#tony experiencing anxiety and ptsd

[deckerspainting]

im watching all the marvel movies in chronological order and ranking them all (just.. cause) and im very surprised to find that iron man three has become my favourite iron man? when did that happen. where did this overwhelming love for this movie come from. hello

[patchoulimademoiselle]

Juicy. (Part 8).

Tony Stark (Sugar Daddy) x Reader Insert.

Warnings: Unprotected sex, profanity, mentions of PTSD, public sex? A little bit of angst and fluff, but definitely NSFW 18+.

Word Count: 3.9K

Authors note: I wrote this part while soaking in my bath tub, drinking a glass of wine and listening to Jhene Aiko. I don’t call it “bad bitch fanfiction” for no reason!

Guns n Glitter masterlist.

The days following the Incident feel like a loop. Tony wakes you up with some sort of extravagant gesture, as he should, smothering you in what feels like a million kisses, and he asks you what you want to do. At first you took full advantage, shopping sprees, a random jet flight to a random city, a night out clubbing, anything and everything to distract you and make you feel normal again.

A girl being waited on hand and foot by her billionaire sugar daddy with sexy facial hair. Trademarked.

But it only works for a while. The press stalks your every move, any and every person you encounter only asks about what happened that night. All your efforts to escape fail, it only makes you feel more helpless, strung out and spread thin.

So you try a different approach, turning inwards for answers. Tony gives you his credit card to order a new skin care routine to the house. You spend hours picking at your face, soaking in the tub, drinking wine that’s a little too strong for you, trying new makeup looks with new products you splurged on. Anything to feel something.

And once again, it works for a while. Your skin and hair look amazing, you feel a little more like yourself. Reading, journaling, breathing.

But all it takes is the sound of a helicopter flying down the beach, Tony drops a tool down in the garage, a plate clatters in the sink, and you’re back to that night, glass shattering outside the bedroom door, the same glass you step on and give yourself away, watching as the intruders run after you.

You start having nightmares, jumping out of your sleep in pain, a memory of stepping on glass that night. Tony does all he can to comfort you back to sleep. You start having panic attacks, holding your breath without knowing it, anxiety attacks, a sense of fear creeping up on you from what feels like out of nowhere, consuming you.

And as normal as this is, a trauma response to the horrible thing you experienced, Tony can’t stand seeing it happen to you.

He understands, he used to suffer from similar symptoms. He knows what this is.

PTSD.

He knows talking about it helps sometimes, but it also doesn’t. It only makes you relive it, only presses play to the memories in your mind and brings you back. Nothing really helps.

The only thing he knows he can do for you is to be there for you. And when he finally decides he can’t take it anymore, he can’t watch you gasp and cry as you struggle through another panic attack, body half naked on the cold floor, shaking, so fragile and helpless, he decides to get you out of here.

He wakes you up, same as every morning, a kiss to your forehead. It feels different this time, you notice he lingers, he’s worried, and it makes you feel bad.

“Tony?”

“Hi, baby.” He smiles when you open your eyes, “I have a surprise for you.”

You smile, “You always have a surprise for me.”

But he only shakes his head, fingers tracing your collar bone. “This one is different. Better. You have to get up and get ready.”

You groan, trying to roll over and ignore him. He doesn’t let you. “But I don’t want to get out of bed today.” You protest. “I want to lay here and be naked. I want you to join me.”

He lets out a whine that you recognize, “Why do you have to torture me like that? I’m try to be cute.”

You feel him grow hard, turned on by your antics, you know you’re about to win, you reach a hand up to cup his face, pulling him in for a soft kiss. “Come join me in bed, daddy.”

He kisses you. More like a peck, once, twice, before he’s pulling away from your grip. “You are a fucking monster, and I’m going to take you up on that offer in about an hour.” He pulls out his phone, checking it. “But we have reservations, and for the first time in my life I actually care about making them on time. So please, for the love of God, stop teasing me and put some clothes on?”

You can’t argue after he begged so nicely, your eyes lingering to the bulge in his pants as you sit up.

“Five minutes?” You bite your lip.

“Bathroom, Y/n! Before I I change my mind and don’t let you leave the bed at all today.”

You know he means it, as good as that sounds, as much as you would enjoy a good brutal fucking, you remember the ache and strain of your muscles from the last time you teased him too much. And as horny as you are, you’re slightly curious about the plans he made for you today.

So without another word, you slip out of bed and into the bathroom, using all your new products to shower, shave, exfoliate, wash your face, brush your teeth, and style your hair. You pick a cute outfit, juicy track suit, panda dunks, and a crop top. You feel so young, so cute, so yourself.

You double check in the mirror, applying lipgloss across your lips, and you watch as Tony comes to check on you, eyeing you with approval. He kisses your cheek, hands cupping your ass ever so softly before giving it a firm squeeze.

“There she is.” The comment is simple, vague, but all the reassurance you needed to feel confident. You can’t help but smile, turning to kiss him, leaving behind a shiny trace of lipgloss.

He doesn’t wipe it off, just rubs his lips together, and for some reason it turns you on a little.

“Tony Stark, you’re such a dream boat.” You fluff his hair, grabbing his hand to pull you with him as you finally leave the bathroom. He doesn’t protest, trailing behind you like a deer stuck in headlights, eyes glued to your ass, rhinestones putting him in a shimmering trance. “Where you taking me?”

“There’s a car waiting out front.” His eyes trail up to meet yours when you turn to look at him, waiting for an answer. “You don’t want to bring anything?”

The question makes you pause, “Should I be bringing something?”

“You just went shopping,” he shrugs, handing your phone to you. “You don’t need anything if you don’t want anything.”

Now you’re genuinely confused, raising an eyebrow at his antics. He only flashes you a smile, bright white teeth and teasing tone, he isn’t going to tell you anything. So you take your phone and continue downstairs, out the front door, and into the black limo parked out front.

You suddenly feel like you’re underdressed for whatever this is, but realize he’s wearing joggers and sneakers, so it can’t be anything too extravagant this time. You hope.

He pulls your feet by the ankle to rest them in his lap, a warm hand resting on your leg during the car ride. You take a few pictures, unashamed that he catches you drooling over him.

“Like what you see?” He winks at you, pulling his shades down ever so slightly.

“Fuck me Mr. Stark!” You bounce up and down in your seat, waving your hand in the air. “Me! Me! Fuck me!” He laughs at your attempt to mimic the many young girls that throw themselves at him.

It was annoying at first, early on when you were first figuring out the terms of this arrangement. It intimidated you, made you feel challenged in your roll. Until you started really spending his money, dressing yourself up, showing your face with him more. The attention was on you just as much, and he learned very quickly how it felt to have so many people publicly throw themselves at the person you were dating.

If you could call it that then.

But now, you aren’t sure what to call it at all. His laughter dies, his eyes locked with yours, and you feel that familiar tug in your chest, the feeling that you finally put a word to.

You love him, and he loves you. It scares you.

“Tony?” Your tone turns serious, and his smile fades. “Did you really mean it?”

You don’t have to elaborate. He knows exactly what you mean, matching your energy when he turns to face you fully, pulling you to sit closer.

“There is nothing I’ve ever said to you that I don’t mean.” He says honestly, voice thick with an emotion you aren’t sure you’ve seen from him before. “I love you more than you can begin to understand. You don’t know what this does for me.” He passes his finger back and forth between you, this, your connection, your bond, your presence in his life.

“All of this is worth nothing if I have no one to share it with,” he catches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, “All of this finally means something because I get to share it with you.”

The money, clothes, cars, all of it.

You understand his longing for companionship. A man like him who has seen and done it all, in the end, what was it all for if there is no one to keep your company, no one to laugh with, no one to lay beside at night and tell your darkest secrets to.

No one to love you despite all your ugly.

He reaches to grab your hand, butterflies awaken in your stomach, and you realize you don’t want this to happen. You don’t want to ruin the fun you have together, you don’t want to play the game of dancing on the edge and taking things too far.

You love him, you think you love him, you aren’t so sure now, seeing him smile at you with a trace of something else, adoration, love, it makes your stomach turn.

You don’t want to ruin this.

“That means a lot to me, Tone.” You smile through the nerves, leaning in to kiss him. “I love you too.”

But, you never say it, it’s on the tip of your tongue, hanging in the air. But, he isn’t really relationship material is he?

Is he love bombing you? You both agreed you were too busy for a relationship, agreed to see each other on the weekends in between his work and your schooling, agreed to never take it too far because it wouldn’t work.

He tried it before, it doesn’t work.

So how did you get here? So caught up in each other, so distracted by your feelings that you forget what brought you two together in the first place. Needing a distraction, needing a mutual connection that benefits both parties and doesn’t ever overstep the boundaries in place.

But is it wrong to find love in such a transactional relationship? Is this wrong?

He can sense your hesitation, he can feel it actually, your body is rigid in his arms, stiff with anxiety. He can see your thoughts, your eyes blank as you stare into his.

It makes him laugh, placing an apologetic kiss to the corner of your mouth, “Take a deep breath sweetheart.” He says. “It’s okay.”

It’s not okay, everything is about to change, you can feel it. But this man has just planned some kind of surprise for you, a chance to get your mind off things and return to your normal self. And here you are ruining it.

You smile, pushing back your doubts, and you notice how relieved he feels, He put his heart on the line, not sure how you would take it. You feel bad, fingers toying the the hair on the back of his head.

You do love him. But you aren’t sure how far you can take it.

His intentions seem innocent at first when he kisses you, hands slow and gentle as they grab your hips, pulling you into a straddle. It’s cute, sensual, his every move is calculated.

You barely notice his hand slip under your shirt until you feel him pinching your breast, toying with the nipple.

You want him to fuck you, grinding yourself down onto his lap, you can feel a bulge growing in his pants, the kiss is no longer innocent, lips fighting for control.

He wins, of course he does, flipping you to sit in the seat next to you, sinking down to his knees between your legs. He reaches for the waist and of your pants and your eyes dart up to the partition, drawn closed to separate you from the driver.

It must be a green light in his head, pulling your legs free to expose your bare pussy, wet and clenching at nothing for some sort of relief.

He smirks up at you, cocky as he pushes your legs further apart at the knees. He kisses the inside of your thigh, teasing, payback for earlier no doubt.

You can’t help but reach for him, fingers in his hair as he works his way up your thigh, between your legs. This is what you know, this is what you are familiar with.

You gasp, lips brushing against your clit with a ghost of a kiss. You arch off the seat, chasing him, he laughs at you, your grip tightens in his hair.

“Is there something you want?”

There are so many things you want, so many ways he could give it to you. You aren’t sure what you want to ask for first.

So you don’t ask at all, grabbing his chin, “Eat my pussy.”

And you can tell he likes it by the way he moans, his tongue warm as he obeys. You’re pretty sure the diver can hear you, you wouldn’t be surprised if the audio got leaked to TMZ. You also don’t care, pulling him closer, sinking further into your seat to allow him better access.

He lifts your legs over his shoulder, hands on your hips to press you flush against his mouth, burying his face between your legs. All attempts at being in control are gone, all witty comments, any jokes you might have wanted to make about how desperately he is pleasuring. You’re an obscene mess, crop top pushed up to expose your breasts, mouth agape and chest heaving as you struggle through the pleasure, the sensation overwhelming and he flicks his tongue across your clit.

“Tony,” A breathy whine, barely audible if he hasn’t been paying such close attention, “I’m going to come.”

He doesn’t say anything, just continues the pace he’s set until your nails are digging into this shoulder, eyes squeezed shut as you squirt on his face.

There’s something degrading about it, something hot and just wrong about the way he sucks at your clit, tasting your pleasure.

You’re panting, legs shaking, pressing against his chest to get him to move, it’s too much, you can’t help but cry out at the overstimulation. But he doesn’t let up, sloppy sounds filling the air around you, along with your moans, and a second orgasm overcomes you.

He hums with approval, almost teasing you as he finally leans back, eyes twinkling, face dripping, “Do you feel better now, sweetheart?”

Oh, you feel more than better, speechless, body like jello as you watch him sit up, placing a kiss on each of your breasts, your fluids left behind. He doesn’t stop there, working his way up your chest, your neck, to the side of your face.

“Did I break you?”

It feels like a challenge more than anything, a sudden burst of energy overcoming you. “You wish.” Because yes, he was a good lay. A very good lay. But you’re even better, and you will always go the extra mile to prove it.

Because he is a high value man. Handsome, rich, protective, secure. He is a provider, hardworking. He deserves a bad bitch to match his energy.

He laughs, breathless and panting, you let him settle beside you before climbing into his lap, sitting right on top of the erection in his pants. He groans a little, every move you make to get comfortable is torture, you can feel how hard he is, pussy pulsing at the attention.

You feel so young, so alive, his hands in your hair as he pulls you into a kiss. Slow at first, until you start to grind in his lap, his kisses become more desperate, hot and passion filled, a dance and a fight for dominance and pleasure.

“Sit on it.” Not a question, you lift just enough for him to slide his joggers down, gasping at the feeling of his cock springing to attention, slapping lighting against your pussy.

You moan, reaching to grab him, hard and warm in your hand. Your eyes lock with his, guiding this cock to toy at your entrance, throbbing tip brushing against your folds.

The look he’s giving you is dangerous, encouraging, and so finally, you lower yourself down, feeling yourself stretch around him. He moans, head falling back against the seat, enjoying the feeling.

Slowly, you bottom out, reposting to shift from your knees to your feet. He welcomes the adjustment, arms wrapping around you to pull you into a gentle embrace, one hand on the small of your back, the other at the back of your neck.

“Fuck me, baby girl.” He looks drunk, mouth open and eyes dark as he pleads with you.

You love when he talks to you like this, guiding you, but letting you set the pace. It makes you feel confident, sexy, no pressure to perform.

The encouragement has you biting your lip, setting a slow pace of rising up, letting his cock slowly slip out of you, then slowly sitting back down. He takes a nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing your skin ever so gently.

You gasp when he bites down, clenching around him at the pleasure of it, the slow pace you had tried to keep up long forgotten. You grab his shoulders for support, his head popping up to claim your lips again, hips thrusting to meet yours at a vulgar pace.

The limo slows to a stop, but you ignore it, his grip on you tightening as you fuck yourself down on him, pleasure starling to build in your stomach.

He breaks your kiss, leaning back and letting you take control. You grab his hands, fitting one against your breast and the other to grab your throat.

“You fuck me so well.” A thumb across your lower lip, “You look perfect like this.”

You can only imagine, hair a mess, lips swollen and red, tits bouncing at your efforts.

You clench around him, watching his jaw tick with restraint. His grip around your neck tightens, enough to leave a bruise you’re sure.

He’s getting close.

As hard as he’s trying to hide it from you, you can tell. And so you start to ride him faster, rising to your tippy toes.

“God, yes. Don’t stop.”

His hands snap down to your waist, guiding you to go faster, his hips thrusting up to meet you. The pace has you moaning, knees growing weak, and you can’t help but lean into him.

“You gonna come for me?” You whisper.

You can hear commotion outside, cheeks flushing at the thought of someone hearing you, seeing you.

“Y/n,” He sounds wrecked, voice thick and scratchy, “Baby, I’m about to-“

You clamp your hand over his mouth, forcing yourself down onto his cock, giving him one last squeeze, pussy clenching around him. You feel him twitch inside you, a moan muffled against your hand as he finally comes inside of you, warm cum filling you up.

His hips buck wildly against you, riding out his pleasure, holding you in place as you help him through it, milking all he has to offer.

You uncover his mouth, letting him catch his breath. He smiles at you, a flash of pretty teeth before he kisses you, stealing your breath away one more time.

“You are going to be the death of me.” He whispers, “You are perfect in every way.”

As you should.

He helps you find your clothes, waiting for you to fix your hair and reapply a layer of lipgloss, wiping the traces of it from his face, before you finally step out of the limo. You realize you are at the airport again, jet fueled and waiting for your arrival. You aren’t sure if he was trying to distract you or if you really did get caught up in the moment, but it has you smiling, arms up in the California air as a breeze brushes your skin.

You want to be young forever, free, lit up and intoxicated on love and adrenaline. You know who you have to thank for this, his fingers at the small of your back, guiding you.

Your love, your protector.

"Where are we going?" You know he wont tell you, but you can at least attempt. He gives you nothing, just a smirk when you turn to look at him.

He is inches behind you as you ascend the stairs to the jet, his hand never leaving you. You aren't sure what this is, affection, adoration, but he can't stop touching you, pulling you to sit across his lap. You ask for champagne, he asks for a rum and coke.

He runs a hand through your hair, pushing it back over your shoulder. You realize then what this is, his eyes twinkling as he examines you, eyes on your lips. This is love.

That anxiety creeps back up into your mind, that burning question that seems to be an instinct more than curiosity. What will happen now?

Because you could never pretend that this isn't here, this lingering feeling that turns in your stomach when he looks at you too long, that ache in your chest. The longing in your heart.

It wont just go away.

Your drinks arrive, and you're quick to down it before asking for another. His eyes are on you, but he says nothing, letting you cut loose. That is the point of this after all.

The jet door closes and takes off, Tony holding you until you’ve drunken yourself into a tipsy state, a smile on your face, body feeling light and airy as you lean back into his embrace.

He humors you, whispering stupid jokes and dirty promises in your ears while an 80’s movie plays in the background. You are at the center of his attention.

Always.

You dread the moment where this peace will be broken, the reality of your situation will have to resurface at some point. You will have to go home, you will have to go to school, you will have to decide what to do moving forward.

But for now, you let him spoil you. The jet touches down, and you instantly feel overdress when your feet touch the earth again. It's a temperate climate, not exactly tropical, but not cold either.

Clear skies and pretty blue water, you could try to play the guessing game, but knowing Tony, you would never get it right.

His lips are at your temple, a hand on the small of your back, "Welcome to Italy, baby."

The smile on your face makes all the trouble worth it, Tony decides then and there that he will spend the rest of his days trying to make you happy. He owes you at least that much.

"Tony Stark," Your eyes gleaming, "You spoil me."

His hand slides lower, giving a firm, teasing, squeeze on your ass. You can feel him toying with the rhinestones, "Juicy."

You cant help but laugh, the weight of reality lifting off your shoulders once again.

[voiceoffenrisulfr]

Build-a-Bucky Bingo Masterlist

December: 'Sex Toys' In the Dark of the Night. James Buchannan 'Bucky' Barnes x Clint Barton. E. From the world of Multitudes (can mostly be read as a standalone smutfest though). Clint and Buck can’t remember the last time they had some time alone, so decide to go camping for a night and get away from the pressures of parenthood. The usual sexytimes ensue. CW: Basically PWP.

January: 'Dom Big Dick Bucky Barnes', 'Teasing', and 'Wet & Messy' Wet & (Emotionally) Messy. Bucky Barnes x Tony Stark. After a tough mission, James finds Tony's vulnerable side. E. CW: Mentions of death of a peripheral character, mentions of violent altercation, smut. Mostly just smut. Anal fingering & anal intercourse, M/M oral, dom/sub dynamic, bratty submissive.

February: 'Bad Reputation' The Real Winter Soldier. Bucky Barnes x Original Male Character. Bucky's reputation proceeds as he heads out one night to relieve some stress - but perhaps people know him less than they think when he decides to eliminate an enduring problem, with climactic results. E. CW: Smut. March: 'Bad Coping Mechanisms', 'Mutual Pining' and 'Wall Sex' Slam. James 'Bucky' Barnes x Steven 'Steve' Rogers. Following an injury in the field, Bucky goes to check on Steve in the infirmary and confesses his feelings and his fears. E. CW: Minor injury, smut, first time. Don’t forget to use lube, folks – unless you’re a super soldier. April: 'AU: Wild West', 'Pet Names' and 'Sleepy Sex' Bind. James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Male Character (Yes, Greg's back). Sheriff Barnes has heard about some unsavoury activity going down at a local saloon, and he goes to shut it down. But sometimes these things don't go quite to plan. Especially when smooth-talking boys get their way. E. CW: Prejudices of sex work, smut, punishment turns into sex, BDSM including restraint and impact play, loss of virginity, inexperienced sex with a very experienced lover. Kind of dub-con vibes? But not? The consent is very enthusiastic.

'Domestic', 'Gradually Moving In Together' and 'Role Play' Nightmare. James 'Bucky' Barnes x Steve Rogers. Steve supports Bucky through his nightmares Post-HYDRA, and Bucky realises that his apartment is slowly filling up with Steve's things. E. CW: Smut, some angst. May: All Twelve Prompts! Destiny Bond. Bucky Barnes x Original Nonbinary Character. The Government offers Bucky a clean slate if he marries a mutant of their choosing. Can a match motivated by survival ever work out? (Arranged Marriage AU) E. CW: Angst, arranged marriage reluctance, implied incentivised breeding, smut, praise kink, spanking. June: 'Himbo' and 'Bachelor Auction' You Don't Know Me. Bucky Barnes x Original Nonbinary Character. Nat’s charity auction doesn’t quite go off without a hitch – but luckily, Buck is on hand to help out, reluctant as he may be. Until he meets you, that is. T.

July: 'Anxiety'' Paws for Applause, Chapter One. Bucky Barnes x Original Nonbinary Character. After his time in Wakanda, James ‘Bucky’ Barnes is struggling to adapt back to life in the wider world, hiding out in the Pacific Northwest as he fights to regain some control over his life. Or: Bucky gets a dog, and meets a cute salesperson. T. CW: Panic attack, trauma references, medical prejudice and medication disdain, general PTSD things, anxiety, vulnerability, implied alcohol abuse.

'Deep Throating' On the Tide - Chapter Eleven. Bucky Barnes x Original Male Character. The boys live with the after-effects of the kidnapping, and how to move forward… Together. E. CW: Discussion of gunshot wounds and captivity, non-graphic medical care, smut, AAAALLLL the smut. Full smut warnings in prompts.

'Dry Humping' On the Tide - Chapter Eleven. Bucky Barnes x Original Male Character. The boys live with the after-effects of the kidnapping, and how to move forward… Together. E. CW: Discussion of gunshot wounds and captivity, non-graphic medical care, smut, AAAALLLL the smut. Full smut warnings in prompts.

September; 'First Meeting' Near Misses and Nearly Missed - Chapter One. Bucky Barnes x Original Nonbinary Character. E. The soulmate part was just the way the world worked. The car crash? That was a little more unexpected. Sometimes a 'crash-into hello' is a little more... Crash-y. CW: Smut, Car crash (mild), distress

@buckybarnesevents

[ironspidersblog]

What would Tony Stark need Hydroxyzine for? What does it do?

For his anxiety (specifically or at least for why I take it, anxiety attacks, which Tony has experienced before ex. iron man 3)

im no doctor so i can’t say exactly how it works but it relaxes you and from my experience it does help stop or at least lessens anxiety attacks!

Tbh if I really wanted to put a medication for Tony I’d look into more anti depressants and ptsd related meds but I just think it’s fun relate my personal medications to characters. Makes it all a little more fun like oh yeah I have a anxiety disorder but so does Tony stark lmao

[whitneyasif]

My DP/DR story

I was diagnosed with Depersonalization(DP)/Derealization(DR) disorder a few months ago, although I've experienced it since I was in high school, probably around 2012. At that time, I had no clue what it was. I remember first experiencing it after smoking weed with my friends, and still feeling "weird" and high the next day, and the day after that, all for about a week. Eventually, I guess I just stopped thinking about it so naturally, it was gone. I never really smoked much weed after that, thinking I'd never ever wanna feel that weird again. Flash forward to 2015 when my grandfather (who raised me, and was basically like my dad) suddenly passed from a brain tumor, it sparked up again, but once again went away and laid dormant. I was doing good, I got married and had two sons. Then, one of the worst things that could happen to a woman, happened to me. My husband died. He was robbed and killed in March of 2021, and my whole world crashed...and burned...badly. My anxiety was at an all-time high. I was paranoid, watching out of my window all night and not sleeping because I was so afraid. After months into my healing journey for the next year, I was doing better. I got back to work, and things were seeming to go back to "normal" for me. October of 2022 comes around, and my younger sister had relapsed and called me for help, asking to come to my house to detox and get clean. I agree and pick her up, and she is withdrawing pretty hard. I left home for about an hour to go help my sister-in-law who had a flat tire and needed a ride, and come home to my baby sister who was 23, dead in my bed. Probably the most devastating thing that I have ever gone through other than losing my husband. After that, a bunch of new mental health issues started to arrive and wouldn't you know it, here comes the DP/DR, full force, the worst it has ever been. I suffered for a few months of going in and out of "reality" and dissociative states and finally called a therapist. Almost immediately I was diagnosed to have DP/DR and PTSD. Although I knew I had it, it was still a relief for someone to listen to me and not make me feel crazy when I described my symptoms. Quite frankly, if you have ever experienced DP/DR you know just how crazy it makes you feel. Now at this point, you're probably wondering "Well, what does it do to you? How does it make you feel?". It can quite literally alter your mind. My symptoms are severe and can last for days. How I know I'm going into an "episode" is easy for me now, remember that I said easy to recognize, not that they are pleasant. I will start to see and hear things differently. Hearing things can seem muffled, or like someone is talking to you from another room. Vision change can be hard to describe, but the best way I can describe it is, you start seeing things in a somewhat hyper-real state, or that the world seems "not real". I think this is one of the most common symptoms for people who experience this, which is less than 2% of the population, by the way. Another thing that happens that is related to vision is, you feel like you are viewing things from a third person or out-of-body. Looking at yourself in the mirror, your friends, and even your children can feel unfamiliar. I remember looking in the mirror and even questioning if I was real. It can be alarming, and scary. When I would tell people I felt crazy. But I realized that I am not crazy. I am hurt. I am traumatized. The way my body deals with it is just inconvenient, honestly. I look at it like this... My brain is trying to protect me from all the pain, all the hurt, and make me feel like things are not real so I don't feel the pain. Being self-aware wants me to tell my brain to fucking stop the charade and let me hurt because I would rather be sad than feel like I don't exist. I have been working with my therapist to try to find breathing techniques that work or grounding exercises. I was even prescribed Lexapro, which I will be starting tonight. It's been a long journey, and I am even in an episode as I type this, but I know one day I will get better.

[ao3feed-petermj]

Parker Luck

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/5BaEdIA by LittleLee8865 Peter has a very, VERY, bad day. Words: 1641, Chapters: 2/20, Language: English Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: F/M, M/M Characters: Peter Parker, Pepper Potts, Morgan Stark, Michelle Jones, Natasha Romanov, Bruce Banner, Steve Rogers, James “Bucky” Barnes, Sam Wilson, James “Rhodey” Rhodes, Clint Barton, Ned Leeds, Wanda Maximof, Vision, Eugene “Flash” Thompson, May Parker, Happy Hogan, Shuri, T’Challa, Okoye, Tony Stark Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Pepper Potts, Peter Parker & The Avengers, Peter Parker & Ned Leeds, Peter Parker & Shuri, Peter Parker/Michelle Jones, Tony Stark/Pepper Potts, May Parker/Happy Hogan, Steve Rogers/James “Bucky” barnes Additional Tags: Peter Parker Whump, Lonely Peter Parker, Oblivious Avengers, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark knows something is wrong, field trip trope, Peter Parker is good at lying, flash thompson is a bully, Flash Thompson bullies Peter, accidental mandatory identity reveal, like he doesn’t want to but definitely has to, cinnamon roll snaps, BAMF Peter Parker, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Has Anxiety, Peter Parker has PTSD, Tony Stark has Anxiety, Tony Stark Has PTSD, ironfam, Everyone is alive because I said so, cause in the words of the great nick Fury, i recognize that the council has made a decision, but given that it’s a stupid ass decision, I’ve elected to ignore it. Except for the maiming but it’s okay, Timeline for this vs. the movies is experiencing technical difficulties, let’s just call it an AU, Beta Read, Author has forgotten 90 percent of the movies but is faking it till they make it out of spite, Yes I laugh at my own jokes read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/5BaEdIA

[purplefeathersandblackleather]

This reminds me of a very similar event I had happen not long before I came on here regularly.

After losing my grandfather - and before seeing my therapist - I spoke to a friend about the issues I was having with Tony no longer being in the MCU. After about a five or so hour long discussion, he finally says, "You know, he's still alive in the comics. You should try reading those to lighten your heart a bit." Of course, despite knowing most of the history of Marvel and their comics, I was absolutely shut out of the comic scene and had no idea what I was doing.

So, my friend picks me up a couple of days later and takes me to one of the local comic shops (which is about as big as a take out Chinese place). He shoos me away to go to the Marvel section and goes to a random DND section they had in the front part of the store. My anxiety flew through the roof because I had no idea what I was looking at, and my PTSD threatened to trigger. Thankfully, some people like you, B, still have a heart for people like me.

I was approached by a young man who asked me if this was my first time reading Marvel, to which I simply nodded. He nodded, smiled and said, "Hey, it's alright, don't worry. Even experienced comic readers get lost in all the different versions of the comics. Which hero are you looking for?" So I told him I was looking for either Doctor Strange or Iron Man, so he led me to the crates where their comics were and explained literally almost every version of their storylines that were currently out. He even made suggestions about which ones I should start with.

As I was checking out, I was realizing that my PTSD had calmed down while we were talking about how long he had been reading Marvel, too. As my friend came back up to check out as well, the guy who helped me asked, "Is your PTSD okay, miss?" Turns out his brother was a Marine and got him into comics as a kid, so he recognized the signs and went out of his way to tell his coworker he would help me in her place.

I will not be forgetting his kindness on helping me that day.

Or the fact that my friend bought me this issue or Doctor Strange because I'm apparently a "simp" and he thought I'd like the cat suit.

@bakerstreethound @sobeautifullyobsessed

Idk if you know this about me, but I love books and reading in addition to writing and bookstores are like my second home. I like inhabiting one of my local bookstores and for some reason they make my introverted self happier and a bit more chatty than usual. Anyways today I was in there picking up my order and I see this younger girl in there browsing the shelves of the section I was in, she looked a little lost, unsure of a book she wanted but sometimes I can't help myself or I get a sense for these things sometimes and I was eyeing one of my favorite book series that just so happened to be in stock. Without really thinking too much about it I take it off the shelf smiling to myself and fiddling with it, two other books cradled under my arm and in a hopefully not awkward way hold it out to her and say something like "I think you might like this. It's a pretty unique book and has an interesting format." She smiled kinda shyly and I stepped away letting her have her time with it and I continued to browse another section. Then, on my way back around I see her at the register and turns out her Grandpa brought her there and bought her the book I handed her and it made me so happy that her Grandpa bought it for her 😭

[whatkindanameisfergus]

my 11 year old cousin: I hate Iron Man. He's egoistic and arrogant and he was wrong.

me: First of all HOW DARE YOU.

[fanficshiddles]

Out Of The Darkness, Chapter 1

Summary: Grace had been captive of Kilgrave for seven years. She’s finally out, thanks to Jessica Jones. Who sends her to stay with The Avengers at their base, so they can protect her from Kilgrave. Loki takes a liking to her instantly, finding some common ground. He goes out of his way to make her feel safe and like life is worth living again. But can they keep Kilgrave away?

WARNINGS FOR FIC: mind control, violence, PTSD, anxiety, talk of rape and kidnapping.

-

Loki was heading out on a mission with Thor and Bruce, as they were heading down the corridor Natasha and Wanda were heading towards them, with a new face. A young woman, but she was wearing a large hoodie with the hood up.

Though when they passed by, she looked up and Loki caught a glimpse of her face. Her eyes were full of terror, of so much pain and sadness.

‘Who’s that?’ Loki asked Thor and Bruce as the women kept walking.

‘Not sure. But I know Jessica Jones was here earlier with someone.’ Bruce shrugged.

‘Let’s focus on the mission, we can find out when we return.’ Thor said.

‘Mmm.’ Loki hummed and nodded.

But he struggled to focus on the mission entirely, though luckily it was relatively easy. He kept thinking about that woman he’d seen. What had she been through? Who was she? Where did she come from?

When they got back home to base, Natasha had called for a team meeting straight away. Loki lurked in the back, as he usually did. Normally just rolling his eyes during the team meetings. But this one, this one was different.

‘Some of you might have noticed we have a new guest.’ Natasha started. ‘Her name is Grace, and she’s here for protection.’

‘Protection from what?’ Loki asked.

Natasha looked at him and narrowed her eyes. ‘Let me finish and I’ll tell you.’

Loki folded his arms over his chest and tried to keep his mouth shut and not retaliate.

‘She’s here for protection, from a dangerous man. Called Kilgrave. He has mind control powers, whatever he says, people do. If he tells someone to put a bullet in their skull, they do it. No hesitation. If he tells someone to dig a hole with their bare hands through concrete, they try and do it until their hands are bleeding raw. If he tells someone to shut up, they shut up and don’t say a word. They physically can’t. It’s terrifying what this man can do and has done.’

‘You’re joking, right?’ Tony said in disbelief. ‘No way some average guy can have powers like that.’

‘I’ve seen the proof.’ Natasha snapped at him. ‘I believe Jones, she wouldn’t have a reason to lie to us. She’s been under his control before, too. But she got lucky. She wants us to keep Grace here, until she has taken Kilgrave down… Grace has been through hell and back, multiple times. I’m not going to tell you what he’s made her do, it’s not my place to tell.’

Stark ran a hand down his face. ‘So, we are keeping some girl here because apparently, she’s been under control by a guy that has made her do, what, exactly?’

‘As I said, that’s not my story to tell.’

‘You’ve taken her in here and we have no idea what she’s capable of, or done, that could be questionable?’ Tony continued to argue.

Natasha was about to answer back but Loki butted in again. ‘Haven’t we all done questionable things in the past, Stark?’ He hissed at him.

‘Yeah, you especially.’ Tony grumbled.

‘I have and we all know that. But we all know that each and every one of us, has a past. I believe her, I saw it in her eyes.’ Loki continued.

‘Saw what?’ Steve asked him.

‘The pain and horrors of not being in control of your own mind.’ Loki sighed.

The team looked around one another. They’d all experienced having their mind played with, but none of them had ever done anything quite as bad as Loki… And now, Grace.

‘I doubt she will make an appearance for a while, she doesn’t trust, for obvious reasons. She’s been stuck with Kilgrave only pretty much, for a long time.’

‘How long was she with him for?’ Thor asked.

‘Seven years.’

Loki’s eyes widened. ‘What? She looks young, she must have just been a kid when he took her?’

‘She’s twenty-six. She was still a kid when he took her, more or less.’ Natasha nodded.

‘Jesus. At that age, she’s missed out on so much.’ Bruce said.

‘Exactly. So we need to try and make her feel welcome here, and while we need to protect her we need to try and help her get her life back.’

Everyone looked between each other, nodding in agreement. Even Tony reluctantly agreed.

‘He will be looking for her.’ Steve said.

Natasha nodded. ‘I’d say so. Jessica said that he would be pissed at finding her gone, especially after such a long time. But she is going to try and get his spotlight back onto her, to get it off Grace. But we need to be prepared in-case he does come this way.’

‘That asshole won’t get anywhere near her again.’ Clint said firmly.

That was something everyone agreed on.

-

Grace had been pacing back and fore for the past hour, it was the day after she’d arrived at the Avengers base. Part of her was scared to leave her room, but another part of her was even more scared at remaining in there on her own.

It left her alone with her thoughts, thoughts she didn’t want to have. Memories she didn’t want to think about. She was worried about what she might do if she stayed on her own.

Natasha had said to her when she was ready to just take a look around, that she would introduce her to the team.

Even though she was shaking, a complete bag of nerves, she made her way out of her room and headed down the corridor. She didn’t really know where she was going, but she vaguely remembered Natasha telling her a rough direction of where to go. But her mind was so clouded she ended up going the wrong way.

But she came to a huge window that looked out to the back of the base. There was a massive walled garden, hedging inside that sectioned off different sections of it, including a decent size green house and poly tunnel. The whole place was overgrown and obviously hadn’t been looked after in a few years.

It was completely different to the front of the place, where the lawn was immaculate and the drive all neat.

‘It’s a disaster zone out there, isn’t it?’ Came a smooth voice from behind Grace, making her jump.

She spun around, eyes wide like saucers. She had to crane her neck to look up at who was speaking to her, he was really tall. She realised quickly it must be Loki, one of the Gods. She knew of Thor from the myths, but he had blonde hair whereas this one had black hair. So she deduced it was his brother.

‘Apologies, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.’ Loki said quickly. ‘I’m Loki.’ He held his hand out towards her.

Grace eyed up his hand suspiciously, but didn’t take it. ‘I… I’m Grace.’ She whispered.

Loki retracted his hand and nodded. ‘Nice to meet you, Grace.’ He stepped towards the window next to her, but didn’t get too close to her, respecting her space. ‘Stark fired the gardeners that tended to all that a few years ago, he never got round to hiring more. A shame really, we used to get some nice fresh vegetables from there.’

Grace was wary, though she wasn’t sure why. She knew that she was safe surrounded by superheroes. Jessica told her about all their powers, what they could do. Wanda had mind manipulating powers, so did Loki. But not in the same way as Kilgrave.

But it was going to take her time to trust again. If she could even trust herself. She felt so, weird and empty.

‘I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting to see you out and about so soon.’ Loki said after a moments silence between them.

‘I don’t know if I’m more scared being on my own or with strangers.’ She admitted.

Loki nodded. ‘It will take time, if you weren’t in control for so many years, it will be strange at first. But you’ll get there.’

Grace turned towards him, getting a moment of bravery to look up at him directly. ‘How do you know?’ She asked, her voice shaky.

Loki gave her a soft smile. ‘Because I’ve been there… well, similar. And if I can pull through it and get out of the darkness, so can you. You’re a strong one, I can tell.’

She actually felt like crying from how kind he seemed to be.

‘I… I’m not so sure about that.’

‘You’ll be doubting everything. Was what you did your own doing, or was it really from someone else? Your own inner demons are the hardest fight, but keep holding on. Take it one step at a time, you will get there. You will beat this guy.’

Grace looked back out the window, she really didn’t know what to say. How did this God have so much confidence in her when she didn’t have any in herself, and he didn’t even know her. She wasn’t sure whether she should be suspicious of him or not. But then, that’s what Kilgrave would want her to think of other men. To think that no one else out there would be nice and help her.

He really had isolated her from everyone.

‘Do you want to come and meet the bumbling idiots that people call The Avengers?’ Loki offered.

Grace nodded. ‘Yeah… ok.’

The Avengers were shocked when they saw Loki walk into the common room with Grace. Out of everyone, they didn’t expect Loki to actually be nice and polite towards her.

Natasha introduced her to them all. She awkwardly said hi to them.

‘Thank you… for letting me stay here.’ She said quietly.

‘It’s no problem. We will make sure you’re safe here.’ Clint smiled at her.

‘I’ll give you the code and access app to download onto your phone, so you can access the main doors whenever you need.’ Tony said, pulling out his phone.

‘Oh… I uhm… I don’t… I don’t have a phone.’ Grace said, rubbing the back of her head. ‘I don’t have much of anything, actually.’ She looked down. ‘He took my belongings off me… a long time ago.’

The team fell silent.

‘No need to worry. I’ll get you a laminate to keep on yourself.’ Tony said.

‘Thanks.’ Grace said.

‘Bruce is cooking up his famous fajitas for lunch. Join us!’ Thor beamed happily, then realised what he said. ‘I mean, only if you want to. You don’t have to…’

Loki rolled his eyes and face palmed.

‘You don’t need to watch what you say… I know… I know that you don’t mean it in the way he would… Though it will take some time for me to get used to, too.’ Grace gave Thor a small smile, knowing he didn’t mean any harm at all.

‘I uhm, I think I’ll just take something back to my room to eat, if that’s ok?’ She looked around everyone.

‘Of course it is. You don’t need to ask, you do what you want to do.’ Steve said.

Grace nodded. She waited there with the others for ten minutes while Bruce finished making fajitas, then he dished some up for her.

‘Thank you…’ Grace turned to leave the room, but she stopped. ‘Uhm… I can’t… I can’t remember which way to go.’ She said sheepishly.

‘I’ll walk you back.’ Loki offered before anyone else could, heading over towards her.

As they made their way down the corridor, Loki noticed her hands were shaking as she carried her plate. The more she tried to focus on her hands to stop, the worse they became.

‘What’s your favourite kind of food?’ Loki asked, looking ahead instead of at her, not wanting to make her feel more awkward.

‘I’m not too fussy.’ Grace shrugged. ‘I… I had to eat whatever was put on front of me, really… But pasta dishes are my favourite.’

Loki felt sad for her. He couldn’t imagine being told to eat whatever was put down on front of you, with no say in that matter, for seven years.

‘Thanks for taking me back to my room… Hopefully tomorrow I won’t get so lost.’ Grace said awkwardly when they reached her room.

‘My pleasure.’ Loki smiled and bowed his head slightly. ‘If you need anything at all, someone is usually around, so just call out.’

‘Thanks.’ Grace nodded and headed into her room, taking a big deep breath once she got in there.

-

‘You need to watch what you say.’ Clint said to Thor as they all sat down for dinner.

‘I didn’t mean’ Thor started but was cut off by Loki.

‘Tip toeing around our words will only make her feel more awkward. She wants to get back to normal, which includes people flippantly saying things that they don’t mean as an order, as it would if Kilgrave had said it.’

‘I hate to say it, but Loki’s right.’ Wanda said.

Loki smirked as the team all grumbled, reluctantly agreeing.

‘How are we going to be prepared if Kilgrave comes looking for her?’ Steve asked.

‘I’ll speak to Jessica again, see if she has eyes on him. We need to understand how his powers work, so we can contain him if necessary.’ Natasha said.

‘Or we just kill him before he gets a chance to open his mouth.’ Loki snarled.

‘I’m with Loki, it sounds like this man doesn’t deserve to live.’ Thor said with a mouthful of food.

‘That’s not for us to decide.’ Steve said. ‘We can’t become as bad as him, if he comes here, we trap and imprison him. Then we hand him over to Jones to do with as she sees fit.’

Everyone went quiet and just continued to eat. They clearly weren’t going to agree on a way of dealing with Kilgrave if he did come looking.

[hexogenic]

part 2 to gun smut?

i need to know why r is so fucky in the head 😭

a/n: yeah ok let's fuckin go. sorry to disappoint but this one does not actually include gunplay. and it's sorta plot heavy — i got a lil carried away. also please excuse any mistakes as it is long past my bedtime.

home of blood and bone.

RATING: E FOR EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT (18+ ... MINORS DNI).

PART ONE ... PART TWO.

natasha x fem!reader ; natasha pries her way into your past, into your biology, and into your future. and you let her.

warnings: nsfw, semi-explicit violence, explicit smut, knifeplay, lil bit of blood.

i do take requests but please give this a read before doing so!

“How was the psych eval?”

Natasha Romanoff lingers in your doorway with a mug of coffee and a scowl.

“Thorough,” you tell her without looking up from your workbench. You’ve been toying with the grappling hook launch controls on your utility belt for the better part of an hour.

“Big man says you were difficult.”

You were not.

You’d make that clear if you cared, but you don’t. And if Tony Stark cared about your difficulties he’d pull you from the roster. Fact that you’ve got a seven am mission briefing the next day tells you everything you need to know.

A noncommittal noise falls from your lips to fill the silence.

Natasha steps into the room. The door clicks shut behind her. “Were you actually difficult?” Her tone softens. You don’t like that. “Or was it your charming brevity? I know talking’s not your favorite thing.”

In that moment you don’t like that she knows you and you really don't like that there isn’t a way to tell her as much without sounding like a grade-a asshole. Not that she would mind—you really doubt she would—but you’re still stuck on that pesky wanting to please her thing. It’s been seventy-two hours since the day in the jet and you still haven’t figured out a way to force her from your mind. And to think you used to be so good at pushing people away.

“Dunno, Nat,” you mumble, huffing. You push a torx driver a little too hard into a screw and the panel it secures sprouts a hairline crack. “Motherf—what more do you people want from me? I answered their questions.”

Natasha drops a tablet onto the workbench and taps the screen.

Security cam footage.

You grit your teeth and wish Natasha wasn’t over your shoulder, watching you watch this.

Conference room four.

An unremarkable woman in a pencil skirt sits across from you with a legal pad and a pen.

You’re stone-faced and still, hands clasped in your lap, looking right at her.

“Do you experience compulsive thoughts relating to the incident that took the lives of your parents?”

“No.”

“Do you suffer from nightmares about the incident that took the lives of your parents?”

“No.”

“Do you experience flashbacks to the incident? By this I mean—”

“I know what you mean. And no.”

“If something happens that reminds you of the incident, does it trigger an intense emotional response?”

Yes. Sometimes. But you’re careful not to show it.

“No.”

“Do you actively avoid things that remind you of the incident?”

“No.”

True. You tend to seek them out.

“Have you experienced generalized anxiety since the incident?”

“No.”

True enough.

“Trouble sleeping?”

“No.”

That one, at the very least, is only half a lie.

“Do you startle easily?”

“No.”

True.

“Do you feel that the—”

“Say the word incident one more time and I’m gonna flip my fucking lid. I don’t have PTSD.”

“What does that mean, ‘flip your lid?’”

“Get violent. I don’t know.”

“Are you stating that you intend to inflict violence upon me if I continue administering this evaluation?”

“No. I don’t—don’t hurt people who don’t deserve it.”

“Who does deserve it?”

Bullshit question.

She’s leading you.

It’s fine.

“Nobody at present,” you tell her.

“Who deserved it in the past?”

You shift in your seat, crossing your arms, trapping your hands between your elbows and ribs.

They already know. This lady, Tony, all of them. You don’t think there’s a single person on the compound who hasn’t read your file.

“Family.”

“Whose family?”

“Mine.”

“When you speak of your family do you include yourself?”

There it is.

You smile, mocking and sweet, and, “Obviously,” you say.

The video stops.

Natasha spins you around in your chair and clamps her hands on your shoulders. She’s the first person to touch your skin, your actual body, no barriers, since the day on the jet. All at once you wish you were wearing more than a tank top and wish she’d never stop touching you.

“By that logic,” she says, “your own logic, you deserve to be dead.”

“By the logic of all the world, actually,” you say, “yes. I should’ve been dead the day my family was. Don’t think it takes a professional to figure that out.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use so many words at once.”

You roll your eyes.

“Look at me,” Natasha says next, and doesn’t speak again until you do. “I know you’re fucked up—so am I. It sort of comes with being one of us. And—”

“Your point?”

“Don’t be a jackass,” she says, laying a firm pat on your cheek that feels more like a slap than you were expecting. “I’m trying to tell you that the deaths of your parents are in the past. It’s done. But the idea that you’re walking around wishing you were dead, too? Not okay.”

“Right.”

“We need you.”

“That so?”

It’s true enough.

Tony wouldn’t have recruited you if you weren’t valuable, if you couldn’t do things nobody else could. You’re so ingrained in the operations of the Avengers that at this point, yeah, they probably do need you. Teams are reliant on their members, and whether you like it or not the Avengers are the only people who haven’t kicked you to the curb the moment they found out what exactly is in your past.

It isn’t until Natasha says, “Listen to me. It wasn’t your fault, and you shouldn’t torture yourself over it,” that you realize how wrong you are.

Your eyes narrow.

In less than a millisecond you make a weighted decision.

Your hands knock hers from your shoulders. You need space between the two of you if you’re going to let this conversation unfold. You don’t want her that close when you confide, you don’t think you could handle watching her recoil.

“What do you know about the deaths of my parents?”

Natasha furrows her brow, says, “They were shot point-blank by a HYDRA rogue after refusing to turn over their research on genetic engineering.”

You don’t know why you want to tell her.

You know it’ll ruin everything.

But if Natasha doesn't know, who else is in the dark?

You don’t want to spend your time around a team that doesn’t even know the fundamentals of your history. You want them to know exactly what you are, and if after that they still want you to stay? You will.

“I was never a rogue,” you tell her, gritting your teeth, “and I was never HYDRA.”

Natasha steps back. “You—?”

“And they didn’t refuse to turn over anything.” Your voice is thickening, getting rough around the edges. “I didn’t even ask for it, I’d already seen it all.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

It isn’t pity that she’s looking at you with but you can’t place whatever it is and that alone makes you want to put your head through a wall.

“I’m saying that I was an experiment. Bred in a lab to be the perfect, indestructible child. You had the Red Room, I had the house I grew up in.”

“But” — she’s pacing, never getting any closer to you than where she started — “you aren’t indestructible. I know you aren’t.”

“They made a mistake in my genetic code. I can bleed if I want to, I can feel pain under the right circumstances, but I’m not sure that I can die. And—”

It clicks so plainly on her face.

“You want to find out,” Natasha finishes for you. She comes to a stop, studying you from across the room, and you can see her putting the pieces together like you’re right there in her mind. “You didn’t kill your parents. You killed your captors.”

“You killed Dreykov.”

“…Touché.”

/

“You altered my file. Why?”

“I didn’t think you’d want to walk in here as the mommy and daddy killer. Was I wrong?”

He wasn’t.

Mostly.

But.

“I thought everyone knew.”

“I know,” Tony says, and to his credit he does manage to look apologetic. “And you thought they accepted you anyway. Which they do, still, by the way. Now that they actually know.”

No matter how deep you dig you can’t find it in yourself to be upset with him. He only did what believed was best. For you and for the team. You know more than most what a decision of that caliber feels like.

“Right,” is all you say.

You turn to go.

“You’re taking Romanoff with you,” Tony says before you make it out the door, “on the Evora job. And on all jobs from here on out.”

“I don’t need a babysitter, Stark.”

“Maybe not,” he says, “but good luck telling her that.”

/

Natasha’s behavior around you hasn’t changed.

You don’t know whether that’s because things are genuinely the same or because she wants you to think things are the same.

It’s hard to gauge whether it actually matters one way or the other.

“Guy calls himself Elemento.”

“Gross.”

“Yup,” Natasha says, “but he can bend the elements to his will.”

Your behavior around Natasha has changed, if only a little. You’re talking more. Mostly to fill the silences she leaves hanging in the air, the spats of quiet that make your head hurt.

“Bullets and martial arts won’t do much against that,” you say. “Offense a little intended.”

“Ouch.” She’s grinning. “You can’t be bent, however. I’m just backup.”

She’s right.

As usual.

You’re an experiment the elements can no longer touch. You put your ability to be altered to bed the day you shot your parents.

Elemento can’t bend you.

And he doesn’t.

His gift only works when he’s breathing.

You putting your hand through the skin of his throat and tearing out his windpipe takes care of that. The bullet between his eyes takes care of the rest.

Spilling Elemento’s blood across the white tile floor of his laboratory is the closest you’ve ever come to creating fine art. When it splashes across the front of your battle suit and freckles you in red you reckon it’s the most color you’ve worn since childhood.

Before his body hits the floor you’ve pulled his hard drive and crashed out through the nearest window.

It isn’t until you’ve got an arm around a rung of the rope ladder dangling from Natasha’s chopper that you realize you’re still holding onto the flesh you pulled from his neck.

You wait to ask your questions until Elemento and his ruined lab in Evora are six hours behind you and you’re mostly cleaned up, until Natasha’s found an itty-bitty hotel room to camp out in for the night.

“Why does Stark give me the messy assignments?”

“He trusts you,” Natasha says without looking up from a dime-store paperback she swiped from the front desk. “And you have considerably fewer morals about leaving loose ends.”

So that’s it.

“Right.”

You don’t say much for the rest of the day.

You just sit on the floor at the foot of the bed and think. Mostly about the fact that okay, yeah, you don’t think too much when it comes to killing the people Tony wants you to kill, and a little about the fact that Natasha doesn’t seem to mind the carnage. Whatever red she had in her ledger doesn’t keep her from letting you have your fun.

Funny word for what you do for the Avengers, that one. Fun.

You weren’t allowed much fun as a kid. Hell, you can barely call your upbringing a childhood.

Most of what you remember is being pricked for blood, being rolled under x-ray machines, withstanding test after test until your parents were satisfied with their creation. You remember asking to celebrate holidays, birthdays—anything—and being told no. You remember watching the neighborhood kids board the school bus every morning from your bedroom window and hating that you weren’t allowed to go to regular school with them. Most of those memories are laced with hate.

Makes sense that murder constitutes fun these days.

“Hey.”

You pull yourself out of your thoughts.

The window’s gone dark.

Natasha has the bedside lamp on, casting a dim yellow glow across the little room, and she’s right there with you, dangling her head off the end of the bed and peering at you with affectionate amusement.

“You’ve been in your head for hours,” she tells you. “It’s four am.”

“Oh.”

“Come to bed.”

You look down at your clothes: gray tactical pants splattered with blood, boots caked in dust and dirt, sweat-stained tank top clinging to your chest. Off in the corner your battle jacket lies crumpled in a heap.

“I should shower.”

You wait until the water’s scalding before stepping in.

When you get out your skin’s red and warm and in the foggy mirror you notice a gash along the length of your forearm. It doesn’t need stitches but you figure Natasha’s going to say something about it anyhow.

She does.

“That hurt?”

“No.”

“Did you clean it?”

“Are you always such a mom?”

“My sister would say yes.”

You dress in a spare tee and a pair of sweats with the gaudy Avengers logo on the hip.

There’s only one bed.

You crawl in and lay still on your back.

Natasha props herself up on an elbow and studies you.

“You said you can bleed when you want to, and feel pain under the right circumstances. What does that mean?”

“It means exactly what it sounds like it means.”

“Elaborate,” she says.

“Later.”

“Fine.”

She kills the lamp.

It takes her ten minutes to decide to slip a hand over your bicep and squeeze. Another five to tuck her leg up over your hip. When you don’t move she finds your hand and pulls it to her thigh, and, “Just—there,” she mumbles against your ear. You squeeze, she hums.

Eventually, you don’t know how long—you lost track of the minutes as soon as she invited you to touch her—Natasha’s lips find your skin. She leaves soft kisses along your jaw, slow and steady, until she finds your lips and licks into your mouth with a gentle curiosity that distracts you enough not to notice the hand slipping under your shirt until Natasaha’s nails bite into your skin.

For a moment you want to ask what this is, what the time on the jet was. You push the thought away as Natasha swings a leg over your hips, mounts you, and leans over to flick the lamp on.

“I want to try something,” she says, peeling your shirt off, grazing her fingertips over your sternum and down your stomach. Then she pulls a knife on you, a little folding one that snaps open with a satisfying click. The sound itself is enough to light a fire deep in your core.

You don’t nod. You don’t speak. You just smile, dreamy and expectant, because while it isn’t a loaded gun it does still excite you.

Natasha sets the blade at the base of your throat, and, “I want you to bleed,” she says, brows raising. “Can you do that for me?”

You can. Even though you can hear your heart thudding in your ears and you can feel the scorching tingle of arousal as it shoots down your spine, you can do it.

The knife follows the path her fingers took only moments ago: over your chest, between your breasts, along the divot between the muscles of your stomach. In its path little droplets of blood sprout before your eyes, painting you red for the second time that day. Natasha wipes the blade on the sheets and drags her fingers over the thin wound, smearing blood across your skin.

A moment passes in silence, you watching Natasha while she inspects the slice she put into you. In that moment your heart picks up, thundering against your ribcage, and you know she can feel it just as easily as she can see the heavy rise and fall of your chest.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Rhetorical—she’s smirking. “No blood this time. I don’t even want to break your skin.”

You have to think about it for a moment, tunnel way back into the corners of your mind to find the switch that kills your pain receptors and fortifies the density of your skin, but you can do it. You’d only practiced finding and hitting that switch under the clinical observation of your parents a thousand times as a child. It used to take you hours—this time it takes only seconds.

When the blade slides over your skin this time, nothing happens. Not even a scratch.

“Like a butter knife against marble,” Natasha mumbles.

You can’t tell if she’s studying you as a whole or just the cut and the would-be one. At least she hasn’t said anything about the fact that you’ve fought by her side time and again and not once has she ever seen you refuse a wound. Surely it means something, to her or whichever psychologist Tony has on retainer this month, that you choose to let yourself get hurt when things come to blows, but you think it’s hardly the time to dwell on that.

The knife clatters onto the bedside table.

“Sorry,” she mutters, pressing her palm against your abdomen, grazing her nails over the firm muscles she finds there. “Although I’m absolutely certain you don’t need an apology. Still—not every day I hurt one of my own on purpose.”

“One of your own, huh?”

She rolls her eyes.

“I wouldn’t be here to keep an eye on you if I didn’t care.”

“You sure it isn’t just so you can get into my pants again?”

“All I have to do is smile at you to accomplish that.”

“Touché.”

Natasha smiles.

You prop yourself up on your elbows to meet her halfway as she ducks down to kiss you. The taste of her tongue is second only to the taste of her cunt, and you consider yourself lucky to know the taste of both.

Doesn’t take much more than a heavy hand of yours slipping down between her legs and cupping her through her little sleep shorts to convince Natasha to let you have her. You get her out of her bottoms and push your fingers through slick lips, pushing her wetness around with your fingertips before sinking into her in one fluid motion.

You almost ask her if it’s good, if it’s enough, but her eyes rolling skyward, her fingertips pressing into your skin, and her back arching as she rolls her hips against your hand tell you all you need to know. She’s warm and wet and tight around your fingers as you stroke her from the inside, practically coaxing her wetness out of her cunt and into the palm of your hand.

“Good?” You ask anyway because even with the pleasure written on her face you still value a verbal confirmation.

“Good,” Natasha says, nodding.

Before you can say anything else she slips an arm around your neck and rolls onto her back, pulling you right down on top of her with your hips nestled between her thighs and your hand trapped between your bodies.

“Better,” she says, smirking up at you. “Fuck me like this—like you mean it.”

“Easy,” you tell her, because it is, because you really do mean it.

You thrust your fingers into Natasha’s warm cunt while she mouths at your throat, sinking her teeth into the soft spot where she finds your pulse, sucking a bruise into your skin that you know will linger for days, and you don’t think you’ve ever been so eager to wear a mark before. And you’re still bleeding, smudges of blood on your chest staining Natasha’s shirt from where she presses up against you, but you don’t care, and you don’t think she does either.

Notching your hips against the back of your hand and using the steady grind to fuck your fingers into her helps, makes it feel a little like what you’d guess a biological male might feel in this situation, holding yourself above Natasha with an arm that’s starting to cramp while you push into her. You’d watch if you could, you reckon the sight of your fingers disappearing into her clenching hole is a mighty fine one, but she’s palming at your breasts, teasing your nipples, and her arms are in the way. You settle for slipping a third finger into her cunt, stretching her open, grunting happily as she keens into your ear and gushes around your fingers.

“I wish I had your stamina,” she mutters through a yawn, pushing her hands through your hair as you crawl down her body, settling on your belly between her legs. “You aren’t going to let me sleep yet, are you?”

You give your answer by burying your face in her cunt, licking through her lips, grazing your teeth over her sensitive clit, and drinking her in. She tastes better than you remember: heady and intense and entirely Natasha. You hum against her, prop one of her legs over your shoulder, and coast your hands along her thighs. She’s warm to the touch and warm against your tongue and if it weren’t nearing five o’clock in the morning you’d spend all the time in the world right here.

But because it is nearing five o’clock you spend maybe ten minutes between Natasha’s legs, licking into her leaking hole until she tenses and trembles and spills onto your tongue. By the time you wipe your mouth on the sheets and crawl up to her side she’s barely awake, but, “Thanks,” she mumbles, draping an arm across your middle and leaving a lingering kiss on your shoulder. “For not shutting me out.”

Natasha falls asleep tucked up against your side and by the time she’s snoring softly against your shoulder you’ve decided that, whatever the circumstances, whatever the mission, having someone tag along to babysit you isn’t the worst thing in the world at all when that person is Natasha.

And, for what it's worth, you're glad you haven't figured out how to push her away.

[protect-anthony-edward-stark]

Tony Stark's thoughts described in the MCU books (part 1)

- Pepper

Tony always knew something was going to happen, during 6 years he has been preparing everything to protect everyone. When Thanos arrives he doesn't know what to do and chooses to get on Maw's ship to keep the danger away from Earth and the people he loves, ready to go into space and face his biggest fear. Pepper calls him and begs him not to get on the ship and to go home. We see Tony, who just wanted to stay with her and have a family, already on the ship, distraught and destroyed not knowing what to say.

In the "Infinity War novelization" we learn that at this very moment he's under a lot of stress. He hears in Pepper's voice that she's terrified and thinks about the worry he had felt a few seconds earlier for Peter when he saw him on that same ship. And it breaks his heart that Pepper is feeling the same thing right now.

- Tony and Peter during IW

We already know that Tony loves Peter and is afraid for him. He has always looked after him and done everything to protect him.

In the "Infinity War novelization" we see exactly what Tony is thinking throughout the journey. He's terrified for Peter.

Seeing him on the ship: "If Tony didn't act quickly, Peter Parker would die. And it would be all his fault."

Seeing him aboard the ship after doing everything to save him from it: "Peter was on this spaceship and that was that. So, he now had to save Strange and then get Peter Parker back on Earth safe and sound."

Seeing the Guardians threatening him: "But how ever much bravado Tony seemed to have, the dread of exactly this moment was laced in his words. He was terrified."

- Tony and Jimmy

Tony is so caring and has the biggest heart. He just always wants everyone to be safe and can't stand it when someone dies or gets hurt in front of his eyes. He always thinks he should have saved them, that's why he spends nights blaming himself for everything. That's why he always makes sure that people don't get hurt during or after the Avengers fights. That's why when he fights he never leaves anyone behind and always finds a way to save everyone.

And this from the very beginning. We already know that Tony was shocked to see innocent people killed at the very beginning of Iron Man 1. And in the "Iron Man novelization" we see especially the horror that Tony saw and experienced with the death of the soldiers and especially Jimmy and how it impacted him. He even noted the watch he was wearing. He care about every single person around him.

- Tony in India

In Homecoming we can see that Tony has been to India and that while he was there he was still watching over Peter, ready to intervene and save him if something happens to him.

In the "Homecoming junior novelization" we know exactly why he went there. He needed to get away from it all and refocus after what happened in Civil War. He lost the family and unity that the team had (and blames himself even though he was the one who fought so hard to keep everyone together). One of his best friend in whom he trusted lied to him and they all betrayed him, he has suffered so much and just.. needed a break.

He deserves so much more support, love, sincere people and serenity in his life.

- His biggest fear

At the end of Infinity War Tony's biggest fear, everything he's been trying to prevent for all these years, comes true. Tony who has always just wanted to keep everyone safe is totally destroyed by this moment. In the "Infinity War novelization" we know exactly what he's thinking.

When he sees Peter disappear: "No, Tony thought. Please, no. Not him. Tony rushed to Peter. "You're all right," Tony assured him, just like he'd done before. Look at me, kid. I'm calm. You're going to be okay, he thought. I'm right here. I'm right here. Just look at me. Tony grasped Peter's shoulder, his eyes locked on his as, with a tiny whisper, Peter turned to dust. "I'm sorry." Tony slammed his hand through where Peter once was. His hand now full of nothing but as hes. Tony willed it to be false. Willed the boy back. Willed another chance to save him. To be there for him. To protect him. To love him."

Here Tony is, alone with Nebula, his biggest fear has become reality and there was nothing he could do about it. The boy he sees as a son died in his arms. And he's stuck here not knowing if his loved ones, his friends, if the love of his life, has survived. "Pepper. Had Pepper survived? How much had he truly lost?"

It's horrible. We see him cry at this moment. Because, it's too much. As RDJ himself said, this event traumatized him to the point that he will never be the same anymore.

- I am Iron Man

At the end of Iron Man during the press conference and despite what the shield had asked him, Tony decides to reveal his identity. It's because he's proud to be Iron Man, to do something that helps the world. But that's not all.

We learn in the "Iron Man novelization" that his revelation is also to to people. He saw what happened with the secrets and lies with his company and decided to put an end to it. He doesn't want any more secrets that will lead to deaths. That's why he didn't keep his identity secret

"He thinks about how lying and deceit from others has brought him to this pass. He has sworn to put an end to that sort of thing".

Tony always takes care of everything and eveyone. To think that some people think it's out of arrogance.. He's always so misjudged and deserves so much better.

- The suit

In "Infinity War: the Hero's Journey", Tony spends time in the lab with Happy. And he describes him what it's like to wear the armor. He implies the emotional weight of all the suffering involved in being Iron Man.

"Happy smiled, then struggled to pull off the gauntlets. They didn't budge. Tony laughed and scooted his stool next to Happy. "Thanks," Happy said. "Don't mention it," Tony replied. "They were heavier than I thought they'd be," Happy said. Tony thought for a moment. "Yeah, they are," he said. His tone turned a touch graver than it had been a moment prior. "The whole suit's heavier than I thought it would be.."

In his life he's always only receiving pain, suffering and horrible traumas. Losses, ptsd, nightmares, insomnia, anxiety attacks, blames, betrayals, physical and psycological pain, health problems, he lost Peter, he got stabbed, he got stuck in space without food or water, he sacrificed everything for everyone even if nobody is there for him..

So few people realize how much he suffer..

Buy the Iron Man novelization

---

#BringBackTonyStarktolife (petition)

[swan-of-sunrise]

Spellbinding (Chapter Twenty Seven-Part Two)

Summary: As (Y/N) slowly heals from her physical and mental injuries, she’s helped and supported by her teammates. Things begin to look up for her until she receives a visit from two Alfheimian allies, who bear some surprising and life-altering news.

Pairing: Loki X Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings/Disclaimers: Disclaimer for a depiction and discussion of grief disorders, PTSD and their symptoms

A/N: Only one more chapter to go after this! Again, I’m really sorry for the delay, I feel terrible leaving you guys waiting for this but I hope you like it! Thank you so much for reading and I hope that you enjoy!

Chapter Twenty-Seven (Part II) June 7th, 2016 Avengers Tower, New York City (Previous Chapter)

The weeks following the Battle of Boston were quite possibly the hardest and most disorienting weeks of (Y/N)’s life, so much so that she often found herself wondering if she were truly awake and not still lying unconscious and unresponsive in a hospital bed. But not even she could dream up everything that transpired over the course of those few weeks…

Seeing her friends again after all they’d done for her had nearly reduced her into a puddle of tears, even more so after Loki told her just how worried they’d been for her when she ran away to Alfheim and the entire time she’d been unconscious. They visited her in pairs and sat at her bedside, doing their very best to distract her from her physical and emotional pain; Steve sketched intricate comic panels featuring all of the Avengers and Natasha helped her write funny captions for them, Tony and Bruce talked to her about some of the projects they’d been developing in the lab, Clint confided in her about his hearing loss and happily began teaching both her and Peter Parker some basic American sign language, Bucky recounted stories from his life before World War II while Sam told her all about his extended family back home in Delacroix, and Scott even brought his daughter Cassie along when he visited and showed off his close-up magic skills. The exuberant six-year-old was thrilled to meet her second-favorite Avenger, proudly declaring her father to be her all-time favorite, and she even brought her copy of Charlotte’s Web to read to her. Thor was unable to visit as often as the others, since he was busy helping Elora foster peace in the war-torn Alfheim, but he would still take the time to check in on her whenever he could. She appreciated everything her friends had done for her, of course, but there wasn’t anything they could do to stop the nightmares that plagued her whenever she closed her eyes.

Sam mentioned that she might be experiencing several symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder and one of the hospital’s on-call psychologists officially diagnosed her a week after she’d regained consciousness. Since Sam was a certified counselor and he understood the unusual circumstances surrounding the diagnosis, (Y/N) agreed to begin psychotherapy sessions with him; they talked about her experiences in Alfheim and the reoccurring nightmares that always centered around the violent Battle of Boston, and the symptoms of her PTSD slowly became more and more manageable. Sam often told her that while healing from trauma would be a lengthy process, the way she chose to carry it with her could end up making all the difference. Talking to Loki also seemed to help; her fiancé was a patient listener, holding her hand for support whenever she attempted to open up and wrapping her in comforting embraces when the words became too difficult to speak. He understood the anxiety and fear that she felt, having only recently learned to cope with his own trauma, and he did everything in his power to help her feel safe.

The physical wounds (Y/N) sustained were only slightly easier to cope with; the severeness of her injuries kept her in the hospital for two weeks and the overexertion of her Alf Seidr only made the healing process go slower. Frigga consulted with several Alfheimian healers and together, they were able to concoct a rejuvenation potion suitable for a half-Alfheimian, half-human to safely ingest; it worked to strengthen her weakened magic and in turn, her body gained the strength it needed to begin healing itself. After two weeks of careful observation, she was released from the hospital and transported to the Avengers Tower, where she spent an additional week of rest in the tower’s sickbay under the watchful eyes of Bruce and Doctor Cho before being allowed back to her suite. The next several weeks were devoted to brief physical therapy sessions, to exercise the leg Tarian had slashed open during their duel and to regain the muscle strength she’d lost while on bed-rest; Loki attended each session with her, his words of encouragement and bolstering smiles helping her power through the draining sessions, and the Epsom salt and lavender-scented bubble baths he prepared for her afterwards were an added bonus.

Whenever she wasn’t attending physical therapy or psychotherapy sessions, (Y/N) was resting and after almost a month of enduring the monotonous routine, she started to grow restless. There were only so many books and movies to keep her occupied and while her fiancé and friends tried their best to alleviate her boredom, their busy schedules in the wake of the Battle of Boston made it a challenge. An offhand comment of Sam’s during one of their sessions together gave her an idea and after consulting the internet for a second opinion, she found the perfect, non-strenuous activity to pass the time, one that everyone in the tower seemed to find just as much if not a little bit more enjoyment in than her…

“Woo-hoo, nobody knows it,” Tony and Clint sang into their improvised microphones, and the billionaire did a dramatic twirl before pointing at the archer. “But when I was down…”

“I was your clown!”

They both shimmied their shoulders in perfect synchronization. “Woo-hoo, nobody knows it, but right from the start…”

“I gave you my heart,” Clint’s free hand rested on his chest while he continued belting into the hairbrush he was clutching tight. “Oh-oh, I gave you my heart!”

“So, don’t go breaking my heart.”

“I won’t go breaking your heart.”

Embracing their natural theatricality, both Tony and Clint whipped around to face one another and sang together, “Don’t go breaking my heart!”

From where they sat on the library’s comfy sofa, Natasha and Sam whistled and cheered both men on as they continued their spirited rendition of Elton John and Kiki Dee’s “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart,” and (Y/N)’s fingers flew across the black and white keys of the grand piano she sat at, her own lips curved into a cheerful grin as her eyes flicked between the keys and the two grown men singing into plastic hairbrushes and dancing around the library.

Before her aunt’s death, she loved playing the piano and despite not sitting down at one in nearly four years, it wasn’t difficult to remember how to play; taking Sam’s advice, she read several medical papers that explored the correlation between playing a musical instrument and recovering from traumatic events, eventually deciding that resuming her old hobby was worth a shot. At first, the musical therapy sessions only comprised of her and Loki, who softly hummed along to the songs she performed but otherwise stretched out on the sofa and quietly listened to her playing while he kept her company, but their teammates soon started attending and the sessions quickly evolved into Avenger karaoke, an evolution that she eagerly went along with and actively encouraged. They can use an outlet for their untapped theatricality and I can always use the free entertainment, she thought to herself, her grin widening when she spotted Loki entering the library with a look of amusement on his face at the scene before him.

“I always had an inkling that my life would be strange and unpredictable, but I never imagined that I’d witness two of my former enemies performing their hearts out while my beautiful fiancé accompanies them on piano,” Loki remarked as he sat down on the bench beside her, kissing her temple and leaning back to watch her play the song’s bridge. “If this is how Barton and Stark perform while sober, I can’t begin to imagine what they’d do after they’ve had a few too many drinks.”

(Y/N) chuckled while keeping her eyes on the black and white keys beneath her fingertips. “I suppose we’ll find out at our wedding reception, won’t we?”

At the mention of their impending nuptials, he wrapped an arm around her waist and gave her side an affectionate squeeze. “I suppose we will.” While the two Avengers continued their boisterous performance, her fiancé hummed along to her playing and tapped his fingers against her hip in time with the beat, waiting until the song was almost finished before quietly singing to her, “Don’t go breaking my heart…”

“I won’t go breaking your heart,” She sang back, playfully bumping Loki’s arm with her elbow and winking at him as she ended the song with one final flourish on the keys; the room burst into applause and she couldn’t help but giggle at the silliness of it all before bowing her head in acknowledgement. “You two should really be careful. If the paparazzi catches wind of your musical talent, Broadway producers might come knocking for you to star in an Avengers show.”

“If they don’t, then I’ll produce and star in one myself,” Tony loudly declared after taking a bow of his own. “My old man made some movies back in the 40’s, after all. Maybe I’ll one-up him and put on a Broadway show, win a ton of awards alongside Barton here.”

Clint snorted in amusement but shook his head. “As tempting as that may be, Stark, I think I’ll stick to the private performances.”

“Barton’s not the only other Avenger with theatrical talents, you know.” A smirk crossed Natasha’s face as she got up from the sofa and moved to lean an elbow against the piano. “From what I hear, the Star-Spangled-Man-With-A-Plan put on one hell of a show back in the day.”

With a snort of amusement, Sam extended his arm and gestured at an invisible theatre marquee before him. “I can see it now: ‘Rogers: The Musical,’ featuring the award-winning song ‘I Can Do This All Day’ and the old war-time classic ‘Star Spangled Man.’”

“You guys are a riot,” Steve dryly spoke over their laughter as he walked into the library; he was still dressed in his uniform with his shield slung over his back, but he was also clutching an oversized cardboard key in his hand. “But I’d prefer putting on that ridiculous Captain America USO costume again over attending another one of these ceremonies.” (Y/N) winced a little and gave the super soldier a guilty smile; because of her actions during the Battle of Boston, she’d been invited to dozens of award ceremonies and events being held in her honor but due to her extensive injuries, her teammates got together and decided to trade off attending them in her place. If she were being honest, she was glad for the opportunity to avoid the limelight; she did what needed to be done on Alfheim and in Boston, and she felt highly uncomfortable at the thought of receiving awards and honors for simply doing the right thing. “The Mayor awarded you the key to the city and told me to wish you a speedy recovery.” The super soldier’s eyes softened. “She also wanted you to know that the city council voted to rename Boston Common’s bandstand after your father; it’s now the David B. (Y/L/N) Memorial Bandstand, to honor the life and sacrifice of a Bostonian hero.”

(Y/N) swallowed the lump in her throat and gave Steve a tight smile before averting her gaze. “Thank you for letting me know, Steve.” Her eyes stung with unshed tears and to distract herself from the sudden and unexpected surge of grief, she returned her attention back to the piano and absentmindedly resumed playing; she immersed herself in the notes, tuning out the voices of her teammates around her and trying her best to keep herself from breaking down in front of them.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Loki’s hand rested on her back and she felt his thumb begin to move in soothing circles; her eyes flicked up and she was surprised to see that the library was empty except for the two of them. “The others wanted to give you some space,” Loki softly explained as his other hand reached up to gently wipe a wayward tear away from her cheek. “Steve’s sorry for upsetting you.”

“He shouldn’t be, I-I’m glad he told me but it’s just…” (Y/N) took a ragged breath and looked over at her sympathetic fiancé. “Right when I start to think that I can handle losing my dad, the grief rushes in and just knocks me back down; Sam told me that it’s a reflection of how important his life was to me and that the grief has to unfold at a natural pace in order for the healing to begin, but sometimes I think that it’ll never get better…that it’ll just keep hurting more and more until nothing’s left but the pain.” She looked back down and realized with a ghost of a smile what she’d inadvertently begun playing. “‘She’s Always a Woman’ by Billy Joel. Dad told me once that it was my mom’s favorite song; he used to play it for her all the time, said that the lyrics perfectly described her.”

Her fingers stilled against the piano keys and before she knew it, Loki had gathered her into his arms and carried her over to the sofa, sitting down and holding her securely in his lap while she cried against his neck. When her tears finally began to dry, he started to slowly press soft kisses along her cheeks and brow as one of his hands moved to caress her hair. “I’m right here, darling, I’ve got you.” He gently began rocking her while she curled her fingers around the collar of his shirt to bring him closer. “You’re grieving for more than just your father, (Y/N); you’re grieving for your family – your father, your mother and your aunt – and the life you could’ve had with them if Tarian hadn’t taken it away. I know that it doesn’t feel like it at the moment, but I promise that the pain of your losses will not overtake you.”

Nuzzling against the smooth skin of his neck, (Y/N) kissed his jaw once and quietly murmured, “Thank you for being here with me, sweetheart.” Her fiancé hummed in acknowledgement and rested his cheek against her head as he only tightened his hold on her. “I just…I wish that we could just get away from everything. The media circus, the award ceremonies, the never-ending chaos, all of it; after everything that’s happened, I want us to go somewhere where we can just breathe and pretend that we’re not superheroes for a few days.”

“Then let’s do it.” (Y/N)’s head snapped up as she blinked in surprise and Loki gave her an earnest grin. “Let’s go somewhere, just you and I. A vacation all to ourselves.”

“S-Seriously?”

His grin widened as he emphatically nodded. “We can go anywhere you want, my love, I don’t care where so long as I’m with you.”

“Oh, my goodness, there’s so many places we could go…I-I just…” Unable to form a complete sentence in her stunned state, (Y/N) pulled Loki’s face down and crashed her lips against his in a passion-filled kiss; he made a sound of surprise at her sudden action, but was quick to return the kiss with an equal amount of enthusiasm. When they were finally forced to separate for air, she tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear and smiled at the slightly dazed look in his emerald-green eyes. “I’d like that very, very much, Loki.”

The corners of Loki’s eyes crinkled as he smirked in amusement. “Yes, I believe I got the hint, darling.” He leaned in to kiss her again but just then, a blinding rainbow-colored light shone through the library’s windows and caught their attention. The Bifrost had landed on the tower’s protruding helipad and its bright light faded away to reveal, Thor, Elora and, to (Y/N)’s surprise, Amirah; while the Asgardian prince and the Alfheimian general conversed with one another, the former princess curiously looked out at the New York City skyline and even from her spot in the tower’s library, (Y/N) could see the wonderment and awe written across Amirah’s features. “It appears that we have visitors,” Loki sighed and glanced back at (Y/N) with his brow knit in concern. “If you’re not up for it, I can always ask them to come back later.”

“No, it’s okay, I think that a visit could do me some good right now.” She slid off of Loki’s lap and stood, wincing in discomfort as her strained muscles ached in protest; she’d completed an intense session of P.T. and was in desperate need of a warm Epsom salt soak, but it would have to wait until after her friends’ visit. “Could you help me to the common room, please? Natasha put me through the ringer earlier and my legs still feel like sore Jell-o.”

With a soft smile, Loki nodded and stood up from the sofa before taking a hold of one of her hands and pressing a feather-soft kiss to the center of her palm, something he’d regularly taken to doing since she regained consciousness in the hospital. “Anything for you, my darling (Y/N).”

“Mmm, anything, huh? Since you just finished the Percy Jackson series, will you read the Heroes of Olympus series with me?”

“Oh Hel, there’s more of them?! That Riordan fellow is a menace, honestly…”

(Y/N) bit her lip to keep from laughing while he ranted on, deciding to wait until another time to tell her fiancée that along with his Greek and Roman mythology books, Mr. Riordan had also recently released the first novel in his greatly-anticipated Norse mythology series.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“…And with the supplies and aid sent to us from Asgard, Alfheim is slowly but surely beginning to recover from Tarian’s autocratic rule,” Elora assured them with a begrudging smile. “Prince Thor has proven to be a wise and generous ally in our time of need; the Council was so impressed with the respectful way in which he’s aided our realm that they’ve unanimously decided to enter into new peace treaty negotiations with Asgard.”

(Y/N) beamed in happiness. “That’s wonderful news! Once a peace treaty is signed, trade routes can be established and with the influx of fresh resources from across the Nine Realms, Alfheim will finally start to heal after all those centuries trapped beneath Freyr’s barrier.” She glanced over at Thor reclining in one of the common room’s armchairs. “It seems that we owe you our thanks, Thor.”

“Ah, but it would be entirely unfair to take all the credit, Lady (Y/N), not when Lady Amirah here offered me such skilled advice and guidance when it came to dealing with her countrymen. There aren’t many who can wield diplomacy as well as they wield a sword, but she is equally proficient at both.”

The older Asgardian’s ears were bright pink as he briefly looked over at Amirah, and both (Y/N) and Loki exchanged a knowing smile before she addressed the former princess. “The Council hasn’t been giving you any trouble, have they?”

“They did at first, but they quickly changed their tune once they learned that it was I who convinced the Royal Guard to turn against my father.” Amirah tucked a loose lock of hair behind her pointed ear and gave (Y/N) a tentative sort of smile; the relationship between her and the tyrant’s daughter was only just beginning to feel normal. Despite the obvious mind-control she’d been subjected to, Amirah blamed herself for many of her father’s despicable actions and when she visited (Y/N) at the hospital, she expressed guilt over her severe injuries but (Y/N) was quick to comfort the former princess; Amirah was a victim, just as she was, and there was no way she could blame the Alfheimian who risked everything to do the right thing, even when it resulted in the death of her own father. “And how is your recovery going?”

“Now that my wounds are fully healed and I’ve regained the muscle strength I lost while on bed-rest, Bruce and Doctor Cho decided that next week’s physical therapy session will be my last. As for everything else…” (Y/N)’s grip on Loki’s hand tightened a little as she took a steadying breath and smiled. “Some days are harder than others, but I’m doing better.”

Elora’s golden eyes filled with sadness at her reply. “I miss him, too. It comforts me to know that he’s found peace amongst the stars with Layeia and his sister, but I wish that he were here to see you finish what your mother started…which leads us to the second purpose of our visit: your coronation.” (Y/N) blinked in surprise and Loki stiffened beside her, both seemingly taken aback by the sudden reminder that the throne of Alfheim was rightfully hers. “On Alfheim, coronations traditionally take place on Midsumarblot, the celebration of the summer solstice.”

“But that’s in two weeks’ time,” Loki pointed out and when she glanced over at him, his brow was furrowed in concern. “Surely more time can be granted for her to learn the intricacies of ruling an entire realm before she’s crowned your queen?”

“I’m sorry, Prince Loki, but we cannot afford to wait any longer; the longer the throne remains vacant, the higher the chance that-”

“That someone like my father will rise up and attempt to claim it for themselves.” The former princess was resolute in her words, but the way she was fiddling with the hem of her tunic gave away the uneasiness she was feeling. “Our people have been through enough, your highness, and right now they deserve a queen who has their best interests at heart.”

“But what of Lady (Y/N)’s best interests? As I told you back in Ljosalfgard, she’s suffered through a traumatic experience and should be focused on healing at the moment, not worrying about having to rule Alfheim.”

“Prince Thor, I-”

“I wish you’d all stop talking as though I’m not here,” (Y/N) interrupted, watching as their expressions grew apologetic and they cast their eyes downwards. “I appreciate your concerns, I really do, but I just…” She looked down at her lap, her mind racing to process the implications of her inheritance. “Becoming the Queen of Alfheim means I’ll have to give up being an Avenger, doesn’t it?”

Elora shared a look with Amirah and slowly nodded. “Your duty will be to Alfheim, to protect and rule over its people with the wisdom and grace of all the kings and queens before you. But you’ll finally be among your people, (Y/N), just as your mother always wanted for you; you’ll have the opportunity to learn about your Alfheimian lineage and understand the part of yourself that’s gone unexplored for so long. You’ll finally be home.”

Feeling the eyes of all four of them diligently trained on her, (Y/N) carefully stood and slowly walked over to the nearest wall, where over a dozen framed sketches hung on display; Steve had spent the better part of a year sketching the team and brushing up his talented work, finally unveiling them on the day she’d been released from Metro-General Hospital as a ‘welcome home’ present. Each sketch depicted a single Avenger involved in whichever task or hobby they enjoyed the most; Tony was tinkering with his Iron Man suit, Bruce was in the middle of conducting an experiment, Natasha was posed in one of her many fighting stances, Clint was firing an arrow at a target, Thor was using Mjolnir to summon a bolt of lightning in one hand and holding a shawarma in the other, Sam was in the middle of leading a counseling session at the local V.A., Bucky was practicing a series of knife-flips, Spider-Man was swinging across the rooftops of Queens, Scott was performing a close-up magic trick, Rhodey was seated on the wing of the F-22 Raptor that he used to help train Air Force pilots, Loki was sitting cross-legged and reading the hardcover book resting in his lap and (Y/N) was also engrossed in a book, her legs stretched out across the library’s sofa as she peacefully read. In the center of the arrangement of sketches was a photograph of them taken during their unusual but heartwarming Thanksgiving dinner and (Y/N) smiled to herself, reminded of her fiancé’s speech about their resilient bonds of friendship with one another.

The Avengers were family, no doubt about it, but while she loved each and every one of them with all her heart, she now knew that they weren’t her only family in the universe; she’d spent countless months longing to learn more about the Light Elves of Alfheim, her long-lost mother’s mysterious race, and after saving their realm from a tyrannical ruler, she was only two weeks away from ruling over them as their queen. Midgardian or Alfheimian, the Cosmic Sorceress or the Queen of Alfheim, superhero or ruler…it was only inevitable that she would have to choose to live as one or the other, but she hadn’t expected the decision to be quite so difficult to make.

“Don’t make the choices you feel you have to make,” Her mother’s final words of wisdom replayed in her mind and helped to calm herself down. “Just follow your heart and you’ll never find yourself lost.”

“I will, Mom,” (Y/N) whispered, giving the wall of frames one last look before turning back to face Elora, Amirah, Loki and Thor, her mind already made up as she gave them all a small smile and opened her mouth to speak…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Midsumarblot-the celebration of the summer solstice

A/N: I’m sorry but I couldn’t resist leaving you with one final cliffhanger before the last chapter! What do you think (Y/N)’s gonna do?? Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2wx8TZwpDN0l33tES3W3Nk?si=7686d6ef4b394298

Chapter Twenty Eight

Spellbinding Masterlist

Tagging: @nexiva​​​​​​​​ @ravenclawbitch426​​​​​​​​ @cminr​​​​​​​​ @confusedfandomwriter​​​​​​​​ @momc95​​​​​​​​ @nickkie99​​​​​​​​ @austynparksandpizza​​​​​​​​ @brooke0297​​​​​​​​ @a-laufeyson​​​​​​​​​ @outoftheregular​​​​​​​​​ @itscomplicatedx​​​​​​​​​ @0-artemis​​​​​​​​​ @vivloki​​​​​​​​​ @crowleysqueenofhell​​​​​​​​​ @groovy-lady​​​​​ @mostclevermiss​​​

[sensesdialed]

MEDICAL DIAGNOSES & MISC TRANSITION HCS 

peter did see a therapist for a brief chunk of time when he was a kid, as it was required to begin medically transitioning. during these appointments, he was diagnosed with gender dysphoria, however the therapist also noticed symptoms of ADHD and advised further testing, which they did manage to go through with.

               he does have, but is NOT diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder or PTSD, because he started exhibiting these symptoms after he was no longer seeing this therapist ( especially because he began experiencing heavy trauma following the spider bite, and ben’s death lead to even more complications with money— peter doesn’t want to cause them any more extra costs ).

    as for OTHER medical choices regarding his transition, peter did begin taking blockers and starting testosterone when he reached a fitting age. this wasn’t without its challenges, since medically transitioning is COSTLY and the parkers simply don’t have that kind of money lying around. even peter was insistent that they should use the money for things they need instead, not on him, but of course may wasn’t having it, and they did their best to afford what they could. 

peter does actually have top surgery by ffh and onwards. he didn’t for a long time ( wearing binders and using a specially designed chestplate in his suit that automatically adjusted during fights for safe breathing ), but may, tony, happy, and pepper began to plan it together as a surprise for his 17th birthday. of course, this was interrupted by the snap... and delayed by adjusting and grief. but, they still went through with it during those eight months in between, wanting peter to have something to be happy about more than ever. this is the only surgical procedure he has undergone for his transition. 

[x-childish-x]

if you’re taking requests, would you be able to write another tony x daughter!reader little space one shot? maybe reader wakes up from a nightmare and Tony comes to comfort her, lots of comfort/ fluff. Or any other cute ideas you might have ;o;

I'll Protect You

Pairing: Tony Stark x daughter!little!reader

Fandom: Marvel

Warnings: little!space!reader, mentions/slight description of death/suicide, mentions to depression, mentions to anxiety, mentions to PTSD, description of nightmare, mentions to trauma, ANGST, crying

Word Count: 647

A/N: PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! Thank you so much for this request love, I really hope you enjoy this. It's quite dark, sorry. Anyways, sorry it took so long to get out. Thank you for the support and love! Feedback is always encouraged and welcome!!

Summary: You suffer from a horrible nightmare and your father Tony is there to help comfort you.

(gif not mine!)

**PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS**

"(Y/n)!!"

You gasped awake at the feeling of your father shaking you awake. Your eyes fly open as you desperately looked around, tears streaming down your cheeks as you gasped for air, trying to steady your breathing. Finally locking eyes on your father, you throw yourself into Tony's arms, loud sobs finally coming out.

"Hey... Hey, Pumpkin, it's okay," Tony spoke softly, stroking your hair as he held you tightly, "I'm right here. I'll protect you."

You clutched onto Tony's shirt tightly, not letting go as he leaned back against your headboard and adjusted to get himself comfortable. You were shaking in Tony's arms as you sobbed, your pure panic making him worry. Tony knew you experienced nightmares due to your struggle with PTSD, but he'd never seen you this torn up over a nightmare before.

It was at least five minutes before you calmed down, Tony's words finally seeming to get through to you. He never stopped mumbling soft affirmations to you as he allowed you to go through your emotions. Tony knew it could be risky to push you when you were in a fragile state, and instead, he chose to offer silent support by allowing you to know he was there for you. As he always was and always would be.

He kissed your forehead softly as you lifted your head to look at him finally. His heart broke at the sight of your tear-stained cheeks and your bloodshot eyes.

"You ready to talk, Pumpkin?" Tony asked quietly, still stroking your hair in the way that he knew calmed you every time.

"Aunt Nat killed herself. Uncle Clint and Aunt Nat were on this weird planet, and she jumped off a cliff. Uncle Clint tried to save her, but she pushed off the edge. And... And daddy, you killed yourself too," You buried your head in his chest as you spoke, shaking as you recalled the horrible nightmare, "And.. and you were in your suit and... you had these weird glowy stones, on your fist. I don't know where you were, but you snapped and, and it killed you, daddy."

Tony squeezed you tightly as he kissed the top of your head, "Pumpkin, it was just a nightmare. You don't have to ever worry about that. That won't ever happen. Nat wouldn't ever kill herself. And I won't ever leave you."

"But--"

"No buts," Tony said softly, "Look at me, pumpkin," You slowed lifted your head, and Tony smiled at you, "I'm never going to leave you. I will always protect you. You'll always be my first priority."

You nodded slowly as you leaned back into your dad's side. He reached over to your bedside table and quickly pulled out your small, childhood blanket. You immediately grabbed it from his hand, clutching the blanket to your chest as Tony moved to lean over the edge of the bed and grab your stuffed cat that Bucky had gotten you as well as a book. Repeating the actions from just a second ago, you clutched the stuffed animal tightly to your chest and finally snuggled in fully to Tony's side.

Tony began reading one of your favorite bedtime stories, Love You Forever by Robert Munsch, changing certain words to match your situation better. While reading the book, Tony snuck glances at your figure, noting when your eyes fluttered close and finally when your breathing evened out. Regardless, Tony finished reading the book before closing it and dropping it to the floor.

Scooting down in the bed, Tony kissed your head and pulled the blankets up to cover the both of you better. Closing his own eyes, he sighed, hoping that his presence would help you sleep better for the night.

"Goodnight, Pumpkin," Tony stroked your hair one last time before allowing sleep to take over, "I promise you, I will always be here to protect you."

General taglist: @nowthisisdark @techssexythighs

Marvel taglist: @katiaw2

[sunlightdances]

Time Has Brought Your Heart to Me (Soulmate!AU)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader, feat. platonic Steve, platonic Tony and a brief cameo by Agents of SHIELD. Rating/warnings: T (for language), mentions of PTSD and anxiety, a little angst. Many of our characters being adorably dense. Words: 14,418 (literally why am I like this) Summary: Bucky Barnes’ soul mark appeared on his left arm when he was seventeen years old. His injury and HYDRA took it from him, but does the mark have to physically exist for the connection to take hold? Author’s Note: Post-CA:CW. Assume Tony helped Steve and Bucky get out of Siberia and finds out the truth about his parents from Steve. AU after that. This idea literally came to me when I was shampooing my hair and I wrote a good chunk of it immediately afterwards. This idea has been done before, but I hope you like my take on it! Disclaimer: I don’t own Bucky Barnes, or canon elements from the movies, tv shows, or comics. All of that belongs to Marvel. Please don’t repost my work on any other sites without my permission. Reblogs are encouraged!

When Bucky Barnes is seventeen years old, a charcoal black swirl of ivy and leaves appears on his left arm.

He spent a lot of time panicking and then trying to find his soulmate, feeling disappointed almost every time he left a date with flushed cheeks and a charming smile only to remember that they didn’t have a mark, or had one that didn’t match his.

He forgot about it as soon as the war was on - bigger things to worry about then.

He enlisted because he wanted to make something of himself, but there was always the possibility burning in his mind that he might meet them. No matter what persona he tries to put on, he’s a romantic at heart. The singing under his breath, buying flowers for pretty girls, romance paperbacks in his back pocket type.

There’s no semblance of romance in war.

His days are never ending - walking, walking, brief bursts of combat. Shouting orders at his platoon, all of them trying to pretend they were feeling more courageous than they were. Still, he spares a few thoughts for his soulmate. When he takes a bullet to his shoulder in France, he hopes they can’t feel it.

He thought that was the worst it could get. He was wrong.

When he’s half conscious in the snow after falling from the train, praying for someone, anyone, to come looking for him, he feels guilt, and regret, and then doesn’t feel anything at all.

It happens in flashes - a medical exam table, a German accent, a shock to his entire body when all he does is repeat his name, rank, and serial number.

In a brief moment of lucidity, he lifts his left hand. He tries to see the mark, one more time, tries to orient himself with the one thing that’s remained constant for almost the last ten years of his life.

It isn’t there.

His arm, gone. The leafy scrawl with it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, to no one, to someone, and then it all goes black.

.

The sun streaming in the floor-to-ceiling windows of the guest room you’ve been assigned is the first thing that wakes you, followed shortly by a disembodied voice calling your name. You have a brief moment of panic, sitting upright in bed, until you remember where you are.

Avengers Tower.

“Miss?” The kind voice inquires again.

“Sorry. Yes, I’m here, sort of,” you reply, looking-- where do you look when you’re talking to an AI?

“Captain Rogers is requesting your presence in the third floor kitchen.”

“Tell him I’ll be there in a half hour,” you reply.

“He said to tell you no matter your response that you have fifteen minutes.”

You scowl. “Awesome,” you mutter, swinging your legs over the side of the plush mattress. “Tell him I’ll get there when I get there, and he’ll just have to deal with it.”

FRIDAY is silent, but you suspect the message has been delivered. Yawning, you walk to the en suite bathroom and stare at yourself in the mirror. Hair? A rat’s nest. Skin? Could not look more dull. You really need to get more sleep, you think, but apparently that’s not going to start today.

Twenty minutes later, you step out of the glass elevator and into the brightly lit kitchen. There’s not many people milling about, and you discover why when you come across a clearly agitated Captain Steve Rogers at the large table, leg bouncing and chewing on the end of a pen.

“Morning,” you say when you get within earshot.

“You’re late.”

“You never told me we had an appointment,” you point out, swiping a muffin from the large plate in the middle of the table where he’s sitting, and slide into the seat across from him.

“I asked you to come here for a few days, didn’t I?” He looks up, revealing dark circles and day-old stubble. He’s got a pile of papers on the table in front of him, and a cup of half-drank coffee off to one side.

You hum in agreement, “And you’ve been very secretive about it all. Barely gave me time to pack a bag.” A wink, so he knows you’re (mostly) joking. “Not very gentlemanly, Captain.”

“Bucky’s arriving today.” He blurts, and your mouth falls open in surprise.

“Steve--” You breathe, suddenly understanding his nervousness.

“I sent Sam to get him a week ago, if he even wanted to come back to New York.” He smiles, but it’s weak. “Figured it might do some good to have someone… non-partial around.”

“This is…” You shake your head, “Wow, Steve. This is good, right?”

He exhales. “It’s-- yeah. More than good.” He meets your eyes, “I need you to give him a physical, just a regular check up. Protocol.”

You’re already nodding. “I’ll get the lab set up, although are you sure you don’t want Dr. Cho--”

“I want it to be you,” Steve explains, “You’re-- well, I think he’d like you, that’s all.” You must be blushing because he quickly backtracks. “I just mean that you’re a friend! My friend. He’ll trust you because I do.”

“Jeepers, Steve,” you tease, “Getting my heart all aflutter.”

He rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay. I’ll have FRIDAY let you know when he’s settled? Don’t want to overwhelm him.”

You nod. “I get it. Just let me know.” Impulsively, you get out of your chair and hug Steve from behind, sort of wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “I’m really happy for you.”

He squeezes your hands, a long breath leaving him like he’s been holding it for awhile. “Thank you.”

It’s hours before you’re summoned, and you feel strangely nervous. You don’t really know what to expect. Sure, as trauma-nurse turned Avengers in-house care, you obviously know who Bucky Barnes is, and what he means to Steve Rogers. You were beginning to think you’d never meet him, though.

You follow voices until you get to your “office”, which is really just an open-air lab not dissimilar to the one Dr. Banner has for himself down the hall. Yours is less tech-savvy, though. You have office hours like any other doctor, and typically don’t live at the Tower unless a mission is wrapping up, or you’re on call.

You semi-retired after everything went down with SHIELD, but had been part of Steve’s team there, so you’re sort of contracting for the Avengers whenever things are scary enough that they need a full time physician.

Turning a corner, you see the back of Steve’s head as he sits in a chair across from the imposing figure that must be James Barnes.

You clear your throat and try to make your footsteps a little louder so you don’t interrupt them, but then remember they’re both super soldiers. They definitely have already heard you coming.

Steve greets you by name and introduces you to Bucky, who surprises you with a quick smile and a handshake.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he says, his voice somehow gruff and gentle all at the same time.

“You too,” you say. “Steve’s filled me in on the basics, but this is just a physical so we have your information on file. Nothing invasive, no needles, and nothing gets touched unless you say so, okay?”

He looks like he wants to smirk at your wording, but you can tell he’s a little tense and nervous too. You’ve thought about what to say to him and how to do this exam. You know he’s spent most of his life doing things without his consent, including receiving whatever poor medical care he was given.

“Whatever you say,” he agrees, and hops up on the exam table when you ask him to.

The entire exam only takes about ten minutes, until the only thing you have left to ask about is the arm. You sneak a glance at Steve, who’s chewing on his bottom lip. He gives you a small nod, so you take a deep breath and turn back to Bucky.

“I have to ask you a few questions about this.” You tell him, gesturing towards his left arm.

He flinches, barely noticeable if you weren’t standing right in front of him. “What do you want to know?” He leans in, voice conspiratorial, and whispers, “This isn’t my real arm.”

You’re momentarily stunned, but a breathless laugh escapes. Okay. Maybe this isn’t going to be as awful as you worried it might be, for him or for you.

.

Later, you’re in the kitchen with Steve and Sam, a glass of wine in front of each of you as you pick at your dinner. The rest of the Avengers are on a small mission, Falcon and Cap staying behind to look after the newest member of their team.

They don’t say it, but they’re worried.

“Captain Rogers,” FRIDAY interrupts, “Sergeant Barnes is experiencing some distress.”

The three of you stand, but Steve waves you off. “It’s a nightmare,” he says. “I’ll take care of it.” He takes a few steps and stops, not turning around. “FRIDAY will let you know if I need help.”

Sam’s face is tight with worry when he sits back down with you.

“What’s your take on this, Sam?” You ask, “Really. Honest assessment.”

“I think he needs help,” Sam says, and for a second you’re not sure if he means Steve, or Bucky. “He’s been through a lot. He’s a lot better physically, and some mentally, too. But there’s still-- it’s PTSD. He’s been a combat soldier for 70 years of his life, a POW. You can’t recover from that in a few months or even a few years.”

“I’ll try to help if I can,” you reassure him. “If he’ll let me.”

Sam stands up to leave, probably to check on Steve. He squeezes your shoulder as he walks behind you. “I know you will. Thanks, kid.”

You don’t respond, not even to dispute him acting like he’s so much older than you. Your brain is too busy trying to figure out what to do next.

.

The next few weeks go by in a similar fashion. You take up semi-permanent residence at the Tower.

Bucky sticks to his room a lot, though you see him sparring with Steve or hanging out with Sam in the common room a few times.

He doesn’t seek you out, and you don’t bother him except for subtly asking FRIDAY to let you know if he’s experiencing any distress that requires medical attention.

Now, you’re in the kitchen with Steve, eating at the large island and watching him warily. “Steve. You’re pacing.”

“I know I’m pacing.”

You set your fork down. “Why are you pacing?”

“I’m taking Bucky to Brooklyn today.”

You blink, eyes wide. “Whoa. That’s-- wow, that’s great! Was it your idea, or--”

“It was his, actually.” Steve stops pacing long enough to meet your eyes. “I’m a little worried it might be too much once we get there. Once he sees how much has changed…” He trails off. “I remember when I first went back. It was too much all at once.”

“Can I offer you some non-professional advice? As a friend?”

Steve still looks wary, but he nods.

“You gotta have a little faith in him, Steve. He’s been through a lot, yes. You’re still learning who he is right now. But he was in Wakanda for a year. Recovering only half of that time. He’s had time to catch up, to figure out how to be a person with agency. If he says he wants to do this, he probably does. You have to trust him.”

A movement from the doorway catches your attention and you flush when you see Bucky come into the kitchen slowly, looking a little sheepish. Damn these supersoldiers and their stealth. “Uh-- sorry to interrupt. Bad time?”

Steve smiles, though it’s a little shaky. “No, just talking to Doc here about coming with us to Brooklyn today.”

Your eyes widen as you whip around to face Steve, who sends you a pleading look quickly before Bucky sees him.

“Oh.” Bucky looks a little disappointed, but you don’t take it personally.

“I don’t want to intrude,” you say, “I know you had plans with Steve,”

Bucky waves a hand, “No, it’s fine, really. Could probably use someone around to make sure we don’t kill each other.”

You and Steve both freeze, and Bucky looks back and forth between you. “That was a joke.”

You’re the first to smile, and you’re doing it mostly for Bucky’s benefit, but also in hopes that Steve will relax a little bit. You know it’s not healthy for him to be this worried all the time. You also know that Bucky will never truly be at ease if Steve doesn’t start treating him like his friend again.

“I guess if I’m going to get a tour, I couldn’t ask for better guides,” you say, heading out to grab a jacket and your wallet.

A half hour later, you’re getting off the subway and heading into one of Brooklyn’s old neighborhoods. Bucky appears outwardly calm, but you could see how tense he was when you were on the train, and the way his eyes darted around cooly, mapping out all the entrances and exits. It’s the same thing you see Sam and Steve do, maybe more subtly, when you go out with them.

They all do it, really. The Avengers are battle weary already, and you wish you could give that sense of calm back to them.

“I’m going to grab a coffee,” you tell Steve and Bucky as you mill about on the street. You get the idea that neither of them has thought this through very much - they don’t really know where to go first. “Do you want anything?”

“Two black coffees. Is that okay?” Steve says, looking at Bucky.

“Add a little sugar to Steve’s. He won’t complain but he’ll make a face every time he takes a drink.” Bucky says, and you snort.

“Good to know.”

Five minutes later, you’re interrupting what looks like a serious conversation between the two men with a cautious smile, and with Steve scrambling to grab the coffee carrier out of your hands before you have to juggle three cups.

“Where to?” You ask once they’re both happily sipping hot coffee, Bucky only looking mildly uncomfortable.

“I don’t really know,” Bucky admits. “Guessing our old building isn’t there anymore?”

Steve smiles. “It is, actually. We can go there first if you want.”

You follow behind them on the sidewalk as they reminisce about places they used to go, people they used to know. It’s not sad, more nostalgic, and you’re content to listen to them talk as you sip your coffee.

Bucky shoves Steve lightly as he starts to point out all the places he used to get beat up. “That alley,” Steve points, “and behind that butcher shop--”

“I think she gets it.”

You laugh, “Tony should make landmark signs. We can put them in all your favorite places,” you tease, and Steve glares.

“You’re hilarious.”

You pull on his arm when Bucky suddenly stops right in front of him, keeping Steve from plowing straight into his friend’s back. You feel the mood shift and know this must be the place.

Bucky rubs at his jaw thoughtfully. “Huh. Smaller than I remember.” His voice is a little less confident than it was this morning. You stare at the building with him, trying to picture what it might have looked like decades ago. “This place was a shithole when we lived here--”

“Bucky!” Steve exclaims, but he’s laughing too, turning to face his friend almost for the first time all day. You’re giggling too, and Bucky shakes his head, his smile a little smaller, but still there.

“What? We were poor.” He shuffles his feet a little. “I loved it here. No better place than that apartment.” He inhales sharply before meeting Steve’s gaze, “Wait, no one-- we don’t know anyone who still--”

“No,” Steve says quietly, carefully. “No one we know still lives here. I checked when I first got out of the ice.”

Bucky nods. “I don’t-- I don’t want to know about them yet. Any of them.”

You assume he’s talking about his family, and whoever might still be alive. You feel like you’re intruding on a private conversation, so you busy yourself taking a few photos for your Instagram -- you’re not too shy to admit that this neighborhood is lovely. Old brick buildings and shops with lots of flowers blooming.

(And if you sneak a photo that has the back of Bucky and Steve standing there, shoulder to shoulder… well that’s nobody’s business)

In hindsight, you and Steve should have seen this night coming. The memories prove to be too much for Bucky, and the entire floor nearly shakes over your head when he has an episode in the middle of the night, spurred by nightmares and twisted memories of his family.

Footsteps speed by your doorway and you hear FRIDAY asking you to stay in your room, but you don’t listen. You’re too worried, despite the racing of your heart telling you that this is a bad idea.

You open the door just in time to see Steve sprinting down the hall towards the stairs. He must hear your door (or your heart, you think idly), because he turns to you. An authoritative, “No,” is all you get from him before he’s gone, apparently taking the stairs four at a time.

Not content to be left on the sidelines, you head downstairs to the lab, pausing just long enough to throw your hair into a bun and slip your glasses on, grabbing a sweatshirt off a hook by your door. You have no idea if you’ll be seeing Bucky tonight, but you want to be prepared just in case, even though you think Bruce and Dr. Cho are going to take the lead on his care while he’s here.

Forty-five minutes go by before you hear footsteps, and Steve and Bucky come trudging in. Steve has a black eye, and Bucky seems content to stare at his own feet.

“Steve--” You’re about to ask him to let you look at the bruising, but he holds up a hand to stop you. You’re suddenly filled with dread, wondering if Bucky is wholly himself, but you find it hard to believe Steve would have brought him down here at all if he wasn’t.

“I’m fine.” He smiles at you weakly, “Can you…” He trails off, looking at his best friend.

“I need something to help me sleep.” Bucky finishes, voice rough. “Preferably without dreams.”

You pause, “I can’t guarantee anything,” you give him what you hope is a reassuring smile, “But I can try.”

“Thanks.” Steve sounds exhausted, but Bucky looks worse.

“Can I have a minute alone?” You ask Bucky, but the question is really for Steve. Bucky tenses, and you rush to clarify, “Just want to chat about how we can help you get better sleep. Figured you might be more comfortable without an audience, but Steve can stay if you want him to.”

The two men have a silent conversation before Steve nods, reaching for your hand to give it a squeeze before he leaves you and Bucky alone.

It’s a few minutes before Bucky relaxes enough to talk. You busy yourself taking his vitals even though you know you could just ask FRIDAY to give you the rundown. It gives you something manual to do, so you don’t have to just stand in front of him.

“I’m sorry if I scared you.”

You look up in surprise. “Me? No, I-- you--”

“I know it-- I woke you up.”

You shake your head. “I was awake anyway.”

Bucky cocks his head in question, so you keep talking.

“I have a hard time sleeping. Did Steve tell you much about me? What I did-- before?”

“He said you’re a nurse.”

You nod. “I was a trauma nurse at a hospital nearby. That’s how Steve and I met.” You hesitate before the next part, but you feel like he’ll handle it okay. “I was working the day SHIELD fell. When he was brought in, I was in the ER.”

Bucky meets your eyes, and you can see the guilt swimming there.

You smile, “Turns out a nurse isn’t super necessary for a super soldier.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I suppose not.”

“My job mostly turned into babysitting. He kept trying to leave before he was fully healed, and we really had no idea how long he was going to be there. None of the rules applied to him, and he was way more focused on getting out to look for you.”

Bucky looks down, gunmetal hand whirring slightly as he fiddles with it. “Sounds like Steve.”

“Anyway, after I managed to put up with Steve and Sam for a whole two weeks,” you wink at Bucky, “Steve offered me a job. Thought they could use a medic around. I’d been wanting to get out of the hospital anyway. Some days were… hard.” You try your best not to let the memories get the better of you. “Turns out Bruce is a great doctor but not when he’s-- the other guy.”

Bucky nods, seemingly finding his resolve. He takes a deep breath, “I thought I could handle today. I felt good when we were there. Like I could almost forget--” he waves his hand around vaguely. “You know.”

You nod slowly. “In my experience, recovery isn’t always a straight line.”

Bucky is quiet, but you take that as a signal to keep going.

“I definitely still have days where I can’t see the lights of an ambulance without my heart rate speeding up. I have nightmares, and sometimes when the team is gone on a mission, I’m so anxious thinking about what’s happening to them I can barely breathe.” You force yourself to keep talking, “And then there’s some days where I’m calm. I can handle it, and I feel fine.”

You look up at him so you can look directly into his eyes. He’s already looking at you, and for a second, you feel a zip of awareness hit you in your gut.

“I’ve got something for you. It’ll help you sleep, but it’s really strong.” Quieter, you add, “Don’t tell Steve, but Bruce and Tony developed this for him years ago. He won’t ever admit to having nights like you’ve had. This seemed to help him.” You reach over on the table for a pill bottle and press it into Bucky’s palm. “Read the directions. Don’t take more than one.”

“Yes ma’am.” He murmurs. “Thank you.”

After a brief awkward moment, he leaves the room, and you can hear his quiet footsteps down the hall until the ding of the elevator signals him going back upstairs.

A few moments later, Steve is in your line of vision, and he doesn’t say anything, just gives you this look and it completely breaks your heart.

Wordlessly, you hold out your hand, wiggling your fingers, and he takes it willingly, threading your fingers together. Pulling him close, you stand shoulder to shoulder with the super soldier, squeezing his hand in reassurance as you both pull your thoughts together.

“I knew this was going to be hard,” he says, voice low. “I just didn’t-- I hate seeing him in pain and not being able to do anything about it.”

“I know, Steve.” You don’t have any answers, so you don’t try to give him one. “You need to try to rest.” You tell him instead.

“So do you,” he replies stubbornly.

“One day at a time, Steve.” You remind him.

“Yeah.” He sighs, wiping his free hand over his face. “Yeah, I know.”

When you get to your bedroom that night, you’re exhausted. It’s quiet above you, and you keep replaying the night’s events over and over.

Out of everything, one moment stands out to you - that potent moment of eye contact with Bucky Barnes. You can still feel the electricity crackling through you as you remember it.

That can’t be good.

.

“Any time, Cap,” Tony’s voice, out of breath, comes through the comms. You’re watching anxiously from your lab in the Tower, wondering again how you got roped into this.

“I’m busy,” Steve replies haughtily, and you hear the sound of two bodies hitting the floor. “On my way.”

The sound of fighting rings out, and you try to subtly eye the man next to you, his posture similar to yours - arms crossed, brow furrowed.

“Do they always argue this much on a mission?” Bucky wonders aloud, and you snort.

“I’ve only been involved in a few, but in my experience: yes.”

The mission is otherwise pretty smooth - Steve and Tony are more than capable of handling a few rogue Hydra thugs on their own, and you’re relieved when Tony lets you know over the comms that they’re headed back, objective complete.

You glance at Bucky next to you, who still stares at the screens.

“This must be a little overwhelming…” you start, not really sure how much you should press.

He shrugs. “Just different. The last time I planned any type of mission I was in olive drab and all I ever had to do was say yes, sir.”

You’re still surprised with how candid he’s being, willingly offering up details about his past, those he can remember, at least.

“Mr. Stark and Captain Rogers have docked.” FRIDAY’s voice interrupts your musing, and you nod at Bucky, who leaves the room to go meet them. He brushes past you, and you feel another zip of awareness when he does, shaking your head to get rid of the feeling.

He’s your patient. You absolutely cannot, will not allow yourself to feel anything other than a clinical attraction to the man. He deserves better than that, and you can’t afford to be distracted, not when he needs your help and is depending on you to get better.

Just earlier that day, you sat down with Steve and Tony for a quick briefing to better plan for the days ahead in terms of Bucky’s recovery and his place with the team.

Steve is tense, rightly so, and Tony is firm, arms crossed over his chest, eyes dark as he looks at the files in front of the three of you.

“You’re saying there’s no way to know if the trigger words are actually deactivated.” Tony asks, though it’s not really phrased as a question.

“I’m saying there might be other triggers. Not just the words, though Shuri insists those are moot. He’s got PTSD, Tony.”

“Yeah, well. Join the club.” Tony mutters, looking out the window. You can’t imagine how difficult this is for him. You know as well as everyone else does that Barnes was responsible for the Starks’ deaths. You’re surprised Tony okayed Bucky’s arrival here at all, though he does have a heart. He knows Bucky was brainwashed, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Steve doesn’t say anything. You get the idea he’s worried to say the wrong thing -- he admitted to you once that he’s obviously biased where Bucky’s concerned. He doesn’t know how to be Bucky’s ally and Tony’s friend at the same time.

“All this is, is a plan for if the worst happens.” You hold up your hand quickly, stopping Steve before he responds, “I’m not saying we’ll ever have to use this, but we have evacuation plans for everything else, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t be prepared for him to relapse. Even if the Soldier is out of his head, there’s still a chance his memories will get the best of him and he’ll have an episode.” You say the last part quietly, meeting Steve’s concerned gaze.

“We don’t even know if he’s going to want to have anything to do with the Avengers,” he acknowledges. “After all this time… for all I know he wants to lay low.”

Tony nods. “If he does… we won’t have him on any field missions until we’re sure he can handle it. Until then he stays here, helps Hill with the comms and he can…” Tony gestures wildly, “I don’t know, be strategic backup or something.”

That option had proved to be more than okay with Bucky, though he acknowledged he didn’t really have any say in the matter. He just wanted to be useful.

In the weeks that follow, he fills in for Maria Hill when she’s called away for other Stark Industries work, and takes to running the team like he was born to do it.

“It’s the squad leader in me,” he tells you one day, a grin on his face. “Though the lot of you are a lot easier to deal with than Army brats.”

He even helps Steve train some new recruits when the opportunity presents itself. Overall, his recovery is on track to be even shorter than you expected. Sure, there are still moments where he loses himself in a memory or has to be shaken awake in the middle of the night when things get to be too much. But you know every single other person in the Tower struggles that way too.

You’re mostly enjoying getting to know James Barnes the person, and not The Winter Soldier, the enigma, even if it is getting harder and harder to ignore the butterflies that take flight in your stomach every time he enters a room you’re in.

You’re killing time in the lab when Tony saunters in, startling you with his Iron Man gear half-on.

“What are you doing?”

“Need a hand,” he says, drawing out the word as he waves at you, thruster firmly in place on his left hand.

“Terrible.” You mutter. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just miscalculated the power of the new thruster and sort of… fused it to my hand.” He says the last part quickly, and you blink at him.

“I’m sorry. I heard that wrong.”

He grins cheerily. “Nothing wrong with your ears! Now--” He claps his hands together with a metallic clang, “-- You got anything for burns?”

Bucky wanders in sometime after you’ve finally gotten Tony to sit down. He watches warily, stopping before entering the room completely, a little curious. “Don’t mean to interrupt,” he says quietly, “but what the fuck is going on?”

Even Tony smiles at that, Bucky’s blunt tone a sure sign he’s had a decent day, as far as moods go. “Experimentation gone wrong,” he says brightly. “Doc’ll get me sorted.”

You glare at him. “I’m not a surgeon. Stop giving me surgeons’ work to do.”

You’re gently trying to pull the round piece of metal from Tony’s palm without completely frying his nerves. Coincidentally, the entire thing is destroying your own nerves in the process.

“Need a hand?” Bucky asks, pulling up a stool.

Tony snorts. “That’s what I said.”

You’re very aware of the heat emanating from Bucky’s side as he watches you work. Normally you wouldn’t let someone this close while you’re essentially performing surgery, but you think idly that it might be a good idea to have a third party here in case Tony starts complaining that you’re trying to butcher him.

“What I need--” you say through grit teeth, “-- is for both of you to shut up and let me work.”

“Yes ma’am.” Bucky says with a smile.

Tony raises his eyebrows in delight at the exchange, but you ignore him.

“Hold still,” you murmur after a few minutes, and when you glance up, relieved that there’s quiet finally, you see a few beads of sweat on Tony’s brow. He’s frowning at his own hand, and you think he’s finally starting to grasp how serious this could have been. “Honestly--” You huff, “Now you’re getting squeamish?”

“I didn’t think about the part where you’d actually have to yank it off,” Tony says defensively.

“I’ve got as much of the metal out as I can, so hopefully I can just…” you mime ripping it off with your free hand.

His eyes widen. “No you will not.”

Bucky sits back, arms folded across his chest with an amused grin at the billionaire.

“There’s nothing for it, Tony. Like a bandaid.”

“Can’t be worse than when I had to give myself stitches in the middle of the woods in Belgium with some dental floss,” Bucky says off-handedly, and both you and Tony stare at him, mouths agape.

“This is the twenty-first century!” Tony protests, gritting his teeth, “This isn’t the fucking Battle of the Bulge, Grandpa!”

“And, three.” You say with finality, lifting the remnants of the Iron glove off Tony’s palm, having used his outrage at Bucky’s bad attempt at bedside manner as a distraction to do the hard part. “Thank you, Sergeant Barnes.” You say primly as he hands you a piece of gauze that had been waiting nearby.

“Devious.” Tony remarks as you wrap his palm. “What’s the damage?”

“You need to keep it clean or it’ll get infected. No more experimenting.”

You let Tony go with the promise - or threat - to tell Pepper about this, and then it’s just you and Bucky there as you clean up.

“Does that happen often?”

You glance over your shoulder at him, “More often than I’d like. He thinks he’s invincible.”

The corners of Bucky’s mouth tilt up. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

You’re momentarily fascinated by how much younger he looks when he smiles, but you force yourself to look away and go back to cleaning up the tray you had supplies on. “Did you need anything?” You ask, remembering how he wandered in on his own nearly an hour ago.

He flushes, scratching the back of his neck. “Just some company.” He admits.

It sends a thrill through you.

“It’s nice to talk to someone who has no idea who I am. Or who I’m supposed to be.” He says, the last part barely a whisper.

You feel so much for him at this moment. You can’t imagine what he’s been through, and still, the man manages to crack jokes whenever he can, and is, on the outside, not completely overwhelmed with being in a new place, finally in his own head.

“I think I’ll head back to bed.” He says, a small smile on his face. “This was… interesting.” He grins. On his way past you to the door, he reaches out briefly and squeezes your free hand. You think he might not even realize he’s done it.

You almost drop the tools in your hand when you realize what’s happened -- the mark on your arm, the one you try so diligently to cover up, is burning.

“Oh, shit.” You murmur to yourself.

.

You avoid Bucky for weeks after that. You see him in a strictly professional capacity, and you feel like the biggest bitch on the planet for it, but you have no idea what to do with yourself.

After he left you in the lab that night, you inspected your well-hidden mark, trying to figure out why it was suddenly coming to life after years. It was a dull pink color, like you’d been rubbing at it, and even though you refused to accept it, you knew deep down what that meant.

You have no one to ask about it. No one at all.

Soul marks are rare, and they’re rarer still among the bunch you live with. Steve doesn’t have a mark, nor does Sam. You don’t feel like putting up with the shit you’ll get from Tony or Pepper if you try to ask them about theirs.

You’ve read enough about the bond to recognize it for what it is, but your brain is still stuck on one fact - Bucky Barnes doesn’t have a mark. Not that you’ve seen, and not that he’s mentioned.

It occurs to you then that the worst case could be true - you could be his, but he might not be yours. What a nightmare. As if he doesn’t have enough to deal with after quite literally coming back to life. Throwing an unreciprocated soulmate into the mix? No. You won’t do it.

So you avoid him.

You even go out of your way to liaison with the new SHIELD for two weeks, as part of a new partnership Steve and Tony were reluctantly part of with the recently-still-alive Phil Coulson.

“Are you sure you want to go? They have a doctor.” Steve asks as he carries your duffel to the dock as you await the arrival of SHIELD’s quinjet.

“They have a scientist,” you remind him. “They wouldn’t have asked for help if they really didn’t need it.”

Steve scowls, still a little perturbed that a man he considered a friend couldn’t even let them know he was alive, let alone that he was resurrecting SHIELD.

“We need to know what they’re working on, anyway.” You say. “Plus, it’s good networking.”

Steve shakes his head. “Yeah, yeah. Still. What if--” He stops himself, looking away as you reach the hangar. “What if we need you?”

“Then you’ll call, and I’ll have them fly me back.”

You hear what he’s really asking - what if Bucky needs you? You considered it. But you think you need the distance more than being around and avoiding him. He hasn’t needed you in any urgent way in weeks, anyway.

“Fine. But make sure Coulson knows he’s still on my shit list.”

“Steve Rogers!” You gasp. “He’ll be broken-hearted to hear that.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but you’re interrupted by incoming engines, and watch as the quinjet flies smoothly into the hangar.

You’re surprised at how young the team is. Not much younger than you, sure, but still. They’re watching Steve with something like awe in their eyes.

“Captain Rogers.” Coulson says, descending the ramp and holding out his hand tentatively. “It’s good to see you.” He’s sincere, that much is obvious.

“Coulson.” Steve’s tone is curt, but he shakes the man’s hand anyway.

After an awkward pause, Steve turns to you, introducing you.

“This is Agent May, Fitz, Simmons, and Daisy.” Coulson says, and you smile at each member in turn. “We’re looking forward to working with you.”

“Likewise.” You grin at him. It seems impossible to be anything less than genial with Phil Coulson, though Steve is doing his best to prove otherwise, and Tony hasn’t even bothered to leave his office to greet the new arrivals.

“I’ll bring her back in one piece.” Phil tells Steve.

“The alternative isn’t an option.” Steve replies, and you roll your eyes.

“Okay, that’s enough. Bye, Steve. Don’t burn the place down while I’m gone.”

His expression softens, and you know he’s just being protective in that big-brotherly way of his.

As you’re boarding the jet, you see movement out of the corner of your eye, and see Bucky back in the shadows, leaning against the wall as he watches you leave. You bite your lip in frustration, knowing that leaving after ignoring him is a cowardly move. Still, it’s the only option you can think of while you try to sort this out.

After taking off, Phil turns to you.

“He hates me, doesn’t he.” There’s something like despair in his voice.

You sigh. “They thought you were dead.”

“Technically I was.”

He fills you in on the whole story as you fly to their base, and when you land, you take the first minute you can to get Jemma Simmons alone.

“I was hoping you could tell me more about soul marks. I know you’ve done some research--”

She smiles at you, putting you at ease. “What questions do you have?”

.

Bucky watches the jet take off, a hollow feeling in his chest. He can’t figure out what he did to drive you away so thoroughly.

Steve stands there with his arms crossed for a few minutes before turning back, shaking his head.

“You trust them?” Bucky asks, and Steve pauses.

“I do.” He sighs, then looks at his friend. “Are you worried?”

Bucky scoffs. “Am I worried that she ignored me for two weeks and then fucked off with a bunch of people I don’t know?”

Steve’s grin is slow, lazy. “Careful, Buck. Sounding awfully protective.”

Bucky scowls. “Shut up.”

One thing that has absolutely not changed since the 40s is Steve’s propensity to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong, and lately that’s been evident in the way he’s been trying to needle out what exactly Bucky is feeling for the good doctor.

He doesn’t even know what he’s feeling.

She’s-- smart. She’s smart and she’s funny, and she’s beautiful, but it’s not like he would ever act on it. She’s his doctor. Probably the closest thing to a best friend Steve has. Bucky’s not going to fuck that up just because he’s noticed that she smells like vanilla and when the sun hits her face just right-- well. He’s not going to fuck it up.

Besides, he clearly made her uncomfortable when he told her it was nice to be around her. That she understood him, in some way that Steve didn’t. That clearly freaked her out.

He would laugh if it wasn’t happening to him. Scared a woman away so thoroughly that she literally got on a jet and took off.

He sighs and follows Steve back to the common area where a few of the others are lingering. They want a report on SHIELD, no doubt.

Bucky is going to do some digging of his own. SHIELD, for obvious reasons, has left the taste of ash in his mouth, and he’ll never forgive himself if it turns out that they’re some kind of HYDRA cell using a familiar face to get close to the Avengers again.

Not to mention his favorite doctor would be caught in the middle of it, and he can’t have that.

He feels… he feels good. It’s unfamiliar. But really, minor episodes and nightmares aside, he feels more like himself than he has in decades. There were brief moments when he was lucid enough in Hydra to remember who he was and where he was, but he thinks being brainwashed was… not a blessing, he’s not stupid enough to consider it that, but the alternative… having to be himself while he did those things… it would have killed him.

Now, he finally has choices.

His first choice was deciding to accept Steve’s help and friendship, and his second choice was to trust you.

He thinks that should mean something.

He thinks back to a moment from a few weeks back, shortly after the Brooklyn trip. You didn’t treat him like he was broken, and he appreciated it more than he could say. So much so that he invited you back to Brooklyn with him, to one of his favorite diners from when he was growing up.

He’s so happy to see it still exists that he can’t wait to have a meal there. Steve is busy, and you just-- the way you smile at him when he asks you to go, he knows he’s made the right call.

“James Barnes?” The older woman at the counter looks like she’s seen a ghost.

“That’s me,” he says, trying to smile. He has no idea how people are going to react to him wherever he goes.

“I’ll be damned,” she whispers. “My grandmother… she used to tell me stories about you and Captain Rogers.”

He smiles. “Good ones, I hope?”

“Only good ones. My grandmother was Ruth Kelley.”

The name fires some synapse in Bucky’s brain that hasn’t been used in years. Suddenly he’s nineteen, sharing a malt with Ruthie at the counter while she was on her lunch break, trying to pretend he’s not pulling out all the stops to make her laugh.

“You look just like her,” he stutters, and she does - the same eyes, the same kind smile.

“Thank you.” She whispers. “Anything you want, on the house today.”

Bucky tries to protest, but you stop him.

“Let her do this for you,” you say quietly.

Bucky nods and the two of you sit in a booth, his mind still working overtime trying to believe that all the pieces of his life could come full circle like this.

“An old flame?” You ask, lifting a mug of coffee to your lips, and Bucky finds himself entranced by the playful look on your face.

“Something like that.” He murmurs. “She grew up in the same building as Steve and I. Used to come bother her while she worked. That family was the best. They’d give us free slices of pie every so often…” He trails off. “Never saw her again before I shipped out.”

You’re quiet, a look on your face he can’t identify. “You must have meant a lot to her. If she told her granddaughter about you.”

He turns to watch Ruth’s granddaughter busy herself behind the counter, her movements so similar to Ruth’s that for a horrible moment, he thinks he might cry too.

On the way back to the Tower, you loop your arm through his, so casually, the touch coming so easy for you, it throws Bucky for a loop. It’s not unwelcome - you’re warm through your jacket, and Bucky hasn’t realized how much he missed human contact until this moment.

He thinks it should be concerning, how quickly you’re inserting yourself in his life. He tells himself it’s purely professional, but he knows it’s a lie.

The annoyingly knowing looks he’s been getting from Steve and Sam seem to suggest that too, not to mention the not-so-subtle threatening from Tony.

He’s drawn to you, and it scares him a little, while at the same time it feels like it’s just… right. He tried to surreptitiously get a look at your left arm the first time he thought… but to no avail. He hadn’t seen a mark. Certainly not one like he remembers, not one that he hoped to see, as fleeting as the thought had been at the time. But he told himself it didn’t matter. His own parents weren’t soulmates, but they loved each other.

Peggy and Steve didn’t have marks either, but they loved each other til the end. It doesn’t matter. Although, truth be told, it won’t matter at all if you stop talking to him completely.

Trying to get his mind off you, he seeks out his friends, finding them in the common area. No sooner has he made himself comfortable on the couch next to Sam then there’s an alarm blaring somewhere, and all his senses fire to life.

Steve is on his feet immediately, as is Tony, tapping away at his tablet as he tries to figure out what’s wrong.

“Steve?” Sam asks, body rigid.

“Suit up,” Steve says immediately. “Tony and I will do threat assessment.”

“Already done,” Tony chirps. “Fun - intruders!”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but he’s already moving, striding towards the doors to the command center and sliding a headset on his head - he feels more at home here than he thought he would.

“Check in when you’ve got comms,” he says distractedly, tapping away at the screen in front of him until he pulls up a couple cameras of the lower floors.

He spares a thought to be grateful that you’re not here right now, as he watches a team of men in black bust through the doors to the lab. “Lower two floors. I count eight, maybe ten operatives.”

“On it,” Steve says in his ear, and Bucky watches as his friend skips the elevator and instead launches himself down over the railing.

“Idiot.” He mutters.

“I can hear you.”

He smirks. “Tony, there’s a few more on the outside trying to get in,” he confirms, hearing the now-familiar sound of thrusters as Tony takes off from the launchpad outside the penthouse.

“More company incoming,” Tony replies, and Bucky can hear the sound of an engine through the comms.

Gunfire suddenly erupts almost directly outside the room Bucky’s in, the reinforced glass holding, but Bucky still throws his metal arm above his head and ducks out of instinct.

He knows this is Hydra. This was bound to happen, with Bucky living here. The Asset would never be allowed to live with everything he knows.

Bucky grimaces. “I’m going to need to get to the armory.”

Sam’s voice is next, “Negative, big guy. You’re going to stay right where you are, or else no one else has eyes on us.”

“Seconded.” Steve says firmly.

“I’m kind of a sitting duck up here.” Bucky protests. “This is seventy years of sniper training going to waste,” he adds, and Steve audibly sighs in his ear.

“Take an MG, that’s it.” He says, and Bucky snorts.

“You think I’d try to grab an alien gun? I’m not as stupid as you remember.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply as he heads out the door, eyes scanning this way and that for any potential threats. He hears the fight going on a few floors below, but so far he’s in the clear, and he heads towards the hangar where he can slip in a back entrance to the armory (hopefully) undetected.

“Two headed to you, Buck.” Steve says, sounding out of breath.

“Copy that.” Bucky says, steeling himself for the inevitable fight. He lets himself feel exhausted for approximately one second before he gets to work - his training taking over like he’s on autopilot.

He makes it to the armory door before he’s jumped from behind, though he heard them coming. He knows he can’t let them get inside. He uses their momentum to propel himself forward, flinging one man off his back and sending him careening into the opposite wall.

His other hand rears back out of instinct, delivering a sickening blow to the second man’s face.

Warily, he watches the first man struggle to his feet, a sneer on his face. “Longing.” He says, and Bucky sees red, though not for the reason he suspects the man hopes. “Rusted.”

Bucky pulls back with his metal arm, and delivers one solid punch. “Eat shit.”

Steve comes skidding around the corner a moment or two later, watching the scene in front of him. He clearly heard what the man was trying to do over comms - his face is a mixture of terror and concern.

“Bucky?”

“It’s still me, Steve.”

“Just checking.” He steps over the two men on the floor. “Didn’t need the MG after all?”

“Didn’t make it that far.” Bucky reaches down, straightening the man’s jacket so he can see the insignia for himself. He sighs. “Not going for stealth these days.”

“They’re done fighting in the shadows, or whatever.” Steve replies with a roll of his eyes. “We’ll get them all to lockup - Tony’s got the rest on the roof.”

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is going to keep happening. As long as I’m here. You know that, right?”

Steve’s face hardens. “Then we’ll keep fighting them. They’re not going to take you again.” The fierceness in his voice makes Bucky want to weep. This is the Steve he remembers.

He helps get the Hydra agents rounded up with the rest of the team, and then retreats to his bedroom. He feels exhausted, even though he didn’t have to do much - even the fight itself wasn’t as awful as it could have been.

He’s just tired of being hunted. He just wants to-- he doesn’t know, really. Be free? It sounds so trite. But he’s got a chance at a better life now, and he’s not going to let anyone take that away from him. Not Hydra, not whoever they decide to send after him next.

That night he has another nightmare, but this time, it’s about you. The look on your face after you see him in action - it sends you even further away from him, and Bucky knows he’ll never get you back, not after this. Not after you’ve seen the Soldier.

When he startles awake, the shame burning in his chest is a living, breathing thing.

He realizes then what you mean to him, or what you could if given the chance.

It doesn’t scare him as much as it should.

.

Jemma Simmons is infinitely patient as she explains the research about soul marks to you. It helps that she has a soulmate of her own, one who has a reciprocating mark.

It doesn’t do a thing to quell your guilt about Bucky, though. You still feel like you’d be trapping him into something. He’s never had much of a choice about anything in his life before, and you don’t want to take this away from him, too.

Trying to distract yourself, you throw yourself into research and analysis with Fitz and Simmons. In the few days you’ve been with SHIELD, you’ve helped them learn more about Daisy’s power and biology, your experience working with Avengers helpful as they try to catalog what she can do and what her limits are.

You plan to head back to Avengers Tower by the end of the week, and head to bed that night feeling like the time away from everything was just what you needed, even if you do have two letters to Steve from Phil in your bag that you’re almost certainly not going to give him.

The man is desperate for his apology to be accepted by his hero.

You’re asleep nearly the minute your head hits the pillow.

Annoyingly, you dream of Bucky. It’s not the dream you’ve had before - holding hands at the diner, or making some grand declaration. This is… darker. More real. It scares you.

Someone is hauling Bucky out of the Tower, and Bucky is nearly incapacitated. Drugged or… worse. You feel a shudder run through you as you watch him smuggled out in the dead of night, knowing there’s nothing you can do to help.

You wake with a gasp, and when you pull up your left sleeve, the mark on your arm is an angry red.

Panic slides through you like ice in your veins, and you’re reaching for your phone before you can begin to make sense of anything.

“Hey. It’s the middle of the night.”

“I need you to check on Bucky.” You tell Steve, your tone urgent.

“What?”

“Just do it, Steve.”

“What’s going on?”

“Steve.”

You hear movement on his end, and listen intently as he leaves his apartment and heads across the hall. “It’s been quiet all night,” he assures you. “We had a run-in today, but other than that…” He trails off, and that’s what sets your heart pounding. “FRIDAY, what time did Bucky leave his apartment?” Steve asks the AI, and you feel your heart plummet.

You don’t hear her reply.

“Steve, listen to me. I think he’s been taken.”

“How the hell did you--”

“I can’t explain it. I need you to come get me. I don’t want to worry anyone here, but I can help.”

“I’ll be wheels up in ten.”

A click, and then the line goes dead.

It feels like hours before you hear a knock on the door in the base, and Phil Coulson is there, looking as worried as you are, though you’re sure he’s picking up on the anxiety coming from Steve, and from having an Avenger in his secret base.

“Steve!”

“He’s gone.” Steve says rapidly, “We had a… brief infiltration today--”

“A what?!”

“Don’t worry about it now. Point is - I think they were a distraction. They needed to figure out how to get in and how to get to Bucky.”

“I can find him.” You grab your bag, trying to push past him and Coulson both to get to the door.

“Wait a minute, slow down, how did you even know he was gone? I don’t understand.”

“We don’t have time for this right now, Steve. Who knows what they’ve done to him or are planning to do.”

“Hey.” Steve’s voice is sharp, drawing you back into focus. “I need you to slow down. Explain this to me like I’m an idiot.”

You glare, but force your breathing to slow. “Something’s wrong. I just-- I can feel it, Steve.”

“How?”

“I think I’m-- his,” you choke out. “I-- he doesn’t have a mark, I know that, but I have one. I’ve had one my whole life, and I’ve never felt--”

Steve exhales hard. “Jesus Christ.” Hands on his hips, he looks back at you. “So… you can sense him? Is that it?”

You nod. “Sort of. I noticed it when we first met. An awareness, really. I didn’t think anything of it. I thought I was being overprotective while he was recovering.”

Steve’s expression clears. “The night he had an episode after we went to Brooklyn. You knew something was wrong before I heard him.”

“Steve, I-- I don’t want him to know. We just need to find him. Everything else… it doesn’t matter right now. All that matters is that I can help you find him, and we can help him.”

“Okay.” Steve’s voice is sure, full of conviction. “Okay. We get him back, and we worry about the rest later.”

.

“Where are the others?” You ask as you, Steve, and Phil walk as quickly as possible towards the quinjet.

“Tony’s on standby. No point in bringing the full team until we know what we’re up against. I don’t even know where to start looking.” He exhales hard. “What do they even want with him? Without the triggers, there’s no point--”

“Hydra’s been trying to pop up all over the world,” Coulson says. “They’ve taken over several old SHIELD bases, some that we didn’t even know about. They could be trying to use the Asset to bring out whoever’s still in hiding.”

“But he’s not the Soldier anymore.” You say, fierce.

“They don’t know that.” Coulson points out.

At this point, other members of his team have gathered, and you try to keep it together before you have to explain yourself in front of everyone. You’d rather suss this out with Steve, first.

“We’re ready to help if you need it, Captain.” Coulson says, shoulders straight.

Steve watches him carefully, hands on his hips. “We don’t even know where to start looking.”

“Any chance Sergeant Barnes would try to send a signal?” Daisy asks, her voice quiet as she interrupts. “If you know what to look for, we could try to hack into any outgoing Hydra communication channels we know about.”

Steve’s expression clears. “Yeah, he might. If he’s not--”

“He’s not compromised, Steve. I can feel it.” You tell him quietly. Steve stares at you, trying to decide if he can trust this. You don’t blame him - you have no idea if this is going to work either.

“Alright, let’s get to work.” Steve says finally.

“You got it, boss.” Daisy says, with a lazy salute, and you watch, amused as her gaze snaps to Coulson. “No offense, Director.”

“None taken. I’m outranked.” He says agreeably.

You sigh in relief at finally having some help. You can’t let anything happen to Bucky. For Steve’s sake, and for your own.

.

Bucky opens his eyes slowly - his eyelids feel like they weigh a hundred pounds. Immediately he’s on edge. He has a hazy vision of someone breaking down his door, a cloth in his face and him trying to fight them off before he passed out.

Shit, he thinks, Steve’s going to be so pissed. He takes a minute to assess the situation. A dingy, dark room. He’s shackled. Not the most original way he’s ever been held against his will, but whatever.

He spares a thought for you. Do you even know he’s gone? You’re with SHIELD. Steve’s probably trying like hell to keep this from you, so he doesn’t worry you. Bucky feels himself getting angrier the longer he thinks about it - he finally thinks he might be able to work up the nerve to ask you out, or to at least tell you he thinks you’re-- well, it doesn’t matter.

None of it will matter unless he gets out of here.

He feels a little woozy. He wonders what they used to knock him out, because he knows it would take nearly five times a normal amount of anything that would render a normal person unconscious. It makes him a little nervous, but again, it mostly pisses him off.

He tests his left arm - and can’t move. A brief flash of panic runs through him, but he grits his teeth and tells himself to calm down. There’s something in the room - an EMP maybe? Something that’s taken his arm out of commission.

He tests the shackles, and his right arm pulls free.

“Huh.” Suspicious.

The door opens, and in comes one of the two men who greeted him near the armory at the Tower.

“Oh, hello.” Bucky greets.

“Soldat.” The other man says, and Bucky’s eyes narrow.

“What was it I told you earlier? Oh, right. Eat shit.”

“So the rumors are true? The trigger words no longer work. That’s alright, there are other ways to make you comply.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Look, I’m done taking orders. So you’re wasting your time.”

Bucky does, under it all, wonder what the play is here. He’s basically not held down any more, and they had to know the restraints wouldn’t hold him. So what’s the point? He doesn’t know enough about the Avengers to be a threat to their security, and he’s ninety percent sure that the brainwashing won’t work.

He’s banking on it.

In the back of his mind, there’s a buzzing that lets him know he’s still not completely with it. He also has a gut feeling that Steve is already assembling, or whatever it is he calls it when the Avengers get a mission, so he just has to stall enough to catch this goon off guard and get the hell out of here.

“Well, go on then. Tell me about your nefarious plans.”

That earns him a punch on the jaw, and while it doesn’t hurt really, it pisses him off.

“Alright. I’m tired of this. Tell me what you want, or I’m going to leave, and if I have to kill you to do it, well, that’s just too bad.”

His smile is just a touch too wild to be sane, Bucky thinks, right before he presses something in his right hand. Not an EMP, then, Bucky has a second to think before it feels as if his entire brain is being electrocuted, and then he blacks out.

.

“Remind me again why I’m doing this?” Tony asks Steve the second he lands in the hangar at SHIELD HQ. “Hello,” he says distractedly to the small crowd that’s gathered.

“Bucky’s in trouble.”

“Barnes has been in trouble his entire life.”

“Tony.” You growl, a warning if he’s ever heard one. “We have to help him.”

Tony sighs. “This place is pretty cool, if a little low tech,” he says finally, looking around, his gaze landing on Phil Coulson. “Phil. You’re not dead.”

“Neither are you. Heard it was pretty close for the both of us.”

Tony turns back to you and Steve. “Why am I here but Wilson isn’t?”

“Sam’s already doing recon.” Steve says, his expression hard. “I need you to help with the hacking.”

“Hey!” Daisy protests, not looking up from her laptop. “I don’t need help--”

“I know you,” Tony says. “You hacked SHIELD. They called me about that. I think you owe me an apology.”

She raises an eyebrow. “... anyway. We were able to narrow it down to these two previously unknown SHIELD bases. They’ve been silent for months, but recently had a string of outgoing communications, one of which can be tracked to a location in New York not far from the Tower.”

“He’s around the fucking block and I flew all the way here?”

Steve glares at Tony. “That doesn’t mean it’s where they’ve taken him. Just that they’re operating there.”

“They’ve probably had eyes on him ever since he came back to New York,” you say quietly.

“Christ.” Tony runs a hand over his face. “Alright, get Wilson over there and see what he can shake out. Doc, do you have a plan if Barnes is… compromised?”

You’re quiet. Steve’s quiet. No one really knows what to do if that’s the case. You’re not sure if it’s even possible, not after all the work Shuri did with Bucky’s recovery in Wakanda, but there’s still the possibility… no. You won’t let yourself think about it.

“We could use the containment module.” Agent May says quietly, one of the first things she’s said since you’ve been with SHIELD. “It’s meant to hold the strongest inhumans.”

Tony gets out of the suit eventually and you all start pouring over audio files from the last few days to try to find Bucky.

Eventually, Steve turns to you. “He’s alright?” He asks, softly, worriedly.

You sigh, but at the pained look on his face, you have no other choice. You concentrate as hard as you can, feeling your connection with Bucky like a tether. You’d know if he was gone. Even if it was just his mind.

“I think so.”

Tony gapes. “Does someone want to fill me in, here?”

“They have a connection.” Steve says, flat.

You watch as Tony connects the dots. “Oh, sweet Christ. That explains a lot.”

You glare. “Excuse me?”

He rolls his eyes, turning back to the monitor in front of him, muttering. “Making heart eyes at each other across my lab--”

“It could be that only she has the mark. But it shouldn’t diminish the bond,” Simmons says quietly across the table, her eyes not leaving the papers in front of her.

“You told SHIELD before you told me?” Tony asks, incredulous. “I’m wounded.”

“Are they always like this?” Fitz asks Coulson, not so quietly. You can relate - there’s something about seeing that your heroes are just regular people.

“Got him.” Daisy says suddenly, voice hard. “There.” She points at the map.

“Let’s go,” Coulson directs, “we’re wheels up in five.”

“You’re staying here.” Steve tells you, and you immediately stop in your tracks.

“I’m going with you. Are you--”

“This is a rescue mission.”

“And I’m a doctor!” And I’m his soulmate, even if he doesn’t know it yet.

“Argue later, on the jet now!” May says sharply, throwing a bulletproof vest in your direction. You catch it before you get knocked over with the weight, and slip it on as quick as you can.

On the jet, you watch as Steve Rogers slowly disappears and Captain America takes over, giving orders and preparing for the possibility that the person they’re going to find might no longer be his best friend.

“You’re going to stay on board while we clear the place, got it?”

You scowl, but don’t argue with him, knowing it won’t do you any good. He goes around handing out comms, and everyone checks that they’re working, giving him a thumbs up. Daisy Johnson looks absolutely delighted to be on a mission with Captain America and Iron Man.

It seems like it’s only minutes before you land. Sam is waiting for you when you get there, and squeezes your shoulder as he passes you to confer quietly with Steve and Tony.

“Alright, we’re going to split up into teams.”

While Steve is talking, you’re barely listening, too focused on trying to concentrate on your newly-discovered bond with Bucky to figure out if he’s alright.

“Don’t get any ideas, Doc.” Tony says to you on his way out the door, tapping the comms device in his ears for emphasis as he goes.

You sigh - you hate being sidelined, even if you know Steve is right - you can’t provide the kind of help that they might need.

“Be careful,” you tell the three of them, plus the SHIELD team.

They go down the ramp quickly, leaving you alone with Simmons and Fitz.

.

Bucky hasn’t really been thankful for his advanced hearing in the short time he’s been fully in control of his faculties, but even in the short time he’s been back with Steve, he’d recognize the sound of a quinjet landing anywhere.

He feels like he’s been knocked over the head with a hammer. His energy has been totally zapped, and he knows he needs to fight, needs to figure out how to get the hell out of here, he just can’t summon the will to get up.

There’s a commotion in the hallway near the room he’s being kept, and when the door finally bursts open, his face falls when he sees Tony Stark.

“Did you disable the power?” Bucky asks immediately, not giving Tony a chance to make what he’s sure was meant to be a dramatic entrance.

“What? No. Why are you on the ground?” Tony asks, irritated, taking a few steps towards Bucky before a now-familiar buzzing fills his ears. Bucky watches, un-amused, as the lights flicker, and Tony freezes, his suit shorting out.

It’s not the same bone-crackling energy that had rendered him virtually useless earlier, but Bucky still grits his teeth at the feeling of it ripping up whatever sensors are left in his metal arm.

“Oh, god dammit.” Tony curses. “Steve is here. He’ll figure it out.”

“They’ve got a device like an EMP. Shorts out everything electrical.” He winces, “Makes me feel like my brain is leaking out of my ears.”

“That’ll mean Wilson down for the count too,” Tony mutters.

Overhead, the lights flicker once more and then they go out entirely. The walls seem to shake with the force of an explosion, and Bucky and Tony barely have a chance to exchange worried glances before they’re plunged into darkness.

.

Inside the quinjet, it feels like an earthquake.

Jemma doesn’t look up. “That’ll be Daisy,” she says casually.

Fitz is frowning. “That didn’t feel like a quake.” He stands, heading over to one of the monitors where he tries to get in touch with the rest of the team. “Daisy? Coulson?”

You try too, pressing your finger against the comms device in your ear. “Steve?”

You get no response, not from him, and not from anyone else. You start to feel dread prickling up your spine, and you surge to your feet, not able to just sit there anymore.

“I have to go help them.”

Simmons looks up at you, “You don’t have any way to defend yourself! If they’re not responding--”

“What, we’re going to just leave them in there?”

Fitz looks like he’s weighing his options. He moves quickly, digging into his backpack. He pulls out his sidearm, thrusting it at you. “You know how to use this?”

You swallow thickly. “Yes.”

“Then let’s go.” He shoulders his backpack, and you tuck the gun into your waistband.

“Fitz!” Simmons protests. “The Captain said to stay here—“

“Tell him it was my idea,” you say. “He can lecture me after we save his life.” You take off down the ramp before either of them can say anything else, but you’re relieved when you hear their footsteps following.

Inside, you’re immediately on edge at the lack of guards. You’ve got your borrowed gun at the ready, Fitz and Simmons silently behind you. “First floor is clear,” you whisper. On a whim, you press your finger to your ears again, just on an off chance. “Can anyone hear me?”

“Daisy!” Simmons exclaims before racing towards a figure slumped against a far wall. “Daisy? Can you hear me?”

Daisy groans, opening her eyes slowly. “Shit. Simmons?”

“What happened? We thought it was you--”

“It was me, but then there was this-- I don’t know. It felt like it was scrambling my brain. Took the power out. I tried to quake a few of the guards, but it knocked me out.”

“It only knocked out the powered people?”

“It shorted out my gloves,” Daisy says, getting to her feet. “It’s like it reversed the energy I was exerting and put it back at me.”

You blanche. “Steve and Bucky.”

Fitz echoes your worry. “Falcon and Iron Man have powered suits. Might have had the same effect on them, too.”

All you can think of is what Bucky might have felt - his arm literally is fused to his nerves - and you’re suddenly angrier than you’ve ever been. Forcing yourself to take a few deep breaths. You have no idea if Bucky’s realized your connection yet, but even if he hasn’t he’s got to be feeling some residual panic. You force yourself to calm down.

“There.” Fitz says suddenly, pointing towards the one room in the building with a light on. You can hear voices inside. “It’s Coulson.”

You walk up to the room slowly, gun drawn, the three SHIELD agents at your back. Peering around the corner, you can hear what almost sounds like a casual conversation between Coulson and some Hydra lunatic.

“-- what exactly is the grand plan? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s four Avengers here.”

The man scoffs. “A lot of good they are, aren’t they!” He laughs, “Captain Rogers here doesn’t look like he’s much up for anything right now.”

You take a deep breath when you see Steve slumped against the doorway. Slowly, you reach down, checking his pulse. Still alive, you reassure yourself.

“So you’ve got a device that can take out inhumans and the enhanced. What comes next?”

“Don’t forget it disables any man-made technology that aids the enhanced. Gives us a much more level playing field.”

“This is boring,” Coulson says, dry. “There’s no grand plan? You kidnapped Bucky Barnes to… what? To get Steve Rogers here? To get SHIELD here? You had to know someone would come.”

“The more Avengers we can take out at once, the better. And once we build this machine to its full potential, we can take out entire countries' worth of inhumans and the enhanced.”

You’ve heard enough. “New plan.” You say firmly, stepping around the corner, gun raised. Your eyes narrow. “Where’s Sergeant Barnes?”

The man looks unruffled. “I assume he’s in the cell where we left him, considering he’s only got one fully functioning arm.”

You glance over your shoulder at Fitz and Simmons. “Figure out a way to power that down.” Daisy stays out of sight, but you appreciate knowing you’ve got at least one superhero at your back. Gun still pointed at the Hydra agent, they hurry around him, analyzing the panels and buttons in front of them.

“I wondered if you’d come too,” the man says. He holds out a hand. “Alex Harrison. We haven’t met yet. Well, not officially.” He smirks, “Seen you around though, with the Asset.”

“He has a name.” You growl.

“Two minutes,” Fitz says, and you’re aware of Coulson reaching for his waistband, too. Behind you, Steve starts to rouse, and you fight off the panic at him immediately springing into action.

“Even if you destroy this machine, the plans won’t be stopped.”

“You talk too much,” Coulson says, lunging forward and hitting Harrison hard with the butt of his gun, sending him collapsing to the ground.

“Why didn’t you do that sooner?” You ask, and he shrugs.

“Had to find out about their evil plan.”

“What-- what are you doing here?” Steve asks groggily.

“Hate to break this up, but we need to find the others.” Daisy says. She looks at you, “Can you tell where he is?”

You concentrate on the bond.

“I’ve got him.”

.

Bucky thinks if he could avoid spending any extended period of time with Tony Stark again, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

“All I’m saying is… have you noticed her?”

He’s been needling Bucky about you for the last half hour, and Bucky’s about had it. “Shouldn’t we be trying to get the hell out of here?”

Tony glares. “Well, considering I can’t move…”

The door to the cell suddenly bursts open, and both Bucky and Tony flinch.

“Took you long enough!” Tony crows at the unfamiliar woman, holding her hand up not unlike Bucky’s seen Tony do.

“Bucky!”

His head snaps up at the sound of your voice. You’re there, in front of him, real and alive, hair escaping your ponytail in tendrils, clad in a bulletproof vest and a pair of jeans that he thinks he’ll be dreaming about for days to come.

Also, a gun.

He’s never pondered the attractiveness of firearms until now.

“This seems backwards,” Bucky says. “I should be the one attempting a daring rescue for you.”

“He’s not good at being grateful,” Tony mutters.

“Sergeant Barnes,” the woman says, interrupting. “I’m Daisy. I’m with SHIELD. It’s an honor to meet you.” She grabs his good arm, hoisting him to his feet.

“Brought the calvary, then?” Bucky asks you, over Daisy’s shoulder.

Daisy snorts. “Actually, yes, but don’t let Agent May hear you say that.”

“We have to go quickly.” You say, moving to Bucky’s side. “Are you hurt anywhere else? What did they--” your voice is getting increasingly panicked, and Bucky stops you.

“I’m okay.” He says softly. “Let’s go.”

Getting both himself and Tony oriented is a struggle as they fight off the effects of the EMP, but out in the corridor, he finds the rest of the team including Wilson and Steve congregating. He fights not to notice the way you stay close to his side, close enough to touch.

“How did you find me?” Bucky asks Steve.

Steve glances at you. “It’s a long story.”

Outside, on the quinjet, you busy yourself checking everyone for injuries and any signs of trauma from the Hydra device. You’re in your element, and Bucky can’t take his eyes off you.

He realizes how close he came to being done for. If not for the quickness of the team - however they found him - and for the fact that the trigger words don’t work anymore, he would have been lights out without ever telling you that he thinks you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

They land quickly, promising the SHIELD agents a chance to rest up at Stark Tower before they head back to their base.

You head to the infirmary with Bucky, whose arm is still shorted out.

“Let’s see if we can’t get you back up and running, okay, Sergeant?” Your smile is gentle.

“Yes ma’am.”

He watches you work, watches the way your forehead creases as you concentrate and the way you have tiny flecks of light in your eyes.

He wonders if you’ve got someone. You’ve never mentioned it, and he doesn’t think he’s imagining all these little moments the two of you have had together. There’s the matter of the mark. He hasn’t seen if you have one. He’s put off thinking about his own - or the lack thereof - for… decades.

He decides he doesn’t care. Not when you’re smiling at him like that, and indulging his bad jokes, and making him feel like he’s a normal person, not someone to be afraid of.

“Do you have plans tomorrow?” He blurts.

You look startled. “Uh-- no, I don’t think so.”

“Do you want to go out?” He takes a minute to relish in the surprised look on your face. “With me?”

A myriad of emotions flash across your face. One he doesn’t expect to see is sadness. It makes a lead weight settle in his stomach.

“Bucky…”

He’s afraid of what you’re going to say. He finds himself rushing to reassure you. “It’s not-- it doesn’t have to be anything serious. I just-- I want to spend time with you. Just us.”

You’re so still. It doesn’t track with anything he knows about you - the way you’re always moving, always taking care of everyone else.

“You want to go out with me?” You manage. “Like, a date?”

He smiles. “Yeah, like a date.”

“You want to go out on a date with me?” You ask him again, and he laughs, unable to believe that he has to explain why he thinks you’re so extraordinary.

“I’ve felt a connection with you since the minute we met. I can’t explain it, but it’s true. And the way you burst in there to rescue me, all guns and glory…” a wry smile twists his mouth. “How was I supposed to not want you?”

“Oh, Bucky.” You say, watery through your tears. But you’re smiling now, which is a far sight better than when he thought you were horrified by the prospect of being with him romantically.

He continues, feeling a burst of confidence. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this, so I’m sorry if I’m out of practice. I just-- I feel like I know you. I need you to know that even if-- if we’re not soulmates, even if you don’t believe in that shit, I still want you. I don’t see that changing any time soon.” Bucky’s voice is filled with conviction, and he watches as tears pool in your eyes and start to spill over. “Oh, honey, no.” He reaches for you, but stops halfway. “Don’t cry. I’ll-- what do you need? If you need me to fuck off and never be seen again, I know a guy who can make that happen,” he says, trying to lighten the mood.

A choked sob leaves your mouth, but now you’re smiling, so Bucky takes it as a good sign, though he’s still terrified you’re going to turn tail and leave him standing here. “What is it? Why are you-- please don’t cry.”

You don’t say anything, but it happens almost in slow motion. You lift up your left arm and slowly push up the sleeve, and start to take off your watch. Underneath, in faded black ink, is a vine of ivy, trailing around your delicate wrist, small leaves dotting your veins.

His entire world stops. He’s speechless. He has absolutely no idea what to say. His brain is just screaming, you belong to her, you belong to her over and over again.

“I knew I was yours, but I thought that you didn’t belong to me.” You’re saying. “I-- I didn’t want to trap you, I--.”

“Why would you think that?” His voice cracks.

You look confused. “You don’t have a mark, Buck, I’m your doctor, I saw your arm--”

“My left arm.” His voice is hoarse.

“What?”

“My mark was on my left arm. It showed up in 1934, before the war, before… everything.”

The air whooshes from the room.

“What did it look like?” You ask timidly.

He smiles, stepping closer. “Why don’t you tell me?” He takes your hand, slowly, like he’s afraid he’s going to spook you.

“If this is a joke--”

“I would never joke about this.” He says, hoarse. “I got my mark when I was seventeen years old, and all I thought about for years was finding my match.” Feeling braver, he reaches forward, cupping your face in his palm. “They took that from me,” he says. “Kind of fitting the one to rescue me from Hydra was also the one to bring my mark back to me, right?”

You laugh, a little choked through your tears, and he leans down, tracing the pattern he knows so well with his fingertips on his good hand. “There’s a pale pink flower,” he whispers, looking you dead in the eyes. “Right about here.” His thumb presses lightly at the crook of your elbow, where you know a flower sits.

“It’s how I found you.” You tell him, and the pieces start to click into place. “I dreamed about you, but I think it was more of a vision.”

“You were the one to realize I’d been taken?” He asks, feeling his heart squeeze. “Jesus.”

“Called Steve in the middle of the night. Demanded he listen to me and he came to get me from SHIELD.”

“You’re unbelievable,” he says, a smile growing on his face. “In a good way,” he adds. Then, quieter, “I’ve dreamed of you too.” He whispers.

You’re both quiet for a few minutes. “What do we do now?” You ask, and he shrugs.

“Don’t know. I haven’t done this before.” HIs eyes are filled with mirth.

“Oh… you-- shut up.”

He grins - he has a feeling riling you up is going to be one of his favorite pastimes.

“Let me get your arm up and running, and then we’ll talk.” You eye him carefully. “I might have to get Tony for the hardwiring.”

Bucky lets his head drop back as he groans. “Anyone but him.”

You cackle delightedly. “Sorry, sweetheart.”

He brightens at the use of the endearment. He feels - it’s a dream. Seventy years of waiting, and somehow, in the back of his mind, he knew you were different the minute he met you.

He knows you have a lot to talk about - a lot to decide, a lot to work through. He feels almost invincible, though, especially after thinking for so long that he would never find his match if he didn’t have his mark anymore. He still can’t fathom how he got so lucky for it to be you.

.

You feel like you’re walking on clouds for the rest of the day. After some good-natured ribbing from the team, and from SHIELD - you promised to stay in touch with them, if only to convince Steve and Tony to come around and start working with them again; you quite like Phil Coulson - they mostly leave you and Bucky alone.

You hole up in his apartment for nearly the entire day, talking about everything you can think of. Your childhood, his childhood, even the rough parts that make his voice catch and harden… you sit right there and hold his hand through it.

You can almost feel your bond like a living, breathing thing now. It’s electric when the two of you touch, something that you’d always noticed but tried not to put any weight on.

Now, it seems so obvious.

He kisses you goodnight. It sends a flare of heat through you and nearly makes you dizzy, and you want him to do it again as soon as it ends.

He reminds you that you’ve got a lifetime to sort out what this all means.

A lifetime with Bucky Barnes sounds like a dream.

You can’t wait.

[plus-size-reader]

Those Eyes pt.2

Bucky Barnes x Plus size!reader

Word Count:1421 words

Warnings: bit of an AU, anxiety, panic attack, PTSD

Summary: The answers come to the reader, but it isn’t really as simple as just the truth. 

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You could feel a scream pulling at your lips as you stared at the now rather alarmed looking man. However, there was no room for any explanation from you because there was currently no air in your lungs.

All you could do was stand there, shaking, as you tried to calm your racing heart.

There was no way that the man standing in front of you was the same man who killed your parents but if you could suspend logic for a moment, you were sure. You were beyond sure that those were the eyes you'd seen all those years ago.

The eyes of a man who spared you, even though he butchered your parents.

It was possible that it was some kind of combination of exhaustion and stress but you simply didn't think so. You knew that there was something completely and totally wrong, but the words to explain just didn't exist.

Running through your veins right now was a fear you hadn't felt in a very long time, a real fear that nothing else had ever been able to rival.

"Is everything okay? Do I need to get you something? Do you need to sit down?" he asked, reaching out gently to try and stabilize you which certainly didn't help. As soon as he reached out toward you, you screamed.

It was a blood curdling scream, one that could only rival the woman in those terrible horror movies Tony would make you watch every Halloween. Not only did Bucky back up at that though, but a gaggle of others came running toward the sound.

Unsurprisingly, your brother was the first to reach the door, swinging it open without a second thought. He was greeted with quite the sight, between the broken glass on the floor and you practically shutting down.

Even still, he didn't skip a beat.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm here with you, just breathe" Tony cooed, wrapping his arms tightly around your frame to try and keep you from shaking even more, trying to coax you into your breathing exercises.

These were things he'd learned as a young man, when he had to learn how to navigate the childhood trauma you'd experienced after the accident. You used to have random panic attacks just like this one all the time or terrible night terrors that he had to talk you down from.

While it hadn't happened in a long time, evidently it was like riding a bike, he had never really forgotten how to do it.

"What happened?" Steve asked in a hushed whisper, looking over his best friend as if something had happened with him. As far as he knew, Bucky could have been having an episode of his own. After all, he wasn't the only one left bruised and paranoid over the events of that night.

Not that you knew that.

"She panicked, I don't know. She didn't say anything" the dark haired man tried, rattled in his own right over the way you'd reacted. As far as he knew, he hadn't done anything to set you off but maybe it wasn't something he was aware of.

Thankfully, Tony was quick to step in to explain, as you were no longer in a position to even stand on your own, led alone talk through what you were thinking. You were probably going to be nonverbal for at least half an hour after this.

"Are you okay to go with Nat while I clean this up?" he asked you, waiting until you gave a small nod to gingerly hand  you over to the red head, who helped you down the hall so that you could sit down.

Once you were out of the room, Tony got to work with his explanation. "Don't worry about it, it isn't you. She's had a really hard time since mom and dad passed, certain things just set it off" he tried, hoping that was good enough to calm the man.

He knew how sensitive Bucky could be to those sorts of things and didn't want him to feel guilty like it was his fault, if only he knew.

See, you knew full well that there was something about Bucky that no one else knew but that was the difficult part. Not even Bucky himself had any recollection of what he'd done on that night in 1991.

All he knew was that something was terribly wrong, and that he owed you some kind of apology for whatever it was he'd done.

Natasha and Pepper spent the next half an hour or so talking you down from your panic in hushed, soft whispers. They made sure that you were keeping your breathing level and that you weren't thinking about it anymore until you were finally able to communicate again.

Once that moment came though, you still weren't sure what to say.

"I'm okay now, thank you" you tried, taking it slow as you sat up from where you'd been just laying down on the couch. Going too fast after something like that could trigger another panic attack but you knew that you were okay now.

You had been caught off guard was all, that had to be it. You must have just been tired, and that made you think that you aught to apologize for that poor man you probably traumatized.

"Can I talk to him for a second?" you asked, approaching the lab slowly once again, finding the shards of glass now nowhere to be found. The man in question didn't move when you spoke, looking instead between Steve and Tony for some kind of guidance.

"Are you sure that's a good idea kid? We still don't know what triggered it the first time" Tony warned, knowing what could happen if something spooked you again. Still, once you nodded, he didn't ask again.

You were an adult now and if you felt like you could handle it, he wasn't going to tell you differently. "I'll be okay, I'm good now" you assured, taking a seat across from where the brunette had been sitting, wracking his brain to try and figure out what he'd done to upset you so badly.

There was a moment or two of silence between you as you tried to organize your thoughts, not daring to look him in the face at first.

"I'm sorry that I scared you. When I was a little girl, there was an accident and I've had nightmares ever since. I guess something about you just reminded me of them" you explained, hoping his wouldn't be offended by that.

That wasn't exactly the best thing to say while making a first impression but it was the truth. There was no use lying after what you'd done anyway, not that you could even come up with a convincing lie in your current state.

"I think it's your eyes"

That came out after, without you even meaning to let those words slip from your lips. Bucky didn't say anything, not at first. Instead, he just let you talk, mostly because he didn't know what to say.

It wasn't until a few more seconds went by without any more words from you that he ventured to speak to you. His words were unsteady and shaky when he tried to ask you what he so desperately wanted to know, but he wasn't even sure why.

He couldn't place it, but he felt like he'd seen you somewhere. Though, like most of his memories, the truth was likely buried away from him in the distant sands of time.

"What about my eyes?" he sounded almost afraid when he asked, but as if on cue, you looked up at his face, taking in the look there. You barely let your own gaze focus on those blue eyes, feeling your stomach turn at the sight of them.

Still, as you tried to avoid his burning stare, the more you found your eyes brought back to his own. There was something almost magnetic about the look you found there, once you worked past the abject rejection you felt toward him.

You found that his gaze held an almost opposite affect. You just felt deep down in your soul that he knew the truth about what had happened, even if he didn't even realize he had the power.

A few more seconds ticked by while you gathered your thoughts before you spoke again. "They're the eyes I saw the night my parent's were murdered" and then, feeling as if your business was done, you stood and left.