#they’re like doing that soldier ptsd the bed is too soft thing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whirlybirbs · 4 years ago

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( this chapter’s gif by @august-walker from this beautiful set ! )

✪ — VACANT MIRRORS ; B.B. | 4/?

summary: you formulate a plan, meet steve rogers, and bucky goes on a date.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 6.8k, mother of pearl

a/n: this ended up being mostly a filler with a lot of romantic growth - i had to break this chapter up from the unce unce unce clubbing that coming up, so please enjoy!

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MOSCOW, 1975.

In all the years that James Buchanan Barnes has had a heartbeat, he’d come to know the sounds of grief well.

War taught him a lot of things — that they were all just little boys playing with guns, and that no matter how many times you thought you’d be ready for the vomit-inducing pungency of violence, you never were. In the end, you’d do anything to save yourself; you’d crawl through the thick of death and debris a million times over if only to cling to the shredded tatters of your own humanity.

You would kill someone else’s son for the sake of your own mother.

War was disease that devoured every part of you — it was gunpowder snuff and carved flesh. That sickness — inky and desperate — had sunk deep into this heart during the war, and it crescendoed to the sounds of mothers clutching dead sons. The sounds that followed death were like a hollow opera. Waning and wailing.

In the raucous wake left by warborn grief, Bucky drowned everytime.

To the Winter Soldier, the operatic quality to the sounds of grief were as insignificant as a child’s rhyme.

He did not drown. No, he waded through the waves, comfortable in the cold and unphased by the stinging cut of loss. That was not something he could comprehend. After all, there were orders and there were targets, and everything in between was absolute.

He was the disease that devoured all.

He’s holding a gun to Andrei Kuznetzov’s head in a dining room with ornate trim — with silverware as delicate as scalpels that tinker against fine china. The carpets are red, the curtains are red, there’s blood on the table cloth. The guests continue to eat. Kuznetzov’s wife is screaming, red nails dug so deep into the dining chair’s arms it’s carving out the fabric. War dogs, like him, keep her rooted in her seat, and her tears find polished boots. She’s begging and bartering but the man with Kuznetzov’s life in his hands is not listening. He is eating his veal, bloodied meat dancing between his lips. He takes a sip of wine as his medal emblazoned chest glimmers in the light of crystalline chandaliers.

The spoils of war.

His smile is stained red.

There is no deal to be made.

The Winter Soldier pulls the trigger.

NOW.

His eyes are open.

Panic is the first emotion he feels, and it seizes him up quickly in its grasp. He doesn’t know this view, he doesn’t know where he is, not again, not again, not again —

Then:

“Good morning, sleeping beauty. Did you know you snore?”

The relief that the sound of your voice brings is immediate, and just like that he remembers. He’s laying on the bed. You’re sat up across from him at that small desk in the corner. He reaches as he rubs his face to thumb the edge of the pillowcase. He exhales tightly.

He’s fine. His name is James Buchanan Barnes. He is not longer the Winter Soldier. He’s in his Brooklyn apartment. He is fine.

When’s the last fucking time he’s slept in a bed?

He sits up, scratching his neck as he does. You lean back, half rotated in the desk. Before you is a mess of papers and his laptop — and on top of the keyboard sits his notebook. It’s open to the page where all he’d been able to figure out about Innessa was scrawled in his chicken scratch.

Bucky swings his legs over the edge of the bed and immediately his back complains.

“How long was I out?” he asks, voice hoarse with sleep. He moves to part the curtains. The room blooms with warm morning light.

You offer an apologetic smile into the vanilla sunshine. “Three hours. I wanted you to get some shut eye. You were starting to look a little overwhelmed last night—”

“You click too fast,” he waves, standing and immediately rolling his neck to the side. You watch as the man, before as peaceful as a sleeping pup, now regains his usual thinning veiled level of threat. Bucky is dangerous — it shows in the way he holds himself. He cracks his neck, rolls his shoulders, and groans. He exhales again, posture sagging a bit, “I couldn’t keep up.”

You’re standing now, socks padding against the hardwood as you eye his cowlick with a budding bloom of affection. With his notebook between your index and middle finger, you offer it out. You cling to your empty coffee cup in the other.

“I didn’t peek,” you say warmly, “Pinky promise.”

His laugh is more like a hot puff of air. Bucky manages a look that feels like an emotional dethaw.

“Thank you.”

You lead the way to the kitchen, stretching your own back as you go. You’d been up all night — this is your third trip out here for yet another cup of coffee. The pot has been on for too long, though, and you know the coffee sitting there is beyond bitter. You’re moving to dump it down the sink when Bucky grumbles.

“Don’t.”

“You want it?”

“No,” he mutters, reaching for a mug, “But I don’t want to waste it.”

“Wow,” you chirp, “The Great Depression just jumped out.”

“Yeah,” he snorts, yanking open the fridge to search for something to eat, “It does that.”

“Well, grandpa,” you hand him the steaming cup and set out to make another pot, “You’re also living on Depression Era rations — might I suggest some Dolly’s? Because I’m starving and I’ve been up all night and I think that means I get to decide where we get breakfast.”

Bucky’s look is soft — but you don’t see it. You’re too busy scooping sugar into your cup, too busy nudging him aside to grab the milk. He’s rooted there in the kitchen, watching you move about. You’re comfortable. There isn’t a trace of anxiousness in you, not in this moment, and he tries to remember what it looks like.

Your eyes find his and he clears his throat.

“Earth to Sergeant Barnes?”

“Don’t start,” he groans, albeit playfully, “It’s too early.”

“Oh, what? Too early for me to grill you on why you didn’t tell me that little laptop in there was on loan from the FBI? To one Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th?”

His face falls.

“Don’t worry,” you raise a hand quickly, leaning against the counter as you sip your coffee, “I figured that out before I did anything massively illegal.”

Bucky rubs his face as he takes a sip of his coffee — the bitterness is enough to slap him awake. He winces, swallows it back, and remembers the taste of instant coffee made in helmets on the line in Bastogne. He can smell snow, and the acrid sting of mortar smoke. Suddenly, he’s craving a cigarette.

That hasn’t happened in a while.

Bucky clears his throat. “Did you find anything?”

You frown slightly, lips pulled as you hide your inward disappointment — you push off from the counter and shake your head as you brush past him. Like a loyal dog, Bucky follows. Into the bedroom you go, and Bucky’s again surprised he managed to get any sleep at all in that bed. Maybe it was the comfort of having someone else there, or the genuine exhaustion that had finally choked him out after hours of trying to understand what the hell you were even doing on there.

You plop into the desk chair and snatch up a piece of paper littered with notes.

“I couldn’t do much of my usual snooping,” you explain gently as you gesture to the chromebook, “This thing might have been given to you in good faith, but they’re watching you pretty closely. So, I worked a little magic and ended up running a virtual machine. Gave me enough wiggle room to avoid the malware and keystroke trackers. Even still, I wanted to be careful, so I just did a little looking.”

“Looking?”

“I can’t dig deeper on Innessa, I know where to dig, but I can’t,” you frown, “Not on this laptop, and definitely not on my personal machines. I’ve got the GRC breathing down my neck, and the files I need to poke are very much off-limits.”

“So, what? We’re shit out of luck?”

“No, not entirely,” you stand up and motion to the paper in your hands; your tone is tight, “I know a few people who can help, but getting to them is going to be the hardest part.”

Bucky takes the paper, squinting at the writing as you settle on the edge of the bed next to him. You take a sip of your coffee and watch as his blue eyes dart across the notes; you point to the name scrawled across the top.

“There’s a club in lower Manhattan, but you’ve gotta know the right people to get in,” you mumble, scratching your cheek as a creeping sense of embarrassment bubbles up behind your words, “It’s in the basement of an old computer repair shop. It’s like a blackhat networking event, but with strippers.”

Bucky squints at the paper and reads the name. “The Glass Cannon?”

“Yeah,” you huff, crossing your arms tightly as you stand, “That’s the one.”

Bucky looks up from the paper, attention now rooted on the pacing you’ve begun to do across the room. Back and forth. You’re holding your coffee like a lifeline, gaze far away. That anxiousless way you’d been holding yourself before is gone. Now, he can see the tensing in your shoulders, in your fingers. You’re suddenly nervous.

Bucky stands. His voice is gentle.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” you snap almost immediately, “Just, y’know. Worried. I spent a lot of time there when I was younger. Did stupid shit. And now I’m about to waltz in after six years like I haven’t put that part of my life behind me.”

“We don’t have to do this,” he says immediately, moving to stand closer and halt your pacing. The invasion of your space forces you to look at him. His fingers glimmering in the morning light. You follow the line of his figure up to his eyes. The emotion there makes your heart clench. You can’t pin it down, and it’s gone in an instant.

“It’s the only way we’re going to find Innessa.”

“You don’t need to put yourself in situations like this for me,” he says, stressing the for me part in both expression and tone. The depreciation makes you wince and you’re fast to shake your head.

“That’s what friends do, Bucky,” you stand your ground, but you know there’s more to your reasoning than that, “Plus, she’s a bad guy. And I know you said I technically wasn’t the sidekick, but—”

“You’re not the sidekick—”

“I know,” you huff, nudging him gently with your arm, “But, I wanna help. Do some good.”

“You do enough good,” he mutters, “You’re a good person.”

Your words fail you at that — and your mouth parts but nothing comes out. Bucky watches with an expression as solid as rock as you blink and look away. His hand, the one of flesh and bone, finds your wrist as you tighten your grip on your mug.

The touch, though far too tender for you to handle, feels like fire.

Like a slap in the face, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky is.

You slap that thought back, trading volleys, and remain quiet.

His tone is stern. “I mean it.”

“Well,” you finally muster, tone dipping sardonically into a cruel peel of humor, “Just wait until you see me in my natural habitat. Maybe the tequila shots will make you second guess that.”

“I didn’t know we were going out drinking,” he chirps as he raises an eyebrow, “Am I going to need to get you a leash?”

“We’re gonna have to try and blend in as best we can. People are going to know me — if they try to pin me with the GRC or the feds, we aren’t going to get anything on Innessa. They probably won’t even let me in the building if they suspect something’s up, after all not everything that goes down in Glass Cannon is kosher.”

“This is already sounding like a bad idea,” Bucky mumbles as he crosses his arms, “I’m stating that for the record, by the way.”

“Well, I think standing around and working ourselves up about this is even worse of an idea,” you chirp back, moving towards the door to muscle on your shoes, “So I say we feed ourselves and don’t worry about this until Thursday night.”

“Thursday.”

You nod.

All of a sudden, Bucky’s eyes go wide.

“Today is Sunday.”

You freeze, hand on the doorframe. You shoot him a wide-eyed look at the sudden flare of panic that’s shot up through him. “Yea, Bucky, today is Sunday.”

“Shit.”

“What?” you nearly cry as he disappears into the bedroom once more. You hear his closet open, then a clatter as he grabs something like keys — you nearly run directly into his chest when he strides back into the kitchen. He’s shouldered on his usual leather jacket, and in his hands is another.

He’s got keys in his hand.

“C’mon.”

He shoves the jacket into your arms and you frown.

“What the hell?” you cry, doubling back to snag your phone and bag as Bucky moves to the door, “What is this?”

“Put it on,” he says, holding open the door for you as you follow him into the apartment hallway.

You raise a brow and stand there as he locks the door.

“Why?”

“Because,” Bucky mumbles, rubbing his face as he widens his strides to the stairwell across the hall; before you know it, you’re desperately trying to keep up as he bounces down the steps — light on his feet like the boxer he is — towards the lower level of the apartment complex, “We’re late.”

You groan, trying to shrug on the jacket that smells like Bucky as you follow — a smell you’d come to know as clean laundry and sandalwood. Must be something for his hair. He never wore cologne, that much was apparent. The jacket is big on you, especially on the shoulders. You were swimming in it, trying not to trip as he held the door open to the garage.

Suddenly, the air is cooler. Immediately you wonder how much his rent is if he had access to a ground level garage. Call it NYC instinct.

“Bucky,” you nearly whine, throwing your head back, “Where are we going?”

Before you get a reply, you run straight into his back. Bucky grunts, moving to grab both of your hands and push you to the front of him.

Sitting in the spot is a motorcycle.

It’s a jet black Harley.

Bucky is handing you the helmet on the back seat as your mouth moves in disbelief. “No way— no, I’m not getting on that thing. I’d rather sell my kidneys. Stop, stop — ow, Bucky — you haven’t even said where we’re going!”

He’s muscling the helmet onto your head and through the flash of the visor you can see a real smile, the sort born out of his never-ending amusement towards your fickle sense of humor. His fingers are nimble against your chin. He takes the time to strap it on, adjust it, and give it a gentle tug. Bucky taps the matte black helmet twice, then flicks the visor down.

“We’re going upstate.”

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

It takes two hours to get to Elmwood Senior Living.

You spent the first forty-five minutes clinging to Bucky’s waist with your eyes closed — no fault of Bucky’s, really. It was different from riding in a car by miles, and you had your own qualms with driving. You couldn’t be in the passenger’s seat anymore. Not after the accident with Jaimie, when Mom disappeared. Being out of control made you itch; and it’s not until the fifty-minute mark that you ease up on the panic and remember who the man is that’s driving the bike.

You trust Bucky. You trust him with your life.

Once it’s open road, winding up towards the Northern part of the state, it gets easier.

Bucky can feel your grip around his waist loosen just a bit — and it’s enough reassurance that he stops looking back in the mirror every fifteen seconds. It’s enough permission to open up on the throttle, and the bike roars alive. Your immediate reaction is a gobsmacked yelp, the sort that’s pulled from a jolt of shock, but then comes the laugh.

Bucky’s own quiet chuckle rumbles against your chest. You hold on tighter, but this time with open palms against the thrum of his ribs.

Halfway through the trip, he pulls into a McDonald’s.

You drop your ass onto the parking lot’s curb as he leans against the bike and houses a burger. You laugh, eyeing him candidly as you take a large bite from your own lunch. Bucky is a mess with it — cursing quietly when he ends up getting ketchup on his jacket.

“Shit.”

“Jesus, Bucky,” you mutter, “Did you even taste that thing?”

“Barely,” he clears his throat and starts picking at his fries, “These things taste different now. First time I ever had McDonald’s was right before bootcamp.”

“How much was it? Five cents?” you snort, leaning back and dropping a fry into your mouth.

Bucky watches with a half-smirk. “Fifteen, but nice try.”

He spends the next five minutes on his hand with a wet nap, trying hard to get the grease out of the delicate plates along his palm. You watch, as you knock back the rest of your soda, as his eyes crinkle tightly in frustration. His mouth is pulled tightly into a fine line. For the second time today, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky Barnes is — and how fucking stubborn he is, too.

“Want help?”

“No,” he mutters, trying to get a spot between his thumb and index finger, “I got it.”

“I have smaller fingers,” you sing-song, gathering up his trash and your trash and crossing the parking lot to the bin; upon returning, you waggle them in his face, “Good for hard to reach places.”

Bucky absolutely hates that can feel his blush hit the tips of his ears at the comment.

He’s glad you’re too preoccupied with his hand to notice. You’re watching, like you always do, with respectful awe. To you, this part of him is a bit like a treasure — you find it beautiful and intriguing and incredible. It’s clear in the way you watch the mechanisms turn and tighten that you aren’t frightened by it.

It unsettles Bucky every time.

Finally, once he’s finished under your watchful eyes, he leans to muscle that helmet back over your head. You groan, squinting tightly.

“C’mon,” he knocks your helmet with his knuckles, “We’re almost there.”

The rest of the ride is wide open space, farm land and mountainous peaks looming far ahead. It’s warm, and the sun is hot on your back. The wind is howling around you and it sends your jacket collar flapping against your neck. Your chin rests neatly on Bucky’s shoulder, trying to get a view of the road ahead.

Elmwood Senior Living is tucked into the back of a suburb.

The two of you weave through a neighborhood or two, dancing under the shade of age old maple trees. They cast long, scattered shadows across the pavement as kids play on their lawns. A dog barks somewhere in the distance. Over the hill, church bells ring. Sunday service has ended.

Bucky rolls into the parking lot, past the large sign with swirling lettering. Suddenly, things make more sense. Suddenly, you’re struck with a sinking feeling of grief. Nostalgia. Mourning. But, happiness.

There are folks sitting outside, basking in the sun, tethered to walkers.

Bucky’s wrists crank back weathered knuckles, and slowly the bike rumbles into an open spot. Extending his legs, Bucky balances the bike with ease. You take that as your cue to swing yourself off the back clumsily, hopping a bit. Bucky leans, kicks the stand down, and with significantly more grace than you, swings his leg over.

You’re shrugging his jacket off when he speaks.

“He’s going to be different than how you imagine him.”

You exhale slowly, draping the jacket over the bike’s seat. You peel the helmet off.

“I’ve sort of pieced that together.”

You can see the slight discomfort hanging in his posture. You reach and touch Bucky’s arm.

“Come on,” you nod to the entrance, covered by a shady overhang where someone is helping a family member out of their car, “We don’t wanna be late, huh?”

His eyes soften. Bucky nods.

You walk side-by-side into the lobby of Elmwood Senior Living and it’s like time slows down. It halts in a warm, sunshine colored still — full of chatter, full of humanity, full of wisdom. The room is framed by big windows, by plants, by a man in a U.S. Navy ball cap. He’s stationed by the door, watching the comings and goings. The main desk, where a young woman watches, sits in the corner. You follow Bucky with a content little look. He notices.

He stands a little closer at the main desk. The girl, who looks like she’s incredibly out of place with her blue hair and piercings, is younger than you thought. Highschool, maybe. She offers Bucky an excited smile.

“Took you long enough,” she chirps, moving to sort through a bin to her side with key fobs.

Your brows raise. You spy calculus homework on the desk.

Bucky snorts. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

He notices the same problem set you so, and purposely leans over the desk. Suddenly, you’re seeing flashes of a more boyish version of Bucky — one that reminds you of a man with siblings. Bucky taps the paper, jutting a chin to the girl as she tries to swat his attention away.

“How’d you do on that test?”

“I got a 96,” she chirps pridefully, laughing, “Thanks for the help, nerd.”

You’re watching the entire exchange with a smile, backing up a bit to toss a curious glance over your shoulder. There’s a dining room through open doors — and looks like lunch is just wrapping up. Folks are moving around, back to their rooms or upstairs where you can hear the beginnings of a seated aerobics class begin.

Bucky nudges you with his hand.

“Thanks, Sarah,” he says and waves the key she’d handed over.

The girl with the blue hair scoffs. “Say hi to grandpa for me, Bucket.”

You laugh out loud as Bucky quickly flips her off. She’s quick to do the same.

You follow him around the corner, grinning ear to ear. He spares you a sheepish look, then rolls his eyes.

“What was that?”

“She’s a good kid,” he offers, eyeing the key with the grey little fob attached, “Reminds me of my sister.”

Your face softens. “Sister?”

“Her name was Sarah, too,” he says quietly, boots landing softly on the blue carpet. He’s navigating the residential wing like he’s done it a million times. There are rooms with flowers outside, with holiday garb, with little photos and keepsakes. Each room holds a lifetime of personality — the sound of Jeopardy lulls along in the background.

You hum. Bucky sighs.

He meanders down a long hallway where a different door is — this one heavy and locked by the little keypad. Bucky raises the key fob to the device and the door buzzes.

This side of Elmwood is quieter.

Down the hall, Timmy Dorsey and Sinatra play quietly over someone’s record player.

There aren’t as many folks in the hall in this wing, but doors are open and nurses flit about. Around the corner, there’s a loud conversation going on about lunch — and you watch as Bucky weaves towards the nursing station. It’s a room overlooking the common area with windows. Inside are three women.

One of them immediately jumps when she sees Bucky.

“Oh, good! I was meaning to talk to you—”

“Everything alright?”

“About the same,” she breathes as she stands, moving to grab at a Bucky’s arm with a sense of motherliness that makes you smile, “But, meals have been a bit difficult lately.”

“No kidding,” he mutters, rubbing his chin, “He just doesn’t wanna eat?”

“He thinks Peggy is coming home,” the woman whispers with a pained smile as she begins to lead you both down the hall, “He thinks your grandmother made dinner for him.”

“Right,” Bucky nods, “Doesn’t wanna ruin his appetite.”

“Exactly.”

You take note of the conversation, muddling through your own confusion. You’re quiet, though. This isn’t really your conversation to have. Bucky seems to be relaxed more — even humming slightly to a song that plays across the hall from the room the nurse is knocking on.

“Mr. Carter?” she calls gently, “Your grandson is here to see you, and his…”

She looks expectantly at you. You bawk.

“Friend.”

“Right,” she smiles and pushes open the door.

It’s like a little slice of home.

Sofas, chairs, photos on the walls. There’s a record player in the corner, a television, a coffee table stacked with books on the second world war. There’s a dresser covered in baubles and warm light coming in from the window overlooking the street. It reminds you of your grandparents’ sitting room — everything looks so lived in, so comfortable, so alive.

And then, below the light of the window, is a hospital bed.

In it is Steve Rogers.

Not the one you know — no, this one has lived a full life. This Steve Rogers has fallen in love, owned a home, settled down. This Steve Rogers has years of wisdom settled into his face, years of well-fought fights in his joints. His blonde hair has gone shock white, but his smile is all the same.

“Bucky.”

The way Steve says his name is like the man beside you holds the world.

To Bucky, he can hear a new weakness. A new exhaustion.

“Hi, punk.”

The nurse offers a little wave to you as Bucky ventures into the room, stripping his jacket off and moving to scope out the minifridge in the small kitchenette beside the bathroom. She leaves the door open, and you smile to her softly. Bucky rummages, poking his head up.

“You want a drink, Steve?” he asks, tone almost like he’s feeling out the lucidity of the man across the room, “There’s some of that lemonade I brought last week in here.”

“Sounds good,” he says slowly, “Please.”

You feel out of place — not unwelcome, but… it’s clear that Bucky has come and gone from here a thousand times now. He knows to get the glasses out, to get a straw, to turn down the record player on his way over. Doris Day’s voice lowers to a soft croon. You watch with heavy eyes.

“I brought someone, Steve,” Bucky says, “She’s a big fan.”

“Oh?” Steve asks with a slow look to the corner where you’re standing, “That musta broke your heart.”

Bucky snorts as he moves to swing the hospital bed’s tray over Steve’s lap. He places the lemonade down, then the other glass on the nightstand. He’s quick to move the armchair closer to the nightstand, and gestures for you to come over. Bucky’s hands guide you by the shoulders as he plops you into the chair.

“She’s one of the good ones,” Bucky says, “Reminds me of you.”

“No kidding,” Steve says slowly, offering a hand that shakes, “Steve Rogers. It’s a pleasure.”

You exchange your name with a shy look, shaking that hand with reverence and gentility. “It’s an honor, Mr. Rogers.”

“Please,” he mumbles, moving to slowly take a sip of his lemonade, “Steve is fine.”

Bucky moves to take up a post on the opposite side of Steve, in the sun. “You’re losin’ weight, y’know.”

That earns him a wave of the hand.

Bucky leans back and sips his lemonade. He waggles a finger and you watch the two begin to go back and forth.

“No, no,” he swallows, “No, you don’t get t’ shrug me off—”

“M’fine, Buck,” a sigh, “Really.”

“Mhm,” he narrows his eyes, “You’re startin’ to look like the Steve I knew before the serum.”

You lean back, hiding a quiet smirk behind your hand.

“I was wondering when you were gonna show up an’ pester me,” he says with a tired look, “The only peace I get around here is when Peggy comes home.”

Your eyes jump to Bucky. He’s watching you.

“Peggy?” you ask gently, “Is that your wife?”

A proud smile washes over his face. “Still knocks me for a loop, too.”

“Steve,” Bucky’s voice is gentle, “Peggy won’t be coming around for a while. Remember?”

There’s a look that flashes across Steve’s face, then. A mixture of sadness, of confusion, of panic. It’s clouded with a furrow of his brow, hidden by a tilt of the head. He looks at Bucky, mouth pulled in a fine line.

When he finally speaks, his voice is sad.

“That’s right. I forgot.”

“S’alright,” Bucky taps his head, maintaining an air of nonchalance, “That’s why you got me.”

“And why you’ve got her, no doubt,” he turns to you with a winning smile and offers his hand again, “Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you.”

You take it, you shake it, and you introduce yourself once more. Your smile is patient and understanding. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Steve.”

Bucky breathes a sigh of relief. Steve smiles, tossing Bucky a look that borders on mischievous.

He sips his lemonade and clears his throat. “How is Sam?”

“You ask every time,” Bucky mutters, “And every time I have the same answer.”

“Sam?” you ask slowly.

“Wilson,” Bucky finishes, “Bird man.”

“You mean Falcon,” you correct, shooting him a stern look, “The Falcon. Are you ghosting The Falcon?”

“I don’t know what that even means, so maybe,” Bucky leans back and crosses his legs, “I’ve been busy.”

You roll your eyes. Steve saw. He smiles.

“I’m gettin’ why he keeps you around.”

Your face is smacked with a look of pure joy.

“C’mon on now,” Bucky cries, nearly indignantly, “No flirting—”

“M’ not flirting—”

“I know that look, Steve—”

Steve is laughing.

Bucky has a stern look in his eye. “You always do this—”

“I’m not doin’ a damn thing—”

“And you better keep it that way, old man,” Bucky shirks, voice splintering into a laugh in a way that you’ve never heard before, “I swear, this is how it always goes.”

“Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, huh, Buck?” you ask gently, leaning your cheek into your hand.

Steve laughs loudly at that.

Bucky spares you a smile — the sort that’s drenched in good humor and sunlight. It makes your lungs flutter, and you ignore the buzz in your fingers at the sight. You hide your laugh into your cup of lemonade, resigning to be a quiet counterpart in the conversation.

The two of them go on to chat about small things, then chat about old things. From the Commandos, to HYDRA, to amends, to therapy, to Peggy, to the itch the starch of their old dress uniforms used to bring. It takes a bit, a few redirections on the way, but it’s clear by the end why Steve Rogers is in Elmwood’s memory unit.

It makes your heart ache.

And if a super soldier is bed-ridden…

The two of you say goodbye around three in the afternoon after Bucky helps Steve shave.

The walk back to the bike is quiet.

Bucky speaks first.

“He’s dying.”

You chew your lip, eyes on the pavement. You match his slow stride, bumping your elbow with his as you walk. It’s still warm, and the clouds hang high in the sky. When you look up, Bucky’s watching you. You sigh.

“I’m sorry,” you finally muster, “I am.”

“Don’t be,” he says, grabbing the jacket from the seat and holding it up, “He’s lived a long life.”

You let Bucky hold out the arm for you, and you press your hand through the sleeve. He helps the other side on, and you zip it up to your chin. When you turn around to face him, there are tears in your eyes.

They snuck up on you. You hadn’t realized it until Bucky’s face fell, until the first one fell along the weathered leather of the jacket. You blink, raising your brows as you swipe them away, and offer an apologetic look.

“I’m happy,” you say, “Y’know. He has you. But, he’s a man out of time. Even now. That makes me sad.”

Bucky’s quiet for a while. He’s leaned up against the bike as you turn and watch Elmwood from the back of the parking lot. There’s a big part of you that feels heavy with guilt — and though Steve was in good spirits when you left, you can’t help but ache to provide him with more company. It’s clear that seeing Bucky means a lot to him, and that in turn it means a lot to the man beside you.

“Come on,” Bucky says then, “Let’s go home.”

You nod, let him muscle that helmet onto your head one more time, and hold on a little tighter back to the city.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

You don’t see Bucky until Tuesday.

In all honesty, it feels weird to not hear from him for two days. At the very least, you expected some sort of phone call — but you remind yourself that you’ve been okay alone for a long time. There’s no need to throw all your work on being comfortable by yourself out the window for Bucky Barnes.

It’s tempting, though. God, it’s really tempting.

You hate the ache in your chest when you finally see him lumbering towards the cafe counter before your appointments. You hate this new feeling — so you shove it down and ignore the way his fingers brush yours when he hands you your latte.

He is ignoring it, too. He’s been ignoring it.

No use in thinking about it though.

“You got plans later?” you ask him in the elevator after your appointment, tilting your head, “Apparently there’s a Lord of the Rings marathon tonight on FX.”

Bucky stiffens — and immediately he can feel the hot sting of anxious regret flood his cheeks. He clears his throat, tucks his hands in his pockets, and toes the ground. You watch with a confused look. Then he speaks tightly.

“...I’ve got a date.”

You could have caught flies the way your jaw fell open.

“Oh. Oh!”

You blink, readjust your expression, and swallow down a sharp stab of rejection.

Bucky clears his throat. “It’s… I wasn’t going to but, Dr. Raynor—”

“No, no,” you wave your hands and shake your head and try to seem genuine, “No, I’m happy for you. Is this one of those Christian Minglers?”

Bucky groans. “Shut up.”

“Okay,” you say, “Okay! Just, uh, be careful. Y’know? And call if you need anything.”

The elevator doors open, and Bucky walks side by side with you through the well-lit lobby. He holds the door open for you, and you pass through with a pained look at the ground. He lingers, though, rubbing the back of his neck as you wait for him to say what’s on his mind.

“Thursday,” he says, “I’ll stop by.”

“Yea,” you say, waving your hand, “Whenever.”

But, that doesn’t end up happening.

No, Bucky Barnes shows up at your apartment doorstep at 10pm.

He’s clutching takeout and a six pack of beer and wearing a horrified expression that screams of guilt and exhaustion. No, Bucky buzzes the door to your apartment and basically croaks that he’s here — he’s asking if the marathon is still on while you buzz him up.

“Third floor,” you say into the buzzer with a smile, “Come on in, old man.”

When you open the door, you have to laugh — because his hair is a mess and there’s still a trace of lipstick on the corner of his mouth. Whereas jealousy threatens to flare, his incredibly regretful expression tamps it down. You cock a hip, eye him up and down, and jut your chin out.

“Get laid?”

Bucky rolls his eyes so hard you’re surprised he didn’t break something.

He pushes past you, moving to drop the beer on the counter and place the takeout gently down by the basket of fruit.

“I’m here for the cat,” he grumbles, “Not your witty commentary, sweetheart.”

You’re moving quietly to the sink and gathering a paper towel with a smirk as Bucky looks around, admiring the decor and aliveness of your apartment. When you turn around, he’s already pried a beer from the pack and popped the top off with his vibranium palm.

He winces when you reach up to swipe the coral lipstick from the corner of his mouth.

Then Bucky settles, letting you clean off the mess.

“Mhm,” you hum, “Right. Was it at least fun?”

“She had fun,” he mutters into his first sip, “It was a lotta tongue for my first night out in nearly a century, though.”

You wince. He nods with a sardonic smile that tells you everything about how the date went down — and you’re relieved. “So, I take it you're not calling her in the morning?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “Nope. No, and I’ve decided no more dates. That was enough for me.”

You wince and pluck a beer from the pack. Wordlessly, Bucky gestures for you to hand it over. In one smooth motion, he twists the cap off with his hand.

“That bad?” you ask, eyeing him critically.

“I decided halfway through,” he says as he moves to take the takeout from its bag, “I’d rather be watching Lord of the Rings with you.”

That stops you into silence. It’s like someone’s taken your own words and gagged you with them — and you’re left floundering for breath you never even realize you lost. You know he means it. You know it because he won’t look at you, because that sort of confession isn’t easy for people like you two. So you take those words and you glue them in a lonely locket and keep them close to your heart.

Poke’s entrance saves you a mouthful of broken words — he comes in, trots up to Bucky, and hollers.

Bucky laughs.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he mutters, eyeing the cat that’s eagerly rubbing himself along Bucky’s leg.

You wipe your face, sip your beer, and move to the pantry across from the kitchen island. You come back out with a bag of salmon treats — the good ones — and offer Bucky the bag. He takes it, eyes still on the calico, and crinkles it a little.

You lean against the counter and watch Bucky kneel.

“If you keep it up long enough he might even let you hold him.”

He lights up at that.

You laugh.

You move to grab plates and forks and knives and groan when you open up the first box to see Pad Thai — you make a mental note to properly thank Bucky for this. You meager dinner of reheated pasta really hadn’t hit the spot. This will, though. You can tell from the smell alone.

By your knees, Poke chirps.

“He’s cute.”

“I never took you for a cat guy.”

Bucky snorts.

You make a plate and flick his head as you walk by. “You’re missing the start of The Two Towers.”

“I’m going to be confused, aren’t I?” he asks as he stands and begins making himself a plate. He watches as you settle onto the couch and sip your beer, “I was too busy being turned into a cyborg to read the books.”

You laugh out loud. It shocks you.

“Was that a joke? Did Bucky Barnes just make a joke?”

He’s smirking. He rounds the counter with his food and settles next to you. Poke is following him, eager to curl up next to his new friend.

“I can be funny.”

“Funny lookin’.”

He elbows you on purpose. You snort into your beer.

There’s a comfortable moment of quiet between you, and you clear your throat.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, “No problem.”

More quiet, and he’s still watching you. Then, he asks what’s been on his mind for the last three days.

“You got a plan for Thursday?”

“I’ve got anxiety, Buck,” you exhale, swigging your beer and turning the television up, “I always have a plan.”

#vacant mirrors #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier imagine #tfatws imagine #marvel imagine #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes/reader #bucky/reader

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zevexsii · 4 years ago

Text

naib subedar sfw + nsfw hcs (gn s/o)

cut for length and nsfw content !

sfw

another difficult person to enter a relationship with. naib has lost too much to feel comfortable getting close to someone he knows isn’t going to stay close- you’re in it for the long run.

in matches, you’re naib’s first priority (when you’ve been assigned to a team together, of course). the second naib notices you’ve been chaired, he’s headed your way as fast as he can. typically, he’d like you to stick together so he can keep a safe eye on you, but naib’s not too pressed if you two split of your own volition.

there’s an incredibly low chance of being injured during a match with naib. if you’re wounded at the end, it’ll be small scratches or a bruise here and there. regardless of how small or shallow any of your scratches may be, naib is cleaning and bandaging them up, scolding you for being so reckless the entire time.

he’s another big eater! devours anything you make and is more than happy to show you how to cook nepalese food. cook for him and let him curl up and rest his head on your shoulder afterward and he’ll be tempted to marry you on the spot

loud noises overwhelm naib extremely easily. crowds also make him edgy and anxious. when naib’s panicky, he gets annoyed and will probably snap at you- he would do best with a relatively calm s/o who’s able to keep their head in stressful situations.

if you’re looking for ways to calm him down, don’t go to overwhelming physical affection right off the bat. someone trying to wrap their arms around him will be seen as a threat to naib’s safety and would only trigger his ptsd even more. instead, grab one of his hands and try to help him regulate his breathing. remind him that he’s safe with you, that there’s nothing to worry about. when naib needs physical comfort, he’ll seek you out. this tactic goes for calming him down after nightmares, too.

the most comforting position for naib is allowing him to sit on your lap and bury his head in your chest- he’s caught between the urge to hide from everything and the urge to protect you. like this, he’s got a solid rock of refuge and it feels like he’s shielding you from any perceived danger.

undo his strict ponytail and massage naib’s scalp and he’ll be passed out in a heartbeat, snoring softly, his grip on your clothes tight as ever.

on naib’s bad days, he’s practically glued to your hip. he’s terrified something horrible’s going to happen to you- like the things that happened to his fellow soldiers or even worse, the things he’s done and (seen done) to other people during his time as a hired mercenary. it’s scary, who can blame him?

wouldn’t mind too much if his partner was into pda, but would feel uncomfortable reciprocating the vast majority of it. naib’s still trying to unlearn the “vulnerability is bad” mindset. he’s been surrounded by that idea his entire adult life, so give him time. this has been touched on before, but hand-holding makes naib soft!! whether you’re enjoying a mellow walk through the manor gardens or lingering in the lobby post-match, one of naib’s calloused hands will find a way to intertwine with yours.

making naib blush is difficult. very few things can force their way into the chinks in his stoic armor, but soft kisses pressed to his cheek are guaranteed to send an intense flush to his face

if you’re too shy or uncomfortable with pda, you can bet naib’s doing everything he can to fluster you in a safer setting. you’re doing dishes? surprise smooch! indulging in some much-needed downtime? smooch! if naib’s feeling cocky and the time is right, he’ll land his lips somewhere on your face right after you’ve finished a calibration during a match

not too huge on nicknames!! your name is satisfying to say, and naib doesn’t think anything he could call you would fit any better. if you hear him mumble a sleepy “sweetheart” in the middle of a cuddle session while he tries to pull you closer, no you didn’t

naib’s idea of a perfect day ends in a steamy shower or relaxing bath with his s/o. nothing spicy, just soft moments with his love. once y’all are dried and done, throw on your pajamas or one of naib’s shirts (if you’re small enough- mans is 5’6”) and crawl into bed. naib tends to curl in on himself (think fetal position) if you aren’t there- a lot of times he ends up unintentionally becoming the little spoon.

when naib wants to hold you close, his arms will snake around your waist and he’ll invite you to lay your head on his chest or burrow your face in his neck. when you wake up, it’ll most likely be to naib pestering you in the most loving way possible- ever the early riser, this one.

nsfw

naib can’t really be pinned down to any specific top or bottom role (no pun intended). during the beginning of your intimate relationship with him, naib leans towards taking a dominant role. it’s indescribably difficult for naib to relinquish control over a non-intimate situation, so you can imagine leaning back and letting go would be even harder.

gets incredibly handsy when he’s horny. won’t hesitate to seek you out, either. naib doesn’t see the point of masturbation if he has a partner, but he respects your boundaries if you’re not in the mood.

going back to the surprise kissing bit earlier, when naib wants to let you know he wants to fuck, he’ll pin you up against the closest surface or loop his arms lazily around your shoulders (if you’re short enough) and smash his lips into yours a little rougher than usual- nibbling on your bottom lip right before pulling away.

has a bit of a fixation on oral. favors receiving over giving slightly, but is still addicted to the way you taste. for masc readers, it’s literally impossible to gag him. to be entirely honest, you could facefuck him with very little resistance. naib wouldn’t hesitate to use you and he expects you to treat him the same way.

tug on the sheets ever so slightly while he’s sucking your cock and naib will drag your hand to the top of his head, reminding you to pull his hair.

for fem readers, he’ll slowly spread apart your sopping pussy and the corner of his mouth will lift up in a pleased smirk, his rough hands buried in the plush of your thighs. if you attempt to rut your hips against him, naib’ll put an end to that right quick, pinning your hips to the bed, his grip tight enough to leave bruises.

no matter what, naib’s covering every inch of your bottom half he can reach in hickeys and bruises, occasionally leaning back to admire his handiwork, leaving poor you all needy and aching, whimpering pitifully.

he’ll look up at you underneath his dark brown eyelashes when you cum, feeling up your sides and pulling your hips closer to his face. the whines his actions pull from your throat will never cease to satisfy him.

when naib has pleasured you to your mutual satisfaction, he’ll sit up and wipe his mouth on the back of his hand, intentionally smearing your fluids across his face, grinning hungrily as he stares down at you.

now, when you’re sucking naib off, things can get intense pretty damn fast. one moment you’re gently stroking his cock (decently sized too, a good 6-7 inches, average girth), and the next he’s got you by the hair, ramming his dick in your mouth. might accidentally cage you in with his thicc thighs- he’s lost in the feeling of your pretty lips around him, what can he say? gently tap him on the leg and he’ll loosen up a little bit.

groans loud. louder than he does when he’s actually having sex (at least when he’s topping). the noises he makes are nothing short of animalistic; low growls and heavy moans, straight from his chest. you might have to stop him and remind him to relax. there’s much more to come (no pun intended), and it wouldn’t to well to have naib tire himself out now. his breath will hitch in his chest when you suddenly pull back, but he’ll give you a shaky nod when you tell him to calm down.

really makes a show of undressing, unless he’s been super pent up lately or something happened to pull out jealous naib. naib isn’t as buff as one might expect; he’s more of the lean type, his strength concentrated in his shoulders and core muscles.

naib’s torso is littered with various scars, some deeper and more noticeable than others. he doesn’t like to admit it, but they’re definitely an insecurity of his. run your fingers over them, or press your lips to the most obvious one, and naib’s heart aches (in a good way, of course). it feels so tender, so soft, so warm to be accepted and wholly loved, regardless of any self-labeled flaws and mistakes. but, mr subedar needs more.

so he stuffs himself inside of you, letting out a breathy groan at the sudden contact and throwing his head back in delight. when he’s sure that movement wouldn’t cause you too much discomfort, he’ll begin to sloppily thrust himself back and forth, panting heavily. he’s breathing too hard to let out a coherent sentence, egged on by your moans as he angles himself as deeply inside of you as possible.

depending on how long foreplay lasted, naib can go anywhere from 2-4 rounds. he’s already quite sloppy and forceful, so you can imagine how he gets when he’s tired- sweat beads on his forehead and his chest heaves with every breath, each of his desperate thrusts deep enough to make you see stars.

naib views cumming inside of you as more intimate, but if you’re uncomfortable with that, he’ll pull out and empty himself onto your stomach. if you have a uterus, he’ll do his best to pull out anyways- considering your current setting, neither of you can really afford a pregnancy scare.

as mentioned above, naib is more of a top-leaning switch. he defaults to domming because it puts him in control, so you’d have to have a strong relationship with him already.

if you want naib to sub, you’d have to initiate sex. naib values people who are outright with their intentions, so hold true to that. settle yourself on his lap, arms linked lazily around his shoulders, and press a few soft kisses to the side of naib’s neck. this is the point where he’ll tense up and either gently tell you he isn’t in the mood, or tug you closer.

naib doesn’t mind where you take him, as long as it’s in a private space. probably has a thing for being fucked on furniture anyway. oral (for both parties) is fine in semi-public spaces- the risk gets naib off more than he’d like to admit- but penetration is reserved for you to witness, and you alone.

pay special attention to the sensitive spots on naib’s neck and he’ll turn into a whining mess under your touch. grind down on his lap as you gently undo his low ponytail- grab a fistful of his soft hair near the nape of his neck and watch him turn to mush.

in any situation (domming or subbing) naib’s particular to the missionary position. it gives him a perfect view of his s/o at all times.

prep him thoroughly if you want to fuck him in the ass or peg him. he has very limited experience with being penetrated, so no matter how many times naib roughly groans for you to “hurry up and fuck him already”, make sure he’s lubed up and ready to go.

gasps so loud?? when you push your cock or a strap-on inside of him, his entire body goes rigid for a second, and his eyes roll back in his head. it’s delightful. let him shift around for a moment- he’s still getting used to the hot, full feeling that’s overwhelming his senses. naib will grunt out when he’s ready for you to move.

naib tries to give you what he’d want from a partner; hard, sloppy thrusts with no particular rhythm that leave you aching for more. in barely any time at all, naib is squirming underneath you, choking out requests for “more” and “harder” between half-baked curses that die on his lips. when he cums for the last time, you can see all of the tension leave his shoulders and his final yelp of ecstasy fades into a content sigh.

as far as aftercare goes, naib prefers showering with you over taking a bath. it’s quicker and more convenient, and at this point, naib is puckered out. he just wants to crawl into bed with his s/o.

falls asleep real quick! it’s lights out as soon as naib’s head hits the pillow and he’s sure you’re in his arms or vice versa.

gosh i love myself one (1) mercenary

#damn i REALLY went ham on this one #anyways it's 3am #night yall #naib subedar #naib subedar x reader #idv #identity v #idv x reader #idv x reader headcanons #identity v x reader #identity v x reader headcanons #idv smut #identity v smut #mercenary x reader #idv mercenary #idv naib #identity v mercenary #identity v mercenary x reader

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alwaysmarveling · 3 years ago

Text

The Incident, The Aftermath

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Warnings: Amputation, an explosion, hints at PTSD (it’s a wee bit sad but I promise it gets happier)

Word Count: ~3k

A/N: So I finally got the guts to post something... If you like it, thank Camz :) If you don’t, sorry mi dude, I’m working on it (but constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!).

You’d slipped into the tank top and shorts easily enough, and here you were standing in front of your dresser. One look at the unruly mop atop your head caused you to let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You carefully ran the brush through your hair, allowing the knots to loosen up one by one.

You’d been leaving your hair down every day since The Incident, but that was two weeks ago. Assuming everything healed properly, Tony and Bruce were going to fit you for a prosthetic in a week, but until then you had to work with what you had… which was one less arm than you were used to having your entire life.

The universe wasn’t being very thoughtful of your adjustment—it was supposed to get up to ninety-five degrees today—so maybe today would be the day to try putting it up. You had seen some people do it on YouTube, and it didn’t seem that difficult. Plus, if you had enough dexterity to wield a knife with one hand and still leave your opponent in pieces, you should be able to put up your hair with one hand easy peasy.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, unsure of what to really do with it. You didn’t see a braid working. You could pin some of it to the side so that it wouldn’t fall in your face, but with the heat, you wanted it completely up. A messy bun could work, though; it was simple, got the hair off of your neck, and it was meant to be a bit untidy. Perfect. With the style in mind, you pushed an elastic around your wrist and set off to work.

Twisting your hair was easy enough. Looping it around to actually form a bun was slightly more difficult, but you managed. When it came time to actually loop the elastic around the bun, though, things got more complicated.

You copied the video, pressing your head against the wall to hold your hair in place while you secured the elastic. However, looping the elastic around the bun without significantly shifting your hair was proving to be extremely difficult. Nevertheless, you managed to do it. The mirror then filled with your reflection as you examined your handiwork.

Handiwork was one word for it. Simply put, it looked like a toddler had done your hair. You weren’t sure how exactly you had messed up since you couldn’t really see behind your head, but you could see the result, and it wasn’t pretty. You let out a puff of air, pulling the elastic out and reaching for your brush. One glance at the clock told you you had enough time for two or three more attempts before you had to call it a day.

Five tries later, you were no better off than you were before. Sure, the bun was supposed to be messy, but there was a certain art to a messy bun. This just looked like a giant cat spit a hairball on top of your head. On top of that, you were now running late to meet Wanda for grocery shopping.

“Miss Y/N,” FRIDAY started.

“Tell her I’ll be down in five,” you sighed, your eyes brimming with tears. You supposed one more day of leaving your hair down wouldn’t kill you even if it was going to be hot, but you just wanted to be able to take care of yourself. You hated seeing the looks of sympathy your teammates gave you every time you had to ask for help for the simplest things, whether it be grabbing a plate at the bottom of the stack or setting up equipment for training.

Sure, things were getting a little easier, like dressing yourself without help. You could deal with the phantom pain. It was excruciating, but pain was one part of the job that you were used to. You had also managed to hide your frustration from the team pretty well since The Incident, but you weren’t sure if that made it any better; half of them seemed like they were walking on eggshells when they were around you.

When it came to the nightmares, though, that was much harder to hide, especially considering you shared a bed with one of the lightest sleepers in the world. You hated waking her up every night, your body soaked in sweat and chest heaving as you forced yourself to remember that it was all over, forced your mind to believe that you were safe even when your body didn’t.

Before you could really understand what was happening, your emotions from the last few weeks bubbled over. Anger, frustration, anguish, and countless others flew to the surface, demanding to be released. Your fingers dug into your hair, yanking on the elastic—along with several strands of hair—until they flew out, hitting the floor somewhere you didn’t care to find. The hairbrush was next, being snatched from the top of the dresser and chucked at the door as hard as you could manage.

“What the- Y/N? Are you okay, babe?”

The thwack of the brush hitting the door caused you to flinch even though you were the one who caused it. Not processing your girlfriend’s muffled words at first, your eyes widened as you stepped back, and for a split second you were transported back to The Incident.

---

You grabbed the last civilian who had fallen behind the others, practically tossing them out of the building before it could explode.

“Y/N! Get out of-” Before Steve could finish his sentence, the building burst into flame, and the blast sent you flying in the air.

When you came to, the only thing you could focus on was the excruciating pain radiating from your elbow. You couldn’t make out exactly what had happened to it, but, wow, to say it hurt was an understatement.

It was several minutes later before the ringing cleared from your ears and you finally realized someone was talking to you.

“Y/N! Y/N, love, please, where are you?” The familiar voice drove you to use the little energy you had left, lifting your head off of the pavement to scan your surroundings. The dust and debris from the explosion made it difficult to see, but you could just make out her shape a few feet away from you.

“Turn… around, you doofus… I’m… behind you,” you wheezed out before letting your head hit the ground.

“Y/N! Oh my god, I thought we-” The second the former assassin saw you, her mouth dropped.

“What is it, Natty?” you asked weakly.

“Nothing, sweetheart. Just give me a second, okay? I’m going to get the rest of the team so we can get you out of here.”

“Liar,” you wheezed, half-teasing, half-panicked, but your girlfriend had already turned around. Squinting your eyes, you could just make out the small movements of her lips that told you she was talking, but the chaos and your pain and exhaustion—and probably blood loss, but you didn’t know that at the time—was making it impossible to hear what she was saying.

“Okay, they’re coming,” she reassured you, kneeling down next to you.

“What happened?” you tried again.

“You’re a hero, babe,” the redhead murmured, smoothing back your hair and brushing dirt from your face.

“Yeah?” Your voice was growing weaker, and you were becoming loopier than someone who had just come out of wisdom teeth surgery. Natasha knew it was only moments until you passed out.

“Yeah, you did it, sweet girl. You saved them all.”

“I did? I seriously hope Helen is a superhero too because someone’s going to need to save my arm. God, it hurts.” Natasha only let out a huff at your poor attempt at a joke, but you appreciated it nonetheless.

“Just hold on a little longer for me, okay? Can you do that?” Something wet hit your cheek, making you realize that your girlfriend was crying.

“Of course,” you scoffed. “Don’t…” You left her hanging.

---

After what felt like years, you finally regained your breath and returned to the present. “I’m fine,” you yelled out, your voice wavering. You knew Natasha wouldn’t believe you. Not only was she your girlfriend, but she was literally one of the best spies in the world. Sure enough, she tried to open the door, her efforts in vain since you’d locked it when you were changing.

“Hon, can you please open the door?”

“I’m fine, Nat,” you breathed out, your tone slightly more stable.

“Just let me in,” she pleaded. “Please?” Her soft voice made you sigh in resignation as you wiped your eyes. You tugged your fingers through your hair, trying to tame the bird’s nest on your head at least a little before showing yourself to her.

“Hi,” you practically whispered, not making eye contact with her once you had opened the door.

“Hey,” she responded softly, taking your hand in one of hers and using her other hand to lift up your chin. Rather than saying anything else immediately, she pressed a soft kiss to the top of your forehead as her second hand slid down to completely wrap your one hand in both of hers. The two of you stood in the doorway for a while, eyes closed and hand in hand. You weren’t a super soldier, but you were sure you could hear both of your heartbeats, yours slowing down to beat in tandem with hers.

“You okay?” she finally asked. You nodded slightly, your breathing now back to normal and the tears no longer streaming down your face.

Natasha always had a way of calming you down. You didn’t get frustrated or angry often, but when you did… the rest of the Avengers always joked that you were seconds away from becoming the next Hulk.

The former assassin slowly reached up to untangle your locks, noticing how you flinched when she first reached your hairline.

“I’ve been thinking,” she started with the faintest hint of uncertainty, “It’s been a while since I did your hair, and I saw this new hairstyle online that I thought would look really good on you…”

“Thank you,” you sighed quietly as you leaned into her touch.

“My pleasure,” your girlfriend smirked, pushing you inside your shared bedroom and closing the door behind her. She guided you to sit on the floor as she sat on the edge of the bed behind you. Brush in hand, Nat started sectioning off your hair. A small smile graced her face when you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to fully enjoy the contact.

Now halfway down your head, she spoke up again. “You know I’ll always be here for you, right?

“Nat…” you warned, although you had nothing to say afterwards, and the redhead took advantage of that.

“I can only imagine how upset you feel about losing your arm-”

“Nat,” you interrupted, your voice slightly harder this time. Natasha sighed as she continued to braid your hair.

“I’m just trying to say that I’m here for you. I was here for you before, and I’m here for you now. The number of limbs that you have doesn’t affect that. It also doesn’t affect your worth. You’re not useless, Y/N. You never were, and you certainly aren’t now.” Despite your best efforts, tears began to trail down your face. Natasha pursed her lips at the sight but continued, knowing that if she stopped now she wouldn’t have another chance to say what she needed to. “You are-” Nat’s fingers froze when you mumbled out something unintelligible, the hand over your mouth preventing you from enunciating. “What was that?” You sighed before speaking again.

“It’s not the arm. It’s not just the arm,” you corrected.

“Then what is it?” She resumed braiding your hair, her voice matching the tenderness in her hands.

“It’s- it’s the- god, this is embarrassing.”

“You have absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about, love. I’ll never judge you for anything you’re feeling,” the redhead promised, pausing once again to brush her lips above your brow bone.

“It’s the fear, Nat. I can’t go one second without thinking about the explosion. About… losing it. I’m scared 24/7, Nat, and even if I could forget about it for even a moment, I have a constant reminder.” Natasha didn’t have to see your face to know that your eyes had flickered to the remainder of your arm that hung by your side. “And, god,” you laughed bitterly, “god, does it make me feel weak. What kind of Avenger constantly lives in fear and panic? How am I ever supposed to help anyone like this?”

“Y/N.” She stopped braiding your hair for the third time, pulling on it slightly so that you were forced to meet her eyes above you. “You are the strongest person I know. I know you’re scared, but guess what? You went through something super traumatic. It’s okay to be scared. Honestly, I might be more concerned if you came out of that and you weren’t scared at all. All of us get scared, and that’s perfectly valid because being scared does not make you weak. Being scared means you value your life, and that’s a good thing.” She paused her speech to relax her grip on your hair, but your head remained tilted, captivated by the passion and emotion that filled your girlfriend’s face and voice.

“And the Avenger that lives in fear and panic is the same one that was ready to give up her life to save people. You helped people in the past not because you had two arms or because you weren’t scared of stuff. You helped them for the sole reason that you made a commitment to helping others, to making the world a better place, and that is the sole reason why you will still be able to help others.” Natasha’s whole body was trembling. The hands that held your hair were white at the fingertips as she clenched them.

“I admire you more than anyone else in the world. You’re a hero, Y/N. Not ‘were,’ but ‘are.’ You’re the hero of every single person whose life you saved, and you’re my hero.”

“I didn’t-” Despite your interruption, the spy didn’t stop talking.

“You saved my life, Y/N, the second you walked into it. You give me a reason to live, to wake up every morning. And you’re my hero even more so now than before because you get up every day with a smile on your face, no matter what’s thrown at you.”

“Not much of a smile now,” you sniffed. Despite the tears that blurred your vision, you couldn’t stop the corner of your lips from curling up slightly. Nat laughed at the juxtaposition, finishing up the intricate braids woven in your hair before turning you around to face her.

“But look how quickly that changed,” she teased, pecking your lips after she wiped the tears from your face.

“Thank you,” you repeated for the second time in less than fifteen minutes.

“It was my pleasure. Plus, I was right, this hairstyle does look really good on you.” You bit your lip in embarrassment as you turned your gaze to the floor. “I’ll always do your hair for you, milaya.”

“I was actually thinking of shaving it off,” you smirked. As you examined your reflection in the mirror, you couldn’t help but agree with Natasha. You looked good, missing arm and all. A little teary-eyed and runny-nosed, but amazing nonetheless.

“Don’t you dare,” your girlfriend scoffed. “I know I said I wasn’t leaving, but I might at that,” she winked.

“Hey!” You tackled her to the ground. Reaching for her abdomen, her eyes widened as your grin grew larger.

“Y/N, don’t you dare-” You talked over her, not paying attention to her threat.

“I can still tickle you with one arm.” The spy didn’t get the chance to respond before you pounced, smiling at the sound of her laughter.

“Stop, Y/N, please!” she managed to get out.

“Are you going to leave me then? Huh?”

“No, no! I won’t! I’ll never leave you! Please, just stop!” You let up on the tickling, gently brushing away the hair that was thrown over her face seconds ago. “Great,” Nat groaned, “now I need to redo my hair.”

“Sorry,” you giggled sheepishly. Seeing the pout on her face, you bent down and met her lips with yours.

“I meant it, though.”

“That you need to fix your hair?” Natasha laughed at the way your head had adorably cocked to one side.

“No, silly, that you’re my hero. That you’re the strongest, most admirable person I know. That I’ll always be there for you, and that I’ll always do your hair for you, even when you don’t need me to do it for you any longer.”

“I love you.” You kissed her again. “And I will always love you.” Noticing a slight shift in her face, you paused, studying her expression. “Don’t you dare start singing that song.”

“Miss Y/N, Miss Maximoff is wondering if you are alright.”

“Shoot, I need to go grocery shopping with Wanda!” You scrambled to get off of the floor, smoothing out your clothes before looking for your shoes. “Uh, FRIDAY, tell her I’m so sorry and I’m coming down right now.”

“One more for the road?” Nat pouted just before you reached the door.

“Of course. Thank you again, for everything.” Your lips melted together for a second before you pulled away.

---

“Wanda, I’m here, I’m so, so sorry!” You half-ran, half-slid down the hallway to meet your best friend at the door.

“Hey,” Wanda turned to greet you. “What took you-” She paused upon making eye contact with you. “I like your hair,” she grinned.

“Thanks,” you smiled back, “Nat did it for me.”

#I wrote something #oh gOD I actually wrote something #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #black widow x reader #black widow x you #black widow #avengers x reader #marvel #mcu #alwaysmarveling

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comradeacerbus · 3 years ago

Text

Danse Headcanons

Because he is a good boy who needs love too okay

- Always needs to be organized, writes everything down.

- To do lists. They’re everywhere, and he always has a notebook on his person.

- Quite likes crosswords. Always needs something to do with his hands, and they help if he starts getting antsy. PTSD is a bitch.

- Smokes. Prefers cigars. Also likes black coffee.

- Is actually gruesomely funny, but you wouldn’t know unless you really get to know him. He’s got a really dry sense of humor so it automatically makes his sarcasm even funnier.

- In spite of the fact that he can be bitterly sarcastic himself, he doesn’t always understand sarcasm immediately. He’s very literal.

- Very much a dad friend. Not to be confused with the mom friend. Don’t expect to be coddled by him. He’s great for practical advice, but don’t expect him to go soft if you go to him about a problem. If he thinks that you’re at fault for your own problem, he’ll make sure that you know it.

- “I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed”

- Overall, he’s just brutally honest, almost to a fault. He’s a terrible liar!

- Still, he’s a very good listener and will keep his trap shut. Once you tell himself something, it’s in the vault, so to speak.

- On that note, puns are not typically appreciated.

- He’s good to his friends overall, and is highly reliable, but like a knight of Catarina, he will never forgive a betrayal. The guy can hold a serious grudge.

- As a lover, he’s very shy at first. His other half will have to make most of the moves initially. Once he’s comfortable, he’s actually quite affectionate.

- Turns out the fucker has some serious libido too.

- Gifts and acts of service are his main love languages, though in private, physical touch quickly rises to prominence. A lot of gentle touch, nudging, shoulder pats for reassurance, that kind of thing in public.

- He’s a virgin. Absolutely. He’s shy about banging at first because he’s embarrassed that he’s inexperienced, in spite of the fact that he’s getting into his thirties. It doesn’t take him long to get confident in the bedroom.

- Cuddly sleeper. Also sleeps hot.

- Really likes Johnny Cash and Marty Robbins, but he’s got room for Mel Tillis too.

- He has a habit of slipping right into lecture mode, even after his exile. He gets better about it as time goes on, but it’s really annoying for all parties involved until he does. He’s just so used to dealing with stupid soldiers and having to lecture them as a superior that it’s become second nature.

- He’s very literate and an avid reader. He prides himself on his extensive vocabulary, even if the casuals find it annoying.

- Always eager to learn a skill in case he might need it later. Doesn’t hurt to be a jack of all trades in the wastelands after all. In the immortal words of my father, “Always take the chance to learn something, if you get it. Once that knowledge is yours, no one can take it away from you.”

- An excellent mechanic, and not just for PAs and related things. While he’s not good at coding, he is good at robotics repair and the like and can disassemble and reassemble a laser rifle blindfolded.

- Has fixed up Codsworth a number of times.

- Very literate with guns and ammunition, both with technical as well as historical information. He has a soft spot for old guns.

- Getting kicked out of the brotherhood took a huge toll on him. Aside from his identity crisis, Danse prided himself on the sophistication of the Brotherhood and the fact that he could be a part of it. On top of that, he has no living relatives, so that faction was his only family from the time he joined up. He had a lot of emotions invested in the group overall, even though he refuses to admit the fact that he does indeed have feelings.

- He has trust issues for a while after the whole ordeal. You can’t blame him. One moment, these people would die for him based on principle alone, and the next, they’re trying to kill him.

- He constantly denies the negative emotions that he feels. For a while, he just avoids things that make him think of the brotherhood so he doesn’t have to process what happened to him. He has a sense of abandonment after being thrown to the side by Maxson, but it immediately translates to anger because he just doesn’t know how to deal with it.

- When he finally finds someone who legitimately cares about how he feels and how he’s doing, he doesn’t know what to do, and it sort of gets worse before it gets better.

- He’s very embarrassed of his PTSD because he has a lot of masculine pride, so again, he doesn’t want to face it or his emotions.

- He’s just grouchy and mildly paranoid after his exile until Sole drags him back to the real world and helps him recover. Afterwards, he’s almost like a different person.

- He does still retain some things from the Brotherhood. For example, he always keeps a stiff posture, and when he’s fixated on something, he walks in step, not unlike a soldier. During a fight, specifically shootouts, he’ll use the military codes and signals he was taught.

- He is still very wary of synths (understandable) and very much hates mutants (also understandable), but is okay with Nick, after they come to an understanding between each other.

- He also still has trouble sleeping by himself. He’d never admit it, but he cant stand sleeping alone, since he’s used to sleeping in a military base with a bunch of eyes to watch for trouble. When he eventually does get with Sole to the point they share a bed or room, it’s easier for him to sleep.

- Danse LOVES affection, but he’d never admit it verbally. Sole knows lol but it’s a secret he’ll take to his grave. Cuddling and forehead kisses are his weakness.

- Approval from his lover is like a drug to him. Really, just a “good job” can make his day.

- He’s also weird about asking for sex or affection. He’ll usually get all bashful and quiet, but will sort of hover around Sole. Like, stand behind them or next to them and nudge them, maybe give them a knowing look. Or he’ll just get very clingy in bed or something.

- He blushes very easily.

- Snores. Denies it.

- He LOVES dogs, but is really more of a cat person. He adored Emmett, back on the Prydwen.

- Because he is a workaholic, he opens up a lil store in Sanctuary. Sort of goes back to what he did in Rivet City, but with a more focused goal in that he specifically scavenges for gun parts and the like. Just a warning that he keeps a sawed off shotgun under the counter. Try to rob him and he’ll blow your head off. This man takes the Second Amendment very seriously.

#fallout 4 #Paladin danse #fallout 4 headcanons #headcannons #i’m not stalling you’re stalling #I needed something to do okay #video games

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quietmyfearswith · 4 years ago

Text

sparse sleep ; syverson x fem!reader

status — completed oneshot

word count —1,972 words

summary — in which syverson has trouble sleeping.

warnings —swear words, fluff?? mentions ptsd and war things, angst?? insomia, implied smut, sleeping (literal sleeping) with strangers (thats dangerous please dont do that)

pairing — syverson x fem!reader

a/n — dont mind me, im just trying to get out of my fanfic writing rut so i would really appreciate some feedback and asks/messages are open! if you follow me, please state your age/age range in your bio. i will block you if you follow me and don’t have your age/age range in your bio!!!

tagging — @la-cey @melancholyy-hill @pedropcl @beck07990 @doozywoozy

masterlist | series masterlist | join my taglist (please follow the rules)

“Shit! I’m so sorry,” Sy apologized as he accidentally spilled his drink on a woman who was sitting by the bar; his eyes lifted from the stain his drink made on her velvet dress to her eyes. Wow she looks beautiful, he thought as his mouth hung agape and he struggled to formulate words. “It’s alright,” She reassured him and chuckled at his panic, “I trust it was just an accident?”

It took him a few seconds before foolishly nodding his head, “It was, I’m sorry,” He pointed to the gathering crowd behind him that were rushing to get out to the balcony, “I was being pushed around by all these people.” It was a mere ten minutes before the new year approached them.

“Ah, well I don’t know about them but I’m not too keen on the fireworks,” She stated as she paid her bill. This lured Sy in as he hasn’t met a lot of people who disliked fireworks like he did, “You don’t like fireworks too? How come?”

She shook her head as she stood up from the chair, “Well just one of the reasons is that it bothers a lot of dogs.”

“My dog hates the fireworks too!” He said, too excited and he had to clear his throat as he began to walk along with her, “‘Tis the reason why I chose a hotel room with soundproof walls, or so they say.” Waiting for the elevator, she cooed at the mention of his furry companion; she was too excited that she couldn't help herself from asking, “Do you mind if I see your dog? Only if it’s alright, of course.”

The elevator let out a soft chime, Sy gestured for her to step in first and she did, “Sure!” He entered his own floor number and smirked smugly at her, “You sure this isn’t some devious plan of yours to lure me in and seduce me?”

She could feel her heart beat increase as she shook her head and slapped a hand to his pec, “No! Excuse you I just happen to love dogs so much, okay?” The former captain could feel the nervousness start to sink in as the elevator didn’t play out instrumental music; shifting his weight between his feet, he took a good look at her face as she was looking on her phone with a slight frown.

“What got you pouting over there like a heartbroken child?”

His Texan accent was thick when he said that sentence that it had her laughing softly as she chucked her phone into the back pocket of her denim jeans, “Where’s that accent from?”

“Texas; you from there?” She shook her head as she told him where she was originally from. The soft elevator chime informed them they were on the Captain’s floor. Taking charge, Sy exited first and his one hand pressed against the elevator doors, giving Y/N enough time to step out of the cold box. “Are all Texans a gentleman like you? Or is it just you?”

A deep chuckle erupted from his chest as he reached for his hotel key card in his back pocket once they were in front of his hotel room door, “Some are as dastardly as they come, while some clean up their act only to impress the ones they’re courting.”

As he opened the door, he gestured for her to enter first and she did with a smile; upon closing the door behind him, they both could hear Aika’s excited barks coming from the bathroom. “You might want to sit first on the bed, I’m gonna get her out.”

“Taking me to bed already? Naughty Texan you are,” Her flirty remark had the both of them laughing, but she happily skipped and sat on the bed as she patiently waited for the dog.

“And this is Aika,” Sy announced as the German Shepherd patiently and in a disciplined manner walked beside him; it was impressive to Y/N how the cute pooch was, despite her excitement — which was visible with her wagging her tail vigorously — she was still staying beside him before being given permission to approach her.

“You can go ahead and pet her,” Sy nodded as he sat on the floor beside Aika. With that signal, she knelt down and proceeded to scratch the space between her ears as she greeted, “Hi Aika, how are you?”

Sy looked with adoration as the girl giggled out loud when her face was being smothered and licked by Aika’s tongue, “Alright easy now, girl,” He tried pushing Aika to him; but to no avail the female dog seemed to have preferred his new found friend more as she plopped herself onto her lap and nuzzled to her.

“It seems like she might have chosen over you,” She observed as she stroked her fur with a smile; “I can’t blame her for doing so; I would have chosen you too, you know?”

His remark had her eyes widening and shock and she could feel the heat rushing up to her cheeks, “I don’t think I’m strong enough to carry you on my lap, Sy.” It was the first time he heard say her name and he felt this tremble inside him — due to all his years in the military, he mistook the feeling for something of fear while he was out in the battlefield — but really it was just butterflies floating around in his stomach.

“Well doesn’t have to be sitting on your lap, you could sit on mine you know?” He threw in a wink to mask his nervousness. Biting her lip, she gently jostled Aika off her lap and moved to sit beside him, until the outside of both their thighs were grazing against each other, “Let’s start off like this first and see where we go from here, yeah?”

“I’m fine with that,” He grinned at her, he checked on his wrist watch and noticed how they were a minute away from welcoming the new year, “Last sixty seconds of this year and it’s giving me a gift as a way to end and start the new year’s.”

Loving the sound of that, she took a bold move to sit on his lap, he tilted his head up to look at her as she was caressing his bearded cheek, “How ‘bout we welcome the new year with a kiss then?”

Instead of verbally responding, he took charge and slanted his lips with hers; pleased with what he did both her hands ran across the short trims of his hair while his large, warm hands circled around her waist.

The loud countdown by the people counting down the last ten seconds could be heard, but both of them could only focus on the feel and taste of each other. As their lips danced together, they both could feel the rumbling sound of the fireworks, they felt a dog snuggle in between them.

Breaking away from the kiss they both turned their attention to the sweet furball; Sy cooed at her while he was rubbing her head lovingly, “It’s okay, girl. We’re here, we won’t let the fireworks harm you okay?”

It was abordable to see how snuggly the pooch was, they giggled among each other while they brushed her fur lovingly. Sy moved her body around so her back was to his chest, whereas AIka settled her head into her lap; it had only been less than a few hours before they had met each other, they both felt safe and at peace with each other.

“She’s so adorable, how long has she been with you?” She found it odd how the collar she had did not contain a name tag. “Been together for almost three years now, she’s an army dog.”

With that information, she turned to face him, “Are you a veteran?” He nodded with a tight-lipped smile. Her hands left Aika’s fur and turned fully to hug him, rubbing the wide expanse of his back, “Thank you for your service, Sy.”

Part of him found her reaction quite silly, but at the same time no one has expressed such sincere gratitude to him and the fact that it came from her warmed his heart even more. “Well I had to make the world safe for you now, don’t I, love?”

Removing his tight hug around him, she jokingly shoved his shoulders but smirked otherwise. “So what are your plans now that you and Aika,” She pet the dog once more to remind her that they were here for her, “Have retired from active duty?”

“Gonna be training newly recruited soldiers — gives great pay and benefits, so I thought why not?” She pouted and tilted her head as her fingers ran around the hair that was by the nape of his neck. “Maybe try to get some sleep for once.”

“You have trouble sleeping? Do you have nightmares?”

Sy nodded sadly as he bit his bottom lip, “Not really nightmares, moreso flashbacks of all the explosions and killings.” He took a deep breath before continuing his recount of his sleepless nights, “Part of the reason why I don’t like fireworks, really. They remind me of when I was back in Iraq.”

The feeling of the pad of her fingers felt great along his skin, prompting him to open up more and let down his walls. Disconnecting his gaze from Aika and onto her eyes allowed him to see orbs of hope and love. “I’m sorry to hear that, Sy. You’re so brave for having to get over the terrors that keep you up at night.”

“Maybe if I had someone to hold me, I wouldn’t have trouble sleeping.”

The captain was only joking, but she didn’t hesitate when offering, “Well I could hug you to sleep at night, test that strategy of yours?” He looked at her with bewilderment, “You’d sleep — not the euphemism — with a man you just met?”

Shrugging her shoulders, she pursed her lips, “I’ll take my chances with you, Sy. But I don’t think you’re the type to lure women and kill them in their sleep now, are you?”

He chuckled and pecked her lips softly, “Well damn am I glad that you’re taking your chance on this Texan captain. I can lend you some clothes so you can dress up?”

She nodded and stood up, offering her hands to him which he gratefully took as he stood up. Silently, he handed her clothes and guided her to the bathroom, allowing her to dress and freshen up first. Once she was done with her routine, she then exited the bathroom and told Sy it was now his turn to change. As the captain was changing into more comfortable clothes, Y/N had been petting Aika and humoring her.

“Are you ready to sleep now?” He smiled as he leaned against the wall as he was watching the lovely scene in front of him.

“I am, and I do hope you get to sleep well.”

There was the warm feeling in his chest and stomach again; instead of addressing it internally, he just picked Y/N up from the floor and laid them both down on the wide bed. “Show off,” She remarked as she cuddled up into him — her arms wrapping around his wide frame as her legs tangled with his.

“Happy new year, by the way,” She said after a few moments of silence after they were cuddling. Nodding to himself, Sy pressed a tender kiss on her shoulder before greeting her back, “Oh it will be, love.”

And that night did prove his theory right, that he does sleep better with someone holding him. But that wasn’t the only reason as to why he wanted to keep her in his life for a long time.

#quietmyfearswith #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x fem!reader #syverson x reader #syverson x fem!reader #sy x reader #sy x fem!reader #captain syverson x reader #captain syverson x fem!reader #its not living if its not with queue

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yoonsshadow · 4 years ago

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ETERNAL - iv

➳ summary ; They have died so often that death has lost its meaning; hurt so regularly that pain has become inconsequential; lost so much that they hold each other to the light of the stars. They have nothing yet they have everything, as long as they have each other. And, after centuries, they now have her.

➳ pairing ; bts!ot7 x fem!reader

➳ genres ; The Old Guard au; fantasy, historical, action, romance, alternate universe

➳ themes ; angst, fluff, death

➳ warnings ; talk of death, ptsd/flashbacks, war zone, heavy violence, course language, panic attack

➳ word count ; 2k

➳ note ; Hello! I know that this chapter took a little longer to get out, and it is a little shorter than usual, but it’s because it takes a lot of time and research to make sure that I’m doing this story justice. That being said, I hope that you enjoy!! The journey for these eight have truly begun now, and boy, do they have a lot coming. :3

masterlist

For a while now, your life has been slipping between your fingers. Like a shadow passing through the night, every moment has melted through you, pooling at your feet until you’re slipping, falling, thrown to the ground. From the moment the first bullet was delivered through your skull, you have lost grip of your control; of the things you hold dearest to you.

Sitting here, surrounded by these seven men, that empty cavern in your chest aches just a little less. It hasn’t started to fill up yet⎯⎯might not for a very long while⎯⎯but the silence no longer echoes.

“It still feels weird to think about,” you say, soft voice carrying through the room with ease. They are all listening so carefully that you cannot meet any of their eyes. “That I died, I mean. I’ve had time to rationalise it, but my whole life has been spent thinking one way⎯⎯believing in life and death, mortality, the fragility and preciousness of living⎯⎯but now I’ve been killed multiple times, died naturally a handful more, and so it feels as though the whole world has been skewed and I’m yet to find my balance.”

Your fingers fiddle together in your lap, eyes downcast to the empty soup bowl on the coffee table.

“The story of how I died the first time is kind of a long one. I can’t tell you about the final moments without explaining everything that led up to it, but there are a few years of history to go through. So, if you want me to condense it…”

“We have all the time in the world,” Namjoon assures, and it could be a joke, a satirical remark regarding your current situations, but instead he speaks with the utmost care, as if he is afraid of any wrong word, any misstep. He is telling you that they are patient, that they don’t mind waiting, that they will listen to every word you say. For you.

And it warms that hole in your chest enough for you to meet his eyes⎯⎯all of their eyes⎯⎯and offer a small smile. Then you nod to yourself. This is a story you need to tell, no matter how painful the memories are.

“Two-and-a-half years ago,” you begin, “the Special Warfare Command uncovered the elaborate smuggling operation of North Korean forces. Untraceable men⎯⎯assumed Black-Ops⎯⎯would enter South Korea through other countries using fake documentation. It’s unclear how long they stayed, months or years, but they would eventually kidnap vulnerable children and smuggle them to North Korea via Mongolia and China.

“Unfortunately, it took years to trace the movements of these men to a point where we knew what they were doing and how they were doing it. The SWC eventually concluded that North Korea were kidnapping and training future sleeper agents and spies, and avoiding suspicion by hiding in the Gobi Desert. They had an entire base of operations on a grey-zone of the border between Mongolia and China, and managed to leave no traces of their movements.”

You need to take a deep gulp of air at this point. Up until now, you have merely stated facts; regurgitated information as you have been told. However, you know that everything from this point on will become personal. You try to think back on your years of conditioning in the army.

“It was at this point that my team was requested for the operation. The 707th Special Mission Group has hundreds of personnel, all within two assault companies, one support company, and one all-female company. There are many missions in which female operators are a better fit, this one included, and out of the female company, my team was chosen.

“When I was promoted to Captain, and at such a young age... All I felt was excitement. Excitement for such an honour, for the experiences ahead, for being able to lead my very own team. The women on my team worked so well, too. We had many successful missions, small and big, and we were ready for this operation. We were ready for Operation Fawn.”

The air in your lungs stutters as you exhale, and you try to swallow the lump in your throat. You’ve avoided thoughts of the thirteen women who had become your friends, your family, but now you are submerged in the memories. Both joyous and tragic.

A few of the men around you look as if they want to move forward, to comfort you, but they also know that it isn’t their place to do so. Not yet.

“The plan was relatively straight-forward. We had found the location of the children, and so it was our job to silently infiltrate the site. Remove all hostiles, retrieve the missing kids, bring them back safely. It wasn’t unlike other missions we had completed before, so we were confident that we could execute it without fail.”

Pulse pumping loudly in your ears, heart beating violently in your chest, you begin to see flashes of that night, playing before your eyes without your permission.

“Get down!” A bullet whirs through the air where your lieutenant’s head had just been, close enough to be able to hear it cutting through the air. “Shit,” you mumble to yourself, peeking around the corner of the collapsed wall for the rest of your team, “how the fuck are there so many of them?”

“Captain.” A voice cuts through the chaos, the intercom in your ear crackling to life. “They’re still pouring in - West entrance - all armed. There shouldn’t be this many men.”

You land shots on three oncoming men, their bodies falling to the ground, but they are quickly replaced by more on their way. You have to do something; you can’t allow your team⎯⎯or the children⎯⎯to die tonight.

While your lieutenant watches your back, you fiddle with the dial of your radio, changing to a different channel.

“Command, this is Dragon, do you copy?”

No response comes through, and you’re forced to move from the wall with your gun poised, firing shots at any unfamiliar figure you see.

“Command, this is Dragon, do you copy?!”

A grenade explodes a short distance away, shaking the ground and sending you stumbling.

“Command, this is Dragon, Operation Fawn has been compromised! I repeat, Operation Fawn has been compromised! Delta Team needs immediate backup, over a hundred hostiles, and counting!”

Either the commotion around you drowns out the voice in your ear, or you’ve yet again received no response. You are starting to get desperate.

“Jesus fuc⎯ we’re completely overwhelmed, Command! My team can only hold out for a little while longer, but these fuckers just keep pouring in! Something is wrong, there shouldn’t be this many of them, we can’t fucking⎯”

Somebody tackles you to the ground. Gunshots, shouts, dirt in your face, a hand on your throat. The man on top of you is heavy, but you’re able to roll him off of you and shoot him between the eyes.

The blood splatters across your goggles.

It’s all too much. There are men everywhere, and you can’t see any of your team members throughout the chaos. You can’t get through to your command centre. Everything that was supposed to be easy tonight has gone wrong. Something heavy, and dark⎯⎯something that feels a lot like doom and panic and we’re going to die⎯⎯lurks in your guts, but you can’t think about that right now. You have to find your girls, have to save these children, have to stay alive⎯

Your fist aches nearly as much as your thudding chest.

Images of death and violence fade away as you blink violently, flexing your fingers individually and then all together, mind still scrambled, still alert.

There are hands on your shoulders, solid and heavy and grounding, and a pair of soft eyes searching for yours. All eyes in the room are on you, but all you can focus on is Yoongi, who looks as if he knows, as if he understands.

And there is a fist-sized patch of red on his left cheekbone. God, your fist, his face, what have you done, oh god I’ve hurt him⎯

Cool air blows on the silent tears that stream down your cheeks, your bones trembling with adrenaline and fear and sorrow. He’s saying something, lips moving slowly, but the clouds in your head are muffling everything. His hands move to hold yours.

You recognise the movement of his lips as the words breathe, it’s okay, and you try your best to obey, but your throat has closed up, tight like the grip of that enemy soldier who had held you to the ground⎯

Yoongi brings one of your hands to his chest, pressing your fingers into him, and you faintly feel the thudding of a heartbeat against your palm. Then, he breathes in, slow and deep, and you follow.

In and out, one by one, Yoongi slowly guides you to breathe steadily once again, your chest growing less tight with each shaky gasp. The tears have stopped flowing, and your limbs have calmed into only a slight tremor, and the darkness in his eyes are captivating. You want to lean forward, let them swallow you whole, but you instead squeeze his hands in silent thanks.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he whispers, and you realise that your head has calmed down enough to take in your surroundings. All seven are watching you with a careful and guarded eye, but you find no pity. It brings you a sliver of relief.

Rather than replying, you merely nod your head and allow Yoongi to pull you up onto shaky legs. Exhaustion is already weighing you down, and all you want to do is escape your own mind.

They have been once before. You, asleep in the spare room, and them, huddled together on the lounges. They are worried about you, but they are also much more; the fear in your voice, the heartache in each memory, was familiar to them. As they watched you relive your trauma, they relived theirs as well.

“I’m sorry, I-” Namjoon’s words stutter out, unsure, unplanned, unlike the way he usually speaks. “This is my fault. I should’ve known- it was too early to- and maybe you wouldn’t have gotten hurt...”

“Hey, no.” Seokjin’s hands on Namjoon’s shoulders are as firm as his words, kind eyes seeking regretful ones. “Don’t blame yourself; this is nobody’s fault. She made her decision to tell us. Don’t take that away from her. And we all know that she couldn’t help that reflex. Yoongi’s been hit harder.”

“We didn’t even hear the rest of the story,” Jimin pouts, nibbling his lower lip between his teeth. “Like, how she died, how her team died, what happened to the mission.”

“We’ll have to be patient,” Yoongi sighs. His cheek is already blue and purple, and will probably be fully healed in an hour. “We know the fundamentals, anyway. A mission that was supposed to be clear-cut somehow got turned on its head. It cost her team’s lives.”

“How does something like that even happen?” Next to Jimin, Taehyung’s pout is not quite as full, but still full of the emotions he is trying to keep in. “It isn’t just her team that got hit, but the entire Special Warfare Command. This was a big operation, guys, so something like this should’ve been prevented.”

“Do you think…” Jeongguk is clutching a pillow close to his chest. “Do you think somebody from the inside betrayed them?” Six faces turn to look at him, shocked at the implication, shocked that it makes sense. “I mean, the information about the operation would have been top secret. North Korea has resources, sure, but they shouldn’t have known the when, where, and how of the mission. Somebody had to have turned.”

“Who would’ve done it?” Jimin’s question is not asking for an answer. He feels sick at the thought.

It is at this moment that Hoseok chooses to emerge from his deep silence. When he speaks, his voice is regretful. Knowing. “I think she knows exactly who did it.”

< prev - next >

tags: @leafyturtle, @loveyoongles, @paint-music-with-me, @barbikatherine, @itsmorgo1604, @calling-dips-on-j-hope, @veronawrites, @applepie1000, @yoonchrisgullwrites, @ally22042000, @ireallylikefoodandyoutube, @blglmgk01, @basicgukk, @softescapism, @sinceritythatcouldntbedelivered, @m1nt-3lla, @hunnayesblog, @rosycheekb, @hemmofluke, @the-bisaster

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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 years ago

Note

Hi Steph! How you’re doing? First of all, I wanna say that I love your lists. So, I was wondering, do you have some long Johnlock fics? Like, with a bunch of chapters and all that. Thank you!

Hey Nonny!!

I absolutely do! And you know what?? I’m gonna be selfish: No one has ever EVER asked me for my shorter long fics, so I’m going to take this opportunity to finally release this list, because it’s been sitting in my drafts for YEARS lol. BUT you can check the list below for the links to all my longer-fics lists! Happy reading!!

NOVELLA LENGTH FICS: 20-25K

See also:

Novella Length Fics: 25 to 50K (Aug. 2019)

Novel Length Fics: 50 to 100K (Nov. 2018)

Novel Length Fics: 50 to 100K Pt 2 (May 2020)

Novel Length Fics: 100K+ w. (May 2019)

Novel Length Fics: 100K+ w. Pt 2 (Aug 2020)

Through the Clouds by Mazarin221b (E, 20,004 w., 6 Ch. || Retirement, Home Improvement, First Time, Romance) – Sherlock takes a remarkably early retirement at 47, and convinces John that a change of pace would do them both good. They buy an old cottage on the South Downs, and exchange their nonstop life in Baker Street for quiet contemplation, bee studies, and book writing. They might go completely insane, but sometimes it takes stepping outside of the life you're living to find the life you want. Part 1 of Through The Clouds

A Life Well-Lived by Kate_Lear (E, 20,121 w., 1 Ch. || Original Male Character, Sherlock Woos John, Jealous Sherlock, Reluctant Bi-John, Past Abuse, Insecure John, Reassuring / Caring Sherlock, Protective Sherlock, Understanding Sherlock) – John got scared off men by an abusive past relationship. Sherlock has to try and woo him while not scaring him off with protective possessive rage.

The White Lotuses by SilentAuror (E, 20,340 w., 1 Ch. || Slow Burn, Domestic, Romance) – One day John realises that he just isn't where he belongs, which is back at Baker Street with Sherlock. So he goes back and Sherlock, in his own way, courts him. Romance.

Out of the Woods by SilentAuror (E, 20,471 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Romance, Slow Burn, Flirting, Drunk Sex, Practical Jokes, POV Sherlock, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Pining Sherlock, Frustrated Wanking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, First Kiss/Time, Virgin Sherlock, Love Confessions, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Bum Appreciation, Hanging out with the Yard) – Sherlock is fairly certain that John has taken to flirting with him of late, but can't be entirely certain of it. At least, not until a case takes them into a forest, along with Lestrade's team and something happens that will change everything about their lives...

You're On the Air by prettysailorsoldier (M, 20,616 w., 1 Ch. || Unilock, Matchmaking, Radio, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Sherlock POV, Pining Sherlock, Flirting, Bisexual John) – The Consulting Detective and The Woman dominate the airwaves of their university radio station, doling out advice on everything from meeting the parents to sexual positions. When their ratings start to dip before the holidays, however, manager Mike thinks it's time for some fresh blood, and who better to fill in the gaps than rugby captain--and notorious flirt--John Watson? Part 1 of 25 Days of Johnlock

whiskies neat by Ellipsical (E, 20,660 w., 15 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, POV Second Person Sherlock, Slow Burn, One Night Stand, Rimming, Blow Jobs, Anal, Soldier John, Crying, Emotional Lovemaking, Switchlock) – Home and hearth and whiskies neat, or, alternatively, Sherlock Holmes falls in love.

Achieving the Together-Coloured Instant by teahigh (E, 20,776 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel, PTSD, Codependency, Fluff & Angst, H/C, Smut, Demisexual Sherlock, Experiments) – John wonders if this is how it’s going to be: A life speaking in code, because they’re both too stupid to figure out how to say, “I love you.”

Winter's Delights by Kate_Lear (E, 21,173 w., 1 Ch. || Holmes Family, Christmas, Fake Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Bed Sharing, Domestics) – Sherlock takes John home for Christmas to meet the extended Holmes family. Part 1 of Winter's Delights

Once More, With Feeling by cellard00rs (T, 21,178 w., 7 Ch. || John’s Family, Fake Relationship, Romance, Fluff, Humour) – To put off his meddlesome, matchmaking mother, John convinces Sherlock to play the role of his significant other. Unparalleled awkwardness ensues.

Love Is by SilentAuror (E, 21,508 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, UST / URT, Post HLV, Romance) – At Mrs Hudson's urging, Sherlock finally decides to tell John how he feels about him. Part 1 of Love Is

echoes through time by chellefic (E, 21,619 w. || First Time, Romance, ACD & BBC, Epistolary) – Mummy sends a trunk from the Holmes cottage in Sussex to 221B. Its contents alter the way John and Sherlock see themselves and one another.

The Real Meaning of Idioms by feverishsea (T, 21,691 w., 1 Ch. || Texting, Humour, Post S2) - After two weeks away, John finally texts Sherlock. He doesn’t expect Sherlock to respond. He doesn’t expect Sherlock to keep texting him. And he really doesn’t expect things to spiral out of control so rapidly.

5 Times John Got the Girl (and lost her) and 1 Time John Got the Guy (and kept him) by LiviKate (M, 21,695 w., 6 Ch. || 5 and Ones, Kissing, Oblivious / Awkward Sherlock, BAMF / Sexy / Stud John, Embarassed John, John’s Scar, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Sherlock) – John has always had good luck with the ladies. He's charming, friendly and funny, not to mention great in bed. However, his usual skill with the opposite sex is constantly being thwarted by Sherlock and his outbursts. How will John ever get a leg over when Sherlock is always cockblocking him?

Brief Conversations with the Woman by May_Shepard (E, 21,906 w., 20 Ch. || Pining, Love Fairy Irene, Filler Fic, UST/URT, Drug Use, Clueless Sherlock, Relationship Advice, Angst w/ Happy Ending) – Sherlock has a puzzle to solve, and his name is John Watson.

When to Let Go by KendylGirl (M, 22,109 w., 8 Ch. || Friends to Lovers, Reverse Reichenbach, Sacrifice, Forgiveness, Angst, Love, Implied Drug Use) – What if it were John who had to die to thwart Moriarty's plans? John's supposed death shatters Sherlock, and when he returns, it will challenge the pair to forge a path of forgiveness, to peace, and to find a way back to each other. Part 1 of When to Let Go

A Shipless Ocean by myswordfishmind (M, 22,135 w. 4 Ch. || Post-TRF, John has a Kid) – Ten years after the fall Sherlock goes back to London to find that John no longer lives there. Instead, he resides in a seaside town, a widower, and the father of a seven year old son. Now, Sherlock must struggle with the fact that there may no longer be a place for him in this new world.

Ghost Stories by SwissMiss (M, 22,256 w., 1 Ch. || Pining, Holmes Family, Christmas, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, First Time) – Sherlock's parents think he and John are a couple. They might be onto something.

The One With the Proposal by kim47 (E, 22,375 w., 3 Ch. || Fluff, Romance, Marriage Proposal) – Proposing shouldn't be this difficult.

Sonatina in G Minor by SilentAuror (E, 22,574 w., 1 Ch. || Case Fic, POV Sherlock, Angst, UST, Sherlock’s Violin, Post-S3, Romance) – John has come back to Baker Street, but Sherlock doesn't understand the strange tension between them, even after he begins teaching John to play the violin at John's request.

Dear John by wendymarlowe (E, 23,031 w., 64 Ch. || Post-TRF, Online Dating, Pining, Epistolary, Cybersex, Long Distance Romance) – With Sherlock dead, John eventually (under duress) makes a profile on an online dating site. And falls into a long-distance relationship with an enigmatic partner who reminds him of Sherlock in all the right ways. (Hint: it turns out to be Sherlock.) Part 1 of Dear John

Knotted by naughtyspirit (E, 23,166 w., 4 Ch. || UST/URT, Cuddling, Sharing Body Heat, Confessions, Kissing, Mastrubation, Frustration, BAMF!John) – John has to cancel a date because of Sherlock's case, which leads them to be tied up in a basement from which they have to escape. They get wet, get tied up close and John has to step up and save them. Because he's pretty. And hot. And just a little bit of a BAMF.

You Can Imagine the Christmas Dinners by ardenteurophile (T, 23,584 w., 9 Ch. || Pre-Slash, Drama, Fluff & Angst, Humour, Romance) – Sherlock takes John along for Christmas dinner with Mycroft and Mummy (And "Anthea", too). Over the course of the evening, John realises that everyone in the room - apart from him - seems to think that he and Sherlock are a couple. Part 2 of Xmas Dinners Verse

Once Upon a Beast Becoming by antietamfalls (T, 24,042 w., 6 Ch. || Beauty and the Beast AU || Magical Realism, Folklore, Celtic Mythology) – An act of pride, a druid’s curse, an enchanted leaf; Sherlock’s torment has lasted an age. Hope arrives in the form of one John Watson, a man uniquely suited to break the spell. But with a single night to win his affections, Sherlock finds his carefully laid plans disrupted by a monstrous killer whose sights are set on the only thing he has left to lose: John.

The Kepler Problem by kinklock (E, 24,270 w., 1 Ch. || Sci-Fi AU, Alien Sherlock, Space Repairman John, Alien Biology, Horny John) – Working in uncharted space exploration was not as exciting as John had hoped, especially when it turned out to be mostly bot maintenance on uninhabited planets. However, the mystery of the repeated, unexplained malfunctions on planet BAK 2212 might turn out to be exactly the kind of adventure he'd been craving.

Maintaining A Personal Life by Gingerhermit (E, 24,284 w., 6 Ch. || Alternating POV’s, Bisexuality, BAMF!John, Jealous Sherlock, Romance / Drama, Sort-of Case Fic, Peril & Angst, Love Confessions, Toplock, Soft Idiots in Love, Post S3) – Sherlock and John discover some interesting revelations about each other’s sexuality, which lead them both to question the assumptions they've made about one another for years. In the midst of their mutual discoveries, a dangerous psychopath looms on the side-lines who threatens to destroy their new beginning.

The Sexual Awakening of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson by suitesamba (M, 24,579 w., 10 Ch. || Post-TRF, Case Fic, H/C, First Kiss/Time) – Sherlock owes Mycroft a favor. Mycroft calls in that favor by offering Sherlock's consulting services in a charity auction. Sherlock and John soon find themselves at the country manor of Mrs. Ives-Patton Smarmington III - not very coincidentally a long-time friend of Sherlock's mother - where they are reluctant participants in her Murder Mystery Weekend. It's a play within a play for Sherlock and John, and their roles for the weekend event bleed over into their real lives, waking the sleeping dragons within.

Tomorrow's Song by agirlsname (M, 24,645 w., 5 Ch. || Post-TRF, POV Sherlock, Angst with a Happy Ending, Virgin / Repressed Sherlock, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Pining, Jealous Sherlock) – How can he think a relationship with me would be a good idea? I am the sort of person to take a break from my life and when I come back after two years, I expect to find it exactly as I left it. In reality I find it shattered to pieces. (I actually equate you with my life. When did I start doing that?)

State of Flux by Atiki (E, 24,655 w., 4 Ch. || Sherlock POV, Slow Burn, First Kiss/Time, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Cuddles and Snuggles, Awkwardness, Insecure/Virgin Sherlock, Romance) – John’s marriage is over and he is finally back home (i.e. at Baker Street, where he belongs). Sherlock is awfully insecure and John is awfully hesitant, and they're both awkward idiots, of course, but they figure it out. Many First Times happen.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #20 to 25k #long fics #Anonymous

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ratchedspeach · 4 years ago

Text

Shell Shock

CW: PTSD | READ HERE ON AO3

It had happened so quickly. One moment, she’s helping the patient — a young veteran with shell shock — into bed. The next, his fingers are seizing Mildred by the shoulders. His eyes are bulging, pupils dilating, irises fogging with a look Mildred knows all too well. And then he’s yelling at her, pushing her against a wall, screaming that she’s weak, that she’ll never survive in the trenches if she doesn’t man up! He’s crying by the time Huck and Betsy are able to pull him off of a stunned Mildred.

Huck turns his attention to Mildred while Betsy sedates the bartered Lieutenant. He tries to place a hand on her shoulder, but Mildred jerks away. She glares at him with an incredulous look, back straightening. She’s gone without so much as a word, heels clicking against the uneven floor as she pushes past Huck’s sympathy. It hadn’t been intentional. That’s what Mildred keeps telling herself, and deep down she knows it’s right. But it doesn’t change the way her skin burns, or the images dancing across her mind.

It doesn’t change her past. As Mildred sprints down the hallway, tears stinging her vision, she knows that’s what she’s really running from. She’s running from the times she’d been pushed to inflict intentional pain. From the nights she’d gone without food. From the bombs dropped so close to her hospital tent, she thought they might take her with them — eviscerate her until she was nothing more than a pile of ash.

From the part of her that still wishes they had.

She finishes out her shift with not even a word about the incident. She avoids Huck and Betsy. She drives home in silence.

Once home, Mildred draws a bath and slips out of her nurse’s uniform. The frock falls around her ankles, and she shakes it off. She hopes that maybe, just maybe, shedding the thing will alleviate some of the pressure building on her chest. To Mildred’s dismay, that hope is dashed when she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Bruises imprint either forearm in the shape of fingertips. Mildred presses her palm to one of them, wincing at the tight pain that hums under the purplish skin.

The bath is hot — hotter than she’d intended, but Mildred doesn’t mind. She lets out a heavy sigh as the water singes her skin, seeps through to her core, thrums against her pulse. Steam rolls off of Mildred’s knees when they dip above the water’s surface. She pushes her hair off her face, palms lingering over her ears as her eyes flutter closed. She realizes the folly of her ways too late.

As her eyes close, her mind wanders to one of her first nights on base. To the first soldier who had ever begged her to kill him. To the first Sergeant who had ever warned her to grow thicker skin. She hears gunshots popping, echoing, shattering her eardrums. She hears bombs whistle. The sound melds with a shriek, and she’s screaming without registering the difference between what’s real and what isn’t, eyes still closed, hands still pressed against her ears.

Mildred crosses her arms across her chest and brings her fingernails to dig into the skin of her shoulders. She hisses when it’s tender, but the pain grounds her in some way. It’s enough to mute her cries to short, pathetic inhales — to low whimpers and wails.

“Darling, what is it?”

She hadn’t heard the door open, hadn’t noticed when Gwendolyn knelt next to her. She’s still too lost in the war she’s fighting against her pulse. Gwendolyn scans her, notices the bruises marring her forearms , and the way she’s digging her nails into the flesh above her shoulders, and her stomach drops.

“Mildred, sweetheart, will you look at me?”

Gwendolyn’s query only half registers, so she reaches for one of Mildred’s hands instead. Much to her surprise, Mildred allows her fingers to release from her own skin. In spite of the angry, red indents left behind, Gwendolyn takes it as a victory.

“What’s happened, my sweet? Who did this to you?” A million possibilities swirl through Gwendolyn’s mind. She braces for the worst of them.

Mildred’s eyes squeeze tighter. She shakes her head, and it sends droplets of water smattering across Gwendolyn’s face.

“Cuh— can’t…” Mildred hiccups, chokes on a shuttered exhale.

Her eyes snap open, and Gwendolyn knows she’s still not seeing her. They’re too wide, too stormy. The usual honey that coats her gaze has gone almost jet black. She flicks the look upwards, like she’s watching the night sky, and she’s not breathing, oh God , who did this to her?

“Mildred, my darling, can you please look at me?” Gwendolyn frames her face with her hands, bringing her thumb to stroke the apple of either cheek.

And Mildred does, slowly, laboriously. Her deep eyes sweeping towards Gwendolyn’s green ones. When Gwendolyn smiles, a bewildered look flashes across her features. Like a feral cat, or a startled child, or a soldier returning from war. A knot settles in the pit of Gwen’s stomach.

“Would you like me to get you a towel?”

Mildred nods with a trembling lower lip. Gwendolyn kisses her temple chastely before she helps her stand. Mildred shivers as everything above her knees is pulled from the warmth of the tub. Her skin is blotchy as heat leaves her body. She stands like a teenager who has not yet grown into themself. Gwendolyn makes quick work of wrapping the cotton towel around her shoulders, tucking it closed across her torso. And Mildred?

Mildred just watches. Exhaustion seeps through her system as adrenaline funnels out of her. There’s something else, too — something warm and glowing. Something she knows it entirely to do with Gwendolyn.

“Do you think you can get yourself dressed?”

Mildred ponders the question for a moment. Her legs feel like rubber, but she doesn’t really feel as though she’s in her body, either. Some part of her is still there in that hospital tent. The stench of dried blood and cigarettes singes her nostrils. The whine of bombs and bullets and patients echoes in her ears. She doesn’t realize how long she’s been silent until she looks up and Gwendolyn is approaching with a sleep shirt. She reaches a hand out to Mildred.

“Here, grab onto me. Careful, it’s slippery.”

Gwendolyn moves in autopilot. The adrenaline which had left Mildred seemed to find a new host in her. It buzzed against her spine, sent tremors flitting across her chest. It hurt. Did Mildred hurt this much?

“This is yours.” It’s shaky, almost silent, but it’s Mildred. It’s her. And Gwendolyn smiles in spite of herself.

“That’s never stopped you before.” She teases lightly as she helps the younger woman into it.

The shirt doesn’t fit. It billows down to Mildred’s knees, and hangs below her fingertips. Still, the cotton is soft against her overcharged nerve endings. It smells like cinnamon — like Gwendolyn. Her Gwen. Mildred brings the sleeve over her left hand to her nose and inhales. Gwendolyn smiles at that.

She takes Mildred by the waist and ushers her out of the bathroom without bothering to drain the tub. Gwen pulls back the covers and deposits Mildred there, tucking her in and coming around to the other side of the bed to lie next to her. Gwendolyn looks and Mildred.

Mildred stares at the ceiling.

“I suppose you’ll want to know what happened.” She picks at one of her fingernails, eliciting a gentle clicking noise as part of it breaks free.

Gwendolyn wants to still her hands — to take them in her own and kiss her knuckles until the tremor there stops. She doesn’t, though. One thing at a time. Gwendolyn has learned how to choose her battles.

“I won’t force you to.” She sighs. “However … you’re bruised, and … you were screaming, Mildred. I mean really … just …” Gwendolyn huffs, words faltering against the weight threatening against her chest.

She knows that Mildred can hear her, knows that she’s registered the fluster in her tone. Gwendolyn thinks she might hate herself for it. That is, until …

“I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.” Mildred apologizes before she’s even told her what’s wrong. “It just … I didn’t mean … he didn’t mean to.”

Gwendolyn swallows the lump forming in her throat. It shouldn’t come as too much of a shock that someone had hurt her. Christ, there were bruises in the shape of hands on both her arms. There’s something about hearing her voice it, though, that makes Gwendolyn’s insides shatter to a million pieces. Gwen sets her jaw, nostrils flaring.

“Didn’t mean to what, darling?”

There’s a beat between them. A pause that feels deafening and all encompassing.

“Mildred? Didn’t mean what?”

“He was just scared.” Mildred’s eyes go wide. She’s pleading with Gwen, and it breaks her heart again, but Gwen doesn’t respond. She just waits. “I was helping him to bed, and I said something stupid. I knew better, but I called him Lieutenant; he’d explicitly asked that we not do that. And it … he …”

She’s sucking in breaths without ever really exhaling. Tears spill across her cheeks, her arms wrap around her center as Mildred tries to shield herself in a fetal position.

“Oh, Mildred.” Gwendolyn aches as she pulls the woman into her arms.

“I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry!” Mildred chokes, and Gwen realizes the apology isn’t meant for her, but for him. Magbe for the others she’d seen die, too. Maybe for the men and women alike who hadn’t come home.

Gwendolyn kisses the top of her head. Her curls are still soaked, but she doesn’t care. “It was an accident, my love. You didn’t do it on purpose.”

But it only makes Mildred cry harder. A sob rips out of her, and then she’s climbing on top of the older woman. Her legs stuck between Gwen's, her head falling on her chest and creating a wet spot against her suit jacket.

“But I hurt him!” She wails, fingers puckering the collar of Gwen’s shirt. Mildred’s knuckles go white against the fabric. “I hurt everyone!”

“You don’t hurt me.” Gwendolyn murmurs into her hair, when she can think of no other way to soothe the aching woman.

“You’re an angel of mercy.”

Huck’s voice creates a chasm in her chest. Mildred shakes her head, sucks in a shuttered breath and holds it. It coughs out of her in a choke when her lungs can’t keep it any longer. Her head throbs. Her blood hammers in her ears. She’s tired, her arms hurt, and her back hurts, and everything feels wrong. Everything except Gwendolyn. If she can just focus on Gwen, focus on the rise and fall of her ribcage, and the steady beat of her heart, on the way her fingers are stroking her cheek, then maybe this will all go away.

“Mildred, did you hear me?” Gwen tries again when Mildred still hasn’t responded. “You are the gentlest, most caring person I have ever known. Everything — and I do mean everything you do — is out of love. Even the things that others may deem questionable; they are never without reason. Never.”

Something stills in Mildred in that insistence. Her breath seems to latch onto Gwen’s words easier than oxygen. They don’t burn nearly as much to swallow. Even still, Mildred isn’t sure she fully believes them; because she has hurt Gwen.

“I love you.”

“I don’t even know what to say to that; and anyway, I don’t believe you.”

“But I —“

“No. Not a chance in hell.” Gwendolyn brings her thumb under her chin and wills her to look at her.

Mildred sees tears shimmering behind her pale green eyes. She knows they’re for her, because of her. Even now I’m hurting her. But the thought is cut off by Gwendolyn’s lips on hers like gossamer. And then Mildred is kissing her, pressing against her like she’s her only source of oxygen, or like she’s shirked the need to breathe altogether. Her thighs frame Gwen’s hips, her palms cup Gwen’s cheeks, her lips dote what must be a thousand pecks across her face and neck.

“Woah, sweetness, slow down.” Gwendolyn sits up as best she can with the younger woman still splayed across her lap.

Mildred looks at her with something akin to confusion twisting behind her stormy eyes.

“What’s the matter?” She asks, and it’s a little forced, a little rasped, a little breathless.

Gwen’s lips pull into a frown. “You … what are you doing, sweetness?”

“I’m kissing you.”

And Gwendolyn knows this coping mechanism — where Mildred uses intimacy to avert attention from herself. Gwendolyn tries not to think of how she’d learned to do it, but sometimes images of an adolescent Mildred creep into thoughts. She hates this most of all, in part because she hates having to stop her; hates the look that draws on her already darkened features.

“Please, Mildred.” Gwen whispers when she doesn’t trust the timber of her own voice. “Please, just … just let me hold you right now? Let me take care of you.”

Mildred’s gaze flicks to her palms, which now rest against her lap. Shame creeps against her neck and settles on her cheeks in a flush. She’s not used to being seen so completely. Most of the time, it’s tinged with a sort of nervous enthrallment. She loves how Gwendolyn notices the little things.

Usually. Not always.

“I don’t understand.” Mildred whines, but Gwendolyn knows better.

She cups her cheek, wills the brunette to look at her.

“You do.” Gwendolyn says with a nod.

The redhead’s eyes shimmer with so much adoration, Mildred thinks she might need another bath. She doesn’t feel worthy of that look, not in the wake of all the destruction she’s wrought. Not when there’s a man lying in a hospital bed whose emotional demise she had directly caused. Still, Gwendolyn persists. She tangles her fingers through Mildred’s damp curls, pulling her down against her chest once more with the gentlest tug. How is Gwen so good at staying level? How has she not flung Mildred to the side like yesterday’s bread yet? It baffles her. It tears her insides apart, and then stitches them back up again in the same breath.

“I love you, Mildred Ratched.” She murmurs into the top of her bed. “Do you hear me? I love you.”

Mildred yawns against her chest, fingers finding the lapel of her jacket.

“I love you too.” She murmurs as her body gives into exhaustion.

She jolts before she can fall asleep, inhaling sharply and snapping her eyes wide. Gwendolyn can’t help the chuckle that rumbles in her throat.

“Sleep, my darling. I’ll be right here.”

#mildolyn #nat writes #archive of our own #mildred ratched #ratched #sarah paulson #angst #gwendolyn briggs #mildred x gwendolyn #hurt comfort #I’m sorry LOL #flashbacks #fluff at the end sort of

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bluebellhairpin · 4 years ago

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Tears, Fears, and Souvenirs

Levi Ackerman X Reader

A/N: I was having a bath the other day - for the first time in years - and I just kinda sat there and did nothing for a while. It was weird. - Nemo

Warning(s): PTSD. Nudity. Probably more forced self-care than I’ll ever get in my entire life. Scars. Anime/Manga Spoilers.

Summary: Over time, if they’re bottled long enough - emotions build up. Eventually, people find places where they can run free. Luckily for you, you’re alone when it happens. Unluckily for you, that alone-ness did not last long.

Listening to: ‘Nothing Left To Say/Rocks’ by Imagine Dragons - ‘I've come too far to see the end now ... But I keep pushing on and on and on and on.’

Masterlist

After days like today where the hours stretched on, and they day was actually three - but still counted as one, because sleep over safety was not an option - you always waited a couple more hours to make sure everyone was asleep.

Especially the newest cadets - or what was left of them.

You feigned the idea that you were taking care of them. That you waited up so that those who needed coaxing to go to bed actually had someone to coax them. But it wasn’t just that. The baths were always quiet at 2 am.

Even though it had taken a while to get the water warmed, as you sunk into the steaming water you knew the wait was worth it. Despite no luxury of scented oils or bubbles, you enjoyed it anyway - just the feeling of everything washing away was good enough. It’d tide you over until - one day - you’d get those things. But that would be a time when you wouldn’t need to take a bath to forget.

After the day - or days - that you just had, you’d need more than one bath to completely process and wash away what happened.

Miche was dead. Your closest friend, someone who was practically a brother to you, died right behind you as you ran away.

At the time you were in your soldier mindset. He was a fallen comrade with no hope left. In that he was managing to divert the titans away from you, and that was good. He was supposed to be right behind you, his horse appearing in the distance as yours came right up from another direction. He told you to go, that he’d catch up in no time.

You, in your soldier mindset, listened to your superior like you were taught.

You, in your soldier mindset, didn’t look back like you were taught.

But now? Now you thought of how you both should’ve just hopped on your horse and left, his would’ve found him and caught up eventually. At least then you both would be alive. The idea of having to do it again - leave someone behind - sent a nauseating pang straight to your heart.

Your head rested back against the bath rim. You felt them coming, the tears, and you’d let them fall. The very least you could give Miche was free-falling tears - you wouldn’t wipe them away, he fought long and hard enough to have deserved them, you knew that much.

Of course, he was only the first of many casualties that day. Nanaba was gone too, as well as others - some you thought you trusted but no longer could. Then the countless injuries to stack on top of it all.

It was such a shame, an age-old war needing the sacrifice of young lives in order to be eventually won or lost.

Your eyes cast downwards, looking at the fresh cuts, grazes, burns, and bruises littering your skin. They’d add to your skin’s collection of marks rather nicely. You pinched your skin between your fingers, remembering a time when you were better fed and weren’t running around after cadets all day. You didn’t like thinking about that.

With a deep breath in and closed eyes, you pressed your fingers to your nose and slid down into the water, staying there just under the surface until your lungs burned and your knees ached from being bent so. You shot up out of the water, taking in quiet gulps of air and pushed your - now - wet hair out of your face.

“You sloshed.” A voice behind you commented. Your instinct was the freeze up, but you knew that tone, and that voice. Levi.

“You didn’t knock.” You rested back against the tub, lifting your arms to hang over the sides. You didn’t look back at him.

He shuffled around behind you, and eventually dropped a chair by your side and towels on the floor to half-effort a clean-up of your spilt bath water.

You looked over at him, locking your eyes with a pair that was already on yours. His nose almost twitched into a frown.

“You’ve been crying.” You grunted at that.

“Hange should call you Captain Obvious, not Captain Shorty.” He reached over, tugging your hair in a uncharacteristically soft warning.

“Don’t go thinking you’re the only one that will miss him, he was everyone’s friend.”

Levi Ackerman was not a tactful man.

His eyes raked down your face, and then back up again. He wasn’t sitting close enough to look at anything else other than your arms - only because they were still dripping water onto the towels below. Then he visibly - even so still small - grimaced.

“You’re washing your hair, right?” he asked and you were going to answer, but then he kept on, “It’s greasy, matted. Downright filthy - did you bathe in the titan’s muck before you came here?” You frowned at him.

“Well, I wasn’t planning to, then you asked and I decided I would, but then you insulted me so I think I won’t. Just to piss you off.” you said, sticking your nose in the air with a sniff as you sunk lower into the water.

“You won’t, fine.” he said, “Let me do it then.” You raised an eye at him, and he rolled his eyes at you. “I’m sitting here with nowhere else to be, and you need your hair washed. Win, win.”

You said nothing, only sinking further into the bath, with your mouth underwater and now a questionable amount of legs sticking out the other end.

“If you want it washed, then let me wash it for you,” he added. You turned your head over again, only just being able to meet his eyes over the rim. “I won’t look, if that’s what you’re hesitating about.”

You snorted into the water, sitting yourself up to laugh without drowning yourself. His almost caring delivery of the phrase, paired with his eye roll was comical. After settling, and ignoring Levi’s steely glare for a good few minutes, you let out a sigh.

“Fine, just this once.”

“I wasn’t planning on washing your hair for you forever brat.” He said, and moved his chair over so it was behind you.

You supposed, if he didn’t shove you underwater and call it a rinse, getting your hair washed for you would be fine. Nice even. But you didn’t expect for it to feel that relaxing. Sitting there, as the bath water cooled, you felt his fingers run through your hair. Pulling the tangles out with patience that would only be found in a thousand people. Washing out the dirt, mud, sweat, grease, and blood with every pour of a jug.

You prayed to whatever higher beings there were that his fingers would always work in such a way forever. It would be cruel to have them taken away when they could massage the soap into your scalp so well.

Only once did you get dunked - but that was because you threatened him with the idea that he was enjoying washing your hair as much as you were enjoying the feeling of it.

You thought he did, at least, and you knew he’d never admit it if your idea was true.

But whenever you find yourself in the bath at 2 am, when you’re at your lowest and ready to forget the long, taxing, and trying days, he’s always there to wash your hair.

So then you knew.

#levi ackerman x reader #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #snk x reader #levi ackerman one shot #aot one shot #attack on titan one shot #snk one shot

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hopesbarnes · 5 years ago

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Summary: Waking up from a one night stand isn’t the worst thing to happen. But when it’s the one guy you have been hiding your feelings from? It might be.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: 18+, smut, cursing

A/N: Written for @buckysmischief Gab’s Bday Writing Challenge. I had the prompt “What makes you think it was an accident?”

The sheets are too soft. It’s the first thought that crosses your mind when you wake up. Your sheets are cotton, and a reasonable thread count. Something about luxury still made you sick to your stomach. A bed felt like too much at times, the stability of it was too much. But Bucky swung the other way. He craved extravagance and bought thousand dollar sheets and the fanciest mattress known to man. Claimed his years of no bed made up for the cost of his current one.

So when you woke up to the softest sheets, you knew exactly who’s bed you were in. No doubt about it, you were in his bed. Every other detail though was fuzzy, clouded by the headache you had. You were definitely hungover, that much as certain. Tony had an anniversary party for him and Pepper the night before. Alcohol was free-flowing, even the type that brought genetically modified people, like yourself, down. You feel rustling next to you and finally, open your eyes.

A very shirtless, and possibly missing other clothes, super soldier is lying next to you. His hair tangled, and his chest moving with every breath. He looks peaceful, a sharp contrast to the mini freakout you had going on internally.

“You gonna keep checking me out?” his voice is strained and sounds husky.

“I wasn’t-uh checking you out,” you squeak out embarrassed.

He chuckles deeply and turns his head to look at you. You can only imagine what you must look like. There had to be makeup smudged, hair out of place, and eyes wide from this entire encounter. How could you end up in his bed, the one place you swore you’d never let yourself end up. Goddamnit, you were stronger than this Y/N.

You move to get up, realizing that you are completely naked, most likely from the activity you don’t want to confront.

“I should get dressed,” you say lackluster.

“Or you could stay in bed with me longer.”

“Bucky this was an accident,” you declare while pulling your discarded underwear and a shirt of his on the floor on.

“What makes you think it was an accident?” he asks sitting up in bed, running a hand through the knotted locks.

“We were drunk, and I was emotional about being single at an anniversary party. Bad combination.”

“I wanted this to happen,” he says softly and you stop to look at him.

“What?”

“I like you, have had a crush for a few months now. Just didn’t think you’d want a soldier with PTSD as a partner,” he admits. You laugh in response, and he looks hurt. Quickly realizing what your laugh could be misconstrued as you stop.

“No, I’m not,” you take a breath and sigh, “I’m messing this all up. I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at me. I like you too, but I didn’t think you’d want a spy with my baggage as your partner.”

“What a pair we are,” he says with a snicker. You climb back into bed, this time on his lap.

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t remember much from last night.”

“Bits and pieces,” he smiles.

“I think we should recreate it.” This has his smile turn into a full-on grin.

“We definitely are a good pair.”

Your lips meet his and he smiles into it, unable to hide how he truly feels anymore.

“No more false assumptions,” he says in between kisses. The sun frames his face and he looks gorgeous in the lighting.

“As long as you promise lots more kisses,” you say holding out a pinkie for him to take a silent promise shared between the two of you. He tilts his head smiling and connects his finger with you.

He kisses you again, this time with more energy. Almost trusting himself more with you. Your lips move slow with his, trying to memorize his mouth and commit his taste to memory. His tongue meets yours and you let out a soft moan.

You’re practically in his lap at this point and his hands go from holding yours to pulling you closer. He pulls his shirt from your body before kissing your neck hard enough to leave a mark and your head falls back from the pleasure.

“So fucking beautiful,” he says kissing your breasts and holding you flush against him.

“So fucking mine,” you reply and push him down onto the bed. He’s hard beneath you and you move your hips against him. His head pulls away and he groans.

“Need these gone, they’re so offensive,” he says and you laugh as he pulls your panties off and throws them as far as they can go. Then pushes you into the mattress.

“You sure?” he asks kissing you quickly.

“God yes,” you consent and he pulls you in for the millionth time this morning. He lines himself up with you and pushes in, filling you. You moan at the feeling, he feels amazing inside you.

It’s slow and his strokes are almost musical. Last night floods back, rushed moments and sloppy movements. Now feels so much better, each move is laced with love and the two of you reach your peak within moments of each other. And he collapses in the bed next to you.

“We could have been doing this months ago sweetheart,” he says turning to kiss your forehead.

“That is the biggest regret in my life,” you laugh and you press yourself against him, head on his chest.

“I really look forward to many more mornings like this with you,” he says and you nod letting sleep take over. Mornings like this sound perfect.

#Bucky Barnes #marvel #gabs26 #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut

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pikapeppa · 5 years ago

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Random Cullen and Dagna headcanon

This is a little off-brand since I rarely think about Cullen unless I’m writing something for @schoute, but one of my weird realizations after playing DA:O is the fact that a bunch of the people in Inquisition are people that Cullen has actually known for like 10 years, or has at least met before. For example, he could have met Leliana when she was a hot Chantry girl tootling through the Circle Tower with the Warden. He could have met Zevran, who could also have met (and maybe slept with!) Hawke in DA2, and like, imagine how weird it would be if Cullen and Hawke were (super awkwardly) chatting in Skyhold during DA:I times like “hey what about that Zevran guy? He never took anything seriously, did he?”

My favourite is the fact that Cullen and Dagna were working at the Circle Tower at the same time. I did the Circle Tower as my first mission and then went to Orzammar, so imagine that Dagna gets to the Circle Tower to study, all shiny and bright and excited, and she meets poor bby Templar Cullen who’s all traumatized by what happened with the mages and super angry and vengeful and distressed and REALLY SHOULDN’T BE WORKING RIGHT NOW AND SHOULD BE ON LEAVE FOR PTSD AND THE TEMPLARS ARE A SHITTY ORDER. And Dagna, being the bright and shiny ray of sunshine that she is, realizes that Cullen has Seen Some Shit™ and could use a friend, but also that he Takes His Job Very Seriously™ and would not be willing to open up to a total stranger about the shit he’d been through.

So since Dagna is a ray of sunshine and Cullen would absolutely not accept the hug he so desperately needs, Dagna makes him a gift: a dwarven clock with a clever enchantment that means it will never lose time or stop working. It’s also enchanted to tick at various volumes depending on what Cullen would be most comfortable with, because Dagna isn’t sure whether he’d prefer a silent clock or one that makes a nice sharp tick or one that makes a soft ASMR sort of sound that’s more like falling leaves than a true tick, and she can’t very well ask him because she’s pretty sure his nerves would snap if she did.

So one day, she shows up at the end of his post and gives him this beautiful little dwarven clock. She cheerfully explains how it works, and she skips away before he can refuse it or ask any further questions. And Cullen is stunned. He doesn’t know what to do with this gesture of kindness from this total stranger. He puts the clock in his locker in the barracks and he kind of spends the next few days prowling around the locker like a nervous cat, unsure how to deal with this gift.

Then, one night when everyone else is asleep, he takes the clock out of his locker and tries the ticking settings.

He picks the nice soft ASMR leaf-hush ‘ticking’ noise, and he just sits there listening to the clock while everyone else is sleeping. And a minute later, tears are pouring down his face. He’s horrified because this is behaviour NOT befitting of a Templar, but he can’t stop silently crying, and he can’t stop listening to the soft and gentle ticking of the clock.

Every night after this, he listens to the clock ticking at night when he can’t sleep. Every time he gets a nightmare and his Templar colleagues tell him to man up and soldier on, he takes out the clock when he’s alone and listens to the ticking noise and just fucking cries in silence alone in the barracks. When he eventually gets transferred to Kirkwall, he takes the clock with him, and he feels guilty when he fails to thank Dagna for this gift.

He listens to the clock ticking in Kirkwall, too. He listens to it as he tries to settle in at the Gallows, and he listens to it after the Arishok ravages the city and more of his friends die while trying to help the city guard keep shit under wraps. Shit starts really hitting the fan with the mages and Templars, and Meredith becomes more and more fanatical in her attempts to keep the peace, and Cullen agrees with her plans. Yes, he definitely thinks that Tranquility is a good idea for controlling the mages, because mages are incredibly dangerous. Yes, he thinks that the Right of Annulment might be needed, and he seconds Meredith’s motion to write to the Chantry about it.

And at night, when he can’t sleep and his nightmares leave his sheets soaked with sweat, he listens to the ticking of Dagna’s clock while the tears pour down his face to soak into his pillow.

Fast-forward to the Inquisition times. Cassandra recruits Cullen, and he jumps at the chance to do something better with his life. And when he makes the move to Haven, he wraps Dagna’s clock carefully in his belongings and brings it with him. He’s trying his best with the Inquisition, and he’s convinced that this time he’s doing the right thing, and when he lies in bed at night, the ticking of Dagna’s clock lulls him to sleep.

Then Corypheus attacks Haven. It’s a mad fucking rush to save everyone and to bring whatever essential supplies they can, and they fail even at doing that. They take hasty refuge in the Frostback Mountains, and the last thing Cullen should be thinking about is Dagna’s clock.

But as he lies in a tent in a bedroll on the frozen ground, with the coughing and rustling and crying of Haven’s refugees all around him, he wishes he had that comforting tick in his ear, and he can’t sleep.

They make it to Skyhold. They’re unpacking everything, and the Inquisitor is rousing everyone’s spirits, and he and Josephine and Leliana are setting up for the Inquisitor’s next move against Corypheus. And that’s when a messenger brings Cullen’s battered old chest up to his tower: a chest of belongings that Cullen had just assumed was lost.

And in the chest, wrapped carefully in the center of the chest, is Dagna’s clock.

That night, Cullen listens to the soft ASMR ticking of the clock, and as the moonlight pours through the hole in the ceiling of his room, the tears pour silently down his face.

The next morning, he takes the clock down to his office. And on the shelf, always in view and just audible if he is listening for it, he places Dagna’s clock.

And then Dagna comes to Skyhold.

She beams at him with that same huge grin that she had when she first gave him the clock. She babbles at him about red lyrium, and he forces himself to concentrate on what she’s saying, but he’s almost too distracted to hear it, because it’s Dagna. It’s that little excited dwarven girl who thrust a clock into his hands and then scampered away ten years ago, and...

And her clock saved his sanity. When Cullen thought he was going to fall apart, the ticking of her clock kept him grounded. It soothed him and helped him sleep and witnessed the tears that no one else ever saw.

Dagna’s clock saved his sanity. Dagna saved his sanity.

“Thank you,” Cullen says suddenly, interrupting her in the middle of her lecture about lyrium. “For the clock.”

She blinks, then laughs. “By the Stone, do you still have that old thing? I could make you a new one that runs even more smoothly–”

“No,” he interrupts. “The one you gave me is perfect. It... thank you, Dagna.” He breaks off and swallows the lump in his throat, then takes a breath and straightens his posture as befits the Commander of the Inquisition’s army. “If you require anything for your studies, anything at all, make a request and I will see that it is done.”

Dagna’s eyes widen, and she beams at him with that blinding sunshine smile. “Thank you, Commander! How wonderful! I can’t wait to get started!” She runs out of his office as quickly as her legs will carry her, and Cullen releases a breath. He’s not sure that she understands the gravity of his thanks, and he’s not sure that he understands quite what he’s getting himself into with this offer to give her whatever she needs, but it doesn’t matter.

Dagna’s clock saved his sanity. Dagna saved his sanity. And even if he grumbles and complains about the increasingly outlandish nature of her requests, he always fulfills them, because Dagna’s clock – and her kindness – helped to keep him alive.

#cullen rutherford #dagna #A HEADCANON THAT GOT OUT OF HAND #pikapeppa writes #pikapeppa masters her taint

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stjernfaerie · 4 years ago

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I finally watched all of MCU

in release order because IT MAKES SENSE!!!!

special thanks to @littlegingrnut who watched ALL OF THEM with me. She’s the best.

Idk if anyone cares at all, but I feel like sharing, so here’s some thoughts and reactions, enjoy:

Phase 1:

Iron man

okay but like how was Tony such a jerk in the beginning only to become like the most lovable character ever??

YINSEN DID NOT NEED TO DIE :((

did not like the antagonist what was that

I mean he’s not bad I just didn’t like him that much

I wanna get myself a jarvis tho

all in all, really enjoyed it

got me really excited to watch more

The Incredible Hulk

didn't watch cuz aly said not necessary

we just skimmed over the important parts

oh and watched the end credits scene

Iron man 2

this was really great

okay but like I love Ivan Vanko hes such a great antagonist

I LOVE TONY

HE’S SO GREAT

THE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT AND EVERYTHING GOSH AAH

oh damn ~Natasha Romanoff~

ma’am-

Pepper as a powerful business lady? YES

just... really great shit right here

Thor

Mmmmmm I don't see the hype about Loki??

his two faced-ness is annoying me

also Thor? I didn't love him at first,, he's a bit cliché

STELLAN SKARSGÅRD YES SWEDISH REP

okay but Thor is a good boi actually,,, I take it back he’s pretty great

Oh nooo Loki - yeah lol as if he actually died

YO WHAT WAS UP WITH THAT END CREDITS SCENE that got me all like WTF and shit

also told ya Loki didn’t die

Captain America: The First Avenger

okay full disclosure, I actually watched this one time before bc I started watching them in chronological order but never got any further than this

it made so much more sense this time

I liked it so much better this time

because THE RELEASE ORDER MAKES SO MUCH SENSE

anyway

this was good !!

I'm gay for Peggy omg

and Steve is such a good boi

DID BUCKY REALLY HAVE TO DIE

all in all not my favourite tho, not too memorable tbh

"I had a date" 😭

The Avengers

ohhh man

ALL OF THEM TOGETHER? UGH YES

Oh hello Dr. Banner nice to see u

Loki bro pls chill

OKAY HULK HELLO

NATASHANATASHANATASHA AAAHH I'M GAY

still don't get the Loki hype tbh. maybe a lil bit but idk

THOR OKAY I LOVE THOR NOW

TONY WHAT THE FUCK NO NO NO TONY DON'T

oh okay he's good

I love them all so much oh gosh

I MADE IT THROUGH PHASE ONE WOHOOOO

***

Phase 2

Iron man 3

this movie changed me

aly can confirm - I was very much not okay after seeing this

literally had anxiety through all of it

I mean I LOVED it

but like

the ptsd :(((

although I do love that they showed that, just made me love Tony even more

just... showing the ugly parts - love that shit

but also like noooo tony bby :((((

HARLEY!!!! IS SO GREAT !!! AND ALY SAID HE COMES BACK AT ONE POINT!! YAY

just.... Tony Stark man.

great antagonist, love the whole mandarin thing

EXTREMIS? NO THANK U that honestly gives me like zombie ish vibes or smth I don’t like it

but like it was great

OH PEPPER JUST BECAME 10x HOTTER DAMN SHE JUST GETS MORE AND MORE ATTRACTIVE EACH MOVIE HUH

PEPPER ALMOST DYING? NOPE

THE PAIN IN TONY'S FACE? NOPE

all in all loved this so much and I am still not really okay

Thor: The Dark World

I see why people think this is the worst Thor movie.

DON’T GET ME WRONG IT WAS GREAT

but like,,, meh? the big end fight was so anti-climactic? not epic at all like what the fuck

I LOVE DARCY

but she's clearly gay so stop makin her fool around with the intern

but like Thor is such a soft boi and I love him

again, Loki's two-faced-ness – aRH

but,,,, I get the Loki hype now

I'm aboard the train

I love Loki

oh oh oh the part in his prison cell when Thor comes to talk to him and is all like "enough tricks" and then his cell is all torn up and he's all torn up and AH BABY 😭

Thor just needs cuddles

Aaaaand this is where I accidentally got the worst possible spoiler. :)))

I wanted to watch some wholesome Tony Stark content before bed and so I searched youtube for "Iron Man" and clicked on a video I thought looked nice and wholesome. I accidentally read the top comment and then proceeded to break down and freak out to Aly and Hanna on Aly’s live, and they comforted me and stuff <3

Aly then told me that “hey remember that I told you that the little boy in Iron Man 3 comes back at one point? Yeah that’s at the funeral”

STUPIDLY, I then watched the death scene on YouTube, went to bed crying, and of course, dreaming about it. I will never be okay again and I will never be ready for Endgame thank you and goodbye.

anywAY,,,,,

Captain America: Winter Soldier

*SO MUCH SCREAMING*

I thought that Bucky didn’t deserve to die - and he didn’t - but like,,, DYING WOULD HAVE BEEN BETTER THAN THIS

the ~bromance~

nat and steve I mean, so good

I AM NOT OKAY I WAS NOT PREPARED FOR THIS MOVIE BUT IT WAS AMAZING

Natasha tho mmmmmhhf

I was rly confused while watching but like everything came together at the end and it was so nice and damn this is one of my favorites so far

Sam is great I want more of Sam

Guardians of the Galaxy

multiple people had told me that they thought I’d really like this movie

honestly? I didn’t

it was kinda meh?

like I found it very predictable and cliché and not in a delightful way

idk if it’s just that I know that Chris Pratt is a dick but I don’t like Peter

I rly like Gamora and Nebula, but like I’m a lesbian, so I don’t think anyone’s surprised that I like the traumatized warrior gals

but like in general I’m kinda disappointed

I only gasped like twice, and it was barely gasp-worthy moments

Avengers: Age of Ultron

All of them together just makes me so happy, they’re so cute with each other AH

loved Ultron as the antagonist. that was great.

but,,,, I was a bit disappointed that we didn’t really get to see any regret from Tony bc he created Ultron

THE TWINS ARE FANTASTIC

whatever’s going on with Bruce and Nat, I don’t like it

TOO MANY moments that reminded me of the spoiler that I refuse to speak. Did not enjoy

everyone just needs to be hugged why doesn’t anybody HUG THEM????

not happy about Jarvis dying :((( even tho he technically didn’t die but like HE’S NOT JARVIS ANYMORE IS HE

and then Tony just replaces him with this Friday just like that??? no i’m not okay with that

in a ranking scenario this one falls in like the top of the middle range? Like it’s not one of the favorites, but it’s still up there.

I FUCKING DID IT AGAIN ARGH

I was just reading about new MCU projects that are coming up and THERE WAS A SPOILER WARNING, but STUPID AS I AM I DISREGARDED that and kept on reading. I was just skimming through the text and I read “Loki who dies” and stopped right there, because AAHH FUCKING SHIT

I was on a call with Aly as this happened and so I told her that I had given myself a spoiler again and that it was about Loki, and she was all like I can’t remember anything that happens to Loki hmm, and so I thought YAY it’s okay, they just meant one of the times when he fake died!!! so I went on to keep reading, but before I could read anything else Aly stopped me, remembering. She told me it would be gut-wrenching and terrible and I’m just-

So disappointed in myself.

Ant-Man

it was an enjoyable movie, but like,,, a little meh?

I feel kinda the same as I did with GOTG

but I like each of them better than the other for different reasons? idk???

the plot wasn’t very thick, like I could have gone away to pee without pausing and probably not miss too much

I didn’t really get invested in the story or the characters

but it was enjoyable for sure

Sam!!! Hello!!!!

Again, like with GOTG, I found it kinda cliché, but in a more delightful way this time

WE MADE IT THROUGH PHASE 2 AND PASSED THE HALF-WAY POINT WOHOOOOO

***

Phase 3

Captain America: Civil War

I constantly needed to be hugged while watching this

in the end I was fine, like I’ve been way less okay after some of the other movies, but during? needed hugs and cuddles

I love that they were fighting each other it was just... umff you know

but also like,,, LOVE EACH OTHER

Wanda and Vision? no thanks I HATE IT

Steve and Sharon?? NO THANKS I HATE IT

literally that’s just weird on SO many levels

and that kiss was-- ugh I hated it.

SPIDER BOY !!!!! UGH I LOVE HIM ALREADY

Black Panther heLLOOO

ALL THE STUCKY THOOO

Tony and Steve fighting in the end got me :(

Doctor Strange

This one falls at the bottom of my list

It was the shortest movie but it felt SO LONG because I was so bored through all of it

it just never got me hooked, I didn’t get invested in the story at all.

there weren’t even any characters that I liked enough to want to see more

sure another infinity stone and getting to know doctor strange and shit, I get why you kinda need to watch it

but I doubt I’ll watch it again

Guardians of the Galaxy 2

just like with the first one, kinda meh

I didn’t really get into it until the last half hour or so

the music really carried this movie tho

and baby groot !!!

I love Nebula so much, such a great character

Yondu dying was really great, it did a lot for his character

I still don’t really like Peter Quill

I feel like it was barely contributing to the infinity saga, the only thing that’s somewhat connected is that Nebula wants to kill Thanos, and the only reason I know that’s connected is because of spoilers

because I’m not really supposed to know the significance of Thanos at this point

but then again, maybe I’ll feel differently when I’ve finished all the movies

Spiderman: Homecoming

SPIDEY BOY !!!!!!!!!

THIS IS A FAVORITE

I CANNOT EVEN BEGIN TO EXPRESS HOW MUCH I LOVED THIS MOVIE

THE TONY/PETER INTERACTIONS WERE SO GREAT

PETER IS A BABY AND HE’S SO GREAT AND AAAAAHH

HE’S ON MY LIST BTW

AND LIKE,,, CAN WE TALK ABOUT HIS FIGHTING SOUNDS COMPARED TO EVERYONE ELSE’S???? Like steve and thor and shit are all like huOH heeeUH oAH ya know?? and then peter’s over here like eeh heh mmmMHF

HE’S JUST REALLY GREAT AND AAH I LOVED THIS MOVIE SO MUCH

LITERALLY SMILED THROUGH ALMOST ALL OF IT

except when things were going bad and during the fight scenes and shit and when he was in big danger and stuffs

BUT LIKE AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH

SO GOOD

OH OH OH AND STEVE’S LITTLE EDUCATIONAL VIDEOS WERE SO CUTE AH

hehehheheh and the end credits tho heheheheh

ANYWAY I LOVED THIS MOVIE SO SO SO SOO MUCH

Thor: Ragnarok

ANOTHER FAVORITE AAAAH

ALL THE BROTHERLY MOMENTS THO

Kinda mad that we didn’t get a hug there in the end but oh well

Thor is so sassy and goofy in this one I love it

ugghhhhh I love Loki so much

Hela has so much Maleficent vibes

Heimdall yESSS !!!

all the Thor/Hulk interactions were so PRECIOUS AAH

this was just such a great movie with great character development for both Thor and Loki and ughhhh IT WAS SO GOOD

“get help” was fucking ICONIC

VALKYRIE THO

oof not excited for infinity war :((

Black Panther

this one falls somewhere in the middle for me

like it was good, but it’s not up there

my main issue with it is that it didn’t really feel so much like a superhero movie, it was more just like... family drama

but Shuri tho, love her

and all the awesome ladies fighting!!! yes!!!!

BUCKY!!!

Avengers: Infinity War

I am not okay

I will never be okay again

I thought Loki dying was gonna be the worst part - and honestly, knowing about it beforehand made it less painful actually

but NO NO NO

THE LAST 15 MINUTES IS JUST A CRYFEST HUH

REAL NICE THANK YOU

oh gosh I can’t even think

I told y’all I didn’t like Peter Quill and well, HE DESERVED WHAT HE GOT

oh gosh nope

I’ve been feeling guilty that all of y’all had to wait a full year for endgame but AT LEAST THEN YOU HAD TIME TO BE OKAY AGAIN BEFORE ENDGAME

fucking shit what have I gotten myself into

Ant-Man and the Wasp

I liked this one better than the first ant-man

It’s still not up there but it was good

idk it could just be bc I know the characters more this time or because I kind of had pretty low expectations but I liked this more

oh also maybe I was just happy that I didn’t have to see like all my favorite characters die like I did yesterday :(((

still not okay

anyway, ant-man and the wasp

I really liked Ava, really great character honestly

I liked Hope a whole lot more this time around

still don’t really like her and Scott together, especially after her mother like talked through him and shit. I feel like if I was Hope and my mother talked to me through my love interest, I would feel pretty weird about it all

but maybe that’s just me idk

oh but what I do like about scott and hope is all of hank’s comments about them

he’s funny hehehe

also Luis! great dude

okay but Bill FOSTER???? as in JANE FOSTER?? SEEMINGLY HAVING NO CONNECTION AT ALL???

there’s too many double names in this whole ass franchise and I’m upset

two Peters, two Eriks, two Fosters.... like I know that’s what real life is like, people have the same names, but THIS IS FICTION

YOU CAN AVOID THE CONFUSION

that wasn’t totally related to this movie specifically but this was the third strike dudes, I couldn’t just ignore it anymore.

oh oh oh and I did not appreciate the mid credits scene, I DON’T NEED REMINDERS OF THAT PAIN THANK YOU VERY MUCH

Captain Marvel

this one falls somewhere in the middle for me

like it was good, and I enjoyed it a lot, but it just wasn’t really anything that left me all like woooaaaah omg AH you know???

I really liked how it connected back to previous movies like with Ronan and the Kree people from GOTG and the tesseract and all that jazz

where can I get myself a flerken tho I want one

I appreciate that no one turned into dust, that was nice

my main problem with this movie is that HER POWERS MAKE NO SENSE

like in the beginning it was kinda okay. I didn’t understand her powers, but at least they felt reasonable

then we got to the end and all of a sudden she’s flying and glowing and strong enough to stop and redirect a fuckin missile, and then she’s FLYING INTO BOMBS AND COMING OUT THE OTHER END COMPLETELY UNSCATHED??

OH AND THEN SHE FLIES INTO FUCKIN SPACE WITHOUT A HELMET OR ANYTHING AND SHE CAN BREATHE JUST FINE???

it just makes no sense, it’s completely unreasonable and it makes her too perfect to me. Too unbeatable. I don’t like it.

but all in all a good movie, loved seeing young Fury and shit

Avengers: Endgame I WILL NEVER BE READY

As I thought, I wasn’t ready

But, I actually think that knowing about Tony beforehand made it a bit easier

I still wish I hadn’t known

and I still bawled like a baby

but like,,, I think I would have been way worse off if I hadn’t known

I’m just so sad now

I really need a hug

and even though I just cried more than I’ve done all year I need to cry some more I think

I’m glad everyone who got dusted came back, although I kinda knew they would

well, I would have been fine with Quill staying dusted tbh. I really don’t like that guy

NATASHA WAS NOT ALLOWED TO DIE, I WILL NOT BE OKAY WITH THIS :(

oh gosh yeah I know I have more thoughts about this movie that I wanna say but I need to be more okay first oh man

okay hi again, it’s the next day and I’m still sad but here are some more thoughts:

I hated the whole Bruce/Hulk think. All the good parts about each side of his character were just erased.

I don’t even see the purpose of it.

Okay I kinda knew that Steve was gonna go back to the 40s, but I WASN’T SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT SO SHH

anyway, I didn’t like Steve staying in the 40s, and here’s why:

he knew that this was the single one out of 14 million times they won against Thanos, so he knew that changing anything at all would fuck it up

but at the same time, I find it hard to believe that Steve could be aware that Tony and Nat dies and not want to do anything about it

even though he knows he can’t

so wouldn’t it have been easier to just go back to the present after he returned all the stones? So he wouldn’t have to live with that dilemma?

ALSO, I WILL NOT ACCEPT that after everything he did to get Bucky back, he just leaves him. Just like that.

Literally the only reason this makes sense is as a setup for the Falcon and The Winter Soldier Disney+ series.

But I still don’t like it

Spiderman: Far From Home

This was nice, I needed this.

I didn’t like it as much as homecoming, but I didn’t expect to considering how much I loved hoco

it was really nice to see some more Peter Parker bc i love him but also like,,, most of it was traumatized spidey boy :((( and that was sad :(

He’s literally just a child and he’s already so damaged and it’s big big sad

the high school vibes were immaculate

not that I’ve actually been to high school in the US but like,,, it felt like a high school movie okok

Okay but like May’s character really did a full 180? I don’t really understand where that all came from, but uhhhh okay then

Okay, Quentin Beck.

before we realized he was bad, I already didn’t like him, cuz it seemed like he was gonna start to become a new father figure for Peter and I WAS NOT COOL WITH THAT

but then I understood that that wasn’t happening so it’s all good

he’s a pretty cool antagonist. not a fave, but pretty cool.

OH OH FLASH IS SO GAY FOR SPIDERMAN THO RIGHT

he actually got some real nice character development that I had not expected, that was nice

all in all, great movie, I love my spidey boy.

pretty sad that I’m done tho... :(

but also like, I watched all of them (except incredible hulk) in 34 days. That’s kinda impressive, right?

ALSO THERE’S NO MORE SPOILER DANGER YAY !!!

and finally, here is my ranking of the movies based on how much I liked them:

0. The Incredible Hulk ( didn’t watch )

SPIDERMAN: HOMECOMING

Thor: Ragnarok

Captain America: Winter Soldier

Avengers: Age of Ultron

Iron Man 3

Avengers

Captain America: Civil War

Spiderman: Far From Home

Iron Man

Avengers: Infinity War

Thor

Avengers: Endgame

Iron Man 2

Thor: The Dark World

Captain Marvel

Black Panther

Captain America: The First Avenger

Ant-Man and the Wasp

Guardians of the Galaxy 2

Ant-Man

Guardians of the Galaxy

Doctor Strange

#i did it guys #aw man #i'm a little bit lost now tbh #like what do i do now #ooc #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #infinity saga

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jbbuckybarnes · 5 years ago

Text

Enough

Pairing: Bucky x Reader Trope: Unexpected Pregnancy Warnings: Pregnancy, fluff, nosy friends

M A S T E R L I S T

“He has enough problems, I don’t want this to be something on top of that.” “Maybe it helps him heal.” “That works with cats and dogs. This is a CHILD, Natasha!” “It helped me to go to the children's hospital when I was down in my early Shield days.” “...well, those weren’t children you needed to care for, for the rest of your life.” “He’ll have no problem with it. I bet all my gear on it. And you know I love my gear.” “Fine.” you grumbled.

"B-Bucky?" you enter his part of the compound with silent footsteps. "Y/N? What's wrong?" he asked concerned, hearing the shaky voice and fast heartbeat. "You need to sit down for this." you gestured him to sit down. "So...um, turns out certain things don't work as well when you're a supersoldier." you fidgeted with your fingers. "What do you mean?" his head dipped to the side, something you loved about his mannerisms. You took the test to where he could see it and his eyes widened. "You don't need to ta-" you got interrupted by him jumping up and enveloping you into a hug. "It's okay. Not planned. But okay. Wow. Woah. A mini version of you." his hand absentmindedly went through your hair and you looked up. "Is it really okay? I know it was more of a one time thing and...well, that's at least 18 years of responsibility." "Was only a one time thing if you wanted it to be." he grinned down. "What do you mean?" your right brow went up. "Am I so bad at showing how insane I go for your every move?" he blushed. "Apparently." a giggle. "Well, I'm having quite the crush. That baby ain't helping with that." he said in more of a Brooklyn accent. Something he did when he was comfortable and happy. "I have a thing for you too, maybe." a cheeky grin went up at him. He chuckled before leaning down for a gentle kiss, hand wandering to your lower belly. "I'm gonna be a dad." it finally sinks in. "I was so worried because of PTSD and the job and…" you gave doe eyes. "I can handle that. Especially with you being the badass mom,” he said with his hand going through your hair again, "Do you have morning sickness? Anything that makes you feel unwell? Wanna be there for ya, darling." "Nausea, little bit of dizziness. It's a super soldier baby, I hope that brings more good than bad." "Did you let Dr. Cho test that?" he had a big grin. "No, but I definitely will." "Damn, it's still hitting me in pieces. You're going to be a mom. A mom, Y/N." he's still in awe. "I wish I could go back in time to see your mom's reaction." thoughts went straight to lips. "She would go crazy. She'd love you. Promise." he assured you with a big, warm and excited smile. "We're not telling anyone till end of next month. Nat knows. That's it." "All the making out and baby lovin’ in secret? You can be damn happy I'm a spy." he grabbed you close with a proud smile.

The team didn't know about both of you being together and much less about you being pregnant with his child. You were glad your feelings were mutual since a one night stand baby really wasn't something you planned for in life. But you also needed to get more used to each other in a shorter time frame. You were close-ish before but letting down guards and throwing away potential embarrassment about random things and situations made for some fun and some very vulnerable situations. "I wonder if I'll ever know you as well as Steve." you mumbled in a little spoon position. "He knows old me pretty well, you're on the perfect way to know new me better. I mean...we're gonna raise a child. God, that still sounds absurd." his arm left you so he could brush through his hair. A cute nervous tick he had. He told you that his PTSD symptoms got way better since he had this beautiful thing to look forward to. "I still can't imagine you with a tiny little baby in your giant arms." you giggled. "We have a charity event at the children's hospital soon. You just need to come with me for once." he lightly pinched you in the waist. "Fine. But just for the cuteness." you said grabbing his arm closer.

After a few weeks of getting way more used to each other and him laying on your belly every evening for an hour, he could finally hear a little heartbeat Seeing this giant of a man happy cry in your embrace was worth every second of nausea. "Oh, the tests from Helen came back. It has super soldier DNA strands. And I do too because of that wonder inside of me but they are low and would need to get activated more by gamma rays or something like that. At least for me. Still can kick you harder than bef-" you were interrupted by a passionate kiss. "I love you. Both of you." Your mouth fell open for a second before you could form words again, "I love you too, Bucky. We both do." "I can't wait to hold that little miracle in my arms." "My ovaries won't be ready for that." you joked.

Steve notices first a bit over two weeks later. The first time he heard two heartbeats while walking past you he just thought it was a mixup. But when you were the only one on the couch in the common room and were eating a bag of chips he was sure there was a second and small heart beat. "Y/N?" "Huh?" you answered with a mouth full of chips. "You have a little secret to tell me?" he sat down with a face like it's christmas. "It definitely is little. Can you hear it?" you put the chips bag aside and he gave an intense excited nod. "How far?" he grinned. "A bit over three months. I'll tell the rest of the team soon." you went over the little dent on your lower belly. "Who's the-" he stopped at steps approaching. Bucky came in with his empty coffee mug and a big smile at you. "This idiot over there." you said with big heart eyes. "Oh. My. God." his jaw was on the floor. "You can touch it if you want." you smiled and sat down differently. A soft big hand was going over the little bulge. "Damn. I wasn't prepared for that." he mumbled. "We neither." Bucky deadpanned and you giggled. Light feet came closer and Steve moved back while Bucky didn't care. Nat came into the room a few seconds later. "Hey guys." a big smile. "Nat, Steve?" you got their attention and gestured them to sit down. "I'd really like you to be godmother and godfather." you smiled and Steve's look was going to Nat confused. "She knew before I even told Bucky. It's okay Steve." you giggled. "Of course I'm gonna take on that role." she said excited and Steve nodded heavily. "The rest of the team will find out next week, don't you dare say a word." a serious face and nods.

In the coming week you wrote letters for everyone in the compound. "You'll be an aunt/uncle/brother/godfather/godmother" and a little bit of a sweet message below. Coincidentally Bucky, Steve, Sam & Nat were on a mission the day you slipped the letters under everyone's door in the compound. You heard the early morning commotion shortly after and Clint asking "What does yours say? Mine says uncle." and Wanda answering "Big sister." "We should make her breakfast." came from Bruce and you smiled at his usual softness. After the voices were further away in the kitchen you got out of bed, put on something showing off your mini belly and made your way towards the kitchen. "CONGRATS!" came in unison from the entire team. "Thank you." you were glowing and staring at the breakfast they were currently making. "Do you already know if it's a boy or a girl?" Wanda asked. "I don't plan on finding out till the end of the second trimester. It's not super important anyway." you shrugged. The breakfast was long and full of baby related questions and stories from Clint's kids.

After you excused yourself because you were tired they immediately came together on the couch. "Who is the father? Can only be one of the guys on the mission. She doesn't leave this compound much." came from Tony. "What speaks for each of them?" came from Vision. "My bet is on Sam. They're flirting a lot between the lines." Clint threw in. “I bet it's Steve. Doesn't let anyone in on things like that. Would also make sense why we don't know about them being together." Wanda pointed out. "Guys, what if it's Bucky?" Bruce added. Everyone looked at him, shook their head and started placing bets between Steve and Sam. Only Bruce was betting on Bucky. He had a feeling.

The little team came back from the mission and the rest just stared at them with Sam being super confused. Then he opened his door and saw a letter saying "You're gonna be an uncle, Sam. I'm 3 months in and you better treat me right. -Y/N" He went to your room and knocked under the glances of the others. His grin was gigantic when you opened the door, "Really?" "Yes. I'm so fucking happy." you squealed before he picked you up and turned you around. "I'm gonna be an uncle? Oh my god! That kid's gonna be spoiled so much." Everyone betting on Sam exhaled defeated. It was down to the super soldiers.

After a shower and a change into sweatpants and a shirt Steve came to check on you. "Everything alright? Ate enough? Anything you need help with?" he was so soft with you since he knew. "Nah, just very tired...well, you could technically help me get something out of my storage but that can wait." you smiled up at him and the group silently inhaled. Bucky came around the corner in his usual demeanor and at the sight of his girlfriend and best friend his face lit up. "I heard you've been telling everyone who didn't know?" a smirk at her. The groups breathing hitched when you nodded. "Is little bean making any problems today?" he asked with attentive eyes on you. "Tired, little bit of the dizziness. It's fine." you smiled up at him. "Gotta make sure my two beans are okay." he planted a kiss on your forehead and the group collectively looked at Bruce doing a tiny happy dance for winning. "It's BARNES' BABY?" Tony finally bursted out confused. "Am I really that bad at showing how in love I've been with this little woman full of energy?" he chuckled. "How. Long?" Wanda needed to know. "Since we know about it." you looked down on yourself. Nat finally left her room too and came to you and hugged you, "How's my godbaby doing?" "Godbaby?" Steve laughed. "I mean it's genderless, what else am I supposed to call the baby?" she smirked at him. "Well... you're right. Our godbaby is doing good today." he grinned at her. "We were the only ones not in on this, huh?" Clint added from the couch. "Jup." Bucky gave a cheeky grin before picking you up and finally carrying you to his room. No secrets anymore.

"God, he's gonna protect her and that baby to death." someone mumbled. "Awww." Wanda was totally up for all the parent cuteness. "I hope it finally makes him feel like he's enough." Steve added when he crashed onto the sofa. “Have you seen his eyes when he called them his beans? He definitely feels enough already.” Sam smiled with pure happiness for his friend. “Bean Barnes is gonna grow up around a bunch of idiots.” Nat pointed out shaking her head with a grin.

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trillian-anders · 5 years ago

Text

chambers - iv

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: violence, angst, slow burn

word count: 4230

Description: Post-Endgame. Steve Rogers has passed away from old age. The one remarkable thing is that no one knew his heart would be in the condition it was. He was able to save one more life. After receiving his heart, strange things start happening. Including something that would change your life forever. (Very loosely based on the Netflix series of the same name.)

This wasn’t the first time you’ve seen him. Sitting there in the dark. A watchman. He’s gone from a ghost to a solid figure, sitting by your bed in the dark. Hair blond, face without wrinkles, bent over. Elbows resting on knees, hands clasped. Staring. It was unnerving. Usually it was just flashes, you’d look in the mirror and he’d be standing there instead of you, or he’d be standing around in the corner of your eye. But this was new. He was just sitting there, staring at you. Thinking.

Judging?

Not speaking.

You had to be going crazy. This seemed insane. This was something outside the realm of living through his memories and feeling the roller coaster of emotions you were becoming accustomed to. Your legs didn’t hurt too badly anymore, they were still a little stiff, but they didn’t hurt anymore. You swung them over the side of the bed, coming to face him. Were you hallucinating? You both held eye contact for a minute.

“Steve?” Your raspy voice asked. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards and then he was gone. Next blink, just gone. You sighed heavily, hanging your head, “FRIDAY, open the blinds please?” The mechanical blinds rose, revealing a muted blue sky, the sun just breaking over the horizon. Your toes touched the ground, feeling the heated floors as you stood to stretch your arms above your head, feeling your body crack and groan.

You lifted your phone from the nightstand, checking the time. It was still early, but most of the agents would have already been starting their morning drills, including Bucky and Sam. Wanda should be waking up soon then if she wasn’t already awake.

You made your way to your ensuite, brushing your teeth, and staring at your face in the mirror. The serum must be doing something to you because the dark circles under your eyes were gone and your skin looked perfectly dewey. The whites of your eyes were whiter and when you looked back down at your recently bruised and broken legs you couldn’t even tell anything had been wrong with them in the first place. But that could also be due to the cradle.

The bed suddenly felt way too soft, you’d noticed. You’d never thought about it before. Your bed at home was cheap, the mattress springy and almost uncomfortable, but it was close to what Steve used to sleep on while in the military. What he slept on during missions. The beds on the quinjet. You might try sleeping on the floor tonight.

You changed your clothes, today you’d be getting into the MRI, testing to see how your brain reacts to certain stimuli, seeing what happens to your brain when a memory comes on. So far there are no real negative consequences physically to the seizures you have when a memory comes on, but that doesn’t mean that one day something bad won’t happen. This is just to make sure.

Now that your legs were healed you were itching to run again, and you figured if you paid attention to pace, maybe it’ll be okay. A pair of stretchy yoga pants and large grey Avenger’s issued sweatshirt later you were stepping outside into the crisp morning air. Sam and Bucky stretching off to the right. “Hey kid, how’s it going?” Sam asked, smiling.

You cautiously walked over to join them, returning his smile, “Better, for sure.” You smiled at Bucky, he gave a forced one in return. He was trying. “A little stiff, but I’m itching to run again so…” Sam pursed his lips,

“If you’re gonna run you’ve gotta take it easy, you can keep pace with me,” He jerked a thumb over at Bucky, “This fool runs at top speed so just make sure you don’t try to keep up with him.” That’s right. Bucky had some sort of super serum too. Not the same as Steve’s but Hydra’s own cocktail. The three of you took off, Sam jogging at a leisurely pace, easing you into it. You kept a steady pace next to him, watching the brown haired super-soldier’s pace slowly pick up before he was lapping the two of you, easily.

“They’re giving me an MRI today,” You told Sam when he asked, “Hopefully the seizures are still not doing anything to my brain….”

“I’m sure Bruce will be able to find some way to keep the seizures from happening at all,” Sam said. You stopped running back where you started, not even close to breaking a sweat, but your nerves soothed for the moment, Sam slowing down to a stop a few feet away.

“Can I ask you something?” You placed your hands on your hips, breathing regulating.

“Anything kid.” Sam walked closer to you, both of your eyes shifting over to watch Bucky on the other side of the track, looming closer.

“I know you still go to the VA every week,” You said, “And I get it’s weird and like… I’ve never technically been to…” You couldn’t meet his eyes. “I’ve never technically been to war, but…”

“What exactly is going on with these memories?” He asked you. You’d explained it to them very vaguely before, but Bucky and Sam didn’t really know the depth of it. Not at all.

You felt tears prickle in the corners of your eyes, hands coming up to rub them away, “It’s like I lived two lives, Sam.” You sighed heavily, “I’ve never technically been to war, but I can still smell…” You rolled your eyes up to the sky, trying hard not to cry. How did Steve not cry all the fucking time?

“Hey,” He said softly, walking closer to you, placing his hands on your shoulders. “I get it.” He soothed, “Well… I don’t get the whole ‘two lives’ thing, but the PTSD I get. If you want to come next time…” His voice trailed off as Bucky came to a stop next to the two of you, “You’re more than welcome to join us.” You turned your body away from Bucky, wiping the tears out of your eyes.

“Join us where?” Bucky asked, stopping to take a long pull from his water bottle. You looked at Sam hesitantly and he nodded, turning back towards Bucky.

“We’ll talk about it later.” He explained, “What time do you have to meet Bruce Y/N?” You checked your phone,

“Soon, I should probably eat and shower.” You smiled at the both of them, “I’ll see you guys soon yeah?” Bucky nodded tersely. He was going to be helping during the MRI even though you knew he really didn’t want to.

“If you need anything...” Sam didn’t finish the sentence but it went unsaid. If you need anything, I’m here for you. I’ll be here for you like I was here for Steve. But maybe that was being too hopeful.

Bucky watched you go in curiosity. “What was that about?” He asked Sam, taking another drink.

“She’s struggling man.” Bucky scoffed,

“That’s obvious.” Sam glared at him.

“I think this whole memory thing goes deeper than just her remembering things Steve has done.” He explained, “She asked me to go to the VA.” Bucky was taken aback at that.

“She’s not military.” It was a simple explanation. “She can’t go.”

“Bucky,” Sam sighed, “She’s struggling with this and if she has Steve’s memories, those memories include war. A war she didn’t choose to fight, missions she didn’t choose to go on. She’s scared and uncomfortable with what she’s seeing I’m sure.” Bucky wrestled with this for a moment, he knew Sam was right, but honestly the VA was something he cherished wholeheartedly. It was something he had with Sam outside of the missions and training. Something real. Something normal. And he didn’t know if he was comfortable with her interloping on that.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Wanda asked you over a bowl of cereal. You smiled at your friend, reaching in the fridge for the milk to make your own bowl of cereal.

“A lot better, honestly.” You explained, “Had a nice jog with Sam this morning, my legs feel great.”

“Are you ready for today?” She was scrolling through her phone, looking at dessert recipes.

“Maybe?” You sighed, spooning some cereal into your mouth. “I don’t know. I usually have at least one memory a day, but I’m afraid of having a bad one.” Wanda looked up at you from her phone,

“Do you have bad memories often?” She asked.

“It depends.” You stared down at the cheerios. “Depends on what triggers it.”

An hour later you were in scrubs, your hair tied up, laying on the table and ready to go into the machine. You tried not to think about how loud and claustrophobic it all was going to be as Bruce prepped you.

“You’ll see a series of images first,” He explains, “After that we will begin with Bucky talking to you, just very candidly about a couple of good memories he has of Steve.” He probably hates you for this. It was hard to swallow that thought. You could see Wanda, Sam, and Bucky standing on the other side of the glass, chatting idly as Bruce was securing some sort of cage around your head to keep you from moving. “If it gets to be too much and you need to take a break just let us know and I’ll pull you out okay?” He was reassuring and you could almost feel comfortable if your heart wasn’t beating out of your chest.

The bed slowly entered the machine and there was a pause as it clicked to life around you, loudly. Was it the machine or your heart beating that loud?

“Are you okay?” Bruce asked, his voice coming out of the speaker.

“Yeah I’m fine.” You took a deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth, closing your eyes for a minute.

“Okay so we are going to start with the first picture.” And up it went. Coney Island. The Cyclone at Coney Island.

“I’m not doing it!” You exclaimed. “You can go alone!” You were a teenager now, Bucky was a teenager now. Bright blue eyes, wide smile, a pimple on the right side of his chin, but otherwise unblemished. Happy.

“C’mon pal,” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, “You owe me one anyway.” You felt yourself scoff, turning towards him.

“You just spent 30 minutes trying to win a stuffed bear for Dot,” You laughed, “If anything, you owe me.” This was one of the first double dates of many you and Bucky had gone on. Both of you fifteen years old, saved allowances in your pockets, Bucky got two girls Dot and Moira to come out to Coney Island with you. You’d been riding rides and eating hot dogs all day. Bucky just spent your last three dollars winning Dot a bear, Moira ignored you the whole day, and you were feeling kinda low. The last thing you wanted to do was ride the Cyclone.

“C’mon, we have one ticket each left, let’s ride it and then we can figure out a way home.” It was hard to say no to Bucky, especially when he was looking at you like that. You rolled your eyes,

“Fine.” A large grin stretching out on his face, hands clapping together, “Alright, let’s go!” His large hand wrapped around yours pulling you into the queue. A quick trip on the Cyclone found your head in the trash can beside it, small body heaving, the hot dog and cotton candy coming up just as easily as it had gone down. What a waste.

You came back to consciousness dry heaving, body tilted to the side as Wanda rubbed your back. “Are you gonna throw up?” She asked, Sam was holding a bucket under your head.

“What was it?” Bruce asked. Bucky stood off to the side, unsure what to do. You took a sip from the water bottle Sam offered you, catching your breath.

“Threw up after riding the cyclone,” You explained, eyes flickering over to Bucky, then back to Bruce. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.” Bruce said, typing something into the computer. “Are you okay to go again?”

“You’re not gonna give her a break?” Bucky asked, turning toward the Hulk. Bruce looked from Bucky and back to you. Sam left the trash can on the floor by your head, just in case, but still stood nearby with your water bottle.

“Do you need a break Y/N?” Wanda helped you roll back onto the table as you caught your breath. Your throat hurt and you still felt the lingering nausea,

“No, I’m okay.” You said, “We can continue.”

The next picture didn’t do anything. It was your own apartment. The one you hadn’t been to all week. The third picture was a drawing you knew Steve had done, a memory of sitting in a cafe, the taste of coffee on your tongue, but no seizure.

The fourth picture sent you reeling, breath coming out in heavy pants as the machine closed around you,

“Bucky!” You screamed, arm reaching out to him, watching him hang from the side of the train. The fucking train. How do you get him out of this? How can you save him this time? You couldn’t reach any farther without falling out yourself, his hand not coming close to yours, not close enough. Fuck.

His watery blue eyes met yours and your heart stopped in your chest, his arm swinging up for one last attempt to grab yours that’s when the bar he was holding onto broke. That’s when it always broke, that’s when you lost him every time. “Bucky!” You screamed again as you watched him fall from sight, the train still rushing onto its destination.

“Get me out!” You yelled. The machine was quickly turned off, you were wrestling with the cage around your face, breaking it accidentally, tossing it to the side. Tears blurred your vision as you sat on the edge of the bed.

“Y/N calm down!” Wanda’s hands gripped your upper arms, stalling you from moving. You choked on your tears, sinking your head down onto her shoulder as she wrapped her arms around you. You felt so embarrassed, face hot with it, but you couldn’t stop crying. You knew it was ridiculous. He was standing right there. He’s not actually dead. But in that moment Steve didn’t know that. In that moment he just lost the one person who had been by his side through everything and you lost him too.

“Alright kid, it’s okay.” Sam’s voice was calm, his hand rubbing your back as you tried to control your breathing, your eyes peeking over Wanda’s shoulder to steal a glance at Bucky. He’s right there. He’s alive. He’s safe. He wasn’t looking at you, he was looking at the floor, fists clenched. And you watched him leave the room.

“What happened?” Bruce asked.

“Give her a minute man.” Sam said, your tears were drying up but your heart still felt empty. You wanted Bucky, but it wasn’t an option.

“He fell from the train.” You explained softly, voice thick and watery. “I can never save him.” It didn’t need to be explained who ‘he’ was. They all knew and in that moment what you had been going through was shared with the group. Wanda gripped you a little tighter,

“Let’s finish for the day,” She told Bruce, “We can pick back up tomorrow or something.” Bruce nodded, shutting the machine off.

“Anyone up for Chinese?”

Bucky didn’t expect that viceral of a reaction. The dry heaving after experiencing a memory of riding the Cyclone, one that he remembered well. Standing by Steve as he upchucked into the trash can, his vomit was tinted pink from cotton candy. Her experiencing him falling from the bridge. The screaming that started before she was even fully out. A blood curdling scream of his name, loud and clear over the microphone that was wired into the machine. Fuck.

He bruised his knuckles because he didn't wrap them before going in on the punching bag. Something had to break the tension he was feeling in his shoulders. His left one was aching with a phantom pain that almost never went away. The ache of a limb lost. The memories of being half conscious as they dragged his body from the ravine. Where they cut the rest of his arm off in order to attach the metal one to his shoulder. He shudders with the thought.

Sam was good at distractions. It was a talent, truly. Multiple Chinese takeout containers were littered across the coffee table, reruns of Masterchef playing across the screen as you, Sam, Wanda, Bruce, and later on Bucky, eat in almost silence.

Bucky was freshly showered, taking a seat next to the recliner that he had placed you in the day before, the one you were currently sitting in, before making himself a plate and sitting back to watch Gordon Ramsay expertly debone a fish.

“Could you debone a fish Buck?” Sam asked, this is what he’s good at. Bucky scoffed, slurping up his lo mien.

“Of course I can, what kind of question is that?” Sam smirked, looking over at you and then back to Bucky.

“Yeah, but not as good as Ramsay, look at the dude.” He gestured towards the man laying out the portioned filets and perfectly removed bones. Bucky rolled his eyes, having shoveled the first half of his plate into his mouth so fast you hadn’t even seen him eat.

“I can debone a fish twice as fast.” Sam scoffed. He was challenging him.

“There’s a salmon in the fridge with your name on it buddy.” Bucky glared at him, you all knew what Sam was doing, but none of you were fighting it.

“Start timing me.” The plates were abandoned and the group of you circled around the kitchen counter, Wanda holding her phone up to record, Sam using the stopwatch on his phone to time him. The whole fish laying out on the butchers block in front of him, knives at the ready. It was possibly the hottest thing you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

Bucky was a good cook. A decent cook you should say. Steve, when he was a kid and they were living in that shitty apartment in Brooklyn, Bucky would make stews out of almost nothing. A trick he had learned from his Ma. That you remembered from one time you were making a stew and freezing out portions to be more cost effective. You remembered the smell of their kitchen, Bucky with an apron tied around his waist, still in his grey jumpsuit from the canary. Youthful and sweet. His short hair curled on his forehead from the steam coming from the pot.

He deboned the fish and portioned it out in less than a minute. The food scale in the kitchen weighed each portion as an even 3.8 oz.

“Well I guess we are having that for dinner tomorrow night.” Sam joked. He elbowed his friend grinning, Bucky looked so proud of himself. He should be. It was an interesting party trick. His dexterity with knives were not just for disarming people, but it could be used for something more wholesome.

The rest of dinner was eaten in a content silence, Sam booing when the one person he liked on the show accidentally burned their fish and was eliminated.

You liked this. It was better than going to work and coming home to an empty house. Eating dinner alone and laying in bed scrolling through your phone until you fell asleep. Today was tiring though and you couldn’t wait to go to bed as you helped everyone clean up the mess. There were no leftovers thanks to Bruce who you were sure could put any restaurant out of business just from the sheer volume he could eat now, so it was mainly packing up containers and tossing them. Washing plates.

“So why don’t we take a break from the prodding and you come to the VA tomorrow?” Sam asked, handing you a plate to place in the dishwasher. Your eyes flickered over to Bucky who was wrapping up the trash to throw down the chute. You know he can hear you, but he’s not making any motion to let you know.

“If that’s alright?” You ask, watching Bucky’s retreating back.

“Hey,” Sam brings your attention back to him, “You know how hard this is for him, but it’s hard for you too. You can’t just sacrifice your feelings for someone else. He’ll be okay.” You wanted to believe him. You really did, but everything in your body is telling you Bucky wasn’t okay. It was hard.

“I’ll think about it,” You sighed, turning to close to dishwasher, “I’ll see you in the morning?” Sam smiled, hugging you softly.

“Sleep well kid,” Wanda had already retired to her room and Bruce to his, which left you crossing an empty common room back to your own bedroom.

Bucky was leaning against your door, the dim light from your room illuminating him. You were hesitant to move any closer. He looked at you silently for a moment, gesturing into the room, “Can we talk?” Your heart skipped a beat,

“Yeah,” You said, “Of course.”

You’ve been in this room a couple days now, the neutral tones making it look more like a hotel room than a person’s actual bedroom but you weren’t sure how long you’d be staying so personal effects weren’t really a high priority. You had a couple pictures of family, but most surfaces stayed barren. A well worn college sweatshirt was tossed on your bed, but Bucky surely noticed that the room didn’t look typically lived in.

He sat himself in the chair that Wanda had previously used beside your bed. The one Steve was sitting in this morning. You almost stopped him from sitting there, as though you were waiting for Steve to come take a spot there to watch the conversation that was about to happen. You were unsure whether or not you should close the door, but seeing as you were the only person residing in this hallway you decided to leave it open.

You sat on the bed across from him, waiting for him to speak. The two of you awkwardly sat in silence for a minute, Bucky’s mouth opening and closing a few times before he began,

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a dick to you,” He started.

“I understand, it’s okay.” You shifted nervously in your seat. His eyes met yours,

“It’s not okay, you didn’t deserve it.” He tugs his bottom lip between his teeth nervously, “All of this is out of your control and instead of trying to help you, I’ve been keeping my distance and I’ve been relatively cold.”

“You made me breakfast yesterday and helped me use the bathroom.” You offered. His lips turned into a terse smile,

“That doesn’t exactly make me a good person, doll.” Doll. Term of endearment or habit? He sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes, “Today… in the MRI machine…” Your throat almost felt as though it was closing up, the air thick in the room. It was hard to breathe. “You feel everything he felt?” He asks.

“I’ve told you that before I…” You trailed off, picking at a stray string on the pillowcase.

“You said you could feel the same emotions he felt, but not like…” The scream was echoing in his head, the bloodcurdling scream, “It’s intense?” His chapped bottom lip bled with how hard he bit it.

“It’s like…” You stood from the bed, creating some distance because he was all of a sudden too close. “It’s like losing you for real.” You explained. His head snapped up to look at you and you felt his eyes boring into your back. “Steve’s emotions and memories… everything he’s ever felt.” You started, “It’s like I know all of you already and none of you know me. I feel…” Your face flushed with embarrassment, growing hot under the pressure.

“Like I’m your best friend?” You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, turning back to him. His expression unclear to you.

“LIke you’re my best friend,” You felt tears well up in your eyes. You were so sick of fucking crying. “And you want nothing to do with me.” Coming out as a whisper. Bucky sat back in the chair, studying you for a minute.

“This is hard,” His eyes rolled up to the ceiling, “So fucking hard.”

“I know,” You cried, wiping at your eyes quickly trying to stop the tears, “I know.” He stood from his chair and slowly made his way over to you, wrapping his arms around your body and pulling you tightly to his chest. Fuck if this isn’t what you so desperately needed, your arms wrapping around him just as tightly.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered into your hair, “I’m really going to try, I promise.” Your hands were clenched tightly in his t shirt, tears dampening the chest.

“I don’t know what to do.” You admitted, muffled against him.

“Come to the VA tomorrow,” He offered, “We can start there.”

We can start there.

TAGLIST // @bookish-shristi @nutellakirb @witch-of-letters @torntaltos @emotionallysalty @gemgemswift @albinotigerpython

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #Steve Rogers #sam wilson #wanda maximoff #bruce banner #avengers #captain america #the winter solider

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