiration present in his tone. You feel your heart swell with bliss at hearing the way he talks so fondly of you when he thinks you’re not around, and it only makes you more sure of your decision to tell him how you feel.

“I like you two together,” his friend says with sincerity. “I think you’ve both helped each other come out of your shells.”

“Not to mention she makes you less grumpy,” Sam notes with a playful smirk. “I just can’t believe you managed to pull off getting her to agree to come as your date tonight. She’s gorgeous and clearly way out of your league.”

You muffle your quiet laugh with your hand and decide that now is probably a good time to reveal yourself to save Bucky from Sam’s teasing, but his next words have you stopped dead in your tracks.

“Well, it wasn’t really my idea,” he explains while uncomfortably running a hand through his hair. “Natasha put me up to it.”

You can practically feel your heart sinking in your chest as the words settle into your mind. Your lips part in quiet shock and your stomach tightens in disgust at the reality you’re met with.

“Natasha?” Steve retorts with a raised brow. Bucky nods.

“We made a deal that she’d take over my next field assignment for me if I got y/n to be my date to Tony’s party.”

You slowly shake your head in disbelief and begin to back away as the weight of his confession sinks down onto your mind. You thought that Bucky was finally beginning to see you the way you see him, that he meant it when he said how lucky he was to have you on his arm tonight, that you were finally crossing over from being platonic friends to something more.

But it had all been a lie.

Sam turns to set his glass on a nearby table only to freeze when he sees you standing there. He takes in your trembling figure and wide eyes and is quickly able to piece together the fact that you’d heard everything.

“Shit,” he curses under his breath, garnering the attention of both men as all three now turn to find you lingering in the doorway. Bucky’s face falls as he makes contact with your glossy eyes and trembling lips.

“Y/n,” he utters remorsefully, taking a step towards you only for you to step back.

“I can’t believe you,” you manage to get out in a quivering voice, holding back a sob before quickly turning and making your exit.

You’re overwhelmed by the music that now feels like it’s blaring in your ears and the suffocation that overtakes you as you push through the crowded hall. You feel like you can’t breathe, and all you want is to get out of this party as fast as possible so you can return to the tower.

“Y/n, wait!” Bucky’s voice calls after, garnering the attention of a few onlookers who pause their conversations to watch the super soldier chase after you. He finally catches up to you once you make it to the front room away from the party, gently grasping onto your hand to halt your frenzied escape. “Doll, let me explain-“

“Explain what?” You spit harshly despite the tears that fall down your cheeks. “That you lied to me? That you only brought me here because of some stupid bet?!”

“It’s not like that,” he insists only for you to yank your hand away with a frustrated groan.

“Really? Because that’s what it sounded like to me,” you utter in quiet disbelief. “I can’t believe I actually fell for it.”

“You weren’t supposed to hear that,” Bucky pleads gently before carefully reaching out for your arm. His words only infuriate you further, prompting thorns to sprout from your skin and protect you from his touch.

“Oh, right, because that makes it better,” you retort sarcastically. “I actually thought that you could like me the way I like you… I let you make me believe that I was the prettiest girl in the room and that you could actually want to be with me.”

Your shoulders tremble as you let out a quiet sob, and Bucky can only watch on in despair as he tries to remedy the situation he’d created. He never meant to hurt you, and he hated to see you cry as a result of his own actions.

“Y/n, come on,” he urges you softly, now using his metal hand to try and reach for you. “Let me fix this, let me explain everything and I promise-“

“You want to fix this?” You interrupt in a shaky voice, swallowing down another sob that threatens to fall before backing away from the man. “Then leave me alone. I want nothing to do with you.”

“Y/n…”

“Congratulations on winning your bet,” you utter despondently before slamming the doors shut behind you and leaving Bucky to ruminate in the mess he’d created.

It was never supposed to be like this.

~~~

You haven’t left your room since returning from the party last night.

Your evening of glamour and excitement had come crashing down after your argument, and once you got home you immediately rid yourself of all remnants of the charity gala. You initially had been filled with anger and rage, but all you felt now was an embarrassing sadness. Natasha had filled your head with fantasies and gotten your hopes up about Bucky only for you to end up humiliated. A rational part of you knew she must have meant well by bribing Bucky into taking you to the charity gala as his date, but you wished she never would have meddled in the first place.

You don’t think you can ever stand to be around him let alone even look at him after hearing him talk about your night as if it was something less tedious to be done in comparison to being sent out into the field. You thought you were worth more to him than a stupid bet to be made, but his words had clearly proven you wrong.

No one has attempted to enter your room since last night, though it’s not like they could even if they tried considering you’d barricaded your door with a wall of prickling vines and thorn bushes to block their path. You didn’t want to see or speak to anyone, even if you knew that eventually you’d have to face your teammates at some point.

As you try to pass the time by tending to the plants littered around the room, a knock at the door interrupts the peaceful atmosphere you’ve created. You’re honestly surprised someone had managed to pull it off considering the multitude of thorns should have stopped them from doing so, but you make no move to answer it.

“Y/n, it’s me,” Bucky’s voice sounds, prompting you to bristle with unease. The thorns on the outside grow larger, but this does not deter the super soldier who uses his metal arm to knock against them. “Please talk to me. You have no idea how much this is killing me.”

“I told you I want nothing to do with you,” you shout back wrathfully. “Leave me alone!”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that doll.”

“Why don’t you go make another deal with Natasha and bet you can get me to open the door,” you retort sarcastically much to Bucky’s dismay. The quiet and timid girl he’d been so used to was nowhere to be found now, and you weren’t about to let him win you over again with charming flatteries.

Bucky groans in frustration, moving to walk away only to halt in his steps and turn back towards your door. He’s determined to get through to you, and despite the cold shoulder you’re giving him he’s not going to give up until you hear him out.

“Fine, you don’t have to open the door,” he says calmly, hands raised in surrender as he ceases his pounding. "I’ll just talk to you from here.”

You roll your eyes at his statement and try to block out his voice as you water your plants, but you can’t help the part inside of you that desperately wants to know why he would ever stoop so low to use you as leverage in a bet. You adored him, but he’d broken your heart, and you felt you did deserve an answer even if you didn’t want to hear it. You don’t respond to his proclamation, but you also don’t interrupt him, and Bucky takes this as a sign to keep going.

“I know I screwed up, and I shouldn’t have agreed to making that deal, but you have to understand that I didn’t ask you out just to get out of a field assignment,” Bucky says earnestly, prompting you to pause your ministrations and set your watering can aside as you slowly make your way closer to the door. “I worded it all wrong when I was telling Steve and Sam, and you didn’t give me the chance to explain myself.”

“When I came home from my mission with Steve, Natasha cornered me in the kitchen to talk to me about Tony’s charity gala. I had no plans to attend whatsoever until she warned me that if I didn’t go, some other guy would get the chance to sweep you off your feet instead. And I realized… I realized I didn’t want that to happen.”

Your eyebrows raise slightly at his confession before furrowing in confusion. You recalled the night you’d stumbled upon him with Nat in the kitchen, and you remember he had explicitly told you they’d been discussing you. You hadn’t been able to hear anything said between the two, and you were now finally learning for the first time what they’d been so secretively conversing about.

“She said I didn’t have the guts to man up and ask you out,” he says quietly, features forlorn as he leans back against the wall. “She bet I’d be too scared to ever make the first move, and I wanted to prove her wrong. I didn’t make that deal because I thought it would be an easy way to get out of work or to humiliate you. I did it because I like you, and I would hate for Natasha to be right about me letting some other lucky guy win you over all because I was too scared to open my mouth and tell you how I feel.”

A heavy silence fills the hallway as Bucky stands with bated breath before your door and waits for any sort of response from the other side. A part of him fears that you hadn’t heard a word he’d said, or even worse, had heard everything and simply chose to ignore it. However, just when he feels like giving up and finally leaving you alone, the vines guarding your room slowly begin to rescind until there’s nothing left. The door slides open and reveals your hesitant figure standing on the other side. Neither of you speaks at first, too nervous to make the first move, but after a moment you finally work up the nerve to talk.

“You said you wanted to tell me how you feel,” you utter softly, taking a nervous swallow before continuing, “so tell me.”

Bucky can’t help but to smile after finally being able to see you again, and you watch in uncertainty as he takes a step towards you and carefully takes your hands in his.

“I’ve had feelings for you since the day you touched my metal arm and accidentally made daises bloom around it,” he voices with an affectionate grin. “You make me want to be a better man every time I’m around you, and I know that if you gave me the chance I’d do everything in my power to be the guy you deserve.”

You bite back the tears that begin to well at his confession, a smile playing upon your trembling lips as you listen to Bucky say the words you’ve only ever dreamed about hearing. You can see the sincerity swimming in his eyes and know that he isn’t lying to make you feel better. What he says is real, and he means it with every fiber of his being.

“I believe you,” you relent quietly, “and I’m sorry I didn’t give you the chance to apologize.”

“I’m the idiot who should be apologizing,” Bucky avows with a chuckle while giving your hands a gentle squeeze. “I shouldn’t have needed a bet to tell you how I feel. Will you still have me, doll? Even after how stupid I’ve been?”

You giggle quietly as you pull him closer and prompt him to wrap his strong arms around your figure. You peer up to meet his loving gaze while gently placing a hand on his cheek, heart thrumming rapidly in your chest when he immediately melts at the feel of your touch. “Of course I’ll have you.”

Bucky bites back a smile, holding you close as he leans down to meet your lips in a kiss. Your arms find their way around his neck while his hands press against your back to hold you tightly against him as if he never wants to let you go again. The doorway once covered in thorns now blooms with beautiful roses, signifying your reconciliation with the man you adore.

Maybe that bet wasn’t so bad after all.

[winterarmyy]

Against All Odds | Part I

An arranged marriage with the duke's illegitimate son!bucky.

Summary: In a medieval kingdom where magic and political intrigue are woven into the fabric of society, Y/N, the youngest daughter of a noble Earl family, finds herself in an arranged marriage to James Buchanan Barnes, the illegitimate son of the Duke. Known as the Winter Soldier, Bucky's reputation as a monster in war had instilled anxiety into Y/N's heart. But that fear quickly begins to crumble when she discovers that her husband is not the brutal figure society depicts him to be.

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III (end)

Words: 8.1k++

Pairing: duke's illegitimate son!bucky x noble!female!reader

Warnings: fantasy/medieval au, i did not write this with much knowledge of fantasy nor medieval lore. I write it solely for plot and the couple dynamic lmao. if you're expecting full blown fantasy novel; this ain't it, man. anyways, 18+ contents, no minors allowed, nsfw, cunnilingus, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, loss of virginity, praise kink, breeding kink (if you squint), marking kink (i think), soft fluffy smut, a wee bit of dirty talk. soft!reader and even softer!bucky. (idk what else, so tell me if there's something i miss.)

P/S: This is the fic for an idea I had earlier this year. The first chapter will only cover the original post but what happens next is something you will need to look forward on the upcoming chapters. Enjoy your read!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N stood in front of the grand mirror in her chamber, her reflection staring back at her with wide, fearful eyes. The delicate lace of her wedding dress was the opposite of the twisting anxiety in her stomach. Today, she was to marry James Buchanan Barnes, the illegitimate son of the Duke of the kingdom, a man labelled to be more beast than human.

He was known as the Winter Soldier, a title whispered with both fear and awe. Tales of his gruesome feats in battle, his merciless brutality, and his cold, metal arm was deemed as a horror story for the children in the kingdom. People spoke of him as a monstrous weapon, a beast moulded by the Emperor to do his bidding without question or hesitation. 

Y/N had heard the stories many times before; and it has always been a hushed conversation that floats around whether a ballroom of a gala, or at the tables of the garden parties, sometimes even in between the racks of books in the library.

They always painted a picture of a man who lived only for war, devoid of humanity.

She couldn't help but let these tales feed her imagination. What kind of man was he truly? Did he revel in the violence, or was he a prisoner to his fate? Y/N shuddered at the thought, her heart heavy with fear and uncertainty.

Her father, the Earl, had made it clear why she needed to marry him. It was a political manoeuvre, a strategic alliance to strengthen their family's position. The duke, Bucky's father, wielded considerable power, and their union would bring the Earl closer to the heart of the kingdom's influence. 

And when he heard that the duke was looking for a wife for his bastard son, he knew that she would be perfect. That was when Y/N, the youngest daughter, became the pawn in this game. Her father's ambitions certainly outweighed any consideration for her feelings or desires.

Y/N had always longed for a marriage of love, a dream she clung to despite her circumstances. She was a hopeless romantic through and through; much like her late mother. She remembered the nights when her mother would read to her and her siblings, spinning tales of prince charming and valiant heroes.

The fire crackled warmly in the hearth as her mother’s soothing voice filled the room. Y/N and her siblings, her older brother Eric and sister Clara, lay tucked under blankets, their eyes wide with wonder.

"And then the prince, with a heart full of love, swept the princess into his arms, vowing to protect her forever," her mother read, her voice a melodic whisper.

Y/N, her eyes sparkling with innocence, declared, "When I grow up, I want to marry a prince charming too!"

Clara, ever the practical one, nodded in agreement. "Me too! He has to be brave and kind."

Eric, being a little boy, scrunched his nose in distaste. "I don’t want to get married. I want to be a knight!"

Their mother chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from Y/N’s forehead. "It does not matter if he is a prince charming or a humble knight. As long as you marry the one you love, that is what truly matters."

Y/N's heart ached at the memory. How she wished her mother were still here to guide her through this terrifying day. The gentle knock on the door brought her back to the present.

"Lady Y/N, it’s time," one of the maids said softly.

Y/N took a long and deep breath, smoothing down the fabric of her dress. She followed the maid down the corridor, her mind a swirl of emotions. Reaching the grand doors of the church, her father waited for her.

"Remember, Y/N," he said, his voice stern. "Do not mess this up. Just endure it. And you'll be fine. This is the most useful you can be to our family."

Her heart sank further; yet she nodded obediently.

Compared to Y/N, her elder brother, a celebrated swordsman, and her sister, a master in the art of business, had always outshone her in their father's eyes. Y/N's talent with languages; ancient and modern – was seen as a useless skill, something that brought no tangible benefit to the family. 

Her father had never been cruel when she was younger but everything changed when her mother died. In fact, everyone in the family had lost a piece of their soul when she left. Now, his lack of affection only increases the number of scars on her heart.

The doors opened, revealing the crowds of high-ranking nobles; who were mostly strangers – staring at her. Some were judging her; some pitied her. She reminded herself that she was doing this for her family, for the greater good. But the little girl inside her who dreamed of prince charming certainly felt a pang of sorrow.

As she walked down the aisle, her legs trembled, and her hands shook so violently that she had to clasp them together to steady herself. From afar, she saw the silhouette of the man she was destined to marry. His tall and huge figure stood out compared to anyone in the hall. As she got closer, she kept her gaze fixed on the floor, too afraid to look up at her husband-to-be.

When she finally reached the altar, the priest began the ceremony. His speech was long and dragging, giving Y/N too much time to entertain her growing curiosity that she dared to glance up at the man next to her. Even from behind the veil, she could see his towering and broad-shouldered build, his presence commanding the room. His long hair was slightly untamed, and a scruffy beard framed his face. His metal hand, glinting in the sun that leaked through the church’s windows, was a jarring reminder of the rumors that surrounded him.

There were no heartfelt vows to recite to each other; only their promise of "I do" was exchanged. And that was the first time Y/N heard his voice. It was deep and resonant, sending a shiver down her spine; but there was a certain warmth in it that contrasted sharply with his fearsome reputation.

When the priest announced their union and Bucky lifted her veil, Y/N was struck by the unexpected gentleness in his eyes. They were a brilliant, mesmerizing blue, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe. Bucky's eyes softened as he looked at her, his gaze tender and almost reverent. Slowly, he placed one hand gently around her waist, pulling her slightly closer. His other hand came up to cup her cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle against her skin.

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as he leaned in, her breath catching in her throat. When his lips met hers, they were soft, warm, and so unexpected. She could smell his cologne; an earthy, woodsy scent mixed with a hint of something fruity; like peaches or tangerines. It made her head spin and her heart jumped all at the same time. 

The kiss was gentle and unhurried, very much differs to the forceful gesture she had feared. As he pulled away, Y/N found herself blinking slowly, her cheeks flushed and her fear momentarily replaced by confusion and a surprising awe. She was caught off guard by the tenderness of his touch, the way his lips had brushed against hers so gently.

Could the rumors about him be wrong?

"I’m sorry if I startled you," he said, his voice low and gentle. "I hope I didn’t scare you, my dear."

Y/N blinked slowly, trying to process the sudden shift in her emotions. The fear that had gripped her so tightly seemed to dissipate, replaced by a confusing mix of relief and intrigue. Her hands, which had been trembling, now rested at her sides, feeling strangely steady. Her eyes met his, and she could see softness in his gaze that contradicted the harsh rumors she had heard.

“I—no, you didn’t scare me,” she managed to say; her voice barely more than a whisper. She took a deep breath, her cheeks getting warmer as she processed the endearment he just called her. On the other hand, her mind was racing as she tried to reconcile the man in front of her with the fearsome figure of the Winter Soldier.

Bucky’s eyes mellowed even further, his gaze glazed with a tenderness that seemed to pierce through the weight of the room. A warm smile spread across his face, and he held her gaze with a comforting assurance.

“Good,” he said, his voice carrying a gentle affection. “I’m glad to hear that.”

The reception that followed was a blur of faces and polite conversation. Y/N moved through the crowd, accepting congratulations and well-wishes, but her mind was elsewhere. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Bucky than the rumors suggested. Every time she caught his eye, he gave her a small, reassuring smile that made the butterflies inside of her go wild.

As the evening drew to a close, they were escorted to one of the Emperor’s palaces, a grand and opulent residence that was to serve as their temporary home before they traveled north to Bucky’s territory. The palace, with its lavish furnishings and golden accents, seemed to mock the uncertainty Y/N felt. She had been assigned a chamber to prepare for the night, and the palace maids were bustling around her, helping her into a set of elaborate, far-from-modest lingerie.

The palace’s maids’ whispers and side glances did nothing to ease her growing anxiety. Their condescending tones and occasional snickers were laced with cruel speculation about how roughly Bucky would treat her. The more Y/N overheard, the more her apprehension grew. Despite the gentleness Bucky had shown her earlier, she found herself doubting its sincerity.

Could he really be the caring husband he appeared to be, or was it all just an elaborate show?

The maids finally left, their laughter fading down the hallway, leaving Y/N alone in the grand chamber. Her heart raced, and cold sweat formed at her brow as she sat quietly on the edge of the ornate bed. She kept her gaze firmly on the floor, her hands fidgeting in her lap. The room felt enormous, its sheer size heightening her sense of isolation and dread.

The door creaked open, and Bucky entered the room. Y/N’s heart nearly stopped as she heard the heavy, measured footsteps approaching. She couldn’t bring herself to look up, her body tense and her mind a swirl of panic and unease. She almost held her breath entire when she felt the slight indentation of the mattress beside her.

“Y/N,” Bucky’s voice was soft and coaxing, a distinct difference to the coldness she was expecting. “Look at me.” He continued. She hesitated momentarily; torn between obeying and disobeying but ultimately decided to raise her eyes to meet his.

The sight of him; his upper body bare, revealing a tapestry of scars and the stark metal of his prosthetic arm; made her breath hitch. Her eyes traced the lines of his faded wound, particularly the jagged marks where his shoulder met his metal arm. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow and concern. Her fingers, almost of their own accord, reached out to trace the contours of his chest and shoulder.

Bucky let the innocence of her touch to trace the most tainted parts of him; however noting her trembling eyes, he misunderstood her apprehension. “I want you to know, Y/N,” he said, his voice firm yet gentle, “that I will never hurt you. You are safe with me.”

Y/N shook her head, her heart aching. She felt an unexplainable pain growing in her chest as she gazed at him. Her fingers still lightly touching his scars; her eyes, full of unshed tears, silently asked a question she was too afraid to voice. “Does it still hurt?” she wanted to ask, her expression betraying her concern.

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with affection, and he took her hand in his, holding it tenderly against his chest. “Don't worry. It does not hurt anymore,” he said with a reassuring smile. 

The connection between them was electric, charged with a deep, unspoken understanding. Bucky’s gaze was steady and filled with a depth of unspoken emotion that took Y/N’s breath away. “I know this is difficult for you, Y/N,” he said, his voice laden with sincerity. “But I promise, I will do everything in my power to make you happy.”

His words and the way he looked at her left Y/N feeling both comforted and overwhelmed. For the first time since their wedding, she felt a genuine, flickering hope that maybe, just maybe, their marriage could become something more than a mere political arrangement. Bucky’s assurances, his gentleness, and the tenderness in his eyes began to dissolve the fears she had harboured since the beginning of their union.

As they sat there, the weight of the night’s expectations seemed to lift, replaced by a fragile but growing trust. Y/N had entered this marriage with a sense of duty, convinced that she would have to endure the consummation of their union as a matter of obligation. But Bucky’s tenderness, his understanding, and the sincere reassurance he had given her began to change her perspective.

The idea of fulfilling her marital duty had initially felt like a burden she had to bear. She had steeled herself to face it with resignation, convinced that it was merely another part of her role in this arranged marriage. But now, she found herself reconsidering. The idea of being with him no longer felt like an obligation but a possibility of something more profound and intimate.

Y/N hands softly toyed with the delicate strings of her sheer lingerie, pulling it softly as her doe eyes signalled her husband of her intention. Bucky, sensing the shift in her demeanor, looked into her eyes with a mixture of concern and affection. “Are you sure, my dear?” he asked softly. “I want you to feel safe with me and not afraid of me.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered as she met his gaze, her own eyes reflecting the depth of her emotions. “I am,” she said with quiet conviction. “I feel safe with you, James”

Bucky's hand naturally went to brush her hair behind her ear, “It’s Bucky, my dear,” he corrected softly.

“Hmm?” she asked, slightly puzzled.

He chuckled warmly. “You can call me Bucky from now on. It’s a nickname only a selected few who I trust and love knows.” Her eyes sparkled at his choice words; trust and love.

“Bucky…” she tested the name on her tongue, the syllables feeling strangely intimate. Upon hearing his name from her lips, Bucky’s heart swelled, almost bursting from his ribcage. He hummed in approval, “That's right, my dear. I’m your Bucky.” 

His reassuring smile grew wider, his calloused thumb gently stroke her cheek causing a shiver to strum all over her nerves; sending an emerging desire. One she had not fully acknowledged until now. The way he looked at her, the pure and raw endearment in his eyes, and the softness of his touch stirred something deep within her.

As the moments passed, Y/N realised she wanted this. She wanted to feel his lips on hers, to explore the warmth of his hands, to connect with him on a level she had longed for. The yearning for his touch, which had been dormant under layers of fear and uncertainty, now surged forward with undeniable intensity.

Without fully understanding why, Y/N found herself leaning closer to him, her breath coming in soft, eager gasps. She whispered, her voice barely audible but full of longing, “Bucky, please.”

Bucky’s expression softened, and a tender light filled his blue eyes, “May I?” he asked, his voice low and gentle as he held out his hand. There a shy hesitation before she finally placed her hand in his.

With a gentle but firm pull, Bucky lifted her onto his lap, his careful hands beginning the process of undressing her. Each movement was full of care, yet almost deliberate, as he slowly removed her dress, leaving her in nothing but the flimsy lace piece covering the sacred area between her thighs.

Bucky's eyes roamed over her bare skin, admiration clear in his gaze. Y/N could feel the heat of his gaze, the way his eyes traced every curve and contour of her body. The intensity of it made her feel both vulnerable and cherished, a potent combination that sent pleasurable shivers all over her body.

Seeing the hunger in his blue eyes, she felt the warmth of his body and caught the scent of him; the same once she noticed at the church; warm and comforting. Her breath quickened, and she found herself unsure of what to do or where to place her hands, feeling like a deer caught in headlights.

Noticing the subtle panic, Bucky reached for her hands and guided them through the thick strands of his long hair. “You can touch me as you please, my dear,” he whispered, his voice soothing as he reassured her. He leaned in to kiss her bare shoulder, then moved up to her neck, along her jaw, leaving a trail of warmth on her skin.

Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, the softness surprising her. The intimacy of the moment, combined with his gentle kisses, began to dissolve the last remnants of her anxiety. The feel of his lips on her skin was electrifying, each kiss sending waves of sensation she never felt before.

Bucky’s hands, still careful and tender, caressed her back, drawing her closer to him. Her breath hitched as he kissed the valley of her breasts; soft gasps escaping her lips as Bucky begins to lick and sucked on her delicate skin; likely trying to mark his claim on her. 

Every touch and little kisses he left sent shivers straight to her already dripping core. And by the time his lips grazed her nipple, her body jerked forward; in response, unintentionally dragging her aching pussy against his thick thigh.

His lips latched around her right nipples as he licks and sucks the hardening skin; lapping at it as if he was feeding from her. The sensation was overwhelming, yet she found herself leaning into his touch, her body responding to his gentle ministrations. The grip on his hair grew tighter as the strings of moans poured out her lips.

Bucky’s large hands find their place on her hips, guiding her to gently rut on his thigh. Trusting him, she followed his lead as he continue to grind her clit through the thin fabric she was wearing; introducing the sweet friction in on her core. Bucky pulled back slightly to look into her eyes, his expression filled with a mixture of subtle affection and desire. “You’re doing wonderfully, my dear. Can feel your pussy leaking on me. Do you feel good?” he murmured as he dipped back to kiss her neck.

Oh, he was filthy with his choice of words but surprisingly she was not mad about it. In fact she didn’t even notice the whimpers purring in her throat upon hearing those sinful words.

It was as if Bucky recognized that needy sound she made; it caused a smile to spread on his lips. She can feel it grow against the skin in between her breasts, “My my, is my sweet wife feeling needy right now?” he teased playfully as he effortlessly lifted her up and laid her down on their bed. 

Placing himself in between her soft thighs, his lustful gaze trained on her naked body; he admired the marks he has left on her breasts, the wet patch on the flimsy fabric covering her cunt, and the way her breath shuddered when he teasingly grind his harden cock against her.

Y/N can feel the contrast of his hands on her thigh, one warm, one cold. Her eyes drew her attention from his hands to his gorgeous face. Oh, the pure unfiltered lust in his eyes was pulling her in so effortlessly; seducing her to submit her body and soul to him completely. Shying away from his stare, she dragged her view down to his chiselled jaw, his broad chest then slowly to his beautiful abs. 

She admired his body as much as he did of hers.

But what was more prominent out of all, was the way she could feel his erection throbbing against her heat. Blood went rushing towards her face when Bucky guided her hips against the confinement of his cock, which in response; causing her hands naturally found their way to cover her face in embarrassment.

A deep chuckle bubbled from Bucky’s throat; he found her reaction to be absolutely endearing. He leaned down towards her, one hand holding himself up and another tenderly pulling her hands away, then drawing it close to his chest, right against his beating heart. 

Having nowhere to run, Y/N’s teary eyes drowned in his ocean blues, “Don’t hide from me, dearest.” He peppered a delicate kiss on her forehead, then on her nose, then on her cheek. She could feel the prickly sensation of his beard grazing on her skin. It was ticklish and a little bit painful and yet weirdly enough, it felt good that it naturally made her want to nuzzle it more.

But before she could, Bucky’s lips were already making their way down to her stomach. Her body responds to how soft his lips trailing down; and further down until she could feel them on her clothed core. A surprised yelp fell from her lips as he tore the last piece of clothing from her.

“Now, hands away from your face, my dear. I want to see that beautiful eyes of yours when I eat your sweet pussy.” his voice was honeyed when he made himself comfortable in between her thighs. His hands reached upwards to intertwine both of her hands with his own; acting as a restraint to restrict her from covering her face.

Y/N almost sat up upon hearing his words, “Eat what now?”, the question she had in mind was unable to be vocalised; due to her confusion. Prior to marriage, she had learned about sex and its purpose in her marital studies. Unbeknownst to her, the knowledge she had was few and limited for academic purposes only. Which means there were only the few illustrations of penetration depicted in books and the process of how children are bred as a result of it.

So what does he mean when he said those words? While she was still lost and confused, Bucky on the other hand was in his own world; completely and utterly transfixed on the glistening need of her cunt. She was dripping wet; the juices covering her slits perfectly; her scent was intoxicating and if it weren’t for the fact that this is her first time, Bucky would’ve ate her like a man starved of touch. But, he can’t do that. Not tonight. He wanted to be gentle; to cherish her, to love on her.

Seeing the darkened clouds in his eyes as he stared at her private, Y/N braved herself to ask, “What are you– ohh hmmm” her sentence ended up transforming into a toe curling moan as she felt Bucky’s wet tongue flattened across her weeping core. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as he dragged her clit into his mouth and sucked. He strummed her clit with his tongue, causing her to arch her back and he took the opportunity to push his face further into her cunt; licking and sucking quite the literal soul out her.

It felt amazing but her self-consciousness won the battle in her head, she let out a whimpering plea, “Buc--bucky st-stop. That’s dirty.” as she gripped on his hands, trying to escape from his grip. Bucky growled against her in response to her futile protest. The sweet vibration only caused her pleasure all over her fluttering core. 

When Bucky pulled away for a moment; it caused her to feel a sense of loss. “It’s not dirty, my dear. In fact, it’s so sweet.” His lips moved to kiss on her inner thigh, murmuring against her skin as he left yet more of his marks on her, “So fucking sweet.” He releases his right hand from hers, just to rub his thumb on her clit, slowly dragging it in between her slit; smearing her wetness all around her throbbing bundle of nerves. Her thighs trembled to the sensation of his rough movement of his thumb and a string of shaky mewls fell out of her.

“But..” she tried to protest but immediately stopped when Bucky brought his soaked thumb to her mouth. Her lips were wet from how he gently smeared the juices on her, “Taste yourself.” He lured her softly. Hesitation glints in her eyes as her cheeks redden. Bucky’s eyes grew tender at her watery ones, he whispered lowly, “Sweetheart, do you trust me?” 

She does; but she does not trust her own voice to not come out sounding like a needy moan, so she simply nodded. Bucky’s pink lips spread into a smile, “Good girl. Now, open up.” he coaxed lovingly.

Y/N opened her mouth as she was told and let Bucky slip his thumb inside; he was not shy to smother her juices across her tongue, coaxing her to suck on it. To get a taste of what he was having. “It’s sweet”, she thought to herself. A muffled moan purred in her throat at the thought of her husband enjoying the taste of her.

Bucky smirk grew at her reaction, “Tastes good huh, sweetheart?” he pulled his thumb away, leaving her nodding to his question. “Now are you going to let me enjoy your pussy?” his brow quirked when he tilted his head to the side. How can she deny him now? Her eyes glazed with need as she replied,  “Yes, please”.

Her mouth falls open in anticipation as a low moan creeps up her throat. Bucky’s tongue slips past her folds, she watched him between her legs, savouring her pussy with his unfiltered groans vibrating against her sensitive spot. Breathless moans and incoherent pleads fall from her mouth as the soft and firm tip of his tongue circled her swollen pearl and flicked it. Bucky’s hands went to her hips, guiding it in time with her own movements, giving her partial control to set the pace.

“Buckyyyy.” She gasped as she alternated between wanting to push his head away or keep him in place. Meanwhile, the man in between her thighs had lost himself; consumed by pure desire the more he drank from her cunt. His tongue moved faster against her clit when he noticed the beat of her throbbing cunt increased. She was going to come. He was sure of it.

The way that she was practically creaming on his tongue drove him near feral. He kept lapping at her juices as if it was the sweetest honey he ever tasted; fuck he even sucked her clit in hopes to force out more of her nectar to leak; then he’d lap on it again. 

The sweet cycle had pushed Y/N over the edge, her eyes rolling back as pleasure and her hips slightly lifted as pleasure surges through her veins.“Oh oh Bucky please please.” She didn’t what she was begging for as she chanted his name. “I’m gonna, ‘m gonna–“ her words died as she squealed; her body trembling in pleasure. 

His tongue moved faster against her clit; her cum was dripping out of her; coating his beard but his frantic licks didn’t stop even when she continue to gush on his tongue. 

“Bucky please, sensitive..” It was too much; her orgasm, her swollen clit, his tongue. Everything. 

Unfortunately for her, Bucky was far gone to stop now. He had the taste of her cum, now he wants nothing more than to have it again. Despite her protest, Bucky held her hip down, interlocking his hands across her stomach to keep her in place and continue to lick and suck on her overstimulated cunt.

Her whiny pleas didn’t come across as a sign for him to stop; instead it kept him going causing him to bury his face further in between her legs. His cock continued to throb in his pants, probably leaking with so much pre-cum and in need of some sort of relief but he ignored it. He wants nothing more than for Y/N to cum on his tongue again.

And that is exactly what happened next.

The moment she fell over the edge, Bucky pushed her even harder against him as her whole body spasmed. He maintained his pace on lapping up at her all throughout her high as her hands went from his hair to the headboard, trying to hold her limp body upright. Y/N took a moment to gather herself together, panting heavily as she regained their senses; while Bucky was swift to pull his pants off and throw it to the side.

He grabbed on her hips, holding her firmly in place as his heavy leaking cock nestled between her aching pussy. “Are you sure about this, my dear?” his hot breath fanning against her neck as he gently ruts into her heat. Even though Bucky can see the darken lust in her eyes, he still wanted to make sure that she was sure of her decision.

Y/N’s heart swelled at his concern, and she found herself smiling, a genuine smile that reflected the warmth she felt inside. She pulled him closer and kissed him, pouring all her newfound trust and affection into the kiss. “Yes, Bucky. I am very sure. ”

Bucky quickly responded with equal passion, his tongue slipped in between her lips; exploring the warmness of her mouth, the softness of her tongue. Their muffled moans filled the silenced room, his hands moved to caress her sides, drawing her even closer before breaking away from the heated kiss.

Resting his forehead on hers, his eyes trained on her beautiful face; not wanting to miss his chance to witness the pleasure contorting on her expression. He nudges her clit first, rubbing it slow and sensual before trailing down to her entrance. Gradually, he inches closer, he pushes in and through the tightness of her sacred channel.

Delving impossibly deep, her tightness wrapped around his thick cock until the tip of him reached the deepest parts of her. The sudden feeling of fullness on her untainted pussy caused her to experience both pain and the delightful sensation inside her. The ecstasy of being so knitly connected to each other caused both of them to simultaneously let out moans and groans of raw pleasure.

Bucky waited for her to adjust to his size; leaning down to pamper her with the softest kisses and praises that tears started to swell in her eyes. It was as if Bucky knew exactly what she wanted to hear, how she wanted to be treated and what makes her feel good.

“You’re doing so good, my dear.”

“Look at how perfect your pussy’s taking my cock. So perfect.”

“Made for me aren’t you, sweetheart?. Made to be loved by me, made to be stuffed full of my cock.”

“I promise you’ll be safe with me, Y/N. Always.”

When Y/N finally gave him the permission to move, Bucky kissed her pouty lips and murmured sweetly, “Thank you, my dear.” His hands travelled to find her ankle; which he then gently prop her calf over his broad shoulder. He started pumping in and out slowly, letting her get used to the friction. 

Bucky couldn’t help but to groan out to the feeling of her wet hole gripping his cock ever-so-tightly. It was slippery and dripping, that he almost completely slid out of her. Gripping her closer he continue ramming himself back in, deeper, harder; sliding in and out of her at an even pace. Each force of his cock causing her body to jerk in ecstasy; hitting that good spot in her so perfectly.

“S-shit, sweetheart,” he moans deep and heavy as he felt her pussy tightening around him. His metal hand slid in between them and his thumb hones in on her clit. The coldness of his finger made her jolt at first but when he proceeded to rub and pinch on it, everything suddenly started to feel too intense; so incredibly good.

With his fingers assaulting her clit, each thrust of his cock and every deep guttural moan and groan coming from Bucky, she felt her release was growing closer. Bucky also started thrusting faster and harder; he knew he was about to come. Especially when he can feel how much pre-cum has been leaking inside her.

He leaned and rested his forehead on hers, his needy ruts became more and more irregular when her pretty doe eyes looked up at him, “Cum for me, my dear.” his lips brushed against Y/N’s as he coaxed her to her sweet release. His thrusts got harsher and deeper and the friction of his metal finger working on her clit got her cunt to frantically tremble around him, “I wanna feel you milk my cock, sweetheart. Then, I’m gonna my pump cum inside you until you’re leaking.”

Although his words were debauched to no end, however Y/N could sense his genuine affection for her. She felt his sincerity in the way he looked at her, in the way he held her, in the silenced gaze they shared. Overwhelmed with pleasure, her nails dragged across Bucky’s back as she moaned and screamed out his name; letting the high took over her body.

“Fuck,, sweetheart. I’m gonna cum!” groaned as he took in the sound of her pleasured mewls. He ruthlessly grinds into her, savouring the feeling of her cunt tightened around him. With one last rut, he thrust his cock, balls deep inside and let his warm white strings filling her up to the brim. His cock twitches in her fluttering cunt, his legs tensing with every small grind he makes, groaning lowly at her as he bites down on her shoulder, almost drooling on her as he emptied himself completely into her.

Y/N continued to let out strings of soft moans as he pulled out from her leaking cunt; all swollen and sensitive. While she thought she could finally catch some breaths, she didn’t notice the way Bucky was biting on his lip at the sight of his cum dripping out of her, or how his hands lazily tugging on his now hardened cock.

“Dearest?” Bucky hovered above her as he cradled her by her flushed cheeks. She smiled sweetly as she leaned to his touch, “Yes, Bucky?”, she was anticipating him to utter more of those soft words and praises to her; but instead his lips curled into a devilish grin when he slid his cock back into her, immediately pulling a long sinful mewl of his name from her. Bucky hummed approvingly in response; he gently brushed his lips against hers, “May I fill you up again?”

As the morning sun streamed through the windows, Y/N slowly stirred awake. She reached out, instinctively searching for the warmth of her husband beside her, but found the space empty. A pang of loneliness touched her heart, but it was quickly replaced by curiosity when she saw a bouquet of bluebells, her favourite flower, placed delicately on the bedside table.

Next to the bouquet was a note. With a small smile, she picked it up and began to read.

"My Dearest Y/N,

I hate to leave you alone this morning, but I must ensure our journey home is smooth and safe. I trust you slept well, and I promise to return to your side as soon as I can.

Yours always,

Bucky"

The words written on the note were filled with sincerity and reassurance that made her heart flutter. She smiled, a blush creeping across her cheeks as she wondered how he knew bluebells were her favourite.

Just as she was lost in thought, the door opened, and the palace’s maids entered the room. Their faces were a mixture of curiosity and impatience, clearly expecting to see a frightened and bruised young bride.

However, when they saw Y/N's skin, they temporarily froze in their spots. Her skin was indeed bruised, but each one of them recognized the marks for what they were: love marks, not signs of harsh abuse that they were expecting. The traces of Bucky's possessive love were prominent all over her neck, chest, and inner thighs, leaving Y/N blushing as the maids, too, found themselves flushed with embarrassment.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” one of the older maids muttered under her breath, her tone laced with irritation. Another maid, with a more condescending sneer, huffed. “Looks like we lost the bet, ladies. Who would have thought the beast could be so... tender?”

Y/N’s cheeks burned with a mix of embarrassment and pride. She could feel their resentful glances and knew they were not pleased with the outcome. The marks on her body were a testament to the affection and desire Bucky had shown her, and despite the initial fear, she now wore them as symbols of the unexpected bond they had begun to forge.

The head maid, who had been the most vocal the night before, now seemed to handle her with an edge of bitterness. The other maids, who had been so quick to judge, were now silent, their eyes wide with resentment.One of the younger maids, braver than the rest, couldn’t hide her frustration. “Well, my lady, I suppose you’re alright, then?” she asked, her voice barely masking her disappointment.

Y/N looked at her, considering the appropriate response. If it was up to her, she ought to punish every single one of them for not knowing their place. Unfortunately, they were not her maids to begin with, but the palace's staff. Otherwise, she would likely fire each one of them. 

The memory of Bucky’s affection and care filled her heart, leaving no room for anger or resentment. The warmth of his embrace and the gentle way he had treated her made the maids' behaviour seem petty and insignificant.

She could still feel the lingering touch of his lips on her skin, the way his hands had caressed her so delicately, and the sound of his reassuring voice. Her body was still tingling with the remnants of the previous night's intimacy. Her skin bore the marks of his love, not of brutality, and each bruise was a testament to the passion they had shared. It was completely different to the vile expectations of the maids.

A small smile playing on her lips despite the blush that still coloured her cheeks. "Yes," she said softly, "I am quite alright."

The maids exchanged annoyed glances, their expressions a mix of frustration and disbelief. Their muttered disappointments were tuned out as Y/N focused on the lingering warmth from the night before.

She couldn't hear a single thing except her heart beating to the thought of her husband. She missed him already. Who would’ve thought she’d be swooning for him so soon?

She found herself yearning for his presence, the comfort of his touch, and the sound of his reassuring voice. The memory of his gentle kiss and tender words lingered in her mind yet again, making her heart flutter.

As the maids continued their work, Y/N hoped they would at least perform their duties well enough to cover up for their childish behaviour. She wanted to be ready to see Bucky, to greet him with the same warmth and affection he had shown her. Despite their rudeness, she resolved to focus on the positive, cherishing the newfound bond with her husband.

Bucky stood at the head of the table, his stern expression and commanding presence filling the room. He was reviewing the logistics of their journey home, his voice cold and decisive as he issued instructions to his knights. His trusted knight, Sam, was detailing the possible hotspots for bandits they might encounter along the way.

"We'll likely face trouble here," Sam said, pointing to a spot on the map. "We should send some of our best men ahead to clear the path."

"Agreed," Bucky responded, his tone unyielding. "Deploy the knights in advance. Ensure the path is secure before we proceed."

Sam nodded and continued outlining the plan. He paused, expecting Bucky to reconfirm, but noticed a change in his leader's face. The harsh lines softened, his eyes filled with a tender warmth, as he stared intently at something across the room. Before Sam could look or utter a word, Bucky turned and walked away with determination.

Sam followed Bucky's gaze and understood immediately. "Ah, that's why," he muttered to himself as he watched Bucky approach Y/N. The change in Bucky’s demeanour was striking. He moved with a grace and warmth that was at odds with his usual stern and imposing presence.

Bucky’s eyes softened as he took in the sight of Y/N. He admired her beauty with a gaze filled with awe and adoration. The way he looked at her was as if he was seeing a vision he had longed for, a rare and precious gem that had finally come into his life.

As he extended his hand toward her, a gesture usually seen as etiquette but now entirely with different meaning, especially with the hearts bursting our of his blue eyes. Y/N’s face lighting up with a shy smile, took his hand; almost too eagerly. Bucky's fingers closed gently around hers, his touch tender and reassuring. The contrast between his usual, fearsome reputation and the gentle way he interacted with her was profound, making it clear that his feelings for Y/N were deeply genuine.

Bucky kissed the back of her hand, his lips softly caressing her knuckles. "My dear," he greeted her, using the endearment he had chosen when they first met at the altar. 

The scene seemed like it was pulled raw from a romance novel that the surrounding staff and knights simply watched in shock and awe. "Did he just..." one knight whispered, eyes wide. "Called her 'my dear'?" another finished, equally stunned.

Sam, who had witnessed firsthand the monstrous side of Bucky in war, found himself in a state of utter disbelief, jaw dropped loose. He had seen Bucky’s sword painted blood-red, his face splattered with the gore of countless enemies. The Winter Soldier was a force of nature on the battlefield, his brutal efficiency leaving a trail of carnage in his wake. Sam recalled the sight of Bucky’s cold, unyielding eyes as he cut through foes without hesitation, his armor and weaponry gleaming with the blood of those who dared oppose him.

And yet, here he was, the same man who had struck terror into the hearts of many, now standing before Y/N with a tenderness that seemed unimaginable. Sam could hardly believe his eyes. The disparity was pronounced and bewildering. Bucky’s expression was soft, his movements gentle as he held Y/N’s hand in his.

“I’ve missed you,” Y/N said softly, her eyes shining with affection. She truly did, it would be a lie that she didn’t felt the ache in her heart when she woke up alone that morning. The emptiness beside her had felt profound. The bed still carried his scent, a lingering warmth that whispered of his recent presence. Even though the separation had been brief, as evidenced by the thoughtful note and the bouquet of her favourite flowers he had left behind, the loneliness she felt was palpable. His absence, however fleeting, had created a void that left her feeling incomplete.

Bucky’s heart seemed to burst with emotion. He couldn't care less about the gawking staff surrounding them as he pulled her close and kissed her deeply. She initially froze, caught off guard and embarrassed, but soon melted into his kiss with a blossoming confidence.

As their lips met, memories of their tender and passionate night together surged through Bucky's mind. The way she moan his name, the taste of her cum, the tightness of her pussy gripping on his cock, the way his cum leaked out of her, every single sinful scene replayed in head; infinitely. The intensity of the moment was overwhelming, and he found himself nearly losing control. Reluctantly, he pulled back from the kiss, his breath uneven and his gaze filled with an unspoken hunger.

"God, what should I do with you, hmm, sweetheart?" Bucky whispered, his voice laced with seduction as he continued to place gentle kisses along her cheeks and jaw. His lips brushed softly against her skin, whispering how much he had missed her and expressing a wistful desire to stay wrapped in the warmth of their shared bed just a little longer.

Y/N’s soft giggle rang out as she felt the roughness of his stubble against her delicate skin. The sound was like music to Bucky's ears, brightening his mood and filling him with a profound sense of joy. Despite the joyful exchange, he reluctantly ended the sweet torment, his kisses lingering just a moment longer before he pulled away.

“We should be ready to begin our journey shortly,” Bucky said, his tone shifting to a more practical note when e turned to Sam, who had approached during their moment of intimacy.

“Y/N, this is Sam Wilson, he is one of my trusted knights.” Bucky introduced, his gaze shifting to his wife. Sam gave a respectful nod to Y/N, a hint of surprise still evident in his expression from witnessing Bucky's affectionate display. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Y/N.”

Y/N smiled warmly at Sam, appreciating the introduction. “The pleasure is mine, Sir Wilson.”

Sam, sensing that the formality was unnecessary given their imminent interactions, decided to ease the situation. “Just Sam, my lady,” he said with a friendly tone. Y/N repeated his name with a touch of amusement. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Sam.”

Bucky, observing the growing camaraderie between his wife and his trusted knight, couldn’t help but feel a twinge of protectiveness. The easy familiarity between them seemed a bit too casual for his liking. His eyes narrowed slightly as he gave Sam a warning look. “Watch it, Wilson.”

Sam, not missing a beat, chuckled at Bucky’s protective demeanour. “What’s the matter, my lord? Can’t handle a bit of friendly conversation?”

Y/N, noticing the playful tension and Bucky’s slight irritation, couldn’t help but laugh. The contrast between Bucky’s usually soft demeanour that Y/N had witnessed and his current protective stance were both endearing and amusing. Her laughter lightened the mood, making Sam’s teasing even more enjoyable.

Bucky's stern gaze softened as he watched Y/N’s laughter, though his protective instinct remained palpable. Steering the conversion back to the preparations, he allowed a faint smile to tug at the corners of his mouth despite his earlier warning.

“I trust you can escort my wife to the carriage,” Bucky said, his voice serious but tinged with a hint of a smile. “However, I expect you to maintain proper distance and adhere to these additional guidelines.” He paused, ensuring his words were clear. “No unnecessary physical contact or overly familiar behaviour. And if you could, avoid any casual conversations that might be misinterpreted.”

Sam looked at Bucky in disbelief, shaking his head with a bemused expression. “Seriously, Barnes? You’re laying down rules for me to keep my distance from your wife now?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Consider it a precaution. I’d rather not have any misunderstandings.” Sam chuckled, rolling his eyes as he complied. “Understood. I’ll make sure to follow your... guidelines.”

Y/N watched the exchange with amusement, her earlier shyness melting away into a warm appreciation for Bucky’s protectiveness. The scene, tinged with a touch of comedy, only deepened the connection between them.

Bucky, intent on making a point to Sam while expressing his affection, pulled Y/N close and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. The gesture was both intimate and deliberate, a subtle yet clear indication to Sam that she belongs to Bucky. “I’ll join you shortly, my dear,” Bucky said softly, his voice filled with warmth as he gazed into her eyes.

Sam, unimpressed by Bucky’s display, rolled his eyes at the seemingly childish antics. “This way, my lady,” he said with a hint of impatience. Y/N nodded in agreement but paused before turning her back on Bucky. With a loving smile, she whispered, “I’ll see you later,” before following Sam.

Bucky watched as Sam guided Y/N away, his gaze lingered with a mix of affection and something much deeper; an unspoken sadness. As their silhouettes walked further and further away from his sight, a sombre glaze settled over his eyes.

Beneath the surface of his composed exterior, his heart ached; the was a silent reflection of a pain he had hidden deep within his heart. It was a lingering sorrow that had shadowed him ever since he stood at the altar, the weight of unvoiced grief clinging to him as he gazed at his future bride.

Part II >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Wondering why he was in the feels at the end? We’ll know it soon enough. I’ll see you in the next parts! Thank you for reading!

[billysgirllol]

[ . . . @lucygraysboy ♡ ]

evening's work had been finished up with the easier tasks; giving the five horses their hair grooming and seed thrown out to the ducks and chickens before the songstress relaxed her aching bones with a seat in the bed of grass towards the end of her father's property near the forestry. where she could perch with her guitar with a good view of the pond where the ducks liked to play. lost in whatever song she was humming to next, she'd already strummed through something both new and old she had written by time she was deeply immersed in the music. it left her vulnerable out there in the open like that, even if she thought she feared nothing. until. . . the sound of a tree branch snapping had calloused fingers halting against the strings & body jumped, swiveling around to see what it was coming after her. bambi eyes found the thing, the person, the boy. a man– the worst species to be feared. all her father's teachings had her knowing that without even witnessing the worst a man could do firsthand from the bubble she had been wrapped in.

she had a gun, she thought initially. but she didn't know what to do with it too well if she needed to use it. it'd be a clumsy shot and she'd have to do all her bettin' and prayin' it'd end up half successful in keeping her out of harms way– but it wasn't going to do that anyway when it was back in the barn and all she had was a guitar as a weapon. small build shot up, holding the guitar by it's neck, "who're you? where'd you even come from?" defensively and angrily, the question was spat. another step was taken back, especially registering how much bigger he stood, but then the second thing she registered was how he barely looked half alive to even be a threat which put a new look of fear across her face because what was wrong with him?

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

snowflakes dancing on the wind

the wistful wyvern, chapter one

a/n: this series is the second instalment i my eflorr trilogy. if you haven't already read fused with the foe, then i'd highly recommend reading that first so that you know what's going on.

summary: three years where you’d sworn off love entirely, tried to interpret it as a good thing, a gift really. You could be more productive, more focused. But now that you were home again, hearing the molasses tone of his voice and seeing the beads of sweat slowly rolling down the landscape of his body, over the ink that crawled up his left arm, you knew three years wasn’t enough to mend your heart. The rest of your life probably wasn’t long enough either. 

warnings: knight!bucky barnes x knight!reader, fantasy AU (monsters, but not much magic), original fantasy world, ex-friends to lovers, coworkers to lovers, former fuckboy!bucky, tattooed!bucky, slow burn, one-sided pinning, flashbacks, alcohol consumption, kissing, dragon attack, childbirth (with very ronja rövardotter timing), blood, weapons, violence, crying

word count: 4296

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TEN YEARS AGO, ON THE THIRTY-SEVENTH DAY OF WINTER 848 PR

A biting chill swirled through the echoing halls of Yoslor Penitentiary that noon when two gruff guards yanked you from your cell and dragged you to the far side wing of the prison. 

Passing countless doors, at last, they arrived at one with someone already on patrol on the outside. As a rusty key twisted in the lock with a reverberating click, the guard, still barely letting your feet skim the dirty floor, practically shoved you inside the chamber. 

As they threw you down into a cold chair and yanked at your chains to fasten them in a strong loop smelted into the stone floor by your feet, a voice suddenly caught your ears and caused your squinting eyes to flicker up. 

“Easy, boys! No need to drag her by the scruff of her neck as if she were a cat and not an eighteen-year-old girl,” you noticed the man already seated on the opposite side of the table, “would you please uncuff her?” he requested with an outstretched hand, a command, to your surprise, the guards obeyed, “thank you,” he leaned back in his seat as the manacles fell from your sore wrists. 

Rubbing the angry marks wrapped around your joints, a shiver ran through you as you saw the cloud of your exhale clear in the air. 

When the guards had settled on either side of the exit behind you, the blonde stranger opposing you tilted his head and asked, “do you know who I am?” 

“Should I know who you are?” your gaze lifted from your wrists and met his, “look man,” you sighed heavily, “if I at some point stole something from you, I don’t have it anymore. I don’t really have much of anything anymore in here,” a short and dry chuckle tied a bow on your statement. 

With his stare never straying, his chin then tilted slightly as he said, “I am Steven Grant Rogers, crown prince of Eflorr,” his title rolled off his tongue with such ease as if it didn’t have any merit at all, “and you’re Y/n Y/l/n, daughter of the famed One-eyed Ollie,” he rested his forearms against the table’s edge, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Blinking back at the royal, your brows furrowed softly at the mystery of why a man such as him would pay someone like you the time of day, “…alright, uh, sure.”

“We’ve kept an eye on you for a very long time, long before your father slipped away and made you take the fall for the break-in at the Sulmier estate,” your jaw couldn’t help but clench at the memory, “you’re very talented.”

“Yeah, can you just hurry up and tell me what you want?” you grunted as your knee tensely bounced beneath the table, “they’re serving soup today for supper and I’d rather not miss it.”

Huffing out what seemed like an amused breath, the prince glanced down a moment as he announced, “I have a proposition for you,” he met your gaze once more, “either you can pay for your father’s crimes here in prison or you can come work for me,” he offered slowly, “twenty years either way, but in here you will be treated as, well, essentially an animal,” his eyes briefly flicked around the cold chamber, “whereas with me you will be just as any other warden. You will have the same rights, the same opportunities, maybe even a home by the end of it.”

“…you wanna give me a job?” you squinted back at him. 

To which he simply nodded, “yes.” 

“Me?” your eyebrows only seemed to knit together tighter. 

“Like I said, you’re very talented. I could use someone of your skillset,” he then leaned back in his seat, “so, I’ll give you some time to decide,” he clasped his hands together in his lap, “if you don’t show up at Fort Borün before all the snow has melted, then let’s just say that you wouldn’t be able to get very far with the bounty there’ll be on your head.”

The heavy ivory pelts that made up your cloak billowed around your frame as the piercing wind whirled it around. You had to lean forward a bit to even make any headway in the howling blizzard that coursed around you. Icy snowflakes struck the upper part of your features that the tugged-up scarf didn’t cover. 

Squinting in the snowstorm as you crested the hill and walked under the archway, you glanced above and spotted icicles hanging from the drawn-up portcullis. 

As you glanced around the courtyard and the snow-dusted castle looming in the background, your feet soon carried you over towards a pair of bundled-up wardens posted outside a door. 

“Excuse me,” you interrupted the lewd joke one of them was halfway through telling, “could any of you–” 

But it wasn’t till the soldier to the right jumped and yelped, “ah, by Apa!” that it occurred to you just how camouflaged your frosty visage had been in the blizzard.

“Holy fuck!” the other one clutched his heart after nearly drawing the crossbow strapped to his back.

“Oh gods, sorry. Thought you were a snowman some fucking pixies had put a curse on,” the first knight, whose head was warmed by a thick knitted cap, steadied his breathing with a short laugh, “what do you need?”

Glancing between them, you asked, “could you point me in the direction of Master Tully’s office?”

“Ah,” the beanie-wearing warden nodded, “you’re a new recruit?”

Stifling a laugh, you tilted your head and huffed, “you could say that.” 

“I’ll show you,” the dark-haired one gestured, “come with me.”

“Thanks,” you offered him a small smile as he then held the door behind them open for you to enter first. 

The dining hall of the bustling barracks that you entered nearly gave you whiplash with the warm contrast it had to the freezing environment you’d just been trudging through for weeks. The fireplace down on the far wall warmed the interior and lit up the faces of the soldiers halfway through their meals. 

As you pulled back your snow-dusted hood and tugged your frosty scarf down to expose your nose and mouth, your palm attempted to brush some of the flakes off of you. 

“He’s right over there,” your guide pointed to the balding man sitting alone at a table in the corner of the chamber, before he disappeared from your side and joined some comrades on a long bench, sneakily stealing a chunk of bread from one of their bowls. 

Slowly stepping closer to the older man, hunched over some parchments as he dipped and softened a crusty piece of bread in his stew, you carefully croaked, “master Tully?”

“Aye?” he lifted his gaze to find you. 

“Hi, I was told to come talk to you,” you stepped closer and reached out your hand, “I’m Y/n, I don’t know if you–”

“Ah, yes, Y/n! Great to have you on board, lass,” his gruff hand swiftly gave yours a shake, “you must be tired after that long journey, so why don’t you grab a bowl,” he briefly pointed to the humble buffet off to the side, “have a wee rest, and then we’ll sit down and discuss everything after that, yeah?”

Offering him a light nod, you agreed, “sounds good, sir.” 

As you wandered over to fill up a bowl, Tully waved over the warden who’d shown you the way. 

“Barnes?” 

Swiftly, the soldier rose from his seat, “yes, sir?”

“Go show Y/n her quarters,” Tully returned his attention towards his stew. 

Barnes’ dark brows then knitted together, “who’s Y/n?” to which his commander simply pointed with the hand still clutching a chunk of bread, “oh…” the warden’s glance followed the trail, “right…” before raising his voice to catch your ears, “oi, snow!” you didn’t turn around even as he neared, “hey!”

Dragging the curve of a spoon from your lips when you finally noticed his stare, you finally perked up, “who, me?” and pointed to yourself. 

“Yeah you,” he didn’t slow down as he gestured for you to shadow him, “come.”

“Oh, uh,” with the bowl of stew still in your gasp, you tried not to spill as you scurried to keep up, “my name is actually Y/n,” you corrected him.

Halting his step momentarily, he turned and reached out an inked hand for you to shake, “Bucky,” a small smirk tugged at his lips as your eyes finally got the chance to wash over his visage now that his striking features weren’t veiled by a blizzard, “welcome aboard, snow.”

PRESENT DAY

You felt like somehow you should have predicted that this would be your welcome home greeting. That this striking heartbreak could have somehow been prevented if you’d only remembered when training was usually held. 

It was just rubbing salt into the wound you’d been trying so fiercely to mend. Yet, it was still there, open and festering, bleeding till you nearly passed out. You couldn’t start doing that again, purposely seeking out the salt just to feel something, just to for a single second feel good before reality settled in again. Perhaps your timing had been on purpose, perhaps your subconscious had just been so strong that it had forced you to return home right at the time that practice was held in the middle of the courtyard, and none other than Bucky stood in the centre, shirtless and glistening with sweat, as he ran the newcomers through a drill, sparring with each and every one of them till they yielded. 

You tried to get your feet to move again, you truly did, but you couldn’t keep walking past, couldn’t look away, could barely even breathe as he moved like water through the trainees.

But then suddenly, as your fiddling fingers had found the long, braided leather cord wrapped nearly a dozen times around your wrist to form a bracelet, the playful comment that left Bucky’s lips to egg the recruits on fell short, as his ocean eyes flickered up to find you, only worsening the bittersweet agony you were in.

THREE YEARS AGO, ON THE SEVENTY-SECOND DAY OF AUTUMN 855 PR

“Oh, wow,” Bucky swiftly lowered his goblet from his lips and exclaimed as his stare found you, right as you passed over the threshold and entered the bustling ballroom, “holy shit.”

Closing the short distance between you as he was standing off to the side, your skin prickled at his alarm, “what?”

“No, just–, you’re in a dress,” his gaze danced across the emerald silk draped around your form, the fabric’s shade made you stand out amidst all of the warm harvest fest decorations, “never thought I’d see the day…”

“Well, they aren’t really that practical in our line of work, so–” 

“Oh, I beg to differ…” he smirked, taking a sip of wine which by the looks of it was in no way his first cup, “I think you should always be dressed like this…” slowly stepping closer, his stare continued to lick you up in a way it never had before, “especially with a neckline as low cut as that,” as his eyes brashly dipped to your cleavage, your hand couldn’t help but shoot up to tug it up a bit more, a nervous instinct that only conjured a deep chuckle within his chest, “happy harvest fest to me.”

With cheeks burning hotter than the sun, you coughed out, “you–, uh, you look good as well.” 

“Oh, yeah?” he cheekily cocked a brow and leaned in a bit closer, causing your spine to press up against the wall behind you, “how good?” 

As your heart fluttered and nearly flew out of your chest, you heard yourself sputter, “oh, well, I mean, you always look good, you just–, uh…” your words then poofed away into nothing as he nonchalantly tugged a stray piece of hair behind your ear and let his touch linger on your heated cheek, “uhm…” 

“I just what, snow?” he purred, and you swore you saw his gaze flicker down to your lips. 

“You–… you–…” 

But before your wildest dreams could come true, an individual accidentally bumped into Bucky and lodged him far enough away from you to snuff out your hopes of the taste of his lips. 

“Wow,” the guy briefly clapped Bucky’s wide shoulder, “sorry, mate.”

“It’s alright,” he smiled as the fella went on his way. Raising up his goblet for another sip, he then turned his attention back to you, “so,” his grin was still bright on his features, “you gonna let me dance with you tonight?” 

“Dance?�� your eyes grew wide, “oh, y-yeah,” you tried your best, though still failed to sound casual, “sure, if you want to.”

“Great,” he held your gaze a moment longer before saying, “I’m gonna go grab another drink, you want anything?” 

“No thanks, I’m good,” though there was now a decent enough distance betwixt you two, you still stood virtually plastered against the wall. 

“Alright,” he breathed as he began to back up, offering your gown one last glance before he disappeared, “that dress…” his head gently shook from side to side as a long exhale flowed from his lungs, “gods, you look way too hot tonight, it’s not fair.”

When his visage was no longer in sight, you slumped down a bit and took a generous breather, the grin on your face nearly making your cheeks ache. 

After your pulse had settled back from the nervous butterfly he had transformed it into, a fellow warden spotted you and shouted. 

“Hey, Y/n!” he waved for you to come over and join the little cluster he was on the edge of, “you’re still here! I thought you’d left already with lord fancy pants or whatever.”

“Lord Witherington, and yeah, it’s first in the morning that the ship leaves port,” you walked up to him. 

“Well, at least you get to enjoy one last harvest fest extravaganza before becoming a babysitter.”

“Hey, he is doing important research up in Efira, in areas that haven’t been explored since Rimesunder’s demise,” you raised a slightly defensive hand as you noted the historical significance, “it’s an honour to protect him.”

“Yeah, yeah, honour and all that crap,” he sighed light-heartedly as he raised his mug up to his lips, “but you still have time to get seriously fucked up tonight.”

“So that I can be both seasick and hungover tomorrow?”

“So that you can for once cut loose and have one last fun night before you leave!” 

Marinating on his point a moment, your thoughts couldn’t help but float away to Bucky. 

What if tonight was the night? What if you just finally took the leap and told him how you felt? 

Then, like a clock arm clicking into the new hour, you made your decision. 

“Give me that,” you grabbed the drink out of his hands before he could take another sip. 

“Wow, that’s what I’m talking about,” the soldier cheered as you swiftly downed the strong brew, “yeah!”

“Gods,” your face screwed up when you swallowed the last gulp, “that’s disgusting. What is that?”

“My uncle’s mead.”

“Urgh,” the sickly sweet taste burned on your tongue. 

“Yeah, he’s not that good at it,” he accepted the mug as you passed it back in his grasp, “but it’ll sure get you pissed in two sips or less.”

Hoping that the half tankard you’d downed would grant you the courage you sought, you glanced around the ballroom, “I gotta–, uh, did you see where Buck went?” and when he then pointed out towards the main hallway, you offered him a small smile, “thanks,” before disappearing down that way. 

You felt like you were gonna be sick as you walked through the crowds. But if it was from the nerves or the mead that was already making you dizzy, that you weren’t sure of. 

As you searched the castle, carefully poking your head into drawing rooms and narrow hallways, you found yourself anxiously muttering just beneath your breath. 

“…I just thought you should know that I like you–, no, not like that…” you shook your head at your tongue-tied attempt at figuring out how you’d profess to him, “James, I have been in love with you since the day I met yo­u–, no, that’s stupid, I never call him James, that would just be weird–” 

Your murmuring then hushed as you turned down a secluded hallway and spotted the very warden that you had combed the palace for, down towards the end of it. 

The only thing was, he wasn’t alone.

Sliding deeper into the shadows, you couldn’t spare yourself the heartache and not look. 

Bucky’s lips were attached to the long neck of some leggy blonde. Her quiet whimpers echoed against the fortress walls as he felt her up and surely littered her skin with heated lavender marks. 

Suddenly, they shifted, turning till Bucky’s back was pressed up against the walls and, to your surprise, now no longer obscured by his bulky physique, another lady, a redhead, appeared beside the hickey-adored one. 

“So,” the redhead bit her lip as she slid her palm down to pet the palpable tent in his pants, “are you gonna show us to your chambers or what?”

“Yes,” he breathlessly nodded, “yes I am,” before seizing their hands, “right this way,” they then stumbled further down the dark hallway till they disappeared from your sight, leaving you frozen in the engulfing shadows with tears silently streaming down your face. 

PRESENT DAY

“Snow?” his eyes grew as wide as his grin, “gods, it is you!” Bucky then all but forgot about the training session he was in the middle of teaching and crossed the courtyard, “it’s really you!” once his brisk stride reached you, he plucked you up into his brawny arms and spun you around, “you’re back!” 

As soon as your feet touched the ground again, you took a large step back, though hated how the distance gave you a better view of his naked torso.

“Hi, Bucky,” you uttered, readjusting the bag strung over your back. 

Why did his touch still have to make your heart flutter? 

“Three years,” he placed a wide palm on your shoulder, “three fucking years!”

Three years where you’d sworn off love entirely, tried to interpret it as a good thing, a gift really. You could be more productive, more focused. But now that you were home again, hearing the molasses tone of his voice and seeing the beads of sweat slowly rolling down the landscape of his body, over the ink that crawled up his left arm, you knew three years wasn’t enough to mend your heart. The rest of your life probably wasn’t long enough either. 

“Yeah, you–, uh,” you swallowed the thickness of emotions that peeked through in your tone, “you grew a beard.” 

“And you still look exactly the same…” his gaze washed over you as a soft sigh flowed from his lungs, “gods, I’ve missed you,” he then tilted his head and asked, “you missed me?”

“I–,” blinking back into the stormy sea of his eyes, you felt your frame begin to tremble at the feelings that were still as alive as ever, “uhm…” averting your gaze, you had to get away before everything burst, “I need to go report to the king,”

“Oh, yeah, right,” his electric touch slid from your shoulder, “last I saw, he and the queen were in the blue drawing room. You haven't met her yet! She’s kind, you’ll like her.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” you refused to look back at him as you turned towards the main entrance to the castle. 

And as you began to walk away, you heard his voice call after you, “really is good to have you back, snow!”

Nearly ripping the door off its hinges, a fleeting gasp escaped you as you saw the queen by the open window, shooting arrows after the beast that whirled outside. 

“Your majesty,” you exclaimed as your eyes briefly flickered to her pregnant belly, “there you are!” you then swiftly crossed the room to yank open the small servant’s door, “this way!” 

Reluctantly, the royal stepped back from the window, smoke and ash gushing into the castle from the opening, and followed you up the revealed stone spiral staircase. 

As you rushed up the tower, your glances didn’t just dart back to the queen, only a few paces behind you, but every time you passed one of the narrow windows, your vision couldn’t help but catch the chaos down below.

The stubborn dragon, that had plagued the town of Borün for two whole years now, had returned. 

With daggers still tight in your grasp, you tried not to think about the people you knew to be down there in the fray, wonder if they had all been burned to a crisp, but instead attempted to shake it off and focus on your mission at hand. The king had commanded you to flee the fight and protect his wife and unborn child. 

A glint of fire reflected in the queen’s eyes as you glanced back at her to find her pace halted and her palm clutched on her stomach as she stifled a groan. 

“My queen,” you dropped back down a step closer to her, “are you–”

“I’m fine,” she waved you off and drew in a shaky breath, “keep going, I’m right behind you.”

Soon at the top of the tower, you pushed the door open and held it for the noble to enter, your glance though darting out the window as she passed. 

But when a low groan seeped from her throat, your gaze darted back to her with worry, “alright, that really doesn’t sound that good,” the door slammed behind you as you sheathed your weapons and stepped closer to her, “did you get hurt?”

“No, I’m–, ah! I’m alright,” she uttered through gritted teeth, her eyes squeezed shut as one hand reached out for the wall while the other stayed on her belly, “fuck…” 

Glancing down towards her hand as it rubbed in slow, soothing circles, your eyes then widened, “are you–… your majesty, a-are you–”

“In labour?” her eyes barely opened as she met your tense gaze, “yeah. My waters broke a while ago.”

“Oh gods!” now you truly wished you’d just stayed down with the dragon, “now? Here? I–, I–, wha–, can’t you just turn it off?”

Letting both her quiver and bow slide off her frame and drop to the floor, she let out a strained exhale, “not really how it works.” 

“I–, I–, okay, I don’t know what to do–”

“That’s fine,” her arm then reached out for your support, “I do,” you carefully helped her further into the chamber before she sank down a wall till she was seated on the floor, her pale yellow gown bunching around her legs, “alright, I’m gonna need one of your knives when its time to cut the umbilical cord.”

“O-okay,” eyes still wide, you checked your belt just in case they’d mysteriously disappeared in your panic. 

Noticing the terrified expression on your face, the queen’s head tilted slightly as she said, “Y/l/n, please don’t pass out on me, I need you here with me.”

“No, no, I’m not gonna pass out,” you rushed to reply, though weren’t completely convinced yourself, “I just–, w-what do I do? Do I do anything?”

Raising up her fingers, she panted, “take my hand.”

“Alright, yes, of course,” you swiftly grabbed her palm. 

You had no idea how much time passed, if your hand would eventually fall off for how hard she was squeezing it, or even how many times the royal’s groans, which threatened to morph into screams, reverberated off the palace walls and mixed with the chaos rumbling from outside. 

Then suddenly, an echo shot through the castle, “dove!” and though she couldn’t find it in her to yell back, the familiar voice visibly thawed something within the queen. 

“Up here!” you yelled as loudly as you could. 

Swiftly, the door was kicked down, and in stormed a honey-haired man, whose bloodstained shield and stout axe promptly dropped to the floor with a loud clang. 

“Steve!” the queen cried out through the relieved smile that softened her pained expression, “you’re here!”

“Yeah,” he looked as if a feather could have knocked him over, “I’m here, I’m here,” the king then rushed to switch places with you, kneeling beside his wife and clutching her hand in both of his, “what fucking timing our daughter has,” a soft chuckle bubbled out of him as he bought the back of her palm up to his lips and planted a chased peck upon it, “not even born yet and she already wants to join the fray,” he uttered, conjuring a slight laugh to crack through her pain, “a real fighter, just like her mom.”

Gazing up at him, a sombreness suddenly washed over her features as she then murmured, “my love, if I don’t–”

“No,” he swiftly cut her off, “that’s not gonna happen, you hear me? History won’t repeat itself, you’ve done everything in your power to make that so. You can do this, dove. I know you can.” 

He held her hand through it all, took the sting as each one of her nails broke his skin and every ear-piercing curse she threw at him, till a new life was suddenly in the room, laying against the exposed skin on her mother’s chest and wailing about the sudden change in scenery.

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[system-to-the-madness]

A Past Revisited - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Pairing: James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes x fem!Reader Era: from CATWS to Black Panther Genre: hurt/comfort Word Count: 4 922 Warnings: no use of (y/n), Reader was born in the GDR (DDR) and knows German, canon-typical violence and weapons, Reader gets threatened by the Winter Soldier, use of German (translations provided in-text), fall of the Berlin wall (I wasn’t there, so probably historically inaccurate), Reader’s father was killed (not by the Winter Soldier), blood Summary: All your life the eyes of the man who almost killed you haunt your nightmares, so when you find these same eyes in Steve’s friend, you struggle with overcoming the past Prompts: not really a prompt but ‘the past coming back to haunt you’ A/N: I think I accidently ruined @spongelll 's weekend by giving y'all the choice between Bucky and Viktor. Well, today's Bucky's turn, next week Viktor. Sorry. (Although I'll admit the poll was a closer cut than I thought it would be.)

It felt like a déjà-vu, like you had lived this situation before. No. It didn’t feel like you had. You had been in this situation before. It actually was not the first time Winter Soldier pressed the muzzle of a gun against your forehead. But this time your lips were not quivering, nor were you crying for your mother as you stared past the gun directly in the bluest pair of eyes you had ever seen. The shiver that ran down your spine was not due to the fear that cursed through your veins at being held at gunpoint by the in black dressed assassin. Rather it was a memory of a cold November night over twenty years ago.

“Bringst Du’s endlich zu Ende,” – are you finally going to finish it – you asked in German, as you stared at the man. “Ich hab’ fast 25 Jahre auf Dich gewartet.” I waited almost 25 years for you.

Blue eyes widened slightly at the use of the foreign language and yet you were certain he had understood you. Did it matter that he looked barely a day older than he had that night in Berlin, that night when the history of a country had been changed forever? It was the same man, there was no doubt about it, you saw it in his eyes, saw it in the way his finger tightened around the trigger, and when a shiver went through him, you knew he felt the same cold November air from 1989 as you did. If only you inhaled deeply enough, you might still smell your mother’s perfume, the smell of gasoline.

Now you were on your knees, where you had fallen during the fight against the assassin, but then you had been just six years old, looking up at the masked man, who stood beside the border patrol hut.

Your mother was waving your passport into a soldier’s face, screaming at him about a radio report and the opening of borders, while the chilly November air blew into your worn-down coat. You stared at the strange soldier, who looked so much different from the ones you knew were patrolling the streets. Their pressed, green-grey shirts and trousers were paired with red-brown belts, but the man who stood before you was wearing all black, a mask that covered half his face, making it look like he was being gagged. Around his eyes, black paint was smeared as he stared at the people crowding at the border point. He seemed indifferent to the people requesting passage, but his striking blue eyes looked sad in the harsh light of the flood lights lighting up the bridge where the crowd had gathered. You were only a small child, not knowing that you were becoming witness to one of the most important historical events of post-war Germany, nor were you aware of the danger you were in.

While your mother held your hand tightly in hers, waving your passport at the soldier she was shouting at, alongside a dozen others, you kept your eyes on the mysterious man before you.

“Are you sad,” you asked him over the shouting of the other people, the German words slipping over your small lips before you had considered them. “You look sad.”

He did not react, only looking at the crowd before him. Until another soldier, a normal one, dressed in the familiar, fear-inducing grey-green intervened.

“That’s enough,” he shouted. “Soldat, the girl-”

Before you or anyone could understand what had happened, the man in black had grabbed your arm, tearing your hand out of your mothers.

Panic surged through you as your fingers slipped out of your mothers, and the last thing you saw before you looked back at him, were the terrified eyes of your mother as she tried to take your hand back into hers.

The man held you an arm’s length away from himself, the fingers of his left hand, dressed in a metallic glove, painfully tight around your thin arm. And then the muzzle of his gun pressed against your forehead.

“Mama,” you whimpered out, but kept your eyes fixed on the man. He was looking straight at you, but at the same time he seemed to be looking right through you, as if behind you he could see memories playing out that made him hesitate.

“Soldat!”

The other soldier shouted, and the finger at the trigger quivered, but didn’t deliver the final squeeze. Instead, he blinked, and suddenly his eyes focused on you, and he almost seemed surprised as if only he had realized now, that he was pressing a gun to a little girl's head.

Staring up at him through tears, unable to speak, you tried to understand what was going on in his mind, tried to puzzle together the previous indifference with the terror that now flickered in his eyes and the way his hand loosened around your arm.

And then there was a whistle, shouts for the soldiers to lower their weapon, someone grabbing the gun out of the man’s hand, and your mother pulling you against her chest, lifting you up into her arms and carrying you over the border at the border point of Bornholmer Straße from the German Democratic Republic into a new life, a different life, in the Federal Republic of Germany. But the Soldat’s eyes would keep haunting you, until you were back face to face with him.

Somehow, your mother carrying you away from him had brought you right back in front of his gun. He was staring at you the same way he had back then, almost as if looking through you, as if looking at a memory that played out behind you.

“Did you also kill my father, when he escaped,” you asked, this time in English. “Or am I special?”

The assassin kept staring at you, but his gun quivered again. He looked exactly the same way you remembered him, blue eyes, black mask, that made him look like he was gagged so he couldn’t talk, strips of his gun holster around his chest like restraints.

“Komm schon, ich hab‘ nicht den ganzen Tag Zeit!“ Come on, I don’t have the whole day, the words shot over your lips in frustration. Gravel was digging into your knees, the muzzle of the gun into your forehead. “Worauf wartest Du? Mach schon, Soldat!” What are you waiting for? Do it, Soldier!

And suddenly his eyes snapped to you, filled with the same quiet terror as all these years ago on the bridge. He straightened, his shoulders rolled back the faintest bit. But then his eyes grew cold, as if he had made a decision, and he steadied the gun, his finger beginning to squeeze the trigger.

The next moment a flash of blue and beige came shooting from the right as Steve tackled the assassin, saving you from certain death.

~*~

The next time you came face to face with those blue eyes, there was no malice behind them, no indifference, only pain and resignation as the man rubbed his left wrist, not a metal glove, as you had assumed as a child, but a prosthetic.

Steve had told you about him, about his best friend, the famous Sargent James Barnes. When you had heard Steve talk about him, before the events in DC, when you had let him show you pictures from the 40s – it had almost felt like he could walk in through the door at any moment and swipe you off your feet with a charming smile, a few clever words and a dance or two. Before you sat someone entirely different. His hair was shorter than it had been two years ago, but longer than in the old pictures, his frame somehow even broader. Slight stubble was covering his cheeks and blood was running down from his hairline.

Then again, maybe he was still the man Steve had described to you over nursing a glass of whiskey that had definitely more done to your system to his, when you realized the description of his best friend had you almost swooning a little, up until the point where he had described his eye colour at least. You couldn’t really stand blue eyes, not since the man with the black face paint and the blue eyes had almost shot you the night the Berlin Wall had fallen. Those conversations with Steve about his friend Bucky had been before the Winter Soldier had almost killed you two years ago. But now the same man who had almost killed you, smiled as he remembered how a sickly Steve had stuffed newspaper into his shoes, and for a moment, it had almost felt like you knew him; the friend of a friend, someone you would laugh with over a drink, someone you could imagine joining the group for a night out after a long mission.

As if he had heard your thoughts, he looked up, his blue eyes taking you in and for a moment you froze, almost waiting for the feeling of a metal hand around your arm, gravel under your knees, a cold gun to your forehead. Instead, he averted his eyes again, as if you had caught him doing something he wasn’t supposed to. Shooting Steve a quick glance while he was talking to Sam, you took a deep breath. You were no Avenger, but had been working close enough with them for long enough to have learnt the one or the other thing about bravery, so you took that deep breath and grabbed your backpack, walking over to the man you knew as the Winter Soldier, but Steve so easily called Bucky.

You could tell he was monitoring each of your movements as you walked towards him, even with his eyes on the ground. Every step felt like you were walking through hip deep mud, your body protesting against your intention to close the distance to the assassin, but you kept pushing on.

He was still not looking at you as you stopped before him and zipped open your backpack, only tensed, as if he expected you to shoot him on the spot. Instead, you pulled out a first aid kit.

“You’re bleeding,” you told him. “Let me look at it?”

His jaw tensed for a moment as if he considered declining the offer. “It’ll have healed by tomorrow.”

You didn’t answer, only kept looking at him while he had his eyes averted from you, staring at the floor. He had even stopped massaging his wrist. You wondered if he had feeling in the metal hand.

Eventually after what felt like an eternity, he finally nodded, and you pulled gauze and some disinfectant from the first aid kit.

Taking another deep breath, your reached for his hair, giving him a short warning that you were going to touch him, before brushing the hair at his hairline back, revealing the cut there. It was not deep, but almost an inch long.

“I’ll spray some disinfectant on the cut, it’ll be cold for a moment,” you warned him, before doing as you had told him.

“Sie haben fast keinen Akzent.“ You barely got an accent.

Surprised you blinked, momentarily halting the application of the disinfectant as the man before you spoke to you in German.

“Sie auch nicht.” You neither.

The man blew air through his nose, maybe an attempt to laugh, as you begun dapping at the cut. He probably had been right about it having healed by tomorrow. The wound did not look like it was only a few hours old, more like a few days.

“Sie,” he noticed thoughtfully. “Why so polite all of a sudden? Didn’t you prefer the informal you?”

“I don’t know you,” you shrugged, beginning to wipe at the dried blood in his hairline. “But politeness is usually not something I give much of a damn about when a national crisis is in progress, or I am about to be murdered.”

For a long moment he was silent, and you almost worried you might have hurt his feelings. Maybe you had said too much, had reminded him of something he rather would not have remembered.

“Ich bin Bucky,” he finally continued the conversation. I’m Bucky. “Bleiben wir beim Du.” Let’s stay with the informal you.

Quietly you introduced your first name to him, and in turn, trying not to move his head while you were still wiping at the blood in his hair, he held out his right hand for you, glancing at you from under your hands.

For a moment you stared at his hand, wondering if he really expected you to shake it, the same way two new acquaintances would. Seeing the blue of his eyes made another shiver run down your spine, made the smell of your mother’s cheap perfume rise in your nose, made you wait for the press of cold metal against your head.

Pointedly you looked back to where you had been attempting to clean him up and grabbed his chin instead, tilting his head so you could clean the blood away from the side of his face. You knew he could pull away any moment, hell, you were standing to his left, one sweep of his arm and he could throw you across the room, probably kill you in the process. But instead, he let you tilt his head, let you use the disinfectant that had run down his face to scrub at the blood, his skin warm and soft, his stubble rough and prickly against the gauze in your fingers. His blue eyes turned away, focusing on a point in the distance.

For a while he let you scrub at him, before he suddenly spoke up again.

“I didn’t kill your father,” he whispered, making you halt for a moment.

Instead of answering, you just furrowed your brows, while continuing.

“You asked,” he explained his sudden statement. “Back in DC.”

“I know,” you answered, realizing your voice was quivering slightly as you did. Clearing your throat and taking another breath, you turned back to wiping the last remains of blood out of his beard. “He got shot by border patrol. He wasn’t important enough to be assassinated by the Winter Soldier.”

“I almost killed you. Twice.”

“Except you didn’t. You hesitated. Twice. Why?”

You didn’t get an answer, as Steve called for Bucky and you, and you let go of his chin, and stepped away, wondering if along with the feeling of a gun muzzle against your forehead, a metal hand around your arm and gravel underneath your knees, you’d now also associate the feeling of a stubbled chin in your hand with the sight of blue eyes.

-

It was a strange feeling. Since you had been five years old, you had dreaded the sight of blue eyes, and now you were sitting in a small hut in Africa, waiting desperately for the same blue eyes that had haunted your nightmares for over 25 years to open.

“He’ll be fine,” the comforting voice with the familiar Wakandan accent of Shuri assured you. Considering she was barely more than a child, you were concerned for yourself that you relied so heavily on her reassurance.

“For most of my life he was the personification of the absolute worst in my world and over the matter of a few days that view has been turned upside down,” you explained, furrowing your brows and wringing your hands in your lap, suppressing the need to reach out and weave your fingers through Bucky’s. After Shuri had eliminated the trigger words from Bucky’s mind, and Okoye had confirmed the procedures success, Shuri had made the offer of a second surgery: remove the brutally implanted metal plates HYDRA had fused with Bucky’s body and replace them with a better version, one that would not let him flinch in pain occasionally, when damaged nerves were firing. You had no idea how it was supposed to work, knowing the Wakandan technology was so far above your understanding of medicine that it would have taken you several years to even begin to understand how it worked, but what you gathered was that they had a way of connecting all the nerves in a way that perfectly mimicked a real arm.

Bucky had jumped at the idea so quickly, that it had almost been concerning, and had made you realise that even after you had shared a few longer talks with him by now, you still had not even the faintest understanding of how desperately he needed to get rid of any reminder of what HYDRA had done to him. He had declined the offer of a new arm though, saying he would only accept the offer if it was T’Challa’s wish for him to fight, something that had concerned you even more because in his mind it seemed like having two arms would make him feel like a weapon.

What had concerned you most though, was the way he had asked you to stay with him in Wakanda, right before he had been taken under before the first procedure. He had spoken to Steve, knowing his best friend had made himself an internationally wanted man for his sake, before his incredibly blue eyes had fixed on you.

“I have a request, which is too much to ask of anyone, but especially of you,” he had told you.

“Spuck's aus.” Spit it out.

A smile tucked at his lips, not the sad one he had shown while talking to Steve, explaining his decision. It was a rather amused one.

“Be here when I wake up.”

You had felt the way Steve had looked between the two of you, but you had just looked at Bucky, at the same blue eyes that had haunted you for decades in your nightmares. There was no plea, no submission, no expectation in his eyes, only the simple question. You bowed your head in response, a slow, wordles yes, and when Bucky had leant back in the capsule to be frozen again, he reached his hand out. Not for Steve, not for Shuri or T’Challa. For you. It wasn’t like that time you had cleaned him up only a few days ago, not a greeting. It was the hope for comfort. So you stepped forward, grabbed his hand and squeezed his fingers briefly before he let go, letting himself be taken under.

He had squeezed your fingers the same way before the second procedure. You still felt his warm, dry skin against yours, his bigger fingers closing against yours as if your hand alone had the power to evaporate his nerves. And now you wished you could feel their steady seeming warmth again. But he was still asleep, and you wouldn’t just take a sleeping person’s hand. Especially not without knowing what exactly he had been put through by the hands of HYDRA.

“When he’s up, make him drinks some water and if he’s in pain, call me,” Shuri asked, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“You’re not going to wait here until he’s awake,” you wondered, concern swinging in your voice.

“He’s in good hands,” she shrugged with a knowing glance, “and there were no complications, so I don’t think he’ll need medical attention.”

And with those words and a wink you were not sure how to understand, she saw herself out.

It only took a few more minutes, before Bucky begun stirring. His brows furrowed as if in discomfort, and his hand begun patting over the thin blanket that covered him up to the chin, as if searching for something.

“Bucky,” you tried biting back the smile, only half-successfully, as you scooted closer to him, but still not daring to take his hand.

He hummed affirmatively, furrowing his brows further before he blinked his eyes open, their blue striking even in the dim light of the hut.

“You’re here,” he whispered, his eyes ghosting over your face as he reached for your own hand, lacing his fingers between yours.

Your breath skipped at the action, but you just nodded and smiled.

“I promised you I would,” you told him.

“Did you?”

“You were asleep,” you explained. Indeed, after you were waiting for him to wake up after his first procedure, you had promised yourself more even than him to be there for all future procedures he would have to be put through.

Bucky scoffed, clearly amused, before he suddenly grew quiet, watching you carefully for a moment before he swallowed thickly.

“I know now,” he began, taking a deep breath. “I know now why the Soldat hesitated.”

Not having expected this sudden change in topic, you blinked surprised.  

“He couldn’t. In Berlin- you were a child, a little child. He… never killed a child. I think he physically couldn’t. I don’t know about DC, but maybe he recognized you. Maybe…” Bucky hesitated. “Maybe he remembered the one shot he couldn’t take and that made it impossible to do it then.”

“Do you… do you remember? Berlin and DC?”

Bucky sat up, running his hand over his face. “Not really. Not all of it. Bits and pieces here and there. But in DC, I remember thinking of Berlin, a memory I shouldn’t have had, and I remember being unable to pull that trigger. I’m glad I didn’t.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled, averting your eyes from where he sat, letting them wander over to the door and to the tree outside. The setting sun drew long shadows over the ground, and suddenly you had the distinct feeling, that the day was not the only thing ending.

“For what,” Bucky asked, and you could hear the furrow of his brows in his voice.

“For telling me. It helps.”

“It helps?”

You shook your head and sighed quietly before turning to look back at him. Meeting his eyes, you couldn’t help the shiver that ran down your spine at their cold blue.

“With processing everything. It was kind of… a lot.”

Bucky nods and suddenly you realized that only a few days had passed since he had been torn out of the quiet life he had built for himself in Bucharest.

“Can I ask you something?”

Over the past days, since Shuri had taken care of the trigger words, Bucky had often used this question to precede inquiries about SHIELD, Steve, the Avengers and everything else really. It always gave you the impression that it took him a certain amount of courage to ask, and you wondered if he would have felt the same hesitation if it had been Steve sitting next to him. You were little more than a stranger to him.

“Ask away,” you replied anyway, confused when he suddenly lowered his eyes.

“You flinch when you look at me.”

There was no hurt in his voice, no reproach. It was a simple observation, but one that made you feel guilty nonetheless.

For a moment you waited for the question, but when he did not ask it, you assumed the unspoken ‘why’ was what he had wanted to know.

“I can’t help it,” you answered slowly, watching as Bucky sat, hunched, and fiddled with the blanket in his lap. “It’s your eyes.” You could see how his gaze flickered over to you, from the corner of his eyes, but he did not turn to look at you fully. “They’re really all I remembered of you. Your eyes and your hand on my arm and the gun to my head. I haven’t- I’ve been struggling to meet people’s eyes since, especially when they’re as blue as yours.”

“You don’t struggle looking at Steve,” Bucky mumbled, and if you hadn’t known better, you would have assumed hurt.

“Different blue,” you shrugged.

For a while you sat in silence, not sure what to say. You wanted to ask about his shoulder, wanted to ask if he was in pain, but bit the question down with the same harshness, with which you pushed the thought away, that you wanted to see his eyes again.

But when he made no attempt to get up or look at you, and the shadows outside grew longer, turning blue, you finally called his name, quietly.

His eyes snapped up, and he moved his head a fraction, but stopped, not looking at you fully, not letting you see his eyes. He was trying to keep his eyes hidden to avoid scaring you, you realized with a pang in your chest, and suddenly you were reminded of all the things Steve had told you about his Bucky. How caring he had been, how considerate, how he had always done everything he could to accommodate Steve, even when it meant cutting back on his own fun, just to avoid Steve getting another asthma attack. The same man, who had been put through more than you could ever imagine, now avoided the impulse to look at your eyes, simply to lessen your discomfort around him.

“Bucky,” you said again, reaching out for him, before stopping. “Can I touch you?”

Bucky blinked; his eyes directed at the entrance to the hut. “You don’t have to ask.”

“Yes, yes I do.”

He took a moment to process your answer, before he nodded.

Slowly you reached out, taking his chin, and turning his head to you, similar to the way you had done after meeting him as Bucky for the first time. Except this time, you were more careful, didn’t grip his chin as tightly, weren’t as rough with him as you had been back then. His eyes flickered over the traditional Wakandan clothes you were wearing, a gift from Shuri, up to your chin, but then he cast them down again, not daring to meet yours.

“Bucky,” you called him again, and finally he looked at you, mere inches away from his face.

A shiver ran through you as you took in the clear blue of his eyes, the fine pattern of his irises. Memories of sensations flashed across your body, the smell of your mother’s perfume, the pressure of a metal hand around your arm, gravel underneath your knees, a gun pressing to your forehead. Warm skin and rough stubble under your fingertips, the scent of disinfectant. Only a few days had passed since this last memory, but his beard had grown in that time, no longer just stubble. The hair seemed softer now under your fingers, his skin just as soft, but the warmth that radiated from him seemed to have increased.

It hit you like a punch in the stomach when you realized that he let himself be at your complete mercy, was completely relaxed in your hand. He trusted you. You just weren’t sure why.

While you were wondering about these things, you couldn’t help noticing the shift in Bucky’s eyes. At first there had been insecurity, hesitancy when his eyes had met yours again, but then his expression changed, his brows drew together just slightly, and a feeling of regret swam in his eyes, as if he hated the part of himself that had scared you so badly, had haunted you since that November night in Berlin. No, he actually hated that part of himself, the part, HYDRA had turned into the Winter Soldier.

“I’ll get used to it,” you mumbled out, not sure who you were talking to, but Bucky seemed to understand that you were referring to his eyes.

He inhaled deeply, as if to say something, and opened his mouth before hesitating. It was this small gesture, that suddenly made you aware of how close you had lent in, only a few inches separating you now, bridged by your hand at his chin. It was a reflex, you told yourself later, not at all motivated by what Steve had told you about him before you had found out Bucky was still alive, not by what he had allowed you to observe about himself over the past days. But your eyes flickered down to his lips, just for a split second, the thought forming, that you could get used to this, his intense eyes focused on nothing but you, the strong, but calm presence of his body so close to you, his breath fanning over your face in an even pattern.

As quickly as possible you looked back up, but it had been enough for Bucky to notice, judging by the way his eyes softened, and the corner of his lips pulled upwards only the faintest bit. That evening, as the sun sunk behind the mountains, you let go of his chin as if you had been burnt, distracting yourself by starting to talk about dinner, but the damage had been inevitably done. Bucky had found something to hold onto, and as much as you tried denying it, so had you.

The moments of prolonged eye contact increased as the weeks passed, dragged out, let the memories of the gun against your head be overshadowed by the feeling of Wakandan summer heat on your skin, the sound of bleating goats and Bucky’s steady presence at your side. And when eventually he was the one to grab your chin, after you had averted your eyes after a particularly flirty comment of his, it was impossible to tell, who of you leant in first. All you knew was that the feeling of the cold Berlin autumn night and the gun against your head had irrevocably been replaced by the feeling of Bucky’s gentle touch against your skin whenever you saw his eyes.

[tinydefector]

IRON GIANT 3

Optimus prime x Human

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings; none

Optimus prime Masterlist

1

11

___________

It's a few days later and the child is once again sitting on Optimus' leg, a book in hand as they read Outlook to him. But commotion outside the barn catches both of them. "Look I told you I don't know, I haven't seen anything out of the ordinary, and I don't want you all scary my kid” their voice calls out from outside.

"Oppy, what's wrong?" the little one asks, sensing as keenly as any could the subtle shift in Optimus' posture at the commotion beyond sheltering walls. Optimus rumbles soft apology, lowering his helm and raising a gentle servo to offer comfort. "Do not fret, little one. Just your Par talking with people, but i must show caution." He states in reassurance, he carefully lifts the sparkling from perch on massively folded legs to cradle nestled against plating.

Transformation is quick, the little one giggles and laughs as they move around the cab of the truck, tiny hands clasp his seat in curiosity as they begin looking around grabbing at random parts. He turns his mirrors inward to make sure they are safe.

It's only a few minutes later that the doors to the barn are thrown open. Soldiers look around. The older human looks almost relieved to see Optimus hidden. The little child opens the door of the truck excitedly calling out. "Par!, Par Truck Truck goes vroooooom!"

The Soldiers continue checking things. "Come on baby let's get you down." They call out, holding their arms up to their child, small giggles come from them as they climb down into their parents arms watching the soldiers walk around. “Par, Army men!” They continue excitedly while watching them in awe.

The soldiers exchange apprehensive glances as the child's enthusiastic call draws their attention. One of the mne steps forward cautiously tapping knuckles gently against chipped red paint of the truck. “nice Peterbilt, used to have one like this back before I joined the army, trusty vehicles” he calls out.

“Ye was my father's, now it's kinda become a hobby project to fix up.” They state, trying to come up with a story without calling Optimus a He while talking. “Hopefully one day I'll get it back on the road, might even take Squirt here on a road trip” They continue while pulling their kids cheek.

It makes the man laugh as he walks closer. “Eh sounds like the life. truck got a name?” He asked and they have to stop themself but a little voice called out. “Oppy Truck!, Oppy Truck!” They state loudly. It makes the soldiers laugh at little one.

It nearly makes their parents' blood run cold and Optimus has to hold himself from panic too. “good kid you got there, Look after ya Poppy's truck then” he rumbled with a chuckle before another speaks up.

"All clear in here, sir. Just a kid's toy, and farm equipment." The voice carries an unspoken question - whether to continue disturbing what appears a scene of mere peace. Glancing between guardian and child now reunited in the doorway, another soldier relaxes stance minutely. "No signs of disturbance. Let's move out, give the family their day." boots scuffing straw.

"What is going on?. what is the army looking for all the way out here?" They ask while boosting their little one further up their hip. The soldiers share an uneasy look before themselves.

"Apologies for the disruption. We've been tracking movement in the woods, believed to be associated with...weapons trafficking. Just performing routine sweeps of outskirts as a precaution. No disrespect or disturbance meant to you or yours." A younger soldier speaks up tentatively. "We spotted unusual tracks, Still, people on edge after..." Her gaze falls realising he was giving information he shouldn't have been. "Just want folks safe, is all. You've a right to peace; we'll be gone soon and trouble you no more." As the other men begin to load up its the older man from before who had chatted about the truck. “Keep and eye or ear out, if you see any military jets overhead its best you get out of here” it's a vague warning but a warning none the less about something bigger going on.

They pull their child closer as they watch the soldiers pile back into the truck, many giving nods and glaces towards them as they drive off. They watched as the military Jeep and trucks slowly trek off the property. "Baby where's Optimus?" They ask their child, hoping It would calm their nerves by asking the silly question.

"Oppy!" The tiny one squeaks, twisting round in guardian's arms to peer back at the dishevelled peterbilt. Tiny hands point eagerly. "There, Par! Oppys! A Truck!" The excitement in their child's voice isn't lost on them.

His engine rumbles gently in response. Another sigh of relief leaves them as they press the side of their head against his door. "Are you alright, God I'm so sorry I didn't expect them and was hoping I was loud enough to give you a chance to hide" they are quiet for a moment. "They are looking for something, they weren't willing to say but they asked if I've seen any strange aircraft's, i think they are looking for someone like you"

A gentle exhale escapes vents, it was what he had feared, that others were about, and all he could hope it wasn't Decepticons out this way.

"If they seek me, I shall remain unseen. But your family's shelter comes first." They slowly slide down the wall, eyes lingering Optimus alt mode. Their child perks up. "Par, par Oppy is a truck, he turns into a truck! Isn't that cool!" They exclaimed while pointing to Optimus. "I can see that baby, he's very smart isn't he" they chuckle with a tired and worried smile. Optimus can see the worry etched in their face. “I won't let anything have too either of you” he calls out trying to reassure them. "I'm just worried, gut feeling that something bad is going to happen." They state.

His engine rumbled softly. "Troubled times stir troubled sparks," he rumbles mainly to himself, even in alt mode his attention was now on the skys.

Later that day Optimus still lingers in the barn, he had decided it was safer to stay there for now, but he remained vigilant watching both the child and their parent who was currently up a ladder, working on nailing some boards back down. "Par!, Oppy look!" The child calls out. It's Optimus who moves slightly, helm peeking out of the barn to see what they had. "Oppy, Oppy, look what I found!" the young sparkling calls excitedly, scurrying over with tiny palms outstretched. Nestled in their hands lies a cluster of strange objects smooth stones of varied hues, along with bits of coloured glass and ceramic smoothed by time.

Wide little eyes peer up at Optimus's faceplate, silently begging his praise on the tiny treasures collected. A gap-toothed smile spreads brightly. "Aren't they pretty?"

"Indeed, You have a keen eye for treasures." He states with a soft smile. “it's safe to come out if you want, I haven't seen anyone around since they left I'm sure your in the clear Optimus” they call out around the nails hanging out of their mouth. Optimus lets out a deep rumble noise as he slowly moves out of the barn, joints and gears creaking and screeching as he moves to stand outside. He watched his pede making sure that the little one wasn't at risk of being stepped on.

They had taken to playing across the yard with toys which makes Optimus vent out a sigh of relief as he moves to watch the older work. The cracking sound is what catches Optimus’ attention when the ladder gives out underneath them.

He moves around a speed he hadn't moved in a long time at the startled cry, powerful engines surging him into swift catch as the ladder hits the ground. "Careful now, I have you," Optimus rumbles, vocals soothing yet concerned as he over looks them. Ventilations exhale relief once he found no injuries. Optics crease warmly down at the human now gazing up, wide-eyed but unharmed. “are you alright, seems i caught you just in time”

Their eyes go wide as embarrassment takes over them. As their jaw drops a little. they hold onto his shoulder plating looking at him in shock. "I mean best rescuer I've ever had, I'd have to say my favourite set of red and blue" they state boldly, not thinking before they spoke.

Optimus rumbles a chuckle, warm field pulsing flattered amusement despite hint of embarrassment surfacing in his own modulated field. "Ah, you flatter me." massive digit lifts carefully to brush again their chin in gently. Optics crinkling warmly, he pauses for a moment, savouring the small moment "perhaps you should stay away from highest, we wouldn't want another fall"

His begins to lower them gently back to ground. As they are placed back down on the ground their legs wobble slightly. Optimus heads back over to the barn where their child continues to call out and ask him to play. They stand there stunned.

They had a thing for him. He was sweet, kind and he adored their child. They had a thing for an alien robot which could transform into a semi truck.

_____________

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[rahuratna]

Synopsis: Former adventurer turned farmer, Robinthorpe Frederick Harrishmuckle hadn't expected to be picked up by a mindflayer ship while tending his pumpkins.

Join Uncle Bob on his wholesome adventure to save Faerûn, as he protects Shadowheart on the beach, gives Lae'zel a good 'talking to', and discovers Astarion's thirsty secrets a lot earlier than the vampire spawn intended ...

(My Uncle Tav crack fic, inspired by this hilarious post. He's the Uncle the party never knew they needed.)

Genres: Humour, crack, fluff, angst.

Warnings: Bob.

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics

When she first regained consciousness, briefly, the sun was a furnace beyond the welcome barrier of her eyelids. Drifting back to the nebulous darkness had been a welcome respite.

The next time, she had been able to open her eyes fully. She was not certain how much time had passed since the Nautiloid had first ploughed through the landscape in a writhing mass of pulverized and scorched organic material, scattering them like chaff across the shore.

Lashes fluttering, she glanced up, a crease forming between her brows. Something was sheltering her from the worst of the heat. As her vision cleared, she made out a framework of branches, skillfully meshed together, and large flat leaves lying over the top.

Sitting up slowly, someone came into view, broad back facing her. Her hand snaked toward her weapon, taking in the short stature, the ring of hair around the shiny, bald top of his scalp.

In her weakened state, she must have made some kind of noise because the man shuffled around to face her, twine caught between his teeth.

Her voice was a hoarse croak.

"Who - what are you - "

"Oh heavens, dearie. You're awake."

He set aside the net he had been mending.

"And how are we feeling? How's the old bones? No aches and pains?"

She managed to pull herself into a sitting position, eyes widening when she registered the absence of the artifact in her hand.

"You ... what did you do with it? Where is it? The artifact?"

She managed to summon up the necessary force, her tone sharp and interrogative.

He gave a sunny smile in return.

"Ah, the thingamabob you were clutching? It's right there next to you. In the basket. Ya ... there, to your left ... there you go! I thought to put it away, safe like. Never know who might come along."

Hand scrabbling around until she felt it close over the reassuring sharp edges of the artifact, Shadowheart scowled.

"You mean someone like you?"

He laughed heartily, hands slapping down on his knees.

"I suppose ... ya. Like me. But where're my manners."

He extended a hand to her, which, against her better instincts, she took.

"Names Robinthorpe Frederick Harrishmuckle, third of that name on my father's side. You can call me Bob. Everyone does."

" ... everyone?"

"Oh, the nieces and nephews and the neighbours and the gardening club. To name a few. Just 'bout everyone in town knows me, even though I live up at the old farm. I sell courgettes and pumpkins every tenday."

"My name's Shadowheart."

"Is that so? Well, pleasure's mine, Miss Shadowheart."

"How did you end up on the mindflayer ship?"

"Oh? Is that what it was? Let me think."

He tugged at his mustache.

"So, 'fore that I was in the garden, just preparing a new plot for the herbs, like. And then I hear a big noise, like clap o' thunder over the hills. And I was mighty puzzled, 'cos I'm seein' no clouds, none at all. And I look over to Eddie and Maud's place, 'cos sometimes his barn door slams open and makes a thump. But I see none of that. And - "

Shadowheart shot him a look and he cleared his throat.

"But you want me to cut to the chase, if I'm not mistaken. So there I was, with my trusty hoe, Bernard in hand and - "

"Bernard?"

"My hoe. Bernard. He's a little rusty, but he gets the job done. And then this giant shadow falls over me, and I see some huge shape with a tentacle squirming down to me, and next thing, I'm in little pod and it's so tight, I tell you, I can hardly scratch my toe."

Shadowheart massaged at the growing headache she could feel coming on.

"You ... can still feel it, can't you? The tadpole they put in our heads?"

His mouth wrinkled in distaste.

"Oh, aye. Got one of them squigglers right here behind the eye. Reminds me of the time I was helping Tom birth a calf and I got a squirt of something right in the - "

"That's quite enough, thank you. Look, we need to do something about this. The tadpole won't wriggle it's way out. We need a healer before we turn into midflayers ourselves."

Bob raised a finger and got to his feet, hurrying over to small fire he'd started from the dry driftwood that littered the beach. He'd salvaged a helmet and used it as a pot, something simmering within.

"Now, finding a healer's all well and good, but we ain't getting far if we don't get some victuals in us."

"You ... cooked?"

"Oh, ya. Some clams and edible seaweed make a good boil up."

He offered her a steaming bowl fashioned from gleaming metal salvage.

"Careful now, it's hot."

Taking a sip, Shadowheart raised her eyebrows. This was ... good. Granted, eating something a stranger had prepared went against every honed instinct she had, but Bob seemed ... innocuous, she supposed.

He was now holding something up to her brow, squinting. She frowned.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Makin' a sunhat, dearie. Wife used to love 'em. All I've got is some old netting, but it'll do. Can't have the sun beatin' down on your head when you get out of this here shelter."

It was positively hideous. The ratty netting looked like it had been lying on the beach for a full year, but Shadowheart could see that it had been well washed and the skill that had gone into weaving it together.

He'd done all of this ... for her?

No. There had to be something more to this. Was he ingratiating himself with her because she was obviously a capable fighter?

Tilting her chin up, she considered him coldly.

"Why are you helping me? Do you think you'll get something out of it? I have no time to waste on stragglers, you know. I don't care what you've done. If you can't keep up, I'm leaving you behind."

To her surprise, he beamed back.

"Oho, is that so? Well, I'll have you know, Miss Shadowheart, that I used to be an adventurer back in the day. It'd take more than being kidnapped and thrown into the wilderness to get one over ol' Bob."

He tapped the side of his nose and winked. Shadowheart opened her mouth and closed it again.

"Now eat up, eat up. I've spied some ruins up ahead, and that's always the best place to find some salvage."

"You. Get me down from here."

Shadowheart grimaced.

She'd been hoping that they wouldn't run into the ferocious githyanki from the mindflayer ship again. She could only hope that Bob would exercise some common sense and leave her up there to -

"Oi! What's goin' on 'ere?"

The tieflings immediately readied their weapons, eyes taking in their small party.

Gale cleared his throat and glanced over at Bob, whose righteous anger had made his chest puff out like a short, elderly rooster.

"Perhaps we should approach this situation with some delicacy - "

Bob's finger shot out, so fast that the tieflings flinched and half-raised their bows.

"Now listen 'ere, you lot. You let that lass down this instant."

Shadowheart raised an eyebrow.

"Lass is a bit of a stretch, don't you think?"

Lae'zel hissed at her from within the cage, teeth bared.

The tieflings regained some of their righteous anger.

"Who are you? This is our quarry. The gith wandered right into our trap and some of her kin had a run in with one of our patrols. We aren't letting her go."

"The name's Robinthorpe Frederick Harrishmuckle, and I'm known 'round here as Bob."

Gale scratched at his beard.

"Well. That's sure to intimidate them."

Bob strode forward, ignoring the increasingly edgy looks from the tieflings.

"What's this cage in aid of then? Ain't you got better ways to face your enemies than lockin' 'em up like animals? I kept animals, over on the farm, Gods bless the poor dearies. Hope Maud's lookin' out for 'em. But that's beside the point! Don't put things in cages, mate. Shows how closed off your own thinkin' is."

Spreading her hands, one of the tieflings took a step forward.

"Are you out of your mind? Do you know anything about how dangerous gith are?"

"Well, if you both clear off, I'll find out for myself, thank you very much."

The tiefling's patrol partner eyed their group, then Lae'zel's cage warily. He'd evidently decided that taking her out would be too much trouble, because he nodded slowly and began to move away.

"On your own head be it."

"What?"

His partner glanced over at the cage, then back at him.

"We're just going to - "

"Nymessa. Come."

She gritted her teeth and followed him, not sparing them a second glance.

Lae'zel's voice carried over to where they stood.

"Now get me down from here imm- "

Bob whirled on her, the deadly pointing finger making a reappearance.

"And you, young lady. What d'you think you're doin' talking back to your captors like that? Have you any common sense? One well-placed arrow and you'd be a green splat on the bottom of that there cage."

Lae'zel's stared, reduced to shocked silence as Bob's tirade continued.

"I mean, you just ran off after the mindflayer ship. No note. No sign. Not a single mark on a damn tree to tell us where you'd gotten to. Do you have any idea how dangerous it is in these parts?"

Gale waved a hand, noting the building fury behind Lae'zel's gaze now that the surprise had worn off. She clutched the bars of the cage and shook them.

"You ... you dare to reprimand me? Lae'zel of crèche K'liir?"

"Well, good morrow to you, Lae'zel. Nice to finally have a name to put to the face. Now prepare yourself. We're going to take out the bottom of the cage."

Seething, Lae'zel hopped up and clung to the sides of the cage while Gale's well-aimed disintegration spell caused the bottom of her prison to drift to the ground in a fine, powdery mist.

Jumping down, she stalked over, slowing when Shadowheart stepped in front of Bob, mace at the ready.

"Take one step further, Gith - "

Lae'zel sneered, expression darkening as she glanced past Shadowheart.

"You can talk a fat lot, you shiny-pated ghaik fodder, but when I roast you over the flames of my wrath - "

Bob raised his hands.

"Now, now. We're all on the same side. I take it you're going to accompany us in the search for a healer?"

"You'll accompany me, Hornyshmuckle. I have knowledge of a - "

"Ahhh, that would be Harrishmuckle," corrected Gale, one finger raised.

Lae'zel shot him a stone-cold glare.

"As if I care."

"In this case, you rather should."

Shadowheart had been listening to Lae'zel, eyes narrowed.

"Oh, go on. Tell us why you become the self-appointed leader."

Lae'zel clicked her tongue.

"There is a purification facility at every githyanki crèche. That scout mentioned a patrol nearby. If that's the case, then there's bound to be a crèche somewhere in the region. If we find it, we'll be rid of these tadpoles."

Bob nodded slowly.

"That could be an option, for sure."

"It's our only option."

"Nevertheless, let's keep our minds open. I take it that we're traveling together from now on, Lae'zel?"

"As much as it pains me to say it, yes."

"Oh, it pains you," came Shadowheart's acidic reply, as she finally sheathed her mace.

Bob nudged her.

"Miss Shadowheart, try not to take it personal-like that she wanted to leave you behind on the mindflayer ship."

"Who wouldn't take that personally?"

Gale raised his hand.

"If survival were on the cards, I would hardly blame someone for choosing the safer option. The fastest way of getting out, unhindered."

"So we should have left you in that portal then?"

"I'm very grateful that you didn't, but you'd have been fully within your rights to do so," came the wizard's unerringly cheerful rejoinder.

"I'll keep that in mind, should you ever be stuck in another, Gale."

Bob chortled and slapped Gale's shoulder.

"Now, now, if we did that we wouldn't have an amazing cook on our hands. You're quite the master of stuffed mushrooms, lad."

Gale raised an eyebrow.

"One would hope that my skills with the Weave were more appreciated - "

Lae'zel snorted.

"So you're a wizard. However you look at it, you wouldn't last ten minutes in the deeper reaches of the astral planes."

"What makes you think that?"

"Your reedy arms."

Bob held out his short appendages.

"Oh, oh, what about me?"

"You'd probably be mistaken for a space hamster and roasted by a hungry patrol."

"Ha ha! A most terrible fate. Now, come warriors and wizards! We have a long journey ahead of us. Let's go by the beach. I saw a fella there who looked like he'd be mighty handy with a knife."

Astarion glanced up from his book, mouth automatically curving into an alluring smile.

"Ah, always a pleasure to see you sauntering - um. Trotting. Trotting over. You certainly don't saunter, darling."

Bob waved him off, holding out a bowl.

"Ain't sauntered a day in my life, son. Now, Gale and I have been cooking up one hell of a stew and - "

"Oh, how kind. Leave it here. I'll ... help myself later."

Bob set down his burden with care and Astarion froze, the tips of his fingers digging into the spine of the book.

The large bowl was full of blood. And it was fresh, by the smell of it.

Regaining his composure rapidly, Astarion's eyes shot over to the others before returning to the man squatting expectantly before him. 

"What's ... the meaning of this?"

The corners of Bob's eyes creased in sympathetic sorrow. He kept his voice low enough that nobody else would be able to listen in.

"I know what you are, Astarion. Ain't no use hidin' it. I told you I used to be an adventurer. Seen my fair share of vampire spawn. The teeth. The skin. The eyes. Those marks on your neck."

He gestured and Astarion sat bolt upright, hand rising to his collar. Bob shook his head.

"Look, I understand why you'd want to keep this under wraps. Won't say nothin' to the others, unless you want me to. But ... I gotta say, you're lookin' mighty peaky, boyo. Even for a vamp - "

Astarion surged forward, the dagger that was always on his person pressing with intent into Bob's cushioned abdomen.

"Don't move. I can gut you and escape in an instant."

Bob remained still as a stone, but there was no sign of real fear in his face. Astarion bit his lip.

"What do you intend to do with this information?"

"Nothin' at all. Look, we're all in a bit of a situation. Don't matter to me whether you're a vampire or a bleedin' harpy. Point is, we all need each other's help. You've been right handy with your bow and your lockpicks and thingamajigs. But you're ... starving. I can see it. Just drink the blood, there's a dearie. It's my blood."

The knife eased away from Bob's ample belly.

"Your blood?"

Holding up a hand wrapped neatly in a bandage, Bob nodded.

"Healing potion did most of the work for me. I can keep ya fed, is what I'm sayin'. No need to hunt boars and bears and such."

"You ... you knew about that?"

"'Course I did! They were showing up bloodless around camp, and how many pointy fanged fellas do we know, eh?"

Astarion scowled and retreated, crouching on his haunches. In spite of how fey and feral he seemed in that moment, there was an edge of vulnerability to his expression, a vaguely bruised look about the eyes and mouth. He reached up, brushing back his hair, taking a deep, steadying breath.

"And you'll let me decide ... when I want the others to know?"

"On my word."

Bob pushed the bowl towards Astarion.

"Now eat, there's a good lad."

He watched as the pale, clever fingers hesitantly closed around the curve of the bowl, smiling encouragingly as Astarion raised it to his nose and sniffed. It only took a moment for suspicion to be replaced with near-ravenous hunger and the elf took a sip, then drank deeply.

When he was finished, Astarion lowered the vessel and wiped off his mouth. He glanced over at Bob, shrewd and assessing.

"What do you want in return?"

"Pardon?"

Some of his old panache restored, Astarion laid back on his elbows, smile lazy and decidedly well-fed, an edge of something brittle beneath.

"Everyone wants something in return, darling. What is it you want? Gold? Sex? A handsome young thing to hang off your arm when you visit the tavern?"

Bob regarded him steadily for a minute before smiling, giving a small nod.

"Actually, there is something."

"Ha."

Astarion smirked, now on familiar ground.

"Well then? What would you have me do?"

"Well, for starters, you could help me darn my damn socks. Holes. Full of 'em. Everywhere. Wife used to help me with all that, but I never learned to do it quite like Winnie did. You seem right handy with a needle and thread, though."

Astarion gaped at him, poise quite forgotten.

"Excuse me? You want me to what?"

"Help me darn my - "

"Do you think that even one of these beautiful fingers is going anywhere near those moldy old foot coffins?"

"But you said - "

"I've seen your socks, Bob. I wouldn't touch them with Lae'zel's longsword, and I feel pity for poor Winnie who had no fucking choice, obviously. Gods below."

In his outrage, Astarion had risen to his feet, hands placed squarely on hips. He seethed down at Bob who hid his smile rather poorly, both hands raised in surrender.

"Fine, fine. Have it your way, then. I'll just bleed myself dry like a prize pig every other day to - "

"Did I say I wasn't going to give you something in return?"

"Oh? You are?"

Astarion waved a haughty hand.

"Socks are absolutely out of the question. But your clothes look like you've stolen them from a neighbourhood scarecrow."

"Hey now!"

"Shut up. I can embroider them, if you'd like. Nothing more, nothing less."

The switch in behaviour, from coy and alluring to bristly and sharp-tongued, would have had most baffled. Bob took it in his stride, noting that Astarion's posture and speech had taken on a far more authentic ring.

Nodding, satisfied, he rose.

"All right then. It's a deal."

The reply came as Bob turned to walk away, so soft, so weighted with years of disuse.

"Thank you. I won't forget this."

"No need, lad. No need."

Taglist: @radish-breath @fantasyheroine @roguishcat @clericblood @davenswitcher

[missmarveledsblog]

It's only pretend right? (Bucky barnes x Reader) part 9

Summary: Alexei learns his new child is not a morning person, Loki and Grandma butt heads, Tony and Kitty find she is not a one-trick pony, while Terror twin Emma does the unthinkable

Warnings: goofy Avengers crack mixed with some fluff and angst , written on my phone so might be some errors in grammer.

previous part

It’s honestly is like a cliche to say it started out as any other day although it wasn’t she still had hydra wanting her to pump an army out super soldier, she also was walking up to the man she been in love with since she met him all those years ago and now he was peppering her face with kiss with the smile on his face that could make a nun sin. What she didn’t account for was her bedroom door bursting open and her newly found birth father storming into the room .

“ what are your intentions with my daughter” .

“ what the actual fuck man out of my room “ she almost snarled .

“ i don’t have to tell you my intentions with anyone alexei “ bucky chuckled the famous grumpy kitty morning coming to affect.

Without warning she move her hand to the side of bed feeling the hilt and the blade skimming the mans neck before hitting the door frame .

“ GET OUT” She yelled.

“ good chat , us protection this one can get pregnant” was last fleeting words out of his mouth closing the door quickly only for a blade to stick in the door.

“ stupid midguardian we told you not to disturb y/n “ loki laughed heading down the hall .

“ she nicked you” nat looked over man with appraising eye before following after loki .

As alexei walked into the dinning room every one looking up at the man amused , beth handing him a napkin for his neck .

“ is she always … so violent in the morning?” he asked.

“ YES” everyone almost collectively deadpanned looking at the man ,

“ only man to ever be able to walk her in a good mood was our grandfather and now bucky “ jesse chuckled.

“ honestly about time” tony sighed happily .

“ she is so cute “ yelena smiled brightly.

“ you do realise she not a baby right ?” tony brows furrowed.

“ she is cute though” wanda laughed.

“ not in the mornings she is frightful little thing “ loki winced .

“ she is our baby sister “ yelena wrapped her arms around izzy and jack both different reactions , izzy like yelena thought she was badass in many way , so did jack but he was also terrified of her .

Not wanting to leave her room , the bed because it meant not being in this bubble . the way she was laying down looking up at the man that made sense of the strange world she was thrown into . the peace in the storm that kept her anchor , that made her forget about all the revelation of her life , of the sick and twisted plan of a monster wanting to hunt her down and everything in between and after . laying in bucky barnes arm was like a safe haven to forgot the twisted reality she was fought against .

“ penny for you thoughts there doll” jesus christ the rasp of this man voice could clear the core memories from her head and make her drooling idiot in one sentence.

“ it cute you think my thoughts would cost as much “ the pathetic attempt to compose herself must of worked making him laugh at the sentence .

“ i don't know who has more sarcasm you or stark” he shook his head leaning down to kiss her nose.

“ she does it why i like her so much plus she smart speaking off my little brainy science bro breakfast so we can get to work” the man himself stood at her bedroom door burst the little bubble of serenity making her pout and little whine slip her lips . “ i ain't leaving and i'll put my suit on til you run out of weapons” he called, making her sit up and glare at the man .

“ i quit “

“ You can't quit plus were family stuck with me ” he winked .

“ sentimental asshole” she groaned, only smiling when Bucky's hand was in hers, pulling her from the bed . They walked down the stairs to the dining room with her family ( avengers and everyone else ) and shield agents. Her mom , Izzy and wanda cooking away to feed everyone , a long list of groceries on the table while tonys black card sat on top .

“ so what's on the agenda today” she yawned .

“ to get the vines out again see more of these powers to come out “ tony smirked as the room went quiet. “ oh yeah we totally went away from that didn't we , she got like vines and shit coming from her wrist like the web fluid he shoot but it comes out of her body “ tony shrugged like it was nothing.

“ my daughter is not only a firefighter “ alexei beamed.

“ I wasn't a firefighter to begin with” she rolled her eyes as she was handed a cup of coffee.

“ She's like a bag of tricks “ Tony beamed . “ with boxes of trauma and that's from this week alone “ she copied him .

“ You are a warrior little one “ Thor raised his poptart . “ a goddess “ he added.

“ minor goddess “ loki rolled his eyes only for him to flinch .

“ there is only one god and that is our lord, “ her grandmother glared.

“ I am a god you …. OWW “ he yelped.

“ you are not our lord,” she snapped .

“ I Am you crazy mortal … madam stop pinching me “ loki winced .

“ brother respect the elder” thor frowned.

“ SHE IS DEMENTED” Loki yelled as everyone snickered handing money over to kitty. “ You little minx “ he huffed.

“ hey blasphemy is not welcome in our household “ she snorted .

“ ok that was amazing your funeral is on me lady “ Tony chuckled at everyones head snapped to him , even Alexei looked shocked . “ what oh get over it” he shook his head .

“ That woman's gonna outlive us all “ kitty's father whispered .

she sat in the jet little patches all over her skin connecting her to the computer. her vitals on screen , blood pressure and heartbeat all to the side and while on the other side was a little wavelength of her brain . This was nothing new Tony had done before when he wanted to gauge the strength of her ‘gift’ . Now it was gifts , the side of her that wanted to analyse it , the science bro part of her wanted to investigate it all . Then there was the other part of her nervous in various different ways . what if she couldn't do it , what if she did do it and could not control it , if she hurt one of her friends , her family.

“ kid relax” tony hand on her shoulder , one of the rare moments of his comforting touch that wasn't filled with sarcasm , it was just a sincere comforting tone .

“ what if i let everyone done or someone gets hurt” that raw concern , that fear as she looked up .

“ not gonna happen kiddo , it not in you to hurt and if you do it's in defense or to protect , now if this is too much we can do it another time ok no pressure” he patted her hand , holding it for a minute .

“ I can do it , I can this” the small smile on her lips.

“ ok but just tell me if it gets too much let me know” tony headed to the computer . “ Now deep breathe feel that feeling you did that night “ he called.

closing her eyes , she let that night come to her mind. that feeling of protecting her friend , the feeling of near entrapment . that surge of power coming throughout her body.

“ holy shit” that phrase had her eyes opening and widened as she looked around the now frost covered jet , thick icicles that held to the ceiling, Tony in his ironman suit .

“ did i do that ?” she gasped standing pulling the wires off of her . the computer screen looked no short of breaking with the pressure of the frost and ice in every crevice.

“ I think we can take a break now” Tony winced as he stood . “ Mind melting us out?”.

the familiar warmth coming over as she directed it to the door now water spilling to the floor. Pushing the door open she crouch her hand hovering over the water in curiosity like nature only for it to move , like it was following her every move that made her raise the palm making the water rise with it . she turned to see tony face filled with the same shock as she had .

“ Well that's … interesting?” his suit disappeared as his hand swiped through the water she seemingly held in mid air .

it was ridiculous her family was in danger because of the family pet freak. being basically trapped into a house. she was fed up and honestly over it all .What was worse, the freak had her family wrapped around her fingers . nah emma was done she needed to sort this , she needed to get out of this house . so with the fakest sincerity in her voice she offered to go to the store . Now she was picking up food waiting for a moment to make her escape , the plan deep in her head. least it even meant if she was able to do this properly she could even get her hands on Bucky , show him what it meant to be with a woman of standard . one that would improve his image and popularity. the perfect opportunity hit when the agents were looking the list checking and making sure they got what was needed so far. sneaking out of the store , she made her way down the street. running as fast as she could hiding in alleyways . The van pulled up as she ran and hid behind the dumpster, not that it helped when she was staring up at the barrel of a gun , the logo she's seen before . instead of being afraid she smiled , smiled widely and bright like all of her prayers were answered.

“ finally , ok put that down” she stood taking them by surprise. “ I can help you get her” she smirked.

“ and we should believe you, why ?” a man stood forward.

“ because i want her gone”

“ bring her to the boss” .

She, along with Bruce and Tony, stood around the computer in the makeshift lab . three grown adults like kids on Christmas as they reported the findings once the shock of it all wore off of course . animatedly tony narrated the video of her freezing the inside of the jet before she well broke it all and the video went blank . It was mesmerising seeing herself , her eyes closed and the ice glimmering til it was almost a blast , even how fast tony got into his suit made them laugh. Then one by one everyone came and looked at the video , all in amazement looking at the screen then she showed them her with the water , how she controlled it. How she manipulated and made the liquid bend and move to her will .

“ You are a surprising little one aren't you ?” Loki praised , a praise in his manner.

“ Thanks mischief , it's so strange though, like what the hell did they do to me or would I always be this way” she mused . “ i mean i have to train these new gifts but are they dangerous to me or will they benefit us” she yawned, feeling overly tired at the new strain on her body , the exhaustion hitting her.

“ hey kitty nap time go kid we can continue this when your awake” nat rubbed her shoulders , all concerned eyes on her before she could tell them she was fine she was over bucky's shoulder a tired “ ok fine” coming from her lips . he could sense her almost limp when he lifted her of his shoulder he laughed when he saw she was already asleep . lifting the blanket over as she nuzzled into the warmth living up to the nickname . adorable and beautiful all at once , surprising himself to feel that love for her grow even more . a kiss on her cheek , he reluctantly headed out of the room.

she wasn't scared maybe she should have been , but desperation wouldn't allow her to feel this way . This could solve all of her problems , got her what she wants . The main obstacle that was in her way and source of all of her problems was kitty. With kitty gone , well it meant getting the man she wanted , that in turn meant doors opening , opportunities arising . This fucked up mentality , the way she thought this would get her what she wanted and the only reason she didnt get this was her adopted cousin , who she didnt even see as family or deserving of it all . Emma complained about the hood on her head , making the hydra agents roll their eyes and even regret getting this chick . the boss told them not to bring harm to her even though they wanted to gag her and order was an order so they listened and led her to the base . Hood on her head she was brought to a mysterious building , down what she guessed was a hallway . She was brought and sat in a chair the stinking hood taken off . The room was dimmed . the darker side of the room she could see the outline of a man. He looked big , looked muscular almost her type squinting to try make out a face .

“ So you said you can help?” the rough rasp of a voice spoke up .

“ i can , i can get her to come to you “ Emma beamed .

“ why should i believe you what if this is a trap , what's stopping me from my agents blowing your brains out now” he laughed .

“ let's be real you guys are desperate and without my help your gonna get nowhere” she scoffed, rolling her eyes again making heads tilt and thought wondering if this chick understood where or who she was with .

“ how do propose your plan” he asked .

“ depends on what it get me can you assure me she wont be found again ? “ emma looked at her nail before looking to the dark figure.

“ you'll never see her again i assure you , now tell me your plan” his voice tensed up like he was losing his patience.

“ ok mr…”

“ Rumlow , Brock rumlow” he leaned forward a devilish grin on the heavily scarred face .

“ Well Rumlow, here's how we do it” she held her hand out he took it shaking, listening intently to the plan. A crooked smile taking over his features making his eyes light up.

“ your a twisted little thing we could use a woman like you” he laughed, shaking his head already tasting the victory .

“ hey if i cant model , I'll keep your business card” she rolled her eyes .

“ let get it done my evil new friend” Brock Rumlow stood handing her his phone watching in amusement at the oscar worthy performance. from the fake despair to even the fact sniffle and fear . to the fumbling of the phone and bang on the table . taking paper and pen she wrote out a response handing the phone to an agent to read it out as she shouted help. when the agent held out the phone putting it soeaker . this was anazing , the agreement and then the hanging up . now what emma failed to see was that hydra only looked out for hydra.

“ tale her to a cell” he clicked his finger making hee exoression fall .

“ wait im helping you “ she protested trying

to free from the grip.

“ abd you. did we'll find something else for you my dear “ he laughed as she yelled , kick and thrashed all the way out of the room and down the hall .

“ shame she had potential but she annoying as fuck” he chuckled watching the monitor , watching and waiting know everything was finally turning his way . “ Hail hydra “ .

next part

Taglist : @vicmc624 @babble28 @scott-loki-barnes @ozwriterchick @cjand10 @et-mberg

A.n: so sorry i have not updated this series in so long , been busy and was sick then my laptop broke but will make frequent update least once a week , thank you for your patience and for reading this series , just let me know if anyone would be like to be added to taglist ♥️

[crowsofdarkness]

Soldiers: Chapter Eight

-pic not mine. credit to owners-

Pairings: The Winter Soldier a.k.a Bucky Barnes x Hydra!Female Agent

Content Warnings: language, violence, mentions of murder, angst, and smut that will include oral with both female and male receiving, hand jobs, fingering, unprotected pinv, slight choking.

Summary: Voin and Soldat were Hydra's greatest weapons. As they become close, Voin is burdened by the weight of being the one who causes Soldat his worst pain.

Authors Note: this is a reader insert however the name "Voin" will be used a lot. It's her Hydra nickname, like Soldat. Now that I'm caught up, it may take some time for updates to come. This fic will eventually tie into The Winter Soldier movie. Tags are open!

Tags: @bookofriverr @that-blonde-girl @starfly-nicole @globetrotter28

Soldiers Masterlist

“Voin, did you hear what I just said?”

My eyes snapped up from the floor over to Ivan who sat behind his large desk, fingers steepled together. There was clear annoyance on his face because of his need to repeat himself. Quickly, I nodded.

“Yes. I'll unfreeze Soldat and prep him for the mission,” I said, doing my best to hide the waver in my voice.

Ivan gave me a once over before he nodded once, to dismiss me, and I wasted no time in scurrying out of his office and towards the laboratory. I had to take a few deep breaths to steady myself, knowing that this would be the first time I would not only see Soldat but talk to him in almost a month, since that night in my living quarters. Shortly after he left me standing there, naked and confused, Ivan thought Soldat needed to be put back into cryosleep since there was word of a metal-armed assassin being seen in Germany. Soldat needed to go into hiding until the rumors died down.

Could they be called rumors if it was true?

Now, almost a month later, I was ordered to wake him, erase his memories, then prep him for our upcoming mission. Ivan was sending us undercover a few towns over to kill someone that had wronged Hydra; someone that stole quite a few million dollars from Ivan. It didn’t seem as if this mission needed both Soldat and me, not that I was complaining about spending time with him but I practically had to force more information about this job out of Ivan.

“It seems a bit too easy. You say this guy is scum, a lowlife, why send two of your best assassins after him?” I had asked him.

Ivan pressed his tongue deep into the side of his cheek. “This low life is one of the most heavily guarded men in Russia. His father is the leader of one of the most feared mafia gangs. This kid won’t go anywhere without his guards.”

I raised a brow. “Are you afraid of some kid?”

Ivan’s eyes bore into mine. “This kid stole a million dollars from me, he’s smarter than he looks. I’m not going to send someone after him that will fuck it up. Soldat and you are the best.”

At first, I was annoyed that we were being sent on a mission to kill some kid but Ivan assured me that this thirty-something-year-old deserved to die. Not only because of him laundering money from Ivan but this kid had a very lengthy rap sheet that range from drugs to being caught trying to smuggle underage girls into Russia. But as angry as I was, I knew I needed to calm myself because this would not be an easy mission. One of Ivan’s grunts did some research to find out that our target will be at a theater show two nights from now, sitting in his father’s prepaid reserved box seat. This is one of the rare times the target will be away from his guards because he doesn’t want anyone to know he indulges in theater.

Something about being the son of one of the most feared mafia bosses doesn’t allow you to enjoy the finer things in life.

As my footsteps echoed loudly in the laboratory, I gave a tight smile to the doctors that littered against the far side of the wall almost as if they feared me; they did but as long as they stayed on my good side, none of them would turn to dust.

“Voin,” one doctor nodded. “I can assure you, there have been no changes since you were here last night. Soldat is sleeping soundly.”

I knew that, I could hear his heartbeat throughout the compound. It lulled me to sleep every night for the last month.

“Ivan sent me to wake Soldat.”

I didn’t bother giving him any more of my attention. It was all on Soldat who was a few feet in front of me, cold dead eyes peering through the frost on the door of the chamber. I had only seen him like this twice now but it still burned deep into my heart. He was innocent in all of this; he had no say in the choices that were made for him.

Neither did I but I came to terms a long time ago that my say in anything about me ceased the second I asked Johann Schmitt to take me in.

My ears tingled as I heard the hushed conversations from the guards that were posted to watch the room.

“Do you think she’ll erase his memories?”

“She hasn’t used her powers in weeks, she’ll end up killing Soldat. Ivan is wasting his time on her. He should have killed her the second Soldat became who he was.”

Anger radiated off of me which caused sparks to shoot from my fingertips. The electricity burned with a hum around the room as I peered over to my shoulder towards the two guards, lips turning up in a sneer.

“It’s like you idiots forget I have super hearing,” I spat.

Suddenly, Ivan’s presence was felt behind me, and with a low growl, I let the electricity fade from my fingers before typing in the familiar code to finally wake Soldat. The cold air wrapped around me like a vice once the door opened and on my own I stepped up to Soldat, letting his body fall into me as I carried his limp body over to the chair in the middle of the room. This whole scene was becoming familiar and as much as I hated it, I didn’t have a choice. Even before Schmitt died and Zola was captured, they made sure I understood that if I didn’t comply with any orders, not only would I die, so would Soldat. Immortality meant nothing to them apparently, but they still liked to threaten me with it.

Soldat woke, slowly, and when I sat him gently into the chair, he let out a soft grunt.

“Does he need to be controlled?” Ivan asked me.

I shrugged. “I don’t think it’s necessary.”

He mewled over my words for a long moment before nodding. “Take the book with you in case.”

My eyes darted over to the red leather-bound book, the black star mocking me, and gave my curt nod back to Ivan.

“Wipe him then prep him for the mission,” Ivan ordered.

Biting my tongue, I took the familiar position of standing behind Soldat then let the electricity return to my fingers. Soldat was still in a groggy state, not quite realizing what was about to happen. With my eyes closed, I let out a deep breath to center myself mentally. I needed Ivan and everyone else to think I was erasing all of Soldat’s memories but I was only going to erase previous missions. All of his memories of me will stay intact including the night that he appeared in my living quarters after my bath. And the way he made me fall apart for him, spilling my arousal all over his thick thigh.

Heat flushed my cheeks but did my best to make sure no one noticed.

Soldat’s screams echoed loudly in the laboratory as the electricity from my fingers dug deep into his head. He writhed underneath my touch and I could hear his teeth grinding together with the sheer pain I was putting him through. I had done this many, many, times and it never got easier. Knowing that I was the reason for his pain broke me little by little.

Once the surrounding room was filled with silence, it was then that I pulled my hands away before slowly stepping around Soldat, looking into his deep, colorless eyes.

“Soldat?” I asked.

“Ya gotov otvechat.”

Ready to comply.

The motel reeked of overuse of cleaning chemicals and stale sheets but I couldn’t complain too much. We needed to stay at this type of motel to lie low and go unnoticed. Soldat followed closely behind, the heat from him engulfing me. Neither of us said a word the entire two-hour drive even though I was clutching onto him as he sped his way through the night streets on his motorcycle. The guy at the front desk didn’t bother looking away from his book when I asked for a room, he simply tossed the key onto the desk.

Coming to a halt in front of the door, I looked over to Soldat. “Were we followed?”

I knew the answer but still wanted to ask, just to make sure.

He shook his head.

I waited for a few more beats, wondering if he would say something else, but when he remained silent, I let out a soft breath and led us into the room. It matched the design of the hallway to a T. Peeling wallpaper, stained carpet that was from either blood or other bodily fluids, and cracks in the window. Thankfully, the sheets and blanket on the bed looked washed, even recently.

Bed. As in one. The only place to sit or sleep in the entire room.

“Fuck,” I cursed under my breath.

I had told the guy at the front desk that we needed two beds but clearly; he didn’t give a fuck. Yes, Soldat and I had shared a room the handful of times we went out of town for missions but always there were two beds. Not like we both would be asleep at the same time. Soldat usually took watch majority of the missions while I slept. Even though I erased his memories, it’s like he knew he could rest during his next cryosleep.

“What is it?” Soldat questioned, his warm presence once again felt behind me.

“Nothing,” I shook my head.

There was no need to bother him with my internal despair. I was expecting him to toss his bag onto the bed, ready to take watch, so it surprised me when I felt cool metal fingers graze up and down my back. My body shivered underneath his touch and when his warm breath fanned across the nape of my neck, my eyes fluttered shut.

“Last night,” Soldat began.

With a raised brow, I turned to face him. “Last night?”

“Did you enjoy it?”

Suddenly, I realized that he still thought that night between us was last night and not almost a month ago. To him, time doesn’t pass while he sleeps. But to me? It’s the longest passing of time I’ve ever felt. His absence brings a dull ache within me.

Instead of correcting him, I simply nodded my head.

“Yes,” my voice was just above a whisper.

The air around us became thick, encasing us in a cloud of desire, and Soldat’s hands gripped my hips while his lips grazed over the shell of my ear.

“Why didn’t you stay?” I asked, my hands spread across his chest.

With our mission, we decided to blend in with the crowd tonight and not wear our tac suits. Soldat was wearing a pair of black slacks and a black T-shirt. I could feel the warmth radiating off of him underneath my hands.

It killed me not knowing why he didn’t stay longer than night. Was it something I said or did? I replayed that night over and over in my mind trying to figure out what I did wrong.

Underneath my hands, I felt his body stiffen and I could almost see the walls going up in his mind so I dragged my hands down his chest before wrapping around his back. Soldat’s breath hitched when I softly pressed my hips into his. His metal fingers gripped my hip while his flesh fingers dug into my scalp and pulled my head back so I looked up at him at an angle.

“Yesli by ya ostalsya s toboy, ya by nikogda ne pozvolil tebe uyti.”

The Russian words brought chills throughout my entire body, and a quiet whimper fell from my lips. I almost couldn’t handle the intensity that burned from his gaze and I let my eyes fall to his lips. Soldat’s grip was still tight on my hair so even if I wanted to step away to put some space between us, I couldn’t.

Not like I was going to.

“Soldat,” I breathed.

However, all of my breath was knocked out of me when he pushed me up against the wall, his grip on my hair never faltering while his metal fingers grazed over the flesh of my stomach which was visible thanks to my shirt riding up a bit.

“Krasivyy,” Soldat mused while he looked over every inch of my face.

Usually, I never faltered or melted in front of anyone, especially a man but there was something about Soldat that made me want to get on my knees and submit to him.

I let out a quiet hiss of relief when his tight grip on my hair left, his flesh fingers now lifting my chin. I brought my bottom lip between my teeth and dug my teeth into it, the desire to finally kiss Soldat digging deep into my bones. His hips pressed into my heated core and I couldn’t stop the moan that fell from my lips. My nails scratched at the skin of his lower back and brought his hips into me once more. A low growl erupted from Soldat which only fueled my desire. I felt the outline of his semi-hard cock press against the inside of my thigh but it wasn’t enough. I needed more.

I exposed the skin of my neck to him and Soldat wasted no time, his teeth and tongue tasting every inch. My hands were running through his hair, scratching nails at his scalp before dragging down his large chest and stomach.

“Voin.”

My name, well nickname, was moaned into my skin when I grazed my hand over his cock before squeezing it.

Suddenly, the phone in the hotel room rang, echoing loudly against the walls. It made the both of us break away from each other, both standing tall and stiff. The phone only rang twice which was the way to tell us it was time.

Our target was at the theater and we needed to get there as soon as possible.

Breathless, I adjusted my clothes while Soldat stood still, unmoving. His hair was disheveled and his dick was still hard under his pants. It was scary how fast he switched back to the soldier.

“Soldat?” I asked.

“Ya gotov otvechat.”

The large room where the show was being held was crowded, with large groups of people trying to find their seats, and with a gloved hand linked in mine, I led Soldat to our seats that were six rows away from the stage, directly in the middle. My heels clicked along the tile floor while the fabric of my dress clung to my body. The cold air brushed against the skin of my exposed back but the heat radiating from Soldat quickly replaced it. He was close behind me, not allowing more than two inches of space between us.

After we received our message from Ivan, Soldat and I rushed quickly to get ready, afraid that if we were even two minutes later, our mission wouldn’t be completed. To get this done with no one batting an eye at us, we needed to blend in. So I was dressed in a floor-length black dress with a plunging neckline and an open back while Soldat wore a black suit, and a white dress shirt underneath. He had a glove over his left hand to hide the metal fingers. It was weird seeing him like this, so normal and not dressed like an assassin, but I liked it. What I loved about the way he looked right now was his long locks were pulled back into a low bun.

My heart skipped a beat when I remembered earlier in the motel room where he allowed me to kneel behind him while he sat on the edge of the bed and I brushed his hair back out of his face.

“Feels nice,” he muttered.

Finally finding seats, the both of us sat down while our eyes scanned our surroundings.

“Any sight of him?” I asked.

Soldat peered over my shoulder and then gave one short nod. “His box is three rows behind, up towards the left.”

I didn’t follow his gaze.

“Anyone with him?” I questioned.

“A server bringing drinks and one woman.”

This made my brow raise in confusion. Ivan mentioned nothing about there being someone with our target tonight. He was supposed to be alone.

I hummed in response while settling into my seat when the lights went out; the show getting ready to start. My mind was swirling with a new plan, one where we could take both our target and his date out without being seen. Our current plan was I would flirt my way into his box, where I would distract him as Soldat snuck up behind him to snap his neck. Quick and quiet.

I wasn’t thrilled that I would be used as a toy to distract the target because that’s not what I signed up for when I became Voin. But now, there was an extra person to take out, and I felt a small smile pulling at my lips knowing that I wouldn’t only be used as an object tonight.

Soldat was watching me with a soft gaze as I snaked my fingers behind his neck to play with the few loose strands of hair there and leaned in closer to his ear. To the others around us, it looked like a domestic action between two people in love.

“The mission remains the same, only now you deal with him while I get her,” my breath was warm as I spoke against his neck.

Soldat’s body shivered for a quick second before he nodded and we turned our attention to the stage when the show finally started. My hand stayed at the nape of his neck while his gloved hand rested against my thigh, so close to the knife I had strapped underneath my dress. I did my best to keep my mind only on the mission and not the way Soldat’s fingers slowly slipped through the slit of my dress and then dragged up between my legs towards my core. The cool leather of his glove was a striking contrast to the warmth I felt pooling between me. Even though there were people around us, it was still dark enough that no one knew what was happening unless they were directly staring at us.

His name came out in a breath when one of his fingers slipped underneath the fabric of my panties, ghosting over my folds.

“Ochen' vlazhnyy,” Soldat whispered in my ear.

He pressed a finger into me without hesitation pumping it a few times before sliding in another. I let my eyes shut slowly, biting the inside of my cheek so a moan would pass through. Soldat worked his fingers hard, deep, and fast. I was still so wound up from our time in the motel room, not being able to stop thinking about how good his dick felt pressed up against me. I was already so close. The leather added another kind of sensation and when the pad of his thumb began circling my clit, my body tensed for a moment before sheer ecstasy crashed through me like a wave. I grabbed his hand, pressing it harder against my throbbing pussy so I could ride out the rest of my orgasm for a few more seconds.

There were many times that I pleasured myself when I was alone at the compound but none of those orgasms wrecked me as much as this one had. And Soldat only used his fingers.

Breathless, I opened my eyes slowly and noticed that his gaze was trained hard ahead of him, watching the show intently.

“The server has left the box, now’s the time.”

The thickness of his voice told me that my coming undone from his fingers had affected him the same way it had me.

With a nod, I slowly rose from my seat and adjusted my dress before squeezing my way past the people beside me who had no idea what Soldat just did to me in the dark.

[kit-williams]

Chaos Tulio: Superbeast

This is a Loyalty swap for Tulio. Not based off of any fan heresies a lot more work goes into those and I'm not willing to build from the ground up an alternate Horus Heresy. However all of the boys (Except Tyberos and other actual 40k characters) will be getting a Loyalty swap. There will also be a "Falling to Chaos" version for the Loyalists and (tentatively) a "Rising to Redemption" for the Traitors.

Also Psychi in this story has descriptions due to the more... graphic nature of this one to lessen any ick someone might feel about a reader insert

Word count: 3542

Tag List @bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts

@liar-anubiass-blog @thevoidscreams @barn-anon @sculptorofcrimson

Thank you to @squishyowl for the dividers

tw: sex ahoy, dubious consent, will also tag as noncon as well, yandere, Tulio is his own warning

Readers Discretion is Advised

The traitor realm of Ultramar was the largest holding of traitors outside of the eye of terror. Controlled by the fallen Primarch Robute Guilliman; it fell overnight following the charismatic leader that was the primarch of the 13th legion. The realm was a beautiful hell... a hell where they knew exactly how much worth you had in you the moment you were brought into their clutches. For a thing of Chaos... even the Chaos was calculated and planned for... for the Primarch hated surprises.

Tyranids were a surprise that the Lord of Ultramar despised and thus he dedicated several thousand of his sons to dealing with it and the profane rituals to insure that they could protect the realm of Ultramar. Profane rituals blessed these sons of Ultramar as to defeat their seemingly endless xenos foe... they chose to become like their foes. To become the beasts.

Lieutenant Tulio Sydo had secured a large victory for his Primarch, at the cost of thousands of his men, a few warp drives, and his fellow Lieutenant... the Hive Fleet barreling towards Macragge was no more... the splinters of the hive fleet would be hunted down but for now he was told to recuperate... to relax... to partake in revelry... as his worship of the four was far too lopsided according to the chaplain... the youngest deserved his worship.

The room smelt of sweat and sex as concubines bodies moved against mutated flesh. The four armed and eight eyed Lieutenant was watching the depravity... they couldn't be too rough given theses were the modified concubines... surely someone's seed would take. His lounged as his digigrade legs were spread open, his cheek rested on one of his hands, another held a goblet of wine, a third resting near a weapon, and his fourth hand laced through the blonde hair of his once favorite concubine as she took his cock in her mouth. He was fused to his armor in certain locations... his thighs, the tops of his hands and arms, and from the nose up was now twisted with a large singular horn coming from his forehead.

He could smell her... his black tongue lazily swiped over his needle like teeth. His eyes closer to the back of his head could watch her... his Psychoula. Comparing her to the concubines they looked far prettier... healthier... with a glow to their skin. His eyes darted to the symbol of the Prince on his former favorite's tongue just working her best to please him. Psychi feared him... he could see it in the way tears gathered in the corners of her eyes... those plain brown things. How thin her dirty brown hair was but oh what a rich chocolate brown it could be when cleaned. He had the pleasure of seeing her look good once... once again when his favorite was failing to make him feel alive.

Slaanesh wasn't his favorite of the four... Khorne was his main patron and it was hard to drag him back to the center of worship that being so high up in his father's good graces required. So Tulio had to... excessively indulge in Slaanesh to balance out his souls humors. Yet this... neglected looking thing drove him to feel such licentiousness desires. His eyes, the ones that could see her, focused on her as he churned his hips. Hand gripping the hair tighter as he closed those still green eyes of his just picturing those sad looking brown ones looking up at him.

He grew to dislike his erstwhile concubine when she had caught sight of her, of course ignorant of his interest in the feeble little thing, and simply upturned her nose to the poor little thing. But, her mouth was a good replacement until he could get those pale lips to wrap around his own cock one day soon. Oh yes orgy first then rewards for his men as they had all chosen their desired pitiful creature to have as theirs and theirs alone and he could tell they all were watching, or trying to not watch, nervously. He sees her tense as he catches her eyes dart over and notice how he looks at her and what is going on between his legs. Tulio can't help but grin as he lets out a groan letting the whore between his legs drink it up.

"Brother Cyrus." Tulio started as he was being cleaned off. His second also appeared to be boredly watching the festivities but really Tulio knew his eyes were focused on some one armed black haired waif. Such a tiny looking frail thing... Tulio might have been tempted to lust over such a cute looking thing but his Psychi caught his eyes first.

"Yes Lieutenant?" He replied with a bored sigh.

"You want a go at this?" He gestures to the concubine in his lap who looks at him confused. Cyrus looked over clearly uninterested before Tulio purred out, "Might make sure you don't... break your little waif... if you get some of that eager passion out. Whole point of this orgy really... don't need any of my closest men sobbing about breaking their new toy."

They ignored the concubine trying to get an answer to beg for her master's affection and Tulio could have ignored her but he looked down at her boredly, "You were always on loan to me my dear. I just tend to get possessive of my things." He says grabbing her chin and pushing her lips together, "However, I'm about to get a tight new toy..." He says before brother Cyrus grabs her and drags her into a side room.

The wine ran down his throat so smoothly cleaning away the acidic feeling from gorging himself earlier. He looked at the empty goblet holding it to the side and just gently rolling his hand as he watched his timid little Psychoula come over to fill the glass. Her cheeks flushed from the debased acts and the pleasured moans... perhaps glances from the women to entice them to join in and enjoy.

"What do think about this my dear?" He trilled to her watching confusion crawl across her pretty face slowly like a body divided below the waist... refusing to die and dragging it out like intestines across the ground.

He watched her mouth open slightly a few time as her eyes darted around trying hard to look away but knowing that she had to maintain eye contact with him. "I... I... its... it's not exactly... my first choice?" She tried her best not to stutter and if it was anyone else he would be offended at the lack of respect given to him. Tulio knows he'll teach her better manners she's just not use to his divinely gifted aura yet. Few mortals could manage to not be intimidated or struck with fear the first few times meeting him.

"Oh?" He cooed to her moving to him now lounging on his side giving her his attention. The saliva clinging to his cock has dried off and he was eager to replace it with something else. One of his hands began a languid stroke, "What brings you such hesitations Psychoula?" Tulio did his best not to have a predatory grin as he could see the other rewards looking at her with pity and fear as they tried to ignore the mewling and moaning throng in the center of the room.

His eyes dilated for a moment watching her pink little tongue wet her dried and chapped lips. His eyes wandered down to the front of her stolla where the fabric revealed the tattooed symbol of the Ultramarine's on her collarbone like all slaves. "It... it looks rather violent." She just says uncomfortably, he could tell she wanted to beg to be dismissed but she was trapped.

"Oh it is. But," He pauses taking a drink, "they are modified to handle such carnal appetites. Only the prettiest things can become like them..." Tulio leans in watching her start to shake but like a good girl she doesn't move, "I think you're pretty enough to become one." He whispers into her ear pulling back to watch her stiffen with fear. Those tears gathering in the corners of her eyes as she whimpers just biting on her bottom lip resisting the urge to beg for mercy.

Tulio stops playing with himself and sets his goblet down as his clawed hands grab her feeling the barest of resistance as he pulls her into his lap. This lower set of arms pulls on the low quality fabric apart causing her to start crying as everything below her waist was now revealed... he could feel how boney she was. One upper hand retrieved his gobelt... the other upper hand worked on throwing the last bits of her ruined stolla away... one lower arm was groping her ass, his cock twitching with excitement, as his other worked her breasts.

"You're so small zoi mou." He stated as her breasts were small from lack of food... lack of nutrition... oh they wouldn't do. Two of his hands rushed down and grabbed her ass with a smack causing her to yelp as he felt up the slightly boney thing, his cock leaking again with excitement at her being in his grasp and his hands felt up her body. "This won't do at all." He said tutting softly as he grabbed her chin. He loved to watch her cry... it stirred something noble feeling in his chest. She was a soft and frail thing that needed someone to protect her and he was going to be that one to do so.

"You'll fatten up soon enough and have breasts as enviable as any of the other concubines getting ravaged here." He made her look at one of the women face down on the floor with a pleasured look on her face as cum oozed down her thighs while one of the battle brothers was roughly rutting with her. She was too speechless only making whines of pleasure... he could smell the shameful arousal from Psychi... "Fat breasts for me to grope and hold," he whispers in her ear, "fattened hips for me to grab and feel my balls clap against." He turned to have her look at him, "You want to be in that position, dont you?"

He watched her shake her head and just chuckled, "I can smell you." He poked her nose like some amused child and not a being of twisted transhuman dread and the simple dread of the profane gifts he has gotten. He pushes her against his cock and she jerks in his grip.

"Please you're too big my lord please! Mercy!" She finally sobs and Tulio shivers, one of his hands gathering up his cum on some fingers.

"Hmm you're right... how about we change that." He leans her back slightly pouring the far too rich wine into her mouth. She lets out a sputtering noise as his cum covered finger pushed into her. She pushed the goblet away and coughed as the red wine stained her skin and wetting her hair as Tulio worked his finger in and out of her at a fast beat smearing just a light coating of his thick cum into her unprepared sex.

She felt her body relax and react to the way his finger moved in and out of her quickly and filled her with a thickness akin to a cock. Tulio's barbed tail twisted and coiled around itself in its own way to express its master's twisted glee. "Yes," he dulcetly crooned, "be a good girl and relax for me." A clawed hand moved over her stomach... claws gently tapping against those visible lower ribs of hers. Tulio loved the way she cried... the pitiful expression she wore just stroked something in him. Tulio felt that same sentimental twinge itch in the back of his mind... was this what loyalists felt over their charges?

He drags out a gasping moan as his index joins his middle finger. He pulls her dirty hair free of the frazzled braid and watches it spool out over the lounging chair. His eyes all focus on her... drinking in the full picture of her pleasure... his hands dance over her body. He held a memory covetously close to his wicked hearts... having seen her smile. Having seen her express a pure spark of joy even in hell. Her smile made such a frail looking creature like herself look radiant and glowing.

She whimpered under his ministrations as she writhed on the large lounging chair unable to stop squirming. Her eyes screwed shut as she was torturously close... Tulio leaned in as his long thin black tongue glided out of his mouth like some predatory beast and it moved into her... finding her clitoris... she squealed as she orgasamed and she tasted like he was expecting... unhealthily... but he wasn't a fully selfish lover... she'd taste like dark chocolate to him one day... that delightful bitter and salty combination mixed with an essence uniquely her's.

He knows she should have asked if there was anything else he needed... but his answer would have been a yes. His hooves touched the stone floor as he grabbed her by her upper arm and dragged her to another room, her legs seemingly failing her. She caught those pitying looks from the others but they would soon have to worry once the concubines were sent away with cum filled cunts. The sexual frenzy of his brothers would end soon... but he was going to indulge in his reward first.

Pressing her hands against the wall in the second room he rocks his cock against her back as he takes his time letting his eyes meander and wander over her body... again far too thin for his liking... he'd find out what fruits and sweets she'd like and help her indulge... oh he certainly was feeling the high that others got from the Prince of Pleasure. She was surly placed in his path by him to keep Tulio from giving it all to Khorne... just as the Weaver of Fate kept his mind sharp... and the loving Grandfather kept him hearty and hale... he would return to balance with his now continued indulgence of his dear Psychoula.

He tossed the empty metal goblet away as all of his hands moved over her body, two hands grabbing and squeezing her breasts on the edge of being too much for her body he could feel her try to flinch away but she was very much well trained... hardly flinching away at all. "I'll enjoy breaking you in... have you begging for my cock again."

She whimpered choosing to remain silent... Tulio clicked his tongue feeling a bit ignored. The way her eyes widened in horror as his palm talon shot out and punched a hole into the metal wall. How her body trembled against his as Tulio leaned in whispering, "I expect you to answer when I tell you something zoi mou. I'm being oh so very nice," He hissed into the shell of her ear, his hands on her breasts shifting to let his nails dig into her oh so frail flesh... "I could rip your flesh right off your body." That got a sob out of her, "Answer honestly my dear..."

He savored with sick delight as her mouth opened and closed as tears were flowing down her cheeks like rain. "Please just don't make it painful." She managed to squeak out of her without sobbing.

"Awww, zoi mou, is that what you're worried about?" He said grabbing her chin and having her look up at him. Of course, she'd be pain adverse for their first time together... perhaps they would work up to that... or not... Tulio just wanted her to be begging for his cock. To see her smile at him with a coy lustful grin in his bed as she wiggled her ass and bare sex to him just wanting to fill her. "I will do my best to make this a moment you want again." He kissed her temple.

She could feel the pointed head of his cock force its way between her prepared folds... it started out thin but got thicker towards the base. She pressed her forehead against the wall, forced to the tips of her toes as Tulio sunk inch after inch into her. Tulio on the other was clenching his jaw trying his best to not just break her and rip her apart for his first time with her. He had to be gentle...

His eyes snapped open, he didn't realize he closed them all, he licked the inside of his mouth as he adjusted his hips and began the slow thrust in and out of her divine sex. It's how he didn't burn himself out... he savored each time he had sex keeping them far enough apart that it made it feel so wonderful and new... he probably would be indulging so much more often if this is what was waiting for him.

Psychi whimpered as he picked her up, hands still on her breasts on the edge of being so painful. The way he wrapped his arms around her... she could feel him starting to squeeze... more and more. Her moans became less and less sure as the distraction of the sex was waning and the impending dread returned.

Tulio tilted her back and started to squeeze causing her to thrash around him, her walls fluttering around his cock causing him to groan as those tears rolled down her cheeks, "Lord Sydo! Lord Sydo please!" She screamed fearfully as she has seen what an Astartes can do to normal human flesh...

"Tulio." He hissed, "Call me Tulio... moan that out for me!"

"Tulio! Tulio!" She screams trying to moan but she just sobs as she can feel the pressure against her body... she was going to die.

"You say my name so sonorously how I am compelled to listen." He trills to her before tossing her naked body onto the bed in the room . He watches her try to recover but he is upon her swiftly and he plunged his cock back deep into her as once again she feels it dance on the edge of painful but Psychi can't help but moan slightly.

Tulio has been a kind lover... as he is certain she has orgasmed at least 4 times since he started giving her attention. The soft whimpers as his cock gently grinds against her cervix... perhaps he lied a little promising that this time wouldn't hurt... it would hurt a bit... one of his upper arms traps her in a headlock, he watches those eyes look at him with fear.

He promises zoi mou! Just let him breed you right now! You will come to love this! He thinks deliriously as his body suddenly floods with the right cocktail of chemicals and neurons firing. The tip of his cock pushes against the very back of her being... Psychi feels something move inside of her before she feel the pressure and she starts to just scream as it hurts. She claws at those ceremite ridges on his arm holding her, she's thrashing as she feels something move inside of her as Tulio's profane biology goes to work flooding his system with hormones as he lets out a soft groan as he finally releases inside of her.

I can't breathe! Is Psychi's last thought as it's too much for her... the racing of her heart... the painful pressure... his arm around her. She cannot hear the bellowed order from Tulio then the screaming from the "gift" mortals. No she gets no closure... as it all... fade... to ... black.

For the first time in her miserable short life... everything feels quiet... everything feels safe. She can feel sleep languidly pulling away from her but whatever she is on is soft. A gentle clean breeze kisses her cheeks and she can feel a gentle warmth on her skin that feels so comforting like a babe's blanket. She does her best to ignore the gentle light that dances across her eyelids occasionally.

She lets out a contented sigh and feels like all of that hardship... it was all a dream and she was finally dead. Something rustles behind her and a warm voice... strong... assured of itself... but it whispers to her, "Welcome Home." The voice says before gentle kisses are pressed against the back of her neck coaxing her back into the deep slumber. Home... what a funny word to here but if this was home... then she never wanted to leave.

Tulio Sydo Lieutenant of the Tyrannic division of the Traitor Primarch Robute Guilliman's Ultramarine legion... sighed contently watching his new wife, consort, concubine, possession. Return to her sleep as they were back in the Ultramar system and he was back home. He once more pressed kisses to the back of her neck as he thought how she would be modified soon... for now he would just enjoy finally having his zoi mou all to himself. His tail lazily swayed behind him as he closed those grass green eyes of his and trilled contently.

[mangotelevision]

warrior cat katelyn revamp 💪💪

Swiftfire:

The mysterious and quick-tempered warrior of ShadowClan with a nasty habit of getting into deadly border scrimmages. A fearsome and formidable young warrior desperate to prove herself, makes her all the more dangerous. Product of a half-clan relationship between a Shadowclan warrior and a WindClan medicine cat, both were exiled accordingly. Swiftfire grew up on the farm on the edge of the woods, decided to leave her siblings and family behind to join the clan where her father was raised. She believed her talents and skills deserved better than a barn cat.

Many felt it was unwise to let her join, they feared it made ShadowClan weak. But Cedarstar (Garte) took her as his apprentice, as a sort of debt for banishing her father. She has been shaped into a lethal weapon of the pine forest, the swiftest and deadliest warrior they have, a selected member of the nine great new warriors of ShadowClan, the strongest in the forest. Honors the warrior code in her own way, her time outside of the clans left her loathing the stars of their ancestors, she has a vendetta against StarClan and believes them as useless and incompetent and should leave their noses out of the lives of the living. Doesn't respect warriors who treasure the dead over the living, believes that too much faith in the stars above lead to foolishness, and Katelyn the FireFist is no fool

[rolandtowen]

oh - my - god - keep - me from going lunatic, chapter 8

chapter summary: We catch up with some of the other Avengers. The team begins planning an offense against HYDRA.

Read on Ao3 or under the cut!

“Sir, a text from Staff Sergeant Wilson.” 

Tony squints at the clock on the wall of his lab. 6:07am. Maybe it's not that early for an Airman to be up and around. “Read it to me, J?” Tony asks as he thumbs through some design sketches. 

“Certainly, Sir. ‘All hands on deck. Meeting today, 1pm. Barnes remembers.’ The text was sent to all Avengers, plus Maria Hill.” 

If Sam was looping in Hill, then shit was about to go down. Not to mention the use of ‘Barnes’ over Bucky. The question is, how much their resident ex-assassin remembers. Tony appreciates the heads up, but he'd really prefer to not have to hear firsthand about how his parents died today. Or any day, actually. 

He'd suspected, of course, that it wasn't just a car crash. Especially after Fury had brought him into the fold of SHIELD, and Tony had learned just how much spycraft and espionage good ol’ dad had his hands in. Making enemies and making weapons are a package deal, as Tony knows all too well. 

When Steve and Natasha told him about the Zola algorithm, what it said about his father and Peggy, he couldn't believe it. No, that's not quite it. He didn't want to believe it. He'd heard vaguely of Operation Paperclip before, a passing historical anecdote whispered about over whiskeys with fellow scientists. Nazi butchers were quietly relocated to the States, hired by the government, and people were surprised that SHIELD had been compromised?

Tony's still turning it over in his head, trying to reason how much his father really knew. Howard's signatures appear in the Winter Soldier files, but on designs only. There's no indication that he knew what his designs were being used for. And yet, the man also hired Arnim Zola, a man so depraved Howard should have seen it coming a mile away. So what does that say about Howard?

As he pulls open a hologram of Barnes’ arm, Tony stomach lurches at a sudden realization. Howard used to have his coworkers over for coffee in the evenings – salons, he'd called them. The men would gather in the large living room and discuss everything from global relations to high temperature superconductors. Tony had, on occasion, spied into the room from the top of the stairs, peering down through the balusters to catch what scraps of dialogue he could. 

And if Howard had brought his coworkers, that meant – Arnim Zola had been in his childhood home. Had sipped coffee from his grandmother's fine china and made conversation with his mother. The man responsible for their deaths had been invited in. Zola -- his body at least -- had died by the time Tony was born. But nevertheless, the thought of Arnim Zola, who committed many crimes against humanity -- and many crimes against one human in particular -- even crossing the threshold into his childhood home made Tony's skin crawl. 

He wonders if Hill had known, before she'd gotten her hands on the Winter Soldier files – or if the assassination of Howard and Maria Stark had been a surprise even to her. He should be angry, he knows. He should be outright pissed. And yet, for the past few weeks, he's been sheltering the man that killed his parents. 

It’s like this. A weapon doesn't choose where it's pointed. And that's what HYDRA had reduced Barnes to, through years of programming and conditioning and burning damn holes in his brain. Tony had been in captivity in Afghanistan for, what? A few weeks? And he'd almost cracked. Barnes had been captive for twenty years before his first mission, despite HYDRA's incredibly persuasive methods. The man had fought back for twenty years, then broke fifty years of brainwashing to defect from HYDRA to protect Steve. Paying for his recovery is the least Tony Stark can do. 

“J, place a double order for everyone's preferred version of caffeine to be delivered to the meeting.” 

“Certainly, Sir.” 

*** 

Clint had heard chatter that Avengers Tower had a new guest, but he hadn't had reason to return to New York until a mysterious text from Sam Wilson, Rogers’ most recent recruit to the team. He doesn't love that there's another guy on the team with a bird gimmick, but regular guys are limited, he supposes. On the bright side, at least he has another normal human being to rant to in the post-mission ice baths. 

Natasha has been…vague, to put it lightly. But Clint has been able to piece together that the Avengers have acquired another ex-assassin for deprogramming: one James Buchanan Barnes. Honestly, he’s surprised he hadn’t been called in earlier, due to both his experience with Natasha and Loki. He’s been on both sides of this scenario – the deprogrammer and the deprogrammed. 

He still can't quite wrap his head around SHIELD being infiltrated. Sure, some people had felt kind of slimy, but that comes when you're working with paramilitary types. He could buy Rumlow and Rollins being HYDRA, but Sitwell? That squirrely little guy? And Pierce? Jesus, how high up does this thing go? 

Natasha hasn't been…forthcoming about her emotional state, but Clint can imagine it ain't pretty. He feels a certain level of guilt – he'd been the one to convince her to join, after all. We're the good guys, he'd told her. Clint couldn't have known, but still. She thought she was doing some good in the world. 

If he'd read her coded texts right, she'd even stepped up to act as the Soldier's “handler”. Clint can't even imagine touching that with a ten foot pole. It's still too raw, too real for him. He still rushes to the bathroom after his nightmares to check for unnaturally blue eyes. His mind still doesn't quite feel like his home. Like the last owner left behind mold and mildew. 

Cut off one head and two more will take its place. 

Good. Clint's thing has never been cutting off heads. More like shooting straight through them.  

So when his phone pings on the kitchen counter and Laura reads it out to him, covered in a tangle of limbs and children, Clint knows he has to go. Mind control recovery is unfortunately, one of his specialties now. He presses a kiss to Laura and each of the children, before pealing out of the driveway in the farm truck. Destination: New York City. 

***

“So, I’ve called you all in because we have a major development,” Sam says, standing at the head of the conference table. He gestures for Bucky to speak, and he gulps a few times before he can start, his flesh hand tracing the wood grain of the table. 

“I’m regaining my mission-related memories,” his eyes stay fixed on the table as he speaks, all too aware that Tony Stark’s eyes are on him. “I remember everything from now to – to the 60’s.” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Stark shift suddenly, and he has to take a breath before continuing. “I–I want HYDRA gone. I want to give you everything I know, so you can destroy them.” He pulls out the papers he’d been furiously scribbling on for the last five hours. “I’m trying to write down everything I can, but I – there’s just so much –” 

“Barnes,” a level voice addresses him. He looks up to see the newcomer – Barton – peering at him. A sharpshooter in both thought and action. “What is the most significant threat we should neutralize first?”

“The others,” Bucky says without hesitation. 

“Others?” Steve sits forward in his seat. “Others, like you?” Bucky notes how Hill's head whips towards him. 

Bucky nods. “I wasn’t the only Winter Soldier subject. In the 90’s, HYDRA obtained five more doses of serum. Five more Winter Soldiers were made.” He looks up to see Steve’s face has paled, and the blond whispers something to Natalia, whose face remains impassive. 

“And where, exactly, did HYDRA obtain five doses of supersoldier serum?” Stark asks, his tone of voice flat. Like he already knows the answer and is dreading the confirmation. 

“December 16th, 1991, this Soldier was deployed to extract the serum from Target Howard Stark. No witnesses,” Bucky recites, his eyes firmly fixed on the wood grain of the table in front of him. “No survivors.” 

Stark stands, rounding the table to get to the Sol – Bucky. “Tony,” Steve warns. Stark stops in front of Bucky, who braces himself for a blow. “I’m not going to hurt you, but I do want you to answer one question for me.” Stark crouches down to try and catch Bucky’s eye – “ look people in the eye when they address you, that’s what polite folk do,” a woman says, warm hand on the back of his neck – and Bucky meets his gaze with trepidation. “Do you know, was Howard Stark an active member of HYDRA?”

Bucky shakes his head. “He was never designated as an ally.”

“Did you ever see him participate in the Winter Soldier program?” Stark's eyes bore into his, and Bucky notes absently that they’re watering. 

“Never,” he whispers. 

A spell is broken by the word, and Stark lets out a long breath. “Okay, okay – that’s all I needed.” He rises, his knees cracking. “Carry on with the meeting, I just – I need a moment.” And he’s out the door, silence falling over the conference room again. A firm hand from Sam is on his shoulder. Warm. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” Sam murmurs. “Tony’s just…got a lot on his mind.”

“Where are the other Soldiers now?” Natalia asks, blessedly changing the subject. 

“Siberia.” There’s a shuffling of papers, and Bucky finds the one he’s looking for. “Here. GPS coordinates will take you to a landing pad a half-mile away. Last I saw them,” he shudders, has to think for a second, to compose himself. “They were – unstable. Didn’t respond well to the programming. I had to…” he trails off, whispers of a memory percolating in his mind. “I had to protect Handler Karpov during an escape attempt.” 

“What happened to them, after?” Steve asks. 

“Frozen. Cryotubes. Like – like me. But as far as I know, they were never woken up. But then, I was transferred to America.”

“HYDRA dissolved in Russia soon after that,” Natalia notes. “You may be the only person alive who still remembers them.” 

“They’re in the manual,” Bucky says immediately. “Whoever has that manual would know. It has their codewords too.” 

“The red book? We have that, secured it at the same time we raided the Vault,” Steve tries to assure Bucky. 

“True,” Natalia agrees. “But, we cannot guarantee that no one peeked at the other Winter Soldiers’ information when, well, operating Barnes.” She turns back to Bucky. “After your transfer to America, did you have any other handler other than Alexander Pierce?”

“Commander Rumlow was placed in the position of secondary handler, but I had no primary handlers other than Pierce.”

“Well, shit,” Sam breathes. “Would Rumlow have had access to the manual as a secondary handler?”

Bucky wracks his scattered memories. “It was permitted if required by protocol. If Handler Pierce could not be present, Commander Rumlow was the designated handler.” 

“I told you he was creepy,” Barton jibes at Natalia. He turns to Hill, a beseeching look on his face. “Please tell me you detained him.”

Hill shakes her head, speaking for the first time in the meeting. “He’s in the wind. We looked in every possible hospital for him, given he’s likely got extreme burn wounds, but – nothing.” 

“Well, he’s certainly in a position where a couple of supersoldiers would be advantageous,” Barton says grimly. “When do we suit up?”

“I’m writing down everything I can, but it’s going to take a few days. Everything is still,” Bucky waves his hand around his head. “Disordered. I can’t tell what happened chronologically unless I know the exact date.”

“Writing down – wait, you’re not coming with us?” Barton looks between Bucky, Sam, and Steve. 

“I can’t – I can’t come with you,” Bucky apologizes, his gaze cast to the table once again. 

Barton quirks his head to the side. “Why not? You’re the best man for the job.”

“The trigger sequence,” Steve says quietly. “If we run into anyone who knows the Soldier’s trigger words – like Rumlow – they’ll be able to control Buck all over again.”

“Oh, damn.” Barton sits back in his chair. “I’m sorry, man. So, are we planning an extraction, bringing them back here?

“No,” Bucky says with an urgency so sudden that it shocks even himself “You can’t – you have to kill them. You can’t save them. They’re not…like me.”

“How so?” Barton tips his head to the side again. 

Bucky looks the marksman square in the face. “They volunteered.” 

***

“Hey,” Steve's voice breaks the silence in the elevator after the meeting. “I just, I know that wasn't easy for you, being with so many people, talking about that stuff – but I'm proud of you.” Something warm blooms in Bucky's chest at the words, but he doesn't know why. “Do you want to still do our music hour, or do you wanna crash?” 

Bucky quirks his head to the side. “Crash?”

“Uh, nap or something. Not do anything, basically,” Steve explains.

“That's a thing?”

“That's a thing,” Steve confirms. “A thing you can do.” 

Bucky takes his spot in the blanket puddle on the couch. “I don't think I need a crash?” He picks up one of the books Steve had brought the other day. 

“Got any requests then?” Steve turns his back to Bucky, fiddling with the turntable. 

“The one without the words,” Bucky says. He doesn't think he can take many more words today. Too much talking. Too much listening. 

“Goodman, huh? Good choice,” Steve says, chuckling a bit at his own words. The turntable crackles to life, and something about it quiets Bucky's mind, starts pulling his memories into a neater web. 

“One more thing I gotta ask, Buck.” Steve rests his sketchbook in his lap, unopened. “We decided, someone's gotta stay with you. I mean, Bruce knows the most about your medical care, Sam's the best with the mental health stuff, guess it depends on what you think is best.” 

Bucky's still having a hard time with that. The thinking for himself bit. What little discretion he had at HYDRA was mission-focused. He had to be able to make choices in the field. But everything else was…taken care of, even if he hadn't been a willing participant. Here, there's still rules, boundaries, but – it's exhausting. Choosing. Deciding. 

His brain is tired. 

Your body knows what it wants, Sam had told him. So he tries, not to think of the rational or logical possibilities. Tries to think of what he wants, and his body makes it pretty damn clear. He doesn't know why – and ain't that a long list – but he feels safe with Steve. His first night without nightmares in the Tower had been because of Steve. Steve hadn't let any of the scans or technicians hurt him either. He'd explained why Bucky couldn't go on the mission, had saved Bucky from the shame of explaining – yet again – that he's a passenger in his own mind. 

Moreover, he knows Steve can hold his own against him – against the Soldier, still lurking in the back of his brain. He cannot say the same for Sam or Natalia. He hasn't seen Bruce's capabilities yet, and he knows Barton is only human. So he asks Steve, as protection for himself and everyone else: 

“Can you stay?”

[offender42085]

Post 1149

Devin Warren Sizemore, Oklahoma inmate 828303, born 1994, incarceration intake December 2018 at age 24, sentenced to life

Also, Federal inmate 40600-509, scheduled for released from federal obligation in November 2031

Murder, Assault and Battery on LEO, Introduction of Weapon/Drugs/Alcohol into Correctional Facility, Possession of Stolen Property

In April 2023, an Oklahoma man was convicted for the second time of killing his toddler daughter, this time following a federal trial that was held after his state conviction was vacated in the wake of a landmark U.S. Supreme Court decision regarding the adjudication of crimes that take place on native tribal lands.

According to court documents, the defendant, Devin Warren Sizemore claimed that he had baptized his 21-month-old daughter Emily Sizemore, but something went wrong. Federal authorities, however, said that he had taken the child for a visit and did not return her to the girl’s mother, Sizemore’s ex-girlfriend.

Officials detailed a fractured family situation. According to a February 2017 report from the Oklahoma Commission on Children and Youth on little Emily’s death, defendant Sizemore had previously been charged with abusing the child’s mother.

“Reportedly the incident occurred in front of Emily Sizemore and the mother had an injury to her head,” the report said. “The OKDHS determined the child to be safe with her mother and substantiated the allegation of Neglect-Exposure to Domestic Violence against the father. The father was arrested for Domestic Violence. The OKDHS recommended the mother obtain a protective order and she declined a Sooner Start [infant and toddler development program] referral.”

Charged in a domestic violence case, Sizemore faced a no-contact order regarding his ex and had been out on bail when he killed Emily in July 2016, authorities said.

According to the federal criminal complaint, Sizemore took Emily from his mother’s home in Krebs, Oklahoma, on July 12, 2016. His mother said that he had “blown up” and took the child, authorities said. She saw him again the next day pushing a stroller with his daughter inside. She tried talking with him, but he said nothing and he continued walking.

On July 14, 2016, Sizemore went the home of Emily’s mother. The woman’s sister spoke with him, according to the complaint.

“Sizemore stated God has brought the storm, God sent him to tell everyone the world was ending and everyone needed to get right with God,” authorities said. “Sizemore stated he had a shield over him and he was God. [The sister] asked Sizemore where Emily was and Sizemore replied Emily was with God.”

Defendant Sizemore’s mother reported Emily and Sizemore as missing to Krebs police. Law enforcement started searching, and when officials found Sizemore, he apparently fled on foot — jumping into a nearby pond and refusing commands to get out.

As officers entered the body of water, they found Emily floating face down.

“As officers moved to render aid to Emily, Sizemore physically fought with officers in the water,” the complaint says. Cops arrested Sizemore. Emily was later pronounced dead, and a medical examiner determined that the toddler had drowned to death.

The next day, Sizemore, after having been given his Miranda warnings, allegedly told an agent of the Oklahoma State Bureau of Investigation that he took Emily several days before her death, walking around Krebs with her and sleeping in a barn.

According to law enforcement, Sizemore had attempted to perform what he described as a religious ritual on the baby.

“Sizemore put Emily under the water to baptize her for approximately 30 seconds, but something went wrong,” cops said. “Sizemore performed CPR on Emily and revived her. After Emily was revived, Sizemore felt something telling him to get a horse from the barn. Sizemore blacked out and when he woke up the police were attacking him.”

Sizemore was convicted in state court in 2018 of murder and other charges, but that conviction was vacated on April 1, 2021, in the aftermath of the 2020 U.S. Supreme Court case McGirt v. Oklahoma. In that case, the Supreme Court found that federal courts had jurisdiction over certain types of major crimes committed by enrolled members of an Indian tribe that took place on that tribe’s land.

An appellate court in Oklahoma in 2021 upheld a lower court ruling that Sizemore’s case should be tried in federal court, not state, because he was an enrolled member of the Choctaw Nation and the crimes happened on the historic boundaries of the Choctaw Reservation.

Federal prosecutors filed a complaint against Sizemore on April 19, 2021, and Sizemore was tried again.

He also was convicted again, this time of voluntary manslaughter and child abuse resulting in death in Indian Country. The federal jurors acquitted Sizemore, however, of murder in Indian Country, second-degree murder in Indian County, and assault resulting in serious bodily injury in Indian Country. Prosecutors dropped a charge of assault and battery on a police officer in Indian Country.

4j

[cinnamongorll]

a fragile line - chapter 19

read on ao3! (111k words) | previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse, eventual smut.

Fic synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Warning: detailed descriptions of physical abuse from a parent

Word count: 7.8k

wasn't going to post this today but I can't hold you all in anticipation for feral Joel any longer ;)

this is both my favourite and the most painful chapter yet...

Chapter 19: 'Strangers'

Joel’s POV:

The frigid night air did nothing to cool the fire raging beneath Joel’s skin.

The bartender, whose name Joel never asked, slipped them out the backdoor. The way his wide eyes darted around, as he pushed open the rusted metal door, told Joel that he was worried, terrified even. But the deep, permanent, crease between his eyebrows also told him that fear was an ever present emotion in the residents of this town. 

Joel had neither the patience nor the pleasantries to thank the man, so he opted for a curt nod as his eyes shot to the black street that stretched before them. There were no streetlights to lessen the sense of oppressive darkness which surrounded the path Joel and Ethan began to walk. They kept their steps quick, careful to avoid watchful eyes who were used to peering through the dark. 

The thick handle of Joel’s knife was enclosed within his hand, the blade pressed against his jeans. Hidden, but ready to slice anything that got in his way. Joel imagined pressing the sharp edge to Elijah’s throat, feeling the weight of the blade pushing in, and savouring the heat of his blood as it wet his hands. Joel’s lips twisted in the beginnings of a cruel snarl.

Ethan’s steps pounded behind him, struggling to keep up with Joel’s vicious stride. Joel adjusted his broad shoulders, attempting to shake off the suffocating feeling of Ethan’s presence. 

They were headed to the armoury. Neither of them had any significant weapons on them, and Joel wasn’t risking stepping into a situation where he wasn’t properly prepared. Juliet’s life hung in the balance; Joel wouldn’t risk a thing. Especially when it was his fault that she was back here, his fault that she was locked in a house with her abuser, his fault that she hadn’t felt she could tell him…

Within the swirling mess of self-loathing, which continued to swell in his mind, lay a puzzle that Joel couldn’t figure out. Why allow Joel to go to the bar? Why allow him to be seen by the townspeople? Joel’s jaw tightened and the weight of his steps grew heavier as he contemplated Elijah’s decisions. Picking apart the mind of a madman was not something Joel enjoyed, but he was good at it. Because he understood strategy, he understood cruelty. 

Joel skidded to a stop as they rounded on a corner, his head whipped side to side as he struggled to see through the aching darkness.

“This way,” a rough voice whispered. Ethan stepped around Joel and began walking down another empty street. Joel followed close behind, gritting his teeth. 

As they closed in on the armoury, which was really just a run down barn on the edge of town, Joel sunk deeper into the mind of Juliet’s dad. The questions were overpowering and endless. Why hurt Juliet? Why lure her back here? Why not let her go?

Joel’s fingers curled into a tight fist. He felt the harsh bite of his knife begin to press into his calloused skin as realisation dawned over him. 

Elijah wanted complete control over Juliet, he wanted to be her protector, her saviour. 

Which meant that he had lost something. Elijah had suffered a loss in his past so great that his instincts of care and protection had twisted, becoming darker, more intense, more dangerous. Juliet wasn’t just his daughter, she was his second chance. 

Protection and fear often bled into possession and control. There was a fragile line between care and ownership, love and dominance. 

Joel’s heavy breaths faltered, stuttering, as his own past crept over his skin, crawling into his mind, bringing forth memories too painful to even visualise. 

The sharp blade of his knife finally pierced his skin and Joel could breathe again. The air released from his tight lungs, as the sting on his hand eased the pressure in his mind. 

Ethan turned to look over his shoulder, attempting to read the look on Joel’s face. But it was too dark, and Joel was too good at shielding his emotions. He just ground out a quick command: “Keep movin’” and Ethan quickened his steps as they raced across the damp grass. 

Elijah was addicted to control. He had this whole town so brutally devoted to him that they were complacent in the torture of two young people. That was why he allowed Joel to go to the bar: surveillance. Keep your friends close but your enemies closer. And who better to watch over Joel than his keen eyed followers? 

Joel uttered a quiet “fuck ” under his breath. Ethan didn’t turn around this time. Joel was glad, he wasn’t in control of himself, he might start swinging at the next person who looked him in the eye. 

Bringing him to the armoury earlier, showing him his gifted weapons, his gifted vehicle, was all an elaborate trick. Elijah was playing with his food. There was no way he was letting Joel leave this town. He thought back to earlier when he stepped in front of Juliet, when he opposed Elijah’s sick claim over her, and offered Juliet a choice. Joel had watched the ire ripple under Elijah’s stone features. Joel had challenged him, Joel was a threat. And Elijah wasn’t going to let him get away with it.  

He should have never stepped away from her. He shouldn’t have left her there when he felt something was wrong. Joel was haunted by many things in his life, but he knew that that decision would cling to him for a long time. Thick regret boiled within him but Joel didn’t try to push it down anymore, he didn’t try to displace it. Joel allowed his fear, his regret and his anger to inflame, to blister, to worsen. 

Joel relished in the blood that pooled in his hand, he savoured the sharp sting that throbbed around the blade of his knife. 

The pain fueled him. 

Juliet needed him, and he wouldn’t let her down again. 

………………………………………………..

“Wait out here,” Joel ordered. His voice low but commanding as he stretched his arm out in front of Ethan, blocking him from moving towards the doors to the armoury. 

Ethan peered up at him, his eyes narrowing as he registered Joel’s demand. The crease between Joel’s eyes deepened as he watched the shock and resentment wash over the younger man’s sallow features. Ethan opened his mouth, ready to argue, but Joel just raised his hand with impatience, cutting him off.

“I don’t know what or who’s in there, I’m goin’ in alone,” he said, leaving no room for a debate as he began to turn towards the doors. But that didn’t stop Ethan from trying. 

Ethan moved forward, grabbing hold of Joel’s sleeve before he could reach the handle. Joel’s head whipped towards him and his hands began to shake with the effort it took not to punch that entitled look off of his face. 

“I got Juliet out of his town once, and I can do it again. Who even are you?” Ethan’s words rushed out in a single breath as his eyes darted around, making sure no one had spotted them. He was practically jumping on the spot with the energy that rippled through him. 

“You’re gonna want to let go of me,” Joel ground out slowly, after a pause. He didn’t break eye contact with Ethan as his hand quickly unlatched from his tight grip on Joel’s sleeve.  

Joel rolled his shoulders and ran a hand over his face. He was growing impatient, he had no idea what was happening to Juliet right now and Ethan was only prolonging her suffering with his whining. 

“You stay behind me and you shut up, got it?” Joel hissed, his irritation rolling off of him in waves. Ethan just nodded, sharp and quick. Joel stared at him a moment longer before rolling his eyes and reaching for the door handle. 

The inside of the armoury was quiet, there was no one else lurking in the old barn as far as Joel could tell. But he moved slowly through the building, heading straight for the shotguns on the back wall. Elijah and his people had built up one hell of a supply.

A few minutes later, Joel ran his hand over the weapon before swinging the strap of the shotgun over his shoulder. He released a weighted breath at the feeling of a gun in his hands again. Ethan stood beside him, his hand outstretched to grab a gun of his own. Joel looked down at him, his eyebrows raised. 

“You know how to use one of these?” he asked, watching Ethan from the corner of his eye as he adjusted his own gun.

Ethan grabbed hold of a shotgun and shot Joel an incredulous look. “Of course I can use a fucking shotgun,” he replied.

If Juliet didn’t care for Ethan, he would have been a dead man from that comment alone. Joel’s lips twitched with restrained anger before turning around and searching for ammo. He heard Ethan release a quiet, relieved, breath.

Once they were stocked up on ammo, Joel and Ethan headed to the side of the barn where the trucks were kept. Juliet had promised him a car battery back in the QZ, but there was way more than just batteries available. There were three trucks lined in a row, each of them rusted and dusty as though they hadn’t been driven in a long time. But Joel guessed that they were well maintained, their batteries charged every now and then in case of emergencies. That’s what Joel would do if he were in charge of a town. 

Joel had begun to creep around the first truck, ready to try to hotwire it if needed. He had to know there was a way out of this town, a vehicle ready for him to get Juliet away as quickly as possible. But before he could even reach the truck, he stilled. His muscles locked up as he froze in place. 

“Ethan made it to the bar, tried to fight that guy who turned up with Juliet. Joel, I think his name was,” said a voice from outside the barn, his words were muffled but Joel heard them clear enough. So did Ethan, who shot Joel a terror filled look. 

Joel reached out his hand, palm up, to still Ethan. His mind began to filter through a thousand possibilities of how they would get out of here alive and without alerting whoever roamed outside. They both stood like statues, Ethan’s eyes latched onto Joel, as another voice from outside raised loud enough for them to hear.

“Fuck, Elijah’s not gonna like this”

Then a third voice…

“Just hurry up and get the ammo, then we’ll go get them. They won’t have made it far.”

Joel jumped into gear, moving with pure instinct. There were three voices outside, that meant they were outnumbered. And they were coming inside, which meant his hopes of a quiet exit were gone. 

They would have to fight. 

Joel curled his hand towards Ethan, and pointed with a sharp look from his dark eyes towards the door. Ethan frowned but followed, their steps thankfully silent on the old wooden floor. 

They positioned themselves on either side of the barn doors. Joel attempted to have a silent conversation with Ethan, but it was either too dark or Ethan wasn’t the brightest, because all Joel got in response was a confused tilt of his head. 

Joel’s eyes shot to the ceiling, the pressure on his chest increasing as he heard the voices move closer. Joel lifted his free hand, making quick, focused gestures. Ethan eventually nodded, finally understanding Joel’s clear instructions. 

Joel clenched his jaw, gritted his teeth, and waited for the men to open the doors. 

Moments later, the handle turned, and Joel was ready. The first man came through the door, and immediately fell forward, crashing onto the dirty floor with a bullet in his head. 

Shouts rang in Joel’s ears as the next two men came barging in, stepping over the body of their friend. Their jaws hung open and their eyes moved between Joel and Ethan, obviously unprepared and taken off guard. Joel was right about this town, it may have the weapons and supplies, but there were no fighters living here. 

Before the men’s eyes swung back over to Joel, another body dropped to the floor. Joel’s gaze immediately darted to Ethan, who stood breathing heavily, winded by the force it took to fire a gun in his weak state. 

Joel recognised the third man. He had ginger hair and a thick, bleeding gash across his forehead, covered in a small bit of gauze. Before Ethan could finish the job, Joel moved, grabbing the man from behind and bringing his shotgun around to press on his neck as the man was forced to push against Joel’s front, wriggling as the shotgun tightened and his air began to lessen. 

Joel grunted as the man elbowed him in the ribs but he held steady. “Don’t shoot, we need him,” Joel barked towards Ethan, who had already pointed his gun towards the man in Joel’s arms. 

Ethan, confused, began to move closer, stepping over the two bodies at his feet.

Before the man passed out from the crushing force of the shotgun pressed against his neck, Joel moved his mouth to his ear. “Where’s Juliet?” he hissed, still grunting in between breaths as the man continued to squirm against him. 

Joel eased the force of the gun just a little to allow the man enough air to reply. “At her house, with Elijah,” the man croaked out as his boots began to kick back against Joel’s shins 

Joel held steady, eyeing Ethan. Juliet was still at her house, meaning Elijah hadn’t moved her anywhere. They knew where to go. But Joel wasn’t done with his interrogation. 

He tilted his mouth back to the man’s ear. “Who’s with ‘em?” Joel asked, his voice rough with pain as the man got another hit in. 

When the man didn’t answer, Joel adjusted his grip on the shotgun, applying more pressure on the man’s throat until Joel began to feel his consciousness slip. Then he loosened it again. 

Ethan had lowered his gun as he stared at Joel. His eyes were wide and his gaze kept darting away as though he struggled to watch the brutal scene in front of him. Joel noted this with deep frustration. Perhaps Ethan’s weakness was not only found in the current state of his battered and malnourished body. 

“Daniel,” the man in his arms finally gasped out. “Daniel is with them.”

Joel’s lips pulled back to reveal the shape of a vicious snarl. Only one more idiot standing in the way of Joel wrapping his fist around Elijah’s neck. 

Before Ethan could even open his mouth, Joel had let go of the shotgun and replaced his grip on the man’s neck with his arm. The muscles in his bicep flexed as Joel forced his arm in one quick movement until he heard the crunch of the man’s neck and felt his body go limp. 

Joel stepped back and allowed the body to drop to the floor. He stood over it, breathing heavy while he adjusted the strap of his shotgun.

Ethan had jumped backwards when the man hit the floor, almost tripping over the other bodies. His boots were stained with their blood as it pooled around them.

Ethan lifted his heavy gaze to Joel’s face. “What the hell was that?” he demanded, his voice shaky. 

“We know where she is, we know who she’s with. We can go get her now,” Joel said, in a monotone, matter of fact voice as he began to step over the still warm bodies. 

Ethan made a sound almost like a growl and whipped his hand out towards Joel, the tips of his fingers almost touching the arm of his jacket before Joel grabbed Ethan by the shoulders and slammed him against the wall beside the doors.

The adrenaline was still pumping steadily through Joel’s bloodstream as let go of one of Ethan’s shoulders, slipped his knife out of his pocket, and brought it to Ethan’s face. “What did I tell you bout’ touchin’ me?” Joel seethed, pushing the tip of his blade against the soft skin of Ethan’s cheek. 

Ethan swallowed rough, the action restrained as though he was frightened the knife would cut him. Joel would be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted. 

“Don’t fucking question my methods,” Joel warned, in a voice so quiet it might have sounded gentle. But the look in Joel’s eyes made it very clear that his words were coated in a razor sharp edge. He pressed the knife in further, careful not to break skin. “If you can’t handle this then leave, cause I'm gettin’ Juliet outta here with or without you.” 

Ethan’s jaw clenched, then he nodded sharp and quick. 

Joel let go of him and walked out the doors before Ethan could even catch his breath. 

…………………………………………………

Juliet’s POV:

There were exactly fourteen steps down to the basement.

Juliet counted every one, each time she followed her father into the dark room below their rickety house. It helped ground her, the counting.

She would count the steps, then she would count the seconds, the minutes, and the hours. And when the number grew high enough for her father to be satisfied with her punishment, Juliet would listen as he walked those fourteen steps back down to collect her.

It was strange how memory worked. It had been nearly four years since Juliet wandered into the suffocating darkness of the basement, nearly four years since she felt the cold chill in the air which coated her skin like an oily slick. Yet, she still remembered to count the steps. 

She did it on instinct, her mind was entirely devoid of thought or emotion, all that drifted through her consciousness was the sound of her counting. One, two, three, four… 

Juliet was too numb to think anyway, to feel anything other than the space around her. The entire time she had travelled with Joel, Juliet knew what her destination was. The basement flashed through her mind many times, usually waking her from a shallow sleep in the truck or causing her to thrash and kick in her sleeping bag as she lay beside Joel. He would reach out a hand, stilling the movement of her legs, calming her racing heart. 

She was always grateful for his quiet strength and his rare soothing touch, but it only kept the monsters at bay for a short while. They were never really gone. Because every mile they travelled led them closer to Juliet’s real nightmare. 

Five, six, seven… 

Juliet wasn’t sure what awaited her at the bottom of the steps, how she would reach the ‘salvation’ her father spoke of. Through her numbness, a spark of pain shot through her heart when she imagined Ethan facing the same fate. The thought of him hating her hurt more, though. Ethan was the only good thing in her life for so long, to lose that … 

Eight, nine, ten, eleven… 

Her mind picked up again and brought forth the anxiety and fear that shook her to the bone. Joel would never forgive her. She had brought him here on stupid, naive, false hope. Juliet had been content with returning home and fading into nothing but a memory in Joel’s mind, and a sad smile on Ethan’s lips. But with Ethan turned against her, turned into something vicious, something like her father, and Joel trapped here… Juliet began to feel that her sacrifice was in vain. The only person gaining anything was her father. It was always her father who won their games, Juliet had been stupid to think otherwise. 

Twelve, thirteen … 

Her legs shook with each step, the world around her travelled in slow motion. Bile rose in her throat and she fought to keep her arms by her side.

For most people, the world ended around twenty years ago. But for Juliet, her world ended with the last step down those basement stairs. 

Fourteen.  

…………………………………

“You know, Ethan sat in a chair just like this.”

Juliet blinked, her father’s words slicing through the fog that filled her head, clouding her thoughts and numbing her emotions. She looked down, reminding herself where she was. Juliet blinked again, slower this time, when she remembered the thick, coarse rope which wrapped around her wrists and ankles, tying her to the metal chair she sat on. 

Eventually, her head tilted back up to meet her father’s icy gaze. His lips twitched into a satisfied smile when she didn’t respond. It appeared that Elijah had counted on her speechlessness. 

He lowered his eyes to the restraints on her wrists, then turned and walked towards a fireplace on the back wall of the room, directly in front of Juliet. This was new, there had never been a source of light in the basement before. 

“They’re for your safety. Don’t want you running off again. It’s not safe for you out there,” her father explained, his back turned to Juliet as he picked up a poker and prodded the burning logs. 

“I managed just fine on my own,” Juliet murmured without a thought. The words just slipped out. Her head shot up and her teeth clamped down on her tongue when she realised what she said. 

Her father’s movements stilled, the poker now hovering over the fire. 

Then Juliet heard his quiet chuckle, getting louder with every second until she watched her father’s shoulders shake. Juliet squirmed in her seat, her heart had begun to pound against her chest. 

Without warning, the laughter ceased. The only sound that remained was the crackling of the fire and the quiet breaths that slipped past Juliet’s clenched jaw. She followed her father’s movements as he dropped the poker back into its stand and picked up the bible resting on the wooden top of the fireplace, then turned towards her. 

When he met her eyes, his face was devoid of all emotion. 

“Let’s begin,” he said and cracked open the first page. 

…………………………………………………….

Juliet’s head swung to the side with the force of the slap. 

This time, it wasn’t by her father’s hand, but rather the book he held. Pain blossomed across her jaw and rippled through every muscle on her face. Her mouth filled with spit which had begun to spill out of the side of her numbing lips. She felt a wetness against her ear too, it was most likely bleeding as well. 

Her father was bent over her, his face red with muted rage and his mouth open wide as he shouted words that Juliet couldn’t hear. The only sound she heard was a prolonged high pitched noise, drowning out everything else. The hit had stunned her and she struggled to remember why her father had done it. Usually there was something she had done wrong, something that angered him, something that forced him to teach her a lesson. 

Her father continued to scream in her face, the hot air from his breath hit her already burning cheek. Juliet just stared back, her eyebrows pinched together in a mixture of pain and confusion. 

A scream tore from her throat when a hand gripped her chin and began to squeeze. “Are you listening to me?” her father raged. Her hearing started to return but the sound was still muffled. In an effort to stop his assault on her face, Juliet began to nod her head in frantic movements until her father released her. 

Her father staggered backwards and ran a hand through his grey hair, tugging on the strands. Juliet spat a mixture of spit and blood onto the floor and forced her head up to watch him. He looked off balance, his eyes were wild and unfocused as they scanned Juliet.

As the seconds passed, and the pain became less urgent, Juliet remembered what she had done to deserve such punishment. 

Elijah decided that the first stage in her ‘salvation’ was confession. It turns out he wasn’t a big fan of the answers Juliet gave him. Her father’s hands had begun to shake when she answered his questions about Ethan. His face turned red when he asked her about Boston. And the slap came after he asked about travelling with Joel.

“Your confession is not done, Juliet. I can sense there is more you have not revealed,” her father urged. “You cannot begin to cleanse until I know how soiled you are.”

The bile rose in Juliet’s throat again, but she swallowed it down and steadied her features. It surprised her, the anger that had started to build within herself. 

“Let’s try again, shall we?” he asked, leaning back and crossing his arms across his chest. “Tell me about your time with Joel.” 

“No,” Juliet murmured, before spitting more blood. The thought of Joel brought pain far worse than the bruises blossoming across her face. Her father had no right to ask about him. And for what? For some sick possessive insight into the intimate parts of her life. Her father believed he had full ownership of her, like she was his to control like a child’s doll. Juliet hadn’t realised this until a couple years into living in the QZ, when the wounds from her childhood began to scab over. When her memories became clearer, and she saw her father for what he really was. 

“No,” she said again, louder this time. That slap had awoken something inside her. That slap was no different to the slaps she received as a young girl. Even when she did everything he asked of her, he would always find something to punish her for. When she opened her eyes into her father’s wild stare, she realised that nothing she would ever do would be good enough for him. 

The thought was freeing, almost. Even strapped to a chair in the basement of her father’s house, Juliet felt liberated. 

And with that liberation, came a sense of recklessness. 

“No?” her father finally asked, repeating her resistance with a quirked brow. “The mention of Joel seems to have hit a nerve,” he taunted, “has Ethan truly been replaced? Joel’s a bit old for you, isn’t he, my dear?”

Juliet’s hands began to tremble. Not with fear, but with rage.

“He has nothing to do with this,” she insisted, her hands curling into fists. Elijah noted the movement with great interest. 

“Hmmmm,” he began, walking forward again. Her father liked to tower over Juliet when he could, she assumed it made him feel in control, made him feel powerful. Maybe it reminded him of when she was truly a child, before she had thoughts of her own. 

“I saw the way Joel looked at you. I saw the way he watched you. It was like he had claimed you,” her father snarled. 

Juliet glared at him as she gritted her teeth. She felt like she was balancing on a tightrope, one wrong move and she’d fall to her death. Bravery was not always rewarded. But Juliet couldn’t stifle the rage that had burned inside her, and the remaining throbbing pain from his slap only ignited that fire. 

“I am not a thing to be claimed,” Juliet ground out, struggling to control her anger. “I’m not yours, I’m not anyone’s.” 

Elijah was silent, but Juliet held her ground, she didn’t break the withering stare she threw his way. Everything had been taken from her, she had nothing left to lose. 

“Who taught you that?” her father demanded, then barked out a short laugh. “I am your father, I have every claim over you.” 

“Father’s are supposed to love their daughters, not own them,” Juliet protested. Her eyes began to fill with frustrated tears, but her words grew louder, more forceful. “This isn’t love. It’s possession.”

Juliet had watched fathers with their daughters in the Boston QZ, she had watched their smiles and their laughs. Juliet knew what fatherly love was supposed to look like, and this wasn’t it. 

Elijah stalked those last few steps towards her and placed his hands over her restrained wrists, pressing his weight down on them until their faces were inches apart. Juliet leaned back as far as she could, her face flinching with discomfort. Her wrists began to ache, and Juliet’s arms started shaking involuntarily. Elijah enjoyed watching her struggle. His lips transformed into a sneer, and his eyes shone with a sick delight. And the anger… his rage was rolling off of him in waves, he could barely keep it contained. 

“The world is not safe, Juliet ,” he whispered inches from her face, her name dropped from his lips like a curse. “There are demons, yes. Those infected monsters, with their peeling faces and sharp teeth. But there is worse out there. Hunters, raiders who crawl the country, killing and gutting people with no remorse -” 

Elijah cut himself off with a heavy sigh, then his words became frenzied. “I kept you here, I kept you safe from that. I kept you safe because you are my property, you are mine to protect. And I will not lose another daughter to -” 

He stopped, letting go of her wrists immediately. The blood rushed back into them and Juliet began to feel her fingers again, but that relief was the furthest thing from her mind. 

Another daughter? 

Her father staggered back another few steps, he looked horrified. His mask slipped right off his face as he said those words, now he struggled to put it back on. He wiped a hand over his forehead and when he brought it back down, the horror was gone. He was seething, his whole body moved with the force of his brutal breaths. 

“What do you mean, another daughter?” Juliet whispered, but her voice sounded far away. 

Her father flinched. Juliet was unsure if what she was experiencing was real, or a dream. Maybe she passed out when he hit her, maybe this was all in her imagination. Because her father’s bravado had never faltered, and yet here he stood before her, visibly flinching at her words. 

Elijah started to pace in front of Juliet’s chair, his steps brisk and savage. Juliet’s mind was still clouded, so it took her a few seconds to realise he was mumbling to himself. 

Then he stopped, turning to face Juliet. He looked like he was arguing with himself, he was losing control, unravelling right in front of her. For the first time since she could remember, Juliet looked at her father and saw weakness staring back at her. 

“Your parents couldn’t protect you, sweet Juliet,” he began. His eyes had a detached look in them, like he wasn’t really standing in front of her. 

Juliet swore her heart stopped at his words.

“They didn’t have what it took to survive. They didn’t have the determination to keep you safe,” Elijah continued, raising his bible in the air as he spoke.

Nausea washed over her. 

“I saved you. I saved you from them . And then I spared them any more suffering.”

He paused to inhale a deep breath, as though his words were suffocating him. But he wasn’t finished. 

“You looked so much like her, with your brown eyes and curls. And your cry, when your parents died, God, it sounded so much like hers.”

Juliet didn’t know how much more of this she could take, the nausea was overpowering her. 

“I knew at that moment that you were mine, that you were my second chance. I could take you in, protect you, make sure you were never taken from me. Never stolen away.”

The ringing in Juliet’s ears returned, and she leaned forward and vomited all over the floor. 

Her father didn’t take his eyes off of her, wasn’t even remotely startled by the evidence of her disgust. He walked forward and bent down until they were at eye level, then he lifted a hand and reached towards her chin.

Juliet’s entire body recoiled from his touch. She felt a wetness on her cheeks and nearly gasped in shock when she realised she was crying. Tears were flowing down her face and dripping onto her neck. Elijah tried again, reaching forward to grab her chin in his tight hold. 

A moment ago, when Elijah’s own confession fell from his lips, his eyes looked wistful, haunted. But now, as he knelt before her, that simmering fury had returned. He began to tighten his grip on her chin. 

Juliet couldn’t feel the pain anymore, she couldn’t feel much of anything. 

“The one thing I couldn’t protect you from, my dear, was your own stupidity,” her father growled, his lips pulling back into a snarl. 

Juliet began to struggle in his grip, attempting to pull herself away from his hand, but it was no use. With her wrists and legs restrained, Juliet was powerless. 

“All those years, feeding you, keeping you sheltered in my home, behind the fence I built, in the community I created,” he paused to shake his head. “And you repaid me by running away, by throwing my protection back in my face.”

“You insulted me once, Juliet. I will not let that happen again.”

Elijah released her chin suddenly and Juliet’s gaze dropped to the floor. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes again. There was nothing behind his icy stare. Juliet could no longer predict his movements, his actions. 

Her father was playing his own game and she had no idea of the rules. 

She couldn’t even begin to unravel everything he just confessed to. Juliet was in shock, nothing made sense anymore. She felt lightheaded, maybe if she just passed out everything would go away, she would wake up lying next to Joel in the woods. Another hot tear rolled down her burning cheek. 

“Daniel!” Elijah bellowed. 

Juliet blinked, finally raising her eyes to look around her. Her father stood by the fire, the poker in his hand. There was something else there too, he was clipping something onto the poker, but her eyes were too blurry with tears to see. 

The door at the top of the basement stairs opened and Daniel came into view. He didn’t say a word, just walked up behind her and hovered, waiting on her father’s instructions. Juliet’s stomach dropped, an icy dread churning in her gut. 

After another agonisingly long minute, Elijah pulled away from the fire and turned towards her. Juliet's eyes immediately dropped to the poker in his hands. And the red hot metal letters attached to the end of it. 

E.M. Elijah Matthews.  

The nausea struck Juliet, hard and fast. She nearly doubled over, but by some miracle, she stayed upright. Her legs began to tremble, shaking the metal chair beneath her. Juliet had figured out her father’s next move. 

“No, no, no, no,” she began to cry, pulling against the ropes with enough force to tear skin.

She watched as her father nodded to Daniel behind her and felt his hands come down on her shoulders. 

“I don’t want it to be too visible, Daniel please lift up her shirt,” her father ordered, as he continued his slow walk towards her. The white hot end of the poker reflected in his eyes and illuminated the cruel shape of his mouth. 

“No!” Juliet screamed through thick tears as Daniel’s rough hands reached down and lifted up her shirt, revealing her stomach. 

Elijah stopped in front of her, peering down, relishing in her fear. 

“This isn’t love,” Juliet cried, defeat seeping into her tone.

Her father smiled, a real smile this time. 

“Love is pain, my sweet Juliet. You just have to be strong enough to bear it,” he said softly. “It’s time you remember who you belong to.”

Then he brought the end of the poker down on Juliet’s stomach.

Juliet felt a scream crawl up her throat, but she couldn’t hear a thing. 

The ringing in her ears drowned out everything around her. The smell of her burning flesh met her nose just as dark spots began to dance across her vision. 

As the darkness consumed her, a familiar face flashed before eyes. In her current state, Juliet could not recall the man’s name, but she felt warm, and she felt safe as he gently wiped her tears with his rough, calloused fingers. 

……………………………………………..

Joel’s POV:

It didn’t take them long to reach Juliet’s house. No one stopped them as they darted through the quiet streets, Ethan staggering to keep up with Joel. 

The house looked different in the dark. It was still old and crumbling, but without the twilight sky bathing it in a soft blue light, the house no longer looked sad.

It looked dangerous. 

They staggered to a stop at the bottom of the porch steps, the lights in the house were on so they kept to the shadows. 

Joel’s fingers clenched and unclenched in a constant, repetitive movement. Joel had fed every bit of fear and regret churning in his gut into his anger, and now it crawled over his skin, desperate for release. 

Ethan signalled with his head towards a side door, Joel nodded and took the lead. He didn’t trust Ethan. He didn’t trust that he could protect Juliet, he didn’t trust his motives. 

But Ethan knew this house, so Joel had to trust that he knew how to get them in. 

“They’ll be in the basement,” Ethan mouthed to Joel before they reached the side door.

Joel frowned, horror starting to overpower his rage. But there was no time to question how Ethan knew this, or what that meant for Juliet. Joel just bit the skin inside his cheek and reached his hand towards the door handle. 

It was unlocked.

He turned back to Ethan before entering the house. It was two against two, Joel wasn’t worried about gunning down the men that surrounded Juliet. Joel just wanted to be the one to deal with Elijah. A single bullet was too easy for him. 

Killing was not often a pleasure for Joel, it was always a necessity. But he knew he would enjoy watching Elijah bleed. 

The house was silent, eerily so. 

Joel began to feel that sense of wrongness from earlier. He didn’t listen to his gut the first time, he wouldn’t make that mistake again. They had to hurry. 

With another sharp nod from Joel, Ethan moved through the house until he reached a door in the middle of the hall. Then he stepped back, darting his gaze up to Joel’s face. 

Joel gripped his shotgun, his fingers flexing across the handle. Ethan echoed his movements, then squeezed his eyes shut for a second. Joel noted the nervous action. He wondered what Ethan had seen in this basement that made him so fearful of it. 

Without another thought, Joel, in one powerful movement, kicked open the basement door and began his descent into the dark room. His heartbeat quickened in anticipation of a fight. 

Time slowed as Joel moved down the steps, his head turning to try and get a sense of the layout but it was so dark. 

The first thing he noticed was the smell.

It was something rotten, but he couldn’t place it. 

It didn’t matter anyways, he wasn’t able to give it much thought, because a man rounded the corner, pulling his gun out of his back pocket. 

Joel fired a bullet through his skull before he got the chance. 

Time continued to slow as Joel reached the bottom step, his gun still out in front of him. Ethan’s presence looming behind him.

Moving around the corner into the room, the smell increased, burning Joel’s nose. If he wasn’t being driven by pure survival instincts at that moment, he would have gagged. 

Another step into the room and Joel spotted a dwindling fire at the back wall, and a man standing next to it, his hands in the air, his mouth open. 

Another step and Joel noticed the chair sitting opposite the fire, and the bent figure of a person hunched over, their head at an unnatural angle. 

Another step and the man scrambled for the poker by the fire, branding it like a weapon.

Another step and Joel rounded on the figure in the chair.

With one sharp inhale, Joel realised that the figure in the chair was a girl.

With one skipped heartbeat, Joel recognised the bruised and battered face of Juliet.

With one glance downwards, Joel noticed the horrific amount of blood pooled around her torso, dripping onto the floor. 

With one strangled gasp, Joel knew that she was dead. 

Time picked up again, moving at a rapid pace all at once. Joel whipped his gaze from Juliet’s body to the man by the fire. Elijah.  

Joel didn’t hear Ethan’s steps pound behind him. Joel didn’t hear Ethan’s pained scream. Joel didn’t hear his own guttural cry as he threw himself at Juliet’s father. 

He dropped his gun, letting it swing from the strap on his shoulder. Joel’s hands knocked the poker from Elijah’s grip then met his neck with a brutal intensity, slamming him against the fireplace, pinning him against the stone wall above it. 

Elijah reached his hands up, clawing at Joel’s arms. His eyes were wide and bloodshot. 

Joel’s face shook with fury, his lips pulled back to bare his teeth. He was snarling at the man in his grip, practically growling as he increased the pressure in his hands. Joel was an animal, his instincts had taken over. 

Some distant part of Joel’s brain heard Ethan yelling, screaming. But Joel wasn’t listening, the only thing he was focused on was the man in front of him begging for air. 

Juliet’s face flashed in his mind, and he pushed harder, practically crushing her father’s throat.

This was the man who had killed her, this was the sick, disgusting man who had made her life a living hell. And there he was, writhing and choking in Joel’s grip. 

But it wasn’t enough for Joel. 

The image of Juliet’s neck, bent at an unthinkable angle, and the blood, god, the blood that poured from her.

Joel wanted, no, needed, to watch Elijah bleed too.

He released his grip so suddenly that Juliet’s father almost fell into the fire, but Joel caught him before that happened. With one hand tight on Elijah’s shoulder, lifting him up, Joel pulled back his other arm and fired his fist into his face. 

Once

Twice…

Joel lost count after twenty or so hits. 

Elijah’s face was unrecognisable, but Joel couldn’t even see him anymore. It was Juliet’s face that covered his vision. He watched her roll her eyes at him, he watched her lips twitch into a reluctant smile, he watched her head tilt back as she laughed. 

Joel knew Elijah was dead, but he kept punching. 

Blood splattered his face, and his fist burned, but he kept punching. 

Joel kept punching because he knew that if he stopped, he’d have to turn around and face Juliet’s lifeless body. He’d have to look at her face and know that she would never smile again, never roll her eyes at his grumpy remarks, never laugh with a recklessness he wished he could imitate. 

Ethan’s yelling started to seep into Joel’s consciousness, growing louder. But he wasn’t screaming for Juliet, he was screaming at Joel. 

Joel pulled back from Elijah, breathing heavy. How weak, how pathetic he looked as a bloody mess resembling a man. 

Joel glanced down at the small fire, still burning quietly, then pushed Elijah’s body into the weakening blaze. Joel watched as the fire started to lick at his skin, blistering his flesh. 

The smell struck his nose, and Joel whipped around towards Juliet’s body. That was what he had smelled when he entered the basement. Joel didn’t think that more rage could coat around his heart, but somehow this realisation brought forth a wave of anger he didn’t even think his body was capable of containing. 

“Lift up her shirt,” Joel commanded with a lifeless voice, staring numbly at Juliet’s bloodied torso. 

Ethan was still shouting, but Joel continued to block him out. 

“Lift up her shirt,” he demanded again, louder this time, harsher.

Ethan carefully reached around Juliet and rolled up her shirt.

There it was, barely visible beneath the layer of thick blood, a brand marking her skin. E.M.

Joel ached to turn around, pull Elijah out of the fire and continue pummelling his face. But as he looked closer, a muscle in his very tight jaw jumped when he noticed that, despite the amount of blood, the brand was the only wound on Juliet’s stomach.

Joel’s eyes darted to Ethan, who had cut the ropes on Juliet’s wrists and ankles free, and now sat on his knees with his fingers latched on the underside of Juliet’s raw wrist. 

“She’s alive,” Ethan croaked out. “I can feel her pulse, it’s weak but it’s there.”

Ethan’s words washed over Joel and he staggered backwards. Relief was quick and brutal, but it did nothing to ease his horror. Juliet sat broken before him. Not dead, but nearly. Almost. 

“Get up,” Joel barked out, gesturing for Ethan to stand and move away from Juliet. 

When he didn’t move quick enough, Joel snarled, “get the fuck away from her,” in his lifeless voice. His eyes didn’t leave Juliet’s face. She was so pale, and covered in blood and bruises. 

Ethan scrambled away from her and Joel moved forward, his steps were heavy, like he was wading through water. But his hands, though fractured and bruised, were so gentle as they slid behind her back, tucking under her legs and lifting her broken body to his chest. Her head rolled onto his shoulder and Joel tilted his chin down towards her. His eyes shuttered closed as his stubbled jaw grazed over Juliet’s dark hair. 

He kept watching her until he felt her chest rise and fall with a shallow breath. Joel almost choked with relief. Then the terror snuck back in. She was so cold, and there was so much blood. They had to get out of here, get somewhere safe. 

Joel couldn’t spend another second in this basement.

Time slowed to a crawl again as he walked the fourteen steps out of the basement, Juliet’s fragile body shivering against him.

Joel vowed, with each step he climbed, that he would never again let Juliet out of his sight, never again allow her to suffer, until she begged him herself to go.

If Juliet allowed it, he would burn anything and anyone who ever dared to hurt her.

______________________

@amyispxnk @shotgun-shelby @http-paprika

[writing-by-night]

Seven Days to Christmas Countdown: Day 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanov

Prompt: Natasha hasn’t had a proper Christmas since the tainted memories of Ohio. Bucky decides to give her the Christmas she deserves… with a few feelings coming to light

Word Count: 2.8k

Natasha Alianova Romanova is many things. A “feelings person” is far from one of them. A holiday person? Again, decidedly not. The only proper holidays she’s ever had were tainted with the fact that it was all fake, manipulated, in Ohio. Oh well, at least Yelena enjoyed them in the moment. And sometimes it had been nice. But then the next day she’d always remember – once the food was eaten and the presents were opened and pictures taken, it was all gone. 

In New York, her makeshift family has never noticed the fact that she rarely participates. Tony will celebrate with huge parties, but quietly give each of them a handmade gift. Hers is always a weapon. Bruce will make cookies he never says he makes but leave them out. He gives her oatmeal raisin ones, because she ate them once on a mission. She hates raisins. At least with Bruce if she said she didn’t like them he would just make her something different, but at this point eating cookies she hates is a tradition. Thor doesn’t do Christmas, he’s norse. He does Yule and burns a big log in the fireplace and tells stories and makes way too much food. At this point she likes Yule more than Christmas. Clint goes home to have Christmas with his family, and she goes for christmas morning and is back for christmas dinner with the team. Whatever that looks like. Steve, arguably the only practicing religious person among the original six(unless Thor counts? She’s not sure it counts if he’s already a god) gets a tree and goes to Christmas Eve Mass, returning with food chinese takeout. That’s a tradition between the two of them, partaken on his, more homey, floor of the tower. 

Then there’s the new side. Sam always goes to Louisiana but comes back with food and out of season King Cake for New Years. Wanda celebrates on January Seventh, she’s Orthodox Christian, given as she’s from eastern europe. Natasha tries to take the younger girl under her wing – they make food and spend that day together watching bad movies. Peter Parker, the other one she takes especial care of, she celebrates for his sake these days. He grew up in a multi-religious household – Jewish by his mother and then his Aunt, non-religious Father and Uncle gave him christmas. The kid loves Christmas and Hanukkah, and throws himself into it. Honestly he brings the team together more than anything. She’ll watch Home Alone as much as he likes and help him string popcorn, and then whenever Hanukkah falls they’ll make Latkes and play dreidel and light a Menorah. She learned to make Challah bread when he first came to the tower. 

But that was the thing. She didn’t do Christmas, it was the people around her. If she was being honest with herself, she never had really celebrated, in a way. At least not in a way she would count for herself

This year there’s a new addition. 

One James Buchanan Barnes, Sgt(rt.) US Army, former Winter Soldier, and the closest to a kind man she’d met for most of her life. 

And she likes him. 

She really likes him.

They talk, a lot. James is sharing a floor with Steve, but he spends a lot of time on hers. They order takeout that James hasn’t had a chance to try and sit on the living room floor(the couch feels too formal) and just talk. They’ll laugh about stories of little Steve or commiserate about their trauma. They talk about everything. She’s safe with him even though she feels like she shouldn’t be. 

It’s nothing against James, it’s a thing against men in general. She’s been hurt too much for that. But James is painfully respectful. He’s terrified to hurt anyone, and he saw firsthand in the Red Room where she gets her fear from. So, he gives her space. 

It’s not until almost six months after he arrives that she touches him.

He’s heading back to Steve’s for bed and she’s in ridiculous Black Widow pajama pants Tony got her and a sweatshirt that Peter gave her for Hanukkah last year. She’s not sure why, but she pulls him into a tight hug.

“Be safe.”

“I will be.” His voice is soft, and she loves it. Low, and rich. His arms are snug but not trapping, and he smells like leather and the spices he loves to bake with. 

“Yeah.”

She really is fucked. 

- 

Bucky watches a lot these days. In the forties, it would’ve felt easier. He was the social butterfly, always in the center of the crowd. But in this place, as whoever he is now.. he prefers to be watching. He notices all the same things as Natalia about the dynamics of the team.

Especially about her, how the redhead fits in. How she clearly isn’t a fan of the holidays but smiles through them, how she's hard to read and no one but Barton really sees her. He tries too, but he hasn’t known her for the two plus decades the archer has. Besides, it’s not a competition. She deserves people who care. 

He can see how she takes care of the two teens, letting them closer to her on movie nights than she lets anyone else. Wanda doesn’t like most of anyone after the raft. Especially the men. Half the time she sits more or less on Natalia’s lap, curled up. He doesn’t blame her. Sometimes she seeks him out, if Natalia is nearby. It means a lot. Peter is anxious and hides it in some ways by making it just seem chaotic. He clings to Stark and Natalia like liferafts. He speaks Yiddish fluently and can read Hebrew. 

It’s not until one of those late nights in Natalia’s apartment that he finds out why.

“I spent three years of my life on a mission in Ohio as a ‘normal’ suburban family,” she admits to him, taking a sip of the wine she’s drinking. “I was the only kid who knew it was all fake and I would love it and then as soon as it was over I’d go and cry because it wasn’t real. Traumatized the shit out of me with the emotional whiplash. I still hate the whole thing. Besides, I’m not really into the whole emotional thing.”

He pauses. “You celebrate with Wanda and Peter, though,” he points out, more as a question than anything

“Yeah.” She takes a long drink. “Just cause I’m fucked up doesn’t mean those kids have to be.” 

Bucky pauses. No one ever gives her credit for her heart. Then he shifts to be shoulder to shoulder with her, wrapping an arm around her waist timidly. “You’re too good for everyone here,” he mumbles.

“No, they’re too good for me.” She fidgets for a moment. “You know what I’ve done, James.”

She’s the only one to ever call him that, just like how only he calls her Natalia. It makes him shiver quietly, the way he does when she touches him. They knew each other years before they met freely. Those were the names. It’s quiet, but it says something about a bond the others don’t know too much about. Barton probably knows, he thinks. Steve does, too. 

“No,” he objects softly. “It’s you who is far too good for me.”

He’s in love with her. It’s three days later and he’s finally working it out after Natalia kissed his cheek before she left for a mission with Wanda to train in Wakanda. And he almost says I love you.

As he walks away from the bay where they left, Steve comes up behind him.

“So, you’re in love with her, right?”

Bucky whips around.

“Fuck- where did you- what? No!”

Stark is on the other side of him, rolling his eyes.

“Who are you kidding, Robo-man? You’ve been making moony eyes at her since you arrived. She invites you over. If I didn’t know better I’d guess you were fucking”

“Stark!”

“Tony!” 

“What?” Tony shrugs. “Look, go get her. She’s a catch and way too good for any of us. Go get her and treat her right.”

Bucky glares, but he honestly wishes he was brave enough

“And what? Chase her to Wakanda and get kicked in on my ass?”

“No, obviously not.” Stark’s been replaced by Barton. The man Natalia calls her brother from another mother. “You’re gonna prep something to surprise her when she gets home and tell her how you feel. Because between us,” he glares at Steve to make sure he shuts up, “she’s been trying to figure out if you feel the same. Which by the way, when she first got here she spent months terrified you’d be punished for her.”

Holy shit…

Natalia Romanov… likes him?

“She- she did?”

“Oh yeah. I say, make her a surprise of some sort you know she’ll like.”

“That she’ll like…” hm. He can do that. Maybe…

Over the next two days before Christmas Eve when he returns, he’s hard at work. Decorating Natalia’s apartment for the holiday. Not too over the top, but enough to start replacing some memories. There’s a tree now, lit and decorated, with some presents underneath. Toys for Liho, a few books, a film camera that made him think of her. And one of his sweatshirts, since she steals it at every opportunity. The kitchen has the makings for chocolate chip and sugar cookies, and he put a wreath on the door. Grabbed some Christmas CDs at the local thrift store for the old CD player she still insists on using – reminds her of the one her “ma” bought for her when she was a kid. Stark leaves some DVDs of christmas movies, and he insisted on funding the whole thing.

Actually, most of the residents have, in some way.

Pepper – the only one he really calls by first name since she just didn’t tell him her last one for a month – helps him find Natalia’s clothing sizes. Stark funds the whole thing and Stevie helps with the tree. Barton goes with him to add a few gifts – and brings from some his mysterious family. His wife labels a few from St. Nick, and contributes the ornaments and crafts the kids have made for their Auntie Nat over the years. 

Banner gives him some fancy tea, says to have it for when she gets home, she usually drinks it after missions.

-

And when Natasha gets home, she’s not greeted to the usual empty house she’s accustomed to. James is waiting for her by the fireplace, which is burning merrily, reading a book with Liho purring loudly in his lap. The whole place has been decorated – she assumed the wreath on the door was one of Stark’s efforts to make everyone’s doors fancy, but she has a tree, apparently, and it's been decorated, down to ornaments from her nieces and nephews. There’s gifts under it. Her tea is steeping.

“James?”

The man in question looks up, smiling a bit. It’s that smile, the one she can’t get enough of but hardly sees sometimes.

“Talia?” A nickname. She’s not sure she can- nope, there’s her pulse.

“What’s all this? Did you do this?”

That makes him chuckle as he stands up, Liho wandering off.

“Yeah, uh… Merry Christmas. I was thinking, um… we could make some new memories. Out with the old, in with the new, and all that”

“Isn’t that New Years?” She steps in further, looking around in wonder

“Maybe?” He scratches his head bashfully. “Sorry if it was-”

She moves then, until she’s standing close enough for him to be able to feel her breath on his neck. She’s not thinking, but for once she’s never been more sure of anything as she grabs his face with a hurried tenderness, kissing him soundly as she rises on tiptoe. “It’s not too much.”

“It’s- it’s not?” She seems to have short-circuited him, and he seems shell shocked, but his hands are automatically holding her waist. 

“No, James… no, it’s not.” Natasha looks up, examining his face. “Was… was this?”

He pauses, clearly assessing himself. Then his head shakes. 

“No, no this isn’t too much… just was scared you didn’t feel the same, doll.”

Doll. It’s such a sweet, old-fashioned nickname and it makes her smile stupidly

“How couldn’t I?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, blushing. “I guess I’ve made the point you’re way too good for me pretty damn well..”

“You have, or tried to anyways,” she laughs a bit, kissing his cheek. “Good for you, I’m not much of a listener.”

“And I love you for it.”

“I love you for it, too.”

“Shit, uh.. I totally just said that, didn’t I.”

That makes her laugh again, looping her arms around his neck. 

“Shut up and kiss me, will you?”

“If that’s what you want, Talia? I will until I can’t breathe and then some.”

The next morning, she wakes up in her bed, wrapped in strong arms. She panics for a moment, before she notices the scent and the way she’s being held. James is laying with her, face buried in her neck. And despite what Tony would probably tease about, they’re both fully clothed. Neither of them ready for that step yet, and that’s just fine. 

Was it all a dream? No, it can’t have been…

Silently, she slips out of his arms and pads out into the living room. It’s all like it was the night before, other than the fact that they put out the fire.

Shimmering tree, cookies they baked cooling on the counter, gifts waiting. 

Liho begs for breakfast as always, so she goes to oblige. Just as she’s finishing setting out the food, Bucky hugs her from behind, kissing her cheek.

“Good morning, my love,” he murmurs sweetly. She blushes instantly, melting into his arms. 

“Good morning, Detka((baby)),” she replies softly, reaching up a hand into her hair.

“Merry christmas,” he smiles, leaning down to leave a few sweet kisses on her neck. Oddly, its not possessive or sexual, it’s purely a sweet gesture that makes her giggle – giggle! – as he twirls her around. “C’mon, let’s open your gifts.”

“I feel bad,” she points out with a playful pout. “You don’t have any gifts”

“I think Stevie left a few for me down here. And anyway, I don’t like getting stuff, I wanted to treat my girl.” 

“Your girl?”

“If you want to be” he blushes as they stand their, holding her face gently 

“If you’ll be my man,” she smirks playfully, pecking his cheek

“I’d love to be,” he answers instantly, scooping her up and making her squeal as she’s carried to the living room and set down by the tree, wrapped in a blanket by the now warm fire as he hands her the first gift.

-

Just like he’d hoped, Natalia loves all her gifts, laughing carefreely and enjoying each one, blushing at the attention when he pulls her into his lap to hold her tight while she does, leaving loving kisses on every inch of available skin. He’s got a few – Wanda made a box of some sort of marshmallow fudge which is absurdly sweet and therefore amazing, hardcover copies of The Hobbit plus Lord of the Rings from Steve, and surprisingly a warm sweater from Barton’s wife, saying to come visit. And from Natasha a beautiful journal, which is instantly his most precious possession. 

The rest of the day is spent lazily curled together on the couch, Natalia resting on his chest while they watch movies and he braids her hair. She’s wearing the sweatshirt he gave her, and he has to admit he loves how she looks in his clothes. Okay, maybe he’s a bit possessive.

“Hey love?” He kisses her hair softly, hugging her a bit closer as they watch a Muppet version of Charles Dickens – played by either a crow or, um… a purple seagull? – explain the meaning of christmas to a very hungry rat with no sense of what’s happening.

“Yes, moy lyubov?((my love?))” She looks up and rolls over, tucking herself into his chest, smiling sleepily.

“Do.. are you okay with people knowing?”

“About us?”

“Yeah, um.” Bucky can’t fathom a world where she’d honestly want to be known to be dating someone like him. For one, the public still sees him as a War Criminal and the one who killed Howard Stark(technically, he’s both. Luckily, a good case was made of him being equally a victim. He has a feeling Stark Money helped, too)

“Baby..” she softens, and he’s bracing for a  rejection, when she kisses him sweetly. “I would shout it from the rooftops if you asked. I love you, James, more than anything in the world. I want everyone to know, if you’re comfortable with it”

He blushes softly. “I am, I want everyone to know I love you,” he admits softly.

“Then they all will”